#fic: accident prone

[thecreelhouse]

daylight

Paring: Steve Harrington x Francesca “Frankie” Amato

This is part of the accident prone AU— please be warned there are spoilers in these mini fics if you have yet to read the main series! This post-series fic and more can be found here -> accident prone - the blurb sides

Summary: The morning after their first time together, Frankie’s self-doubt begins to creep back in; there’s nowhere to hide her imperfections in the sunlight, and her confidence wanes. Steve’s determined to take every chance he can get to remind Frankie just how beautiful she is.

WC: 3.4k

Includes: soft smut (oral/face sitting- f receiving, fingering, handjob, cockwarming), silly banter, some dirty talk, hurt/comfort, body/self-esteem issues, fluff, language, etc.

A/N: In the midst of this break I’m taking (if you can even call it that lmao), I’ve managed to finish a few AP blurbs! (yes i know they're longer than blurbs shhhhh). this one’s Frankie centric, but I have one for Steve with similar subject matter, and I’m hoping to post that one soon too. Anyway, hope you enjoy this if you read <3 (divider cred: @/strangergraphics)

Sunrise rouses Steve from a deep sleep, mind flooding with memories from the night prior. He and Frankie are tangled up in one another still, clothes long ignored from the moment they stripped one another down. She’s still sound asleep, but murmuring something softly, face buried into Steve’s shoulder.

He doesn’t want to wake her, but can’t help kissing the top of her head; her buzzcut’s tiny hairs prickle against his lips. Her hair’s already began growing back, but Steve can see what Frankie mentioned the night she cut it all off— the tiny bald patches keeping the growth uneven. Subconsciously, his fingers trail to one of them, feather-light touch tracing the edge of the bare spot.

It still feels like a dream, the fact that Frankie likes— loves— Steve just as much as he loves her. Last night felt even more surreal, in the best ways possible. How lucky he felt to find someone he could bare all to, literally and metaphorically, someone who didn’t run away when he exposed the most vulnerable details of himself. Someone who didn’t judge him for what was out of his control. Someone he could relate to on a personal level he’s never had with anyone else before.

Frankie breaking down her walls, allowing Steve in so he could care for her, love her in return— that was huge, too. He’s never had such an honest, down to earth relationship like he does with her.

Making love is far from perfect outside of the movies, but even more so when illness and disability limit ways to connect with a partner— yet this was the happiest he’s ever felt after a first time with a partner. It was real, and maybe not pretty at times, but it was the strongest connection he’s felt with someone.

There’s one fact he’s hung up on, though: Frankie can’t have kids.

That’s not a dealbreaker, not by a long shot, nor is it something to think about this early in their relationship. But Steve still feels a pang in his chest remembering her confession in the heat of the moment.

Panting, Steve nods frantically, “You got, uh, do you have—“

“If you’re asking about protection, it’s in the drawer,” She nods towards the nightstand. “But I um, I can’t… I can’t get pregnant. If that’s what you’re worried about, I mean.”

“I’m sorry—“

“We can talk about it another time, okay?” She rests her hand on his face, any hint of sadness invisible to the naked eye; Steve shakes it off and nods.

He wonders if it upsets her; did she hope to have kids of her own someday, too? Before her health rapidly declined?

There was a time Steve dreamed of starting a family with someone he loved— misguided by old feelings, believing that someone was Nancy— but every year that passed he felt as if he was drowning deeper, and deeper, into his chronic pain. It’s reached the point where he’s unsure if the opportunity were to arise, would he even be capable of being a dad?

Most days, Steve struggles to care for himself; how could he ever care for a little one if he struggles to leave bed sometimes?

Like Frankie admitting she had to let her dreams slip through her fingers, he’s starting to believe he’s already doing the same with his own dream. No, he’s been mourning the loss of this dream, among others, stuck at the first stage of grief— denial— since leaving Hawkins behind.

He wonders if he’ll ever move onto the stage of anger; all that bottled fury will surely spill over at some point. 

“If you think any louder, you’ll wake the whole city up.”

Steve startles from Frankie’s raspy morning voice; she pops an eye open, smirking at her partner.

“That obvious, huh?”  Kissing her forehead, he cuddles closer to her. “Morning, pretty girl.”

She blushes, playfully sassing, “Ew, shut up.”

“Pay me and I’ll consider it.”

“I told you months ago you could just take my paycheck in exchange for the sass.” Frankie rolls her eyes, but her smirk fades, realizing they’re both still completely bare, aside from the sheets. She sinks under the covers further, earning a confused chuckle from Steve.

“What’re you doing?”

“I—“ She shuts her mouth. “Nothing.”

Steve tries to draw her back to him, but she keeps herself wrapped up.

“Hey, talk to me.” 

She knows she can’t slip out of this one, sighing while resting her forehead on his shoulder. 

“I know you saw me last night, and this is stupid, but it’s… it’s a little nerve wracking to let you see me in broad daylight.” Ashamed, she scrunches her eyes shut. “I want to feel comfortable, it was just easier in the dark.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, and Steve knew that; Frankie had been dealing with major self esteem issues for most of her life, it’s not like that’d go away in one night. He pushes the sheet away from her face, cradling it in his hands.

“‘Key, do you trust me?”

“Well, yeah,” she snorts, but notices he’s serious; her teasing smirk drops as she answers him honestly. “Of course I trust you.”

Steve holds her gaze for a few moments before kissing her. It’s gentle, relaxed, and begins to put Frankie at ease; her body loosens up with a satisfied hum. As she melts further into his touch, he pulls away, leaving her to pout.

“How sore are you?”

Frankie’s brows knit together, laughing a little. “From what?” Steve gives her a look, and it clicks. “Oh, I’m a little sore, but not— it’s a good kind of pain— wait, shit, no, not like that.”

A fond smile graces his lips, enjoying the way she rambles, all flustered. 

“Can I touch you?”

Involuntarily, Frankie groans with desire; the memory of Steve’s tender caresses, soft kisses, tangled up in one another— it makes her blush deeply. 

“Please.” It comes out so breathy, she’s a little embarrassed, but it only spurs him on more.

“One condition.”

Frankie rolls her eyes, throwing her head back with another groan, but this one’s laced with annoyance.

“What?” 

“Gotta let me see all of you.”

She freezes under his touch, offering the tiniest shake of her head. 

It’s a step back from her progress the night before. Steve sighs, “Frankie—“

“The sun’s up, that’s a whole different ballgame,” she mutters, tugging the sheets back over herself while rolling away from him. “You saw enough last night.”

“Don’t think it’s possible to ever see enough of you,” he ducks under the covers, swiftly flipping her on her back. Gently, he spreads her legs, parting her folds with his fingers; even in the limited light under the sheets, he can tell she’s soaked, all sticky and sweet. The memory of her soft sounds, how her hips rolled into his face, and the taste of her flood his mind— and taste buds.

Frankie watches him curiously, nodding a silent reassurance of consent. Steve’s eyes stay locked on hers as he flits his tongue lazily against her clit. She gasps, tensing up when he gives her open-mouth kisses over her core, taking his time to swirl and roll his tongue where he’s already caught on to make her whimper.

He finds a rhythm that satisfies the two, still languid in the swipes of his tongue, slipping inside her every so often. She arches her back, trying to push herself closer, even rolling her hips slightly; the bolder she grows, the more Steve reels back. 

At first, it’s not very noticeable, but in time, the passion and momentum begins to fade off once Steve’s pulling away. Frankie grabs his hair with desperation, clit throbbing with need while his hot breaths settle down.

“Why’d you stop?” Her pout’s almost enough to make Steve bury his face in her again, but he’s got a plan to stick to. He kisses up her body while her hand’s still tangled in his locks, loosening with each kiss. “Go back,” she whines with a morning rasp, a noise that shoots straight to his length, half hard already.

“C’mere,” he murmurs once he reaches her neck, sleepy kisses wandering all over the map of her skin. “Want to watch you finish.”

“B- but you could see me down there,” Frankie whines again, catching onto Steve’s plan. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” he kisses her cheek, tilting her face towards his with a finger under her chin. Glistening lips hovering over hers, he mutters, “Is that my girl won’t be kind to herself.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk,” she grumbles, leaning in to kiss him regardless, but he backs off. “Steve, what the fuck?”

“Gotta make a compromise somewhere, angel.” He rolls onto his back, tugging Frankie on top of him. She holds most of her weight off of him, but he’ll take the baby step regardless. “Come up here.”

“This is cruel, you know that, right?” She’s not that serious, but facing a fear isn’t exactly something she’s thrilled to jump into.

“Hey, you don’t have to finish if you don’t want to,” Steve rolls over onto his side. “We can just hang out, go back to sleep, whatever—“ He yelps when Frankie pushes him onto his back. “You like manhandling me a little too much, Francesca.”

Frankie pouts, but it’s no use, not when Steve can see right through her; he knows she’s not fond of her full name, not unless Steve’s saying it. Even playfully scolding her, it causes something to spark deep down.

“I hate you,” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her bare chest. She’s so fucking cute. Steve considers caving again, but he holds steady. 

“You don’t.”

With a huff, she rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath. Her leg swings over Steve’s waist, hovering over his lap.

“You’re the worst.”

“Oh, truly the worst of the worst,” he teases, hands sliding up her legs. “Relax, s’okay, I got you.”

She stays propped up on her knees, shaking her head, “M’gonna be too heavy—“

Steve narrows his stare, fingers digging into the plush of her thighs; curving his hands to her backside, he cups her ass, pushing forward. Frankie stumbles a bit on her knees, catching herself as she plants her palm onto the pillow, next to his head. 

Faces almost touching, he asks again, “You trust me?”

Biting her lip, Frankie nods hesitantly; she does, but she doesn’t trust herself to just… enjoy the moment.

“I trust you,” she answers, legs shaking as she positions her lower half above his face. Involuntarily, her hands cover over her face, believing she’s shielding herself from how silly she must look from this angle.

Steve, of course, won’t have it.

“Honey, you really don’t have to hide from me.” Steve reaches up, gently pulling her hands away from her face. When she scrunches her eyes shut, he leans back into the pillow, hands caressing her thighs. He tries breaking the tension with a lazy joke, “What, is the view really that bad from up there?”

Frankie’s eyes shoot open, feeling awful for even making Steve joke like that. She shakes her head furiously, “No, no, oh my god, no fucking way.” Pouting at Steve, her heart melts, yet trying to steel itself all at once. “You just— you look like… you look so unreal, all the time, and I can’t imagine the view from down there’s very… nice.”

“Well, you’re not down here, are you?” He leaves languid, feathered kisses along her thighs, eyes fluttering shut as he groans, ever so softly. He nuzzles his face into the top of her thigh, just before it meets her core, relishing in her shaky breaths. “I’d stay down here forever, if you’d let me.”

“Or until one of us has muscle cramps?” Her teasing causes Steve to laugh against her, breath hot and heavy over her folds; the vibrations of his amusement taunt her, too. 

“Or that, sure.” Kissing her centre lightly, he smirks as she shudders, but then she’s hiding her face all over again. Steve grabs her hands with one of his, winding his long fingers around her wrists; it’s gentle, but it gets the point across. “What, do I have to pin your hands back, or something?”

Frankie’s eyes grow wide, blush radiating from her cheeks, down her body in record time. Involuntarily, her legs twitch, trying to squeeze together for some kind of relief, but her partner’s big fucking head is in the goddamn way.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face only grows by the second.

“You’re into that, huh?”

“I- well it’s— I’m— no, not really— it’s kinda just—“ Flustered, she huffs, “Oh, fuck you, Steve.”

“Anytime you want, honey.” Arms curling around her plush thighs, he splays his hands along her backside, kneading her flesh, inching her closer.

“Oh my god,” she pretends she doesn’t shudder the words out, forcing her eyes to roll, “I can see it now.”

“See what?”

“How fucking cocky you must’ve been in high school.”

Steve can’t even be bothered to argue that one. He only shrugs, makes a noise of indifference before kissing her core again. The sweet noise she fails to hide earns his smirk, urging him to continue.

“You wouldn’t have given me the time of day back then,” he truthfully points out, kissing away from her folds, down one thigh. He solemnly adds, “And honestly, I don’t think I would’ve let ya’ if you tried.”

Frankie pouts, “Why not? You’d be embarrassed to be seen with me?”

Steve’s hands caress up her hips, then backtrack down to her thighs. He leans back to shake his head. “No way. I mean you—“ he pauses to contemplate his words, afraid he’s conveying this incorrectly. “… You would’ve deserved way better than whatever the fuck kind of asshole I was back then.”

The pout on his partner’s face molds into an aching, empathetic expression. “Steve, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have joked like that—“

“S’true, though.” He shrugs against the backs of her thighs, reminding Frankie of the position they’re in. She begins to climb off of Steve, but he wraps his arms around her legs, holding her in place. “I’m just saying… glad you never met that version of me. You would’ve hated that guy.”

“Hate’s a strong word,” Frankie reminds him, gasping as he nudges his nose against her clit. “If I hated someone, I wanted to run over their feet with my wheelchair. So, rethink your words, Stevie.”

As he buries his face back into her, he laughs, tickling along the most sensitive spots. Frankie winds her fingers through his bed head, mewling from the sensation. Steve takes his time, kissing her folds with the same passion and tenderness when he kisses her lips; it’s not like they have anywhere to be today, and he could probably spend his morning underneath her, if not longer.

Losing herself in bliss, little by little, Frankie’s fears are overshadowed by pleasure, urging her to roll her hips against Steve’s tongue, rather than cower away in a useless shame.

Steve kneads the plush of her backside, huskily groaning as he guides her back and forth on his face. “Fuck… just like that, honey.” The lewd sounds of his tongue lapping up her slick goes straight to his cock, and he can’t handle it anymore. One hand leaves her body to stroke himself clumsily, bucking up into his hand and moaning deeply against Frankie’s clit.

The jerking movements paired with his swift tongue break Frankie’s haze with curiosity. She glances back over her shoulder, ready to drool as she watches Steve fuck his fist. Without much thought, she leans back, pushing his hand away to replace it with her own grip.

Her spine’s gonna kill her for this one, but it’s worth it when his angelic moan vibrates against her folds.

“H- honey, you— ah!” He thrusts so hard, most of his lower half twitches upward, save for his heels digging into the bed. “You don’t— s’gonna hurt you later,” he pants, unable to hold his hips against the bed. “Baby, don’t—“

“I’m okay, promise,” and really, she is; the soreness that’ll set in later will be a walk in the park compared to her worst pain days. Slowing her hand, she asks, “Is this okay? I can stop.”

“Feels good, but this is about you,” Steve shivers as her grip slides up and down his shaft, picking up speed again. Through a heavy lidded stare, he admires the view from below, in awe of Frankie as she rolls her hips on her own, self-doubt falling away.  He tries to keep up, only left to pant and whimper into her core, “Oh… fuck…”

His cock kicks in her grip, earning a devilish grin from his partner. “Close?” Steve only nods, eyes fluttering shut as he fucks into her fist, fervently sucking on her clit as he slips a long, thick digit into her. She keens as his finger curls just right, reaching that delicious spot that’s begging to be touched. “Wh- what if I just… stopped?”

Steve’s eyes fly open, a muffled “nuh-uh,” vibrating around her sensitive nub. 

“‘Cause I think you could totally come untouched,” she taunts, ready to release his length when he reaches his free hand up to her chest, toying with her pierced nipple. That playful smirk of hers falls as she gasps, “You’re evil. Wish I- I never told you ‘bout… oh, god…”

Only shrugging, Steve chuckles while sliding another finger inside, eyes glued to Frankie as she falls apart on his fingers and tongue. Her jaw falls slack while her head lolls back, trembling as she finally reaches the edge. Her hand has long forgotten pleasuring him, but he’s perfectly fine with that, as long as it means making her a total wreck like this.

“F- fuck!” Frankie rides Steve shamelessly, drowning in ecstasy with a shattered moan, racking through her body as it gracelessly carries her to her high. Her hand flies up to slap over her own mouth, but Steve abandons her chest, tugging her hand away, silently demanding to hear her.

“Atta’ girl,” he praises, still working diligently to guide her through the bliss, all the way until the end. The way she chants his name breathlessly, clenching her thighs around his head, it’s enough to make him come, too; untouched, he spirals into pleasure, just like Frankie wanted.

The aftershocks and fuzzy, floaty feeling she’s immersed in is enough to shove her shame and self-doubt aside; might as well take the chance before it vanishes.

Through labored breaths, she asks, “Can I ride you?” Steve chokes on air, taken aback by the sudden shift.

“Not complaining, but where the hell is this coming from?”

She ignores him, trying to grip onto the confidence before it slips away, “Yes or no?”

“Well I mean, y- yeah, f’course, but I— it might be a bit ‘til… y’know…”

“S’okay,” she shimmies down his body, sinking onto his half-hard cock, grinning as Steve twitches and whimpers. Frankie smirks down at him while blushing. She leans down, wrapping herself around him, comfortably seated on his length. “I’ll just keep ya’ warm ‘til then.”

Steve shudders a loud moan, managing quip, “I think you are the worst, not me.”

“Oh? I can get up—“

His arms wind around her waist, holding her in place, “Don’t you dare, Francesca.”

“M’kay,” she smirks, head tucked into his neck. “I’ll just wait then.”

Steve kisses the top of her head, sighing when he feels her flutter around his cock. 

“Thank you, Stevie,” Frankie sounds half-asleep, making him chuckle. She kisses his neck lazily, “You’re too good to me… love you.”

“No way, if anything, you’re the one who’s too good to me—“ His partner snores softly, while Steve laughs silently, shoulders shaking.

Well… that wore her out.

Frankie shifts, reminding Steve that she’s still warming him. He sucks in a sharp breath, doesn’t have the heart to wake her to move.

“Guess I deserve the karma, huh?” Lovingly, he holds her close, admiring the relaxed, peaceful state she’s melted into. He mindlessly traces patterns into her skin, avoiding sores and bruises from her flare. “Sweet dreams, ‘Key.”

Eventually, Steve drifts off, too, feeling lucky to love and be loved by someone so beautiful, inside and out.

 And he’ll take any chance to remind her of that.

[epiphainie]

this is one of those fic ideas i wanted to write for every ship i've ever been into so it will probably never happen but i'd like to have a silly story with 40 yo, single, lonely tommy kinard who's been down on his luck all his life - like i'm talking ridiculous levels of mom dying at childbirth, dad being terrible, horrifically unfortunate experience of the military, a series of failed jobs, a series of failed relationships, friendships never sticking for long, risks he takes always going south, somehow getting paper cuts through chainmail gloves, missing the bus while trying to avoid his daily encounter with the neighbor's dog etc. - one day opening the door of his downtrodden studio apartment to this beautiful man who stands there like a fucking angel. who looks at tommy with big apologetic eyes, red cheeks of shame, and twiddling thumbs of guilt and stutters, "so, uhm, i wish you didn't have to learn it this way but hi, i'm the guardian angel who, as it turns out, misplaced your files about four decades ago, and so uhm it just resurfaced, haha, and like yeah, i've been banished here for penance. i'll take the couch, it's fine."

[lulublack90]

Prompt 2 - Oyster

@wolfstarmicrofic June 2, word count 711

Previous part First part

They had a bit of free time while all the new campers got settled in before the next activity started, so they were all relaxing in their cabin. 

“What are we doing next?” Sirius asked from his bed where he was firing tiny bits of balled-up paper with an elastic band at James, who was giving as good as he got.

“Arts and crafts today, to ease in the newbies,” James replied, his paper missile pinging out of the elastic band and somehow lodging itself up Peter’s nose. “Oh, shit, sorry, Pete!” James put down his band and went to help Peter. Sirius looked at Remus and burst out laughing. Remus chuckled quietly. 

“They’d better have something good to do and not like last year,” Sirius said as he shot paper balls at the back of James’s head. 

“What did they do last year?” Remus asked, unable to help himself. Sirius jumped up from his bed and flopped beside Remus, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with his hand. 

“Ah, dear, dear, Remus. Last year they gave us oyster shells to paint as jewellery dishes and poor Peter here managed to break his and slice his fingers open with the sharp edge. Had to go to the hospital, didn’t you Pete?” Peter nodded and held up his right hand to show Remus the little scars that formed a perfect line across the lips of his fingers. 

“You seem to be a bit accident-prone,” Remus blurted out before he could stop himself. He sat horrified. He’d only just met these people.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Sirius snickered while Peter stuck his fingers up at him.

“Peter stay still,” James told Peter off as he turned his head back to where it had been. James put his hands on his hips and huffed, puffing out his lips as he tried to figure out how to get the paper out of Peter’s nose. 

“Has anyone got any tweezers?” Remus asked, looking at Sirius at the same time the other two did. 

“Why do you all assume I have tweezers?” Sirius pouted. “Oh, alright! They’re in my toiletry bag.” Remus’s eyes widened when he realised that Sirius expected him to go get them. When he didn't move, James went through to their little bathroom and grabbed them.

“Keep very still Petey,” James warned, his tongue already poking out of the corner of his mouth. 

“James, are you sure you can do this? Maybe I should go see Mrs Pomfrey,” Peter said, with a note of panic in his voice. 

“Pretty sure Pete,” James said as he moved the tweezers towards Peter's nose with a slightly shaky hand. Peter noticed. 

“Nope,” He said as he darted away from James. He jumped on Remus’s bed and hid behind him. “Remus, save me!” Remus got a sudden surge of courage and held out his hands for the tweezers. 

“Give them here, James. I’ll do it,” Peter didn’t look any happier about it. “Don’t worry, Peter,” Remus said kindly. “I’ve got a steady hand,” He held up his hand to show how it didn’t move. “Lie down, and I’ll have it out in a second.” Peter flopped back onto Remus’s bed. Remus tried to ignore the fact that everyone bar James was on his bed. He shook his head and moved closer to Peter’s face. 

He held the tweezers out and just as he was about to pluck the paper out of Peter’s nose, James sat on the bed, bouncing them. Remus froze. “You two,” He pointed at James and Sirius, “Off. Go and stand over there.” His bossy self took over. James and Sirius didn’t even question him and went and stood in the corner quietly. Remus turned around and in less than a second had the paper out. Peter hadn’t even noticed having his eyes screwed shut. “All done,” Remus smiled. “Now get off my bed,” He ordered, pushing Peter off his pillow. 

"You're brilliant, Remus," Sirius grinned as he bounced across the room, closely followed by James, and jumped straight back on Remus’s bed. Remus sighed, sensing this was going to become a regular occurrence. But he felt for the first time in his life he might finally have some friends. 

Next part

[orestesimp]

Rainy Night Patrol

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Miguel comes home after a night of patrolling with a lot of pent up tension to find you sound asleep.

Content: Somnophilia, panty-tearing practises (in this fucking economy?!??! I know gurl) jerking off with panties kind of? overprotective Miguel is our favourite Miguel. Rough sex. Multiple orgasms and overstimulation (cause do I evern write anything else anymore?). Implied violence against random street criminals.

A/N: Pre-established relationship with pre-established consent for somnophilia.

Word Count: 4,800

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

Rainy nights in New York are the fucking worst.

It brings out the worst in people. Stressed-out bankers who will push old ladies out of their way to get to a seat on the subway. Drunken assholes who piss everywhere, making everything reek, and alleyway mugging seems to increase by a disproportionate amount whenever it's pouring.

It surprises Miguel that street robbery even happens outside of comic books anymore. Do these people not have a computer? Cybercrime is a thing. A successful phishing scam targeting a bank employee can net millions overnight.

Yet here Miguel is, headbutting this public nuisance for trying to rob and assault a sorority girl on her way home, fists eating into the man's face. Even though it is evident by now that there is no way the man has a fighting chance, he refuses to stop. He's hissing and spitting at Miguel, lunging at him with the ferociousness of a rabid racoon.

The easiest solution would be to bite and paralyze and call it a night. But from the reek of stale sweat and copious body Axe spray coming off of this asshole, Miguel has no desire to put any part of this man's body into his mouth.

So here Miguel is, putting this bargain-bin Sylvester Stallone wannabe in a headlock and slamming his head into a street lamp in an attempt to knock the man unconscious, instead of where he wants to be: home, in your questionably sized apartment and lumpy feeling bed.

Christ, he hates this city.

By the time it's all said and done, and everything is wrapped up, it's already past midnight. As he slinks in through the window sill into your bedroom, you're fast asleep.

You're lying on top of the quilts, the bedside lamp still on, which means you've been up waiting for him, even though you're supposed to have an early morning tomorrow. Something, something about how it's year-end and you have to present... something or the other.

It's... endearing that you still do that, try to wait up for him every night, even though you should know by now that more often than not, he'll be home much too late for you to still be awake.

Climbing inside the bedroom, the post-fight adrenaline is still surging through his veins. He's riled up, irritated. There's heat brandishing under his skin that is pushing at the edges begging for an outlet.

He glances in your direction. You look so soft in the dim bedroom light, half of your face buried into the pillow.

No, tonight is not the night. You need your sleep.

With a shake of his head, he walks over to his side of the bed, letting the Unstable Molecule fabric of his suit recede until he's left standing naked in the half-darkness of your bedroom.

Dragging away the sheet, he tucks it over you, you hum and shift in your sleep. Leg swinging Akimbo over to his side before he's even had the chance to lay down. The oversized sleep shirt does nothing to disguise the curves of your body, falling completely off one shoulder and riding up to reveal the tantalizing curve of your bare thigh.

Shit.

His mouth waters at the sight, cock half hard just from watching you. It's not helped by the adrenaline still buzzing in his head. It wouldn't take much to get him the rest of the way there.

Miguel groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the tension growing between his temples. How exactly is he supposed to be getting any sleep with you lying next to him, all soft heat and sweet little hums that make him want to grind up against you like a cat in heat?

The weight in the bed shifts as you roll back away from him. A quiet snore issues from where you’re digging your face deeper into the pillow, clearly exhausted. 

Fuck, guess he's just going to have to try. It'd be cruel to wake you now.

He slides into bed next to you, settling for the comforting warmth of you next to him, as he curls one arm around your waist and wraps himself around you. Burying his face into the warm nape of your neck and taking a deep inhale. The smell of your shampoo and soap that pleasantly lingers on his skin, washes away the memories of the stench of rain-soaked streets of this city, the disgusting smell of sulphur and piss.

New York throws a lot of stuff in his way. Muggers, arsonists, would-be murderers. It's nothing he can't handle. And he can handle what it throws at you too. Whether it is torrential rain or some freak force of nature threatening to put you in harm's way, it doesn't matter. He keeps you safe.  And despite all the close calls, you're still here. Still alive. Still his.

His hand slides over the curve of your thigh at the thought, needing to feel your warmth underneath his fingertips. Goosebump prickles your skin at his caress, and he watches the way your back arches, pressing into his touch, even in your sleep.

A slow steady warmth blooms in his chest at your reaction. It's a heady blend of protectiveness but also pride. The universe itself can throw any tantrum it wants. He'll protect you from it all.

Your eyes stay shut, still clearly asleep, but your mouth parts with a needy hum, and Miguel gives you what you want, easing your body back into his arms. Like clockwork, you snuggle back against him, and the slight wiggle of your ass brushing against his front ensures there's no half about how hard is dick is anymore.

Needy heat rolls off his back in waves, and he slides one hand under the hem of your shirt and up along the softness of your stomach. If you were awake, you would be leaping away and smacking him for tickling you. But now the touch just makes you stretch and let out a contented little hum, your nipples already drawn up tight and hard for him by the time he reaches them.

Why are you so reactive when you're sound asleep? Part of him thinks you must be doing this on purpose; there's no way you can't be when he feels you shift again, the soft lace of your panties brushing up against his aching cock.  He palms your hip, following the edge of the lace down over the curve of your ass, then hesitates.

You only pull out the lacey panties when you really want to rile him up. Saving them for special occasions because (as you never fail to mention while scolding him whenever he's ripped another pair in the heat of the moment) 'fancy underwear isn't cheap!' One of these lacey thrilly little things easily would set you back at $80 a pop. Miguel isn't exactly hard pressed for cash, but he sees your point.

Still Miguel doesn't know what he is supposed to do when you keep pressing back against him the way you are at the moment. He grits his teeth, jaw muscles protesting as he grinds them together, knowing fully well he's fighting a losing battle. It’s really only a matter of time. Miguel isn't a fucking saint, and right now the need riding the length of his spine is burning hot enough to incinerate him.

Oh fuck it!

Hooking a finger around the hem of your panties, he eases them to the side, and his hips hitch forward, rubbing himself against you. Sharp pleasure skitters along his back, and he has to bite down the groan in his throat. He draws back, and does it again, letting his cock ride along the curve of your ass. Letting his aching, leaking cock settle between your cheeks, the delicate lace trapping him in place against you.

You’re definitely gonna bitch at him later for stretching out the elastic. But that's okay, you'll forgive him, the way you always do.

He holds there, gently rolling his hips, doesn't go too forceful or too eager with his thrusts, some half-formed intention to not wake you. Thighs shaking as he savors the contrast between your smooth skin and the textured lace. He tells himself that he should take it slow and not disrupt your sleep. But Miguel's never been a patient man.

His hands are already moving, reaching, before his brain has anything to say about it, fingers hitching your panties even further to the side, and fuck the elastic, he'll buy you a new pair. Shit, he'll buy you twenty new pairs. A whole fucking store of panties if that's what you want.

He pulls back, presses forwards again, cock sliding between those plush thighs, the head, slick with precome, gliding smoothly against you.

And fuuuuuck.

He drops his forehead against your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut to ground himself. He can feel how wet you are, drenching his cock as he skims the hard length over and through your slick folds. You're warm and inviting and oh so fucking tempting. You may still be fast asleep, but your body is telling him it’s oh so very ready for him.

God you feel so fucking good.

Angling his hips, he slides the sensitive head of his dick against your slick folds, notching himself against your entrance, gritting his teeth against the way your pretty pussy clenches at the threat of invasion. He holds himself there, breath hissing between his teeth as he teases you both, with tiny, incremental movements forward, in, and back.

Pleasure swirls through him, hot and heady, his ears buzzing with electricity. He's lost in it, but not so far gone that he misses the noises you're making, your reaction. Those little sounds of dissatisfaction, the way your back arches, pressing your hips back against him.  All of it telling him the same thing.

He presses his mouth to the corner of your shoulder. Has to hide the feral grin threatening to break out, because for all his vague intentions of letting you rest, part of him has been waiting for this. Part of him has been aiming for this exact outcome.

You. Awake. Fully ready to take him.

He presses forward again, just far enough that the head of his cock slips inside you, and is rewarded by your body clenching warm and wet around him.

Fuck, you feel too good. You always fucking do. It punches the breath right out of his lungs, needy heat singing through his veins and along every nerve ending in his body until he goes dizzy with it. There are advantages and disadvantages to enhanced senses, and right now, he's fully feeling both. Needs to get on with it, because he intends to have you coming on his cock at least twice before he's done.

Hooking an arm around your waist, he cups your mound. He stays there, pressing with his fingers and the heel of his palm, until he's rewarded by your hips hitching forward into the pressure, then rocking back again, causing you to sink down further onto him. A gasp and a small soft moan falls from between your lips.

He does it again, encouraging you to rock forward and then back again, taking him deeper each time. Inch by brain wracking inch, you take him in. He can feel your tight little pussy stretch around him, adjusting to his cock, as he presses your hips back and back and back until you're taking him all down to the root. Until he’s buried as deep as he can go.

Somehow it's not enough. Not when he's waited this long.

He centers three fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, resting the heel of his hand just above your pubic bone, and then he presses down.

Your pussy clenches tight, and you jolt hard against him, gasping awake with a breathy 'oh' that does funny things to his brain. Makes rational thought skitter away from him, and when he hears his name on a long gorgeous drawn out moan everything inside him roars to attention.

"Miguel."

Satisfaction thrums under his skin. You’re awake, and he wants you awake for this. Wants you to know exactly who is about to fuck your brains out.

"That's right, nena," he croons, easing his hips back, and skimming his lips up from your shoulder to nip at your exposed neck, careful not to break the skin, relishing the sound of the perfect little gasp of yours. "I'm right here. You ready for my big cock, baby?"

"It– mmmmmm– It feels…" you mumble, voice still stumbling and sleepy.

He slams back into you just as you're trying to find your words, taking a bit too much pleasure in interrupting them when he hears you whine out a breathy, "Fuck, fuck!"

"What's that?" Miguel raises a hand to your chin, cradling it in his palm, tilting you back until he can press his lips to the edge of your jaw. "What does it feel like, tell me."

"Fee-feels like– ngh– like I'm already– taking your big cock." Your words are staggered, stuttered out each time he fucks his cock into you, and Miguel smiles.

"You are," he tell you, "You're taking me so well, nena."

It's a struggle for him to get the words out smoothly. He’s rolling his hips at a steady pace, fucking you in earnest now that you're awake to appreciate it. Every slick slide into your needy little pussy has pleasure burning sharp and insistent through his nervous system, overwhelming and inescapable.

He pauses, moving his hand away from your clit for a second, and grins when you whine and clutch at his arm.

"Patience," he scolds you "I've got you. I'm just gonna..."

He tucks his hand under your panties, and you stiffen against him, making a sound like an outraged cat. He knows exactly what you're going to say even before the words leave your lips, so he ignores you, sliding his fingers along the boundary where you're stretched so wide around the base of him, getting them nice and slick.

"You didn't take off my panties!? Miguel, these are my good wuh– oh fuck."

The words cut off when he locates your hard little clit, settling two fingers over it this time, one on each side, the way he knows always drives you crazy.

"What was that, nena?" he bites back a smile, "Something you wanted to say, huh?"

You suck in a breath, but he doesn't give you a chance to answer, fucking into you hard, and wastes no time resuming his former rhythm. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken moan.

"Sorry, baby," he teases, "I didn't quite catch that."

You don't answer. There's no way you're going to, not with the way your body is drawing up tight, gasping for breath as if he's driving every last ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

He knows your body as well as he knows his own, and he has you caught now, like spider with a fly in its web. He keeps holding you tight against him, hips angled to drive up against just the right spot inside you, the one that has you sobbing and clawing at him with every thrust, each one forcing you forward against the fingers he has bracketing your sensitive little clit.

No more words from that smart mouth of yours now, only gasps and whimpers and cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name.

You're clawing at his forearm, breath stuttering in and out of your lungs in staggered gulps. Your heart beating loud and fast and alive in your chest, and he can tell that you're close now. He can feel it in the way your tight little pussy clenches and quivers around him, clutching at his cock like it wants to hold him close, closer, closest.

"Mi– Mi– Mig–" The sound stutters out of you in time with his thrusts, high pitched and desperate—cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name, more whine than words. Pride swells in Miguel's chest at seeing you, hearing you like this, strung out and stuttering on his cock, begging him for your pleasure.

Pleasure that only he can give you.

"That's right, nena." He fucks into you hard. Can feel you clench around him relentlessly.

"I'm right here."

You're squeezing him so goddamned tight.

"Fucking you."

It takes everything in him to hold to the same angle, the same pace. To give you just what you need, the way only he can give it to you.

"Making you come," he bites out.

You writhe against him, whining louder now, sweet noises growing higher pitched.

"Come for me, nena," he demands, and you shudder against him, your voice rising into a wail.

Your hot little cunt clamps down tight, fluttering around him, and bright spots of pain bloom into pleasure as your fingernails dig into his arm, drawing blood. Your pretty eyes flutter shut as the whole of your body tenses under him.

Fuck, you're coming.

"That's– fuck– That's it," he grits out, slowing his thrusts, rocking against you gently to help draw out your orgasm. To buy himself a freaking second so you don’t take him over the edge with you. He keeps the soft rolling rhythm until the wracked shivers seizing your body settles. Counting down the seconds until the grip of your nails into his biceps is easing, and then…

"Again," he demands, snapping his hips forward, fucking into you hard, "Come for me again, nena."

Miguel locks his arm in place, holding you at the angle that will let him hit that perfect spot inside you every time, the one that makes your eyes roll back in your head, and he intends to have you seeing stars. He hears your breath leave you with a strangled noise, feels your pussy clench tight and perfect around his cock, and grins through gritted teeth.

If he times it juuuust right, he can send you over the edge a second time. He's done it before, forcing you into another orgasm before you've even come down from the first, and he’s not above using his enhanced reflexes to make you do it again.

And right now? The way you're writhing against him, hands and arms and pussy clutching at him, like you're trying to pull him closer—pull him in, despite the fact that he's already fucking you as deep as he can go. All of that tells him his timing was spot-fucking-on today.

It doesn't take long. It never does when he makes you come this way. And thank fuck for that, because the feel of you clenching around him is almost enough to take him over the edge with you. He has to grit his teeth as he slows to the gentle rocking rhythm you like best when you’re coming. His free hand fisting in the bed sheets, claws digging into them in a way he knows will earn him another scolding later. But R.I.P. your damn linens. Better them than him. You may have come twice, but Miguel's not ready to be done with you just yet.

This time, when you come down, he keeps things slow and gentle until you go loose and boneless. Forces himself to slows further until every muscle in your body melts under his grip. You sink down into the mattress with a little sigh, like you're ready to drift back off to sleep just like this, safe and snug in his arms, his hard cock still buried inside of you.

And if he wasn't so hard up, skin crawling with need and desperation, maybe he'd let you.

But that’s not happening tonight.

Unfortunately for you, Miguel's too hungry for you. Starving. Wants to lick and bite and swallow you down to the very marrow of your bones. 

He's been good. He's been patient. Has held himself back while he made you come. Twice. Satisfaction burns bright in his chest, almost as bright as his need for you. Two fucking times he's gritted his teeth, holding back his own orgasm by the skin of his fucking fangs as that pretty little pussy came around his cock, squeezing him so tight that for a second he was sure he'd black out and see god behind his eyelids.

Miguel is out of patience. 

Any intention to go easy on you because you need the rest is gone. Any consideration for your early morning tomorrow has flown the nest.

Hands on each side of your hips, he rolls the two of you, easily flipping you forward onto your stomach and drags you down along the bed. You stay limp and relaxed, as you let him move you like a ragdoll, positioning you the way he wants, head and chest resting against the matress, ass in the air.

Once he's got you where he wants you, he takes just a second to admire you, taking in the way those pretty lace panties highlight the curves of your ass but do nothing to conceal your slick center, pulled to the side as they are, leaving your pussy fully exposed, all pretty and puffy from how well he's fucked you and glistening in the low light.

You shiver under his heavy gaze, and he can see the way your pussy clenches, can see how wet you are, shining slick, halfway down your thighs.

Miguel must've taken too long with his one second. A soft inquisitive "hmmmmm?" emerges from where your head is buried in the pillow, and you rock your hips gently side to side.

His dick jerks at the obvious invitation. Precome oozes from the tip, and he takes himself in hand, lets himself stroke once to spread it along his length, as though he wasn't dripping with you already.

"What's that, nena?" he bites out. He's so fucking hard for you, cock aching from holding back, but even now, he can't help but tease and goad you. "You want more? You didn't get fucked good enough already? Does that pretty pussy want my cock?"

"Mmmmm.... yes," you say, one hand outstretched behind you, making a 'gimme' motion at him.

The gesture is ridiculous, but he can't help the way it makes his chest pull tight. You're always so ready to have him, no matter how much he tires you out. Suddenly, he can't wait another fucking second to be inside you again. 

He starts to line himself up, the wet heat of you just kissing the head of his dick when you tense up and make a sound of alarm. Fear stings his spine, and he freezes.

"You okay, nena?" he asks, pulling away from you, suddenly terrified that he's hurt you somehow.

Miguel has always been big—even before the "accident" that changed him—and he's bigger now, exponentially stronger.  He’d thought he was being careful, but fuck, it'd be all too easy for him to let his strength get away from him, to go harder than you can handle.

"Are you hurt? Was I- Was I too rough?"

Because he forgets sometimes. Forgets that others don't heal at an accelerated rate like he does. That your body isn't protected by enhanced endurance that lets him walk off falling from a building, barely feeling the six broken ribs and fractured arm that results.

It's why he needs to protect you. 

Always. 

Unlike him, you can be hurt. Can be broken, can be killed. And if he’s hurt you, then he–

You make a negative sound, shaking your head.

  "No, you big doofus," you mumble out into the pillow, and Miguel's heart slowly starts to ease its way out of his throat. "The panties. Take them off first. Don't want them to tear."

He stops, blinking in confusion as his eyes narrow down at you.

Your. Fucking. Panties!?

Really? His mouth curls down into a peeved frown. That's your fucking priority right now? After he's fucked you silly, made you come twice the way only he can?

"You want me to take your panties off, nena?" he demands, tone low and harsh, edging forward on the bed until he’s looming over you.

"Yes," you confirm. "They’re my last good pair." You’re nodding your head energetically in a way that tells him he hasn't done nearly as good of a job of tiring you as he thought. He’ll have to fix that.

With a snarl, he lances the crotch of your panties with a single claw, ripping them off your body.

"Miguel!" you squeak, clearly not expecting that, your voice pitched with disbelief, "Did you just–?"

"They were in the way," he manages to rasp out, lining himself up and pressing forward, unceremoniously shoving inside.

The tight, hot clench of your pretty pussy is blindingly good. It always fucking is. And just like always, Miguel is lost to it. He holds there, buried as deep in you as he can get, shuddering against you. He's damn lucky that extraordinary stamina comes bundled along with super-senses, or he'd probably come every damn time he slips inside you. It'd be all over at the first thrust.

Fuck, he has to move. He pulls out, and you gasp and claw at the sheets, shuddering under him as he starts to fuck you again. Obscene wet, squelching sounds fill the room, along with the echoing slap of flesh on flesh as he fills you over and over and over. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking perfect. He grits his teeth, trying to get a handle on the feeling, but it’s overwhelming. 

Your hot, perfect little pussy clenches and flexes around his dick, and a blissful burn sears against his spine, streaking white and hot with pleasure. A tell-tale sign, warning him of what's to come if he doesn't stop. He sucks in a breath, trying to stave it off, barely hanging on to his control by the tips of his claws because he wants to feel you come around him one more time.

Because twice isn’t enough. Three times won’t be either. Nor would four, five, ten. Miguel’s greedy for you. Selfish. No matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will always want more of you.

More of your soft body pressed up against every inch of his. More of your eyes looking back at him, glazed over as if you have no coherent thoughts left in that pretty head of yours. He wants all of that and more. Another orgasm. Another fuck. Another kiss. One more breath. Just more, more, more.

He curls his hand around your throat, feels the chaotic race of your pulse under his fingertips.

"Come for me, nena," he demands, "I need it. Need to feel you." 

He tilts your face up, your back arched like a bow towards him. So fragile. So trusting, that you let him do this to you. 

He dips down to claim your lips, snapping his hips into yours faster now. Ramping up the pace as he chases his inevitable climax, forcing you to yours. 

You whimper and keen with each thrust, eyes rolling wildly. Your mouth hangs open, panting out sweet, stuttered moans that he swallows in a bruising kiss. Your whole body tenses under him, going rigid, then your pretty pussy starts clenching down around him as you come again.

This time, Miguel can't hold himself back. Doesn't even try. Lets himself succumb to the sight, the sounds, the smell, the feel of you surrounding him, coming for him. His stomach draws in tight, toes curling into the sheets, as he can feel his balls drawing up, cock swelling further as he manages a last few ragged thrusts. Then he’s tumbling over the edge with you, burying himself as deep as he can as the unforgiving bliss rises and spreads, blotting out everything else.

It's endless. Pulses after devastating pulse that won't stop. He comes and comes and comes, emptying himself inside of you until he's lightheaded, barely able to hold himself.

No amount of supernatural stamina can help him in this moment. Not when he can feel his spend filling you to capacity and more, so full that it starts leaking out of you, down the line of your thighs and onto his. His strength gives out, and he collapses into the bed, bringing you down with him.

The two of you lay there, trying to catch your breath. You’re trapped under his weight, your small back heaving under his larger chest, sweat slicking your skin to his. He has no desire to move. Shifts slightly to the side, a concession to your need to breathe, but refuses to go farther than that. He wants to keep you right here, covered and cocooned by his body. 

You tilt your head until you can peek over your shoulder at him. There's a look in your eyes, one that he has only ever seen on you. One just for him, filled with exasperated fondness, heat and loving familiarity. One he wouldn’t give up for anything.

"You're getting me new panties."

A warm huff of laughter escapes him. The bright warm glow in his chest spreads outwards, filling him with contentment.

"Sure, nena."

"And coffee in the morning," you add.

He hums in agreement because that's fair. You're going to be in zombie mode otherwise.

"And cupcakes for breakfast," you finish triumphantly.

Miguel turns his head to observe you, the way you're trying to hide that satisfied grin into the pillow to not betray how fucking over the moon you are right now after he's fucked you silly.

Smartass. Always pushing your damn luck. But it's not like he's going to ever say no to you is it?

He puts on a show of sighing loudly with mock exasperation. "From Gladis, yeah?”.

You nod into your pillow.

"Mmhmm."

He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, circling his arm around your waist, easily pulling you to his side.

The rain is still pouring down outside, but here in bed with your warm body pressed up against his side, the sound of it pitter-pattering against the window is almost soothing. He can feel his eyes slipping closed as it lulls him off to sleep. 

The rain isn’t so bad when you’re warm and safe in his arms. Nothing is, as long as you’re here with him. 

He’ll keep you safe. 

Always.

Credits and Dedications: I have to give so so so so much credit to my clown-in-crime @thirstworldproblemss poor woman doesn't even go here, and spent the whole of her evening writing porn to me in my DMs. 90% of the porny parts have been written by her. So for all those who enjoyed this, please go to her inbox and send her much deserved love!!!

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[pucksandpower]

War Is Over

Lewis Hamilton x Rosberg!Reader

Summary: Lewis parks his car … right into his best friend-turned-nemesis’ little sister (and somehow reunites Brocedes in the process)

Warnings: descriptions of serious injury

Note: the fact that he not only won a race again but it was his home race … this calls for a Lewis Hamilton fic 🥹

The Monaco sun glints off sleek sports cars lining the streets as Lewis navigates his Mercedes through the winding roads. He’s running late for dinner with some sponsors and the traffic is only making things worse.

Lewis mutters under his breath, “Come on, come on. Just need to park this thing ...”

He spots an open space in front of the restaurant and starts to maneuver in, glancing at his watch. The ticking seconds only increase his frustration.

“Bloody hell, why is parking always such a nightmare here?”

Lewis throws the car into reverse, not bothering to look behind him. He’s done this a thousand times before. What could possibly go wrong?

The sickening thud comes a split second before he slams on the brakes. His heart leaps into his throat as he whips around, praying he just hit a trash bin or something.

But the crumpled form on the ground is undeniably human.

“Oh God, oh God, no ...” Lewis fumbles with his seatbelt, hands shaking as he bursts out of the car. “Please be okay, please be okay ...”

He drops to his knees beside the prone figure, a young woman with long hair obscuring her face. Blood is already pooling beneath her head.

“Miss? Can you hear me?” Lewis gently brushes the hair back, and his world stops.

It’s you. Nico’s little sister. The girl he’s known since she was in pigtails, cheering from the sidelines at their early karting races.

Lewis’ jaw drops open as the full horror of what he’s done sinks in. “Y/N? Oh God, Y/N, please wake up!”

He cradles your head, heedless of the blood staining his designer shirt. Your eyes remain closed, skin alarmingly pale.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Lewis shouts, his voice cracking with panic. “Please, somebody help!”

A crowd starts to gather, murmurs of shock and recognition rippling through them. Lewis barely notices, focused solely on your still form.

“Y/N, come on, open your eyes. Please, you have to be okay,” he pleads, gently patting your cheek. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I swear I didn’t mean to ...”

Your eyelids flutter, a soft groan escaping your lips. Lewis nearly sobs with relief.

“That’s it, that’s it. Can you hear me? It’s Lewis. You’re going to be alright.”

Your eyes open, unfocused and confused. “Lewis? What ... what happened?”

“Don’t try to move, okay? There was an accident. Help is on the way.”

You try to sit up, wincing in pain. “My head ...”

“Shh, just stay still. I’ve got you.” Lewis supports your shoulders, keeping you from moving too much.

“Did ... did you hit me with your car?” Your voice is small, disbelieving.

Lewis swallows hard. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t see you, I swear. God, Y/N, I would never ...”

You manage a weak smile. “Always knew you’d be the death of me, Hamilton.”

Despite everything, Lewis can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t joke about that. You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry to ruin your evening,” you mumble, eyes starting to drift closed again.

“Hey, hey, stay with me.” Lewis gently taps your cheek. “Keep those eyes open, okay? Talk to me.”

You force your eyes open. “About what?”

“Anything. Tell me ... tell me what you’re doing in Monaco. Are you visiting Nico?”

You shake your head slightly, then wince. “No, I ... I moved here. Got a job at the yacht club.”

“Really? That’s great. When did that happen?”

“Few months ago. Needed ... needed a change of scenery.”

Lewis nods, desperately trying to keep you engaged. “I get that. Monaco’s beautiful. Although the parking situation leaves something to be desired,” he adds wryly.

You manage a weak laugh, then grimace. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Lewis glances around anxiously. “Where’s that damn ambulance?”

As if on cue, sirens wail in the distance. Lewis breathes a sigh of relief.

“Help’s coming, Y/N. Just hang on a little longer, okay?”

You nod slightly, eyes becoming unfocused again. “Lewis?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell Nico.”

Lewis’ heart clenches. “Y/N ...”

“Please. He’ll kill you. And then me. For being stupid enough to walk behind a car without looking.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Lewis insists. “I should have checked my mirrors. I was distracted, rushing ...”

You shake your head stubbornly. “Promise me. Don’t tell him.”

Lewis hesitates. “Y/N, I can’t just ...”

“Promise,” you repeat, gripping his arm with surprising strength.

Lewis sighs. “Okay, okay. I promise. But he’s going to find out eventually.”

“Let me handle it. When I’m not ... you know. Bleeding on the pavement.”

The ambulance pulls up, paramedics jumping out. Lewis reluctantly moves aside to let them work, hovering anxiously.

“Sir, can you tell us what happened?” One of the paramedics asks as they begin assessing your injuries.

Lewis runs a hand through his hair. “I ... I hit her with my car. I was backing up and didn’t see her. It was an accident, I swear.”

The paramedic nods, focused on taking your vitals. “Miss, can you tell me your name?”

“Y/N Rosberg,” you mumble.

The paramedic’s eyes widen slightly in recognition, but he remains professional. “Alright, Y/N. We’re going to get you to the hospital. Just try to stay still for me.”

As they prepare to move you onto a stretcher, Lewis steps forward. “Can I ride with her?”

The paramedic hesitates. “Are you family?”

“No, but I’m ... I’m responsible for this. Please, I need to make sure she’s okay.”

You reach out weakly, grasping Lewis’ hand. “Let him come. He’s ... he’s family.”

The paramedic nods. “Alright, but stay out of the way.”

As they load you into the ambulance, Lewis climbs in beside you, still holding your hand. The doors slam shut and the sirens wail as they speed towards the hospital.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lewis says softly.

You give his hand a weak squeeze. “Couldn’t let you ... sulk all night. You’d probably ... crash into a street lamp next.”

Lewis chuckles despite himself. “There’s that Rosberg wit. You sound just like your brother sometimes.”

You grimace. “Don’t insult me when I’m down, Hamilton.”

The banter feels surreal given the circumstances, but Lewis is grateful for it. It keeps the crushing guilt at bay, if only for a moment.

“Y/N, I ...” he starts, then falters. “I don’t even know how to begin to apologize.”

You shake your head slightly. “Later. When everything ... stops spinning.”

Lewis nods, throat tight. He watches the paramedics work, feeling utterly helpless.

“Tell me something,” you murmur after a moment.

“What?”

“Anything. Distract me.”

Lewis thinks for a moment. “Did I ever tell you about the time Nico and I got lost in Ibiza?”

You manage a small smile. “No. Spill.”

As Lewis launches into the story, embellishing for comedic effect, he can’t help but marvel at your resilience. Here you are, cracking jokes and asking for stories while bleeding from a head wound he caused.

The guilt threatens to overwhelm him again, but he pushes it aside. Right now, keeping you conscious and calm is what matters. There will be time for apologies and recriminations later.

As the ambulance weaves through Monaco’s narrow streets, Lewis silently vows to make this right, whatever it takes. He may have destroyed his friendship with Nico, but he won’t let you pay the price for their rivalry.

The hospital looms ahead, and Lewis squeezes your hand. “We’re almost there, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

You meet his eyes, a flicker of something — trust? forgiveness? — passing between you. “I know,” you whisper. “I’ve got my guardian angel, after all. Even if he is a bit rubbish at parking.”

Lewis laughs, the sound catching in his throat. As they wheel you into the emergency room, he realizes with startling clarity that nothing will ever be the same after tonight.

But looking at your brave smile as the doctors surround you, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, that might not be such a bad thing.

***

The steady beep of the heart monitor fills the hushed hospital room. Lewis sits hunched in an uncomfortable chair beside your bed, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. The stark white bandage wrapped around your head is a constant reminder of his guilt.

A nurse pops her head in. “Mr. Hamilton? There’s someone here to see-”

She’s cut off as Nico barges past her, his face a mask of fury. “You son of a bitch.“

Nico’s fist is already swinging towards Lewis’ face when a doctor in a white coat steps between them. “Gentlemen! This is a hospital, not a boxing ring!”

Nico’s momentum carries him forward, nearly stumbling into the doctor. He catches himself, chest heaving as he glares daggers at Lewis.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nico snarls.

Lewis stands, hands raised placatingly. “Nico, I can explain-”

“Explain? Explain how you nearly killed my sister?” Nico’s voice rises, causing you to stir in the bed.

The doctor clears his throat. “Mr. Rosberg, I presume? I’m Dr. Moreau. Perhaps we should step outside to discuss your sister’s condition.”

Nico hesitates, clearly torn between getting information and pummeling Lewis. Finally, he nods curtly. “Fine. But this isn’t over, Hamilton.”

As they step into the hallway, Lewis sinks back into his chair, running a hand over his face. He glances at you, relieved to see you’ve settled back into sleep.

In the corridor, Dr. Moreau speaks in low, measured tones. “Mr. Rosberg, your sister suffered a severe concussion and a fractured skull. There was some internal bleeding, but we’ve managed to stabilize that.”

Nico’s knees go weak, and he leans against the wall for support. “Oh God ...”

“She also has three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and various cuts and bruises,” the doctor continues. “Frankly, it’s a miracle she wasn’t more seriously injured. The impact could easily have been fatal.”

Nico slides down the wall, sitting heavily on the floor. “She ... she almost died?”

Dr. Moreau nods gravely. “It was touch and go for a while. But she’s young and strong. With time and proper care, we expect her to make a full recovery.”

Nico buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. After a moment, he looks up, eyes red-rimmed. “Can I see her?”

“Of course. But please, try to stay calm. She needs rest.”

Nico nods, pulling himself to his feet. He takes a deep breath before re-entering the room.

Lewis stands as Nico approaches the bed. “Nico, I-”

“Save it,” Nico snaps, but there’s less venom in his voice now. He gently takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.

Your eyes flutter open. “Nico?” You mumble groggily.

“Hey, little sis,” Nico says softly, managing a weak smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a car,” you deadpan.

Lewis winces, but Nico actually chuckles. “Well, your sense of humor is intact, at least.”

You try to sit up, grimacing in pain. Lewis and Nico both move to help, then freeze, glaring at each other.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Both of you, help me up. And then explain why you look ready to kill each other. Again.”

With their combined efforts, they manage to prop you up against the pillows. You look expectantly between them.

Nico breaks first. “How can you even ask that? He nearly killed you!”

“It was an accident,” you insist.

“An accident?” Nico scoffs. “He hit you with his car!”

“Which I’m pretty sure he didn’t do on purpose,” you retort. “Right, Lewis?”

Lewis nods emphatically. “God, no. Y/N, I swear, I never saw you. I was distracted, rushing ... but I would never intentionally hurt you. You have to believe that.”

Nico’s jaw clenches. “Maybe not intentionally. But your carelessness nearly cost my sister her life. How am I supposed to forgive that?”

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Lewis says quietly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself. But Y/N is the one who was hurt. Shouldn’t it be her choice?”

You nod, wincing at the movement. “Exactly. And I choose to forgive you, Lewis. It was an accident. A stupid, awful accident, but still an accident.”

Nico shakes his head in disbelief. “Y/N, you can’t be serious. You’re lying in a hospital bed because of him!”

“And he’s been by my side ever since,” you counter. “He rode in the ambulance with me, held my hand through all the tests and scans. He’s barely left this room in hours.”

Lewis looks down, uncomfortable with the praise. “It was the least I could do.”

Nico runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “That doesn’t change what happened.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you agree. “But it shows he cares. That he’s taking responsibility.”

“I’ll pay for all her medical expenses,” Lewis adds quickly. “And anything else she needs for her recovery. It’s the least I can do.”

Nico snorts. “You think you can just throw money at this and make it go away?”

“No!” Lewis insists. “I know nothing can undo what happened. But I want to help however I can.”

You reach out, grabbing both their hands. “Listen to me, both of you. I’m tired, I’m in pain, and I don’t have the energy for your macho posturing right now.”

They both have the grace to look ashamed.

“Nico, I love you, but you need to calm down,” you continue. “Lewis made a mistake, a big one. But he’s trying to make amends. And frankly, I need both of you right now. I can’t deal with you at each other’s throats on top of everything else.”

Nico’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just ... when I got that call, saying you were in the hospital ... I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

You squeeze his hand. “I know. But I’m okay. Or I will be. And having you two fighting isn’t going to help me get better any faster.”

Lewis clears his throat. “She’s right. Nico, I know you have every right to hate me right now. But can we please call a truce? For Y/N’s sake?”

Nico hesitates, clearly torn. Finally, he nods stiffly. “Fine. A truce. But only for Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you sigh, relaxing back against the pillows. “Now, can one of you please get me some water? And maybe sneak in some real food? I’m starving and the hospital jello isn’t cutting it.”

Lewis jumps up. “I’ll go. Nico, you stay with her. I’ll be right back.”

As Lewis hurries out, Nico settles into the chair beside your bed. “You sure you’re okay, little sis?”

You manage a small smile. “I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “When have you been worse than having a cracked skull and broken ribs?”

“Remember when I was eight and fell out of that tree in the backyard?”

Nico chuckles. “God, I thought Mama was going to have a heart attack. You were so stubborn, insisting you could climb higher than me.”

“Still can,” you tease.

“Maybe hold off on the tree climbing for a while, yeah?”

You pretend to pout. “Spoilsport.”

The banter feels good, normal. For a moment, you can almost forget you’re in a hospital bed.

Nico’s expression turns serious. “Y/N, are you really okay with forgiving Lewis so easily? You don’t have to, you know. Not for my sake or anyone else’s.”

You sigh. “I know. And believe me, I’m not thrilled about the whole getting hit by a car thing. But Nico, you should have seen his face when he realized it was me. He was devastated.”

“He should be,” Nico grumbles.

“I’m not saying there won’t be consequences,” you continue. “But I don’t believe for a second he meant to hurt me. And holding onto anger isn’t going to help me heal any faster.”

Nico studies your face for a long moment. “When did you get so wise, little sister?”

You grin. “I’ve always been the smart one in the family. You were just too busy crashing karts to notice.”

Nico laughs, then sobers. “I was so scared, Y/N. When they called and said you were in the hospital ... all I could think was that I couldn’t lose you.”

You squeeze his hand. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. It’ll take more than Lewis Hamilton’s terrible parking skills to take out a Rosberg.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Nico says, but he’s smiling.

Lewis returns then, arms laden with bags. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I got a bit of everything. Sandwiches, fruit, some pasta salad ... oh, and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”

You beam at him. “My hero.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but there’s less hostility in it now. “Is this really the time for sweets?”

Lewis grins sheepishly. “Hey, chocolate has healing properties. I read that somewhere.”

“Sounds like solid medical advice to me,” you chime in, already reaching for a candy bar.

As Lewis unpacks the food, a tentative peace settles over the room. It’s fragile, built on shared concern for you rather than any real reconciliation between the two men. But it’s a start.

You watch them, noting how they unconsciously mirror each other’s movements as they fuss over arranging the food on your tray. For all their differences, for all the bad blood between them, there’s still an underlying connection there. Years of friendship and rivalry can’t be erased so easily.

“You know,” you say around a mouthful of sandwich, “this whole arch-enemies thing you two have going on is getting a bit old.”

They both look at you, startled.

“I mean, come on,” you continue. “You were best friends for years. You’ve known each other longer than most marriages last. Is it really worth throwing all that away over some stupid trophies?”

Nico frowns. “Y/N, it’s more complicated than that-”

“Is it, though?” You interrupt. “Because from where I’m sitting — or laying, I guess — it seems pretty simple. You both love racing. You’re both insanely competitive. And yeah, sometimes that caused friction. But at the end of the day, who else understands what you have been through better than each other?”

Lewis and Nico exchange uncomfortable glances.

“I’m not saying you have to be best buddies again,” you add. “But maybe ... I don’t know. Maybe you could try not actively hating each other? For my sake, if nothing else. I’m going to need both of you while I recover and I really don’t want to deal with World War III breaking out in my hospital room.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Finally, Lewis speaks up.

“She’s right,” he says quietly. “Nico, I know things have been ... difficult between us. And I know this situation hasn’t helped. But Y/N’s important to both of us. Can we at least try to be civil? For her?”

Nico hesitates, then nods slowly. “I suppose we can try. But Lewis, I swear, if anything like this ever happens again-”

“It won’t,” Lewis says firmly. “I promise you, Nico. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

You beam at them both. “See? Was that so hard? Now, who’s going to help me eat all this food? Doctor’s orders, you know. Got to keep my strength up.”

As they both reach for the tray, playfully battling over who gets to hand you what, you can’t help but smile. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot. But it’s a beginning.

And really, you think as you watch the two most important men in your life grudgingly share a bag of crisps, sometimes beginnings are the best part of any story.

***

f1-fanatic-2024

[Image: Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg exiting a hospital, walking side by side]

OMG IS THIS REAL??? Brocedes spotted together??? What year is it???

#what is happening #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

brocedes-no1-stan

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

I’m sorry, but are we just going to ignore the fact that they’re leaving a HOSPITAL??? Is everyone okay???

#concerned #hope everyone’s alright #but also lowkey excited

---

vintage-f1-vibes

Okay but why does this feel like a glitch in the matrix? Haven’t seen these two willingly in the same frame since like 2016 😭

#blast from the past #what year is it #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

racing-queen-93

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

BROCEDES RISE!!! 🙌🙌🙌

My 2014 heart is SOARING right now. Never thought I’d see the day. BRB, gonna go cry in a corner.

#i’m not crying you’re crying #brocedes #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #f1

---

silverarrows4ever

[Image set: Multiple angles of Lewis and Nico leaving the hospital, including one where they appear to be mid-conversation]

New Brocedes content in 2024? Maybe miracles do happen 😭

But seriously, hope everything’s okay. Weird to see them at a hospital.

#concerned but hopeful #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #f1 #brocedes

---

formula1-history-nerd

[reblogging silverarrows4ever’s post]

Okay, but can we talk about how neither of them has aged a day??? What kind of vampire magic-

#aging like fine wine #drop the skincare routine boys #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

racingdaydreams

Me: I’m over Brocedes, that ship has sailed

Also me seeing these pics: 🥺👉👈

#i’m weak okay #f1 #brocedes #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

fastcarsgovroomvroom

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

Everyone freaking out about Brocedes and I’m just wondering why they’re at a hospital??? Hope everyone’s okay!

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

f1-drama-central

BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg spotted leaving Princess Grace Hospital together. Sources say they arrived separately but left at the same time, engaging in what appeared to be civil conversation. More updates as the story develops!

#breaking news #what’s the tea #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

retro-racing-vibes

[reblogging f1-drama-central’s post]

2014 me is SCREAMING right now. 2024 me is cautiously optimistic but also kind of worried because ... hospital?

#conflicted feelings #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

formulaonefanatic

[Image: Close-up of Lewis and Nico talking, both with serious expressions]

Whatever brought them together, it looks serious. Hoping everyone’s okay. But also ... is it wrong that I’m a little excited to see them talking again?

#concerned but intrigued #brocedes #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

***

f1-gossip-central

[Image set: Lewis, Nico, and Y/N on Lewis’ yacht. Another photo of Lewis kissing Y/N with Nico cringing in the background]

WHAT IS HAPPENING??? Lewis and Nico on the same boat??? Lewis kissing Nico’s sister??? I need answers!!!

#what timeline is this #i’m shook #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

brocedes-ride-or-die

[reblogging f1-gossip-central’s post]

EXCUSE ME??? Lewis and Y/N??? When did this happen??? How did I miss this??? 😱😱😱

#new ship alert #what is happening #f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

vintage-f1-drama

Okay but Nico’s face in that last pic is sending me 💀💀💀 Big protective brother energy

#siblings be like #f1 #nico rosberg #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

formulaoneobsessed

[Image: Close-up of Lewis kissing Y/N]

New F1 power couple alert? 👀 But also, how is Nico okay with this?

#f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg #nico rosberg

---

racingheartstrings

[reblogging formulaoneobsessed’s post]

I can’t decide if this is the best or worst plot twist of the 2024 season 😂

Either way, I’m here for the drama!

#pass the popcorn #f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg #nico rosberg

---

silverarrowsforever

[Image set: Lewis and Nico chatting on the yacht, looking relaxed]

Can we talk about how this is the most relaxed we’ve seen these two together in YEARS??? Whatever’s happening, it seems to be healing old wounds and I’m here for it 🙌

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

f1-fanfiction-addict

Me: furiously rewriting all my Brocedes fics to include Y/N

The plot twist we never saw coming 😅

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg #fanfiction problems

---

speed-queen-101

[reblogging f1-gossip-central’s post]

Y’all are focused on the Lewis and Y/N kiss but can we appreciate how GOOD everyone looks??? That Monaco sun is doing wonders 😍

#glow up #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

formula1-history-buff

Imagine telling someone in 2016 that in 2024, Lewis would be dating Nico’s sister and they’d all be hanging out on Lewis’ yacht. They’d think you were crazy!

#how times change #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

racingdaydreams

[Image: Nico’s cringing face as Lewis kisses Y/N]

Tag yourself, I’m Nico 😂

#third wheel vibes #f1 #nico rosberg #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

fastcarsgovroomvroom

[reblogging racingdaydreams’ post]

Petition for a reality show following this trio because I would watch the HECK out of that

#make it happen netflix #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

f1-drama-queen

THEORY TIME: What if the hospital visit from last week was for Y/N??? And that’s what brought Lewis and Nico back together??? 🤔

#conspiracy theory #but makes sense #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

brocedes-forever

[Image set: Lewis and Nico laughing together on the yacht]

My Brocedes heart is THRIVING right now. Yeah, the Lewis and Y/N thing is cute, but look at these two 😭❤️

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes #friendship goals

[mournthebird]

Domestic Winter Soldier / Soldat Stuff

warnings: PTSD | Slight self-harm | Mentions past abuse

a/n: Idk I wanted to write this because he deserves some love even when he's the soldier. Various hcs about domestic life with the Winter Soldier. Actual fics in the works. I run four blogs so I try to balance it all. Not edited ignore mistakes.

Soldat is a little awkward with home life at first. He isn't sure what to do, being free from constant control isn't something he can easily adjust to.

He looks to you for commands all the time. Can he sit? Can he go to the bathroom? Can he sleep? Can he eat? Every little thing he does. You have to reassure him that he doesn't need to ask permission for anything, but he still does.

He sometimes gets snappy at you, since he still can't decide whether or not to trust you 100% or not. He can't understand why someone is being so nice to him.

Sometimes he accidentally breaks something and he flinches away from you, or he hides out of fear. You have to coax him out, telling him it's okay and that you're not going to hurt him. He always hesitates.

He struggles to sleep so he comes into your room most nights and stares at you or roughly shakes you to wake you up. "Can't sleep." he speaks lowly, and he grunts and climbs over you into your bed, never waiting for a response. At first he sleeps away from the door, but as time goes on he moves to sleep closest to the door in case any unlucky person breaks into your apartment.

Very much like a cat, he stays back but when he wants attention he sort of just...flops near you and demands it by laying on you somehow, or sitting super close so your bodies are touching.

He watches you cook a lot. He sits down at the counter and watches or he stands over you and watches. Sometimes you have to pull him away from the stove because the oil will burn him and he doesn't bother moving away on his own.

He's much more curious than you'd think. He watches you do a lot of things, almost as if he's never seen anything like it. Something as simple as brushing your hair or doing laundry, he's mesmerized by it.

When he's not watching you do something, you notice that he just stares a lot. He always watches you, at first out of uneasiness, but then...just because. He's always watching you, almost like he's worried you'll disappear.

You help him shower, he doesn't like touching his scars. He tries to rub them away, and he's tries to claw his metal arm off. So you help him clean to prevent him from going into one of those episodes of hurting himself in that way.

He used to get aggressive when you came around him when he was naked, treating you like some big threat, but you realized this was something more than just fear. It took a lot for him to get comfortable enough to allow you to touch him in the shower/bath.

For being so heavily trained as the best assassin, he's quite accident prone. Nothing major, but enough to warrant some kind of care. He feels a little confused whenever he gets hurt by accident, like he never expected the corner of the table to leave a small cut on his flesh arm. He focuses too much on things he knows hurt, that other things go unnoticed.

He learns to cook with you some days, he was tired of just watching. It's a good way to show him you trust him too, letting him handle things like knives or sharp objects without worrying he will hurt you.

You learn he really likes pie. Apple pie especially.

You also learn the alarm on the oven is too loud for him so you use your phone instead.

If you bring him out with you, he's very protective. His head is on a swivel, constantly observing everyone around you. He stays glued to your side, not letting you take many steps away from him.

Gets overstimulated easily.

Sounds that are similar to a blender or electricity freak him out. A bug zapper is also a sound he hates.

Some foods he looks at with newfound curiosity, like he hadn't seen them before. There are things he doesn't even recognize, newer or modernized things, he didn't know what to think. What the hell is an air fryer? How do you fry with air??

Get one and watch how he looks at it with amazement and confusion.

He seeks out spaces where he can be alone a lot, he needs space sometimes and you understand.

During bad episodes he sometimes disappears from your apartment, making you panic a little each time. You find him in alleys or the streets from time to time, he never wanders too far. You are worried sick but your priority is to get him back home.

It's hard for him to show it, but he does appreciate you and everything you've done for him. He gives you hugs from behind a lot, sometimes he whispers a word to you, but mostly he's silent.

He likes puzzles. He likes putting them together. Maybe because he himself feels like there are so many pieces of himself missing and it's satisfying to fill a picture.

One thing that calms him down are fresh cookies. Chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, he can go from high strung to calm and docile.

He hates porridge and/or oatmeal. It's too similar to the things he was forced to eat in HYDRA. Tasteless slop, he can't stand the texture.

He loves when you brush his hair. His scalp is sensitive since he had his hair yanked and pulled so much, but you're always gentle. He loves feeling your fingers run through it and it puts him to sleep within minutes.

You're the only one who can touch his scars. Not that he is close to anyone else, but he doesn't fight you when your hand roams over where metal meets flesh.

Watches over you when you sleep a lot, his eyes glued to the door and his ears alert to every single sound. He stays up until he literally can't keep his eyes open.

He's very attached to you and never wants to leave you, ever.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[robynlilyblack]

You're the prettiest thing here you know

Remus lupin x fem! Slytherin! reader

Summary: Remus remembers his first kiss with his future wife

Warnings/tags: swearing, mentions of injury, death, self-doubt, blood supremacy and all things to do with Remus’ furry little problem, first kiss, getting together, established relationship, reader and Remus they are late 20s in present sections and 17/18 in flashback, clumsy! sunshine! reader, grump! Remus, majority of the fic is the flashback!

A/n: 4.6k words, kinda love the idea of Remus having the most accident-prone wife, thank you for the request, enjoy and happy valentines day lovelies ♡

Navigation | Remus Lupin Masterlist

“Motherfu…” you yelp, sucking a breath as you curse 

Remus looks up “You good love?” he asks casually at first but then winces at the sound of your groans, watching as you gently fall back onto the cold ground, clutching your ankle “One minute love…old wolf needs a second” he jests, shifting his weight as he pulls himself up

It takes him longer than he would like to get to you, his knees where achy at the best of times, but combine that with the early year chill and it turned him into even more of an old man than he felt already

When he finally does get there, he bends down at the hip, hand moving some of your hair back before he cups your cheek “Got yourself good this time huh?” he coos

Your eyes find his, a sad pout on your face as you feel sorry for yourself “Yeah” you nod with a slight chuckle before your head falls back down

Remus’ eyes follow yours, finding you rubbing your ankle through your socks…well they were actually his socks, and if you weren’t in pain he would tease you as he had been looking for said socks all morning

So much for not knowing where they are little minx

He kneels down then, hands falling to the site of your injury “What happened?” he inquires, holding back his smile as your lean into his touch, giving him the softest, sweetest headbutt to his shoulder

“Lost a fight with a shovel” you explain, hands wrapping around his own as you let out a prolonged breath “You can laugh now, the pains stopped” you tell him, eyes flicking up to meet his own

With that Remus let’s himself break, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. You had always been this clumsy, in fact that’s how you and he first met, infirmary buddies so to speak, him with his chronic wolfy transformations and you with some random yet slightly hilarious new injury.

“Why don’t you help me with these, the grounds still a bit firm for building a new bed anyway” he tells you, but not before kissing the tips of his fingers not engulf by gloves and placing it on your ankle “Better?”

 “Like new” you grin up at him

As he stands upright, he finds you smiling at him, head tilted, the little bobble of your hat cutely hanging to one side, one of his winter jackets wrapped around you, along with two very different and not at all matching scarfs that somehow you pull off

“What are you staring at?” he eyes you

“I can’t admire?” you defend, shrugging as slowly pull yourself up

Remus turns his head a little, smiling as the cold hides his tinting cheeks. After all these years a bit of him is still in disbelief, how did someone like him get so lucky?

“You can but I don’t think we’ll finish today if you do” he tells you once you have dusted yourself off, facing him once more “Are you going to be good pretty girl?” he raises his eyebrows

You smile coyly, yet Remus sees the shyness you try oh so hard to hide under his own gaze “Never” you challenge, before stepping past him, taking his hand and leading him back towards the flower bed he was working on before

After a bit of work Remus’ movements come to a halt as he looks over to find you towelling away, you don’t notice his stare as you take a break yourself, gazing out over the field beyond the borders of yours and his cottage as the sun breaks free from the clouds. That smile he fell in love with painted on your face as your eyes flutter shut, a content sigh leaving your lips as you soak up the rays

She is so beautiful

It’s then a wave of nostalgia washes over him, maybe it’s the view, or the way the sun hits yours face just as the stars and moon did back then, but he can’t help recalling the night he would live again and again forever…

Start of flashback

“Come on Rem!” you say childishly, pulling Remus through the overgrowth, wand lighting the way

He huffs in faux annoyance, he had no idea why you felt the need to drag him through the enchanted forest at this hour, nor how you could have this much energy after a full day of classes and prefect rounds, but he really didn’t mind, not when it meant he got to spend more time with you

“So…” he leans to the side as you ascend a gentle incline, attempting to catch glimpse of your face “…why am I being gifted with a hike at 2am on a Tuesday?” he wonders, attempting to supress his smile as he can just about make out your excited one “Not that I’m not grateful for the exercise…or the cold…or the mud” he complains just a little

“Because mr grumps, you’re my friend and there is something I want to show you” you turn back flashing him an even bigger smile than you’re resting one “Besides you were awake anyway” you needlessly defend your impromptu trip further as you turn back

His heart both warms and aches at friend, since he met you, he knew a part of him wanted something more, but the other part knew it was for the best, even after you figured out his condition, you deserved someone better. Besides, as much as you and he broke the Gryffindor and Slytherin stereotype, him being in your own words ‘mr grumps’ and you in his words being little ‘miss sunshine’, the rest of the school wouldn’t be as happy…let alone his friends

He lets out a small chuckle “Then as my friend you should know that I was in the middle of my routine…I still had a good hour of self-doubt and deprecation to get in before my four hours” he jokes, though it’s not really one…in fact if he’s perfectly honest it’s more like three some nights

“Well instead of that totally heathy routine” you nip back, and he rolls his eyes with the slightest smirk on his face “You get to spend it with me and see something wonderful!”

You sounded so excited. That light in your eyes that made even Remus’ darkest days’ worth living through was shining as bright as ever, and he couldn’t help but get excited too

“Okay…” you stop just a willow tree, similar to the one he was all too familiar with but far less magical…and big…and deadly “…you ready?” you turn towards him, struggling to contain yourself

He nods, eyeing you as you put away your wand, engulfing you both in darkness “Wha…” he starts but then his eyes adjust, and he notices the unworldly glow from the other side of the hanging vines 

“I’ll go first, then you follow, okay?” you tell him, and he finds himself nodding wordlessly

Remus watches you slide through the vines, the soft embers of light worming through before they settle once more. He takes a small breath before he follows, pushing his hand through first to create a path for himself, it’s a little thicker than he thought it would be but soon he finds the other side, breath hitching as he takes in the view

Before him was a hidden garden, a small clearing within the forest filled with flowers, their petals shimmering beneath the star light. The area was surrounded by more willows, but inside the garden their hanging leaves bloomed with glowing berries emitting a warm orange hue. As he steps deeper, he finds the left side of the field stops abruptly, revealing a cliffside to the coastline of black lake

“Wow” he breathes out, a genuine smile gracing his face for the first time in months

You were right earlier, though he dares say you undersold just how wonderful your surprise was, and he almost doesn’t feel worthy of it, in fact, he knows he’s unworthy of it

“You like it?” 

His head softly turns towards your voice, finding you, hands clasped around the strap of your bag, lip pulled under your teeth as you await his answer, it’s then he realises why you went first, you wanted to see his reaction

“Like it?” he chuckles slightly “I love it” he confesses, unable to hold up his barriers at your hopeful eyes, even more at your proud little smile at his confession

“The view from the cliff is even better” you hold out hand

He takes it, but just as he is about to step into the moonlight, he stops, causing you to turn back and ask if he’s alright, but your words are lost on him as he pears up, catching glimpse of the waning moon

“I’m sorry” his eyes finally find you again and his heart breaks at your concern, cheeks flooding with embarrassment over how he’s going to ruin a perfect night with his fears “I’m good here, I’m sure it’s lovely but…” he takes a breath, unable to get out the rest

“But?” you wonder sweetly, taking a step towards him “It’s a beautiful night, I don’t want you to mess the best part…oh” you’re eyes light up and he worries you’ve figured it out “Are you scared of heights? I can shift and you can hold me to calm you down if that would help?” you offer, and it kills him

You were too sweet for your own good, not only had you chosen him to show this wonderful place, but you were willing to accommodate his fears without judgement. The mention of your animagus made his heart hurt more, you really had done everything to help him, and maybe it was that that allowed him to confess the real reason

His hand cups over yours, thumb stealing circles over your knuckles “Love…” he finds your eyes “…I’m…I’m not afraid of heights I just…it’s a clear night and well…” he looks down, swallowing hard “…the moon is out” he whispers and he’s too ashamed to look back up, instead he savours your hand in his scarred ones and the way they engulf your own

“Rem” your voice is so soft he could cry, he doesn’t want to be pitied, so much he finches as your other hand finds his cheek, encouraging him to look at you, but when he doesn’t, you continue “If you want to leave we can, or we can sit at the edge at the trees” you tell him sweetly “You aren’t going to shift here” you continue before a giggle escapes your lips as you add “besides…if you did I’d just push you off”

His head snaps up at that, staring at your cheeky grin in disbelief, processing before letting out scoff of a laugh “I can’t believe you just said that” he shakes his head, beginning to chuckle properly 

“It made you laugh though” you smile at him, and he finds himself relishing the closeness, the softness of your fingers on his rougher cheek and hands

“That you did” he agrees, hoping you don’t notice him leaning ever so slightly into your touch

He hides his disappointment however as your kind touch leaves his cheek, but his disappointment doesn’t last long as you take his other hand in your own, guiding him “I’ll be right here” you assure him, your movements gentle as you take a step back, letting him know he can leave if that’s what he truly wanted

Remus won’t lie, he’s still nervous but the safety he feels around you is stronger than his fear, and he lets you lead him towards the cliffside

Looking out over the night sky his eyes soon lock on to the moon, but as they do he feels your hand squeeze his “You’re okay” you tell him, and he actually believes it “You’re more than that big hunk of rock…come on let’s sit” you softly pull him as you lower yourself to the ground, and as you do, Remus waits until the very last second to let go of your hand

“Thank you” he finally says after you both are comfortable “What would I do without you?” he doesn’t ever want to know the answer, so he’s glad you answer when it with a joke

“Wallow in self-pity?” you jest “Maybe die of a heart attack with how much chocolate you consume?” you laugh

Despite his own chuckles he playfully nudges you “Funny bunny” he shakes his head, returning his gaze to the limitless expanse of stars, then down towards the shoreline, enjoying the simple beauty of waves washing across sand

“Can you see them?” you ask after a moment

His eyebrows furrow, looking at you then more intently at the beach “See what?” he wonders, confused

Just as he’s about to turn back towards you he feels you shuffle closer to him, pointing “Look closely at the wet sand, just before the waves come in…do you see it?” you ask, your head practically on his shoulder by this point

Remus’ confusion melts into intrigue as he watches the area you point out, eyes widening when he finally sees it, the slight indentations across the beach, not unlike the kind he and his friends make when they use James’ cloak in snow, yet these tracks much more resembled an animal

“What are they?” he turns to you, desperately holding back his blush at how close your face is to his

Merlin, he felt like a lovesick puppy, until now he had been able to keep his growing feelings at bay but now even your crossed leg gentle tapping against his own was enough to send his heart into a tizzy

You don’t seem fazed however as you just smile “Thestrals” you say simply “The magical creatures that pull the carriages” you add to jog his memory

“Really” he looks to the beach “That’s amazing” he says, smiling as he spots a smaller set following larger set before he recalls one particular fact about the invisible creatures “You can see them?” his heart drops a little…more so at your confirmation

“Yes” but your expression doesn’t change “You’re allowed to ask” you grant him a soft smile

He takes a moment after that though, despite your permission he still feels like he’s invading your privacy by asking “Who?” 

You look away then, off towards the shore “A few years ago, my father was sick. He’s alright now, but there was a time my mother and I practically lived in the hospital” you start and while you speak your eyes track something on the shore, he assumes a thestral but doesn’t tear his eyes away to check “There was a kind lady in the room next door, Dorothy. She used to share the sweet treats her sons would bring her with me…she was a muggleborn you see, I lied to my mother about that part though” you chuckle softly “She taught me how to knit properly, with needles and not magic…if I’m being honest I think she’s one of the main reasons I stopped believing in all that crap” you confess, your voice wavering a little as you look down at the ground

Remus’ eyes widen, sure, he hadn’t really spoken to you until the end of fifth year, but given your soft nature he never would have thought for a minute you could have ever believed in such things…you were too good for that

“Do you think less of me?” you reply to his silence, shame in your tone as you chew on your lip, pulling at blades of grass

As your eyes flick up meet his he shakes his head “No…if anything I think more of you” he gifts you a soft smile before reaching out to save the poor meadow from your anxiety riddled trimming, hand lingering on yours for a moment before he pulls back “It takes a strong person to admit something like that”

“I don’t know about strong…couldn’t save that bookcase last week” you giggle breathlessly, but behind it there’s a flash of something that shows your appreciation to his sentiment, much like Remus you also struggled to accept compliments or credit where it’s due…you were just maybe a little less grumpy about it

“You tried your best” he tells you with a chuckle…recalling how utterly bewildered you looked amidst the chaos of the chain reaction you had created while attempting to get one book before his expression drops once more “Do you want to continue? I’d like to hear more” he steers the conversation back gently and you seem thankful for it

“While my father was getting better, she wasn’t” you resume, voice dipping “Eventually she got so weak I had to finish the blanket she was making for the grandchild she never got the honour of meeting…” you sigh while you play with your fingerless gloves “…she made me these you know?” you look back up, lifting you hand slightly to show off them off

“I’m jealous” Remus holds up his own, showcasing his more than beaten gloves, hells they were practically falling apart

You giggle softly “I’ll make you some” it’s not an offer but a statement, one Remus has no intention of fighting, who was he to deny a gift from yourself “Any particular colour you would like?” you add

He thinks about it before his eyes fall on your gloves, their colour similar to the evergreen of the willows around you “Would you be mad if they matched yours” he asks cautiously, afraid of over stepping 

But your smile confirms he isn’t, if anything, he swears you shy away just a little at it, almost as if you’re flustered at the thought

“Not at all” you reply, voice softer than it’s ever been “I think she would have liked you. She certainly would have knitted you a matching jumper” 

“Maybe you could knit me one instead” he says before his brain can even process the words

That was way too…

“Sure!” you reply right away, elated at the idea “Your birthdays in March, right? The 10th?” you confirm, and Remus can only nod in return “I’ll surprise you with the colour for that one” you tell him

Remus’ lips quirk up, excitement bubbling in his stomach for next month before it softly subsides as he realises, he needs to know the end of Dorthey’s story, even if that means the loss of your happy smile for a short while

“How did it happen?” he doesn’t need to give you context, you know what he’s asking

“She seemed better one morning, she even got out of bed. In fact…it was the day she made me these” you gesture to the gloves once more and you smile at the memory, though it’s more of a bittersweet kind of smile “But…that evening she took a turn, nothing dramatic, she was just tired, cold…the medication had her talking to the air” you explain, waving “I like to think she was talking to her husband, like he was he one to grant her passage when she moved on, that they were together again…she was a bit of a romantic you see…so am I” you confess, and Remus takes note of it “Eventually she seemed aware of my presence and took my hand, then she smiled and fell asleep…she passed moments later…and that’s how I can see them” you nod to the beach

Remus remains silent for a moment, before reaching out and giving your shoulder a small squeeze “She sounds like a remarkable woman” 

“She was” you nod, smile playing on your lips before you turn your body towards him “I’m glad I got to tell you about her, but there was one other reason I brought you here”

“Yeah?” Remus’ eyes light up a little

“Mhm…the day after the last full moon…” you start and Remus’ eyebrows knit, unsure of where you’re going with this “…you confessed that when you seen me in there it made you worry that you had hurt me that night”

“I’m…ugh”

Remus lets out a shaky breath, he had been a bit harsh at first that morning, he told you that his friends put themselves in harms way enough and he didn’t need a klutz joining them. As soon as it left his lips, he regretted it, he had called you it before, but this time he had negative intent and he could tell it hurt you

“Love…I never…”

“Rem…I forgive you” you gently cut him off and it surprises him “Remus that morning you also told me that you worry one day that something much worse than a fractured wrist might happen, that you would do something magic couldn’t fix” you recount before gesturing to the shoreline “I thought maybe you could use this place whenever you felt that way… I found this place shortly after I was able to see them. Followed them here one night when I couldn’t sleep. It helps you know, to get away” you say forlornly

Later Remus would realise the thing you ran from was expectation, but tonight he nods slowly

“Do you really believe that?” he asks, voice mixed with hope and scepticism “That it could help?”

“I do” you confirm “I thought maybe it can help you shoo away those clouds that neither your friends nor…I…can’t” you say, but the last part is said slower, followed with a shy laugh, like you’re worried you’re implying you play a bigger part in his life than you actually do, and to that his hands reach out squeezing your own, hoping it’s enough to communicate that you are just as important as his friends, in fact you may be even more so one day…or perhaps tonight

Tears prick Remus’ eyes, threatening to spill as speaks again “I…I don’t know what else to say other than…thank you…for this…for everything” he nods his head around, trying his best to convey the deeps of his appreciation 

“You don’t have to say anything more than that” you assure him, letting him know you understand before flashing that smile of yours “Just enjoy the evening” you softly command

And he did, allowing silence to fall between you. For the first time in, well ever, Remus felt what most people must know as peace, allowing his mind to finally stop turning if just for a moment, letting him focus on other things rather that his own voice. The gentle rustle of leaves, soft hum of fireflies, the rocking waves upon the shore…your soft breaths, your steady heartbeat

He never wanted this moment to end

He lets himself look at you then, finding you smiling to yourself, eyes closed as you take in the moment

She is beautiful

He never takes his eyes off of you, a part of him hopes you catch him, hopes that this night is something more to you as it is to him, but the other knows when you look back, he’ll cower away like he always did. Remus knew he was selfish with you, his eyes lingered that little bit longer that they should, as did his touch, he always waited for either the last moment or for you to pull back…secretly hoping one day you wouldn’t

Your eyes open then, turning towards him “What?” you smile softly, head tilted

Remus shakes his head quickly “Nothing, thought there was a fly” he plays it off, returning to the view while quietly chastising himself in his head for the terrible lie

Coward

“Remus…” he flinches a little as your hand finds his “…look at me again”

He hesitates at first, but then you whisper the softest ‘please’ and he’s at your mercy, returning your gaze, eyes curious with a dash of hope or fear mixed in, he didn’t quite know which yet. 

You move to your knees and he finds himself doing the same to face you properly as your touch flows upwards, backs of your fingers grazing his cheek as you push some hair out of the way, your eyes darting between his own like you’re checking he’s comfortable with the new form of intimacy

“You’re the prettiest thing here you know” you say before your eyes flick down to his…lips? 

Your hands are soft, sure as they cup his face, fingers tracing the line of his jaw ever so slightly as you test the waters further, sending shivers down his spine, heart pounding before…

“Remus can I kiss you?”

…it damn near stops

He genuinely didn’t know if this was reality anymore 

“You…” he lets out a shaky breath “…want to kiss me?” he swallows

His fingers itch with the urge to pull you closer, to feel certainty in your presence, your warmth, but he restrains himself, afraid of shattering the illusion

You nod, eyes never leaving his “Very much” you confirm “I have for a while” you confess and for the first time he notices the slight shake in your fingers, the glistening in your eyes, that not so tiny fear that you were hiding so well seeps through…the one where he rejects you 

But he would never

“Can I?” you ask one last time, voice barely a whisper

He doesn’t speak just gives you a hum that you hope can recognise as a yes, which you do, eyes widening a little in surprise before you lick your lips, slowly leaning in. As happy as Remus was, he doesn’t move, still scared this might not be real, that any movement will have him wake up in his dorm and that all this was just a cruel trick of his psyche. That is until your nose softly taps his own, before the plush of your lips find his. It’s tender, sweet, only lasting for a few fleeting moments before you pull away

As you do, he finally breaks free of his paralysis, chasing your lips a little before he watches your eyes flutter open, finding your smile is shy all of a sudden, like you used every ounce of your confidence to work up the courage to not only ask but kiss him and now it was all gone

Kiss her back you idiot!

Remus’(...or maybe Moony’s) thoughts drive him into action, leaning forward to cup your cheek before you can fully withdraw, admiring the way you head falls into it with such ease as he brings his lips close to yours, checking it’s something you want before he finally returns the kiss

It’s more passionate this time, lips moving in sync as his arms wrap around you, gently lifting and bringing you flush against him, while your hands snake around his neck and up into his hair. The warmth of your body seeps into his, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, it’s just you, him, and this garden. 

When he finally pulls back, you’re the one chasing him this time, sneaking one last kiss before your forehead rests on his “Did that actually just happen” he whispers panting gently 

“Afraid so” you giggle 

He lets his smile break free then, no more holding back “How terrible” he nudges his nose against yours

“Horrible really” you continue the joke before softly pecking his lips “Are you glad I interrupted your routine now?”

“Very” he whispers before capturing your lips again

End of Flashback

“What?” 

He’s snapped out of his daze, smiling wide as he leans forward and places a sweet yet firm kiss to your lips

“What was that for?” you wonder, taken aback by the sudden intimacy but not upset in the slightest

“Because you’re the prettiest thing here” 

Thank you for reading ♡

[revelboo]

iiiiinch resting that shockwave has these archival records of Ye Ole Cybertronian/Organic Sparkbonds... would wheeljack have something similar on the flipside? maybe optimus, even?? cuz i cant imagine megatron making another "hey dont fuck the wildlife" psa but for lifespans ykwim??? hell, maybe kup, ratchet or ironhide might but im stumped outside of the first two guesses on if any autobots would be able to dig that up

I just like Shockwave knowing all the random, weird stuff- being a bit of a history buff. Optimus might have encountered that information when he was Orion Pax, but likely would have forgotten it by now.

Pretty much my fics are just Primus being so over his awful kids murdering each other for millennia and also wiping out thousands of organic races and worlds as collateral damage in the process that he pulled out the intergalactic get along sweater. You want to repopulate/ save the Cybertronian race from extinction? Now you’re dependent on not murdering this one organic race that might be every bit as awful about murdering each other as you are. Have fun with that.

Megatron Shitpost Pt 2

• Venting tiredly, he knows he doesn’t have that long before a brawl breaks out. Cramming this many Decepticons in one place is exceptionally ill advised, but fear and intimidation are about all that work on this rabble. “Tarantulas, where are the other bugs?” He demands, scanning the crowd. Sees the scientist stiffen, extra limbs flaring out slightly. ‘As I’ve said countless times, I’m not a bug or an Insecticon,’ Tarantulas hisses. Swallowing a growl, he presses a servo against his helm. “Does anyone know where the Insecticons are? Who’s supposed to be watching them?” And the silence that follows the question is no real surprise. Alright. So those cannibals are loose. And the little, accident prone one, what was his name? Waspinator, maybe? “What about that radioactive lunatic?” A lot of silence is his answer. That one he knows was Shockwave’s responsibility. So it’s entirely possible the scientist just turned Sunstorm loose to see what he’d do. Fantastic.

• “I know that some of you have humans or have been interacting with humans despite being told not to,” Megatron continues when no one volunteers any information on Sunstorm. “I want honesty. Everyone who is harboring a human, raise your hand. Don’t make me go check your habsuites.” And Bonecrusher finally raises a hand, but their human he knows about. “If you make me check your habsuites, I’m going to make all of you as miserable as that waste of time will make me.” There. Skywarp, Thundercracker, and- Vortex? Is that human even still alive? Rumble and Frenzy.

• “Anyone else? Alright. See Scrapper about getting modifications made to your habsuites. As for the rest of you, humans aren’t to be harmed. They’re now a protected species. I don’t care if you frag them, but don’t spark bond them. And don’t draw attention to us.” Aware of Swindle cautiously raising a hand, Megatron growls. “No, I’m not elaborating. But since you’re volunteering, you’ve always been good at acquisitions, Swindle. See if you can get your hands on human food stuffs, clothing.” Staring them all down, daring them to question him while he tries to figure out how this has become his life.

[poppadom0912]

🥐 jay halstead fic where reader is kim's or sylvie's younger sister and she meets jay at kim or sylvie birthday party at molly's and takes liking to jay and her sister notices it and makes it her mission to get them together

maybe with some playful cheeky teasing from jay before he makes a move 🤭

A/N: Thank you so much for ordering. I ended up writing much more than I intended and I kinda struggled to put in some teasing but I hope it's okay. Please enjoy!!

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

You were a little tipsy.

Work had been horrible. Today had probably been a record-breaking day in the labour and delivery ward but somehow, all of your patients had faced an ailment and some babies also struggled. You and your team were confident in your abilities but there was still the unease of what could happen overnight.

But today was your sisters birthday and nothing was going to get in your way of celebrating and making tonight all about her.

All the people important to her were in the firehouse and so tonight would be a big celebration with everyone and you’d take her out later in the week.

She hadn’t paid for any of her drinks, the one rule you had placed because obviously, its her birthday.

As the night progressed, Sylvie got more and more drunk but she deserved to have fun. And as the night went on, Molly’s got more and more busy as all the first responders started piling in after their shifts.

You recognised a few of the doctors and nurses from the ED and you heard Matt greeting a few men who you remember being part of ‘Intelligence.’

At one point, you found yourself talking with April and Maggie before you heard Sylvie calling for you across the bar.

Adhering to her calls, you made your way towards your sister who had the giddiest smile on her face, cheeks rosy and hair still somehow perfectly intact.

“Hey hey hey, can you pleeeassse get me some rosé?” She asked nicely, the most innocent expression on her face.

“Sure!” You nodded, feigning agreement as you turned to Hermann. “Can we have some water please. I think we’re done now Hermann.”

You pretended not to hear Sylvie’s ‘cries’ in despair, melodramatically acting as if it was the worst thing in the world you had inflicted on her.

You only received a sound of acknowledgement from Hermann who was swamped in orders.

“Oh hey, happy birthday Sylvie.” A sudden presence at your side appeared out of literal nowhere, smiling at your sister who was slowly getting out of it.

“Aww, thank you so much Jay- Omg Jay this is my sister Y/N, she works at Med.”

You turned to look at this ‘Jay’ and-

Oh wow- what a handsome looking specimen.

“Hi-“

“His brother is Will, they’re brothers Y/N.” Sylvie stressed, as if that idea was unbelievable.

“Oh, hey I’m Y/N. I think Will’s mentioned you a few times, you’re the accident-prone brother right?”

Jay chuckled, rolling his eyes at your words but there was no harm behind it. “Yeah, he’s exaggerating but yep, that’s me, nice to meet you. Sylvie’s mentioned you a few times as well.”

You were not expecting that. When on earth did Sylvie ever have the time to have full on conversations with a detective?

“All nice things I hope.”

“Don’t worry.” Jay assured you, his eyes not leaving yours even as he spoke of your sister. “She’s only said the best things and anyone related to Sylvie is definitely going to be an angel.”

You were speechless. A man who was technically still a stranger was being the nicest any stranger could be. You couldn’t help but feel heat rush up to your cheeks.

You giggled, trying to ignore your reddening cheeks. “That’s so sweet, thank you so much.”

This back-and-forth exchange only continued and the water you ordered went forgotten. Unbeknownst to both of you, Sylvie who was still sat next to you, was watching all of this unfold and despite her drunkenness, she took everything you-related very seriously.

And by the looks of it, she was about to play matchmaker again.

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

You were visiting Sylvie at the firehouse on one of your days off. Everything had been normal, Sylvie was being her usual self until the firehouse received some visitors.

You recognised the three detectives walking into the firehouse, one of which increased your intrigue.

Sylvie didn’t miss your straying eyes as the passed by the bunk rooms.

Sylvie gasped in her usual dramatic style, scaring you to bits.

“Oh my gosh Sylvie!” You slapped her on the arm, shoving her face away when she kept coming towards you. “Sylvie you weirdo!”

“Y/N!” She shook you, probably jostling your brain while she was at it.

“You have a crush~” She said in song, the most stupidest smile on her face.

“You’re such a child.” You tutted, slapping her again on the shoulder. “Stop it you weird child.”

So she listened and stopped… for now at least.

Her smile remained stuck on her face and the blush remained on your cheeks.

Oh, this was getting good. Sylvie knew exactly what to do.

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

Sylvie just so happened to be at Med then next time you saw Jay.

You were taking a break and went outside the emergency department where they had a really expensive coffee cart when you bumped into Jay.

Apparently, he had just finished interviewing a suspect who just had an accident, he caught up with his brother and was now waiting for his partner to finish up inside.

That left the two of you outside alone.

He kept you company in the line and when you went to pay for your coffee, his hand equipped with his card came flying out of nowhere, paying for your coffee.

The audacity of this man.

“Ah- excuse me.” You scoffed, almost frozen in shock as he took the coffee when you didn’t move, gently ushering you away so the line could keep moving. He hand on your waist totally didn’t do anything to you.

Jay hummed, raising an eyebrow with that smirk on his face, imploring you to try it.

You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face for good. This silly man had such a grip of the butterflies in your stomach just with his facial expressions.

You were speechless. You had no words to say to him so instead, you went to go grab the coffee cup out of his hand when he took a sip, eye contact maintained the entire time and gave it to you with a smug smile on his face as that single sip of coffee from your cup had fulfilled him.

You failed to pick up your jaw. You simply took a sip from the coffee that was yours.

Sylvie also failed to pick up her jaw from the ground, stood frozen several feet away from you two.

Maybe she didn’t have to intervene after all.  

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

Sylvie had one goal to achieve today and it wasn’t for this party to be perfect. No, Sylvie was going to get you and Jay to finally make a proper move and get you guys to start dating.

She was sick and tired of the endless flirting that went nowhere and she couldn’t look at your lovesick face whenever Jay was in your vicinity.

All would be fixed today, on your birthday.

Sylvie wanted to go all out because you were her sister and an amazing party with friends is the least you deserved. So yes, she still wanted this party to be perfect, but that was on the side for the meantime.

Sylvie had this all planned out so meticulously that even Matt side eyed her warily.

She claimed that she was too busy setting everything up at her apartment and needed someone to go pick you up. It ‘just so happened’ that she invited Jay and incidentally told him to come earlier than when the party was actually meant to start.

She was the perfect actor, gasping in near horror when she saw the time in the living room where she was surrounded by unfinished wrapped presents and decorations that were half done.

It was so easy to get Jay to do exactly what she wanted and deep down, Sylvie knew that he would’ve done so without her even asking.

Just like that, Jay was on his way to pick you up and Sylvie could drop the act and get down to business.

Fast forward two hours later and the party is in full swing. You had been thoroughly surprised and you happiness continued increasing as Sylvie did more and more as the evening unfolded.

Your cheeks were hurting from how much you were laughing and Sylvie couldn’t help but keep an eye on Jay who hadn’t looked away from you for more than a few seconds.

This was perfect.

During dinner, she sneakily got you to sit down besides where Jay was already sat. You had been so distracted talking to her that you didn’t even notice her physically pushing you towards that specific chair.

Sylvie also purposefully put your favourite dish the further away from you so that when you inevitably noticed its presence, you would have to ask if someone could serve you and the first person to take your plate was easily going to be Jay, Sylvie had no doubt about it.

And she was proved correct as said man wasted no time in serving you the perfect portion size.

Your giddiness was practically palpable at this rate.

The rest of the night went equally as smoothly. As everyone was leaving, tidying ensued and Jay was still here.

Everything was still going according to plan.

Elbowing Matt, ignoring his grunt at the sudden motion, Sylvie stood up straight from loading the dishwasher. “We’re all done in here so we’re going to get going.”

Before you could say anything, she went on, “I know I said I’d sleepover but Matt had this thing really early in the morning and he needs my help.”

Matt was caught very off guard, he spluttered as he realised what was happening and didn’t want to be blamed for preventing the two sisters from being together.

Sylvie elbowed him even harder this time, her smile tightening. “I promise, next time I’m staying and we’re doing brunch.”

Your disappointment was quickly eased at her suggestion and in less than five minutes, Sylvie was ushering a very confused Matt out the door, leaving you and Jay alone.

“Love you so much Y/N! Have a good night you two!” Sylvie waved at you two, closing the door behind her with a content smile on her face, sighing in satisfaction and fulfilment.

“Sylvie-“

“Shhh.” She shushed him, her finger at his lips. “Let’s get you home Matt. I’ve got everything under control, trust me.”

Sylvie had no doubt about it. She went to sleep the happiest she had been in a long time.

When she got up the next morning to your text messages with some very unkind words, calling her some very nice names, her smile widened.

Plan to get Jay and Y/N together was officially successful.

[thecreelhouse]

accident prone

part two - I laugh often, so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine

Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato

Summary: Steve and Frankie really get to know one another, and the friendship blossoms quickly. So fast, Steve can’t keep up with his own feelings, even in the face of an emergency.

WC: 8.6k+

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort (like, a lot), internalized ableism, language, PTSD, revolving around Hawkins/the Upside Down, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, a teensy bit of fluff and flirting if you squint, medical emergencies, etc.

series playlist ⋮ masterlist 

here, here and here - meg & dia

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“I’m a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me / I laugh often so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine”

A/N: hey there! Wow. I didn’t think this would really gain any attention— this fandom seems to hate OCs (y’all’s loss tbh), but the support I got on the last chapter, though small to some major blogs, means a fuck ton to me. I don’t want to tag everyone, but thank you to whoever sent me a kind message or pep talk after posting the first part— I really am glad this is relating to others with chronic health concerns, one way or another. Even if it relates to one person, it means more than meaningless notes. Also, may 12th is Fibromyalgia Awareness Day! So, consider this my contribution lol. As previously stated, for anyone with fibro, or without, but living with a chronic illness/condition, mental and/or physical, I am sending all my love, and this is for you <3

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The next morning, Steve’s up early; if he can’t push past the pain, he’ll try working with it. He refuses to let the opportunity to get to know Frankie slip away. 

And the opportunity for a possible job. That’s important, too. Just… not right at this very moment.

What the hell do I wear? 

He glances at the pair of glasses he’s been neglecting lately, just annoyed he needs yet another tool of assistance to help him function; his vision blurs easily these days, especially with migraines. And while it’s not severe, he’s been warned to wear the glasses to prevent further deterioration of his vision.

To Steve, it’s another reminder of how broken he feels. If this was about anyone else, he wouldn’t feel that way, but when it comes to himself, the internal ableism never ends.

Just like the day before, everything hurts terribly. It’s one of those days where even certain fabrics and elastics add to the widespread ache, and it’s not like he has to dress up, but he doesn’t want to just show up in sweats, either.

At least I don’t have to wear that ugly, stiff uniform anymore.

He opts for a well-worn, loose cardigan with a pair of jeans that he ripped at the knee years ago; the tear is conveniently over his bad knee, making it easier to wear the brace he has on his bad joint days. And today, he really needs it. 

Steve also needs a boost of confidence and a way to shake his nerves; the thought of seeing Frankie again and possibly getting another job have him on edge.

Too bad there’s no medical device to assist him on that one.

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Noticing the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door of the record shop, Steve hesitates, realizing he should’ve asked Frankie about the hours; a tiny note taped to the bottom of the sign catches his eye. “Unless your name is Steve,” is scribbled in disheveled handwriting, with a small smiley face drawn at the end.

Entering the record shop, he first sees Frankie, sitting criss-crossed on the checkout counter; her cane is laid over her lap while she’s meticulously applying stickers to the aluminum. The door’s chime goes off, and her head pops up, immediately breaking into the warm smile Steve had thought about since the last time they spoke. 

“Steve!” There’s an urge within her to hop off the counter and greet him with a hug, but she holds back, reminding herself that they’re barely even friends. “Hi,” She opts for a wave instead, eyes falling to the coffees, one in each hand.

He shyly nods with a sweet smile, all bundled up in layers most folks would consider unnecessary. For him and his temperature intolerance, the obnoxious amount of warmth is very necessary.

“Hi, Frankie,” He hands her coffee over to her, in all its icy, sugary sprinkled glory. She takes it, eyes crinkling as she smiles wide. Steve can’t help teasing, “Cade’s right, you really are sick for liking iced coffee in the winter.”

Her smile flips into a comical frown before snarking, “He’s never getting that damn tape now.”

“The one about dinosaurs?”

Frankie snorts just as she takes a sip of her coffee, covering her face with her sweater bundled arm.

“Robin told me you’d say something like that.” 

“… So it’s not about—“

“Steve, it’s the name of a band,” She giggles, moving her arm away from her face. Steve notices the way her sleeves cascade over her hands completely; the sweater she’s in is way too big, but with that and her flowing skirt, she looks comfortable, and warm. 

“Right. I knew that!” He tries playing it off with a shrug, “They’re great.”

“You’ve never listened to them before have you?”

He laughs at the knowing smirk Frankie gives him, shaking his head, “Yeah, no, not at all.” If this was high school, he’d be trying to save face right now, to look cool, pretend he knew what he was talking about. Mid-twenties Steve is able to let it roll off his back, poke fun at himself, move on.

Plus, Steve knows this interaction wouldn’t happen at all in high school. Labels and useless popularity would keep them far, far apart. He’s alright with that; Frankie definitely didn’t need someone like ‘King Steve’ and his bullshit to deal with. 

“Okay. What about Jawbreaker?”

“… The candy?”

Frankie giggles, shaking her head, before running down a list of bands off the top of her head; The Cure, Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Strawberry Switchblade, Sonic Youth, Nirvana, the list went on. Steve says most he’s heard of, but never listened to. Some, he’s heard some of their singles on the radio.

“You’re into all that… punk stuff, right?” He’s a little lost, but he’s headed in the right direction. Frankie doesn’t tease him for it, though. 

“To an embarrassing degree,” She smiles, crinkling her nose, and oh, god, Steve’s not expecting the way that sets off butterflies in his stomach. “And new wave, grunge, honestly some pop, too— oh! Dolly Parton! Just her, though, can’t get into any other country otherwise. I’m a mess when it comes to music interests.” She shrugs.

He shakes his head, shrugging his jacket off before unwinding his scarf; Frankie catches on immediately, pointing to the coat rack behind the counter.

“No… it suits you.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“O- oh, no, I meant that in a— it’s a— nice way, promise!” Frankie smirks as he stumbles over his words. “So… got any recommendations on what to start with?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Steve. I’m gonna make you a mixtape later.” No pretentious undertone can be found in her words; Frankie’s just really excited to introduce someone to music they haven’t heard. “What do you listen to, then?”

Steve sits on the stool behind the counter while Frankie still hangs out on the countertop, kicking her legs over the side now. He watches as she continues sticker-bombing her cane; it’s got quite the variety of holographic stars sprinkled about.

“Uh…” He shrugs, tugging at the edges of his sleeves before shoving them in the pockets of his cardigan. “Whatever sounds good, I guess.”

Frankie narrows her eyes at him, “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

Steve nervously laughs as a hint of red creeps across his face.

“Okay, uh… Queen, Springsteen, some of Bowie’s stuff—“

“Some?”

“I just- I can’t get into it all!” He stammers out. Frankie dramatically sighs, throwing her head back with a hand over her forehead, pretending like she’ll faint. When she levels her gaze to him again, she gives a teasing smirk, and he carries on, red in the face. “I like U2’s last album… uh, shit. What’s it called?”

“Achtung Baby?” She’s so quick to answer in a nonchalant tone, like this is common knowledge.

“Yeah! That one.”

“Oh, you’d really get along with my dad, then,” She teases, watching Steve’s expression flatten in a playful annoyance. “That’s not a bad thing! Bring it up in your next appointment— actually, don’t. He’ll talk about it for hours.”

Steve laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger, “Alright, I’ll try to remember that.”

“Might want to write a reminder with the brain fog,” She quips, and it easily earns a chuckle; if anyone else tried to joke about his symptoms, he’d be bothered. To laugh it off with someone else equally as sick as him, though, is weirdly… cathartic. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Go on.”

“Okay, don’t make fun of me, but Blondie’s got some good stuff, too.”

“Yes!” Frankie throws her hands out excitedly. Steve admires how animated she can be.

“I like a lot of other stuff,” He’s becoming more comfortable talking about this, not as afraid of rejection. Frankie didn’t give that kind of attitude off, but he second guesses himself always these days. “But it’s just singles and stuff.”

“Gimme a list one of these days, I’ll give you some recs.” She looks up from her sticker work on her cane, warmly smiling, but it falters seconds later. “Not pushing that on you, but it might— you don’t— don’t be afraid to tell me no—“

“Frankie.” Her name comes out of Steve’s mouth like the night before, a combination of reassurance and teasing. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Dusting over her cheeks is a tint of rosy pink as her smile returns, ever so slightly. “Okay, cool.” She plucks a star sticker off the page, leaning towards Steve to stick it on his forehead. Her touch makes Steve’s heartbeat quicken, but it’s over as soon as it began. “Congrats, Steve, you’re hired.”

Brows furrowing, he doesn’t bother to remove the sticker. “What? Seriously? That was the interview?”

Frankie nods enthusiastically. “You already seemed nice, and got a good review from your best friend—“

“Seriously, what did she tell you?”

She pretends to zip her lips shut and shrugs, holding back giggles. 

“I’ll get you all that boring ass paperwork later, but yeah, I’m serious.” She holds her cane out, rolling it in her hands to make sure the stars are placed the way she wants. Her tongue pokes out while she’s focused, and Steve thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. Directing her attention back to him, she continues, “I don’t wanna work with someone I just tolerate.”

Though Steve’s flattered to find he’s more than just tolerable to her, he’s still skeptical; not of her, but how this friendship is growing so easily, so suddenly. “Frankie, we barely know each other.”

“I don’t know anyone else my age that’s disabled, and you just… you get it. I wish you didn’t, but you do. If you don’t wanna work here, no hard feelings, but I want to continue getting to know you.” Her words, her tone, even her facial expression, they’re all sincere. “If you’re up for having a new friend, that is.”

Steve nods embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t care. “My friends get it to an extent, but I don’t have to explain shit to you, and it’s… well, I don’t want to say nice, ‘cause like you said, I wish you didn’t know what this was like, either. But it makes me feel a little less alone, I guess.” His fingers grip the edge of the stool between his legs, arms straight, as he looks away shyly. “And I- I’d like to make you feel a little less alone too— jesus, that makes me sound like a douche. You get what I mean, right?”

“I get you, Steve, don’t worry,” Frankie picks up her coffee, holding it out to Steve. It takes a few seconds, but he catches on, grabbing his own coffee to hold out to her. “To a sick friendship. Get it. Sick? ‘Cause we’re both—“

Steve knocks his cup against hers, smirking, “Yikes, I thought my humor was corny.”

“Fine, no more jokes at all, then.” She deadpans, but her expression immediately cracks, breaking into a laugh, one that scrunches her nose and crinkles the edges of her eyes. It’s contagious, pulling Steve into her fit of laughter, too. “Yeah, I got a good feeling about you, Steve.”

“Huh? Like what?”

“Oh, we’re not that far in the friendship, buddy.” She props her cane onto the floor, sliding off the counter. The proximity between her and Steve when she’s on her feet is a little too close for him to handle, breath hitching in his throat. “Gotta earn the sappy moments, man.”

With that, Frankie rounds the counter, heading towards an aisle of vinyl records. She turns back to him, “Well, you want a tour?”

Steve’s eyes widen as he scrambles off the chair, “Y- yeah, that’d be— I probably need to know where things are.” Frankie resists teasing him further, leading him around the shop.

The pair walk slowly as she points out the main sections, split into three— vinyl records, cassette tapes, and CDs. 

“I still can’t get behind ‘em. They’re too flimsy for my clumsy self.” Frankie’s lips curl in a snarl as she eyes up the racks of the shiny discs, tucked away in their jewel cases. 

“At least they’re not LaserDiscs,” Steve murmurs, cringing. “I hated those things.”

“Yeah, never was a fan myself,” Her brows crinkle. “They’re like frisbees.”

“But vinyl… isn’t?”

“No. And I’m not elaborating.”

“Francesca, you’re something else.”

She scoffs playfully, “Can’t believe you just called me that. You’re fired.”

“Mhm, sure.” He smirks before glancing around the shop; it’s on the smaller side, but jam-packed with nearly anything and everything music related. Beyond CDs, tapes, and records, are band shirts, Walkmans, headphones, record players, tape players and boomboxes, useless novelty items, and so on. “So, when’d you open the store?”

“Oh, I didn’t. It’s not mine, only running it for now… kinda took over when the owner had to take a sick leave.”  Frankie begins leading Steve towards the back, through a worn, beaded curtain. She points to an open door, “Stockroom,” Then, to the door across the hall. “Break room.”

Steve acknowledges her directions with a nod before asking, “Oh, are they okay? Well, wait. Shit. I guess not if they’re on— my bad.”

Frankie gives him a half-smile, more for the sake of reassurance, along with an answer, “Dementia. So, uh, yeah. Probably not coming back.” A pained expression washes over Steve’s features. “The own— Mr. Fisher wanted to close the shop when his health continued declining, so I told him I’d keep it going for him. This was before the diagnosis, he just knew something was wrong and warned me he’d most likely shut down.”

“That’s… fucked.” 

“Yeah. He actually lived a few floors up, now he’s in a senior living home.” She wanders into the break room, falling onto the worn couch hanging out in the heavily used space. Steve sits on the opposite side, not wanting to invade her personal space as he listens intently. “Cool dude, hired me years ago, and he was really into jazz when he was younger. Like, used to play the sax for a living. He knew nothing about punk music, but he loved asking me about it. I learned a lot about jazz from him, too.

“He was empathetic with my pain, too. The couch is back here ‘cause he felt bad I had nowhere to rest on break.   Then he ended up using it more than I did.” Frankie’s a little dazed as she retells the circumstances. “I knew he’d never get better, and he knew it too, but I told him I’d love to watch over the business until he’s ready to come back. Couldn’t stand watching this place close, so… yeah. S’why I asked you.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.” It’s all Steve can come up with, but it’s genuine, and she can tell.

“I hope it doesn’t come off like I’m telling you this so you’re guilted into being here, ‘cause if you wanna find another job, don’t feel like you have to st—“

“You do that a lot,” Steve blurts out, but it’s not mean-spirited. He stammers, “N- not that— it’s not bad— sorry—-“

“And you do that a lot,” Frankie observes bluntly. “Guess we’re kinda similar in the whole ‘overly apologetic’ department, huh?”

Steve glances at her, sighing with a hint of a sad smile. “Guess we are.” He rests his head on the back of the couch, blowing air between pursed lips as his eyes fixate on the ceiling. “Anyway, you’re not guilting me. I’m staying.” Then he sits back up, narrowing his stare at her. “Unless I’m still fired.”

She sits up, shoving her hand out towards him. He grabs it as she shakes it obnoxiously, snorting, “Steve Harrington, you’re re-hired.”

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“Fibro’s just like… a bag of jellybeans.”

Steve scoffs out a laugh, lost on Frankie’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

At the end of the day, Frankie and Steve wound up at a diner, still caught up in the excitement of getting to know a new friend.

“Y’know, it’s always a mystery over what color and flavor you end up with ‘til you get it.” Frankie begins to explain, hands on the diner’s table; Steve’s noticed she talks with her hands, a lot. She’s always so animated, even talking about the most mundane subjects. “And you might have ‘em all, but there might be more of one flavor, or another. Fibromyalgia is just a bag of symptoms, ‘cause you don’t know what’s gonna hurt that day ‘til it does— does that make sense?” 

“Oh, like, I get a lot of headaches, sometimes ocular migraines— the first few times, those freaked me out, and joint pain the most, but the other symptoms still exist, too, just not as frequently.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut with a nod, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Right? Or maybe I’m way off—“

“No, that’s exactly it! 

“That’s actually… a really good analogy,” He tucks the comparison away in his mind, for future use. “Wait, so you also have fibromyalgia?”

Frankie’s about to answer, until the waitress brings their milkshakes and fries to the table. Her smile over something as simple as a milkshake is contagious, and Steve finds himself grinning along with her.

“Yeah, but we found out lupus was a bigger concern,” She shares casually. “Y’know, I wouldn’t wish fibro on anyone, but I’m pissed you have to deal with it.”

Steve’s face distorts into confusion. “Why d’ya say that?”

“It’s such a fucking mess of a disability. Tests come back normal, x-rays show nothing, MRIs are clear, too— shit is so infuriating. You’re living in constant pain and most people don’t believe you. Then ya’ got these fuckin’ misogynistic doctors who see it as a “woman’s disease”— yeah, it’s more prevalent in women, but men get it too, and it’s like y’all are told to just… suck it up. “Man up”. Deal with it.

“Honestly… not sure which sucks to be told more, that you’re just “hysterical and attention seeking” for being sick as a woman, or being told you’re just a “whiny baby” if you’re sick as a man.”

Steve only stares at her; Frankie feels warm under his gaze, sinking into the booth.

“Sorry, I— you’re so spot on, I have nothing to add.” Steve’s shaking his head, fidgeting with his napkin. “But I can’t get over that someone my age fucking gets it.”

Frankie sighs, relieved to hear she wasn’t overdoing it with her rambling.

“Steve, I hate that we’re both in pain, but it’s… it’s nice not having to struggle alone, for once.” She stretches her legs under the booth, resting her boots on the cushion on Steve’s side. He mirrors her, sneakers kicking up to  rest next to her. She smiles, nudging his shoe with her elbow. “Copycat.”

“You really lucked out having a dad who’s a doctor,” Steve softly chuckles, and Frankie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Immediately, he panics he might’ve said the wrong thing. “I- I don’t mean that in a bad way—“

“No, I know you didn’t. He—” Frankie looks off, eyes fixating on the bustling traffic out the window, despite the two of them being seated in the far end of the diner. She looks back to her milkshake, swirling the straw mindlessly. “He wasn’t always a doctor. He wasn’t in the medical field at all, not ‘til I got sick as a kid.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yup. He got tired of taking me to specialists for them to always say I was being overdramatic, or “Oh, she’s a girl, she might just be faking that for attention.” I guess what I was going through made him realize shit had to change for the sake of us sick folks. I don’t know how anyone would be able to juggle a full time job, full time med school, and raising a kid on their own, but he did it. Even if shit is terrible most of the time, I’m grateful to have a dad as incredible as him.”

Steve let Frankie’s words sink in before curiosity took its hold, “He’s a single parent?”

Frankie sips from her milkshake, looking back at Steve as she sits back. “Wasn’t always, but yeah. Never met my mom, she, uh, she was sick, too. Cancer. Passed before my first birthday.”

“Jesus, Frankie… I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs, trying to let the everlasting sting roll off her back. “I heard she was really sweet, and funny. My dad showed me some home movies a few years back, and it was the first time I heard her voice. She was so pretty, and happy, and—“ She shakes her head, scoffing at herself. “God, I’m sorry for rambling.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. If you ever wanna talk about this… or anything, I might not know what to say, but I’ll always listen.”

“Right back at ya’, Steve,” She murmurs, gaze friendly before sipping her milkshake.

“I don’t think you want to know my story,” He tries shrugging it off, as if a chuckle would follow, but never does.

“I do, and I mean that.” She firmly states, locking eyes with him. “But only when you’re comfortable sharing it.”

Steve nods, “Yeah. Maybe someday. Kinda hard to even talk to my therapist still about it.”

“You’ll get there eventually. On your own terms.” Frankie can tell he’s uncomfortable, searching for a change of subject. She looks back at his legs, still next to her in the booth. “Isn’t your leg cold?” She nods to the hole in his jeans, right above his knee.

“Yeah, but I needed to wear my knee brace today.”

“I can sew loose, stretchy fabric in, and snaps to remove it, if that helps,” She slurps down the last of the milkshake. “You cool with hanging out longer?”

Steve can’t suppress the grin that graces his face.

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Frankie’s apartment is in a repurposed warehouse; a large studio, cluttered with art supplies scattered all about. An easel hangs out in the wide open room near a window, with canvasses, both finished and unfinished everywhere surrounding it. Cups and cups of paintbrushes, tubes of paint, pastels, graphite pencils and drawing pads strewn atop nearly every surface. A sewing machine rested snug in a corner of the open room. 

Among it all was the kitchen and living room; down a hallway were the doors to the bathroom, and her bedroom. 

After Steve changes into the sweats Frankie found for him, he enters the main room, holding the sweatpants up by the waistband awkwardly, handing his pair of jeans over to her.

“Sorry, I knew they’d be kinda big, but not that much.” She has jersey knit fabric already cut, sewing snaps to the edges. As she works, she elaborates, “I keep a buncha sizes in clothes, ‘cause my weight fluctuates all the time with flare ups.”

“That’s actually… really smart.”

“Yeah, I got tired of buying and donating the same several sizes over and over. Just easier, and cheaper, to keep ‘em all on hand.” Frankie’s zoned into the impromptu project, so Steve wanders around her apartment, stopping at the kitchen table, blanketed with multiple sketches. 

“I didn’t know you could draw.” He wonders aloud, glancing over the sketch pad papers. There’s a certain style he can’t quite put his finger on with her work; for plain subjects and ideas, they’re incredible.

 Steve turns to the easel with her latest work in progress. It’s a portrait of a woman weeping, holding a mask of her face that’s smiling over her real expression. It’s gorgeous work, but he feels a pang in his chest, wondering if Frankie feels this way more often than not.

“Holy shit, Frankie…” He breathes, recognizing his own struggles through the piece; how often he feels as if he needs to bury his own pain to keep everyone else comfortable. Then again, who hasn’t felt at one point or another they need to cover up how they truly feel?

“I hope that’s a good “holy shit”,” She responds as she continues sewing.

“Your work is amazing,” He’s still staring at the painting, admiring how her art style is slightly unkempt, and leans toward traditional tattoo-style art, but she makes it work somehow; some of the paint bleeds outside the lines, or speckles in random splotches, like watercolors, but it adds character. “Do you just paint as a hobby?”

“I actually had plans to become a tattoo artist, did an apprenticeship and everything,” She murmurs, loud enough for him to hear, but still weighed down with disappointment. She pulls the denim away from the sewing machine, trimming away the loose threads. “Can’t really tattoo when you’ve got unpredictable hand tremors, though. S’why the paintings are such a wreck.”

Oh.

“Shit. That’s…” Again, Steve can’t find proper words of empathy. “I’m sorry.”

Frankie finally glances over her shoulder at him, “Kinda normal for folks like us to leave behind our dreams. Mourn what our lives could’ve been, and what they used to be.”

The familiarity of surrender in her voice hits Steve hard. He might not have had the same dreams to give up to prioritize his health, but it’s still an experience similar to hers. Giving up any dreams or goals he had to accept they probably wouldn’t, couldn’t, come to life. He’s watched his life’s potential slip through his fingers, and has no way of stopping it from vanishing completely.

Mourning what your life was isn’t easy, either. Reminiscing on better health in earlier times of your existence, proof you’ll never be that happy, that healthy again— even if Steve was unhappy deep down in high school, he wishes he had the energy to still fake it.

“Yeah. Fucking sucks.” He mutters. At the same time, Frankie turns to him, holding his jeans out for him to take.

Steve glances over her handiwork, grateful to have soft fabric that’ll finally work with his knee brace, while being removable when it’s too warm out.

“On the bright side, at least you’ve got a friend who gets it now.” She’s speaking softly, with so much, too much, understanding. It helps to finally have a friend who can relate, but with that comes sharing the same emotional hardships, ones that feel endless. 

Still, it’s better than navigating that all on your own.

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It’s been a handful of weeks— maybe about a month and change— since Steve’s life began to feel good again. He’s not sure how long exactly, he just knows since finding a doctor that sincerely cared for his patients, and befriending Frankie, someone his age he could finally relate to, he doesn’t care to keep track of time like a dismal countdown.

He’s not counting the days he feels like a prisoner in his own body anymore.

Timing, though, is always perfectly unfortunate when it comes to Steve’s luck, and life.

On a dull Wednesday night, he and Frankie are closing up the shop before their plans to meet up with Robin at the diner. Steve has had a muted ache in his head since the previous night, but it wasn’t enough to keep him in bed, thankfully. He took some Tylenol earlier in the day, and that helped with staving off most of the pain. Any relief he can find, he happily takes.

The sun isn’t setting as early anymore, a sign winter’s almost at its end; he’s been looking forward to spring, because this cold has done no favors to his aching joints. Until then, he’s still bundling up ridiculously to keep from violently shaking in the cold.

“Hey, Frankie?” He’s looking behind the counter, puzzled. His head feels heavy, thoughts settling in a thick fog. Pushing past it, he asks, “Have you seen my scarf?”

Frankie returns from the tiny stockroom, keys swinging lazily on her finger. “Is it the blue one?”

“No, it’s—“ Steve pauses, hands on the counter to hold himself up from a sudden bout of dizziness. He gives a weak laugh, “I can’t even remember if I wore one at all. Maybe I didn’t.”

Frankie’s quick to notice something’s not right when Steve practically white knuckles the edge of the counter; her firsthand experience with chronic illness is setting off alarms in her head.

“Steve, you should sit down—“ She rushes around to him, pushing the stool towards him. Grabbing his shoulders, she pushes him gently into the chair. “What’s going on?” 

“S’blurry,” Is all he mutters to her. She lifts a hand to his forehead, and he shivers, speaking up a bit more, “You’re always cold.”

She keeps her panic to herself, and rolls her eyes with a tiny smile, pulling her hand away to reach into her bag on the floor; straightening back up with a heavily sticker-bombed water bottle, she hands it to him.

“When’d you last eat?”

Steve shrugs, weakly sipping out of the bottle. “Uh, a few hours ago, I think.” He’s struggling to stay in conversation as the vision in his one eye blurs. “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye.” He points to the right side of his face, hand nearly limp.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Been hurting all day, actually,” He waves his hand in front of his own face, repeating, “Yeah I- I can’t see a damn thing out of this eye.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t a big deal ‘til now— shit—“ Steve clutches his head; everything’s too overwhelming. The lights are too bright, the buzz of electricity is too loud, and he feels nauseous. The dizziness is only growing stronger, too. Curling into himself, he doubles over, head in his hands as he leans towards his legs. “God, I hate this.”

Frankie rushes to the light switch across the room, turning off all the lights inside; the only light available is what wanders in from the city outside through the windows. 

There was one crucial detail Steve left out when he confided in Frankie about his ocular migraines: the pain is so intense, it works in tandem with his anxiety, triggering flashbacks of those miserable last few years in Hawkins.

They roll through so quickly in his mind; the first time he fought off a demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan.  When Steve became a personal punching bag for Billy nearly one year later, the same night he had been roped into fighting off demodogs with the kids, nearly dying multiple times before the sun rose again. The fucked up elevator in Starcourt that plummeted to an artificial hell that also nearly killed him and his friends. He could picture the fists flying at him, his honest answers for the countless times he was asked “who do you work for?” never enough for his captors. 

“Stop, stop, stop—“

Frankie hears Steve whimpering while his flashbacks drag him deeper into the past.

Because who can just forget nearly dying far too many times with your friends before turning twenty? Why forget it when the past just continues to help you survive even further carnage?

His lungs burn while he recalls swimming down to the bottom of the lake, in search of the gate, only to be pulled back down after resurfacing to his friends. It’s not easy to erase the way he fought for his life once dragged into the Upside Down, especially not when the scars refuse to fade, continuing to keep the nightmare alive. Even if his scars blended into his worn, tired skin now, the proof lies in each and every person in the group. Hell, the proof is in anyone from Hawkins.

“Steve—“ Frankie’s voice breaks through to him, only for a moment, too quick to pull him out of this traumatic loop of memories. 

Vecna. Stumbling upon Eddie, nearly dead, in Dustin’s arms. The “earthquake”. Max deep in a coma in the hospital. Watching the Upside Down bleed into reality on this plane of existence. The ultimate downfall of what was once his hometown— once a haven of memories, good and bad, ones that taught him life lessons, ones that he still reminisces on to this day. Leaving behind everything he loved in that shitty little town. Goodbyes with everyone as they all split their separate ways, with hopes and dreams of making the most of a new life somewhere safe.

Hawkins, Indiana was wiped off the map. Wiped from existence to keep the rest of the world safe.

Hawkins was only a memory, now.

Hawkins was gone. 

“Hi, y- yeah, we need an ambulance, my friend, h- he—“

Everyone made it out alive, but what was the point when everyone was hurting badly, one way or another?

What’s the point in surviving if you continue to live in your own personal hell? He thinks, barely making out Frankie reciting the address for the record store. He blindly reaches out for her, still folded over in agony.

Instead of finding her, he finds himself slipping off the chair, hitting the cold, hard floor before abruptly losing his grip on reality. 

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The first thing Steve sees when his eyes weakly flutter open is Frankie. Everything is blurry, but not like before; his vision slowly comes into focus, while the edges of tunnel vision have faded away. A dim, frail smile appears on his face at her sleeping figure, curled up next to him.

Pressure in his head spreads, like there’s an ache about to begin, but it never does, held at bay. That’s when he notices the IV in his arm, prying his eyes open a little more, baffled and trying to sift through the brain fog.

Frankie stirs, eyes squinting open, but once she sees Steve’s awake, her eyes widen; she sits up too quickly, stumbling out of the chair she folded herself into, catching herself at the last minute.

“Steve—“

“Hi Frankie,” He smiles, dopey and sleepy, like he just woke up from a nap, and not a medical scare. She grabs his hand, and he blushes. Looking down at their hands clasped together, a dazed look covers his features. “Your hand’s not very cold. You okay?”

A laugh slips out of Frankie, “I think all the panic made me overheated.” Her bottom lip wobbles, despite Steve’s lips still curved up lazily, “You’re the one in the hospital bed, I should be asking you that.”

“M’fine, I feel great, actually.”

“That would be the drugs doing their job, buddy.” She’s surprised to hear herself giggle, but it rises a weak yet genuine laugh out of Steve. Her thumb softly swipes back and forth on his hand, still in hers. “You scared the hell outta me, Steve.”

His face drops, beginning to realize the severity of the situation, despite gaps of memory to recall on. “I… don’t remember anything.”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

He wordlessly nods.

“Your head hurt all day, but you didn’t tell me until a migraine started,” Frankie sighs, gently pushing his sweat-matted hair away from his eyes. “I think it was an ocular migraine, ‘cause you told me you couldn’t— well, in your exact words, you said “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye”, and then it— you—”

It all floods back to Steve in a flash— his headache that rolled into a sudden, ocular migraine, making him dizzy and weak. How his right eye went blind, then everything hurt, sent him into a panic, and triggered the flashbacks.

“You fell, too, but thankfully you landed on my bag instead of the floor.” She reaches down to his forehead, just above his brow, gently sweeping a thumb across his skin. “There’s a small bruise, but could’ve been worse.”

That, he ignores. Instead, Steve’s heart drops at the thought of what Frankie might’ve heard or seen. Before he can ask, she gathers the courage to tell him.

“You were crying, saying ‘I wanna go home’ a- and ‘stop, stop, stop,’” Her fingers grip his hand, shaking. He squeezes back, sobering up fast from the pain medication. “You kept calling out names, calling for Robin, and I- I don’t know who else, but you sounded so hurt, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Frankie whispers, “oh” and grabs a handful of tissues from the side table, handing them over to him.

“I— goddammit. I’m so sorry, Frankie.” 

“It’s okay—“

He shakes his head, eyes falling shut; he can’t look at her right now, he feels nothing but shame. 

“It’s not. It never will be. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or lie, but I- I- I—“ In the midst of his panic, he remembers the plans they had with Robin.  His bloodshot eyes lock with Frankie’s teary ones. “Shit, does Robin know—“

“She’s on her way. Thankfully she stopped by instead of meeting us at the diner, right when the ambulance came. I asked if Robin wanted to go with you, but she asked if I could instead; she wanted to grab your meds and a few other things.” Frankie reassures him, but Steve can’t shake the guilt, can’t escape the embarrassment. “Robin’s really a great best friend.”

Steve rubs his eyes, nodding as his voice wavers, “Best friend I ever had. I- I’d be dead without her.”

“Give yourself some credit, man.” A familiar voice floats into the room; Frankie and Steve both look across the hospital room to find Robin, along with Eddie and Dustin trailing in behind her.

“It’s definitely that charming stubbornness to survive y’got going on,” Robin teases lightheartedly.

Frankie looks back at Steve, finding his face about to light up, but he just falls apart again. She releases his hand so Robin can hug him. Steve shakes in her grasp, while Robin murmurs “you’re okay, you’re safe”, soft enough for only Steve to hear; Frankie’s still able to catch it, though.

“Wh— what are you two doing here?”

“You picked the best time to go to the ER,” Dustin grins, trying to point out the bright side. “We were gonna surprise you at the diner, but now we get to surprise you here!” Steve’s smile wavers; he wants to be happy to see his friends again, but the sudden visit and multiple voices, louder than Frankie, makes him wince, too.

Still, he finds himself asking, “Dustin, why are you excited about that?” 

“‘Cause, hospitals suck. Unless Eddie and I are in ‘em.” Dustin looks over at Frankie with a questioning, yet friendly look. “Who— oh. Are you Frankie?”

Her cheeks turn rosy while Steve groans, head falling back on the pillow.

Trying to redirect, Eddie teases, “The kid tells no lies, we’re the best free entertainment a hospital can get.” He’s shooting Steve a knowing look that earns a short-lived laugh out of him. 

Now Steve knows how Max felt when she woke from her coma, when Eddie was finally stable enough to leave his room next to hers. How him and Dustin did everything they could, said whatever they could say, to crack a smile on her face.

 It’s the thought that counts, he thinks, grateful to have friends who care. Steve always felt like everyone would forget him when they all left Hawkins behind. After all, he was usually the one looking out for everyone else. Putting them first. Making sure everyone was safe and sound before himself.

How relieved he was to be wrong, for once.

“How you holding up?” Dustin asks,

“Uh… I…”

All of this is overwhelming; Steve’s still trying to process what happened, was in the middle of Frankie retelling details, and now he’s on an emotional rollercoaster from a surprise visit from two friends he hadn’t seen in god knows how long.

On top of all of that, his head is one loud, startling noise or bright light away from kicking off another migraine.

Robin can tell he’s a step away from falling apart, so she jumps in to give him some breathing room. “I think… we should get snacks from the vending machine. Do either of you want anything?” Frankie shakes her head, and Steve only shrugs without an answer. “We’ll be back, ‘kay?” She backs up, gently pushing the two curly heads out of the room despite their protests; the room falls silent once again.

Steve sighs loudly, eyes shutting as he relaxes into the bed. “I love them, but I— it’s just—“

“Bad timing, I get it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for space.” Frankie assures him, then adds, “I should’ve asked too, do you need me to leave?”

“Don’t,” Steve’s cursing himself inwardly for answering so quickly. “Un- unless you wanna leave—“

“I wanna stay,” She answers at an embarrassing speed, making Steve smile. “I— I can stay overnight, if you want. But don’t feel obligated to say yes.”

“They’ll let you do that?”

“Usually, no, but I know the nurse on shift tonight, and she’s incredibly sweet. Told me already I can stay if I need to.” Frankie smirks. “One, tiny upside of being a hospital regular. Honestly, everyone’s nice here, at least who I’ve met.” She stops herself from rambling, glancing at Steve with concern. “You need anything right now?”

Steve murmurs, “No, just cold,” and releases her hand to pull the covers over himself, shivering. As he does, Frankie catches the scar around his neck while the flimsy hospital gown shifts along with him, exposing a sliver more of him than she’s seen. 

He notices her stare, hand flying to his neck in a pathetic attempt to cover it; he’s quick to stammer out an excuse, “Oh that’s, uh, from— it’s actually a long story, but it’s not— it’s—“

Frankie shakes her head, reaching for Steve’s hand to squeeze softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything, not unless you’re ready and want to. Whatever your story is, Steve, it’s for you to tell on your own terms.”

Again, she watches him relax from a tensed state. 

“Thank you, ‘Key.”

She smirks, “Y’know, I only let people I’m close to call me that.”

“Oh- oh, shit, I’m—“ He sits up, about to stammer out an apology, but her free hand gently stops him before pushing him back down slowly. 

“That includes you.”

“Really?”

“Just one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You tell me if you’re in pain. I know that’s nearly all the time, but if you can’t come in, or can’t hang out, you tell me. Hell, if you need, you can call me if you’re home alone and just need to talk about it.” She softly demands and suggests. Steve nods; it’s only fair, especially after tonight’s scare. “Or even if you still come to work or want to keep plans, don’t be afraid to ask for what you need. I’d rather you take care of yourself than push your body past its limits.”

Steve’s mind races around for the right words to return to her, but all he can respond with is a sincere, “Thank you, Frankie.” Then he adds quickly, “All of what you just said, that applies to you too. Got it?” He tries coming off stern, playfully, of course; instead, his lips crack into a smile, but the sentiment is still true.

“Got it, Stevie,” She tries winking, but it looks more like a twitch, and the two burst into giggles. “You make it look so easy whenever you wink!”

Steve just shoots her a smooth, quick wink. In return, he gets her playful eye roll. He finds comfort and safety in the harmless teasing between one another.

Things might’ve gone to hell tonight, but at least Steve didn’t go through it alone.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

When everyone returned to the hospital room, they made sure to keep their tones quiet, soft, and Steve felt some guilt over that, but he reminded himself too that he’s lucky to have friends who accommodate his needs.

He catches Robin, Dustin, and Eddie up to speed, leaving out the gory, telling details of his flashbacks; Robin must’ve warned Dustin and Eddie to not speak about the Upside Down, for Frankie’s sake. And really, for Steve’s sake, too. After his mind ran through every event, every memory, down to the very last detail, he was exhausted. The last thing he wanted to think or talk about was Hawkins, and all the horrors it once contained.

And once proper introductions were made, Steve admired the way Dustin and Eddie automatically included Frankie into every part of the conversation, making sure she felt welcomed among them, too. 

Steve needed this. He needed the distraction, needed the laughter, the inside jokes, with stories explained to Frankie to keep her in the loop. The longer the visit went on, though, the more Steve realized at some point, he’d have to explain everything to Frankie. She told him to take his time, that he wouldn’t ever need to talk about it if he wasn’t ready, but he’d rather get it out in the open sooner rather than later. 

This friendship was something Steve never had with anyone else before, and he was quickly growing attached to the dynamic. He never expected to grow attached to Frankie so fast, either. Or at all.

Visiting hours end, with Dustin hugging Steve a little too tight, apologetic as he loosens his arms when Steve grumbles in pain. Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, repeating a sentiment from the time they were stuck in the elevator in Starcourt. “If you die, I die. So don’t die.”

“Oh, we changed that one up a bit? Alright,” Robin snorts, and Dustin flips her off.

Meanwhile, Steve only shrugs. “Okay.”

“Some things never change,” Robin mutters, shaking her head.

The older two out of the trio say their goodbyes, too, with Eddie reminding in a sing-song voice, “Gonna bother you again tomorrow, Big Boy.”

“Please, for the love of—“ Steve sighs, sinking under the covers, embarrassed. “Stop calling me that.” Frankie’s lost, but still giggling over the exchanges; he points at her, “No, don’t— do not encourage his nonsense”

“Respectfully, no, I’ll never stop.” He grins while Robin shoves him out of the room. As he’s nearly out the door, he waves and shouts, “Nice meeting you, Frankie!”

Alone, yet again, Frankie bites her lip to contain her laughter, and Steve narrows a glare at her. “Oh, I can already tell you’re gonna be trouble with them.”

“Listen, it’s not my fault your friends are funny and charming.”

“They’re anything but—“

“Oh, I’m telling ‘em tomorrow you said that.”

“Where’s your proof, Amato?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Harrington.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

Laughing, his brows knit together, “I would!”

He tries to conjure a better comeback to throw her way, but his thoughts fizzle out while watching her set up the chairs into a makeshift bed.

“Frankie.”

She spins around, watching Steve lean up on his elbow. “Huh?”

“You’re not sleeping on those chairs. That’s gonna kill your neck. And your back.” Steve deadpans, pulling his glasses off to set them on the nightstand. “And every other joint in your body.”

Frankie snorts, holding her arms out, “Then where am I sleeping, Steve?”

“Up here,” He’s even surprised by his own boldness, but carries through. “With me.”

If one could hold someone’s gaze in a death grip, Frankie would be doing that right now with Steve’s stare; disbelief and skepticism floods through her thoughts.

“Unless that’s too— if you’re not comfortable—“

“Steve,” Frankie pushes past the way her round cheeks flush red, “We gotta stop second guessing ourselves like this.”

“Yeah, but I just don’t want to assume—“

“When you’re close with someone, assumptions are kind of a given. When someone gets you, it’s not offensive.” She holds the extra pillow a nurse gave her earlier to her chest. “I’m okay with it, if you are. And I’m going to assume you are, because you asked—“

“Demanded—“

Her mouth falls open at his bluntness, “Okay, Big Boy, slow down—“

“Francesca,” He groans, falling back onto the pillows, “please do not call me that.”

She laughs softly, tugging the edges of Steve’s lips into a soft smile; he’s a goner. He knows he is. He’s known for awhile now, but her laugh, her smile, solidifies it. 

“Okay, Steven.”

Waving his arm out towards the uncomfortable hospital bed, he sasses, “Will you shut the hell up and get up here?”

“Didn’t know you were so bossy in bed, Steve,” Frankie waggles her brows at Steve, and while he tries rolling his eyes, his face falls back into a deep shade of red she’s been so easily able to pull out of him these days.

“Christ, Amato, do you ever sh—“

“Shut it, man. I’m moving as fast as a cripple can,” She teases, rounding the bed to climb into the empty side. Kicking her boots off, she swings her legs into the bed. There’s just enough room for her, but only if she presses against Steve by just a touch. “If this is too close—“

“It’s not—“

“Okay, well—“

“‘Key?” Steve’s voice wavers, soft and unsure of himself, despite the habitual teasing. “Can you— shit, this is stupid—“

“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” She reassures blindly. “Ask me.”

Steve takes a deep breath, nerves seeping through the overly confident demeanor the drugs gave him. “Can you… can—“ He sighs, frustrated with himself, before blurting out, “Can you hold me?”

Frankie doesn’t answer, not verbally; already on her side, she winds her arms around Steve’s torso, hugging him lightly from behind.

“This okay? You’re comfortable?”

He just nods definitively.

“Steve… your gown is open.”

He panics, shooting up and throwing a hand behind himself to try closing the opening, until he feels Frankie shake against him with laughter.

“You’re such a— quit laughing!” Steve laughs as he tries demanding this of Frankie. 

“M’sorry, it was just— the opportunity was there, I had to take it.”

He sighs, suppressing his grin, his chuckles, laying back down. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Best place to have one though, no?” Frankie settles down, snuggling closer to him; her position is certain, yet leaves room for Steve to distance himself if he wants. 

He doesn’t answer with words, just tugs her arms closer around his body, her hands to his chest.

“Hey, Frankie?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you. I know those migraines aren’t exactly life threatening, but…” He trails off, closing his eyes before admitting the truth, “They make it so… so hard to want to be alive. I’m grateful for your help. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but I— you—“ Oh, fuck it. “I didn’t expect to become so attached to our friendship, to you. But… I’m one lucky, unlucky son of a bitch to have someone in my life like you.”

Frankie feels her tears well her eyes; her and Steve are both so easily emotional— it comes with the territory of being sick on a regular basis. Who wouldn’t be? Realistically, how can you expect someone in the depths of internal and external pain to navigate this life with ease?

Neither of them are cured from the security of this friendship, but it’s reassuring to both that neither are alone in this fight against the bodies they pilot, day in, day out. No definite future for either separately, but at least they can navigate it together. 

Frankie’s almost sure Steve’s asleep, so she speaks up to make sure.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

She sighs, pushing her sentiment into words, solidifying the security of their friendship, at the very least.

“Whatever hell you lived through,” Her voice wavers while on the precipice of sleep, barely heard under the heart monitor’s routine beeps. “I’m glad you survived.”

He’s half asleep, heart monitor rolling to a steady crawl “M’glad I survived, too.”

[picturejasper20]

I think one element that is often overlooked about Vlad's character and his relationship with Danny in the series is how he just doesn't think Jack ¨stole the son that should have been his¨ but Danny would be better living with him than with Jack.

In fics this aspect of his character is a lot more explicit but you can still see it in some things Vlad says in the series.

In Bitter Reunions he points out that Danny would spent ¨years stumbling with his powers through adolescence¨ as hinting that he would be better being under the guide of someone who is like him to train him. Vlad also knows that Danny's parents are ghosthunters, so he is pointing out he believes Danny would be ¨safer¨ staying with him.

In other episodes like A Million Dollar Ghost he has some lines hinting at him believing that Jack makes his family unsafe since he is prone to accidents. (¨Your family is in danger every time you pick up a butterknife!¨) and he makes feel Danny feel embarrassed of him because of this.

Vlad has this idea that Danny would have a better life if he accepted him as his father and left Jack. He sees Jack as a threat to his own family and thinks it is dangerous for Danny to have someone like that as parental figure. It is like he has a weird savior complex when it comes Maddie and Danny and that he would be ¨saving them¨ if he made them give up Jack.

[azrakaban]

OUCHIE - Mattheo Riddle X Reader

Hi my loves! I would like to welcome you to...

FICTOBER

so basically I just decided to be a tad productive and now we have some fics for October! Without any more yapping, here's Fictober day One, OUCHIE!

(also ik I'm putting this out on 3rd October, that was an oopsie on my part xx)

Notes: Reader's house is unmentioned, idk how tall you lot are so height is ambiguous (I think) 

It was no secret around hogwarts that you were clumsy. Accident prone. A walking attraction for any kind of bad luck, as your boyfriend so graciously put it when he caught you slipping on a patch of rogue ice in the middle of March.

But what Mattheo didn't often realise is that slipping over could often hurt. Bonking your head on any low or high tree branch (idk how tall y'all are)  could seriously be painful!

It had been a long day for you. Smacking into everything in sight or out of sight, dropping your essay in a puddle, your quill snapping as you fell off your chair... a very long day to say the least. Mattheo met you after your class, walking you back to Slytherin common room to spend the night in his dorm. 

It was halfway through Mattheo's quest as Sir Yaps-a-lot that your tripped over an uneven flagstone, stubbing your toe and crashing to the ground before Mattheo could catch you. "OUCHIE!" You yelled as you fell, foreseeing the pain.

"Y/N, I'm starting to think you're in a committed relationship with the floor." Mattheo laughed, not realising how much it was hurting as tears welled in your eyes. You sat up, just as tears fell and splotched onto your robes, small sniffles escaping.

This, Mattheo picked up on, crouching down next to you. "Bubs? You okay?" Mattheo was instantly being sweet, which he'd deny if any of his friends mentioned it, but it was you. 

"Just really hurts." You sobbed, reaching for him. Mattheo enveloped you into a hug, helping you stand up and taking your bag from you. 

"I'm sorry my love, I didn't realise it hurt that bad." Mattheo looks guilty, and you shook your head. 

"Just lots of things happening too fast." You whispered, trying to stop the remaining tears. 

"Come on, let's go talk about it in my dorm." Mattheo held your arm as you walked. "I'm gonna catch you next time." He said confidently, swinging your hand in his. 

"You'd have to carry me for that." You giggled through the tears. 

"I suppose so." Mattheo suddenly stopped and picked you up, walking the last bit of the way to the common room.

"PUT ME DOWN I WAS JOKING?!" You laughed, trying to wriggle free. 

"Certainly dearest, WOAH-" Mattheo pretended to drop you, and you glared.  

"Not funny, Riddle."

"Very funny, L/N." 

A/N: Short fic, I'm tired <3

[humanitys-strongest-brat]

Shoelaces

Summary: After three weeks apart, Hange plans a get together with the gang.

Pairing: LevixFem!reader

CW: This one shot heavily revolves around the use of alcohol. mentions of smoking and related language. 18+ MDNI.

wc: 3.5k

a/n: First, I'd like to thank @ackerbootytobbi She has been here to hold my hand through all the sweat and tears of writing my first Levi fic, I truly cannot express how much I appreciate the help and advice I was given. If you do like this, please send some love her way. This cute lil fic is loosely based off of this song, and the scenes were living in my head rent free for weeks prior to writing it, enjoy~

“Took you long enough.” Erwin teases as you hop into the passenger seat, He texted you fifteen minutes ago letting you know he was out front waiting for you. 

“Don't be dramatic, it was only ten minutes.” you huff, pulling the seat belt over your chest and clicking it into place. Erwin gave you a once over, his gaze halting before turning back and shifting the car into drive. 

“You did your hair for this?” he comments, raising an eyebrow. Doing your hair was a generous observation on his part, you just spent extra time on it for tonight. 

“Yeah, and what's that look for? We haven't been able to get together like this in so long, so I wanted to look a little nice.” It's been three weeks since the five of you could all hang out together. Miche got a new job and Hange had a change in shifts, making it nearly impossible to do something collectively. It just so happens that everyone has the day off tomorrow, so Hange suggested getting together to drink and catch up.

 “It's just us, you never cared like that before. Besides, if this is like any other time your hair’s gonna look like shit by the end of the night anyways. Like that time Miche set your hair on fire lighting that cig for you.” He laughs. You cringe and brush your fingers through your hair in the same area that was singed short, only just recently were you able to make it look like it blends in with the rest of your hair. “Or, that time Hange-” Erwin starts but you quickly interrupt. 

“Okay! I get it, I'm accident prone.” you mumble, giving him a playful glare. “Both of those are better than the time me and Levi had to drag you out to the car which, by the way, wasn't fun.” you smirk, watching his dumbfounded expression illuminate under each street light you pass under

 “Like that compares at all, it was one time, and my birthday” Erwin retorts and gives you a gentle nudge. You shrug in response, looking out the window to see you're already turning down the street that leads to the house that Levi, Hange, and Miche share. “We’re late again, you know how much shit we’re going to get?” 

 ***

“Finally!” Hange raves when you walk in with Erwin. You make your way in and take your bottle of contribution to the cooler that was already set up in the living room, stuffing it in and shutting the lid. Almost instantly after, you were met with a fierce hug from Hange. “Late, as always. What was the hold up? Anything interesting?” They beamed, their eyes gesturing hopefully towards Ewrin. You parted from Hange’s hug, shaking your head at their silent accusation. This wasn’t new for the two of you. For as long as you could remember, you both have been teased about your friendship. Everyone constantly begged for you two to finally get together. Erwin is your best friend, and has been for years. The thought has never crossed your mind. The only person who understands that is Levi, he's the only one who never pokes and prods for something more. 

“Thought I heard the lovebirds were finally here.” Miche announced as he emerged from his bedroom. He makes his way into the living room and grabs two beers out of the cooler and tosses one to Erwin as he walks past him. “Catch up” Miche enthusiastically demands, cracking the tab on his can and raising it up to Erwin in a faux cheers. 

“You guys really started without us?” Erwin groans followed by the sharp hiss and snap of his own can. 

“What, were we supposed to wait for the two of you to stop sucking face in the car?” Miche laughs and gestures to you and Erwin both. Erwin rolls his eyes but just as he was about to respond the whole room collectively flinched at the sudden piercing interruption of music that gradually dimmed down to an appropriate volume. All eyes fall on Levi who’s standing in front of the speaker with his phone in his hand. 

“Cleaning playlist, forgot to turn it down earlier.” He explains candidly and takes a swig from the cup in his opposite hand, seemingly unapologetic for the disturbance. 

“Jesus, Levi. When did you get out here?” Miche groans, rubbing his ear melodramatically. Levi ignores him, instead he turns to face the group. “Didn't realize this party was about celebrating Erwin sucking face. I would have stayed in my room had I known.”

 “No one’s staying in their room!” Hange chimes as they make their way to Levi “it’s been three weeks, we should do something fun!” they place their hands on Levi’s shoulders and grin “like a drinking game.” they suggest, approval spreads across the room. 

“Pass.” Levi scoffed, rolling his eyes like he was above the activity. “Looks like you're outvoted.” Hange sings, squeezing Levi’s shoulders and quickly moving to drag the coffee table away from the couch for everyone to sit around. Miche was already on his way in with the bottle and a shot glass.

“Fine. I’ll play but I'm not sharing that shot glass with any of you, I’ll get my own.” he sighs, heading straight for the kitchen. Hange cheers and grabs chasers out of the cooler, lining them around the circular table as everyone settles into their chosen spots. Levi returned shortly after with his own shot glass, you notice a clean rag hanging out of his pocket as he sits in the space left open for him. Miche chooses the game for the group, the rules are simple and easy to follow. It doesn't take long, just a few rounds in and everyone around the table seems to have a pink flush across their cheeks, slurring their words, and laughs at anything anyone says.

***

“Damn!” Hange rasps out with a cough, slamming the shot glass back down onto the table. At this point in the game Hange was doing horribly, the last 3 rounds of the game they were the one to take the losing shot. They pick up the bottle and shakily attempt to fill the glass up for the next victim. Liquid splashes around the glass as they miss a couple times. 

“Okay,” Erwin says and takes the bottle from them “I’ll fill them from now on.” He adds. “it’d be nice if someone else could start taking the shots!” Hange complained, folding their arms over their chest. 

“That’s entirely on you, Hange.” Erwin pointed out as he finished pouring for them. His hand was stable despite being just as drunk as anyone else at the table, he was always the one who handled the liquor best. 

“Stop losing and you won’t have to take any more.” You laugh and watch Levi lean forward, pick up the glass, and quickly wipe underneath with the rag he’d brought to the circle. Even tipsy he was concerned about keeping things at least a little clean. 

 The next round, Hange takes the losing shot again. “of course!” They spout, taking the bottle from Erwin’s side, forgetting that he was in charge of filling the glass after each shot. Before he could register that Hange had taken the bottle, they were attempting to fill the glass again. With shaky hands Hange tips the bottle too far, causing the rim of the bottle to clash with the shot glass, tipping it over. The jolt alone was enough to cause them to drop the bottle as well. You watch as it rolls off the table, its contents spilling out. 

“Come on, Hange.” Levi groans as he lunges forward. He fails to catch the bottle, forced to watch it spill out and seep into the rug. “Games over.” He announces, immediately going back in with the rag. Levi sets the bottle back upright on the table and Miche gathers up the remnants of their game, wiping the liquor off the cards as he organizes everything back into the box. 

You thread your fingers between Hange’s after they stand up. “Kitchen, Hange.” You sang, guiding them out of the living room. Despite their protests, you decided you both need a water break. You let go of Hange’s hand, and they lean against the counter to the right of the fridge. You grab two glasses from the overhead cabinets and pull the ice tray out of the freezer. “Sooo,” Hange coos as you as you cracked the tray, haphazardly dropping ice into both cups. 

“Yesss,” you mimic back in the same tone, opening the fridge. 

Hange pushes off the counter and leans over the open door “Erwin looks cute tonight, huh?” They try, grinning. 

“Not this again,” you laugh at them and set the first filled cup on the counter behind you. 

“Give me a break!” Hange groans, dropping their head onto their forearms. “You always avoid talking about it, when will you guys give up the act?” You look towards them and your attention is immediately drawn to Levi, who is discarding an arms worth of cans onto the counter. He kneels down in front of the sink and starts digging through the cabinets underneath. 

“It’s not like that, and it never has been.” 

“bullshit, there’s got to be a reason you haven’t just gone for it yet. We can all see how it is between you two” they pried for more. 

“And you’re all wrong” you say as you set the second cup down next to the first. 

“Then what is it? You still have that thing for Levi?” They joke. Your eyes immediately flicker back to Levi, he’s frozen, still knelt down at the sink. You swear you can feel all the color drain from your face. Hange has already started mumbling about a new topic you couldn’t focus on. 

“Hey, four eyes.” Levi stands up from his position, peeling out the trash bag he was digging for. “Keep me out of your fantasies and come help me with your mess” he says, his tone was flat, as usual. He turns away without looking at either of you and walks out of the kitchen. 

“Shit, he heard that?” Hange asks, looking back at you. It's obvious by their face how embarrassed you must look because Hange immediately starts assuring you that it’s fine. 

You walk back out to the living room with Hange, still fighting off the embarrassment from the kitchen. You watch as Hange picks up the various chasers that were still left over from the game. When you turn your attention to Levi your face burns, you wonder if that made everything weird now. “You good? You look like you could use one of these.” Erwin interrupts your thoughts, handing you a new can. You accept and pop the tab.

“You have no idea.” You confirm, taking a drink.  

“What a mess.” He comments and shakes his head, watching as Hange and Levi clean. Just as you open your mouth to reply, Miche caught your attention as he made his way across the living room, careful to walk around the chaos that Hange and Levi were cleaning. When he catches your gaze he raises a hand up, flashing a lighter and gestures towards the back door with a nod "smoke break?" 

"Count me in!" Hange yells, quickly standing and discarding the handful of cups on a nearby side table and making their way out, followed by Erwin. You tip your can back, finish the beer, and make your way to the back door. you lazily slide your shoes on not even bothering to pull the backs up over your heels, you glance behind you to see Levi gathering up the empty cups and beer cans and throwing a couple unopened cans into the cooler placed in the living room. You think for a moment about staying inside and doing damage control with him, maybe you could convince him that Hange was just being dramatic, or using it as a means to prove that they’re right about Erwin. "Come on! What're you doing?" Hange interrupts, pulling you away from the door and sliding it shut, dragging you over to the group. 

"Hange, you really couldn't have said that a worse time." You groan and squeeze your eyes shut, willing another wave of embarrassment away. At this point, you didn’t care about bringing it up in front of Erwin and Miche. You figure Hange would tell them on their own anyway. 

"Said what?" Miche mumbled around the cigarette hanging off his lips, passing the lighter to Erwin. 

"Well.." Hange drawled, a shit eating grin on their face "I may have spilled the beans on her little crush on Levi.. right in front of him." Now both Erwin and Miche were looking right at you, a few moments of silence pass before Erwin raises a brow and glances between you and Hange

"Crush?" His tone was so flat it didn't even sound like a question.

"Levi?" Miche interjected quickly, waiting for you to say you were joking. When the silence began to linger Miche let out a quick snort "like, Levi?" He asked again, his hand gesturing towards the house. "No shit, way to pull the rug from under our feet." He shakes his head in disbelief and nudges Hange with his elbow "you knew and still said your piece about Erwin this whole time? Evil." he laughed 

"Hey, I was told in confidence that she thought Levi was hot one time!" Hange spills out. It was true, months ago you hung out with Hange alone. The two of you decided to have a night in with movies and wine since no one else could join. After a couple glasses you let it slip that you had a small crush on Levi, making sure to paint it as fleeting so the two of you didn't get the same treatment as you and Erwin. "Hey," Hange places a hand on your shoulder "are you alright?"

“I’m just worried about it, I never would have told him that. You saw him in the kitchen, everything is probably going to be so awkward now.” 

"Oh stop, it's Levi!" Hange encourages and pulls you in close by your other shoulder "he doesn't care, he probably won't even mention it" they try to reason with you, but it falls on deaf ears. you were so full of doubt. How could things be normal after this? Were you just supposed to continue on while pretending it didn't happen? That's exactly what you plan to do because there was no chance you could bring it up to his face.  

"I'll be back" you mumble at Hange as you spin on your heels and make your way inside through the back door and decide the bathroom would be a more private place to pull yourself together. 

***

You admire the photos that hang unsystematically in the hallway, tracing waves on the wall with your finger as you glide through, the music slowly starts to fade the closer you get to your destination and completely muffles as you close the bathroom door. 

"uh, hi?" 

You snap your attention towards the voice, meeting a sharp but forgiving gaze. "Levi, I didn't realize you-." you start, feeling the heat in your cheeks as you stammer for the words to apologize. Levi's stare is unmoving for a moment. He looks down, swiping the cloth off the hook to dry his hands. His eyes dart back to your face. "Your shoelaces are untied." 

What..? 

You take a moment to register what he just said, double checking that you heard him correctly and glancing down to see the strings loosely hanging off each side of your shoes. "That's how I like them..." When his expression doesn’t change you curse yourself for sounding so dumb. 

"And you're walking through my house with shoes on." he states and you can feel your face burning even more. Duh, Why wouldn't you have remembered to take them off as you came in. Just as you part your lips to muster up what would probably sound like another pathetic attempt at an apology, you notice the small smirk pulling at Levi's lips "Save it. Hange's party, Hange’s mess to clean" He assured you.

You hum in response and started to turn back towards the door to leave "Was that true?" He asked, you can hear a subtle eagerness in the question "What Hange said, I mean" he corrects his tone this time. You’re completely still while a wave of embarrassment washes back over your whole body trying to think of something to say, but you're stuck speechless. Muffled music and Hange’s voice chanting at Erwin to chug from outside quickly fill in the silence. You take a deep breath, realizing that now is your chance to give context. 

“Yeah, but that was so long ago,” you stammer your words and finally turn to face him, he’s closer now. 

“Yeah? How long?” He’s smirking now, arms crossed over his chest, like this is amusing to him. 

“Months.” Was all you could say in response. 

“So what happened? You let eyebrows take my spot?” He teases. 

“You’re starting to sound an awful lot like Hange, It was never like that anyway,” you scoff, not realizing his implication of having a spot. In your attempt to explain yourself you hadn't noticed Levi closing the space between you. 

“You done?” He interrupts, glancing down at your lips then back up. Your eyes meet his and you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Levi leans in, his fingers brush against your jaw as he reaches out resting his hand at the nape of your neck. He pulls you in gently and pauses briefly before your lips meet. You hear his breath shake before he closes the small space between the two of you. Warmth spreads across your whole body and the intoxication rushes back in. You drape your arms over his shoulders and relax into it, tilting your head to follow his lead. Levi rests his other hand on your hip, pulling you flush against his body and snaking his fingers through the hair behind your head. He guides you back up into the door, his hand acting as a cushion for your head as he moves his lips against yours. Your breath hitches at the gentle impact against the door, you pull your arms back in to cup his face just as he parts from you. He rests his forehead against yours, his breaths coming out in soft pants. Your eyes meet again and just as he parts his lips to say something you hear the back door slide open and shut. Levi quickly pulls back from you, a quiet ‘shit’ falling from his lips. You realize how long you have been missing from the group. Grabbing the door handle you turn back to Levi, he responds with a gestured nod toward the door. A silent agreement that you leave first. You twist the handle and exit the bathroom quickly, closing the door behind you. As you step away from the door Erwin turns down the hall and stops at the sight of you. 

"There you are.” he starts, sounding relieved. “We got worried when you didn't come back and," he stops speaking when you hear the bathroom door click shut behind you. You watch as Erwin's eyes flicker back and forth. You press your eyes shut as Levi slips quietly past you. When the back door slides shut signaling that Levi is outside, you open your eyes. Something is different about Erwin’s posture; he seems stiff and his expression indecipherable. "Oh, looks like that worked out for you then?" He questions, referencing Hange’s slip of the tongue earlier and offering a wistful smile.

"Yeah, I guess it did." You agree, biting back a grin. 

***

The night died down fast. Miche made sure Hange had more water and got into their bed without issue then retreated to his own room. Erwin has the couch, and you have the recliner, your usual arrangement for nights spent over. The music was silenced, the only light now coming from a single lamp on the side table keeping the room just lit enough for Levi. He paces between the living room and kitchen, picking up the last of the mess left behind from the night. Erwin hasn’t said much since coming back inside. You assume he's not feeling well and decide to leave him alone for the night, you could fill him in tomorrow. You spend your wind down time curled up on the chair, your eyes flicking between your phone and Levi as he moves around the room. "You always had a staring problem, now I know why." he teases.

 "Shut up" you roll your eyes at him, setting your phone down as he walks back towards you. 

"Let's go." He says as he yanks the blanket you were using off of you, tucking it under his arm. 

"Where?" You ask.

"My room, dumbass."

Taglist: @ackerbootytobbi @amywritesthings

[wolfstarlibrarian]

Hi!

First of all, I love your blog. I can’t imagine the time and dedication it must take to be able to do all of this. So, thank you for making our wolfstar-filled lives easier!

I don’t know if you’ve been asked this before or not, but have you recently read any new fics that you absolutely loved?

Anyway, I hope you have a nice day!!! ✨

P.

Thank you so much! Anytime someone sends in an ask like this, just assume I'm blushing.

And what a fun ask! These fics don't have a connected theme, but these are a few of the most recent ones I've read (that you'll probably see pop up on other lists at some point).

Wolfstar Fics to Keep You Up Past 3am

Dear Mr. Black by @languagelessonswolfstar When famous TV chef Sirius Black is publicly outed and needs to escape the London paparazzi, he heads to a very rural B&B in Northumberland where he's astonished to taste the most delicious almond croissant he's ever tasted and simply must meet the chef. Featuring falling in love, snowy hikes, seeing the stars, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, unconventional families, letters to Father Christmas, wishes coming true, finding authenticity, getting to the heart of things, and lots and lots of food.

you know how to ball (i know aristotle) by @emlovessid @drunkdumbfucker Being promoted to full time sports journalist at the Daily Prophet is a dream come true for any quidditch fan. But for Remus Lupin, the 2024-25 season of the British and Irish Quidditch League Cup has more in store for him than he ever could have imagined; namely Puddlemere United's star beater, Sirius Black.

Between pre-match interviews, post-match drinks and social media banter that borders dangerously on flirting, Remus is only one swing of the beater's bat away from falling for him. And he can only hope that when he does, Sirius is there to catch him.

I'm Waiting Here for You by @ohyou-pretty-things Remus Lupin, a single father with impending medical debt, suddenly found himself unemployed, and he was fine—until he responded to a mysterious rebus on a job board, got hired by an eccentric young man, and ended up with more than he bargained for.

Sirius Black was only looking for some help around the office, and he certainly never intended to break any rules.

The Fall by @euripidestrousers The day the devil appears starts like any other.

Remus Lupin goes about his day as a primary school teacher, marking homework, calmly defusing heated fights between eight year olds, and pouring his heart and soul into his job. He's a perfectly normal person, thank you very much.

The devil disagrees.

London Boy by @chlobliviate

Sirius moves from London to Cardiff to be near James, Lily and Harry. As a firefighter, he seems to be unfairly accident-prone and ends up in A&E multiple times, where he meets Remus, a very hot, very Welsh nurse.

Slow burn. (pun intended)

Want something to read? Ask the Librarian for a fic or book rec!

[bestlilithian]

Random personal experiences w my placements and aspects

Neptune in 6th house

- random hallucinations throughout the day?? I go around wondering if the fly I hear buzzing around in my room is real or not cause Im prone to little hallucinations like that or in worse cases hearing footsteps and knocking

- so much daydreaming. id pay someone to make me stop because the thing is I dont even want to but its affecting me negatively

- almost constantly tempted to do something that could be considered an addictive behavior (for example Im a lil bored and suddenly a pack of cigarettes sounds yummy)

- anxiety 🫶 about the stupidest, tiniest things throughout the day. I dont stress before life changing finals and exams,,, I do however wonder if today is the day that I die in a car accident because I didnt feel like putting my seatbelt on in a usually empty area.

- randomly dissociating

Chiron in 6th

- every day is pain 😁

- beating myself up for not being productive and then not doing anything about it

- pathological demand avoidance

Gemini moon

- my brain cannot and will not relax ever

- reading. so much reading and processing except instead of reading Dostoyevsky its usually either reading up about my astro placements or indulging in an extremely long ao3 fic

- need to always be listening to or reading something. like yeah let me listen to someone analyze societal issues and contemplate life in a 1h video essay while I brush my teeth and make breakfast

- videos on 1.5x. Yall need to talk faster (I <3 ppl who talk fast naturally)

- vividly hearing other peoples voices in my head. 💀 not like theyre talking to *me*, just as if some people whose voices I recognize are having a convo and I hear it, except theyre *not there* and the convo doeent make sense . Its not a hallucination tho I can tell its in my mind but its still very weird and distracting esp when Im trying to sleep or concentrate

- ranting to my imaginary friend whos actually kinda conscious ngl might even be a tulpa at this point

[diminuel]

Hi, love your comics. The way you draw faces is really cool. I had two questions for the stinky child au but feel free to ignore if u like. First is: how different are Luffy and Ace from the cannon, like they have less issues all in all or just a different flavor of issues from being raised by Cocodrile. Second would be how fast had to run Shanks from Cocodrile after the whole leave-devil-fruit-and-a child-unsupervised-and-now-your-son-is-gum incident?

Thank you!

I think the gist of their characters and their driving forces stay the same.

(Disclaimer: this is just initial speculation, maybe if I ever write a fic clearer traits are going to manifest. Also, they're not just raised by Crocodile alone, Dragon parents as well. I'm sure he's could give his kids some issues too if he tries.)

Luffy has a much more solid network, but still struggles with the fear of being abandoned and alone. Even in canon Luffy is quite perceptive, mature and intelligent if the situation calls for it. This Luffy has that too, more pronounced maybe because while he's impulsive and goofy, he understands more about the world in this AU. And one of the main issues he is taking with him on his journey is a keen awareness of the price of freedom and the need to keep your mouth shut about certain things. He isn't allowed to tell the world who he is apart from "Monkey D. Luffy, I'm going to pirate king". On top of that, he very early on also has to face the harsh reality of just what he is up against: after all, the first real obstacle is Crocodile. He's got to defeat and overcome his own parent in order to pursue freedom. Because if he can't he might as well just turn around now.

That boy is going to have issues, just different ones.

Ace on the other hand in canon is driven by the feeling that the world doesn't want him. That is slightly different, but not entirely in this AU. He might not remember a lot of his pre adoption life, but the idea of being wanted, of belonging is going to still be a driving force for him. I'm not sure if Garp just lets it slip that he's Roger's son or how he comes to know of it, but he will encounter people talking negatively about Roger and about the atrocities they wished upon his bloodline. And even if Ace has parents around to tell him that blood doesn't matter and that to a pirate, Roger is an inspiration (and Crocodile is a pirate, he would have wanted Roger's legacy. Now he's parenting it *lol*), he's going to struggle. He'll want to prove himself worthy of the love that his family has given him. (And that's how he ends up with Whitebeard anyway. Maybe he wants to get revenge for Whitebeard defeating Crocodile, if Ace knows about that.)

And luckily for the guy, Shanks doesn't have to run X'D Crocodile won't really be pleased but it's also not the end of the world. I don't think Luffy's parents had any illusions that they'd be able to keep that kid from leaving the island and a devil fruit is good to have on the Grand Line. (Besides, this makes Luffy less accident prone considering his body is rubber now *lol*). That said, it's not Shanks' fault that Luffy was unsupervised. And he DID save his life. He'll probably get a visit from Crocodile with some expensive sake. (And he'll tell him that he's Luffy's parent. A lapse of judgement maybe, maybe an acknowledgment of the debt he has to Shanks.)