#sign ups are still open for a few more days

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴, 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘶 ❞

harumasa X afab!reader

genre: fluff w some angst

summary: it’s Christmas time in the city, and he’s not in your arms when he should be

wc: 1k

It’s a bit late but Merry Christmas!

He had screwed up. It was Christmas Eve, his phone was dead, and he was supposed to be by your side over an hour ago….no two.

Lumina Square glowed with holiday cheer, wreaths and trees and colorful lights passing by at a dizzying pace as he sprinted down the sidewalk, dodging the thinning crowd of pedestrians that paced by slowly, arms hooked together as they fought off the late-year chill.

That was what he was supposed to be doing. You were supposed to be curled at his side, hands intertwined as you shared a late dinner and walked through the Square to enjoy the decorations together. It was your single request of him for the holidays once you showed up at his apartment and realized his Christmas cheer lived and died by the ugly sweater he wore to work for a single day.

All these Christmases alone, and for the first time there was a second warm body invading his space that actually cared enough to integrate him into their holiday traditions. And he had screwed it up.

His heart was thundering in his chest, his breathing labored as he could feel himself begin to wheeze but he didn’t care. You were the only thing at the forefront of his mind. Your disappointed face, the way you would quietly reassure him though you would never address your own feelings.

You were too patient, too kind, and it scared him out of his mind to think of returning to his apartment and you being gone just like everyone else he ever opened himself up to.

His pace faltered, breathing labored as a wet cough wracked through his chest, the cold air stinging his lungs as he caught his breath, his heart thundering in his ears. It was already over an hour and a half since he was supposed to meet you, and his hope was waning as quickly as the anxiety was building in his gut.

There wasn’t much more of the Square to cover anymore, the dark expanse of the sky over the bay feeling like an ominous sign of his fate before a flash of pink caught his eye.

A chunky knit scarf decorated with colorful pompoms. The same chunky scarf you had wrapped around his own neck a few weeks prior as he left for work one morning nursing a runny nose.

You were still here.

Hair tousled from the wind under your earmuffs, arms tucked tightly to your side as you sipped on a festive red cup of some hot beverage, your nose and cheeks flushed from the cold under the warm glow of the Christmas lights that still brightened the Square despite the business lights dimming as they closed for the night.

You’d never been a prettier sight in his eyes as you perked up, a grin dimpling your cheeks as your arm lifted in a dramatic wave.

Your laughter rang sugary sweet in his ears as he scooped you up in his arms, face burying into the wool of your coat as he spun you around, paying no mind to your chiding to be careful of the hot drink precariously balanced in your hand.

His breath was warm against your skin he buried his face into the side of your neck, his arms anchoring you tightly against his chest. You could feel him quiver in your embrace, a telltale shudder in his chest as your free hand slowly ran up and down his spine.

Apologies fell like a mantra from his lips, his voice quivering with such fervor that it scared you. You fisted the back of his coat. “Haru, Haru sweetie, listen—“

“Asaba Harumasa!” Your tone was sharp as you wrestled your arm against his chest, forcing him back, his arms falling loosely around your waist as you met his melancholy gaze.

He didn’t even know he was crying till your face fell, your coffee dropping unceremoniously to the sidewalk as you cupped his icy cheeks between your gloved hands, thumbs brushing away the wet streaks that marred his fair skin.

“Haru, why are you crying?” You whispered, breath condensing in the cold. He didn’t answer, his lip quivering as he pressed his forehead flush to your own.

His breathing was still labored, tongue thick and cottony. “I’m sorry, work ran late and then my phone and—,” his words were jumbled as his breath caught in his throat between hiccups, “and this meant a lot to you, ‘n I thought you’d leave.” He stammered out a few more apologies but you just shook your head, pressing a short kiss to his lips.

You still tasted like coffee, your fingers brushing the nape of his neck as you parted. “But I’m still right here aren’t I?” You mused, fingers drawing little shapes on the skin peeking from beneath his jacket collar as you gently swayed him on his feet.

“I’m still here, wrapped in your arms in Lumina Square just like we planned. It’s going to take a little more than you being late to get rid of me, so please,” you drew his face up as you rubbed the tip of your nose against his.

“Don’t cry~”

He sucked in a shaky breath as he nodded, the hint of a smile quirking his lips.

“Now how about we go home? You’re freezing and we can’t have you taking any more sick days now can we?”

“Might not be so bad if you’re there to nurse me back to health~”

You grinned as you spun around, tucking your arm into his, happy to hear his usual vigor begin to return despite his hoarse voice as you started to walk. “I’m afraid I make for a mean nurse.”

The chiming of a bell cut through the quieting square, 12 steady beats cutting through the air as little crystalline flakes danced out of the darkness.

“Well would you look at that,” you paused, pulling your scarf loose from your neck as you looped it around his own, drawing him close. Snowflakes clung to the tips of his hair like tiny gemstones as you stood on your toes and pressed another kiss to his lips, feeling him smile under your touch as he pulled you tighter to his chest.

“Merry Christmas, Haru.”

Rey 2024 🎄

[lizzie-boo]

Christmas Party

Steve Harrington x Reader

Ficmas Day 9

Summary: When your best friend Steve overhears you joking with Nancy it changes the course of your friendship forever.

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Happy last day of ficmas. I wanted to write 12 stories but that never happened. Honestly, though, I'm really happy with writing 9 becuase I never intended to do ficmas at all this year. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Are we sure this is a good idea, what if someone calls the cops?” You ask, still not fully onboard with the idea of throwing a Christmas party. 

“Don’t worry it’s just for our group of friends plus if the cops get called we’re fine. Remember Chief Hopper is Jonathan and Will’s stepdad and he’d never bust them for having a party,” Steve reassures you as he hands you another box of decorations. 

Removing the lid from the box you grab out a couple strands of garland and begin to place them around the living room. Steve follows behind you stringing up lights as he goes. 

“You’re sure we won’t get in trouble?” 

“It’s just a casual Christmas party, not a rager I promise. Plus half the people coming are practically children. It’s just gonna be us hanging out and eating snacks for a few hours.” 

You knew Steve put his old habits behind him years ago but you were always nervous he would revert to his old ways. That this party would snap him back to who he used to be and what would start as an innocent group hang out would spiral into the party of the century. The fears that if he went back to his old ways he would drop you and you would be without a best friend once more rattled around your brain. As his words finally sink in you let your shoulders relax.

“Plus, Dustin is bringing Suzie and I don’t want to scare her off. He seems to really like her so as surrogate mom I need to make a good impression,” Steve jokes and the last of your reservations disappear. 

You continue to joke and talk as you finish putting up the last of the decorations. Every so often stopping to sneak a glance at your best friend wondering if there would ever be a chance for the two of you to be more. 

The doorbell rings right at seven and you make your way to the entryway. You open the door for Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin ushering them in from the cold. Nancy pulls you into a quick hug as Jonathan offers a quiet hello. 

“So where is the dingus?” Robin asks as she wiggles her eyebrows at you. 

Pushing her shoulder lightly you respond, “He’s in the kitchen finishing up getting snacks ready.” 

“I’ll go help him,” Robin announces before rushing off to the kitchen. 

“I’m guessing this means you haven’t talked to him about how you feel yet,” Nancy says as she loops her arm with yours and pulls you into the living room leaving Jonathan to get the door for the kids. 

You take a seat next to her on the couch. “I don’t wanna screw up what we have. He’s my best friend. Why risk losing him when I can just stay his friend forever and at least have him in my life.” 

Nancy pats your arm giving you the same sad look her and Robin use everytime they bring up the topic and you and Steve being something more. You reach out and tap her nose breaking the awkward tension forming. Just then the kids, Jonathan, and Eddie file into the living room taking up all the available seats. 

Glancing over your shoulder you look for any sign of Steve or Robin, wondering what is taking them so long. Turning your attention back to the room you smile at Eddie as he tries to mediate a fight between Lucas and Dustin about what Christmas movie everyone should watch. 

Steve and Robin make their way toward the living room right as Nancy leans over, “Maybe some alone time with Eddie could help you forget about your feelings for Steve,” she jokes. 

“I don’t doubt that, he could probably make me forget my own name,” you joke back, bumping your shoulder into hers and you both laugh. 

Behind you Steve shoves the tray of snacks he’s holding into Robin’s hands and rushes back into the kitchen needing some time to think. Robin takes it in stride and sets it on the coffee table with a loud thud. 

“I think I hurt my wrist carrying the tray. Do you think you can go help Steve with the rest?” Robin asks as she plops down on the couch between you and Nancy. Before you can even answer her and Nancy are already chatting away about something one of the kids said. 

Pushing off the couch you make your way into the kitchen to find Steve with his palms pushed against the countertop. His head hangs and his eyes are screwed shut. The sight of him sends a pang of panic to your chest. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you place a hand on his back. 

“Do you actually wanna fuck Munson?” he bites out as he curls a hand into a fist. 

Your hand drops to your side as quickly as your mouth falls open. You hadn’t realized that he heard your joke. If you knew he was standing there you never would have said anything. 

You take a moment to assess the situation before settling on your response, “It was just a dumb joke between me and Nancy. Plus I never said that I wanted to fuck him, just that he would probably be good at it.” 

“So you don’t wanna get under him?” His tone is gentler this time as he turns to look at you. 

“No, never. It was just a joke.” You run a hand along his arm hoping to calm him down so you can head back to the party in the other room. 

His hand reaches out and grabs your free hand holding you in place. “So do you still want to forget about your feelings for me?” His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to figure out what you are going to say. 

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, now realizing the space between you had lessened. 

He drops your hand, stepping in to cup your cheek. “That’s the last thing I want baby” he mumbles before crashing his lips to yours. Your hands tangle in his hair as your lips move in sync. Taking a step back he presses you into the counter. The cool press against your back sends a shiver down your spine and you tug at his hair in an attempt to deepen the kiss. 

He pulls back and you drop your hands to his shoulders. You both take a moment to catch your breaths. He shoots you a smile before hoisting you onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and he wastes no time diving back in for another kiss. 

This time when he pulls away it’s to trail a line of kisses down your neck. He works his way back up and gently nips at your earlobe causing you to let out a moan that you try to muffle with your hand. His lips press against your ear and he whispers, “The only one who is allowed to make you forget your name from now on is me.” You pull him back into another searing kiss completely forgetting about the party in the other room. 

[blissfulip]

Surface Tension

on AO3

Steb x f!reader

Rating: E

Tags: doctor!reader, anthro (does he count as a furry? idk), post-canon, just shameless smut

Cw: Dacryphilia

Words: 3.9k

[A/N: Steb has Selective Mutism in this fic, meaning he has the physical ability to speak but chooses not or is unable to due to social, psychological or other circumstances. Since we don't have any information on this in canon I have decided that for the purpose of the story, what prevents him from speaking is biological, he can only speak if his gills are properly wet, otherwise it hurts him, so he chooses not to most of the time.

Also, for reference on what his body looks like anatomy-wise, refer to this (also, let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @moonstrider9904

Happy Holidays from me to you  🎄

The knock was soft, tentative, like the wind testing the strength of a door. Steb looked up from the book resting on his lap, his fingers frozen mid-turn of a page. He tilted his head toward the sound, waiting, and when a second knock came he convinced himself to stand up. When the door creaked open, it wasn’t a draft that slipped through, but you, coat half-unbuttoned and cheeks pink from the cold.

He narrowed his eyes at you, his fingers lifting up to sign. 

“You’re early this month, should I be worried?” His hands hesitated halfway through the sentence.  

You smiled faintly, the kind of smile that seemed almost apologetic. “Not unless you’ve developed an allergy to soup.”

“You check on me once a month, doctor”, he signed slowly, “Routine, clinical. This isn’t that.”

“It’s not,” you agreed, unbuttoning your coat the rest of the way and draping it over the back of a chair. “It’s not an official visit, Violet mentioned you haven’t left your room in a while, and I’m on vacation so I thought I’d stop by.”

He rolled his eyes at the mention of Vi, nosey, he thought to himself. The word vacation felt out of place in this room, he had been trying to get out of medical leave for the past month and go back to work, with no success. He scrunched up his nose, and then let out a sigh of resignation. 

“You didn’t have to come.” he signed.

“I wanted to.”

His hands stilled. The room felt heavier now, the tension fragile but unyielding like a drawn thread. Steb looked away first, his gaze sliding to the window where frost rimmed the edges of the glass. When he signed again, his movements were slower, almost uncertain. 

“You’re bad at taking vacations.”

That made you laugh—a soft, short sound that filled the room briefly before fading.

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

“Deep breath,” You instructed, your stethoscope cool against his chest. He complied, the effort visible in the furrow of his brow and the sharp rise and fall of his ribs. You listened, frowning slightly, before stepping back and meeting his eyes directly.

“You’ve had quite the ordeal.” You said. Steb nodded once, his jaw tight. He didn’t need the reminder. His chest still ached faintly, a ghost of the gas that had filled his lungs, its burn raw and relentless. “Does it hurt when you speak?”

Silence. You repeated your question when he didn’t answer, fearing he might not have heard you, and confused when you only received a stern look back. Vi, who had been sitting in a nearby chair keeping him company despite his protest, chimed in. “Do you know sign language? He has mutism”  

“Oh, that makes sense”, You said nodding, “I do, you can sign your answers.”

“Selective” He signed for the first time. 

“Hm?”

“Selective mutism, and yes, it hurts.”

“Good to know.” You nodded once more before continuing to examine him. “I’m keeping you here for observation for another few days. No arguments.”

Vi smirked. “Oh, he’ll argue.”

“I’m stubborn as well, let’s see if I can outlast you.”

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

He watched you move to the kitchenette, unpacking the bag of food with quiet precision. Bread, soup. Simple and practical. Your hands worked with a deliberate ease, as if you were trying to fill the silence with motion.

He stayed seated, his fingers curling and uncurling in his lap. You weren't here because you had to be. That much was clear. But the why of it lingered, unspoken, in the space between you both. He wanted to ask, but instead he watched you.

The room fell quiet again after you left, the faint echo of your footsteps lingering in Steb’s ears like the fading notes of a song. He sat motionless for a moment, staring at the empty bowl and crumbs on the table. Your visit left the space feeling fuller, even though it was now empty.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, his body aching with the subtle pull of exhaustion. He crossed the room to the corner where the tub waited, an old clawfoot basin half-filled with clean water he’d drawn earlier. The air already felt drier than he liked, the faint itch under his skin a reminder that it had been too long since his last proper soak. He shrugged off his shirt and let it fall to the floor, his greenish skin catching the dim light of the room, rougher than it should have felt, another sign he’d been neglecting himself. He stepped into the tub, the cool water lapping at his ankles before he lowered himself in completely.

The relief was immediate, a soft exhale escaping his nose as the water embraced him, its touch soothing the ache in his muscles and the dryness on his skin. He tilted his head back, letting his gills on his jaw flutter open as they met the water. He could almost feel his body pulling life from the moisture, the subtle tension in his chest easing with every passing second.

But even as the water worked its way through him, his thoughts stayed tangled. Your face lingered in his mind—your calm, steady voice, the way your fingers brushed the table before you left. The way you looked at him, not with pity or detachment, but with something quieter, warmer. He shut his eyes, sinking further into the water until only his nose and eyes remained above the surface. Your words replayed in his mind, I wanted to. Not I had to, not I should, but wanted.

He cared for you. Deeply, irrevocably, in a way that terrified him.

You stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you, tossed your coat over the back of a chair, not bothering to hang it up, and let the paper bag you’d carried back with you drop onto the counter to then walk over to the living room table. You reached for the book you’d left there, its pages dog-eared and scribbled with notes. The Anatomy and Physiology of Vastayan Subspecies was stamped in gold along its spine—a dense, technical text you’d been studying since Steb became your patient.

You flipped through the pages, fingers deftly skimming over sketches of gills, webbed hands, and intricate scale patterns. When she reached the section on the fish folk, your focus sharpened. The accompanying illustration was striking—detailed renderings of fins that ran in continuous lines down the backs and arms of the species, elegantly integrated into their musculature. You read through the notes in neat, clinical prose:

“The dorsal and arm fins of fish folk are highly sensitive, containing a dense concentration of nerve endings. In social and intimate contexts, tactile stimulation of these fins is known to elicit strong physiological and emotional responses, often interpreted as arousal. The evolutionary function remains speculative, though it is suggested this sensitivity aids in both bonding and self-preservation.”

You sat back, breath catching in your throat briefly. The words lingered with their implications vivid in your mind. You thought about Steb, the way he moved, always careful to not make any abrupt movements, something you had attributed to his personality. Curiosity flared unexpectedly, sharp and unwelcome. What would it feel like, you wondered, to trace the edge of his back…You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks. The thought had come unbidden, intrusive, and entirely inappropriate. With a sharp inhale, you snapped the book shut and pressed your fingers to your temples.

“This is research,” you muttered to yourself aloud, the tone brusque as if saying it could push the thought away. “It’s important to understand. That’s all.”

But even as you placed the book back on the table and tried to focus on something else, the image of him and the way he always held himself with quiet restraint—refused to leave your mind. 

Steb made up his mind sometime during the night, as the water soothed him and his thoughts swirled. He needed to see you—not as a patient, but as… something else. Someone else. He couldn’t name what that was yet, but he knew the need was undeniable. By the time he reached your apartment, the air was crisp with the early chill, his breath curling in soft plumes as he adjusted the scarf around his neck. He knocked lightly, a polite rhythm that belied the tension he felt inside.

When you opened the door, you looked startled at first, hair loose and face soft in the morning light. “Steb?” you said, blinking at him. Her eyes flicked to his damp scarf, then back to his face. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head quickly and your brows furrowed in concern as you stepped aside to let him in. The room smelled faintly of coffee and lavender, the latter likely coming from the small candle burning on the counter. He left his scarf on a chair and took a seat at the small table, his movements careful as always, and waited until you settled across from him.

“So?” you said, your voice calm but with a thread of urgency.

He leaned forward, signing deliberately. “When my gills are wet it doesn’t hurt to talk”.

Your eyes widened slightly, “Are you sure?,” you blurted out, as you stood, not waiting for a response. “It explains the discomfort you described, I don't know how I never thought about it.”

Back when you first met him at the hospital, he attributed his elective mutism to the fact that it hurt him to talk. You ran numerous tests on his oesophagus, vocal cords and so many other things that yielded no conclusive results.

He hesitated, feigning a sheepish shrug, “Realized last night”.

“If it’s true this changes everything,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, as you paced back and forth, “We’ll need to adapt your care plan…hydration protocols, speech therapy, we can get a humidifier and…” You stopped on your tracks and looked at him as an idea surged in your mind.

“What?” Steb signed.

“We have to test it.” You said grabbing the anatomy book off the table along with a pencil and quickly moving on to walk all the way to your bathroom, dragging him with you by the arm before he had any time to protest. 

The walls of the bathroom were cloaked in the mottled green of old tiles, their edges chipped like broken teeth. Time had sunk into the grout, leaving darkened veins that spidered in uneven paths, whispering tales of hands long gone. The light overhead buzzed faintly, casting a dim yellow halo that couldn’t quite chase the shadows from the corners. The tiles, damp to the touch, exhaled a faint mineral tang that clung to the air, mingling with the metallic drip-drip of the showerhead. 

Much like his own bathroom, this one carried the promise of comfort and relief, but with the circumstances at hand the shower itself made Steb feel weary. Its once-proud chrome dulled and speckled with rust, as if it had wept along with those who stood beneath it. Water marked its passage in faint trails, a tapestry of use etched upon the walls. 

You leaned over to turn one of the valves and quickly leaned back to avoid the steady stream that cascaded as a result, turning to look at him with an invitation in your gaze. His eyebrows shoot up then furrowed deeply, a silent scoff playing across his face as his nose wrinkled ever so slightly, repelled by the mere thought. 

“Do you have a better idea?” You said in response to his negative.

“These shoes are velvet.” He signed.

“Well not with your clothes on, duh” You said. 

No more than 3 seconds went by, but the amount of thoughts that went through Steb’s mind made it seem like time did not exist, and he had been standing there in silence looking like an idiot for an eternity and then some. His first instinct was indignation—eyes darting to your face to gauge whether you were serious. You were, of course, your tone carried no malice, just a clinical, matter-of-fact assurance that this was perfectly reasonable. 

His chest tightened. He felt heat creeping up his neck, a prickle of something. Embarrassment, maybe, but deeper, sharper. Why did his skin feel so tight, his breath so loud? Yet your eyes held him like an anchor, and against all logic, he found himself nodding, hands fumbling with maroon plastic buttons. Perhaps if you hadn’t looked, if you had kept your eyes somewhere between his face and the far wall, they wouldn’t have hovered over his hands and consequently landed on his collarbones. It was mere scientific curiosity at first—or so you tried to tell yourself—why you marveled at the sight of him. 

He was so different from what Piltover knew about his species, and you could pinpoint so many details you wanted to take note of. You stood with the book clasped tightly, fingers curling just a touch too hard around the edges. Your posture was straight and composed, but there was a tautness in your shoulders, a stiffness in the way you shifted the weight between your feet, the collar around your neck unable to mask the faint flush creeping up. 

The silence buzzed between you louder than the hum of the fluorescent light above, and was only broken by the sound of his belt buckle falling on the floor tiles, a metallic clang that echoed all over the cold walls and instinctively broke the eye contact you had been trying to maintain, bringing both of you out of the awkward trance you unknowingly shared. He walked into the shower and stood there as the water completely soaked his skin. 

“You should walk back a few steps, you’re getting…”

You heard his voice very few times before, and cherished each one of them. Once a few months back you asked him what the nurse had added to his iv drip, the cold dusk lighting coming through the window shone over his sleepy face, and you could see as his eyes looked to the side and worked hard to remember if there was a sign for ‘saline solution’. A big sigh of resignation was followed by him saying it and you gasping in surprise. You tried to play it off but your reaction got a smile out of him, and you could’ve sworn you’d never seen that either. You only heard him twice after that, one time when he called you over to check something and the last one a short ‘eh’ that punctuated a lazy shrug. 

An entire sentence was something else, you were able to make out the lilt in his tone and a vague accent dancing on his vowels. You almost asked him to speak again so you could hear the slight rasp in his voice, but your body was quicker than you; before you could even register what you were doing both of your hands were already on either sides of his face and the book on the floor, you let out a full belly laugh, not for one second concerned by your now completely drenched arms. However, it lasted only half a second and the sharp gasp came before the tumble as your foot slid on the slick floor of the shower’s tiled edge. The world seemed to lurch for a split second before Steb’s arms shot out to grip your shoulders instinctively, his chest rumbling with a low, warm laugh, breaking the tension. You stayed like that a moment too long—his hands still cold on your arms, breaths mingling in the close, humid air—before you straightened yourself with a nervous chuckle. 

“Could I, eh, compare some of the information I have on the book?” You said delicately slithering out of his grasp to pick up the heavy volume you had hurled across the small room earlier. He nodded, and waited still for you to flip back to the correct page. You skimmed through the text until your eyes landed on the passage you had highlighted the night before; ‘…tactile stimulation of these fins is known to elicit strong physiological and emotional responses…’ you hummed to yourself, unsure. 

“Turn around, will you? I want to check the dorsal fins.” And he did, unceremoniously. “Do you know what they do?”

“No, I can’t reach them, does your book say something about it?”

“You look very different, I’m not sure how accurate any of these ‘facts’ are.” You said, looking at him and back at the illustrations on the book a couple of times. “Mind if I test something out?”

“Go ahead,” he said, looking back over his shoulder.    

They were translucent and filmy, wet and slightly slimy to the touch, not scaly like you were expecting when you reached over and ran your fingers along the fins on his back. You would have spent hours pondering and observing the taut and elastic webbing on them if you hadn’t been brought back to reality by the husky groan he let out. Panic came over you. 

“Did it hurt? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone at it so carelessly, I thought…” You blurted out.

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine,” He said, leaning on the wall in front of him with both hands, head down like he was trying to catch his breath. It dawned on you like a ton of bricks, out of all the things this stupid book got right it had to be this. Guilt immediately crept up your throat, but you weren’t allowed to mull it over any longer before Steb spoke again. “You…you can do it again, if you’d like, if you need to.”

Once again your hands acted off their own bat, your fingers started a path, slower, more intentional, from the nape of his neck all the way down to the small of his back. This time around you cared not about the impossibly slick and almost amphibian quality of his skin, you observed him. The way his ears twitched slightly and the fins that ran all the way down his arms fluttered, similar to how a human’s skin would get goosebumps. You paid close attention to how the muscles on his arms tensed up and his legs shivered, and a second time, a gravelly sound coming out of his mouth, more whiny than the last.

“I’m sorry, I knew this would happen and still…” He tried to say through heavy panting. 

You couldn’t really pretend you were still doing this for the science of it, not after you saw one of his hands come down to his crotch. He turned, both hands covering up what was clearly an erection. You didn’t want him to apologize, not for something you had shared control over, so you showed him. 

Both of your hands grazed down the fins on his arms in tandem. His reaction wasn’t different, but this time you could look at his face, a beautiful painting of arousal that culminated with him holding onto both of your arms for balance and his head buried on your shoulder. You allowed him to breathe, and when he sluggishly lifted his head up to look at you, the wicked grin on his face warned you about what was to come. 

The kiss was ferocious, hungry, the water almost steaming as it came in contact with the scalding heat of skin. You weren’t used to this much humidity, and he could tell from the way you gasped for air when he turned his attention away from your lips to nibble at your neck, so he helped you out of your soaked shirt and pants before gently pushing out of the bathroom. 

It wasn’t his first time at your apartment, so the walk to your room was seamless and the kissing never stopped until you felt the back of your knees graze the edge of your bed. He nudged you down gently but he didn’t come with, instead, he took off your underwear, and as he lowered himself you spread out your legs almost instinctively. 

The feel of his tongue was indescribable, rough but not too much that it hurt when he gave a long intentional lick to your folds, but just enough to elicit an initial shock and an immediate whiny moan to come out of you. He licked your still dewy skin all the way to your neck, and after a small nibble to your ear he started to kiss you again, the sharp nails of one of his hands digging into your thigh as the other struggled to remove the damp fabric of his own underwear. 

You were still dizzy from the heat of the water and the steam, so it took you a while to notice he was looking at you and waiting for confirmation. 

“Huh?” 

He looked down at where his hand firmly gripped his cock and then looked back up again, eyebrows raised in a guise that screamed uncertainty. 

You nodded, “Please.” You said almost embarrassingly eagerly. But he gave you no time to overthink before he was inches deep. 

You could only arch up into each fleeting touch and hope Steb would give you more, each small grunt coming out of him adding fuel to the fire in your core. When he lifted one of your legs to lay over his shoulders it was like electricity ran through your spine with every thrust, and he noticed how you felt, the knitted frown he usually carried turning into a smug look you had never seen before. 

Occasionally he would pull back and look at you for a second, a torturous second that felt like a year. He seemed to revel in torturing you, seeing you get whiny and desperate before plunging into you mercilessly. Each time you were incoherent, begging for something and nothing in particular, and each time he would thrust into you harder. He waited longer that time, waited as you arched your hips in frustration and your eyes swelled up with tears, he waited until you vocalized your pleas before he continued and inched closer to your face with a triumphant smile when he saw the tears trickle down your cheeks. 

You were too worked up to wipe them off, and that was, you noticed in hindsight, exactly his intention, since he reached out his hand behind your neck and pulled you closer to lick them clean as they streamed out of your eyes. After that it was mostly a blur, he railed into you with no stops or pauses, all you could feel was an overwhelming pressure building up in your core and finally a release as your orgasm crept up. After a few more minutes you heard him groaning loudly in your ears and opened your eyes to a sight of wonder, worked up, panting, his wet hair sticking to the greenish skin of his forehead, and a little smile in the corner of his mouth. 

“Breath,” You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until then, and let out a long sigh followed by a chuckle of relief. His skin was mostly dry now, so his voice was hoarse. 

He pulled out slowly and started kneading the skin of your hip to dispel the tension when he let your leg down, hoping it wouldn't be sore the next day, but you had a different idea.

“Come, let’s get you wet again, I have so many questions to ask you.” You said as you got out of bed and extended one hand. He took it, but instead of going after you he used it to pull you back to bed next to him. 

“Tomorrow,” he signed.   

[eufezco]

A FRESH START 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

synopsis — after leaving wakanda, bucky starts to rediscover who he is while living with you, slowly bulding a new life. his dispair deepens and you offer him a fresh start with a simple act: cutting his hair.

angst. fluff

—you have to stop thinking that every time something good is happening to you it's because something worse is on the way. that´s not a way to live, buck —. you said softly, your voice steady but with a hint of concern.

bucky shook his head, running a hand over his face as a sign of desperation. if only he could remember what life felt like before hydra took him, before all those wasted years. after so long he was still trying to figure it out, still trying to find a version of himself that didn’t feel like a stranger. trying to get used to his new life in the city, far from the peace he had known in wakanda. all these sudden changes only made him more confused and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to adjust, it was that he didn’t know how.

it had been a almost a year since bucky had moved in with you, since you had defeated thanos and steve had left. when the dora milaje declared him ready to live a normal life, bucky stood there, unsure of what that even meant. he had no place to go. louisiana crossed his mind for a moment, sam had always extended an open invitation but the thought of intruding on sam’s family life stopped him, and steve was gone, something he chose not to think much about, so for the first time in over a century, bucky was truly on his own.

except he wasn’t. you were there.

when you found out he needed a place, you didn’t think about it twice. he resisted at first. ayo told him you were the right person to star building his new life. you trust her, you trust her more than you admit. that is where you begin. trust. she is the right person to help you build this new life, james.

and he couldn't remember what you two had shared before hydra took him, before everything fell apart but there was a pull. by the things steve told him, you three were best friends once, inseparable. he spoke of nights you spent laughing, of how he’d head home early, leaving you and bucky behind, knowing that bucky would arrive later, with a big smile on his lips. steve chuckled when he mentioned your lipstick, smeared on bucky’s mouth when he finally made it back. you never wiped it off, you wore it like a badge of honor.

bucky tried to imagine it, those moments of joy but the memories never came. but he could still feel it. he felt it that day in wakanda, when you arrived with steve and natasha to fight thanos. you smiled at him, just a brief moment in the chaos, but it stayed with him. there was something so familiar about that smile, something warm and he felt it too every time you visited him or sent him what had once been his favorite sweets, little reminders of a life he no longer remembered but somehow still carried with him.

so, he showed up at your door a few days later, a bag hung over his shoulder and a sad look in his eyes. he didn't try to argue this time. —you sure about this?

you didn’t hesitate. —absolutely.

living with bucky was easy. he was quiet, he didn't need much space. after months, he started making it his place too, little by little. he left his shoes by the door beside yours, the book he picked up from one of your shelves appeared on the coffee table, his leather jacket draped over the back of a chair.

—it's not that easy —. he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

you watched him. —i know it’s not, —you said softly, stepping closer to him. —but you don’t have to do it all at once. no one expects that from you.

he shook his head again. —feels like they do, —he said, his blue eyes looking directly into yours. you could see the sadness and the guilt of the moments he couldn’t take back. —feels like every time i mess up, it’s just proof that i don’t belong here. as if this life was not made for me —his voice was low, barely more than a murmur. —what if the only thing i'm good at is killing?

you took a deep breath. it was hard to hear him say that, to see the man you’d known before hydra, who was your best friend and the love of your life, now drowning in self-doubt and guilt. —you’re more than what they made you.

—am i? because that’s all i’ve ever done. all i know how to do.

—but it’s not who you are, it’s what they forced you to be. the fact that you’re even asking this? that you’re fighting to be someone better? that’s proof enough that that wasn't you at all.

he closed his eyes tightly and ran his hands through the long strands of his hair. for a moment, you just stood there, watching him. you wanted to pull him back from whatever dark place his thoughts had taken him, but you hesitated, ayo told you to do so, to let him space to feel this, to fight against it, even if it hurt.

—i can still feel him inside my head, i can hear his thoughts. he's not gone.

bucky’s fingers suddenly grabbed the roots of his hair with a little more force. his breathing grew faster, his hands shook and his eyes squeezed shut. you couldn't see how deep his pain was and not do anything to stop him from hurting himself.

you stepped closer. —bucky, hey… —your hands sneaked into his hair, softly pulling his grip from his scalp. his hands were trembling, and for a moment, there was resistance in him like he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of the only thing he could hold onto. but your touch was soft, familiar and something shifted, almost imperceptible, but you could feel the tension in him loosen.

—the bucky i knew isn’t gone. he’s still in there. i see him every time you fight for something good, every time you try to make amends, every time you care about the people around you, about me.

his shoulders fell, and his head hung low, he didn’t want you to see him like this, weak and broken. but you had seen him in his darkest moments as the winter soldier and you had experienced thanos taking him away from you with the blip. the years without him had been a painful, you thought you lost him forever. yet there he was, standing before you, alive, and you weren’t about to let him go again.

your hands gently moved to push the back of his head, guiding him to rest his forehead on your shoulder. he was still a bit unsure about how to handle this type of physical contact, used to years of torture, where touch always meant pain, control, or something to fear. now you held him close to your body, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

—why don’t i cut your hair?

—cut my hair?

—yeah, it´ll help you to see yourself in a different way. a fresh start.

bucky pulled back a little, he wasn’t sure if you were joking. —you think cutting my hair will fix everything?

you smiled softly, you wished it could be that easy. —no, —you admitted. —but ayo told your new life will be built on small things.

bucky sighed.

the idea of letting go parts of himself that tied him to the winter soldier felt like a whole world. first, it was his metal arm, the one with the red star, when tony ripped it off of him, bucky felt relieved, like tony was cutting one of the heads of the hydra to end the monster. in wakanda, he learned to live using only his flesh-and-blood arm until they gave him a new one which he only intended to use for good.

and now you were asking to cut his hair.

—ayo did say that, didn’t she? —he murmured, almost to himself.

—she’s a smart woman and besides, it’s just a haircut. if you hate it, it’ll grow back.

a small smile appeared in his lips. —if it ends up bad, i’m blaming you.

you took a chair from the kitchen to the bathroom and he sat down in front of the mirror. bucky stared at his reflection as he pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. he didn't like mirrors, he avoided them as much as he could. he didn't like the person staring back at him, he didn't know who that man was and now sitting on that chair there was no escape.

there was a difference this time. next to one of the things he most hated to look at—his reflection—was one of the things he liked the most to look at—you.

his blue eyes moved from his reflection to yours. you stood behind him and ran your hands gently through his hair. he felt that familiar tickle in his stomach, the one he first felt almost a century ago and that, even after all the years, it hadn't gone away.

he felt it every morning when you entered the kitchen, hair a mess from sleep, mumbling a soft “good morning” to him. he felt it when he came home in the evenings and dinner was ready and you were sitting at the table, waiting for him. he felt it most when you would fell asleep on the couch and he had to carry you to your bed, careful not to wake you. and you'd ask him in your sleep to stay, and he'd freeze, he wanted to say yes, he wanted to stay. but he couldn’t risk it, his nightmares were still too real. so bucky would gently place you in your bed, making sure you were well tucked in, and whisper, i’ll be in my room, if you need anything.

—are you ready? —you asked him, bringing him back from his thoughts. you already had the scissors in your hand and bucky shifted in the chair at the sight of them. —it'll be okay, buck.

—feels like more than just a haircut.

you nodded, understanding. —well, that's what we wanted, isn't it?

bucky swallowed and nodded.

—why don't you close your eyes? i'll let you know when i'm done.

with a deep breath, he did as you said. your lips curved into a small smile even though he could no longer see you. you were aware of all the progress he had made. you knew he trusted you with his heart because on no other occasion he would willingly keep his eyes closed with someone standing behind him, scissors in hand and when your hands rested on his shoulders, he hadn’t flinched at the contact.

—okay, i'll start.

with his eyes closed it was much easier to feel the delicacy with which you treated him. the way your fingers combed through his scalp and then the sound of the scissors, followed by the sensation of the strands falling and taking with them the weight he had carried for so long. and you talked, about anything that crossed your mid so he did not feel that he was in danger or he had to be alert at any time.

—maybe we could get a cat, —you said. —i think it’d be nice. do you think you’d be a good cat parent?

—maybe —. he said after a pause. —i definitely prefer a cat to a dog.

you switched to the clippers, you left the hair at the top of his head a little longer, while the rest of it was cut shorter. a very chic haircut for someone born in 1917. you carefully checked that his hair was even and then you styled it with your fingers.

—okay, i'm done, you can open your eyes.

bucky hesitated for a moment, then opened his eyes. your breath caught in surprise as you watched him take in the sight of himself. it was like having the bucky you once knew staring right at you through the mirror. his features were the same, just a bit more more defined and mature.

he felt the same relief as when tony ripped off the metal arm that hydra embedded in his body, like a part of him that had once been used against him, now freed. he turned his head slowly to both sides to get a better look and to be honest, he liked his new look. physically, he could see the resemblance to the man in the photos you had shown him, the young soldier who smiled to you, in love.

—how do you feel? i think it suits you —. you asked gently.

bucky nodded. —i like it —. he caught your gaze in the mirror. the eye contact was so intense that you had to look away. you cleared your throat, hoping to ease the tension, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

—alright, come on, —you tapped his shoulder for him to stand up. — i'm going to sweep your hair off the floor.

bucky got up from the chair and turned his head to look at you, not through the mirror this time, but directly, and the sudden closeness made your breath hitch. —thank you for doing this.

—you don't need to thank me, buck. i'm glad it turned out well, it was my first time doing it.

—you sure about that? —he asked—it doesn’t feel like it was your first time.

you laughed, still avoiding his gaze. —guess we got lucky, then.

there was a silence; you were both too close, but not close enough yet. bucky’s eyes moved to your lips for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make your heart race. you could both feel the tension, an invisible string pulling you toward each other, daring one of you to close the gap. you didn’t want to take the first step, you didn’t want to push him into something he wasn’t ready for, the last thing you wanted was to break the fragile trust he’d built with you.

you opened your mouth to say something but he talked first.

—can i kiss you? —his voice was low, almost shy.

you were surprised because you didn't expected him to ask so directly, but consent was so important to him. he spent too many years under someone else’s control, forced into actions that weren’t his own, and now he was determined never to cross those lines. it wasn’t just about asking to kiss you, it was about making sure that you were comfortable, that you wanted this just as much as he did.

—yeah, —you whispered —you can.

bucky stepped closer, his flesh-and-blood hand reaching to cup your cheek, his fingers gently brushing against your skin. he leaned in, his movements careful, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you leaned into him instead, your lips finally meeting his.

he felt strange. he had wanted to kiss you for what felt like forever, and now that he had, he wasn’t sure what to do next. his mind raced, trying to remember how this was supposed to go. he forgot about kissing, forgot about the rhythm of it, the give and take. his hand slipped from your cheek to fall awkwardly at his side as he pulled away from your lips just enough just to say:

—i don't... i don't remember how to do this.

—it's okay. you're doing just fine. there’s no right or wrong way. just… follow me.

this time, when your lips met, you moved slowly, guiding him. his tension disappeared as he mirrored your movements, his right hand returned to your cheek, the other, his metal one, moved to hold your hips. it wasn’t perfect, the movements of his lips were still hesitant, but there was something honest about the way he kissed you.

as he kissed you, bucky became more aware of his body and where his hands were and realized that his metal hand was resting lightly on your waist. he pulled the hand away quickly. —i'm sorry, i didn't mean to...

you shook your head, one of your hands flew to the back of his neck to connect your lips while your other one grabbed his vibranium arm and guided his hand to where it was before. as the kiss deepened, you felt him relax, stop worrying about whether he was doing it right or wrong, about the touch of his cold hand on your skin, and he just kissed you.

you hummed before parting ways. his cheeks were flushed, his lips were a bit swollen and glossy, his breathing a little uneven and you couldn't help a little laugh from escaping your lips.

—okay, now you're just laughing at me.

—you're so cute, buck.

[piftamere]

something real (wc : 1.4k)

secret santa fic for @eussstasss as part of the hq x reader secret santa by @/lale-txt, i hope you'll like it! i had fun writing it <3

synopsis : she asks her dear best friend, Suna Rintarou, to accompany her to her family Christmas party as her pretend boyfriend, too embarrassed to go alone another year. no ulterior motives.

content : suna rintarou x f!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, fluff

divider by @nectardaddy

Year after year, the questions were the same.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Are you still single?"

"Are you ever going to bring someone home to your family?"

And every time she had to disappoint them, forcing a smile as she replied she wasn’t seeing anyone. She could see their own smiles drop and their faith in her weaken.

This year, she couldn’t take it anymore. Something snapped. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out that she'd have someone accompany her to the family Christmas party.

The moment the lie left her lips, she wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Relief washed over her parents’ faces, her mother rushing to the phone to give her grandmother the big news.

She couldn’t shatter their happiness now, not when she’d seen how much it meant to them.

A few weeks later, she was slumped over her best-friend's couch, face buried in a pillow.

"I still haven’t found anyone," she whined, her voice muffled as she groaned in frustration. "It’s tomorrow."

Suna leaned against the armrest, amused. ''You sure you tried everything?"

"Yes, everything."

"And now you’re giving up?"

"Yup." She replied, defeated.

"So… no Christmas?"

"Nope."

As she was blocking out the mocking snicker Suna was making, an idea struck her. A desperate, ridiculous idea. She turned her head just enough to look at him, eyes pleading, peaking over the pillow.

"Wait…" she began hesitantly. She sat up, clutching his arm. "Do me this one favor. I’ll owe you forever. Please."

He raised an eyebrow, almost sure he knew what she meant, his lips stretched into a mischievous grin. "What?" He wanted to hear her say it.

"Be my fake boyfriend. Please."

"Why not just tell them you broke up with your imaginary boyfriend?"

She groaned again, burying her face in his sleeve. "I can’t. I can’t deal with the pity stares or them thinking i made it up. Please Rin, pretty please."

He wanted to reply that technically, she did make it up, but her desperation must have struck a chord because, after a beat of silence, he sighed, "Fine."

If she’d had more time to think it through, maybe she’d have asked why he agreed so quickly. Maybe she’d have wondered about that smirk on his face. But with the clock ticking, she ignored the signs.

She was going to regret this.

The next day, they were standing on the doorstep of her childhood home, a freshly bought pie in her hands. She glanced at the front door, now having second thoughts, her stomach tying itself into knots.

As Suna reached for the doorbell, he suddenly paused, his lips letting out a mischievous chuckle. "Wait a sec," he said, stepping closer.

She shot him a curious look. "What are you doing?"

Without answering, he slipped his arm casually around her waist, pulling her snug against him. She flinched, nearly dropping the pie.

"Relax," he said with a playful wink, his smirk slightly infuriating. "We have to sell it, you know?"

His hand rested comfortably on her hip, like it was the most casual thing ever. She swore she could feel the warmth of his touch burn her skin through the thick fabric of her coat.

Her cheeks flushed, both from embarrassment and the sudden realization of how committed he was to the whole thing. "You’re enjoying this way too much," she muttered under her breath.

"You begged me for this, remember?", Suna replied nonchalantly, reaching for the doorbell with his free hand.

Before she could respond, the door swung open, revealing her mother who practically dragged them inside.

It felt surprisingly good to walk around the house, introducing her "boyfriend" to her relatives. The warm smiles, the approving nods and whispers. She'd almost fall for the act herself.

If only she could ignore the strange, fluttery feeling settling in her stomach every time she looked at him.

At dinner, he played his part a little too well. In the name of being believable, his hand lingered on hers as it rested on the table. She had a hard time getting used to the soft squeeze of his fingers when he leaned back in his chair, cracked a joke with her father or complimented her mother's cooking. She blinked, taken aback by how effortlessly he seemed to fit into her family, like he’d been part of it all along.

She caught herself stealing glances at him, feeling peculiarly shy at this unfamiliar, charming side of him.

After dinner, they gathered around the Christmas tree to exchange gifts. The soft glow of the lights, the scent of pine in the air and the laughter of her family made this moment feel all too real.

Suna turned to her, a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand. She wasn't expecting this. How had he found the time to buy her a gift? She was trying not to read into it.

"Here," he said casually, holding it out to her.

"You got me something?"

"Of course. I’m your boyfriend." he replied with a small grin.

Their fingers brushed as he handed it to her, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Something in his gaze, something warm, playful, and maybe a little too sincere for comfort, made her heart thump loudly against her ribs.

It was becoming harder to remember this was all an act.

She tore her eyes away, focusing on unwrapping the gift in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. Inside was a delicate bracelet, a thin chain with a beautiful charm that shined faintly in the tree's glow.

"So? Do you like it?" He asked, watching her reaction intently. He almost sounded nervous.

She nodded, "Rin… It’s beautiful. I didn’t think-"

"That I had taste? Ouch-"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, a smile still on her lips. "That you'd go this far."

Suna leaned in, his voice dropping just enough for only her to hear. "What can I say? I’m committed to my role."

Carefully, she took it out of the box. She was struggling to put it on, when he took it from her hands.

"Allow me," he gently wrapped it around her wrist and skillfully clasped it. His touch lingered on her skin, longer than necessary, but neither of them moved.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, but her mind was far away. Every stolen glance at him, every playful touch, only made the knot in her chest tighten even more.

A little lost in her thoughts, she found herself by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered yard as she mindlessly fidgeted with the charm on her bracelet. The calming view was a welcome distraction as she tried to untangle the mess in her mind.

"Look what we have here." Suna whispered, coming up behind her, his voice tinged with mischief.

She turned, slightly startled as her eyes followed his hand pointing to the branch of mistletoe over her head.

"Seriously?"

"I don't make the rules," Suna replied, stepping closer. He shrugged, raising his hands in defeat.

Fed up with how confident he’d been all day, she sighed and tugged firmly on his sleeve. He stumbled forward, caught completely off guard. Now impossibly close, he stared at her, wide-eyed. For the first time since they arrived at her parents’ house, he was dead silent. She couldn’t help but savor the moment of peace.

Maybe for a moment too long, because the surprise was wearing off, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "What? Lost your-"

"Oh shush." she cut him off, her voice firm. Before he could react, she leaned up and kissed him.

His lips were still, as if the shock hadn’t quite worn off. But then he kissed her back, his hand coming to rest on the side of her face. His playful demeanor becoming gentle.

When they finally parted, her cheeks burned. His usually half-lidded eyes glinted with something she couldn’t quite name, something intense, real.

A little breathless, he spoke, "You said you’d owe me forever, right?"

Her brows knit in confusion, her heart still racing. "Yes?"

His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. "Go out with me. For real this time."

She stared at him, her mind reeling. And as she looked back on today and their relationship, that always seemed tainted by something a little deeper than friendship, she realized the feeling gnawing at her insides since this morning wasn’t anxiety, it was hope.

And maybe it was time to stop pretending.

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 2

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization

Author's Note: My gorl, @lostintransist, needed more so I'm gonna write more.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but we don't allow full face coverings on the property," the beta female worker - Jenny, according to her name tag - informs Simon.

"I'm not wandering around without a mask of some kind," he grumbles in response. When the woman doesn't back down, but keeps smiling weirdly up at him, he sighs and rolls his shoulders. "Fine," he conceeds.

Without another word, he turns while fishing a black surgical mask from his hoodie pocket. He swaps his balaclava for the surgical mask as quickly as he can then turns back around to face her. Jenny looks ready to protest again when another beta worker - male this time - rests his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll take it from here, Jen. Go check on the omegas in the medical wing. New arrivals," he smiles warmly at her and nods.

Jenny's smile falters for a moment but it returns and she nods then walks off.

"Nice to meet you, mate. I'm Frank. Welcome to Salvation's Whitestable location. What can we do for you?"

After going through the legalities and paperwork, Simon was able to set up an appointment to meet the omegas in the facility. The soonest they were willing to schedule such was the following week. Something about not wanting to "overload the omegas since so many are curious about them and want to take them in."

It made sense on the surface, but it didn't settle quite right with Simon. Nothing he could truly do about it, though, so he signed what was needed and waited until the agreed upon day.

It'd been about a week since we'd had any visitors - which tracks, by my timing, since it seems we only get them about once a week. I find visitors annoying as all hell. They're just alphas sniffing around for a desperate omega anyway. Most of the omegas who leave are likely better off in this hell hole anyway.

At least while omegas here their needs are respected. For the most part.

When we're called out to the yard for "fresh air", I knew it was just visitors. They have us on a strict routine and don't let anyone see us inside. Claim it's too dangerous, too many places to hide and find trouble.

It's a nice day, I guess. Not super cloudy and definitely not raining, sun's out even if it gets tucked behind the clouds once in a while.

Gods, I can already smell the alphas.

My nose wrinkles and I toss an annoyed look towards the gates where the alphas are waiting for entrance. When the gate opens I roll my eyes and look away, focusing on the book in my hands instead.

"Why don't you ever engage with them?" a voice whispers from over my shoulder.

"I'm busy, 1211," I tell the younger omega flatly without looking up.

"But the alphas are here. A few of us might get to find a mate today," she exclaims excitedly before something catches her attention and she darts off.

I sigh softly and close my book. She'll likely leave today, being so close to her heat. It makes her more desirable, even if she's still loopy as hell. I pity her, honestly. This place may be weird, but at least it's known and familiar.

Well... it is for me. I've been here since they opened this facility. If I'm calculating correctly, I've been here for a full year as of today. Most omegas are out in one to two months.

"Any reason why you're camped out under a tree and not... interacting with literally anyone else?"

I jump at the sound of the man's voice and my book falls from my hands. Before I can react and save my book from the ground, a gloved hand shoots out and grabs it.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he says as he walks to stand in front of me.

My book gets turned in his hands and I slowly follow his hands up to his partially covered face. Jesus, how tall is this guy? I'm tall for an omega but this guy might as well be a damn tree! He's even as wide as one.

"Tolkien, huh?" he asks as he hands my book back.

I stay quiet but nod and accept my book. No way in hell he's not one of the alpha visitors - never seen a beta built like this - but I can't smell him.

"Not a talker?"

"Not really," I finally say.

His eyebrows twitch upward for a moment before returning to the neutral expression he's been wearing since he stepped in front of me. Probably wasn't expecting me to be American.

"Me either," he says after a moment. "Probably why I'm here, huh?"

I give him a look of confusion at that.

"I don't socialize much so I'm- nevermind," he sighs. "Mind if I stay here for a bit? There's just too much going on elsewhere right now."

"Isn't that why you're here? To find a high energy, cuddly, and loving omega?" I ask dryly. "I know a few of the girls would be ecstatic to go home with an alpha like you."

"Yeah... maybe. Until they realize what my job is and just how often I'm away from home because of it," he scoffs.

"And what is your job?" My eyes narrow as he speaks.

"I'm military," he says simply. When I don't respond, he sighs. "I'm gone a lot. Many missions require minimum or no communication. There's no rushing home from work or random phone calls."

I glare up at him, considering what he's saying. Then it hits me and I start laughing.

"Oh, man! You're a decent actor, I'll give you that. How much did they pay you? Is this a script they gave you or did you just come up with this on the fly? Bonus points for doing it on the fly, if so. I knew they were itching to get rid of me, but damn-"

"The hell are you on about? I'm not an actor."

The genuine offense in his voice makes my laughter fade.

"You weren't paid to tell the 'stupid omega who can't figure out she's an omega' that you have a lifestyle that she would fit into nicely?" My arms cross over my chest and I give him a look of disbelief.

Rage seems to filter into his eyes for a moment.

"Simon," he says, offering his hand.

My eyes fall to his hand and I hesitantly accept it.

"Nice to meet you, I guess, Simon," I test his name. "I'm known as UK-009-0013 or 13 around here."

And never anything else.

Masterlist | Part 1

Tag list: @lucienofthelakes

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 6 (The End)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: Happy Holidays! Better late than never, right?

If there was a truth universally acknowledged in the Red Bull Garage, then it was this: You didn’t upset Ariel Cane without paying the price. And the price to pay was dealing with an absolutely furious Max Verstappen. 

(Actually they had put that in the inoffical onboarding document a few years ago that every newbie was handed on their first day… After that one stupid strategist had thought that making an inappropriate comment to Ariel was the thing to do. The fallout of that had not been…pretty.)

Everybody knew this. Everybody kept to that truth. It wasn’t about disagreements about work. Ariel was more than capable to eal with that. It was about her being treated with actual respect an not like her whole reason to being there was for her to fetch Max’s coffee. 

Everybody knew that rule. Everybody kept to that rule, if they knew what was good for them. 

Unless you were Jos Verstappen. 

Jos Verstappen clearly thought he was above treating Ariel with a modicum of respect. Jos Verstappen was a fucking idiot. 

GP had half a mind to deck Jos himself, for daring to put his hands on Ariel.

Actually he would have probably done that. If he hadn’t also had Max on the radio in the middle of the race.

That was the one thing that stopped him from physically intervening. The race was his priority. 

GP knew that Max was going to loose his fucking mind over the fact that they lied to him. And quite frankly, he had ever right to it. 

At least, GP got to watch Connor drag Jos Verstappen away from Ariel by the scruff of his neck. Only after the damage was already done…but it was something. 

Something. 

Jos, predictably, didn’t look very pleased to be bodily removed.

"Let go of me!" he shouted, but his protests were in vain. Connor’s grip was firm and unwavering, his own anger etched on his face. Jos had clearly crossed the line.

Which also more than made Christian’s reaction to all of this more than reasonable.

Still, none of this suddenly erased what had happened. None of this fucking fixed the fact that Jos Verstappen had dared to slap Ariel across her face. 

The rest of the race passed by in a blur, GP keeping his focus solely on Max and the race. Max’s voice in his ear was the only constant, a reassuring presence during the chaos.

 When the checkered flag fell, though, the tension of the race was joined by the tension of the impending drama. The radio went silent, the moment before they was all dreading.

Quite frankly… GP had expected worse.

Max let himself be reasoned with. To an extent. 

He also didn’t bite off the head of any journalist even when it was clear that he wanted to…

To his credit, Max showed remarkable restraint. He was clearly seething with anger, his expression tight and his hands clenched into fists, but he somehow managed to hold himself back. 

GP could see the storm brewing just below the surface, but Max somehow kept it together.

Even when the journalists clearly wanted to get a rise out of him, asking about the confrontation with his father and with Ariel, Max managed to stay (relatively) composed.

He kept his answers short and clipped, his jaw clenched shut as he did his best to keep his temper in check.   

Max's responses were sharp, and it was impossible missed his obvious disdain for the question. He answered curtly, his body taut with tension. GP winced every time Max opened his mouth, knowing the press was going eat up the sound bites.

Still, all of them breathed a sign of relief when Max disappeared into his driver room. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving everyone else in a silent daze.

There was to hope that Ariel would be able to work her increible magic…somehow talk him away from the brink. 

GP just hoped that everything that ha happene in the Garage that day wasn’t going to destroy Max an Ariel’s friendship.  

The fallout of that particular scenario would be catastrophic. 

He wasn’t the only one who was thinking that, he was quite sure. 

30 minutes later, Max showed up again, to take his trophy home. 

And to the shock and surprise of everybody...he was calm.

Max, who had stormed off in anger only half an hour ago, returned to the public eye with an almost eerie calm. His expression was neutral, his body language relaxed, as he accepted his trophy.

The contrast between the fiery, angry Max from before and this almost eerily calm version of him was jarring.

Whatever Ariel had said to him… Whatever it was, it had been effective. 

GP could see the change in Max. The anger and tension from before were gone, replaced instead by that…calm. The tension having bled out of his body, his fists no longer clenched. 

God bless Ariel and her innate ability to stop furious blonde dutch racing drivers to go down the warpath. 

She was the only one that had this effect on Max. Regardless of whatever other shitty thing was going on, when Ariel was there as well, then Max would manage to hold it together. 

Sadly, GP had given up years ago that the two of them would ever actually admit the feelings that they clearly had for each other...but…there was that hopeless romantic somewhere deep inside him that hoped that one day the two of them would realise how absolutely perfect they were for each other. 

After the trophy, Max and Ariel disappeared back to their hotel room (GP didn't believe for one second that it wouln't end with Ariel curled up in Max's room, because he could be worth than a fussy mother hen…) and GP decided that he needed a bloody drink. 

So he ended up dragging Connor to the hotel bar and buying him a drink because that was clearly the least he owed him.

They weren't alone. Hannah, their strategist joined them as well, for a bit of a...gossip session.

And the topic, of course, was the usual. Max and Ariel. The two of them were always a source of intrigue an speculation within the Red Bull Team and today’s events ha only aed more fuel to the fire. 

"I am not definitely not envying Gemma right now," Hannah said with a snort as she sipped her cocktail. "She’s supposed to get Max to give out a statement. How high are the chances he’ll even talk to her?"

GP chuckled at that. "I'm sure she'll manage," he said, although he did not envy the publicist's job either. Max could be a handful even at the best of times, and today he would be… particularly uncooperative.

Not that anybody would fault him for that. 

Connor took a large swig of his drink. "Poor Gemma," he sai with a sigh. "She has her work cut out for her."

Connor was texting, his phone not stopping vibrating and he sighed.

"Who is it?" GP wondered.

"Who do you think?" Connor gave back drily. "Percy.”

Ah. Ariel’s brother. 

“That was quick,” GP said drily. Word had gotten out fast. 

“Sky has the whole thing on video,” Hannah said with a grimace. “I am surprised it took this long. Besides…the entire garage has been buzzing.”

GP sighed, taking a sip of his own drink. “Of course it did,” he said. “This team loves their gossip.”

"I didn't think Cane was actually going to care though," Hannah said carefully. “He has never seen…particular…” Hannah was clearly struggling for words. 

GP sighed. In the near ecae that he knew Percy Cane now, his opinion about Ariel’s brother had changed drastically. From “asshole who in’t actually care about his sisters” to “emotionally stunted genius who loved them very much, was absolutely horrible at showing it, but was actually a great guy once he stopped talking in riddles”. 

It took a while to look behind the facade. Percy Cane ruled over the electrical engineering epartment with an iron fist, didn’t accept anything but the best from the people who worked for him…but was also the first one who woul defend any of them if they had done nothing wrong. 

“He’s actually a nice guy, once you get to know him better,” GP said pointedly. “And Ariel is his little sister. He may not always shows that…” (or at least not in any way considered normal…) "But both of his sisters are very important to him."

“Percy can be…difficult,” Connor agreed drily. “But he is really, really fun once you get to know him. And he is also very protective over Ariel and Emma,” Connor acknowledged. "I've seen Percy in full big brother mode, and it's not something I'd like to experience myself. I am pretty sure he is going to destroy Jos Verstappen's whole life," Connor said drily."Not that I am going to stop him."

Hannah snorted, taking a sip of her drink. "None of us would," she said. "He can be pretty intimidating when he wants to be."

"I would not want to be on the receiving end of his wrath," GP added with a grimace. "Remember the one time that engineer spilled coffee all over his tablet?" he asked with a snort. "How long did all his emails come back as undelivered again?"

Hannah chuckled at the memory, a grin on her face. "Two weeks," she supplied with a snort. "So is he going to do the same thing to him?"

"He did that over a piece of tech. This is Ariel," Connor responded drily. "His revenge will be much worse."

"I need a drink," Gemma said at that exact moment as she slid into the seat next to GP. "Right about now."

"Well, looks like you came to the right place," GP replied with a smirk, gesturing to the drinks already on the table. "What do you want? It's on me."

Gemma reached for the bottle of tequila. “Apparently we need to celebrate.”

Hannah chuckled, "What exactly are we celebrating?" she asked curiously. 

Hannah wasn’t the only one who was wondering that. GP did too. 

"The end of a half a decade of stalemate," Gemma said drily after knocking back her drink. "Guess who finally figured things out?"

GP just stared at her. "No."

"Oh yes," Gemma agreed with a smirk. "4 hours ago, and it's as serious as it can be."

GP's eyes widened as Gemma spoke. "You're kidding," he said, his disbelief evident in his tone

Connor and Hannah simply looked at each other, their mouths slightly agape.

"No way," Connor finally said, shaking his head. "They actually stopped dancing around each other?"

Gemma nodded, a wide grin on her lips. "Oh, it's true," she said, taking another swig of her drink."They've finally stopped being idiots."

GP could only stare at her, still somewhat in awe. "This is...unbelievable," he said finally. "I honestly thought they'd never figure it out."

He had thought that the whole Max and Ariel thing was going to end in the worst kind of heartbreak to be completely honest. 

Hannah huffed, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on her face. "About bloody time," she said bluntly. "I was starting to go grey over here, waiting for them to finally get their act together!"

"Tell me about it," GP agreed, rubbing the back of his head. "It's been obvious how they feel about each other for years now. But they were so damn stubborn about actually acting on it."

Connor snorted, taking another swig of his beer. "You're preaching to the choir," he said wryly. "I've been ready to lock them in a room together for about five years now."

"Don't think Percy would have approved of that," GP pointed out with a smirk, and Connor chuckled.

"He's going to lose his mind," Connor said with a shake of his head. "The two of them...in a relationship. It's going to be an interesting time, that's for sure."

Connor's phone pinged again. He just sighed.

"Is he losing his mind already?" GP asked with a laugh.

Connor's face was a mixture of amusement and resignation as he glanced at his phone. "Yes," he replied simply. "Apparently Percy has written a whole 40 pages pdf document, which is his version of a shovel talk, so now he wants me to give him Max’s email address."

The table burst into laughter, the tension of the day finally easing into a lighthearted mood.

"A pdf document," GP repeated, almost unable to wrap his head around that. "Seriously?"

"With footnotes and all," Connor confirmed, a hint of amusement in his voice despite his words.

Hannah let out a bark of laughter. "Percy really knows how to go all out," she said, shaking her head with a grin.

"How many of these words aren't three syllables or more?" GP asked drily. "Maybe we should ask him to dumb it down a bit if he actually wants Max to read all of it and understand it. "

The group laughed again, with Connor snorting into his beer.

"Yeah, I don't think Percy has ever heard of the concept of dumbing it down," he said, shaking his head. "Guy is a literal genius. If anything, he's probably wondering how to use even more obscure words."

GP chuckled, raising his glass. "To Percy's incredibly thorough and undoubtedly terrifyingly effective shovel talk," he said with a grin.

The group laughed again, glasses clinking as they toasted to that.

"Here's to Max and Ariel finally getting their act together," Connor chimed in.

"It only took them five years," GP added.

"And countless missed opportunities," Hannah added with a smirk.

"Better late than never," Gemma agreed, taking a sip of her drink.

[the-ace-with-spades]

Has anyone written a Christmas Carol AU with Rooster as the Scrooge?

Like, you know, Rooster getting calls and texts from various people (Mav, Ice...) on Christmas Eve and ignoring it all to go to a bar instead, telling Nat to go screw herself when she offers, again, that he could spend Christmas with her and Javy -- and Jake, his ex, by extend, who also doesn't have any family to spend it with, but not by choice like Bradley but because he got disowned a long time ago.

Bradley gets drunk off his ass and ends up getting kicked out and falls asleep somewhere in the snow on the way back to his home.

Then he gets visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past and he is shown flashes from back when Carole was alive and cooked proper Christmas dinner with Mav, or back from when he was sixteen and had a very messy/half-assed but domestic Christmas with Mav, who came back from deployment the day before, and Ice, who never had to organise a Christmas dinner before, or back when he and Jake got stuck on base in Japan on a training assignment and spent the whole day in bed, eating Christmas KFC and doing other things.

And then Christmas Present takes over and he is shown the little Christmas dinner Nat organised with Javy and Jake and how Nat is pissed with him and Jake talks about how he was going to use the occasion and have an honest talk with Bradley about their break-up for the last time and how Bradley not showing up seems to him like a sign to give up and move on. And then he sees Mav and Ice with Slider's family at the Christmas dinner, with a seat with an empty plate and unused cutlery left for Bradley, just in case he shows up, and he sees Mav get up and step outside and call Bradley and get one ring and then going straight to voicemail because Bradley blocked him sometime mid-day when he got fed-up. Ice is wearing a warm thick jumper and a scarf indoors.

And finally, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come gives him a kick and goes in a couple years down the line to show him a sad-looking depressed Mav with zero Christmas decorations around him, sitting alone in a dark living room with a bottle of whiskey and an urn on the unlit fireplace. Then it goes even a few more years later to show pregnant Nat ranting about Bradley preferring to swap duties with someone instead of coming to their Christmas party, just as Jake, looking a few years older, rings the doorbell with some guy that just rattles Bradley's spidey senses and who holds Jake a little bit too tight at the waist when he tries to go greet Javy with a hug. And then he sees himself, tired, flying some stupid Christmas flyover formation when his plane malfunctions and he proceeds to burn alive when he hesitates to open the canopy for too long and the engine explodes with him still sitting a few meters away from it.

He comes back to it and it's once again a Christmas Eve morning. He doesn't answer the texts because he doesn't know what to write back in reply, but he calls Nat and tells her he's going to be there. Instead of going to the bar, he goes to the mall and buys some last-minute Christmas presents for everyone, with a slightly more fancy and/or more meaningful present for Jake.

He goes to the Christmas dinner and he and Nat talk and he apologizes for the way he's been treating her offers so far and he and Jake have a little honest conversation when Jake, a little buzzed on the eggnog, cuddles up to him on the sofa.

When Mav calls, he picks up. He still feels a lot of different things about Mav, so he only tells him he wants to talk to them after New Year and wishes them Merry Christmas and tells them he'll text them with a time he can come by San Diego. He can hear that Mav is crying when he agrees with the plan and wishes him Merry Christmas back.

He and Jake spend the Christmas night together.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You Can See It With The Lights Out

A/N: Happy Nessian Swiftmas! And happy whatever holiday (or simply day off work) you are celebrating today! @unhealthyfanobsession may have broken all of our hearts with her Nessian Swiftmas fic, but I'm here to balance it out with some absolutely tooth rotting fluff inspired by Ms. Swift's You Are In Love

Read on AO3 // Nessian Swiftmas

Realistically, Nesta knows that this makes the most sense. She knows that driving downtown and dealing with the traffic is bad enough without the additional headache that comes with parking. She knows that even on the best day you're lucky to find a garage with space available, and it's near impossible to find one that doesn't cost twenty dollars minimum.

Still, she feels almost strange sitting in the back seat of an Uber, rather than the comfort of her own car. Feels strange sitting on the Metro and allowing it to carry her from all the way at the end of the line to downtown. It feels even more strange stepping inside the large office building that Cassian's security firm calls home.

The building management has already decorated the space for the season, a large tree stretching toward the ceiling in the corner, wrapped in red ribbon and with large, silver baubles hanging among the greenery. Perfectly square and wrapped gifts litter the space beneath the tree, and Nesta is confident every single box is probably empty.

The last and only time she's ever stepped inside this building, the lobby was practically bustling with people going to and from lunch, but now, it's practically a ghost town. With the way the sun has already set outside, it's extra eerie walking across the space, the sound of Nesta's heeled boots on the marble floor resounding loudly around her.

"Nes!"

Nesta has to press her lips together to hold back the fond smile threatening to pull free at the sound of that stupid nickname. He's forever the only one she allows to get away with it. She looks toward the sound of that voice just in time to watch Cassian step away from the elevators, his hand raised in an easy wave. She quickly makes her way over to him, only half hearing whatever Cassian says to the security officer sitting behind the lobby's front desk.

When Nesta reaches Cassian, her eyes sweep over his frame, taking in the dark green button down he's wearing, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows so that the muscles and veins of his forearms are on full display, the starting lines of dark ink that Nesta knows stretch further up his arms and across his chest peeking out beneath the fabric. His hair is scraped back away from his face and piled atop his head, but a few dark, curly strands have fallen free and tumble in all which direction, a sign Nesta knows means it's been a stressful day for him.

"You're not ready."

"I know. I'm sorry," Cassian tells her, capturing her hand in both his and bringing it up to his lips, pressing an apologetic kiss to her knuckles. "I just have one more thing to get done today. I promise."

Nesta hums, but it's hard for to stay annoyed when Cassian's hands are so warm against her own, calluses familiar and comforting where they slide against her skin. Hard to stay annoyed when she can see that soft smile of his hiding behind her hand where he still holds it to his mouth. Hard to stay annoyed when those hazel eyes are pinned solely on her, the gold flecks of them seeming to twinkle.

"One more?" Nesta asks, raising an eyebrow.

"One more."

Cassian presses the button to call the elevator back and gestures for Nesta to step inside first when the doors open. He's always doing that, like he's some sort of southern charm gentleman. It had taken Nesta by surprise when she first met him. Sometimes, it still takes her by surprise even now.

He doesn't quite make sense to her. She's never understood how he can be so patient when the scars from her mother, from Tomas, run so deep. Never understood how when she feels spiteful and unworthy that he swears she's something precious. Never understood how her scowl can make him grin, how her rolling eyes can be his favorite.

Sometimes, she thinks he must be a dream, that she'll wake up and find herself alone and cold in a bed of tattered, old sheets. Sometimes, she holds her breath and waits for him to change his mind, for him to realize the thrill of the chase has worn off, for him to turn and walk away. But then he'll look at her with that slow, soft grin, that flickering spark simmering amongst the greens and golds of his hazel eyes.

He'll look at her with that one look meant just for her, and everything else will go quiet.

The elevator doors open with a ding on the sixth floor, and Nesta follows Cassian down the hallway and to his corner office. He steps over to his desk in the center of the room, gathering up a stack of papers and what appears to be a blueprint of some kind. With his arms full, he heads back toward the office door, but he pauses long enough to press a kiss to Nesta's cheek before he vanishes down the office hallway again.

Nesta rolls her eyes at the overly sweet gesture, but she turns her attention to Cassian's office while she waits for him to return, noting the perfectly straight, military handwriting on the whiteboard. Her fingers trail across the wood as she steps around his desk, her breath catching when she sees the framed photos neatly lined there. There's a photo of Cassian with an arm thrown easily around each of his brothers, but there's also a photo of… her.

She recognizes it from back in October, from when they went to the local pumpkin patch. Cassian has his arms draped around her shoulders, his chin propped on the crown of her head. His grin is wide enough that his eyes are closed, crinkles popping at the corners of them. Nesta's own lips are pinched, but even through the camera lens, she can see the dusting of pink across her own cheeks. A heat she can feel echoing across her face now at knowing he keeps this photo on his desk.

"Okay, done," Cassian announces, stepping back inside the office.

"Why would you choose this photo for your office?" Nesta asks, pointing toward the frame.

"I love that photo."

Cassian grabs his coat, sliding his arms through and taking a moment to do up the buttons. He grabs his scarf next, but rather than put it on, he steps into Nesta's space. He hooks the scarf around her neck, looping the knot and offering her a wink.

"We both know how you're always cold, sweetheart."

He slides his hand into hers, linking their fingers, and leads them out of his office and back toward the elevators. As they walk, Nesta can't help but turn her face into the fabric of the scarf, breathing in the familiar pine scent of Cassian's cologne. It's a comfort, having his scent, his warmth, wrapped around her as surely as the hand cradling her palm.

It's only a few blocks to H Street and the Solstice market stretched along the road there, but Nesta still presses close to Cassian, determine to leech as much warmth as she can from his large body. The lights come into view first, sparkling fairy lights strung across the different white tents that make up the vendor booths, curled around the trunks of the trees lining the sidewalks. There's even what appears to be a large Solstice star at the other end of the market. It's like stepping into a snow globe.

It's the smell that hits Nesta next, sugary sweet and chocolaty, the distinct smell of gingerbread. It already has her mouth watering, her eyes darting around the booths to find the source when they properly step inside the market.

They weave through the people and the booths until a vendor selling handcrafted accessories catches Nesta's eye. She drops Cassian's hand so that she can step inside the booth, leaning in and tilting her head so that she can examine the different jewelry pieces on display. The pair of sunflower earrings would make a perfect gift for Elain.

"What do you think, Nes?"

Nesta looks up at the question only to find Cassian now standing next to her with a knitted mask pulled over his head. A knitted mask meant to resemble a husk of corn, his eyes peeking out from holes in the yellow pattern and a few strands of his dark hair pushing through the gaps and sticking up alongside the green yarn husk around his ears.

"What are you wearing?"

It's hard to tell fully with the knitted mask, but Nesta is confident that Cassian is smirking at her. "What? Aren't you feeling corny?"

"I'm going to walk out of here and pretend I don't know you."

"We could make a corno together. It would be hot. What do you say?"

Nesta shakes her head fondly at his antics, but there's no stopping the amused snort that escapes, no fighting the way the corners of her lips tug up of their own accord. Cassian finally tugs the atrocious knitted mask off with a wide grin of his own, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes and off his forehead. He vanishes to return the mask from wherever he got it, Nesta picking up the sunflower earrings to purchase them for Elain.

When she steps out of the booth, carefully tucking the small, brown bag with the earrings in her purse, she finds Cassian already waiting for her. He holds his hand out toward her, making a big show of wiggling his finger expectantly. Nesta happily slips her hand back into his, but Cassian frowns, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth and pressing his lips against her knuckles.

"Your hands are freezing, sweetheart."

Nesta wants to remind him that they're outside, at night, in December, but Cassian merely turns on his heel and continues walking through the market, pulling Nesta along by their joined hands. He comes to a stop at another of the booths, and Nesta has to swallow down a moan of delight at the unmistakable and delectable smell, at the red looping letters on the sign.

"Two hot chocolates please," Cassian requests from the booth vendor. "One with marshmallows and extra whipped cream and one with cinnamon."

With a smile and a nod, the vendor starts to prepare their drinks, Nesta tugging open her purse and reaching for her wallet.

"Don't even think about it."

Nesta freezes, turning her head enough that she can peer up at Cassian, but he merely keeps a single eyebrow raised until she lets her purse drop back to her side. It's still hard sometimes, to let go of the ghosts that cling and whisper in the back of her mind. To ignore the words that remind her there's no such thing as handouts, that demand she always pays for herself.

The vendor sets down two to-go cups in front of them, Cassian easily pulling out his wallet from his back pocket and paying for their drinks. Nesta is all too happy to reach forward and take hers, sighing at the warmth that seeps through the cardboard and into her hands. She dares to take a small sip, the sweet taste of chocolate and whipped cream blooming across her tongue despite the heat of the drink.

She and Cassian step outside the line of booths, away from the hustle and bustle of the people still moving through the market, to enjoy their respective drinks. It's almost peaceful, standing beneath the twinkling fairy lights, the upbeat instrumentals of a holiday song drifting from the booths on the breeze. With the warmth of Cassian beside her, his scarf still wrapped around her neck, and the hot chocolate cradled between her palms, Nesta almost doesn't mind the cold.

"Look up," Cassian requests, his voice soft and low. Nesta does as he ask, her shoulder brushing against his own as she does, sending goosebumps ricocheting from that spot of contact. "Do you see those three stars there? That's Enalius' belt. With the city lights, you can't see more than his belt, but up in the mountains, you can see the whole constellation."

Nesta's eyes trace the three stars, the slight arch they cut across the sky. "I'll be sure to add trip to the mountains to my bucket list."

"I have a cabin up there. Well, a family one. We should plan a trip to it in the new year."

"Me? In a cabin? In the mountains?"

"I think you'd like it. You could curl up with a big, fluffy blanket and your book while a fire crackles in the fireplace and snow falls outside."

Nesta hums, smiling softly at the picture he paints. "That does sound nice."

"I'd make sure I chop all the wood for us too. I bet you'd really like that."

"Shirtless?"

Cassian laughs at that, the sound as warm and soothing where it settles in Nesta's veins as the hot chocolate she sips. "You drive a hard bargain, Nes."

He wraps his free arm around her waist, tugging her closer and into his body. Nesta tilts her head up to meet his gaze, tracking the way the fairy lights, the moonlight catch in the hazel of his eyes. The softness in his expression, the return of that smile of his, has Nesta's heart tripping over itself in her chest, has her leaning into him even more. And when he tips his head down and kisses her, right there on the sidewalk, she thinks that this might just be what true happiness feels like. ~ * * * ~

They stay at the Solstice market a while longer, enjoying the different foods and sweets and booths, before walking back to Cassian's office building. They take the elevators down instead of up this time, Cassian leading the way through the parking garage and to his truck. He makes sure to open the passenger door for Nesta, waiting for her to settle before closing it and jogging around to the driver's side.

Solstice music plays softly from the speakers when Cassian turns on his truck, providing a quiet soundtrack as he drives them out of the parking garage. He cranks up the heat and turns all of the air vents in Nesta's direction as he turns onto the main road, his hand settling on her knee while downtown fades in the rear-view mirror.

Nesta rests her head against her seat, closing her eyes for just a moment. She swears that the way Cassian's thumb slides back and forth across her knee matches the slow and steady beat of her heart. She swears that his own heart beats in time with hers, tying them together as surely as a golden thread twining between their ribs. She swears that she can feel it then, on the drive back to Cassian's apartment. Can feel it in the comforting warmth that settles all the way down to her soul, that's wrapped in the cab of this truck.

When they step inside Cassian's apartment, Cassian takes off his coat and kicks off his shoes before he vanishes into his bedroom, still humming the last Solstice song that had played on the radio before he'd shut off his truck. Nesta shakes her head fondly and takes the time to peel off each of her own layers, hanging them on the hooks beside Cassian's front door.

She follows behind Cassian, but he moves out of the bedroom as soon as she steps inside, already having changed into a worn pair of grey sweatpants. His hands slide across her waist as he passes her, lingering just a moment longer than they probably need to, as though he simply always needs to be touching her. Even with the heat of that touch, the heat that seeps from his palms and beneath her skin, a shiver still skitters up Nesta's spine, and she has to bite her lip around a smile.

She moves further into Cassian's bedroom, but no matter how many time Cassian assures her, no matter how many times she's stood exactly here, Nesta still needs to take a moment. She still needs to close her eyes and breathe. She still needs to remind herself that with Cassian, there's no expectation, no obligation or guilt when it isn't met like before him. That she can finally let go of her fears and her ghosts.

Breathing deeply and letting out a soft sigh, Nesta shakes her head. She walks over to Cassian's dresser, tugging open the middle drawer and rooting around until she finds a long sleeved henley, the blue fabric soft between her fingers. She changes into it, the hem hitting halfway down her thighs and the sleeves hanging well past her hands. It's as warm and comforting as Cassian's scarf, even if it smells more like his laundry detergent than him.

She shoves the sleeves up to bunch around her wrists and returns to the main room of Cassian's apartment. The man in question has his back to her, standing at the kitchen counter. She can't quite hear with the distance between them, but Nesta is sure that he's still humming to himself. Can see it in the way his head bobs, the way his hips sway. In those sweats he's wearing, Nesta can't help but shamelessly stare at his ass as he moves, at the way his back muscles work as he prepares whatever is in front of him.

"Enjoying the view, sweetheart?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Cassian laughs easily at that, and Nesta finds herself smiling right alongside him. She grabs the blanket off the back of the sofa, wrapping it around herself and settling down against the cushions. Cassian comes padding over to her, a mug in each of his hands, one of which he holds out for her.

"Your coffee, made just the way you like it."

Nesta takes the mug with a soft, grateful hum, clasping the warm porcelain between her palms. She takes a deep breath of the steam rising from the liquid, daring to bring the mug to her lips and take the smallest of sips despite the heat. Cassian sets his own mug of what Nesta knows is chamomile tea down on the low coffee table and plops down on the sofa as well. He wraps his arms around her thighs, propping his chin on her raised knees.

"You know, your love of coffee at midnight is beginning to concern me."

"I like how it tastes," Nesta tells him haughtily, taking another sip pointedly. "Besides, you're just jealous that my body is able to handle it and yours can't."

"Handle it?" Cassian asks, pressing a chuckle into her knee. "Is that what you're calling staying up until the early hours of the morning?"

"You say that like it's only the coffee keeping me up."

"Just one more chapter, right?" Cassian lets out a long, dramatic sigh, putting on his best pout. "How will I ever be able to compete with those book boyfriends of yours? With their Zaddy shadow powers?"

There's no stopping the laugh that tumbles free from Nesta's lips at that, Cassian grin only growing in response to the sound. "I cannot believe you just said that."

"With their dark hair and their tattoos and their ruggish good looks."

"You are not subtle."

Cassian winks at her, sitting back enough that he can pick back up his own mug, taking a sip of his tea. They speak softly as they both finish their drinks, Cassian telling her about his latest project at work and Nesta telling him about the current book she, Emerie, and Gwyn are reading for book club. It's comfortable and easy, and Nesta can't stop smiling as the minutes tick over into hours.

When they've both drained their mugs, Cassian coaxes them both back into the bedroom, Nesta burrowing beneath the blankets and into him. His arms wrap securely around her waist, tugging her closer still until their legs are a tangled mess. Until his body and his warmth and his scent surrounds her completely. Until Nesta isn't sure where she begins and he ends.

It doesn't take long for Cassian to fall asleep, for his breathing to even out, but Nesta finds herself staying awake. Finds herself watching him. Finds herself giving in to that golden warmth curling in her gut and between her ribs.

The lights are out, but Nesta swears she can see it in the press of Cassian's cheek against his pillow, in the dark strands of his hair soft and sleep mussed against his temple. She swears she can hear it in the soft snores he lets out, in the quiet patter of rain that's started outside the window. She swears she can feel it in the warm weight of Cassian's arms curled around her, in the steady beat of his heart pressed against her own.

There's a quiet snuffle and then Cassian's eyes are blinking open again, his smile soft and sleepy. "What is it?"

"Just…" Nesta sighs softly, giving in to the urge to brush the hair off Cassian's face with gentle fingers. "Thinking."

"About how handsome I look when I sleep?"

"Actually, you drool." Cassian's chuckle is soft, tugging a smile across Nesta's lips. "I was just thinking… that I don't know what I'd do without you."

"The feeling is mutual," he assures her, the soft look that takes over Cassian's face leaving Nesta's breath catching. The one meant just for her. "You're my best friend, Nes."

Nesta dips her head forward, sealing her lips against Cassian's in a sweet kiss. And she knows it for sure, then. She knows that she is in love.

—

2025 tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed; bolded names mean Tumblr won’t let me tag you 🥲): @moodymelanist @sv0430 @bookstantrash @hiimheresworld @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @glowing-stick-generation @goddess-aelin @melphss @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @wolfnesta @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @that-little-red-head @kale-theteaqueen @superflurry @lady-winter-sunrise @freakingata @susanbanarchy @jsmelodies @unhealthyfanobsession @presskmewleroux @nativeswfl @livinforthetea @dying-of-wanderlust @berkskc @the-new-ribbon @underneath-the-sidras @deadandsane

[chaengluva]

Assigned To You

Nerd! Loser! Ellie Williams x Fem! Popular! Reader

WC: 1.9k (soz, short ik)

Warnings: reader crying (emotional drunk), fluff

Part 5: Prev/Next

Let me know it you wanna be in the taglist! (this is the second last chapter, maybe last....) It depends

The weight of guilt had been like an anchor around your chest ever since that night. The words you said to Ellie still echoed in your mind, each repetition making your regret sharper and deeper. She had been nothing but understanding, but you had let your fear control you. You had been terrified of the world, of what people would say, of losing the life you’d built for yourself. But you never stopped to consider how much you could lose by pushing her away, by denying yourself and your feelings.

The next few days felt like a blur. You went through the motions—school, meals with your family, awkward interactions with friends—but all you could think about was Ellie. Her laughter. Her smile. The way she had looked at you when she still believed in what the two of you could be. You’d shattered that belief, and now you were left trying to piece things back together, only to realize how much damage had already been done.

It wasn’t just Ellie that you were worried about. You were terrified of your own reflection. Every time you thought about the future, about how things were going to change, your heart filled with dread. What if you lost everything? What if the people who claimed to be your friends turned their backs on you? What if the world didn’t accept you for who you really were?

But in your heart, you knew there was no going back. You couldn’t stay in the shadow of fear forever. Not when the person you cared about most was Ellie. Not when you knew she deserved more than the broken apology you had given her. She deserved the truth. She deserved someone who could stand by her and love her openly, without hesitation or shame.

You couldn’t pretend anymore. You couldn’t run from what you were feeling. And so, when you woke up that morning, something inside you snapped. You had to face this. You had to face her, and more importantly, you had to face yourself.

You got out of bed and walked over to your desk. Your phone sat there, still glowing from last night’s message. Ellie’s words had meant everything to you. They were a lifeline, a sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for redemption. But you knew you couldn’t fix everything over text. The only way forward was to show up, to prove that you were ready to take responsibility for the hurt you had caused.

It was early, and you hadn’t had your coffee yet, but you didn’t care. You were already on your way out the door before your brain could convince you otherwise. The drive to Ellie’s house was a blur of anxiety and anticipation. Your palms were sweaty, your stomach in knots. You kept picturing the look on her face—the way she had looked at you with those sad eyes, like she wasn’t sure whether she could ever trust you again.

When you arrived at her house, your heart was pounding in your chest. You hesitated at the door, raising your hand to knock. What if she didn’t want to see you? What if she didn’t care anymore? But before you could overthink it any further, the door opened, and there she was—standing in front of you, arms crossed, eyes guarded.

“What do you want?” Ellie’s voice was flat, devoid of the warmth it had once held when she greeted you. It stung, but you understood. You had earned that coldness.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. “Ellie, I’m so sorry,” you began, your voice trembling. “I said those things because I was scared. I’ve been scared of what people will think, scared of losing everything, but… I hate myself for hurting you. I hate myself for pushing you away.”

Ellie didn’t move. Her expression softened for a moment, but she didn’t let go of her distance. You could see the hurt in her eyes, the way it still lingered even though she wasn’t showing it. She was hurting too, but she wasn’t going to let you off the hook so easily.

“I… I can’t be a lesbian. It’ll ruin everything—my reputation, my friends, everything I’ve worked for. And I know that makes me sound selfish and awful, but it’s the truth. I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to deal with us.”

The words hung in the air between you, but instead of the anger you expected, you saw Ellie’s eyes soften just a little more. She stepped forward, closing the distance between you. For a brief moment, you thought she might forgive you, that maybe you could fix this, but then her words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“That didn’t mean anything,” she said, her voice firm. “You can’t just cry your way out of this, Y/N. You hurt me, and you need to figure out who you are before you drag me along with you.”

Her words stung more than you could have imagined. You nodded, your throat tight, unable to say anything more. What could you say? How could you make her understand that you didn’t want to hurt her, that you hadn’t meant to push her away? You had to leave. You had to let her have the space she needed, but that didn’t make the hurt any less.

You turned and walked away, feeling more broken than ever. But as you reached the end of her driveway, you realized something. You were still carrying the weight of the apology you needed to give, the one you hadn’t quite figured out yet. You couldn’t give up now. You couldn’t let this be the end.

That night, after a long and difficult day at school, you sat at your desk, pencil in hand. You weren’t an artist. You didn’t have a natural talent for drawing. But you needed to do something, anything, to show Ellie that you were sorry. You weren’t sure if it would fix anything, but maybe it would show her that you still cared, that you weren’t just trying to sweep everything under the rug.

You sketched, your hand moving almost instinctively, guided by the memories of her—her smile, the way her hair framed her face, the way she looked at you when she was happy. When you were done, you looked at the drawing, and your heart sank. It was awful. The proportions were off, the lines were messy, and her face looked nothing like the perfect image you had in your mind. But it was real. It was from the heart.

The next day, at school, you sought Ellie out. You had no idea how she would respond, but you knew you had to try. You approached her in the hallway, the drawing folded in your hands. She was standing with her friends, talking and laughing, but when she saw you, she excused herself and came over.

“Ellie,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “I made this for you. I know it’s not much, and I know I’ve been horrible, but… I just wanted you to have it.”

Ellie looked at you for a long moment, then glanced down at the folded paper in your hands. She took it slowly, unfolding it with care. You held your breath as she studied the drawing, her expression unreadable. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, like it might explode any second.

Then, to your surprise, she laughed. “Is this supposed to be me?” she asked, her voice light, but not mocking. There was a small, amused smile on her lips.

You flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah… I’m not exactly Picasso.”

Ellie smiled again, the first real smile you had seen from her in days. “It’s terrible,” she said, shaking her head, but there was no malice in her voice. “But it’s kind of sweet. Thanks, Y/N.”

The tension in your chest loosened just a little. It wasn’t perfect, and you didn’t know if it would fix everything, but it was a start. It was a step in the right direction.

But even as you felt a small flicker of hope, you knew there was still more to do. You couldn’t ignore Olivia and the damage she had caused, the lies she had spread about you and Ellie. You had to stand up for yourself, for your truth.

You found Olivia later that day, leaning against her locker with a group of her friends. When she saw you, she dismissed them with a wave and turned to face you. Her smirk was as sharp as ever, her eyes gleaming with something like amusement.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Y/N,” she drawled. “What do you want?”

You squared your shoulders, refusing to let her intimidate you. “I know what you did,” you said, your voice steady, even though your hands were shaking. “You had no right to twist things and tell Ellie I was talking about her.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing wider. “I was just being honest. Ellie deserves to know what kind of person you are.”

You scoffed. “You’re unbelievable. Why are you so obsessed with me? Is it because you can’t stand the idea of me being happy?”

Olivia’s expression darkened. “You’re pathetic, Y/N. You think you can be a lesbian and still keep your perfect little life? If you go through with this, I’ll make sure everyone knows who you really are.”

Her words stung, but you stood your ground. You didn’t need her validation anymore. “Do whatever you want, Olivia,” you said coldly. “I don’t care anymore.”

You turned on your heel and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel afraid. You felt defiant. If Olivia wanted to try and ruin you, fine. You were done hiding.

Later that evening, you sat in your room, your phone in hand. Olivia’s words replayed in your mind, but instead of fear, you felt something else—something stronger. You were ready to take control of your story, to stop letting others dictate who you were.

You snapped a picture of yourself—no makeup, messy hair, raw and vulnerable. It wasn’t the most flattering picture, but it was real. It was you. And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t care what anyone else thought.

You uploaded the picture to Instagram with the caption: “This girl is a girl kisser.”

Your finger hovered over the post button for a moment, but then you took a deep breath and pressed it. The photo went live, and almost immediately, the likes and comments started rolling in.

“Proud of you, Y/N ”

“You’re so brave omg!”

“Girl kisser AND stunning? Unfair.”

“Love this for you!”

Not a single bad comment. Except, of course, for Olivia, who wrote, “You’re disgusting.” But you ignored her. She didn’t matter anymore.

Then, just as you were about to put your phone down, you saw a new message pop up. It was from Ellie.

“I saw your post. I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

You stared at the message, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief and gratitude. It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t the happy ending you had imagined, but it was a start. And for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but you were getting there. And that was enough.

Taglist: @vahnilla @radioheadfan699 @defnoteleonor @robinphobia @liztreez @deathbydollz @hemmo01 @soodle-noup @reneesub @ellensmithxo@lamorenita @kissedberries @liasxeatt @smiths-fan--13 @0phantom0

[bitchapalooza]

Koushiro cleans out a few things and packs it up to send to Zoro; a few old bandanas, some clothes he assumes he can probably still wear, but most importantly some old photos of him and Kuina and few of the other students. And a note detailing how the dojo has been, how the current students adore reading about his adventures.

When it arrives at the Sunny by Coo Zoro isn't around, he's in town with a few of the others. But Sanji, Usopp and Brook are there. They receive the package. Usopp tries to be the logical one and keeps his hands off it—but Brook and Sanji are terrible influences, it's not his fault the knife ended up in his hands! They rooted through the box and when they finally got to the photos they laughed their asses off because the photos ranged from a short little brat too skinny for his briches to an awkward bastard of a teenaged Zoro, moody faced and all. They all get the fun idea to plaster his childhood photos all over the ship.

When Zoro gets back it's hours after everyone else (he didn't get lost, shhhh). Everyone is on deck laughing their asses off, cooing, looking at a dozen somethings. Zoro asks what's so funny, no one will spill—until he gets to Luffy who can't hold it any longer and flips around the handful of photos he has with a barely contained laugh. His face flushes, he cringes at seeing his zit filled dorky face, that terrible haircut he gave himself without a mirror that summer. And then his face falls. He's silent. One by one he goes up to everyone and calmly snatches the photos up, ignoring the attempts at teasing from Sanji. With all the photos gathered, just as silent and calm, he climbs the ladder to the crows nest.

One of Robin's appendages pops up 20 minutes later, catching sight of Zoro sitting along the curve of the crows nest bench by the cracked open window, a little nostalgic smile on his lips as he goes through photos, Wado Ichimonji directly at his side. Inside the galley where the whole rest of the crew sits tense, thinking they really screwed up, went too far, hurt their friend—Robin informs everyone he's fine and to leave him be for a while.

The next morning, Zoro wakes up with an ache in his neck and back after having fallen asleep on the bench awkwardly. He swings his feet around and stretches, his foot landing on something other than hardwood flooring. A book? No, not exactly. A photo album. An empty one with more than enough slots to fill. A note falls out with Robin's signature curly handwriting addressing it specifically to Zoro, with an added illegible comment from either Luffy or Chopper, hard to tell when their handwriting is so terribly similar. He smiles a little and starts arranging the photos in a specific way, starting with the photograph of him on the steps of the dojo, his official first day as a student. And ending it on him and Kuina plus a few more boys in their class at one of the many festivals the village organized, all dressed up nice for the festivities, various treats in hand.

The album slowly fills with more photos. Zoro and Luffy sitting in a large tree they both raced to climb. Zoro with Nami and Robin, Zoro carrying over five overfilled bags of shopping. Usopp pulling the peace sign in front of a sleeping Zoro and Franky with various mark scrawled all over, Sanji and Luffy peeking in the back with permanent markers in hand. And so much more...

[lostintransist]

The Real Problem With The Trolley

Coffee Shop Meet Cute | Part 3

Part 1 here.

Kyle, as he introduced himself all those weeks ago, took all of twenty minutes to decipher your phone number and send a text to you.

>Would have taken me longer, but humming the ABCs tipped me off.

You read the message from the drop-down menu, not daring to open it and let him know you’ve seen it.

You weren’t bold. Kyle was gorgeous, and frankly, you were plain. You were pleased to be plain, let that not be misunderstood. Avoiding some of the nastier interactions with men but also never being singled out at the club or at a party would always be the curse/blessing of your face. Thinking it over you decide that stereotypes exist for a reason and that you would treat this like a woman in every port kind of situation until proven otherwise. You would chat with him and discuss philosophy and life but would let it go no further than friendship.

>Where did you learn to sign?

His second message appeared while you had been trapped in your thoughts. Taking a deep breath as if you were about to plunge into an icy lake you click reply from the menu.

<Something about the ABCs requires me to hum no matter how old I get. And I learned at uni. HBU?

When the message and reply box disappear you tuck the phone into your pocket and focus on the job you are being paid for. The buzz against your ass makes you jump. Quick bastard replied already. Rolling your eyes you ignore the tug in your brain to check your phone. You refused to get reprimanded for ‘looking at your phone excessively on shift’. Your manager was an asshole who couldn’t cut it at corporate and got sent back down to manage a store.

The shift passed in the slowness that only a retail job can manage. The journey home, thankfully just a single bus ride, gave you time to dip into Kyle’s messages. You cleared chats and videos from friends before opening his.

>Learned with the rest of my team. We use sign a lot on jobs and during training to communicate.

>Why do you study philosophy? Sounds like you’ve finished uni at this point.

A few hours later he sent another message.

>What are your thoughts on the trolley problem?

You reply to his messages out of order but figure if he isn’t smart enough to match them up keeping up a text chain would be harder than you cared for.

<I think the trolley problem misses the big questions.

<I am done with uni, graduated last spring but can’t find a job that cares about the paper I paid for.

< I like using my brain, feels like a good way to fight back against all the evil I see.

His reply comes in as you are stepping into the flat you share with your three other roommates.

>What questions should we be asking about the trolley problem?

You pause after shutting and locking the front door, shoes, and bag still on.

<First off who the hell owns these tracks? Secondly, how the hell did so many people get tied to them? Don’t tracks get checked regularly for safety?

You slip off both shoes and fire off one more message.

<It seems like we are so focused on who gets to live or die in the trolley problem that we aren’t asking who put us in that situation in the first place.

With that,t you lock your phone and set about the task of showering and finding something to eat after your long ass day.

Coffee Masterlist | Masterlist

@soldierservant I didn't know if I was going to make more of this but since I did I figured I would tag you once and if you want to get notified when more of these drop you LMK.

[macabrebatz]

GIFT EXCHANGE (Art the Clown/Reader)

Pt. 2 of O, Christmas Tree

Summary: You celebrate Christmas with Art

Author’s Note: Meant to post this on Christmas Day but I felt like crap. Hope you all enjoy a little late Christmas fluff. Happy holidays to everyone! Also thank you @hauntedfoodie for the this cute idea of exchanging gifts with Art!

Warnings/tags: Fluff, Art being Art, reader is filled with anxiety mainly due to Art, Vicky is briefly mentioned, gender neutral reader, spot the Scream reference, can be read as platonic or romantic to be honest, once again…are they roommates or lovers? You decide.

It had been a few weeks since Art had surprised you by decorating for Christmas. The tree he had gotten sat as a constant reminder of his rare but much-needed kindness.

Christmas was only in a few days. You couldn’t help but stare at the gifts below the tree. Your curiosity was getting the better of you.

At first, you had been very concerned about the gifts under the tree. What Art did was a kind gesture. Sure. But you knew Art. You knew the kind of being he was. You weren’t oblivious.

You’ve received presents from Art in the past. Presents is a strong word actually. What you had received was more of what you would call “evidence from a crime scene that Art most definitely caused wrapped up in a little box with a bow”.

However, your concern slowly dissipated when you found yourself examining the gift boxes early one morning. Art had wandered off, nowhere to be found. You had figured he was out on one of his usual sprees. Since you were alone you took the opportunity to sit in front of the tree, picking up each box.

There weren’t many which you saw as a good thing. If there were any body parts in them at least it wouldn’t be a lot.

You looked for anything that could be a sign of something gross or disturbing. No boxes were leaking any blood so that was a good start. None of the boxes smelled bad which was another good sign.

You picked up one of the black boxes, examining it with your hands. No blood, no smell. Much like the others.

You gave it a gentle shake and sighed in relief. For a moment you were scared that you might hear something crawling around in one of the boxes. You wouldn’t have been shocked if Art had snuck one of Vicky’s rats in the box to scare you.

You sat the box down with the others and a small smile spread across your face. You were still mentally preparing yourself. Just because he had opted out of body parts doesn’t mean that Art’s presents were going to be a joy to open. But you were still pleasantly surprised that the presents under the tree seemed fairly normal.

A few days passed and Christmas Eve was in full swing. Art had showed up at your house, covered in blood. The white trim of the Santa costume was no longer white. It wasn’t surprising to you. It was a routine at this point.

Art would leave for a prolonged amount of time, sometimes even days. Then he’d come to your house and you’d help clean him up. Despite his teeth and occasionally his hands, Art surprisingly seemed to like being clean after a long day of causing absolute mayhem. You would never fuss when he got blood all over your floor. And he would never put up a fuss when you lead him to the bathroom and put him in the shower.

Art had finished his shower before either of his costumes had dried all the way. You couldn’t convince him to wear anything different so he opted to roam around the house nude.

“Are you not cold?” You questioned.

He simply shook his head with a smile. You couldn’t help but giggle as he sauntered off.

Eventually, the suit was dry and you took it to Art, who got dressed.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” You asked the clown, watching him as he pulled his gloves onto his hand.

Art perked up and put his finger to his lips, tapping as if he were thinking of an answer. He grinned, nodding his head.

You both made your way to the living room and got comfortable on the couch. You found yourself watching multiple movies. A couple of Christmas classics and a couple of horror movies. Eventually, you found yourself drifting off to sleep, your head falling onto Art.

The next morning you woke up from your curled position on the couch, jumping at the sight of Art right in your face. He was sitting on the floor in front of you, silently staring at you with a smile on his face. On his head, he donned a Santa hat. You couldn’t help but wonder how long he had sat there like that. You weren’t fully sure if he even needed to sleep.

“Merry Christmas, Art.”

He stood up and grabbed your arms, pulling you up to a sitting position. He then walked over to the Christmas tree and picked up one of the black boxes under it.

Your stomach did a flip as he placed the box in your hands. It was rather light and it was wrapped up nicely with a little red bow on top.

Art sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. He patted his knees as he smiled at you.

All you could do was hope that whatever was in the box was normal as you hesitantly began unwrapping the box. Art was grinning ear to ear and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The wrapping paper dropped onto the floor as you began to open the box. Inside was crinkly, red paper that you pulled out of the box. Underneath was an oversized dark red sweater. You pulled it out slowly, holding it up to look at it. Your fingers ran over the material. It was a good-quality sweater. You weren’t sure how or where Art had gotten it. It wasn’t like he was the type to go shopping. But he was the type to take stuff. You shrugged off the mental image of Art taking it from one of his victims. It was best not to linger.

You held up the sweater and smiled. It didn’t really matter where he got it, you couldn’t believe that Art had gotten you something so nice.

“Thank you so much, Art,” you said.

You slid down off of the couch onto the floor in front of where he sat and leaned over to hug him. He excitedly embraced you back.

You pulled off of him and looked under the tree.

“Okay, you’re next,” you said.

Art made a shocked face as if he were going to say, “You got a present for me?”

You grabbed a red box you had put under the tree a few days ago and Art gleefully took it from your hands. He quickly ripped off the wrapping and opened the box revealing a Bowie knife with a shiny white handle.

Art flipped it around in his hand, testing the weight of it. He grinned as he slid his finger along the blade and poked the tip of his digit on the pointed end.

“I was watching this movie while you were gone and these killers had a knife like that. I thought you would like it. And then I may or may not have snuck into the workshop to see if you already had one. And you didn’t, which is surprising-”

Art caused you to stop rambling when he surprised you with a hug. He never stopped you from hugging him but it was rare that he initiated it. He wrapped his arms around you. It was his way of silently thanking you.

You pulled away from Art with a smile. You glanced at the presents under the tree.

“Ready for the next one?” you asked.

Art nodded, clapping his hands together excitedly.

From the outside, the situation you found yourself in was odd, to say the least. Maybe it was even a little concerning. Living with a murderous clown wasn’t really on your bucket list nor did you ever expect to be spending a holiday with one. But here you were, exchanging gifts with the Miles County Clown. But despite the absurdity of it all, maybe spending Christmas with him wasn’t so bad after all.

[numberonetacostan]

I had a silly and slightly sweet idea….

Taco’s S1 “persona” was, at first, a facade, but she soon got used to it and liked it a lot. Not having to worry about things, relying on people, being liked for being silly rather than being smart…it was a relaxing time for her. That and she didn’t have to use as much brain power to get through the day.

So sometimes when she’s having a hard time, she’ll regress in a way. Similar to age-regression; a coping mechanism that is semi-controllable. Most of the time she doesn’t slip into that headspace simply because she can’t afford to. When she’s alone and “silly” it’s annoying and a bit scary.

But when she finally finds a place with everyone again, with a few people who support her, she’ll do it secretly. Just stop talking and thinking, retracting her arms, and just be a little floaty. Maybe if she makes amends with Pickle, he allows her to be silly around him just like old times.

He’d probably be the only one to truly understand.

Hello there!!!^^ Welcome, and thank you for sending in your ask!! :]

I'd like to preface this with clarifying that my only knowledge of age-regression is from fanfictions that I did not read the tags on properly before reading. I know that those are the people being weird about it, rather than what it actually is, but I'm going to focus more on the other aspects of the ask rather than that element. I hope that's alright with you!^^

Her season 1 persona was a facade, but it was based on an actual part of her personality!!! A part that I can see her heavily suppressing otherwise, especially after season 1!!!! We even see her using humor to cope in season 2!!! It is a thing she falls back on when she's nervous, yeah? Upon rejoining the group post-canon, though, I can see her shoving an even heavier lid onto it, with being around the people who had met her while she was playing up her season 1 facade.

I like to think that her retracting her arms is a sign that she's comfortable and feels safe, and that would definitely be the time where she tests the waters on being a little silly again!!! Probably mostly with Mic or Mepad (if he was still alive. rip king i miss u), but I can see her enjoying doing semi-random things that confuse the people around her a lot!!! Secretly restocking her lemons so she can pull them out of nowhere and such!!

I can see her accidentally pulling out a lemon in front of Pickle, not having realized he was there, and apologizing profusely. Pickle might be a bit melancholy, yeah, but she doesn't have to push a part of herself down just for him!!! Pickle is a good guy, do not slander him near me ever. And I think this would lead to her opening up and being a bit more silly. Again, more around people she's comfortable with, but she'd love to see Mic smiling at something she said, yeah?

[lopsicle]

••A Summer’s Worth of Tickles••

AN: @blushyeleven having to hide that you were my Squealing Santa this whole time was so hard!! But I really do hope that you like this fic, I wanted to make something extra special for you since I thought you would need it!! Your one of my closest friends and I love you so much, I hope this makes your Christmas a little bit better!!

Summary: After a long Summer break without Wednesday, Enid returns to Nevermore and appears to be more needy to her roommate. Wednesday finds out way after finding a story on Enid’s phone.

Word Count: 4603.

Warning: SFW Tickle Fic, a whole lot of Yuri bitches be gay,

•••••••••••••••••

Being the social butterfly of Nevermore, Enid thought that summer vacation might just be the death of her. Sure, she could still talk with and meet with most of her friends, but there was a certain, darker stained part of her that couldn't be filled. Ajax's gossip sessions over the phone and going out to eat with Yoko only gave her a fraction of the bliss she felt being cooped up in that tense, raw dorm room with Wednesday Addams. She didn't sleep the first night back home, or the night after that; the never-ending noise coming from her brothers was only partly the reason why. Enid longed to hear dramatic violin pieces from the balcony paired with the chilly air that sprawled into her room from the open door, she wanted to be annoyed at the incessant tapping at a typewriter, she wanted to feel the chilling embrace of Wednesday's arms wrapped around her skin at least once more.

But, Wednesday had secluded herself to the Addams Manor for summer vacation, something about trying to discover the identity of someone who wanted her dead. Enid never thought that she'd be bitter about being left out of something like that. She had tried texting Wednesday many times, but she learnt in the first few days that her roommate was an incredibly dry texter. The fact that she signed each of her messages never grew old to Enid though, but trying decipher the seemingly random strings of emojis she used was a text that not up to her expertise.

Being without Wednesday for months was torture. It was almost funny considering she didn't even know that the goth existed until a couple weeks prior, now she couldn't imagine her life without her. Now, the only way she could get to sleep was laying on her side and brushing her hand against her arm, pretending it was Wednesday's touch. Now, she was getting herself ready on a brisk, painful September morning, triple checking her hair, makeup and uniform just to make sure she'd be perfect upon seeing her crush again. Now, she got herself to Nevermore before the Sun even came up, waiting in her untouched dorm room, devoid of light or closeness.

The door opened with a gentle creaking, Enid’s heart spiked with excitement she never once felt before. There was a clicking of heavy boots as Wednesday made her way into the room, looking exactly as Enid remembered her. The werewolf herself had changed a little, sporting a shorter haircut with more prominent hair dye. Passionate light shone through Enid’s eyes as she skidded across the floor to her roommate, who remained stagnant other than a light expression of surprise.

“Howdy Wednesday!” Enid cried out joyfully, touching Wednesday’s wrist to which she did not recoil. Instead, she observed Enid, noting down all the little changes in her mind, as well as how it only took her a few seconds to get close to her.

“Enid. You’re here earlier than normal.” Wednesday commented, a familiar sense of annoyance and relief filling her. She too had missed her roommate and all of her aggravating habits, as much as she would hate to admit it, she found a certain comfort in Enid. Someone who was as odd as her yet was so, so different, but still found a way to like Wednesday either way. It was illogical to her first, causing her to write off Enid as a nonsensical, idiotic lapdog. She still found some truth in that, but she thought it to be more admirable.

Enid remained unfazed by Wednesday’s lack of emotion, that bright, wide smile never leaving her face. It felt natural. “I cannot believe it has been so long, I have so much to talk about, so much to ask-did you ever find out who was trying to kill you? How’s Thing? Is he here? What about-?”

Enid was silenced by Wednesday’s placing a cold finger to her lips, promptly shutting her up with a small blush on her cheeks. Sure, it was rude but Wednesday initiating any kind of touch was a blessing to Enid.

“Enid, it’s 8:00am in the morning. Please.” Wednesday commented sarcastically, halfheartedly swinging her bag down from her shoulders and placing it on her bed. As she unzipped it, staring down at her belongings, she called out. “But, Thing is…comforted to see you again. You had an impact on him.”

Enid easily deciphered Wednesday’s emotions morse code, resigning herself to a silent victory. Wednesday missed her too, and that’s all that mattered.

••••••

From then on, the two of them automatically slipped into her usual dynamic, but couldn’t help to notice the differences. Enid wasn’t letting Wednesday walk all over her anymore, she had just embraced who she was and she wasn’t just going to put her life on hold for whatever Wednesday wanted. But, it was now rare that Wednesday would call on her for something like that. It would be hard to see for anybody else, anybody but Enid, but she has grown more affection, at least to Enid, in her own ways. Taking down notes for classes Enid had missed, giving her lessons on the best ways for werewolves to kill people, waiting for Enid to fall asleep first to make sure she wouldn’t spend her night doomscrolling instead of resting.

But, there was something else on Enid’s mind, something nagging and clawing at the back of her brain nearly all the time she was with Wednesday. A craving, a neediness, a desire to be physically close to her, just in a…particular way. A way that made her cheeks break out in blushes if she even tried to say it, a way so childish she was certain Wednesday would be even less keen to indulge her than normal, a way that had been on Enid’s mind all of Summer. Being away from people, away from Wednesday, left Enid with a certain coldness. Now, being back with Wednesday felt like she had a fire right next to her, she just had to reach out and get closer, only that was the scariest part.

Why would Wednesday Addams even do something as silly as tickling? It was beneath her, it was stupid really. Enid felt like a lovesick idiot whenever she caught a glimpse of Wednesday’s perfect black nails, or whenever she caught herself leaning in towards her touch. She just couldn’t help it, the poor girl had been in a killer lee mood all Summer, with her only way of getting through being fantasying and fanfiction. But now, Wednesday was here, right next to her all the time. The nagging, burning request had bounced all about through Enid’s throat at this point, desperate to be released but never quite having the will to do so. The closest she’s gotten was acting Wednesday if she was tickling, to which she got in response,

“The last person who tickled me lost a finger.” Wednesday left it at that, much to Enid’s disappointment but she was riding the high of Wednesday at least saying the dreaded T-word…no matter how pathetic that seemed.

So now here she was, cozied up in her colourful pink bedsheets surrounded by an army of cutesy stuffies, a sharp contrast to Wednesday’s darkened bed, of which she was dissecting a rat on with Thing’s help. Enid didn’t need to pay attention to that though, she found herself with her head half poking out of the blanket, hand idly gripped onto her phone which was merely a few inches from her face. Fanfiction helped her through her lee moods before, she had to keep going. If anything, reading with Wednesday in the room made it even better, Enid would just take little glances up at her impassioned, serious face and promptly go back to her reading, with an even greater flustered feeling in her heart. There was always the fear of being caught in the very back of her mind but that too just made things more exciting for her. Eventually, she had to take a break, since the passage,

“…she felt her nails dig into her hips, clawing against her skin like she was looking for treasure. A distinct gasp was forced from her, followed by some mix of whiny, high pitched laughter.

“Aww, what’s the matter, little lee? You were the one begging for this a moment ago and now you can’t take it? Sorry, baby, but I’m having too much fun and your gonna get it!”

…proved too much for her to handle. A little look up at Wednesday proved that, her heart spiked as if she was scared for her life. Heat rose noticeably to her cheeks; Enid grasped her blankets and peeled them off of her carefully, stepping softly onto the dorm room floor. She prayed that Wednesday wouldn’t notice her as she scurried off into the side bathroom and locked the door, but she was sorely mistaken. Wednesday had noticed Enid’s peculiar behaviour long before this, but this was the only time she had grown concerned for her. She wrote off all of Enid’s quirks as a byproduct of her being needy and clingy, but something seemed…different about just now. Interpreting Enid’s morse code was difficult for Wednesday, their could be a million reasons as to why she was happy right now and just as many that could make her upset. It honesty made her feel like something of a detective to try and figure out what she was thinking. And it seemed like her first clue was on Enid’s bed.

Wednesday silently trod over to the other side of the room, sitting delicately on the side of Enid’s bed as she went to grab her phone. Snooping wasn’t a good look on her, but her rational thinking wasn’t at the forefront of her mind. Something about the way Enid was blushing as she left the room sparked a curiosity, almost a hatred towards whatever had caused it. Wednesday had to know what it was, even against her better judgement. But instead of finding Ajax begging to get back together with her, as she assumed, she instead found that Enid was reading. An improvement to the soul sucking nature of social media, but still one that left her as a slave to technology. Curiosity struck her once again, Wednesday awkwardly fidgeted about with the screen, scrolling up to try and get a better idea at what Enid was reading. She did grow weary that Enid might return soon, so she simply elected a paragraph to read.

“Being a brat isn’t gonna get you anywhere, hun. We both know how much you just loooove getting tickled, so sit still, no need to get all squirmy~!”

Wednesday’s curiosity more so turned to confusion. Was it just Enid having an affinity for tickling that was causing her to act strange? Sure, it was odd, atypical of societal standards but this was Nevermore, where expectation came to die. No, no, it couldn’t of been just that, Enid wouldn’t hide this from Wednesday unless…it had something to do with her. Unless Enid wanted something from her.

Oh. So that’s what this was all about. Wednesday felt a grin coming on. She was never one to indulge others for the sake of it, but this specific method could be rather…interesting to use on Enid.

Oh. This could really be something fun.

••••

End came out of the bathroom after splashing her face a good few times, trying to retain some semblance of normality. Taking deep breaths in and out, she clicked open the bathroom door satisfyingly and made her way back to her be-

Why was Wednesday sitting there?! Enid’s heart dropped to her stomach, arms growing still and heavy like dead weight. Immediately, she scanned around for her phone, not seeing it anywhere on the bed. Then, back to Wednesday, who eventually turned to her as Enid warily approached.

“Hey, Wends,” Enid said in a high pitched tone, trying to appear like everything was fine. She stood in front of Wednesday, wanting to feel a little bit in control as the goth girl looked back up at her. “Whatcha doing over here?”

“I thought I could use a change of scenery. I was getting too comfortable over there.” Wednesday stated, as she noticed Enid’s eyes glancing around the area of her bed around Wednesday. Looking up at her with interest, Wednesday reached beneath her thigh and held out Enid’s phone. “Looking for this? You left it out here when you ran out in a hurry.”

Enid quickly snatched up the phone, not minding the light accusation that was thrown at her. She felt some relief fill her when she realised that it was locked, but that Wednesday still could’ve read it. She glanced back over to Wednesday’s face as she cautiously sat down next to her, unable to read her expression.

“Yeah, you know, I just-had something to do..” Enid answered vaguely, her mouth moving faster than her brain could. She stared down, avoiding eye contact with Wednesday. She couldn’t handle that right now.

“Are you feeling well, Enid?” Wednesday asked, carefully reaching over and grazing Enid’s side with her nails in a manner that could almost pass as an accident. With a sharp inhale and a startled look in her eyes, Enid recoiled back from the touch, her soft pyjama shirt not protecting her sensitive midriff that well. “You certainly seem jumpy.”

“I’m fine, just a little-sensitive, is all,” Enid responded sheepishly, rubbing her side preciously. “Since when did that worry you?” She quickly followed with, the subject of tickling felt a little like holding her hand over a fire. A few moments would be nice and cozy and warm, but if she remained there for too long, she was gonna get burned.

“You’ve been acting different ever since Summer break, Sinclair. You’ve been insistent of sitting next to me in every class, standing closer to me than normal, constantly blushing while looking at your phone and now running out the room for what? No reason?” Wednesday pushed her suddenly, placing her full attention onto Enid, who felt like shrivelling up beneath the spotlight.

“I just missed you, obviously! It’s been months, Wednesday!” Enid blurted out, in a tone that didn’t even convince herself, even though she technically was telling the truth. Wednesday still wasn’t satisfied with just making Enid squirm, she leaned closer to her, placing her right hand on the other side of Enid’s body. Tensing, Enid let a whine get caught up in her throat, dividing her attention between Wednesday’s face and that dangerous looking hand.

“I don’t appreciate being lied to, Enid, do you know what happened to Pugsley the last time he tried lying to me?” Meekly, Enid shook her head, shying away from Wednesday’s intense gaze. A rare smirk appeared on Wednesday’s face as she leaned in closer to Enid’s ear, whispering a barely audible,

“I tickled him.” It was enough to make Enid’s hair stand up, an icy hot rush coursing through her veins and doing laps around her heart. She couldn’t even process it fully before Wednesday’s hand jabbed into her right side, making her jump closer to Wednesday’s body instinctively.

“Ah! W-wehehednesday!!” Enid shrieked loudly-was this really happening?! This had to be another dream, right?! But no, she could feel Wednesday’s cold body against her own burning one and the way he side tingled and buzzed was too…vivid. Wednesday’s fingers worked meticulously on her, finding a balance of being delicate and rough, a light but sharp touch, like needles sticking into her body. She wrapped her other arm around Enid’s waistline, trying to stop all that messy squirming of hers.

“You seem to be even more sensitive than him, he could at least hold in his laughter.” Wednesday commented as Enid’s grip on her pyjama shirt tightened. Almost in reprimand, she dug her nails into Enid’s hips while her other hand remained squeezing at her side. Enid couldn’t help but smile widely, eyes squinted as helpless giggles escaped her mouth.

“Ho-hohohold on, I’m nohohot reahahahady!!” Enid squealed, bouncing about against Wednesday’s hold, pounding her feet against the floor. All those little, adorable reactions of hers just encouraged Wednesday more and more; she was enjoying this a lot more than she thought she would.

“Oh, really?” Wednesday purred. “But I thought you loved this, Enid.” She said in a smug tone, one that made Enid pang with realisation. Wednesday knew. But…she wasn’t being mean about it…well, she was, but she wasn’t being cruel. She was indulging Enid with nothing more than a few light teases here and there. That thick sense of dread and worry fizzled away into a feeling of relief; Enid was getting everything she wanted.

“You-you lohohoked at my ph-eeeeek-phone, dihihidn’t you?!” Enid squealed out in a challenging, teasy, confident tone, which was interrupted by a ear piercing squeal once Wednesday’s hand burrowed their way beneath Enid’s thin top and scratched around at her tummy.

“You were going to keep hiding this from me unless I did something. And by the looks of things, you seem to be enjoying yourself quite a bit.” Wednesday relished in the way Enid’s cheeks lit up in a hot red, she didn’t know why but seeing her all flustered and smiley and giggly like this caused her insides to…soften up a little. Not like she’d ever admit that though. Instead, she slipped her other hand into Enid’s shirt too, dragging and tracing those powerful black nails of hers about.

“M-mahahAHAHAHAYBE~!!” Enid lightly teases, clutching onto Wednesday for comfort, twisting her body about on the spot. She pressed her forehead down on Wednesday’s shoulder, shrieking with laughter.

“Don’t hide that smile from me,” Wednesday ordered, jabbing her pinkie against Enid’s navel. She shrieked and drew her head up, hair all messy, sticking out in every which way. There was a look of exhilarated fear in her eyes, like someone going down a zip line, and a gaping, delighted smile spread across her face. “It…suits you.” Wednesday decided on. Enid didn’t have time to appreciate the compliment before Wednesday started scratching and pricking her nails against her navel again.

“I didn’t know about this adorable little spot of yours. Does it really tickle that bad?” She asked in a light, mocking tone, as Enid reeled back, laying down on her side, hearty laughing pouring from her mouth. Her body occasionally twitched whenever Wednesday really dug one of her wicked nails into her belly button. Wednesday followed her, leaning over and rolling up her shirt just enough so that one could mistake it for a crop top. She then scooted over to be straddling Enid’s thighs, resting her hands limply on her bare tummy.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Enid heaved, gazing down brightly at Wednesday’s predatory hands, her own fingers kneading away at her duvet like a cat.

“Trying to decide whether you deserve a countdown or not.” Wednesday responded, a sly sense of enjoyment laced within in her voice. She looked back up to Enid’s face, crimson and excited. Slowly, she decided on nodding, a little smile appearing on her face which almost convinced Wednesday. “If you insist. You’ll have until 0.”

“Three,” Wednesday began and Enid took in a deep breath, nerves eating away at her skin.

“Two,” Suddenly though, Wednesday’s nails found themselves scribbling all over Enid’s tummy, scratching along her belly and then plucking at her sides. She scraped her nails against Enid’s poor stomach and hammered them down against her navel.

“TH-THAHAHAT’S CHEAHAHAHATING!!!” Enid exploded with laughter, limbs flailing about like a headless chicken. Everything felt hazy yet vivid, she wheezed for air, vision becoming blurry with tears but she could still make out Wednesday’s face, fitted with a small smile.

“Aw, is it? Poor you.” Wednesday smirked, her hands felt like they were moving faster than ever before. Each second she was pressing down, clawing, kneading, tapping at a different spot on Enid’s torso, but she made sure to give extra attention to her navel, adoring the squeaks and squeals that it produced. “But we both know that your loving this.”

Enid hid her hot face beneath her elbows, grinding her heels down against the mattress. She loved hated how Wednesday was clued into her little secret now, knowing she’d hang it over her head whenever something like this happened.

“IHIH’M GOHOHOHOHNA KICK YOHOHOUR AHAHASS AHAHAFTER THIS!!” Enid howled out, her elongated, sharp werewolf claws pricking out. Her leg kicked ferociously beneath Wednesday’s petite frame, which looked so much larger now.

“Now that you mention it, your feet are kicking awfully a lot…” Wednesday thought aloud in a low tone, tapping her fingertips against Enid’s abdomen. The cogs in Enid’s mind ran a little slower than Wednesday’s so by the time the goth was scooted over to be sitting on Enid’s ankles, Enid perked up.

“Wait, wait, hold on Wednesday, not there!” Wednesday only looked back at Enid’s face one, determining that she was being playful by her massive smile. With her comfort secured, Wednesday turned her attention back to Enid’s socked feet, grazing her nails against Enid’s soles to test the waters. Enid froze, her body going rigid and still before seeming to crumble so easily at the touch. Sweet, small giggles escaped from her lips as her body relaxed and melted, slumping over. She weakly reached out her hand towards Wednesday, begging for nothing in particular, other than her attention.

“W-wehehends, it ti-tihihckles!!” Enid squealed, clenching her hands up, her knee twitching upwards from time to time. Wednesday’s smile softened in a way that made her glad Enid couldn’t see her right now.

“That’s the point, Sinclair, don’t tell me you didn’t know that?” Wednesday joked sarcastically, tapping her nails down Enid’s arches to then sink them right into her heels. She tenderly dragged her nails back up to the tops of her toes and grabbed the tip of Enid’s left sock, gently beginning to pull it off.

“Oh-ohohoh God-!” Enid giggled out in anticipation, recoiling her hands back sharply to cover her mouth. Wednesday turned back, trying to fix the softness in her eyes.

“Don’t do that, I want to hear your laughter.” She said, her words dripping with more affection than she thought possible. Their eye contact lingered for longer than normal, something deep sparked within their gaze, something that made Wednesday turn away, adding on an, “It’s pathetic,” to try and save face. She immediately traced her nails around Enid’s sole to try and distract the both of them, getting into a rhythm of scribbling up and down.

“Any other sweet spots I should know about?” Wednesday asked, half from curiosity and half to try and regain her authority. Enid squeaked slightly at the question, averting her gaze in a deliberate, timid yet teasy manner.

“I-I dohohn’t knooo-ohohw~!” Enid said, practically challenging Wednesday to find out. She obliged, abandoning her feet as she turned back to face Enid. A few pokes at her thighs and knees quickly caused Wednesday to write them off, so she crawled right back up to Enid’s hips, straddling them once more. Enid obligingly laid back down, not bothering to fight Wednesday.

“Let’s see,” Wednesday tapped her fingers against Enid’s ribs as she thought, just light enough to keep her giggling and squirming beneath her. She racked her brain, trying to think of where she hadn’t targeted yet, before a rather obvious spot appeared in her mind. A look of knowing confidence overcame Wednesday, staring down Enid with a hint of amusement in her eyes. Leisurely, she began spidering her nails up from Enid’s ribs, digging in deep enough to make every little ‘step’ of her fingers feel weighty.

“Ooo, I think I got you.” Wednesday grinned, to which Enid shook her head, despite praying, begging on the inside that Wednesday knew. Wednesday took her time trailing her fingers up to being just below Enid’s armpits but then, she just left them there, not bothering to go further. Enid’s face looked like she was about to blow, bottom lit stuck out with her gaze lingering on Wednesday’s hands in a silent begging that they’d just do something.

“Tickle, tickle, Enid!” Wednesday’s hands suddenly pounced up onto Enid’s armpits, making the blonde shriek and squeak and bounce back against the bed. Her body tossed and shook about with each little wiggle or scratch from Wednesday’s dexterous fingers, swirling about against her ticklish pits.

“EHEHEHHEEHEK!! WE-WEHEHEDNESDAY!!” Enid screamed out, praying none of the other forms were hearing her. She’d never seen this side of Wednesday before, even when got into her sadistic moods before this, she never acted this playful or tender. It made her feel special, to know that she was deserving of this side of Wednesday. How silly it was to think that Wednesday would be disgusted if her just for enjoying being tickled.

“What’s the matter, puppy? Is the tickling too bad for you? Too sharp? Too fast? You poor, poor thing, you should’ve known that you’d be far too adorable to just stop tickling.” Wednesday smirked down out her, jabbing her nails down into her armpits and circling them about. That proved to be the final nail in Enid Sinclair’s coffin, she convulsed with bleating laughter, those tears in her eyes finally spilling down her burning, bright cheeks. She thought that just a tease from Wednesday would be enough to do her in but this, this was more than she would’ve ever been prepared for.

“OHOHOHOKAY, WAHAHAHAIT, PL-PLEAHAHAHAHAHAHASE!!” Enid begged through her laughter and besides a few mean, quick scratches, Wednesday stopped, a little unsure of herself. She normally just left her torture victims once she was done with them, but how could she just leave Enid? Seeing the girl there, below her panting for breath, her tired, drained body shaking with each deep inhale and exhale sparked something mushy inside of Wednesday. Softly, she brushed Enid’s hair behind her ear, fixing it up as Enid laid there, allowing Wednesday to take care of her.

“Deep breaths, baby, I don’t want you passing out on me.” Enid felt as if she just might if she heard that nickname again. But once she finally had enough air in her that made her think she wasn’t going to drop dead, Wednesday got off of her hips, sitting next to her. Enid sat up, fitted with the brightest, joyous face that Wednesday had seen since she got back to Nevermore. She couldn’t even stop herself from pulling Wednesday into a hug, who froze at the sudden warmth before slowly relaxing into it.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Your literally the best, Wednesday, that was just so-fun! I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to say, I thought you-thank you for being..okay will that stuff!” Enid squealed in delight, pulling away from the hug. Wednesday’s brow furrowed, did Enid really think she had to hide something like that from her? She took in a deep breath, considering her next words, and actions, carefully. She took Enid’s hands in her own, choosing to stare down at them, not thinking she could handle staring at Enid right now.

“Enid, for the past 30 minutes, I’ve been attempting to properly dissect a rat on my bed. It would be hypocritical of me to ever judge you for any of your interests when you’ve been so tolerant of mine. Don’t feel as if you need to hide things like this from me in the future.” Wednesday commanded, meeting Enid’s gaze, which was laced with sentimentality. Enid nodded, wiping her eyes as her smile became as delicate as glass and as wobbly as a tight rope.

“Of-of course, thanks Wends, really, it means a lot.” Enid choked out, before a small idea came to mind on how to pay Wednesday back for how shockingly sweet she’d been today. Extending a large claw on her index finger, she grinned at Wednesday.

“Need a hand with your dissection?”

Despite the cool, winter temperature, Wednesday oddly felt her cheeks heat up as she considered Enid’s offer, before promptly nodding, if only so she could turn her face away.

“That would be appreciated.”

[peachyys-posts]

Spending Christmas with the guardians (yandere edition)

You wake up from a restful sleep in a spare room North made for you when you first joined. You struggle to wake from the comfort of the bed but upon hearing a rapid knock on your bedroom door,you suck it up and sit up. “You up in there?”, you hear Bunny’s impatient voice ring out from the other side of the door. You hear Jack Frost joking about how you might be struggling to get out of hibernation. After a few moments you spoke out, “I’m up,no need to get your tail in a twist!”

You start to get dressed and open the door,only to be surprised by North giving you a back crushing hug. “I’M SO HAPPY THAT YOU’RE SPENDING CHRISTMAS WITH ME!” His Russian accent booming off the walls as he expresses his excitement. “With us” you hear Toothiana correct north from behind him, you thought you heard some kind of annoyance but before you can think about it, North takes you to the kitchen where the others are at. Toothiana follows, excitedly talking about what Christmas activities they can do. “We can pet the reindeer,y/n! Or we can decorate cookies! Or a gingerbread contest! North was just talking about it!”

North lets out a hearty laugh,still having yet to put you down clearly not caring for your personal space. “Calm down tooth, you might scare them off again” jack joked upon hearing Toothiana rambling on about the activities, you look at him to see him leaning against the counter eating a Christmas cookie with a couple of tooth’s fairies buzzing around him. Probably swooning over him no doubt. “Morning” you said as north finally put you down. Sandy gives some sort of hello with the sand forming a sign above his head. “Morning kit. You slept in again” bunny looked up from his drink of tea,with a look of fond annoyance. North begins to make you a plate of food,making sure you ate while the rest continues to talk with excitement buzzing in the air for the day.

After breakfast, Jack Frost,sandy and you decided to watch a couple of Christmas movies, starting with the favorite Rudolph the red nose reindeer. You curled up on one side of the couch with Jack squeezing himself next to you, not caring for personal space. “Jack, there’s a whole other side” “but you’re so warm~” You rolled your eyes,knowing that Jack was going to do whatever he wanted even if you said something. You saw sandy from the corner of your eye silently laugh. As you try to watch the movie, you try to ignore jack’s inhumanly cold body temperature. You knew if you said something about it Jack was going to cuddle you more. Jack seemed distracted with the movie.

After a couple of movies, you were called back to the kitchen to decorate cookies. North helped you with your cookies as your hands started to cramp up on the fifth cookie. You saw the fatherly look in his eye as he was showing off the cookies he did with you to bunny,bunny had a faint look of jealousy which you couldn’t help but laugh at. As the day continued bunny,Toothiana and North stayed in the kitchen cooking a wonderful Christmas meal, trying to make your first Christmas with them a special one.

After dinner, it was time for gift exchange. You were surprised to find how….much stuff you got. You expected maybe one or two but not a mountain of presents. You clearly underestimated how much the guardians loved you. The guardians loved your gifts for them, you even saw bunny brag how you remembered which specific paint brushes he likes that you got for him. You all sat by the fire watching some Christmas movie before you fell asleep against North.

North looks down at you smiling that you were able to feel safe enough to fall asleep ON HIM. Toothiana begins to quietly coo at you with motherly affection. “Aw look at them. They look so cute!” She whispers as to not wake you. Bunny and jack looked up from their quiet bickering session to look at you. Sandy gives a sleepy smile before going back to watching the movie clearly having slip you a little sleep sand to make you sleep easier. Bunny gives sandy a small glare not liking how sandy basically made you fall asleep AGAIN. And not even on him. He was jealous of North but quickly hides it before jack can notice and make fun of him.

“Should one of us put them in their room so they can sleep better?” Jack asked. Before anyone could say anything North picked you up making you look more like a child that needs protection rather than a guardian. The guardians silently chuckled at North’s quick reaction. North quickly and quietly walked to your room with you curled up in his arms. As he walked to the room he looked down at you and noticed how…small you seemed. Just by you being asleep it seemed to solidify the thoughts of you being too vulnerable for the world.North’s grip tightened a little as he thought of the dangers before shaking the thoughts away and instead thinking of the thoughts of how he got to spent Christmas with you.

He made it to your room and lay you in your bed,covered you in a quilt bunny gifted you. He tucks you in carefully before softly kissing your forehead,saying quietly “Goodnight, kiddo” and standing up straight. He looks at you for a moment before walking out of your room,softly closing the door as you sleep with a faint smile on your face.