#mild hurt comfort

[emofrogboy79]

A Decadent Bath (Reader x Astarion)

Reader (Tav) gives Astarion a much needed spa day.

• Gender Neutral! Reader

• Mild Hurt/Comfort

• Inspired by the “cried (/pos) during a non-sexual bath with gf” reddit post

• Words - 2,061

Astarion was noticeably different after you got out of that crypt.

He was unusually quiet, staring off into space when you were with the others. It wasn’t unusual for him to slink off and for you to find him all by himself, wrapping his arms around himself.

When he hadn’t noticed you yet, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glazed over. He tried so hard to keep up appearances, like he always did. He was good at it—the others scarcely noticed. But you did. You noticed him.

When you approached him, your heart ached. The way he was always so alert, you had barely gotten him to relax around you only for him to regress.

“Astarion?” You called. He already knew you were there. You knew that he knew, too.

“Yes my dear?” He smiled wide for you, a mirror to the first time you met. How his smile never reached his eyes, so keen to please.

“Care for a bath? I’ve got it all ready for you.”

He laughed, “Darling…” His voice dips in that seductive mask he doned to protect himself, “If you wanted to bed me, you could have just asked.“

Concern laces your expression, “No, I mean it Astarion. Just a bath.”

His face fell immediately, examining your face for any hint of deceit, any ulterior motives to getting him undressed and pliable in your hands. Yet, all he saw as he peered into your eyes was a deep sadness.

Another smile—smaller, more hesitant, curled at his lips, “Then how could I say no?”

You huff, “You’re certainly welcome to,” You remind him.

You lead him into the Elfsong suite’s bathroom, where you had set up a decadent bath just for him. A marble tub, filled with that sweet bergamot and rosemary scent he was oh so known for. A towel and robe was set aside for him, candles decorating any dark corners of the room. It was romantic in every sense of the word, ripe for sensual activity…

“How could I, after all you’ve gone through for me?” His eyes once again search yours for any hint of deception. His tone was teasing but you knew his words always had more weight to it. For 200 years, affection was a transaction to him. A thing to be used to his advantage. There was no such thing as kindness out of your own heart to him—only a debt that needed to be repaid. It was one he could never truly fulfill, either—because how do you pay someone back for giving you freedom?

“You know my answer.”

Astarion pouts for only the briefest of moments, “Very well,” He smirks, slipping past you and deeper into the bathroom, “Don’t peak now~”

You turn your whole body away to let him undress, hearing his clothes drop to the floor and him dip into the pool of warm water, and lastly, a relaxed sigh as he slips further into the tub.

“May I?” You call, only turning your head slightly towards your lover, eyes shut obediently.

“Yes, yes, come here already you boring sod,” He sighs with a laugh, resting on the edge of the tub as he watches you saunter over, “Moonlighting as a butler now, are we?” He reaches for your hand, and you take his. You bow down and kiss his knuckles tenderly, “You look like you need pampering tonight, that’s all.”

“Darling… I always need pampering,” He giggles, cheeks flushing just the faintest as you kiss his hand. He watches you grab the bucket full of soaps and brushes, sitting by his side, fully clothed in your camp gear.

“A little more pampering than usual then,” You smile, “I’m going to pour some water on you, alright?”

“Not going to join me?” He pouts, and it’s genuine. He wants to feel more of you, more of your touch, the sensation of warm safety he had been missing all these centuries.

“Do you want me to?”

“Please,” He bats his eyelashes at you. You laugh, “Okay, fine. Scoot over.”

Astarion does as he’s told and makes room for you as you rip off your clothes, placing yourself behind him as you bring the bucket of supplies into reaching distance.

He purrs happily, “There you are my sweet.”

You snort, taking a small pail from your bucket. You dunk it into the warm water and let it cascade over his white curls, letting the less stubborn of the blood covering him wash into the pool, staining it a light pink.

“Lean back for me,” You hold his head in your hands as you massage in the soaps, letting it sud up into a lovely cloud of bubbles, careful to not let it fall into his eyes. He sighs with every scratch, his pink ears twitching happily under your touch as you hum a sweet melody. It takes everything in him to not fall asleep right there.

“Rinsing…” You murmur, once again using the pail to rinse Astarion’s hair. As you coat your hands in conditioner, you make sure to not to pull or tug as you detangle the soft curls in your hands. They spill into your fingers like sea foam on the shore, whispering a soft apology when he flinches at a particularly stubborn knot.

“Enjoying yourself?” He mumbles, eyebrows not so knitted together than before. You look down at him, the slope of his nose, the light wrinkles and imperfections of his skin, faint freckles dotting his cheeks from exposure to the sun. His eyelashes, long and soft like the mop on his head. If Dame Aylin was an angel, perhaps he had just lost his wings.

“Very,” You chuckle, “Now sit up for me, I’m going to wash your body.”

“Oh finally,” He grins, and you gently tug at his cheek, “No naughty business, mister,” You whisper in his ear, body flushed with his. Little did you know that this action made his body light up in a flame, every part you touched him burning as hot as the sun.

That would be a very tall order from you, but one he would obey happily nonetheless.

You pull away from him to coat your hands in the next viscous liquid in your bucket, acquired from a lovely aromatherapist down by the market. You massaged it over his back, taking extra care to ease the tenseness in his shoulders as you brush over the scars on his back. You move to coat his torso, relishing in the way his heart beats so strongly under your touch as you ghost over his pecs, smoothly gliding down the soapy ambrosia to his hips. You ignore the way he shivers at the way you gently knead at his upper thighs, and you do not linger—much to his dismay—as you grab a sponge and suds over where you touched him, head resting on his shoulder as you individually scrub his dainty fingers. A warmth blooms in his lungs, a gnawing, awful, retching feeling—like his heart was going to swell out his chest. He blinks away tears as you run over his pulse. It was faint, but oh so much stronger when he was with you.

“You’re a tease, you know that?” He turns to you, caressing your jaw to make you look at him. You see him eyeing your lips, and you give in— planting the smallest kiss on his lovely lips.

“Better?” You smile as you see him pout, “Hardly,” he whines. You chuckle as you kiss his cheek, “Must I massage you as well?”

“Perhaps,” He huffs, “Anything to keep your hands on me, love.”

“Are you that starved of touch?” You motion for him to turn around and face you, taking one of his legs and repeating the cleaning process. It’s hard for you to keep your concentration on just soaping his legs— it was a simple task, but the temptation to stare at Astarion’s flushed face, hair slicked back and curled to frame his jaw, deep ruby eyes filled with a fondness you never would have expected to see when you first met him—was a greater desire than reading than trying to read that book of Thay.

“You underestimate how much I crave you my dear,” He laughs, “It rivals even my hunger for blood, you know.”

“Really?” You smirk, “Then am I to assume your love me more than your taste for blood?”

Astarion leans back against the rim of the tub, admiring you as you rinse his raised leg with such gentleness.

“Just barely.”

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised, before you melt into a shy smile, “Careful now, you can’t exactly eat my love for you, you know.”

“I wouldn’t dare. You’ve given me too much already.”

You splash him and he yelps, “That’s for implying you don’t deserve it.”

Astarion gasps, his exaggerated faux offense had grown on you, “Oh whatever do you mean, darling? Of course I deserve it, only a fool would deny himself the pleasure of your company.”

Yet behind that pompous smirk was a whirlpool of mixed emotions. Guilt. Gratitude. Shame. Fear. A deep terror of this respite in his cruel life coming back to bite him. You knew it all too well, he would always have trouble accepting that you loved him just for him. To accept that you wanted nothing more than to love and care for him just as much as he cared for you.

“Mhm, says the elf who punishes himself by isolating himself away from me.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “It’s not so much a punishment as more of…” He tries to find the words to bullshit his way out of this one, “an insurance. I don’t want you getting sick of me already.”

“Rather bold of you to assume I’d ever tire of your presence,” You retorted softly, setting down his leg to rinse in the bath.

He snorts, “And I thought I was a liar,” He teases, and that earns him another splash.

“Come on, let’s get you out of this bath before it gets cold.”

He frowns as you leave the tub, resting his chin in his arms as he rakes in the visage of your soaking wet body. You use the robe initially meant for him for yourself, grabbing another from the garment heater beside the sink.

“Ugh, do we have to?”

You raise a brow, “Do you want to get pruny?”

Astarion grimaces and relents, letting you help him out of the bath. His legs already felt like jelly from being submerged for so long, and the warm, fuzzy robe you put around him doesn’t help the feeling of his knees buckling in.

You wrap a towel around his head and begin drying his hair, smiling as he laughs in surprise.

“I’m not completely useless, darling,” He says, head still bowed down for you to dry. No attempt to stop you was ever made.

“I said I’d pamper you. That includes drying you off too.”

Astarion sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him. You laugh, stopping your assault on his hair to look him in the eyes with the towel flopped on his head like a hood. A deep pool of ebony stared back at you, the red of his irises merely a thin ring around his pupils as he gazed at you like you were sent from the heavens itself.

A small smirk curls at his lips, “The gods made you to ruin me,” He kisses your cheek, inhaling your scent as he nuzzles into your neck. It was muted under his own, the one you now both shared thanks to that bath, but he can't help but find that small sliver of you more comforting.

You play with the silver curls between your fingers, petting him softly at the nape of his neck, “You’re rather fond of that line, aren’t you?” You kiss his neck, just a touch away from those puncture scars.

“It’s factual, is it not?”

“Not when you’re standing right here.”

He chuckles, the tips of his ears staining an even deeper red.

“You flatter me.”

Astarion leaves the sanctuary of your scent to look into your eyes once again, kissing you deeply with all the tenderness the both of you could physically muster.

“Let’s head to bed, shall we?”

[artistictiliqua]

Ayo a continuation of my TWEWY fic series, this time with 100% more Beatneku

[catsp1racy]

Fic recs #48: Harry’s boggart

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36293383

[steddieas-shegoes]

my body is my weapon

for @steddieholidaydrabbles popup event for 'spring'

rated t | 734 words | cw: canon-typical violence, mild blood | tags: self-sacrificing steve, hurt/comfort, getting together

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

Steve was good at this, springing up from nowhere, nail bat in hand, ready to protect his found family. It was a natural instinct at this point.

Didn't matter the cost, didn't matter if he was the only one willing. If Vecna wanted to take someone, he could take him.

With Eddie barely recovered from his first bout in the Upside Down, Max still in a coma, and Lucas being glued to her side to make sure nothing happened, the crew was a little short staffed.

But Steve would make sure that didn't matter.

They prepared as much as they could, which wasn't nearly as much as they should. Vecna was strong, stronger than they expected him to be, and his creatures were wearing them down before he even came to fight.

But El was stronger.

As Steve lay on the ground, bleeding more than he ever had before, certain of his life being over, he thought about every time he'd put himself in front of the kids.

He had no regrets, but he wished it could've played out differently.

Hands on his shoulders made him open his eyes, but his vision was blurry and his head was pounding. Probably another concussion.

"You don't get to die."

Eddie? How was he- why was he here? He was supposed to stay topside to call for help the moment he was signaled.

Maybe Steve was delusional in his last moments. Eddie mentioned that he was hallucinating from the blood loss when it happened to him.

"Steve. Keep your eyes on me," Eddie's voice was panicked. "God, you always have to spring into action, huh? Can't wait ten seconds for someone to help."

"Ed."

Steve could make out the outline of his head, but not details.

"'S what 'm good for."

"That's bullshit."

And then everything went black.

Steve's only thought was that he wished the last things he heard weren't those words.

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

His head was pounding again, and the incessant beeping surrounding him wasn't helping.

"If it hurts, don't open your eyes."

The voice sounded an awful lot like Eddie.

"Mm. Thirsty," Steve whispered.

"I got you," Eddie's hand was on the back of his head, gently lifting, while the other must have been holding a cup of room temperature water to his lips. "Little sips."

Steve didn't think much of what was going on. If this was the afterlife, at least he had someone taking care of him.

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

The next time Steve was conscious, his head wasn't pounding and he could tell the room around him was dark.

He opened his eyes, slowly taking in the hospital room.

Eddie was asleep in the chair next to his bed.

He looked uncomfortable.

Steve tried to shift onto his side, but a lightning bolt of pain shot from his shoulder to his knee, and he couldn't quite contain the gasp he let out.

Eddie's eyes shot open as he stood from the chair, leaning over Steve to see what hurt.

"Shit, are you okay?" Eddie asked as his hands hovered over Steve's heavily wrapped up body.

"Mhm. Jus' hurt," Steve managed to say, his voice raspy. "How?"

"How long have you been out?" Eddie waited for Steve's nod to continue. "First bit was about three days, then you woke up for a minute yesterday."

"Alive?"

"Yeah," Eddie's tone shifted to something more serious, darker. "But no thanks to you. You're good for a lot more than standing in front of monsters, Stevie. You know that, right?"

Steve shrugged one shoulder. "Kinda."

Eddie's hands gently cupped his face, eyes softening as Steve focused on him.

"You're more than a weapon. You're more than an expendable body. You understand me?" Eddie's voice shook as Steve gave a short nod. "You're my world. I can't see my world end."

"I am?"

"Despite my best efforts of trying to move on from the stupid crush I had on you, yeah," Eddie sighed. "Nursed me back to health and made me fall in love with you."

"Not bullshit?" Steve's eyes felt heavy, but he had to fight it, had to have this talk with Eddie before he passed out again.

"Never. You're everything, Steve Harrington. And when you can keep your eyes open for more than two minutes, I'm gonna kiss you so hard it bruises."

Steve smiled as his eyes closed.

Eddie's hands carried him out of hell and into forever.

[samuelsdean]

I Don't Mind If It's You

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: maybe styling spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

genre: fluff

word count: 1081

author's notes: i missed spencer's long hair so i decided to write a self-indulging fic about playing with his hair.

SPENCER HAS ALWAYS FOREGONE STYLING HIS HAIR IN THE MORNINGS. He always thought as long as he could just flick the strands of hair behind his ear, he was good to go. And besides, he had a hair tie with him. He could just simply tie it back—no more pesky hair in his line of sight.

He has always foregone styling his hair in the mornings until he met you. While he was big on practicality & “Hairstyling is a waste of time”!” You were the exact opposite. 

It’s quite a funny thing to think about. Spencer, a certified germaphobe, was uncaring about how his hair looked, whether it was kept well today or it looked like a bird’s nest the next. And then, there’s you. You’re not a germaphobe though you pride yourself as a chic woman. Not a law enforcement job could stop you from looking like you came straight out of a magazine.

You always found the time to make sure your hair looked pretty and presentable before heading to work. In your free time—quite rare for FBI agents—you liked to read magazines for trendy new styles to try or watch videos online for tutorials.

And today was definitely your lucky day. No case. Everyone is off for the holidays.

Unfortunately, that’s where your luck ended.

You got injured during your last case. Your arm is in a cast, unable to move it around like you wanted it to. Fortunately, your hand was still good & thankfully, uninjured, unlike the rest of your arm. So, although you were free to lounge around your home, you couldn’t try that one hairstyle you found in one of those Cosmopolitan articles.

Until a genius idea came to you like a light bulb turning on.

“Hey, Spence?”

You asked your boyfriend, who was busy skimming through what seemed like his third or fourth book of the day.

He’s so cute when he’s all focused like this, you thought. 

He hummed in response, still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pages.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

This made Spencer look up from what he was reading, staring at you questioningly. You were the type of person who never asked for help or favors—unless needed. You often disagreed with him because he would prefer it if you told him whatever problem you had. Although he was a genius and could help with you, he knew lending an ear to someone was already a big help. 

"You know I can't move my arm around, right?" You asked him, to which he nodded in agreement. 

"Yeah, is it itchy?” He asked, about to go off on one of his notable tangents. “It takes around six to eight weeks for broken bones in casts to heal. Also, around that time, the injured area starts to itch.”

You nodded fondly at the man, not minding a little bit that he went off-topic. You love listening to his mini-lectures—not only do you learn something new, but you’d also hear the soft tone of his voice. One thing about Spencer is he had a pretty voice. You could listen to him talk for hours.

“There are five main reasons why your casts itch—nerves, trapped moisture, immune response, dead skin cells, and body hair.” Spencer continued tattling. “Nerves cause itchiness because the nerve endings in the skin may fire as the cast begins to harden and dry, sending itch-inducing signals to the brain. As for the itchiness being an immune response, it ensues when the body perceives the plaster of Paris or fiberglass as an outside invader. Histamines may be released. Itching, redness, and swelling can be brought on by released histamine.” 

With his excitement to share facts about how broken bones heal, you couldn’t help but laugh at how dorky but adorable your boyfriend was, which made him scrunch his nose.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t mind. I like it.”

At this, Spencer’s ears started turning pink, making you chuckle some more. He scratched the back of his neck in shyness as you took it as a clue to tell him what you needed from him.

“My arm isn’t itchy, babe,” you began, “What I need from you is your hair.”

“My what?” 

“Your hair.” 

It was your turn to get shy. You knew Spencer wasn’t a big fan of having his hair messed with. It’s not that he hates it. He just doesn’t like messing with it that much—minus the occasional flicking behind his ear and simply tying it back when it gets irritating.

“I—um,” you explained further, trying to fight against the embarrassment you were feeling. This was your boyfriend you’re talking to!  “I saw this cute new hairstyle online and I wanted to try it but you know, with the broken arm and all…” You trailed off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You chuckled humorlessly, beyond embarrassed at this point.

This was such a bad idea. Why did you even bring it up? You were about to start berating yourself, ready to hop onto the next train and create a new identity for yourself, when you noticed Spencer shuffling towards you, sitting on the floor between your legs.

“You want me to style your hair?” You asked incredulously, still can’t believe Spencer would let you play with his hair.

“Of course.” He replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world 

Like it was an everyday thing for anyone—you—to do his hair.

“I don’t mind my hair being played with if it’s you.”

At that, you blushed as you started combing through his soft curls with your fingers. Spencer merely smiled softly at the gesture and closed his eyes.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Yeah?” You asked back as you started braiding his hair. “What is it, Spence?”

“I love you.” He muttered. “I may not like it when people touch my hair out of nowhere. But if it’s you, I don’t mind having you do it for the rest of my life.”

You gasped at his sudden confession and were about to say those three words back when you felt it.

Spencer planted a kiss on your injured arm and pulled your other one down, so he could be face-to-face with you. And before you knew it, his lips brushed against yours, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

Maybe styling Spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

[leighsartworks216]

The Sound of Being Loved

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Possibly OOC. I'm posting this at like 12am and I am so tired sleepy but I needed to finish this Or Else

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

Word Count: 737

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion let out a stiff breath as your fingers brushed over the scar. The poem. The sigil. Whatever it was Cazador'd carved into his back.

You'd asked him about it before. He'd answer curtly and bitterly - as he’d always done when his master was the subject of conversation. But that was so long ago now. At least, it felt quite long ago. He couldn't really be sure. All he knew was things were finally dying down and becoming normal. As normal as things could be, anyway. And you couldn't stop yourself from asking again.

That's how you ended up straddling his thighs as he laid chest-down on the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," you reminded him softly. You kept repeating the phrase when he tensed beneath your fingers, or got that quiet, distant aura about him.

He hummed, turning his head to peek over his shoulder at you. He offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go on," he encouraged. "He's dead - it doesn't matter anymore."

You tilted your head. Sharp eyes studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. He sighed quietly as your hand massaged the back of his neck. "But it still happened," you said, "you still hate it."

He smirked, but his quiet voice gave away the false confidence. "You know me too well, darling."

"Yes," you leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I do." He turned his head slightly more to catch your lips for a momentary kiss. Your lips hovered over his, eyes boring into his soul, searching. "I can stop."

"No. Please. I... I want you to know every part of me. I trust you."

You kissed him once more, languid and sweet, before sitting back up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax under your fingers. They danced across his back, tracing each line in their circular pattern. One hand slid to his waist to thumb circles into his side. He wondered why for a moment. Surely it would be easier to feel each infernal letter with both hands? Then he realized: it was a distraction. You were giving him something to focus on while you studied his back. His undead heart stuttered in his chest.

“I could translate it,” you whisper. It’s a gentle offer. “If you wanted to know what it says.”

Cazador is dead, he reminds himself. Whatever the bastard carved into his skin, it shouldn’t hold so much power over him anymore. But the thought of knowing exactly what was written there… His lips pursed.

You pressed a kiss to his spine, in between the circles of text. He lets out a breath. “No. Let it die with him.”

You’re quiet as you go back to tracing. He wonders if you’re translating it in your mind. He… doesn’t mind the thought - not as much as he thought he would. He trusts you, enough to know you would take the words to your grave. They would never be used against him, held over him as leverage. They’d just sit in a corner of your mind and collect dust, until their meaning is lost forever. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Once you’ve felt all of the letters, your hand traces the circles themselves. Starting right at the center, you go out ring by ring. Where scarred lines branch off, you ghost your touch up and down the ridges. There are several at the bottom of the scar. It almost looks like dripping wax, sealed into his skin forever. Imagining what it was like hurts too much.

He peeks over his shoulder again as he feels your hands, full, flat-palmed on his skin, sliding over his sides. You lay on top of him, sliding your arms around him, squished between his stomach and the bed. You’re so warm. Your head rests between his shoulder blades, breaths sliding across his back and shoulders like a warm summer breeze. His body fully relaxed into the affection. All tension faded away, and he allowed his eyes to close in the comfort.

“I love you,” you hum near his ear. “My beautiful star.”

Astarion smiles. “I love you, too. My dearest blood donor.” He relishes in the way you laugh against him, full and bright and free. And he hopes, when he’s lived for centuries more, and loses the spark of life in his eye, he remembers exactly how it sounds to be loved.

[bigassmoonchild]

The Aftermath

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word Count: 2k

The first part does give context, but isn’t required for this read.

Summary: You knew the difficulty the process of being a mated Omega in the military. You understood how much you would lose, but you never thought about the difficulty in your normal life. Never thought about the panic you would have, or how much it would effect you and Ghost's personal relationship.

Content Tags: Hospitals, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No use of Y/N, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost

A/N: I was not expecting such a good response to Maple Syrup, and since y'all seemed to like it so much here's basically the next part. Let me know if you want anything specific, my asks should be open. <3 I'm adding a 'keep reading' link to make sure you can scroll on if you want.

Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

Everything felt wrong. Ghost wasn't injured, but he was being held overnight in the medbay. The Maple Syrup had run its course through him, but he could hear chatter echoing in the room. He could smell you, you weren't too far from him but he wasn't allowed to see you. Price had come in not too long after the doctors had checked him over and cleared him, arms crossed as he sat in the chair next to the bed Ghost was in.

"We'll need to talk, you know," was the only thing Price had said, leaning back and relaxing in the chair.

"Is the Doc okay?" Ghost asked, looking in the direction your scent was coming from. The sickly sweet smell of heat was becoming stale, but you were on lock and key just in case any Alpha soldiers tried to come in. Price looked in the same direction, giving a faint shrug.

"I'm going to be updated once she's steady enough for the doctors to leave her alone," Price said. "Gaz is on watch outside her room," Ghost nodded. Gaz was a Beta, so it would be fine for him to be that close. Ghost still didn't like it, he didn't know how his pack was, where everyone was, if everyone was safe.

It took a few hours, it was well past midnight before any movement came from the direction of your room. The curtains surrounding Ghosts bed was moved, the Doctor gesturing for Price to follow him. Ghost had tried to listen in, but it wasn't worth it. He was still in mild pain from the mission, the place where the tranq had stabbed him still throbbed every so often.

Price walked back in some time later, looking at Ghost with a sigh. That didn't make him feel good, panic started to flow through him, thoughts of you dying flashed in his mind for a few moments.

"She's gonna be fine," Price started. "They got her heat back under control, they're just waiting for it to finish cycling through her. Outside of that, she's fine," Price sat next to Ghost. "I can't ask you about what happened. I can only tell you what will happen," he looked away.

You woke up, head foggy and throbbing with a headache. You could see a form moving next to you, checking your vitals. You gave a soft groan, your neck throbbing alongside your core. Everything hurt, but you weren't able to tell if it was everything.

"You finally waking up?" The voice asked, and you could recognize it. "You've been out for a few days, you've even had Ghost trying to get in," she giggled a little. Amanda. That was her name, she was one of the nurses you'd been working with prior to the mission that went south.

At the mention of Ghost, you sat upright, vision spinning before righting itself.

"It was a really bad heat you were sent into, y'know. Took us a few hours to stabilize you, but you're doing good for yourself," she smiled, trying to lay you back down but you pushed her off of you.

"I need to talk to him," god even your throat hurt. She nodded slowly, sticking her head out of the door. You rubbed your head, headache now making you feel sick. It took a few moments, but you heard footsteps come in the room, a figure standing next to you. When you looked up, it was Price.

"There are some procedures we need to go through. I've already got some officers in, but we still need to talk about what happened," Price started, moving to sit in the chair near you. "Ghost has already spoken with them, so it'll be you, me and the officers. I think Laswell has flown in as well," you stared at Price.

With a few blinks, you looked down to think. Ghost had already spoken with the officers? You knew what the rules were like, and you knew that your career was now in his hands. It pissed you off, if you could really focus on feeling much outside of pain.

"The officers are trying to get him to make a decision on your career. I can't let you two talk about anything yet, the Adjutant Officers still need to figure things out before you'll be allowed near each other," Price looked away, your jaw tensing. You really had no rights anymore, did you?

It took another few days before you were released. The second you had clothes of your own to wear, you were gone off into your room.

Someone had been here. You could smell a stale scent, but you weren't able to place it. It was too distant to be able to decipher, but your room was exactly the same as it had been left before you were hospitalized. You didn't feel comfortable in your room, knowing someone had been here.

A knock on the door made you spin, nerves set tight. As you opened the door, a large figure came into view.

"Doc," Ghost started, before being yanked into your room and having the door slammed behind him. You turned on him, staring at him sharply. You pointed, opening your mouth before shutting it and groaning, running hands through your hair.

You kept trying to start talking before you stopped yourself, eventually kicking at the wall in irritation.

"What did you say to them?" You hissed, back still turned and facing the wall. You could hear him shift behind you, boots scuffing against the ground. You turned, storming up to him, chest to chest. "What the hell did you tell them? You gonna dismantle my career? Make me some fucking house-omega?" You were growling now, you could feel your muscles tensing.

When he didn't respond, you groaned, tossing your hands up in defeat and walking away from him. You turned, hand on your hip, waiting for a response.

"I don't want to take your career away," he whispered, finally. You barked a laugh, rubbing your wrist against your bitten gland. His hand reached out to grab you, but you moved away from him. "I don't want to make decisions for you," he added, voice growing more desperate.

You shook your head, pulling your hand away from your gland and shaking them out. Ghost reached out to you again, hand catching your shoulder before you shrugged him off.

"I don't know what to do," you whispered. "I'm terrified, because now I'm outed to so many people, and there's quite literally nothing I can do to save myself," you turned to look at Ghost.

He scoffed. "You think I'm going to ruin things for you? I've already told you, I don't want that kind of control over you," he looked away, crossing his arms. You could smell the distress on him.

"You have done shit to make me trust you!" Your voice raised before dropping, a hand running down your face. "I have zero control left, you know how many rights I have as a mated Omega?" He shook his head. "None," you glared at him.

Ghost glanced at you before looking away again. He shook his head, moving to leave before you blocked the door from him.

"You don't get to walk out when we're talking," you growled at him and he growled back.

"This isn't a conversation, this is you getting all pissy on me," he loomed over you, forcing you to take a step back. "I didn't want this to happen, I would have chosen any other way to save us, but we didn't get a choice, did we?" You looked away.

"Get out,"

He could smell the distress on you the second he spoke. Your scent left him spiraling, he was panicking. His Omega was distressed, and he was the cause. He wanted to fix it, correct the problem and make you happy again.

Ghost could do nothing when you repeated yourself.

"Get the hell out," you glared at him. Ghost opened his mouth to give you a retort, but you had turned away. He bit his tongue, turning to stare at the door.

"You know that's not what I meant," he whispered, opening the door and leaving.

Even after walking aimlessly for ten minutes, he could still smell your distress on your scent, the sour taste stuck on the back of his throat. This wasn't how he had intended to talk to you, he wanted to make a plan for when they asked him more questions regarding your career.

Ghost was pissed off, more so with himself than you, but he wanted to comfort you. Fix what he had said, take it back.

But he had a meeting to attend, and he needed to make sure he didn't say anything wrong.

You sat in the conference room, Price, Laswell and an Adjutant officer sitting across from you. This was the third time you'd gone over what had happened.

"So you say this 'Maple Syrup' is what caused Ghost to go into a feral rut?"

"Yes," you deadpanned, glaring through the Adjutant. "We've already been through all of this, there is literally nothing else that I haven't told you," the Adjutant hummed.

"We need to make sure everything is covered," he told you, looking at the paper he had been writing on for the past hour and a half.

You looked at Price, hoping he would help you in any way. He looked away, leaning further back into his seat.

"What about my career?" The room went silent, the Adjutant stopped reading, glancing over at Price who had finally looked at you. "I want to know what's happening," you whispered. The last few days had left you unsure of yourself. You wanted to confront Ghost, you wanted to apologize for snapping at him, you wanted to fix what you'd said.

None of them spoke, Laswell had opened her mouth to speak before closing it, taking a deep breath. Her fingers tapped on the table, looking at Price and the Adjutant.

She looked back at you. "You aren't allowed to make any decisions regarding that, you know," your head dropped back with a groan, wrist rubbing against your bitten gland roughly. You were terrified, you didn't know what the future was going to hold.

You had so little control and it was getting worse. You stood abruptly, going to walk out the door before Price spoke.

"Would you like to speak with Ghost?" You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. With people around, you wouldn't snap on him, but you also didn't want to see him since his last remarks. You really needed to know if you still worked here, or if he was going to force you to become a house-omega.

You nodded, turning around and sitting back down while staring Price down as he made a phone-call. A few moments later, Ghost walked in and sat beside you, but you still couldn't look at him. It was silent for a few minutes, everyone looking at each other, waiting for the first to speak.

"You still have a job here," Ghost spoke up. "I didn't let them remove you, but they won't allow you on missions anymore," he added the last part quietly. You nodded.

You could hear Price and Laswell ushering the Adjutant Officer out of the room, the door closing with a click behind them. Neither you nor Ghost talked for a few minutes, you could smell a certain level of stress on him.

"Thank you," you whispered, glancing quickly at him. He was staring at you, eyes watching your every twitch and shudder. "I'm... sorry, for the other day," you fiddled with your fingers. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

Ghost shook his head, hesitating before grabbing your hand, pulling it close to him and in turn tugging you towards him. You finally turned to look at him, and his eyes visibly softened.

He looked down, then back up to you. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said what I did. Not in the way I did," he tugged you even closer to him, nuzzling into your gland. "I don't regret having you as my mate now, but if I could've changed what I did, you wouldn't be stuck with me making decisions for you now," you leaned in to him, pressing your face into his chest.

It relaxed you, his scent, and allowed you to think much clearer.

"I'm just so scared,"

Next

[steviewashere]

If Found, Return to Me

Rating: General CW: Implied Sex (Mild), Mild Panic Attacks Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Humor and Hijinks, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Panic Attacks, Dork Eddie Munson, Dork Steve Harrington, 3+1

Okay, the idea was going to be a 5+1, but I couldn't get past three ideas without feeling the crawl of burn-out, so I lowered it to three. But this is based on This Post from @apomaro-mellow

👕—————👕 1. He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

Steve stands in front of him. Hands on his hips. One foot cocked. “Yes, Eddie,” he answers emphatically. Even a little annoyed. Which, sue Eddie for having to ask over and over, but it’s sort of embarrassing. Especially when his boyfriend is wearing a similar shirt that just reads: ‘I’m Steve’. Makes Eddie look sort of childish, if you were to ask him. “If I’m taking you out of town, to a place I’ve never been before for a convention—something I’d probably never even go to—you absolutely have to wear that shirt. Knowing you, you’ll see some action figure stand and I’ll be abandoned by the comic books.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Or, y’know, we can just link arms and walk around the convention center?” Steve only widens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He groans again. “Okay, fine! We’ll wear these stupid t-shirts.” His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling of their hotel. Huffs through his nose. “I don’t even know how you got these,” he grumbles, “I’d rather not know.”

Sure, Eddie’s prone to running off. He gets excited, okay? Especially when it’s something he knows a lot about, or something he’s been hunting down for literal years, or if it’s a thing he can surprise the people around him with. Thinking of the last time he wandered off and Steve had to practically scruff him, it’d been while he was purchasing a dice set for Dustin’s birthday. So maybe Steve has a point. And maybe it’s sort of a genius idea. Eddie just wants to be stubborn about this, it’d save him the humiliation.

Except, he’s still wearing the shirt (Steve in his matching one) when they finally get through the doors of the convention center. There’s people in costumes all around them: Spock and Kirk, Marty McFly, Indiana Jones, Predator, and a few kids with their dads all dressed like those ponies that Erica likes. Something in Eddie trills. And he’s already a few steps ahead of Steve before he knows it. Steve trails behind him, wonder and awe shining in his own eyes, trying to keep up with Eddie’s frantic nature.

But then they’re not even close to each other. They buy lunch a couple hours in. Steve gets a large lemonade and downs it like he’s never had something to drink before. And then Eddie’s being told, “Please wait here by the bathrooms. Don’t go do anything stupid.”

He’s leaning against the wall that reads: ‘Restrooms’. Arms intertwined over his chest. Legs crossed on one another. In the distance, his eyes lock onto a Dungeons & Dragons booth. There’s tall shelves stocked with every mini figure he could ever pray for. A few long tables that showcase various maps, dungeon master screens, and little trays for dice. However, there’s an odd rack in the booth. A hat stand. And on it, he spots the perfect thing for Steve. It’s probably expensive, Eddie debates with himself, but it’s Indiana Jones’ hat. His feet are moving before he registers the people walking past him.

And then he’s there. Holding a classic fedora hat between his hands. Turning it around in his hold. Thumbing at the material; marveling at how smooth and buttery soft the fabric is. He spots the price tag, ‘$8.00’. It’s not a terrible price. Isn’t damaged in any way. So he keeps it in his left hand, grabs a paladin mini figure in his right, and purchases both items. Bag in hand, he moves to leave the booth, but is stopped by a gentle hand tapping on his right shoulder.

He turns and is met with a girl. She’s level with his chest, eyes wide and calculating, hand retreating back to her side. “Hi—um—you don’t know me at all, but I found somebody named Steve looking for you,” she states, “I saw your shirt and figured you were the guy he was talking about.”

Eddie slumps. A part of him can’t believe the stupid shirt even worked. “Yeah, it’s probably me that he’s looking for,” he sighs. “Take me to him.”

She’s hard to follow in the crowd of people. Shorter than most and extremely quick. But she links his arm with hers and practically drags him back towards the bathrooms. And there he is, Steve Harrington with his hands on his hips, a furrow to his brow, mouth thin-lined. “Eddie,” Steve greets. He smiles, though it’s not all that sweet, but kind enough for this stranger that had to shepherd Eddie. The girl leaves them. And Steve steps closer to Eddie, crosses his arms over his chest, and then has the gall to snort. He raises a hand and plucks at Eddie’s t-shirt, directly on the word: ‘Found’. “Looks like my stupid t-shirt worked,” he snarks. The sass to this guy is unbelievable.

“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” Eddie says dryly. “Maybe you don’t want the little gift I got for you.”

Steve perks up. Eyes glowing with curiosity. “What’d you get?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks. Digs into his bag and flaunts the hat. “Saw it at a D&D booth, surprisingly. Probably would’ve been something we walked by, had I not…wandered.” He steps a little closer into Steve’s space, sets the hat on top of his head, and nods in approval. “Think that this purchase was a success. You look dashing, Mr. Jones.”

In a flurry of movement, Steve snatches the hat from off the top of his head. Gaping at it. “Eds,” he breathes, “this is so fucking cool.” He places it back where it was, pulling it tight to his hairline, and grins brightly. “Thank you, but also please don’t leave me alone here,” he says, “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. “Just thought about how excited you’d be about the hat and couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again, promise.”

Steve chuckles. “I know it will, but that’s what the stupid shirts are for. Anyway…Can we go look at the Lego set-up that we passed by in hall E? I think I saw a spaceship and—“

“Lead the way, Indy.” He might have to buy his own shirts with how Steve bounds away from him.

——— 2. “If…Lost?!” Eddie exclaims. “Steve, what the fuck? Why—How—Where the hell are you getting these t-shirts?” He asks. They’re at Steve’s house, getting ready for a day trip in Chicago. And, sure, Eddie’s never been in his life. Doesn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand. Maybe Steve does know more about where they’re going, but that doesn’t change just how ridiculous this shirt is. How it glares at him in the bathroom mirror.

Steve sidles up next to him. His t-shirt the same as the one from the convention. He wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist. Rests his head on his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he states ominously. “And, again, I know you. Your sense of direction is practically non-existent. You can’t deny that, baby. The only reason you found Skull Rock is because you stumbled upon it.”

“I was on the run, couldn’t exactly look at a map,” he grumbles. “But do we have to—“

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Now, can you come out to the car with me? I’m ready to go.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. Sits in the passenger seat. Shuffles through the radio stations. Teases Steve for his taste in tapes. But then they’re parking, getting out, walking around the city.

He follows Steve…for a while. Into a record shop. In the back of a diner, playing footsie under the table. Then he goes down a side street. Following a guy in a white t-shirt, hair high on his head, Adidas sneakers on his feet. However, the guy turns slightly. And…that’s not Steve. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been following this stranger, or when he started, or from where he started from. Tries to rake through his brain to the last time he heard Steve talk about the street they were originally on, but there’s nothing. The words and names escape him.

He’s stranded in a city he’s never been to. Down a street he should’ve never come across. Wearing the most humiliating t-shirt known to mankind. Somewhere, again he’s not sure, behind him Steve is probably standing by some shop entrance, hands on his hips and a scowl perfectly framed on his face. And Eddie can’t help but panic. Standing with his back against the nearest wall. Breathing through his mouth like he’s about to beef it on the sidewalk. Eyes darting over and under and left and right. Trying to find semblance of normal, any little speckle of Steve. Something.

It’s not until he’s nearly sick to his stomach, churning and flipping and knotting, that a different stranger makes their presence known. They gently invade his space. Voice soft as they notice his panic. “Hey man, are you Eddie?” They ask. He nods way too quick, but sidelines the blur to his vision because talking to this stranger seems hopeful. Especially since they know his name. “Okay, cool,” the stranger mutters, “I ran into your…friend. Steve was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I spotted him, said he couldn’t find you, but didn’t know where to look. So I volunteered to find you. And—well—judging by your shirt, I can gladly and safely reunite you guys. If you…If you wanna follow me.”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t know where I am.”

The trip back to Steve is arduous. Through crowds of people and past noisy cars. Bustling shops and the waft of various seasonings from a number of restaurants. But sure enough, Steve is on some precipice. His hair a mess and face pinched nervously. Then, he spots Eddie. Eyes lighting, clearing and glistening. A look of ‘I want to touch, but know I can’t.’

When he sidles up next to Steve after the stranger leaves, he carefully joins their hands. “I followed a complete stranger for probably thirty minutes,” Eddie admits, whispering. “His hair looked similar. And he was also wearing a white t-shirt. I got so scared, Steve.”

“Well, at least our stupid shirts worked again, right?” Steve asks, breathless and still verging breakdown.

Eddie squeezes their hands. “Can we go home, please? This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I prefer middle of nowhere Hawkins. At least I know where everything is.”

Steve nods rapidly. “I need to touch you in ways I can’t right now. Let’s go.” And then he tugs their hands, pulling them along sidewalks and through groups of people, down a couple side streets. It’s partially worth it, in the end. Definitely with the way Eddie’s skin is now decorated with Steve’s love, sticky and warm with it, too.

——— 3. The shirts end up following them to the Indiana State Fair.

Steve stops them at the front entrance, right after the ticket booth, and makes Eddie face him. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice low and near demanding. “If I turn my back for a second and you are gone, I will lose my absolute shit. Got it? Do not make me have to keep a rope tied to your belt loop.”

Eddie groans. “I get it, Steve. Can we at least try and enjoy ourselves?”

And they do for the most part. Steve plays at a few game stalls. Eddie carries the prizes. Their legs interlock underneath a picnic table, sharing greasy funnel cake and way too sour lemonade freezes. They watch a few performers, pet some fair animals, judge prized pigs like they know what they’re doing.

But then the ferris wheel comes up and Eddie sees an opportunity already forming. Like dots connecting or the stars aligning. He wants to drag Steve through the line and sit with him in one of the seats, wait for the wheel to stop at just the right height, and kiss him as the lights dim low and the darkness of the sky envelops them. Though, because he always misses a few steps in his plans, he doesn’t tell Steve that they’re going to the ferris wheel. Just starts walking. Shoving past other couples and accidentally sidelining a couple kids. He sneaks around large families. Maybe bribes a few people to let up on the ride’s queue.

Then, Eddie turns to his left. Where Steve is.

Or…Where Steve should have been.

“Shit,” Eddie spits. “Steve?” He calls over his shoulder. Frantically, he whips around in line. Eyes wide over people’s heads. Shoving them out of the way, albeit a little rough. Spreads the line into two little rows. But he comes up unsuccessful.

Until, right on cue, a stranger is tapping on his shoulder. Instead of letting them go into their whole spiel, he just sighs defeated, “Take me to him.”

There are no words exchanged. Not when Eddie follows behind, head bowed to the ground, dragging his feet like a petulant child. And then he stops where he sees Steve’s shoes, the bright blue Adidas sneakers he’d recognize anywhere.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Thought you were with me.”

Steve just sighs. Something kind of disappointed that shrivels Eddie slightly. “Where’d you even go?” Steve calmly asks.

Eddie finally looks to him, his eyes pleading. “The ferris wheel, but…But! In my defense, I thought you were with me. And I was going to get us a seat on the ride. Was gonna wait until it got up to the highest point and do something cheesy like kiss you…or blow you, whatever. But I—“

“Why didn’t you just ask me, Eds?” Steve laughs with his full body, deep from within his stomach. “We can do that, babe. All you gotta do is ask, y’know?”

“I didn’t think—“

“I know you didn’t,” Steve teases. “Seems like my stupid t-shirt idea worked again. That’s three times, you dork.” Eddie can only groan. He knows that he has a bad habit of wandering, doesn’t mean that the idea is any less annoying or dumb. “Come on, Eds. Stop throwing a fit. Let’s do your thing.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss or blow me on that ferris wheel, I’m banning D&D at my place for a month. Let’s go.”

When they get off and start walking back to the car, Steve tugs on the back of Eddie’s jeans. He yelps, startled, but quickly shuts his mouth when he’s faced with a stern look. “You know what I just remembered?” Steve asks him. There’s mirth in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t trust this at all. “Earlier, when I was telling you about wandering, I mentioned maybe tethering you to a rope. I might have to do that. Since you can’t behave.”

Eddie heats from the inside out. A coil tightens in his stomach. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he bites back.

Later, he finds out, Steve is exceptional with rope. What a fucking boy scout.

——— +1 The Mall of America didn’t earn its title for nothing. The place was huge, that much Eddie could discern. Which made perfect sense when buying the new and improved: ‘If found, return to…’ shirts. However, this time, it was Steve with ‘If Found’ t-shirt.

At first, Steve didn’t know how to feel about the new shirts. Simply because he didn’t seem to see a reason for why he’d get lost or wander or be found in any capacity. But given the surprise Eddie had for him, the reason definitely fit the bill.

What Steve didn’t know, that Eddie one hundred percent knew, was that a Lego store was opening up at the mall. Or, has been opened at the mall. It was the perfect time for a little road trip. A little Fall of 1992 trip to Minnesota. Driving by trees and such. Parking in the Mall of America’s lot. Figuring out what stores to hit first, what food they wanted to eat, where the bathrooms were located. Typical day out sort of things.

However, one moment Steve was with him and the next…Eddie was scouring the food court for his fiancé. Trying not to throw up the meager lunch he just had. Swallowing down panic after panic after panic that rose in his chest like tsunami waves. This place was too big for either of them to wander or get lost or have a mind of their own. Not with the way they impulsively purchases things, an awful habit they both exuded—today is the worst day to do just that.

Which leads him to tapping on the shoulder of a guy around his age. Who’s carrying two large yellow Lego bags. Just sitting back in one of the food court chairs, minding his own business. Until, he whips around to find Eddie startled and red faced. “Uh…Can I help you, man?” The stranger greets.

“Sorry, hi,” Eddie says. “I just—You look like somebody who can maybe help me. I’m looking for my…friend, his name is Steve. Uh—White, around my height, dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a pair of near skin tight Levi jeans, light wash and a white t-shirt that matches mine. Except, his says ‘If found, return to Eddie’. I’m Eddie, by the way. Anyway—Uh, you probably just came from the Lego store, yeah?”

“Sure,” the guy says, completely unsure of this interaction. “Why do you need to know—“

“So you can like lead me there? I’ve never been there. And like he’s really obsessed with those damn sets and like that’s really cool or whatever, but I need to know where he is because we’re from out of town and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing in this mall or where to—“

“Alright, dude, calm down,” guy placates. “We’ll find your friend. Just…That store is pretty fucking busy. Really popular, you know? I’ll take you there, but with how panicked you are, it would be best if you waited by the entrance of the store. Is that…”

“That’s perfectly fine to me!” Eddie nearly shouts. 

He follows on this person’s heels. Bobbing and weaving through crowds of other over-consumers. Maybe shoving a few of them out of the way just so he can stay with that guy. But eventually, they make it to the outside of the rather precarious Lego store. Its yellow storefront nauseating to Eddie. Almost—Genuinely frustrating him beyond belief. And he sees Steve. Standing near the back of the store. Staring up at one of the shelves, but he lets the stranger he found grab Steve for him. Because no way in hell is Eddie going to survive being swallowed up by the awfully large crowd swamping the store.

Steve emerges from the crowd, a bit offended and a lot upended. But then has the gall to appear sheepish when he’s led directly to Eddie. With a nod and a tight smile, Eddie waves the stranger off. Almost wants to run back and get his name, send him a thank you card from the Hallmark store he saw on their way there.

He turns to face Steve, though. Leans them into the wall. “Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans. “Is this what you put up with?”

“Is what—“

“The fucking panic? The—The whirling around and checking in the weird obscure places? Tapping on stranger’s shoulders only to see if they have a single goddamn idea where anything is…ever? Like—“ He sighs. “I thought that I’d never find you, Steve! You could’a at least told me you were going to go somewhere on your own. Maybe give me an idea of where you’re going?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now that’s important to you?” He petulantly mutters. “Can’t go off and have fun without being pestered—“

“I’m not pestering, Steve!” Eddie grits. “I’m being concerned! I’m—You scared me,” he admits quietly. “And you ruined my surprise.”

“Ruined?” Steve echoes, confused. “What do you…oh. Oh. I—“ Then, Steve looks down to the floor. Eyes ashamed and arms tight to his body. “I didn’t…I was just excited, I’m sorry. The store was on the directory when we first came in and I like—“ He chuckles a little bit, loosening up. “—I fucking memorized where to go. What path to take. Because I just really wanted to look in there. They’ve got—Eddie, they have this one set in there, it’s a freaking spaceship and it’s called the…The Galactic Meditator or something? I can’t—That doesn’t matter,” he rambles. Takes a deep breath and pushes himself tighter into Eddie’s space. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie gives a single nod. Closes his eyes and staves off the rest of his panic and anger. He’d be a hypocrite if he lashed out right now. He knows that. And, honestly, seeing Steve geek out about toys…of all things…is kind of endearing. Maybe even doing something for Eddie.

He puts on his best smile, something genuine and pulled from within him. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I—I should’ve known that you were going to come over here.”

“I mean, you did a little bit, right? Had to find somebody that led you here?”

“You got me,” Eddie breathes. “Y’know all my tricks.”

Steve hums beside him. “I’m actually sorry, though, that I ruined the surprise you had in mind. This is a pretty cool thing.”

Eddie smirks. “Steve Harrington admitting to a geek thing being cool…When did the tables turn?” He teases. “Seems like God has heard my prayers,” he jests. With a quick sneaky look around, he grabs Steve’s hand. Squeezes firmly and exhales the last bit of his panicked nerves. “Does my fiancé want to…Oh, I don’t know…Get a Lego set?”

The hand in his tightens with a harsh, unbelieving amount of strength. He almost winces. “Really?” Steve asks, perking up. If he had a tail, it would most definitely be wagging. “Can we actually? I really want that one that I found in there, the uh…Galactic whatever it was called. I’m bad at the names, which is weird because I’ve been building these sets for a while, but I always seem to get the names wrong and I—“ Eddie interrupts with a squeeze to his hand again, a smile bright and plastered to his face. “Sorry,” Steve sheepishly says, “Let’s go in there. I can show you and maybe…you can get one of your own?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s cheek, leaving a very chaste but all the same kiss there.

The panic was worth it in the end. Because watching Steve in his element, nerd-ing over toys and how to best put them together, really makes Eddie’s chest warm. In a way that tells him he’d put up with wandering all his life, if only to get Steve to smile the way he does when proudly displaying his new spaceship.

👕—————👕

[neonpaperlanterns]

Hi! I hope you're having a good time of day!

I was curious if you would be open for a more angsty story with the bestest boy DogDay? Like, they have an encounter with CatNap where Angel gets an open wound that they need to stitch up later. And DogDay can't do anything about it with his hands being too big, so all he can do is comfort his Angel and encourage them? Just him being as supportive as he can be and amazed with his Angel's determination?

It's okay if you dont want to write something like this though! Thank you for your time! Your stories are really good with their captivating nature!

[A/n: So I hope you like this anon. I think I went deeply into the angst.]

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

If only

It all happened so fast. One moment you were next to DogDay and the next you were gone. Flung across the rubble as if you were an unloved toy.

And standing in your place was Catnap with his mouth hung open and red smoke spilling everywhere. After years of exposure DogDay had grown unaffected by the worming hallucinations. He knew what was real and at first he assumed what he was seeing wasn’t. 

It couldn't be. 

No matter what you always got back up. You were their shining light, their hope, their Angel. You always got back up. So the fact that you weren’t moving just had to be fake. The slowly pooling puddle of red he was seeing? Trick of the smoke. It had to be. You were fine. He was sure of it. 

His Angel always got back up. 

Always.

But then why did it feel so real? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. It was the smoke playing tricks on him. Peeling back the layers of his frazzled mind to poke and prod at something new he could be taunted with.

A wheezing laugh made his head snap up. The cat was looking at him. That horrible smile he saw in his nightmares and every fractured mirror was turned towards him. Malice and a sick sense of satisfaction dripped from that grinning face. 

“Is something wrong?” DogDay felt something hot and acidic pool in the back of his throat. 

“Is it them?” His hands are trembling as Catnap moves his gaze over to you. He can’t move his arms as the former Smiling Critter sways towards you. His gait slow and with purpose as those eyes that only held deranged devotion glanced back at him.

“Oh, must not be.” It was said with a gravely snicker a single dirty purple paw rose into the air. It was done so slowly, as if Catnap wanted him to see every minute movement. Even through the dim light and thick smoke he can see the twitching claws that hover over you. 

And you still haven’t moved. Still lying limp as that monster loomed over you. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest at this clear taunt. 

“Are- AAAHHHHHHHH!” A horrendous screech filled the air. Blips of orange were beacons in the crimson fog. DogDay felt himself lurch forward, arms still shaking, as he watched Catnap rear back. A bright flare sizzled in his throat as he stumbled away. 

“Let's go.” Your body slams into his as you shuffle him along. Your grip on him is tight as you take the majority of his weight. He’s reeling as joy sears through him. It was a trick. You hadn’t actually been crumbled beneath that cat. You were fine. He had just been seeing things. Tears pricked along his eyes. He was just so happy. His Angel was okay and had been the entire time. 

And he didn’t want to let go when you stumbled into a supply closet. He wanted to stay in your arms but as you sagged to the floor he noticed something. Pulling away he thought he was still under the effects of the red smoke. 

He had to be. 

Under the flickering lights he saw how your side was soaked with blood. Gnarled slashes marred your skin. 

“What…” Shakily he reached out. He was so sure you had been alright. So sure that it had all been a hallucination. That it had just been Catnap messing with him because he found a new weakness to exploit. But it hadn’t been. 

DogDay doesn’t know what to do. He is just as useless right now as he was when you had been lying there. 

“We shouldn’t stay here too long. I’m sure Catnap is going to be very upset when he recovers.” You're fumbling around the closet, pushing and moving things around. He wants to help you but he can’t. 

“Hey, are you still with me?” A hand is placed on his shoulder. It startles him and he lists backwards. But you don’t let him fall. Your arms wrap around him, steadying him.

“DogDay are you okay?” You sound so concerned but you shouldn’t. He’s fine, you’re the one that got hurt! He should be asking you these questions. He should be helping you!

“Angel I..” His voice came out hoarse and warbled. He can’t even speak properly! What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he help you? Why couldn’t he be there for you? You asked for nothing and he couldn’t even do that! You did everything, all the time. It was always you and he loved you for that. But God he just wanted to do something for you. If only he was a bit more like you. 

Why couldn’t he be more like you? 

Why did he have to be him?

[help-i-lost-my-sock]

A Penny for Your Thoughts (Ace x Reader)

A/N: While I love cocky, confident Ace, I felt like the softer, more damaged side of him deserved some love too <3

Summary: Ace has been feeling a bit low lately, and has been isolating from Reader, and the crew. Reader goes to talk to him, and a rather emotional interaction ensues. Please see warnings.

Warnings: Ace is having an emotional, and vulnerable moment. Ace struggling with his self-worth. Mentions of alcohol usage.

Writing prompt:

"Did you just kiss me?"

"Was I not supposed to?"

"I don't know... But can you do it again?"

Tags: Ace x Reader, angst & comfort, Ace dealing with self-worth issues

Word count: 2900

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

You and Ace had been close friends for quite some time now. Very close, actually. Not quite as close as you’d have liked to be, but that did not matter much, as long as you had his friendship. Yes, if nothing else, his friendship was enough. 

Lately though, your friendship seemed to have been somewhat shaken. For some reason, Ace had been distancing from you, and all others lately. Sure, he’d still act fine when people talked to him. But that was not quite the way it used to be… The Ace you’d known so far was a bit of a chatter box - that is, when he was not fast asleep on the deck, or with his face in a plate of food. He loved to socialise with the crew, and was always offering to help wherever he felt he could be of any use. He’d often be engaged in some conversation or another, swapping tips and tops, cracking jokes, or regaling his men with tales. Now, however, he’d rather lean over the railing, gazing at the sea, lost in thought, or sit alone, isolated, than engage with others. He’d slip out during group conversations, or spend hours shut in the study, haunched over maps, and documents, working his way through endless stacks of paperwork - a task he’d always dreaded more than any other. It was not quite the same, no. 

It would be a lie to say it did not worry you. Ace was your best friend, and, if you were being honest with yourself, he was a bit more than that. It was only natural for you to notice, to miss him, and to worry. You couldn’t bring this up around others - it was clear it was not something he’d want broadcast in front of a crowd. So, you decided to speak to him as soon as you’d catch him alone. It shouldn’t be too hard. Afterall, he tended to seclude himself every chance he got those days. So, you waited. Ace had spent most of the day in the study. At lunch, there was not enough privacy to speak to him, so you let it slide. Afterwards, he disappeared, and you had no idea where. 

Eventually, night had fallen, and the Whitebeards were having a party on the main deck. It seemed like your plan would have to wait another day. The crowd grew and grew, as the music played, and the booze flowed. It was not unusual for pirates to party, and the parties on the Moby Dick never disappointed. Or at least, they never had, until this point. For, as expected, you could not find Ace anywhere in the crowd, and a party without him simply felt incomplete. 

You spent some of the night gliding through the crowds, slipping from clique to clique, from conversation to conversation, eventually setting camp up by yourself by the refreshments table. You sighed as you scanned the swaying masses, as they sang, and danced, and chatted… as if they hadn’t even noticed. 

“Hey,” came a voice from behind you, as a hand gently grasped your shoulder. You turned around to find Marco, and Thatch. Thatch had a compassionate smile on his face, and, while Marco didn’t show it on his lips, the same compassion, and understanding could be read in his eyes as he looked down at you, secluded as you were, camping alone by the booze. 

“We know,” Marco says softly. You tilt your head sideways, questioning him with a silent look. 

“You must be thinking we hadn’t noticed how Ace has been drawing himself back lately,” he starts, as he takes his hand off your shoulder, and turns to look at the merry-makers. “How can the crew party as if they don’t even notice? But we do notice. We all do.” Now that he mentioned it, it dawned on you that Ace’s presence was not the only absence here tonight - a certain carefreeness seemed to escape many that night, and certainly those close to Ace - you, the commanders, Pops, and the men of his division. Now that you were aware of it, you saw it nearly everywhere - in their eyes, as they, too, scanned the crowd; on their lips, curled in half-smiles; on the very countenance of their bodies. They could all tell something - or rather, someone - was missing that night. 

“We were hoping a party might draw him out,” joined Thatch. “The plan was to get some booze in him, and hope it’ll loosen him up enough to tell us what’s wrong - how we can help. But, as you can see…” 

“He didn’t show,” finished Marco. 

“He never showed up,” you said simultaneously. 

“Yup…But!” he added with excitement, and you saw a smile creep on Marco’s face as he turned to look at you once more. 

“We got one more thing we’d like to try.” 

“Ah, and that is where I come in, I presume?” You turned to look at them, swirling your drink, as you waited for them to continue. 

“Yep,” they confirmed in unison, before Marco proceeded to explain. “See, we found him sulking alone on the quarterdeck. Seems he came out for the booze, but didn’t stick around for the company.” 

“Ouch! Well, that’s flattering,” you remarked jokingly, knowing full well it was nothing personal. 

“Yeah, well, he won’t talk to us,” explained Thatch. 

“Yep, we’re clearly part of the ‘company’ he seems to be avoiding… Which brings us to your part.” 

“Ah, I get it. You want me to go up there, and see if I fare any better than you two.” 

Thatch was smiling, while Marco chuckled at your deduction, giving you a small smirk. 

“No,” he answered, “we know you’ll fare better than us.” The small, lopsided grin on Marco’s face made you cock an eyebrow for an instant, but you quickly brushed it off, as Thatch joined in once more.

“Yeah, we know you two are close. Hell, no one’s closer to him than you, except maybe his brothers,” added Thatch, matter-of-factly. 

“So, what we want from you is to go up there and bring him back to Earth.” 

You looked at them - they clearly cared about him, and were now resting their hopes on you, giving you a chance to help. They were giving you a chance to speak to him alone about whatever it is that’s been bothering him, just the way you’d told yourself you’d do. You glanced at your drink, swirling it around some more. Thatch’s words about how close you and Ace were made you feel warm inside. Maybe there was hope for you yet… But now was not the time for that. Snapping out of your thoughts, you looked up at your fellow conspirators. 

“Leave it to me!” you declared, shooting them a grin. 

“I knew we could count on you,” cheered Thatch, with a big smile, while Marco kept on his usual lazy smirk, giving you a small nod. They refilled your drink, and shoved a beer for Ace in your hands, before ushering you to the quarterdeck. 

You took a deep breath trying to calm your nerves, before you strutted off, shouting over your shoulder “Wish me luck!” 

“Good luck!” the guys responded, as you disappeared behind a corner. 

It was a warm night, and the skies were clear, revealing a veritable sea of stars above your head, complete with a bright full moon, and with nary a  cloud in sight. The music from the party was fading as you walked further and further away, towards the quarterdeck; its spritely rhythms now barely enough to muffle the clicking sound of your footsteps on the wooden planks. 

Indeed, way in the back, hidden out of sight, was Ace. Slumped on the deck, with his back resting against a wall, a couple of empty beers around him, and one bottle hanging by the neck in his hand. His head tilted upwards, his eyes fixed on the stars above him. He seemed so calm, so quiet, and yet, not serene in the slightest. It was as if the silent sorrow in his soul crept its way towards you, and took you by the hand, when his eyes suddenly turned to you. A smile made its way onto his lips, but failed to reach his tired eyes. ‘Had he been crying?’ 

“Hey, Y/N! What are you doing here?” Ace tried to act cheerful, and play pretend; he tried to hide his expression by finishing his drink, but you knew him far too well for that, and saw right through his act. 

“I heard you were out here,” you confessed as you went to sit down by his side, handing him the beer. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” you continued, as Ace took the bottle from your hand, “and I missed you. We’ve all been missing you.” You spoke softly, your voice barely above the sounds surrounding you - the music, the clamour from the main deck, with the clanging of beer-filled mugs, and the familiar sounds of waves splashing rhythmically against the sides of the ship. Ace averted his gaze from you, lest you saw the truth in his eyes. But you already knew. You’ve seen it the moment he looked your way. 

Shuffling around a bit, you shifted position, and made yourself more comfortable against the wall, by his side. You allowed a moment to pass in silence, not intending to come off too forcefully, as you both watched the stars twinkling above your heads. You took a sip of your drink. The sloshing of liquid punctuated the silence before you spoke. 

“Care you tell me what’s got you so down? Hm?” you questioned, as gently as you could. Slowly, you turned your head towards him, giving him a side-look, and a soft, half-hearted smile as you waited for his response. 

Ace pulled his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them; the bottle you’d given him still hanging in his hand. He thought he hid it better than that, even from you. But he should have known you’d see right through, and if he were being honest with himself, deep down, he was glad you did. He needed you to pull him out of the spiralling nightmares that had become his thoughts. But that didn’t make it any easier to get the words out. 

Ace rested his chin on his arms, staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular, as his mind scampered to string words together. Though his mouth was hidden behind one of his arms, you could see he was working on an answer by the frown that weighed on his brow. A few moments passed in silence before you placed your hand on his shoulder blade, gently rubbing his back. His eyes darted up to yours, his mouth hanging ever so slightly open, before closing it again, and averting his gaze once more. The warmth of your hand on his skin was comforting, safe, inviting; inviting him to tell you of his woes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, barely audible over the commotion of the party on the main deck. 

“What for?” 

“For making you worry… You, and Marco, and Thatch, and Izou, and Pops, and all the others…I’m sorry for shutting you all out these past few days… weeks. I’m just…” Ace paused for a moment, as he turned his head away from you again, and fixed his eyes on the swaying waves before him. “I… haven’t been myself lately, is all.” 

“Ace, it’s alright. We’ve all got our darker days. It’s - “ 

Ace draws a shaky breath, before cutting you off. “I know it’s not fit for a commander - t’ give in like that, and shut you all out. I should have done better… You all deserve better…” 

The hand that was rubbing his back froze in place, as you stared at him in shock - eyes wide, and slack jawed - struggling to believe the words you were hearing. Seeing Ace crumbling down like this certainly struck a chord. You and Ace were close, but this was a side of him you’d never seen before. Was this the same daredevil you’d grown so used to over time? Sure, you were aware that he wasn’t always that same cocky bastard. You knew he had a softer side too, and you knew he was damaged too. You knew that he struggled with his past - his ancestry, especially - wondering if he really deserved to be where he was, and be loved as he was. Sometimes he’d wondered if maybe he could have done more for Luffy - if he was a good older brother. Other times he wondered if he was doing right by Pops, and the other Whitebeards. You knew all of this, and then some. But you’d never seen him so broken before. How long had he been carrying this stone around his neck? At a loss of words, all you could do was stare at him - lips trembling as you tried to form words; throat tightening, as you tried to hold back tears. 

“I’m sorry you’re missing out on the party to sit here with me,” he continued, “but I also wanna say thank you. Thank you for your time, and thank you for your company.” He adjusted his sitting position, stretching out the leg nearest to you and allowing it to bend to the side, as his arm hung over his bent knee. “I hope you know how much I value your friendship… despite the past couple of weeks… And thanks for the drink too,” he chuckles, a bittersweet smile on his face as he takes a swig, before quickly resuming his monologue. “And thank Marco and Thatch too for trying to cheer me up. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you guys. Y'all deserve better than someone like me,” he trailed off. His head briefly dipped down against his arm, before he quickly lifted it up, and tilted it back against the wall. It was as if he were afraid that if he allowed his head to hang like that he might break down, and cry. His lips curled, and trembled with a bittersweet smile. You watched as his brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth twitched, before he covered his eyes with his hand. From his shaking lips came a sound hard to pinpoint. Was it a sob? A scoff? A chortle? Whatever it was, it clearly captured his inner turmoil. 

Seeing him like this disarmed you completely. You gawked at him for a moment longer, unaware that large, warm tears had started spilling from your eyes, down your cheeks, and down your neck. You watched him shake his head, as if in disbelief of the situation too - in disbelief of the things he’s said, in disbelief of having allowed someone to see him like that. 

The shock still prevented you from forming proper sentences, but you could no longer sit by silently. “Ace…” 

Hearing his name carried on a breathy whisper snaps him out of his spiral, and pulls his attention towards you. Ace hardly had time to register the pained look on your tear-stained face, before you cupped his cheeks in your hands, and pressed your lips against him. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing out the tears past your lashes. The kiss felt hot, with a thick blend of love, and pain; with all the laden words that have spilt, and all those that would not come; with all emotions that you both had been trying to hide. It wasn’t long before you slowly pulled away from him, keeping his face between your palms. The kiss may not have lasted long, but it was enough to get him to shut up, and cease his self-deprecatory verbiage, if only for a moment. You took a moment to scan the shocked, flustered expression on his freckled face before speaking. 

“I’ll decide what I deserve,” you stated, finally letting go of his face. 

You watched as Ace, who seemed perfectly stupefied by your little stunt, attempted - and failed - to pull his wits about him. 

“Did… Did you just kiss me?” He looked cute as a button as he pointed at himself, confused, as if trying to comprehend his own question. You chuckled at his reaction. 

“Was I not supposed to?” You may have chuckled at his reaction, but the truth is that you did it on an impulse, and now the reality of it all was setting in for you too. You’d had a crush on him for ages now, and never in a million years would you have imagined things going this way. But what’s done is done, and this was the moment of truth. Every moment it took for him to answer felt like an eternity, as you kept wondering - What was he going to do? What was he going to say? You couldn’t help but avert your eyes from his, as you felt a blush creep onto your face. You cursed the full moon for its glow so bright, for you were nearly sure Ace could see the deep pink darkening your cheeks. 

“I don’t know, but… Can you do it again?” 

Looking up, you found Ace watching you, expectantly, with a soft, albeit nervous, smile, and a blush to rival your own.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’d say you deserve some more.”

[lakes-liver]

Legend has been acting very distinctly off, lately.

He’s not injured, Sky knows that much. There wasn’t a time where he’s been separated from the group. Something triggered him, perhaps? The veteran has more than enough baggage to sift through.

Sky really isn’t sure.

Legend hasn’t been the same since… about a week ago? Something of the sort? He’s been quieter, laughter not so loud, snarks not so present. If it were anyone else, Sky wouldn’t be concerned.

But this is Legend he’s talking about. Legend, who shows a prickly front but is soft on the inside. His facade isn’t prickly right now, though, more like a dull point.

Triggers don’t last that long, right? If they didn’t, he would be better by now, at least outwardly. Then again, Sky doesn’t know much (if anything at all) of the “shell-shock” the veteran, the captain, and even Time seem to describe. What he knows is limited, tales from an era long before Skyloft, when the world wasn’t so peaceful. So, maybe there’s a chance it can last this long?

This train of thought does not change the fact that there is still something wrong, and Sky is very much concerned.

Another day passes, and the Chosen Hero watches his friend. A multitude of notes show up.

One: no one else seems to have noticed the problem at hand.

Two: Legend is acting as he usually does (jabs, rolled eyes, etc.) around everyone in their group.

Third: the veteran is only acting oddly around Sky.

Now, this has raised a very important question in Sky’s mind. Did he do something wrong? While he’s never been one to hold silent grudges (except against the goddesses, of course), maybe Sky had done something to be an exception.

He mulls this over throughout the evening, as they set up camp. Physically, he’s busied by setting out his bedroll, as well as some of the others’. Mentally, though, he thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

If the veteran hadn’t been borderline ignoring him, Sky’s sure he’d make a quip about how he shouldn’t think so much.

“It must get difficult thinkin’ so hard, birdbrains,” he’d mock, and Sky would laugh, and all would be well.

But all is not well. And Sky is growing more nervous by the second.

He thinks over every interaction with Legend in the past week. Nothing stands out to him. It started normally, with pokes and jokes and smiles and giggles. Then, like a switch had been flipped, the pink-haired man had become strangely subdued.

Could it have something to do with that? The whole… pink-rabbit, thing? But that was months ago, and this was so much more recent.

“Sky? Ya ‘ere?” Fingers are being snapped in front of his face.

He jumps, looking into the marked face of Twilight. Sky hides it with a flush and a chuckle. “Yes! Sorry, got lost in my thoughts, there” — and here is where the birdbrain comments should go, yet none do — “what did you ask?”

Twi, ever the worrywart, frowns slightly. “I ‘as j’st askin’ ‘bout watch. Doubleshif’s, you an’ Ledge. But, if yer not up for it—”

“No!” Sky is fast to interrupt. “No worries! I’m alright, truly. That sounds wonderful.” He gives the most reassuring smile he can muster, and it’s honest and true, for once.

Twilight’s frown lifts, a bit, and the slightly older man nods and steps away towards Wild and Wind, who are still cooking dinner.

Watch with Legend, huh? Could this be his chance?

A small bit of him warns that things could go very, very, wrong.

Luckily, the bigger part of him tells him that if he doesn’t say anything now he will run out of time to say anything at all.

So, that is that. Watch is set—blech, the middle shift—and Sky walks over to the rest of his friends before he can think any more of the situation.

“Sky!” Wind waves. “Come sit by us!”

‘Us’, in this case, happens to be himself, Wild, and Twilight, none of whom he’s opposed to being near. Thus, he picks his way to a spot on a ground, settling next to Wind. The smaller melts into his side (a common occurrence), and Sky happily accepts a bowl of pumpkin soup.

It’s not the same as from his home, of course, but it’s still soup and there’s still pumpkins. He’s still satisfied by the taste.

“Thank you, Wild,” he says, setting the now-empty bowl beside him.

Wild grins crookedly. “‘Course, Sky, I’m glad you liked. Seconds?”

Sky shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

The sailor, on the other hand, shoots up, mouth completely stuffed. “‘ll take ‘is s’rv’in’!”

“Calm yerself, sailer, others gotta eat,” Twilight chides.

“Meanie.” Wind crosses his arms with a pout. Sky ruffles the top of his head, a fond look surely on his face, and the smaller does not shy away.

He spares a glance to Legend and Hyrule, across the fire. The former is staring, brows furrowed, but looks away as soon as he notices Sky’s gaze. The latter continues chattering away as if nothing happened (and, in their eyes, nothing did happen).

Overall, the fire is warm and his belly is full. His friends sit around him and talk and snort and sigh, contentment filling the air. Sure, they have double watches set up, the tension is high, and they are exhausted, but they are together and they are (physically) healthy. Sky could not ask for much more.

So, Sky turns in for the beginning of his rest. Wind is sprawled next to him, looking like the starfish they all claim to exist.

Three hours later, Time is shaking him awake.

“You’re up, Sky. Four’s already woken Legend,” he whispers.

Sky nods. This is a song they’ve danced to many times.

Seeing him up and aware, the oldest moves to his bedroll with a soft ‘goodnight’. The Skyloftian echoes it in turn, before advancing towards the dying embers and confusing veteran.

At first, the watch is normal. Sky watches one side whilst Legend watches the other. There isn’t much talking—there never is, on the second watch, what with tired eyes and restless heroes—but the bit that is remains light and regular. For a moment, he can almost forget the anxiety that’d been eating him away earlier.

Then, Sky makes a comment that shatters the glass around them.

“Oh c’mon, vet,” he rolls his eyes. “We both know you use those trinkets of yours quite often.”

The chuckle Legend gives sounds forced, and Sky is hit with a pang of guilt. It was meant as a simple jab—nothing more nor less—but it maybe it was too biting?

Sky takes the second to study Legend’s newfound stance. He’s hunched in on himself, hands hugging knees, and despite not being able to see his face, Sky can assume his expression is that of a resigned sort of scowl.

It’s the same reaction he’s seem many times on multiple others. Twilight when scolded by Time; Wild when scolded by Twi; Wind when scolded by Warriors; Hyrule when scolded by Legend. It is not a reaction he expected to receive from their veteran, let alone one to be stemmed from him.

It spikes a whole new pang of worry.

He turns back before Legend can catch his face. “Sorry, Ledge. I like your items a lot. It’s not a problem to use ‘em, you know.”

From the corner of his eye, he catches the tension release, just a little bit. Enough, though, to know he said the right thing. Good.

Legend doesn’t give a response besides a light bump of the shoulders. The watch continues in a not-quite-awkward but not-quite-comfortable silence.

Creeeeak.

Sky’s head is up in an instant, scanning and pausing and reviewing the treeline in front of him. His ears twitch and try to catch every little thing, from the scamper of a mouse to the rustle of the wind. He’s certain Legend is doing the same, on his end.

A beat passes. Two. Three.

Legend’s breath hitches. “Bokoblin. One o’ Wild’s, reckon.”

“The others?” Sky whispers, voice barely making a sound.

“No. It’s just one. On three?”

Sky nods.

One beat. Two.

“Three!” Legend hisses.

Sky springs up, Master Sword poised to strike and shield up to block. Legend follows in a similar manner, clutching the Tempered Sword and some sort of shield. The ‘blin barely reacts before Sky is moving, moving, moving, slashing at the beast with a ferocity he didn’t realize he possessed this late at night.

The monster bleeds black.

Legend notices too, and lets out a soft string of curses before he’s in on the action. They trade blows, one then the other then both at the same time.

The bokoblin does not back down. It swings its own sword at their ankles, then their waists, then their heads. Wide arcs that make it near impossible to get in, despite the fact that the odds are two to one.

Legend pushes and knocks it off balance, and Sky seizes his chance. He steps into the circle, sword going faster than a blink, and stabs through the head. The Master Sword glints on the other side. The beast dissolves into nothing save a gem and some guts.

Sky lets out a cheer and turns to Legend.

Who’s eyes, suspiciously, are blown wide with fear. Did he get hurt? Had Sky missed something during the heat of the battle?

He stumbles forward—wait, stumbles? Sky shouldn’t be stumbling, he didn’t get hurt, just look down—oh. That’s blood. On his tunic. On his stomach.

Shit.

Pain erupts from the area, stabbing and scorching and hot in a way it really should not be, not on a fresh wound, not unless it’s infected—

“Sky? Sky! Stay with me, hero, stay with me.” Legend is frantic and holding his shoulders, lowering him carefully to the ground. Why is he so panicked? It’s not that bad, right?

Another shot of pain rocks his body, and he bites back a scream with practiced expertise.

Nevermind, it is definitely that bad.

Still, though, Legend is upset, and he can’t have that. Legend shouldn’t be upset, not because of him.

“I’m okay,” he gasps. “‘m fine, Ledge, just needa—” a coughing fit fights its way out and he cant stop it.

“You ain’t fine, you needa potion or sum. Hold on fer me, ‘kay? Hold on, ‘ll get Roolie or, or,” Legend stops, stares, and then darts up and away. Sky frowns, because Legend is still stressed and he can tell because his accent is loose and free and that is not something he often does.

He holds on for as long as he can, though. He can hear shouts and people getting up and running and since when did they get so far? What’s even happening? Is someone hurt?

Ow. Right. Sky is hurt.

His stomach doesn’t feel so good. It feels sticky and hot and gross and bad and he doesn’t like it. Maybe a nap will help? Naps usually help when he’s tired, they always have. Maybe he should nap.

Just as his eyes start to fall shut, someone shakes him, yelling and shaking and yelling and shaking. Bright, violet, eyes meet dull sky blue, panicked and calm and panicked and calm and ow ow ow everything hurts so bad.

The violet eyes have a mouth attached, and it keeps opening and closing but he can’t hear anything. Should he be hearing something?

Something cold presses against his stomach and he hisses. It keeps going, pushing and pushing, but the cold becomes warm and soft and comfortable. Sky could nap, like this.

Despite his eyes fluttering shut, someone grabbed and shook him, yet again. He really wishes they’d stop, he’s trying to nap here!

“—descendant!” They say.

…What?

Now significantly more interested, Sky strains his ears to listen closer. Oh, cool, the warm-yet-cold hands gave some of his hearing back. That’s nice.

“I’m—or—dant!”

They’re… huh?

“I’m royal!”

The Chosen Hero blinks. Once, twice, three times. His vision is so blurry he can’t make anything out besides those glaring eyes and disheveled hair.

The pain is subsiding, a little bit, so that’s neat.

What did they mean… royal?

Oh. Oh! Wait! Him and Sun start the royal bloodline of Hyrule, don’t they? This person could be referring to that! Is it a Zelda? Did one of the other Zeldas come? They’re so sweet, all those young women, and it triggers something in him that’s quite enjoyable. Maybe, once this pain quiets down, he can talk to them? That’d be just wonderful.

He closes his eyes again, humming in contentment when the unknown Zelda doesn’t shake him back. The sharp and burning and horrible ache is nothing more than annoying, now, and he’s slept much worse than this. He falls unconscious, unaware to the trembling hero next to him.

What could be minutes or hours or even days later, Sky opens his eyes again. It’s dark out, and stars shine brightly up above. Trees dot the outline of his vision.

He tries to sit up. His lower abdomen protests vehemently, and he has to abandon such efforts. Something between a groan and whine escaped him, despite his feeble attempts to swallow it whole.

“Sky?” Someone asks. “Sky! You’re awake!”

He looks towards the voice, and is pleasantly surprised to see Legend. He made it out of the fight! There’s no visible bandages, or splints, or anything but concerned eyes and a soft face.

Sky musters up the best smile he can. “I’m okay, Ledge.” He pushes up again, and this time makes it as far as propping his weight onto his elbows. His stomach screams, but he’s alright, truly.

“You damn better be,” the vet mutters, but he helps push the chosen hero up the rest of the way. Sky nods his thanks, before scanning their camp.

It’s still the same place they were last time. A small grove in the middle of uncharted woods, somewhere so random that no one knows who’s Hyrule it is or even if it is anyones. There are six sleeping forms and the outline of Wolfie.

There is no Zelda. He distinctly remembers a Zelda being there, after he was injured. Did she leave? He wanted to talk to her.

“Where did she go?” Sky asks, frowning. That’s unfortunate.

Legend raises an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Zelda,” he says, like it’s obvious. “She was here whenever… I got hurt, I guess.”

“Sky,” Legend looks very confused. “There wasn’t ever anyone’s Zelda here. Why would you think so?”

His words are thought out, slower, deeper than the mess he’d been when Sky was injured. That’s good, it means the vet has had time to breathe and calm down since then.

“There wasn’t? But someone mentioned being of royal descent, did they not?” Had he made that entire conversation up? Something of delusion built from blood loss and poison?

Legend’s expression freezes; a blush creeps across his ears. “You, uh, you heard that?”

“Yes?” How could he not? They were shaking and shouting, for Hylia’s sake!

“Oh.”

Sky is growing quickly more confused, and concerned, and he remembers why he was so nervous around Ledge in the first place. Something was wrong—no, something is wrong—and he wants to figure it out.

“Legend? Did something happen? Are you alright?”

The veteran shakes his head. “You got stabbed, Chosen. Scared the hell outta us.”

But that doesn’t answer about the past week or the mysterious person who he’s very very certain said they were related to him.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. Before the other can object, Sky continues. “What about the Zelda, though? Or whoever it was? Someone said they were my descendant, I thought.”

Legend looks anywhere but at Sky’s face. It’s very suspicious. “That, uh, that doesn’t matter. You need rest.”

Sky uses his own arms to keep him up, despite the insistence of the pink-haired hero to get him to lay back down. The more lucid he is, the less the pain matters. It’s nothing, now. He’s done more on less.

“No, wait, Ledge—”

“It was me,” he whispers, and it’s as quick as the pegasus boots he loves so much.

“Hm?”

Legend flushes, continuing to look away. “It was, uh. It was me. I’m your…” he trails off into something incoherent.

Sky raises an inquisitive brow.

“Don’t make me say it,” Legend scowls.

“Say what?”

“You know what!” And Sky really does. He wants to hear Legend admit it for himself, though.

“Stab wound,” he deadpans instead.

Legend huffs and pouts and crosses his arms, scowl deepening, then softening, then deepening again.

A beat passes. No one stirs except for the two exhausted heroes.

“Fable—my Zelda—she’s my sister. I’m the Prince of Hyrule, technically.” Legend brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them, eyes downcast, stance tense and so similar to how it was by the fire, that night.

Everything clicks into place very neatly.

Legend is not upset with Sky. He is worried about Sky, worried he’s been a disappointment, worried that he’s somehow made a mistake. So he cut back on snarks and rolled eyes, on cocked hips and wide gestures, replaced it with something subdued and a (quite frankly horrid) attempt at being something different.

“Can I hug you?” Sky asks, because it’s the only thing he can think of saying.

The veteran—the teenager, really—all but jumps. But, exactly as he hoped he would, the boy uncurls himself just enough to nod and accept the arms barrelling into him.

Sky represses a gasp (ow ow ow, next time, do not fall into someone’s arms with a scabbed stab wound, good Hylia), and squeezes tight, pouring every ounce of care he can in. This is his descendant, his kid, and it’s such a rush of emotions he’s surely going to have to process later but for right now Legend slots perfectly into his arms and all is well.

“You’re not… you’re not mad?” The boy rasps.

Sky uses one hand to comb through unruly hair. Jeez, did this kid brush it at all while he was unconscious? He’s going to have to use the recently acquired dad-card to fix that.

“Why’d I be mad, Ledge?”

From where he’s pressed the other against his chest (how did he never realize Legend was so small? Has he seriously never hugged him before?), Sky can’t see the expression he’s making. He can well assume, though, that’s something along the lines of furrowed brows and pressed lips, confusion evident with a hint of something else.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Legend finally decides on, and Sky almost laughs at how absurd the question is.

He pulls back to look the boy in the eyes. “Legend, you are a wonderful person who has done wonderous things. You have faced atrocities that no person should, and come out stronger, better, and you have done it again and again, because you care for people less fortunate than you.” His descendant’s eyes are blown wide, wide, wide, and the deep black spots are all the more obvious; no wonder he’s so open, right now, there is not a single ounce of sleep in that body. “I know I haven’t known you long, but I am so proud of you regardless, Legend, and I have no words for how happy I am that I am somehow related to you.”

Violet eyes stare into sky blue, expression lax in a way Sky has not seen before, details in the starlight that are old to one but new to the other.

Sky is hit with the fact that he has never looked at the veteran before this. Not hard enough to point out the little things, like the freckles or light scars or baby hairs.

“Oh,” Legend murmurs, casting his gaze downwards and caving in on his own body a bit more. “Okay.”

“Legend,” eyes flick up once more, “I’m being genuine.”

“I know.” A long pause. “I know, it’s just not that simple, I guess. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Ledge.”

Legend’s eyes go wide, wide, wide, once more. “The others can’t know I’m Fable’s brother.”

That is definitely something Sky is going to address at a later date.

For now, he hopes that the glint his eyes get is mischievous and his smirk comes across correctly. “Exactly.”

Legend does not look convinced.

“We’ll be like Twi and the champion were, for a while. Imagine how pissed Wars an’ Wind’ll be trying to figure it out,” Sky says, because while he’s seen hell he’s still just barely twenty and the epitome of a little shit.

(Holy Hylia, he’s going to have to address that later. How do Twilight and Wild do this all day? They’re barely a few years apart!)

Legend stares at him, and then lets out a cackle of a laugh. Real and honest, all because of Sky, and hope blooms in his chest. The other is undoubtedly the hardest nut to crack and Sky is finally getting through, after months of work.

Soon, he starts laughing too. He can’t help it! The vet’s laugh is so contagious, and he’s rocking back on his knees, and Sky is wheezing, and they’re both definitely delirious.

They’re also a bit too loud, because even as their giggles subside, the other Links begin stirring. Hyrule first, the lightest sleeper by far, but Wind and Wild and Wars follow not long after. The chain wake to two grinning brothers, and while they don’t understand it, they’re joining in as well.

Sky’s stomach hurts like a bitch, which is not a word he uses lightly, but he feels happy in an odd sense. A lot has happened—too much—but he can ignore it in favor of a good laugh with his brothers.

[jessfandrawer]

~Read from left to right and down each individual image~

Mild blood depictions

The drawing quality is really inconsistent, but I finished it. This is a combination of several ideas, so it took a while, but got a lot off my mind. As per usual, it was longer than I initially planned.

Special appearances: Hanataro, Chad, Rukia.

[catboydogma]

stuck in your sun/blinded just a little

codywan week 2024 sol master list (solsterlist)

@codywanweek 2024 day 6 prompts, sol edition: crèche master obi-wan, quiet love, touch starved

notes: title from rollin', rollin', rollin' (b.) by margot & the nuclear so and so's

wc: 1,529

cross-posted to ao3

Obi-Wan was teaching a class in the salles when Cody got in. He was fresh off a debrief with the High Council and Fox, still in his dress greys with his cap tucked under one arm. The halls of the Temple were quiet at this time of day. Most were at midmeal or otherwise engaged. After two years of sporadic berthing at the Temple in between engagements, Cody had gotten used to its rhythms and the ways of its inhabitants—now both troopers and Jedi.

Cody suspected that this particular generation—class—crèche—of Initiates would grow to be right terrors in combat. Fox had told him that Kenobi was wasted at the Temple after catching the tail end of one of his sparring sessions—Cody disagreed. A good trainer made all the difference between life and death. And it was clear that this was where Obi-Wan truly shone. He loved to teach, to heap praise upon the younglings while nipping bad habits in the bud and reinforcing ones that would save their lives years into the future.

“I don’t suppose you would mind assisting in our next demonstration, Commander?” Obi-Wan called across the salle, flicking his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head. A roguish wink caught Cody nearly tripping over his own boots as he crossed the mats. Little heads bobbed in his direction as the Initiates and young Padawans gave him bows of greeting and Cody nodded back to them in return.

He had to be a familiar sight in the back of Obi-Wan’s classes by now. Cody tried not to linger on that thought as it crossed his mind.

“Midmeal after this on me for your cooperation,” Obi-Wan said. He clasped Cody’s hand in a more familiar greeting. His teeth gleamed against his beard in a quick but fond smile that made Cody’s heart feel like it was rattling in the cage of his ribs.

This was just unfair.

“Bribery of military personnel is a serious offence, Crèche Master.” Cody only just barely caught the corner of his mouth as it tried to twitch upwards.

“Oh, no,” Obi-Wan said with entirely too much severity. Cheeky bastard. “What slanderous accusations against my good name. Bribery? My dear, consider this a token of my… esteem.”

Aha. Right. Cody gave Obi-Wan a wry look at that. He had been holding Obi-Wan’s hand for too long. Maybe. It was hard to say. It would be strange to pull away now. Or it would be strange to linger even further. He settled on a compromise and gave Obi-Wan’s a light squeeze before dropping his hand.

“As promised—” Obi-Wan gave his class an indulgent look and Cody realized just what he had gotten into with a dawning sense of horror. “—we’ll be finishing up this lesson with one on how to block an opponent going for a grapple, especially one focused on disarming you.”

Obi-Wan liked to keep his terrors in line by promising little extracurricular treats at the ends of his lessons, contingent on “reasonable behaviour” and timeliness. Hand-to-hand was popular but so were a variety of other random but entertaining lessons—knitting, fleecing a table in Sabacc, parlor tricks with cards and dice, making the perfect batch of tiny papple tarts.

“Just a basic disarm will do,” Obi-Wan said to him, voice quieter now that he wasn’t projecting it across the room. “We’ll show them a successful one, and then I’ll counter you on the second try, if that’s alright by you.”

“It’s a sound plan.” Cody nodded and took a ready position: shoulders angled towards Obi-Wan, hands loosely curled into fists guarding his face and the sides of his head, feet planted wide.

Obi-Wan sank into the basic ready stance for Soresu with one open palm extended towards Cody. His lightsaber hilt gleamed in his other hand, turned off for the time being. “In your own time, darling.”

Just a quick grapple with the most handsome Jedi on Coruscant. Not a problem at all. Cody tipped his head in a nod and lunged. A palm strike to Obi-Wan’s wrist knocked his guard wide open. The Jedi shifted to react and brought his saber hilt forward as if to strike Cody—in a real spar it would be on—and Cody easily caught his shoulder and forearm in a lock. A quick twist and Obi-Wan’s hand spasmed open—his lightsaber hilt fell to the padded floor of the salle.

“Well done,” Obi-Wan said. He sounded inordinately pleased—and strangely out of breath. Cody watched the column of his stubbled throat move as he spoke. This close, he could smell Obi-Wan’s lightly spiced aftershave and a faint undercurrent of the sweat he’d worked up over the course of the class. They were pressed body to body in a way that had every inch of Cody’s skin itching with something unnamable. He wanted to get impossibly closer. He wanted to let Obi-Wan wrestle him down to the mats and press him into the ground with his own body weight. He wanted—

“I’m sure you’ve already thought of ten ways to get out of this,” Cody replied. “Again?”

“If you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan said. They disengaged and Obi-Wan raised his voice again to address the class of younglings. “That is one of many ways an opponent might try to disarm you or take your lightsaber out of play. In some scenarios, a simple Force pull can get it back into your hand. In others, it’s best not to let go of your ‘saber in the first place. We’ll go full speed for a counter, then half, then walk you through each step before you get to try it yourselves.”

At a nod, Cody settled back into his ready position and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet to keep limber before springing forward. This time Obi-Wan moved with Cody’s initial blow and lowered his shoulder against Cody’s lock. With the angle all off, Cody couldn’t get the right leverage and Obi-Wan easily broke free without losing his lightsaber.

They did this again. And again. And again. Each time Cody had to grit his teeth against the confused sensations thrilling through his chest, the way the pressure and warmth of Obi-Wan’s touch made his nerves fire strangely. They were both sweaty by the time the class was over and Cody had shed his dress jacket for the freedom and relative coolness of his undershirt. Obi-Wan’s only concession to the exertion had been loosening the collar of his tunics and removing his uppermost tabards.

Cody tried his best to keep his eyes from gravitating to the slice of collarbone and curly auburn chest hair that peeked through the open gape of Obi-Wan’s tunics, but even he had his limits. There was more red there and in his beard than in his hair. A little more gray, too.

“—in the Temple for long?” Obi-Wan asked, tossing his hand wraps into his bag.

It took gargantuan effort for Cody to tear his eyes away from ogling Obi-Wan’s chest—Prime’s sake, pull yourself together, man warred with could fit in my hand bet his skin tastes… in his head.

“Only, I feel rather guilty about coercing you into a workout and then strongarming you into midmeal with me right after. Would you like to come back to my quarters for a quick shower, or at least a glass of water…?” Obi-Wan slid Cody a sly glance from under his eyelashes.

Cheeky bastard.

“I thought the accusations of coercion were slander and libel against your good name,” Cody replied. “I don’t mind it. I wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t wanted to help out—it’s good. To be a part of the classes,” he hastily tacked on.

Obi-Wan pressed the palm of his hand to Cody’s cheek in silent thanks. A smile lit his eyes with warmth and deepened the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. “In that case, I appreciate your thoughtfulness and foresight. My dashing Commander.”

Cody swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Not a problem��Obi-Wan.” He leaned his face into the touch despite himself and his skin finally settled. The warmth of Obi-Wan’s skin and roughness of his callouses almost felt familiar in a strange way. Being Marshal Commander of the Third Systems Army and the most elite infantry company in the GAR took its toll. Even if Cody never acknowledged it. If he never admitted to it, then it wasn’t happening to him. Simple enough. He maintained a professional distance from his subordinates at all times—others could be lax in their discipline, but not Cody. Never Cody.

But Obi-Wan was not in the GAR chain of command. He wasn’t quite a civilian, either, and so still intimately connected to the war effort and the lives of Cody and his vod’e.

So he allowed Obi-Wan to pick up his cap and carry Cody’s overnight duffle for him, and he allowed Obi-Wan to sling an arm across his shoulders in a haphazard, warmly affectionate way that Cody so rarely got. He allowed himself to bask in Obi-Wan’s touch and attentions, and—just as good—allowed himself to touch back.

[admrlthundrbolt]

Run Run Run (Eddie x Chubby Reader x Venom)

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

You were someone he could always depend on. The kind neighbor that kept him in mind. So when Venom comes into the picture, it's hard for him to not obsess over you. This perfectly plump morsel waiting to be devoured. He need only to convince Eddie that you belonged with them.

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

Hey guys, I'm back at it again. In all honesty Venom and Eddie have to be one of my favorite duos. So with the new movie coming out soon. We'll I just couldn't resist writing something for them. Hope you enjoy.

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

You sighed as the mail locker stayed jammed shut. No matter how much you yanked or jiggled. It never seems to budge. Hotel Schueller had never been the nicest apartment building. But it was a short walk from your job and had some great people around it.

The front door squeaking open caused your head to shoot in it's direction. Speaking of, your favorite upstairs neighbor just walked in. “Hey Eddie, do you think you could give me a hand?” You were hopeful as you called out to him.

Without sparing you a glance he darted to the stairs. “Can't right now. I think I made a break through with this newest story.”

Your face dropped as he brushed you off. “Oh, OK then.” Trying not to let it get to you, your shoulders sagged. Turning back to the locker, you were surprised to see it open.

Picking up his pace at your downtrodden answer, he frowned. So focused on his annoyance with the situation. He didn't notice a black tendril merging back, coming from the lobby.

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

Venom was seething. Not only had he been plucked from his home planet. But his host was forcing him from one of the most perfect beings. And for what! He didn't trust the symbiote to keep you safe. That was the only thing he wanted. Your safety was at the top of his priority list. Next to finding out if your soft flesh felt as luscious as it look. Oh to feel his tendrils caress your thick thighs. Spend enough time wrapped around you to know your smell…your taste. His body trembled at the mere thought.

Until he remembered that Eddie would never allow such things. He knew how the man treasured you. How he didn't even realize that the two of their thoughts aligned. The night he had merged with the man, you had been on his mind. The alien had then brushed the thoughts away. A being if Earth was no concern of his. Then you showed up at his door, worried beyond belief. It was endearing to him. To have such a caring person seek him out. He and his host shared the same thoughts in that moment. You were a Saint and they were the Sinner unworthy of you.

Still it didn't stop him from pouting. “Why can we not meet them Eddie?” He could feel an annoyance fill his host. But he pressed, he could not ignore him forever. “We wish to bask in their company. To hear her sweet tones. Feel the warmth of their plush skin.” The heat that began to spread across the man's body was delightful. It wouldn't be long before he could convince him to bring you closer.

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

You had been on his mind constantly lately. Between trying to avoid your presence and Venom's pestering. There didn't seem to be a moment that you weren't running through his head.

Even now, as he tried to drift to sleep. His thoughts were plagued by you. Your caring nature and sweet laughter. The way your eyes crinkle when you smile. The suppleness of your hand when it happened to brush against his. The warmth of your presence was enough to blind him.

But you were to good for them. You had a normal life that didn't need them to ruin it. If you had only met sooner in life things may have turned out differently. Rolling over, he felt sleep began to wrap around him. The image of you wandering in his subconscious, lulling him.

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

Another day and another argument. “You can't eat every inconvenience we have.” He shook his head as he slammed the apartment door shut. Throwing his things towards the couch, he glared as they fell to the floor instead.

“What is the point of protecting the city if we do not also benefit.” His floating head frowned at the man. It wasn't enough that he was confined to this body. But the moral code of his host was stifling.

“They are a civil servant. Their job is to enforce the rules and keep people safe. A ticket sucks, but it happens.” As much as he likes to take the high road. There was a part of him that agreed with the parasite. He had gotten back to his motorcycle before the guy had finished the ticket. Didn't stop him from finishing and slapping in on the seat. Still being a douche wasn't a crime. A fact that really made Venom rage.

His eyes narrowed at Eddie, then a vicious grin curled on his lips. “If we cannot eat them, then let's go get some chocolate.” He knew changing the subject from violence usually got him his way. The thought of heading to Mrs. Chen's, while it also happened to be time for you to get off work. Well, let's just call it a happy coincidence. Until he let his thoughts get a bit to loud in his excitement. Allowing his host to hear his line of thought.

His head shook in resolution. “No way. You are not getting a chance to get them involved.” He moved towards the bathroom, but was stopped. His feet had become enclased in black tendrils. His body marched to the front door. Reaching for the fridge, he barely caught the handle. Though this didn't stop the alien. Instead the appliance toppled over with a crash. They argued a bit longer, each fighting for control. Until a frantic pounding came from the door.

Morphing back into his host, Venom growled. This wouldn't be the end of the conversation. Though his annoyance shifted into elation as you called out.

“Eddie! Are you ok?” You sounded out of breath. It was a safe guess that you rushed up stairs. It warmed both of them to think that the noise from their argument made you check on them. But that didn't stop the grimace from settling on the man's face. He debated whether or not to open the door.

“Please Eddie. I just need to know you're not hurt.” You were desperate. The image of his sickly face not to long ago flashing in your mind. Your upstairs neighbor that always had you back. He looked as if he was on death's door that night. He may have pulled away from you lately. But that was no reason to not worry about a friend.

He crack the door open, his heart thruming chaoticly. Though for all of his anxiety, the sight of your soft face calmed him. Pulling the door wider, he gave you a sad look. He wanted to tell you everything. Knowing you would embrace him, with your soft warmth. Reassure him that everything was fine. You would help him and be there. Instead he stared at you and forced a small smile onto his lips. “I'm OK. Just some problems with the fridge.” He steps back and you blink at the overturned appliance.

Your shoulders sagged, the tension finally releasing. Clutching the flashlight tighter in your hands you sighed. “What about the voices?” You hated to pry, but his safety was more important than etiquette.

He glanced at the flash light in your hands. It was odd that you had it. Shaking the thought away he pointed to the TV. “I must have had it up to loud. Sorry about that.” A second to late Venom pointed out his mistake. ‘It is off Eddie.’ His face pinched at the obvious lie.

You looked him over and didn't see any signs of distress. So with a nod and a relieved smile you went on your way. Not wanting to be a bother.

The pair looked after you longingly. Each wishing they could truly tell you.

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

Venom stared longingly out of the window. He kept glancing down, hoping you might step out on the fire escape. It was a rare occurrence, but he cherished any time he could spend with you. Even if you weren't aware of it.

He still hadn't convinced Eddie to pursue you. The idiot didn't understand! If there was danger then they could save you. The safest place you could be was in their arms. He would wrap himself around your plush warmth. Sink his tendrils into your lusciously pliable skin. The three of you could enjoy so many wonderfully lazy days together. A pur flowed up his throat at the thought.

This sound caught Eddie's attention. It was an odd noise to come from the symbiote. Glancing at his watch, he decided it was time for a break. Pushing away from the desk, he made his way over to the floating head. “Watcha see Ven?”

The alien sighed wistfully. “I am thinking about (Y/N).” He glanced at his host from the corner of his vision.

The man's expression dropped a bit. For as much as he protested, he actually agreed with the parasite. You were amazing and he would love to be with you. But the thought of them causing you pain. It was to much to bear. “I know buddy. We need to think about them though.”

Before he could reluctantly agree, they were pulled from their conversation by yelling. There was a man threatening a woman outside the window. “Look lady, you better hand everything over!” He was waving around a knife as he frantically demanded her stuff.

The alien perked up, nothing would brighten his mood more than criminal brains. “Eddie we must go help. That lady is in danger.”

He was reluctant to jump into action. But the weapon was making it hard to stay in place. Then it became impossible to not intervene. When your voice answered the mugger. “OK, just let me get out my flashlight. I can't find my wallet without it.”

They shifted as the violent man told you to hurry up. Not bothering to open the window they explode onto the fire escape. This distracts the robber, but not you. They see you pull out the same flashlight as the other day. Their confusion soon turns to surprise as you jab it into the man's stomach. He doubles over in pain and groans. You don't give him a moment to catch his breath as you bring your knee to his nose. A sickening cruch echoes through the alley. The man's body drops unceremoniously with a hard thud. With him taken care of, you turn towards the heavy breathing behind you.

They stared at you in awe. Their sweet, soft little neighbor had just downed a threatening man with a weapon. Venom's mouth parted in a wide taunting grin. “And you thought she was helpless.” He would have continued his gloating. If not for the fact that you had turned the taser towards them.

“If you take a step closer I won't hesitate to use this on you.” The man on the ground shifted a bit, but made no other move. You glance at him, though you never fully turned from the being in front of you. “What, are you guys some sort of team. One of you makes threats while the other gets behind the victim?” Your grip tightened on your weapon, sending another short shot of sparks out.

He stepped forward shaking his head. Then stopped as you held down the button. The taser may be small, but it sent a barrage of electricity out. “No, you have it all wrong.” With great reluctants, he shifts back down into his small counterpart.

A beat of silence goes by, then another, your eyes widening all the time. Then your hands come up and tangle in your hair. “This explains so much.” It was said so softly that he almost didn't catch it.

Taking a tentative step forward, his brows pinched in confusion. “It does?”

Your eyes shot in his direction. “Of course it does. I thought I may have been putting you under pressure. But the sudden change in attitude and schedule. It was a clear lifestyle change. Although.” You gave him and the being hovering near his shoulder a once over. “I wouldn't have guessed exactly this.”

The symbiote wasn't sure his smile could get any bigger. “We are happy to see that you are not angry with us Morsel. It was Eddie's stupid idea to avoid you.” He glared at the man accusingly.

He pointed his finger into the parasite's face. “It's not that simple and you know it.” He turned to you with tired eyes. “I didn't want you getting involved in this mess. You shouldn't have to worry about taking care of us.”

You shook your head with a hard look on your face. “Shouldn't I get a say in this. I've always considered you a close friend. And when you pulled away, I worried. Were you going through something or had I done something. Then the other day, there was obviously something going on. But you didn't trust me enough to tell me. It took someone attacking me to bring out the truth.” With a sigh you looked between the pair and moved a few steps forward. Your expression had softened by the time you stopped in front of them. “I understand that you wanted to protect me though. To be honest, I would have probably done the same if I were in your shoes.”

Wrapping your plush arm around his and gave it a squeeze. You were a bit shocked at the black tendrils that laced around your fingers. It was an odd sensation, but not an unpleasant one. “Why don't we head to my place for some tea and talk about this?”

The duo nodded quickly. As they latched onto you, not willing to leave your side. They couldn't help to reflect on how they should have confided in you sooner. But they wouldn't make the same mistake in letting you not be a permanent facete in their lives. One they were willing to do anything for.

[steddieas-shegoes]

uh. what?

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is healing wounds'

rated m | 1,782 words | cw: injury recovery, mild blood, recreational drug use | tags: post s4, hurt/comfort, getting together, fade to black

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

The stitches pulled and he couldn't get comfortable. He almost wished Robin hadn't made him get checked over, but anything that required this many stitches probably would've killed him if he hadn't. At least that's what Nancy said when he complained to her about it.

But now, Steve couldn't sleep, and sleep was apparently very important for healing.

The alarm clock next to his bed said 2:07 am, so calling someone was out. Going somewhere was also out, unless he wanted to go to the 24 hour diner alone.

Fresh air sounded good until he realized he'd have to either go for a walk in the middle of the night alone or sit by the pool alone.

He didn't want to be alone.

His phone started to ring just when he was considering taking a shower out of boredom.

"Harrington residence, this is Steve."

"So formal for two in the morning, Stevie," Eddie's laugh rang through the line and Steve couldn't help smiling. Something about Eddie's energy was contagious, a beacon of light when all he had was the darkness of his room.

"Didn't know if it was an international business partner for my parents. Happens sometimes when they forget time zones." Steve moved to the edge of his bed so the cord didn't have to stretch as far. "What are you doing up?"

"Had a dream about being eaten alive again. This time they managed to eat both of my nipples." Eddie scoffed. "Isn't one enough?"

Steve chuckled. "And you can't go back to sleep because you're scared they'll come take your other nipple?"

"It's a genuine concern, Steve! I have big dreams of piercing this thing and if they take it from me, what do I have left?"

"I think you'd probably just find something else to pierce," Steve shook thoughts of what that might be out of his head before they could take over. "So you can't sleep. You thought you'd call and wake me up to suffer with you?"

Eddie was silent for a moment before responding. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Steve said quickly, not wanting Eddie to feel bad. "I was awake."

"Nightmare?"

"No, stitches are bothering me."

"You wanna come over? I found my hidden stash. Might help with the stitches," Eddie offered.

Steve probably shouldn't. He was on some pain meds already and if he got too fucked up, he'd probably cry. That's what happened last time he had some of whatever Eddie was selling.

"I'll come over, but probably shouldn't have anything. Robin would kill me if I end up in the hospital," Steve gave a half-truth.

"Yeah, she's terrifying. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Before Steve could tell him that was a bad idea, he hung up.

********

When Steve got to Eddie's, he let out the breath he'd been holding the entire drive. Eddie was sitting on the porch, alone, his guitar by his side.

Maybe he'd been playing already, or maybe he planned to play to help distract Steve from the way his skin felt like it was too much.

He got out of the car and waved when Eddie looked over at him with a smile.

"Didn't think you'd get here so quick," Eddie didn't bother standing up, Steve just knew to go sit by him.

But the steps on the Munson's porch were rickety at best, "temporary" according to the government officials who had stuck them here because they didn't think it was worth putting them in a home across town, and Steve's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dull glow of the light by the front door. He missed the top step and immediately fell, barely catching himself on the wood of the porch.

Eddie was helping him up immediately, doing his best not to make his own injuries worse.

"Shit, you okay? Wayne tried fixing it, but it just keeps getting loose."

Steve felt a stinging pain on his side, and when his hand grazed over the worst of his bites, he felt something warm and wet on his fingers.

"Shit," without looking, he knew he'd torn his stitches. "Eddie, I need a towel or something."

"Shit, that's a lot of blood. That's a lot of blood. It shouldn't be that much, right? Like even tearing your stitches, it shouldn't be-"

"Eddie." Steve poked his arm, stayed as calm as he could. He bled easy, so sometimes even small things looked worse than they were. "Towel."

"Right, yeah. Should you come with me?" Eddie shook his head. "I mean can you move? Should you stay here?"

"I'll sit here until I have a towel. Don't wanna get blood on the carpet."

"Got it."

Eddie still seemed unsure about leaving him, but must have noticed how much blood was soaking through Steve's shirt and rushed inside. He was back in less than a minute, a black towel in his hand.

"It's clean. It's the one I usually use for my hair, but I didn't get to fold it from the dryer yet. Um, just put pressure on it."

Steve knew what to do, was used to putting pressure on wounds, but appreciated Eddie trying to triage it anyway.

"You got a needle and thread, right?" Steve asked once he took his shirt off and put pressure on the bite. It was already bleeding much less, a positive sign that maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"I mean, I do. I don't have medical tools that have been sanitized properly."

"You have water to boil and vodka?"

"Steve. I'm not fucking performing a medical procedure on your stomach," Eddie shook his head. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"I trust you."

The words hung heavy between them, despite the fact it wasn't exactly news to either of them. They'd been through it all together, why wouldn't he trust him?

"Okay, let's get inside and I'll get everything ready."

Getting inside was easier said than done. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the pain had really started to set in and every breath felt like knives stabbing into him.

"Deep breath, Stevie," Eddie said as he sat him down on the couch and helped him lay back. "I'll get you something for the pain."

"Something" was an edible, and Eddie seemed hesitant to give it to him, but all reservations Steve previously had went out the window as he felt his hands shaking from the pain.

Eddie prepared everything while the edible kicked in, checking in with Steve every few minutes to make sure he hadn't passed out or started bleeding again.

When the room started to feel blurry and his head felt light, Steve smiled over at Eddie, who looked nervous.

"Ready for your magic hands," Steve wiggled his brows.

Eddie made a strangled sound before leaning over the wound and wiping some of the blood away gently so he could see where to stitch him back up.

He worked as quickly as possible, humming softly to distract himself and Steve from what was happening.

Steve was high.

He was high and he was feeling good despite the needle in his skin.

He drifted for a bit, couldn't be sure how long, but eventually, Eddie was touching his cheek and making him open his eyes.

"Think you should stand up so I can wrap a bandage on it. Then you can try to shower off some of the blood if you want. Wayne got one of those removable showerheads. Feels fancy," Eddie said as he moved the hair off of Steve's face.

"Help?" Steve managed to ask.

"Yeah, I can help you with the wrap and start the shower for you," Eddie nodded.

"In the shower?" Steve asked.

Eddie paused. "I can keep us dressed?"

"But." Steve huffed. "Blood."

Eddie couldn't help but laugh at his confusion, Steve's lips pouting out and his eyes squinting. "Okay, okay. If you're okay with it, I'm okay with it. You're high as shit, man."

"I'm standing right on the ground," Steve waved his arms around him. "Or is the ground standing on me but the other way?"

"God, this is the best. Okay, let's go."

"Wait!" Steve grabbed Eddie's arms. "You should know something."

Eddie raised his brows in question. "Go on."

"I'm very in love with you. And also kinda hard."

Eddie blinked, not processing. Now he felt high.

"Uh. What?"

"I have an erection." Steve made a disgusted face. "Hate that word. Sounds so middle school sex ed."

"It is." Eddie shook his head. "I guess I meant more like, how and why and what the hell do you mean by it."

Steve giggled. "I said you had magic hands and I was right."

"Dude, I was literally giving you stitches. I am failing to see why that would make you hard."

"It's cuz you're so gentle and your tongue sticks out when you're trying to focus. And also I started thinking about what you'd do if I couldn't move," Steve sighed dreamily. "You have handcuffs."

"Okay. Let's pause." Eddie let out a small hysterical laugh. "You want me to help you in the shower because you love me? Do you even need help?"

"Probably. But I also want help. And also you're a helper for me."

"What does that even mean? Where's Robin when you need her to decode what the hell you're talking about?"

"You're a helper for me! Because you help me be better about asking for help! And then you help!"

"Okay, that's. Good. I'm still not sure what's happening."

"You're gonna help me shower. I'm gonna try very hard not to come. We sleep?" Steve looked around Eddie out the window, like he was checking if it was still night time. "And then in the morning I wake up and get yelled at by Robin."

"Why would she-"

"The stitches. And the telling you I love you thing. She's gonna be real mad about that."

"Why?" Eddie felt like he was losing it. What was even happening anymore? How had he completely lost control of the night?

"She wanted to help me do a speech thing."

This was just getting more wild.

Steve needed a shower, and he needed sleep. Eddie needed a minute to gather his own thoughts.

"Shower. Sleep. Talk in the morning." Eddie raised his hand to cup Steve's neck. "Robin murders you after we talk."

"Deal." Steve's face sank, but he quickly perked back up. "But shower?"

"Yes, shower. Go, horndog."

Steve laughed as he half-limped to the bathroom, clearly feeling some pain even with the drugs in his system. Eddie followed and resisted touching Steve as much as possible.

Which ended up being about two minutes.

[deepcreekvultures-writing]

"Tequila and Palmistry"

Spencer Reid x Drunk!Reader

Words: 4,754

Tags: Drunken Flirting, Spencer Reid Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Spencer Reid takes care of drunk reader, Spencer Reid Ranting, Mentions of Violence, Spencer Reid's hands, I Love Spencer Reid, Feelings, Idiots in Love, Drunk Reader, Early Seasons Spencer (S1/Early S2)

After a tough case where you were almost killed by the unsub, the team decides to go to the bar and unwind. While there, Spencer ends up having to keep you from going off the deep end.

==========

Watching you drink was like watching an Olympic sprinter in their prime. You were slamming shots back like they were nothing as soon as the team got to the bar. 

The last case was particularly intense for you, considering you fit the unsubs target perfectly. No one batted an eye at you nursing yourself with alcohol.

Except Spencer.

He had attempted to say something after your fourth shot, but Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered a soft “Let her have this, kid.” 

After your sixth shot of tequila, you moved on to tequila sunrises, which you went through like water. Gideon finally put his foot down after your third sunrise, instructing you to make the fourth last because you were being cut off.

Luckily for Gideon, you weren’t a mean drunk.

Spencer was surprised at how peppy you were under the influence. During cases, you kept your guard up, letting loose just a little when you were alone with Spencer, but you always kept it at arm's length.

At some point, you slid your glass into Spencer’s hand, grabbing Elle and Penelope by the wrists and pulling them to the center of the bar to dance. He glances down at the glass in confusion before looking up at Hotch and Morgan. Hotch smiles to himself, sipping on his beer, while Morgan whistles playfully.

“She trusts you with her drink, Pretty Boy. That’s an accomplishment.” 

“Actually, this bar invests in straws that are able to detect whether or not Rohypnol or any other drugs are in the drink.” Spencer responds, still keeping the glass in his grasp.

“I’m sure she’s too slammed to notice, Reid.” Derek chuckles in response.

“This is a one-time deal; next time we go out together, we have to make sure she doesn’t go off the rails like this again.” Hotch sighs, glancing over at you, dancing with Elle and Penelope, who are more focused on making sure you don’t fall. Gideon grabs his jacket, sliding it on.

“It was a hard case for her; she needs to let off some steam. Why aren’t you drinking anyway?” Morgan asks, leaning over to Spencer.

“I don’t really drink.” Spencer shrugs, flicking his finger against the smooth of the glass. His eyes trained on the straw in your cup. As much as he wanted to convince himself that you gave him your drink on purpose, it was just too unlikely for him to really dwell on it. 

Except he did dwell on it. 

His eyes slid over to you. Your hair fell over your face as you danced around, your features illuminated by the dim lighting, and your soft eyes shone as you smiled. Spencer isn’t sure how to feel about you being so drunk. 

On one hand, you were pretty much catatonic after your interaction with the unsub. You sat next to him in the jet, staring down at your dirt-covered hands, completely still for the almost 3-hour flight.

On the other hand, he knew you were only drinking to try and get the awful taste out of your mouth. The terrible twisting of your stomach that caused you to dry-heave in the jet’s lavatory for half an hour before takeoff. 

Gideon stands from his place at the end of the booth; he rounds the table and leans down to speak with Spencer. “You’re in charge of her.” 

All Spencer can do is nod, as Gideon leaves quickly after with not much more than a wave. But as you made your way back to the table, somehow finding your way between Reid and Morgan in the booth, he couldn’t help but feel relief.

He handed you the drink, and you took a small sip before turning your whole body towards him and looking him directly in the eyes. 

“Did you try it?” You asked seriously.

“No- No, I didn’t.” Spencer shakes his head, embarrassment tinting his cheeks.

“Whaat??” You pulled back, your face contorting into stern confusion. “You have to try it, now—here, here.” 

You held it out to him, your fingers delicately holding the straw for him.

Ignoring the snickers from the others, Spencer leans in and takes a small sip. The tequila burns, but it’s rounded out nicely by the sweetness of the grenadine and the soft tart flavor of the orange juice.

Clearing his throat, Spencer speaks, “Originally, tequila sunrises contained tequila, lime juice, soda water, and créme de cassis when it was initially invented at the Arizona Biltmore Hotel in the 30s or 40s.”

You stared at him as he spoke, wide-eyed with your lips slightly parted. You blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to follow what he was saying.

“The modern tequila sunrise was popularized in the 70s by the Rolling Stones when they were kicking off their tour at a bar in Sausalito, California.” You nodded slowly at his explanation, your lips pulling into a bright smile as you set your cup down on the table. 

He didn’t really think you understood that. But your face shone like the first burst of light at dawn, waking the morning flowers from the chill of night.

His face warms, looking away from you to glance around the bar. Morgan taps your shoulder, grabbing your attention. Using his hands to shield your ear, he whispers something to you, causing you to break out into a fit of loud giggles. Derek shushes you, laughing along.

Your hands find your face as you slump back into the booth, muffling your laughter into your palms. After laughing for a good five minutes, you drop your hands into your lap. Your face was flushed, your eyes moist with laughter-filled tears. Your lips are pulled into a bright, sloppy smile, your teeth shining against the dull light of the bar. A few strands of hair fell into your face.

Derek looked proud of himself, shooting Spencer with a knowing look. Gesturing to you, mouthing ‘go for it’.

Spencer ignores him, looking around the bar in an attempt to ignore the flushed beauty beside him. But you turn, grabbing his arm. 

“Spencer,” You shake him a bit, trying to get his attention. He was already looking at you, but you shook him anyway. “Spencer, Spencer, where’s Gideon?”

“Uhm, he left a few minutes ago.” 

“Oh, boo, how lame." You pout, your hand still firmly holding Spencer’s bicep. You turn your head, eyeing your drink. A grin creeps slowly onto your face.

“Don’t get any ideas. You’re still cut off.” Hotch interjects, noticing the way you were eyeing your glass. 

You deflate immediately, slumping into the seat, your hands falling into your lap as you pout. Spencer watches you, a little amused but ultimately concerned with your shift in mood.

After letting you stew for a minute, Spencer turns to you, clearing his throat before opening his mouth to speak. He falters, however, when he sees your face. 

Your bottom lip juts out, glistening under the light and drawing his eyes. Downcast eyes steal his attention from your lips, leading him to your upturned palms. Your pout melts into a deep frown, your inebriated brain feeding the memories of what happened just 5 hours ago.

“Uhm,” Spencer starts, leaning over to point at your hands, “have you heard of palm reading?” His voice is unsure, wavering a little as you look up at him.

You both nod and shake your head, your eyes widening a little as he pulls you out of your thoughts. Putting your hands down on the seat, you push yourself up, giving Spencer your full attention. You stare at him for a second before scrambling to show him your hands again.

“It’s also called palmistry or chiromancy, and it’s unknown where it originated exactly.” Spencer bites his lip, glancing down at your palms. “But it has ties to a lot of eastern cultures.” 

“Like where?” You ask, your voice insistent.

“Indian, Tibetan, Chinese, Nepali, Persian, Babylonian, Canaan, Sumer, and Arabian cultures have history with palm reading.” He lists, watching as you slowly tilt your head down, trying to follow his words. Your eyes never leave his face, squinting slightly as his words slip in one ear and out the other.

Deciding to just keep talking rather than waiting for you to speak, Spencer continues, “Palm reading uses the natural creases in the flesh of your palms to predict things about your life and personality.” 

Spencer hesitates before placing his left hand underneath yours, settling his palm against the back of your hands. Chewing on his bottom lip, he uses his right hand to map out your palms. His index finger hovers, making sure not to touch the lightly calloused skin.

“Are my palms-” You lean a little closer, your eyes wide as your gaze flicks between his face and your hands. “Are my palms whispering to you?”

You were whispering to him—well, more like mumbling. Spencer furrows his eyebrows, leaning back a bit.

“Are your- are they what?” He stammers, a smile threatening to pull at the corners of his lips. You giggle, letting your head fall forward and rest in your open hands. You stay like that for a second to let it out before lifting your head again.

“You’re so cute, Dr. Reid.” A heavy sigh follows that statement, along with a sloppy grin. Before Spencer has the opportunity to flounder in response, you continue, “What were we talking about?”

“Um... Palm Reading?” His slender fingers tap against the back of your hands mindlessly.

You purse your lips, squinting your eyes just a smidge before smiling again. 

“Okay, okay, keep telling me about it." You scoot a little closer, folding one of your legs under you, your knee knocking against his thigh. “Please?”

Your face was still flushed, though Spencer wasn’t sure if it was from the tequila that still lingered on your breath or from the fact that you were sitting so close to him.

“Oh, yeah- yeah, sure…” He bites at his bottom lip, looking back down at your palms. “So... the main lines used for palmistry are the life line, the heart line, the fate line, and the head line…” 

Spencer continues talking, making sure to keep his gaze cast down to your hands as he explains what people look for when reading palms. You stayed quiet, and he was almost positive that you weren’t listening; honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had fallen asleep. 

He maps out each line for you after thoroughly explaining what each of them meant. Spencer didn’t really believe in palmistry or astrology, but he had to admit that so far it was pretty accurate.

Especially when your life line described you as enthusiastic and courageous. 

That was one of the many things Spencer admired about you. You had no qualms about being who you wanted to be, and it gave him the confidence to do the same.

Though sometimes you had a hard time remembering that about yourself.

“…and your heart line tells us about your cardiac health, possible depression, emotional stability, and, um… and romantic perspectives.” Spencer swallows, his shoulders slightly hunched as he looks intently at your palms. You straighten up, drawing his eyes to your face. 

Your lips parted, your eyes holding excitement as you looked down at your own palms. Glancing up at him and meeting his eyes, you smile, the tip of your tongue fitting between your teeth. 

“Keep going.” You whisper, nodding at him incessantly. Spencer pauses, unable to tear away from the light shine in your eyes, illuminated by the warm lighting hanging from the rafters of the bar.

“…your- your heart line, um,” he stumbles over his words, snapping his head back down to look at the crease in the fleshy part of your palm. “Your heart line begins in between your middle and index fingers, and it’s straight and parallel to your head line.”

Spencer finally presses the pad of his finger into your palm, dragging it along the crease as he talks. He still cradles your hand lightly with his other, his thumb absentmindedly sliding against your knuckles.

“Mm, what does it mean?” You ask sloppily, your articulation faltering.

“It means that you are... caring and understanding.” He slides his finger back to where the line begins, noticing how your fingers twitch. “And that you have a good handle on your emotions.” At that, you laugh, gently bumping your head against his as you do.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You mumble, your head partially sliding against his as you slump into him. Spencer stiffens at the contact.

“Sorry, ‘m tired,” You wiggle your fingers, attempting to draw his attention back to your hands. 

“So, like- does it say anything about who I’m gonna… marry?” 

“No- uhm, no, not who.” Spencer swallows; the weight of your head dropping onto his shoulder scrambles his thoughts. “But the marriage line is here.” He slides his finger to the small line underneath your pinky.

“It’s pretty straight, which means that you’ll have a long, happy marriage.” 

You hum in acknowledgment, looking down briefly at your palms before turning your hands over and wrapping your hands around his. Spencer looks up, making eye contact with Elle, who mouths a ‘wow’ before sipping her drink. 

His attention is drawn back to you as you drag yourself off of him haphazardly. You turn his hands, exposing his own palms as you lean down, hunching over them to get a closer look. 

There is almost no way you could even see the lines in his palms very well, considering that your head was blocking the lights. 

Lifting your head suddenly, Spencer has to pull back to avoid getting smacked in the face. 

“This line probably means that you’re suuper smart and stuff,” you say, tapping his head line with your pinky. “And this line probably says that you’re really cute, and this line probably says that you’re like… I dunno, a little silly." You alternate tapping at his different lines. You were trying—kind of. 

Spencer’s face grows hot, swallowing hard and trying to remind himself that this was just you, completely inebriated and not thinking straight.

“Silly?” He raises his eyebrows, watching your face with concern.

“Uhuh, silly. Like… like… I don’t know; you’re just silly. And gorgeous.” You look down at his hands and say, “And you have really pretty hands.”

Spencer stares at you, his mouth gaping like a fish as his eyes slide around your features. 

You blinked slowly, your hands sliding against his as you fidget with his slender fingers. 

“Oh!” You exclaimed way too loudly for the small bar. You pull yourself away from him, the force with which you do so causes you to tilt back and fall into Morgan. 

Spencer scrambles to grab your forearms, pulling you off of Morgan. “Are- are you okay?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“You don’t like it when people touch you!” You attempt to wiggle yourself out of his grip, failing despite how loose his hold was.

A deep pout rests on your lips, and you look up at him guiltily.

“No, it’s fine.” He tries to still you, embarrassed by your antics. “It’s okay; you’re fine, I don’t mind. Let's get you home, okay?”

“Huh?? No, no, I’m having so much funn” You flounder, slumping yourself into the seat in protest. You start to slide off the booth seat, your lower body disappearing under the table. 

Spencer stammers, hooking his arms around yours and attempting to keep you from slipping to the floor.

“Woah, no, come on, I’ll take you home and I can teach you how to read my palms?” He pulls on your arms, looking over at Morgan, who lends a hand by wrapping an arm around your torso and pulling you back onto the seat. Morgan snickers, but leaves Spencer to handle your state of unrest.

“I already know enough about you, gorgeous-genius-doctor-boy, but can’t you dance with me?” You whine, Spencer’s arms are still hooked around you to keep you from slipping away again.

“I- well… No- no, not here, we can dance at your apartment?” he suggests, gently pulling you out of the booth.

You let him pull you, offering little help until he forces you to stand. Staring up at him with a pouty glare, you huff, the gears turning in your head.

“Promise?” You hold out your pinky, wiggling it at him. 

He relents, hooking his pinky around yours. You smile, latching your finger around his in a tight grip.

“Okay! Bye losers!” You shout at the rest of the table, unceremoniously dragging Spencer away. He attempts to grab his bag from the booth, but your grip is too tight. 

Elle manages to toss it to him, his hands fumbling to get a good grip on it as he’s wrenched through the exit of the bar.

“Wait, slow down!” He yelps, shoulder-checking the door as you tug him down the stairs.

“Come on, pretty boy, relax!” You laugh

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Northbound.” You say, deepening your voice and pointing to your right.

“That’s east.” Using his free hand, Spencer spins you to face him. “We’re calling a cab.”

You scoff, letting go of his pinky finally as you flail your arms at your sides.

“No, what, no- no, no, no, I’m not getting buried again, Spencer." You whine, the weight of your words slipping off your shoulders, numbed by the tequila in your system.

Spencer frowns, his eyebrows raising slightly as he looks at you. Your loosened, drunken state could only mask your worries to some extent.

“You won’t be buried; I’m with you,” he says, placing his hands on your biceps.

“But you could get hurt... and I don’t wanna see your gorgeous face and body all... like... dead." Your articulation slips, words blending together. Tapping the tip of his nose with the side of your finger, you pout, shuffling your weight from foot to foot.

“I won’t die; I’m gonna get you home, and then you’re going to bed-“ A hand slaps over his mouth, a little harder than necessary.

“We’re dancing.” You say sternly, rubbing his mouth with your palm, when you realize that you hit him harder than intended. 

“Okay- okay, stop-stop doing that,” He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand to the side. “I’m gonna get you home, and then we’ll dance.” 

Pleased, you hum lightly, closing your eyes. “Let’s do it, honey bee.” 

Spencer ignores the churning in his stomach as he leads you along the sidewalk. Your hand slides around his body as you circle around him. Up and down his chest, around his waist, and up his spine. It was dizzying how well you were circling him despite the alcohol coursing through your system. You only stumbled once or twice, grabbing onto him each time to steady yourself.

Spencer was having a hard time keeping it together; it was already hard enough keeping his feelings to himself day to day when you acted like a normal person. Drunk you was making everything way harder. He wondered if he told you exactly how he felt if you would remember.

You weren’t acting completely blacked out drunk, and Spencer had never seen you like this before. He was just glad you were a nice drunk. And mildly manageable.

He was very glad that your apartment was on the ground floor; he didn’t have to worry about getting you up stairs. You stood next to Spencer, your right hand against the white door, as you fumbled with your keys in your left. Pouting down at the object, you let out an annoyed huff, tilting your head to the side and squinting at the ring of keys.

“Who needs this many keys?” You grumbled, letting your fingers go slack as Spencer takes the keys from you. 

“You, apparently.” Spencer smiles, finding your door key and unlocking the door. He ushers you inside, his hand finding its way to rest on your back, pretty much pushing you through the doorway.

Kicking your shoes off, you turn to Spencer “Shoes off, Cowboy, we can’t have my carpeting get all grody.” 

Spencer nods, smiling at the nickname but ultimately ignoring it. He takes off his shoes, setting his bag next to them, before straightening up and beelining to your kitchen. Opening each cabinet, he finally finds your cups. You stumble your way to lean on the counter next to him, pursing your lips at him.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, glaring at the cup in his hand as he fills it with water.

“Drink this,” Spencer holds it out to you. You just stare at it, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Please?” He sighs, pouting just a little. Your face lights up at his plea, your mouth falling open and your face flushing red.

"Spencer, you can’t do that, not fair.” You snatch the cup from him, chugging the water out of spite. Spencer watches you, his eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together in confusion. 

Slamming the cup onto the counter, you hold up your arms, “Okay! Dance time, come here!”

Spencer is dragged back into the living room, your hands firmly grasping his wrists as you walk backwards. He watches your path for you, maneuvering you gently to avoid your coffee table. 

Dropping his arms, you bow sloppily with a giggle, “May I have this dance?”

He chuckles, offering an awkward bow in response as he fumbles over his words, “Yeah- sure… okay.” 

You laugh, sliding your hands down his forearms, your fingers brushing against the center of his palms. Curling your fingers around his, you lift his hands, tugging him closer.

He swallows the lump in his throat as his chest presses into yours. Spencer chews on his bottom lip as you settle his hands on your waist. You smelled like tequila, but the scent of your shampoo still lingered in close proximity. You smelled good—drunk, but good.

“No music?” He asks, clearing his throat as your arms wrap around his shoulders. 

“Nah, my head hurts." You shake your head, guiding him in a small sway. Spencer was a little worried that you were going to have him actually dance, but he was happy to sway along with you. 

Your apartment was dark, only lit by the weirdly bright fluorescent light from your kitchen. You giggled quietly to yourself as you swayed, finding it a little difficult to get him to move with you. His heart rate calms slowly as you both sway in silence. You had closed your eyes, threading your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tracing small circles into his skin. It was nice.

The heat of your body against his fills him with warmth, and he can’t help but look away. His eyes training on the light switch a few feet away as he wills his face to not get any redder. Your touch simmered against him, the low burning embers of his feelings threatening to ignite in the dark space of your living room. 

But you were drunk, and there was very little he could do to rationalize your actions beyond that. If you weren’t completely inebriated, Spencer might consider the fact that you might like him too. 

“Spencer,” you call out to him softly, goading him into meeting your eyes again. He couldn’t help but notice the gravity added to your previously weightless tone.

“Yeah?” He whispers his reply, his eyes returning to your face. The swaying continues, offering a loosely followed rhythm to the conversation.

“How did you feel?” You mumble back, letting your head fall back slightly. You keep your eyes on his face, scanning his expression.

“How did... what feel?” 

“Watching me crawl out.” You let out a small huff, as if he were supposed to read your mind, “Like, how did it feel for you?” Spencer freezes, his hands tightening their grip on your waist.

It felt awful.

Watching you, his headstrong, kind, confident, and loving friend, crawl your way out of a freshly packed grave. Hands bound, tears soaking mud to your cheeks, clothing torn, a hateful fire in your eyes.

It felt awful.

Watching you grapple with the unsub, using your bindings as leverage to choke the man out before crumbling to the ground in tears.

It felt awful.

Watching you bottle it up, riding to the hospital in silence, only letting the team touch you despite the insistence of the doctors. 

It felt awful.

Washing off your dirt-covered hands in the jet with a small rag he had found, soaked in the cold water from the lavatory sink. 

It felt awful.

But Spencer couldn’t claim that awful feeling, knowing that you must feel so much worse. You fought and fought for those two days you were held captive, feeding into the unsubs delusion to keep yourself alive.

You were the one who was thrown into a six-foot-deep hole and buried alive.

He’s not sure how to answer your question, but you watch him patiently, your fingers gently sliding down his neck. 

“I… I don’t know, I was- I was scared, worried..." He whispers, his stomach churning with the thought that he shouldn’t burden you with the way he was feeling. 

“You were scared…” Mumbling, you tilt your head to the side, your lips pursing and twisting to the side. “Is it bad… that you being scared for me, makes it hurt less?” Your articulation is off, and your words are almost lost to him. Inhaling sharply, Spencer leans forward a bit, his arms circling around your back and flattening against your shirt. 

“No, no, it’s not bad... How did it feel for you?” He asks carefully, watching your face as it contorts in ten different ways. You sigh heavily, your arms loosely resting on his shoulders.

“It’s the worst thing... you fight and you fight, you do what you can to survive... and then you get thrown in a hole and smothered in the earth.” You pout, tilting your head to the side, fiddling with your fingers behind his head.

Spencer bites his lower lip, his eyebrows raising in concern. He watches your face, your eyes glossing over, staring into the pattern on his tie. 

“Spencer… I dunno what to do with myself…” You murmur, pulling yourself closer and resting your forehead on his shoulder.

Tilting his head, his cheek presses into your hair. His hands press into your shoulder blades, giving you an awkward squeeze. 

“…you don’t have to know; we can just take it one step at a time.” He speaks gently, letting his hand circle over your shoulder blade.

“Ugh… your mouth words are so gorgeous…” You mumble.

Spencer isn’t really sure what you mean, but he decides to take it at face value. “Thanks?” 

You lift your head, a frown etched on your lips. As you look up at Spencer, the frown dissolves into a small smile. The bright lighting coming from your kitchen illuminates the side of your face in stark contrast to the rest of the dark room. 

“You’re so gorgeous in your face too.” You slide your hands around to bracket his face, squishing it a little between your palms. Spencer’s face grows hot under the feeling of your hands, his eyes widening a bit.

“If you ever, like- I dunno, do you ever think- like, think about kissing me? Cause… if you do, you should kiss me.” Spencer goes to respond, but you slap your hand over his mouth again, rubbing his mouth soothingly afterwards.

“When I’m sober! When I’m sober so I can remember and stuff…” You take your hand off his mouth, sliding the tip of your finger down the bridge of his nose. 

“Oh- uhm… yeah okay." He nods, biting his lip anxiously. His eyes flutter close at your touch, the heat of his emotions burning at the apex of his cheekbones.

You smiled sloppily up at him, content with the plan you set in place, guiding him into swaying with you again. Your finger traces his features loosely, your muscles relaxing into his touch as you start to come down from your drunken high. Tiredness crawls its way up your spine, settling into your eyelids, and you find yourself having a hard time holding them open. 

“When I wake up...” You start, letting your eyes fall closed, “…when I wake up, don’t- don’t let me push you away.” 

Spencer smiles at that, laughing affectionately at your words.

“Okay.”