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steddieasitgoes · 5 months

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@steddiemas Day 16 Prompt: Angst Themed Sentence Starters

3. I don’t know what you want from me. and 5. I don’t want to fight with you. Not tonight.

Tags: Established Relationship, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mentions of Past Child Neglect, Protective Eddie Munson

wc: 1184 | Rating: T

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“I don’t know what you want from me!” Steve shouts, arms thrown in the air.

He’s glued to the floor in their living room watching as Eddie stalks up and down the length of the room in the dim glow of their Christmas tree. Steve’s hands are clutched around the cordless phone, double-checking that he properly hung it up.

The last thing he needs is for his mother to overhear the argument currently going on.

The same argument that happens every year, without fail.

An unofficial tradition that Steve fucking hates.

“I want you to stand up for yourself!” Eddie shouts back.

Their voices may be raised, but they’re not screaming at each other. At least, not in the ways they were raised too. Their voices may be loud, but they don’t hurl insults at each other. Nor do they shout directly at each other, shouting their concerns into the void of the room instead.

“I do stand up for myself!” Steve defends, crossing his arms.

“Not when it comes to them!” Eddie growls, flippantly waving his hand in the air. “I thought we decided after last year's disaster that we weren’t going to put up with it anymore. If your parents wanted to be in our lives, they’d be there for us every day and not just on the choice fucking holiday so you’re mom can take her family picture that conveniently always makes me look terrible.”

“I know. Okay? I know we said that!” Steve uncrosses his arms, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The other hangs limply by his thighs, opening and closing into a fist, tethering him to the moment. “But they’re still my parents!”

Eddie scoffs, shaking his head. “Just because a piece of paper says they’re your parents doesn’t make it true.”

“I know, but—“

“No! No buts! They’re shitty people, Steve! I’m not going to apologize for saying that because it’s the truth! They only want you around when it's convenient for them and then they leave. You might not see it, but every time they walk out that door you turn into that lonely, abandoned teenager you’ve worked so hard to grow from! I’m not going to let them keep doing that to you!”

“Eddie,” Steve huffs. He’s not wrong, not in the slightest. But it still stings hearing it. Knowing that even though he tries to hide how he feels when his parents walk out the door every year, Eddie sees. That he hurts just as much as Steve does.

“What if it was my dad who called and said, “Clear you’re scheduled for the 20th, we’re having Christmas dinner since I’m going out on Christmas but still need to show face with my friends and see you?” What if he did it every fucking year for seven years, only to bitch and moan about every little thing? Questioning my life choices, talking shit about the man I’ve become because I didn’t live up to his expectations. Making snide comments about you when he thinks you’re not listening. Would you let him keep coming?”

“Of course not!”

“Then you understand where I’m coming from!” Eddie says, slowly making his way over to Steve. “I wish things were different. I wish your parents saw you for the amazing man you are. Saw us for all the work we’ve done to better ourselves. But they don’t. They never will. And I’m tired of pretending for a few hours every year to be okay with their bullshit. You deserve better than that.”

“I—“ Steve breaks, the first tear racing down his cheek before he can even register what’s happening.

He’s wrapped in Eddie’s arms in an instant, pushed and flushed with his warm chest. His shirt is soft, soothing the prickly feeling spreading across his own cheeks as he lets the tears fall. Eddie holds him, strong and firm. Rocks him slowly in his arms, and runs a hand soothingly up and down his back. Whispers encouragement into the wild tufts of hair on the top of his head.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie coos. “It’s okay. S’gonna be okay.”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Steve hiccups, pulling away from Eddie’s embrace. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

“I don’t want to fight with you either.” With a gentle hand, Eddie swipes the tears from Steve’s eyes before cradling his face in his hands. “Especially not about your parents. Maybe about your questionable taste in movies—“

“Hey!” Steve laughs, swatting at Steve’s chest. “You’re the one with the questionable taste.”

Eddie hums, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself that, big boy.”

They stay like that for a few moments, wrapped in each other's embrace. Letting the tension ease from their bodies and minds. The air in the room already feels lighter, the lights on the trees twinkling brighter.

But there’s still a weight pressing on Steve’s chest. One he knows isn’t going to go away until he figures this out. Once and for all.

“What should I tell them?” he mumbles, words nearly lost amongst the quiet hum of their space heater.

“You could tell them we’re going on vacation? Or that we already made plans.”

“I don’t want to lie to them,” Steve sighs, feeling the pressure building behind his eyes again. “If I tell her that she’ll want to see pictures or hear stories and then it's one lie after another.”

“You could tell them the truth?” Eddie suggests, arms wrapping around Steve again. “Tell them that they don’t deserve to spend Christmas with you because of the way they’ve treated you. That we don’t need their negative energy in our lives.”

Steve grimaces. He wishes he could have a conversation with his mom. Wishes they had the type of relationship that allowed him the grace, to be honest with her. To give her space to listen and hopefully learn. But they don’t. They never have. All that will get Steve is an earful of guilt and yelling, followed by a call from his father about he broke his mother.

Still, what other choice does he have?

If he doesn’t want to lie, the truth is the only other option.

“Will you stay by me while I make the call?”

“Of course, sweetheart. M’not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Steve says, letting the plan take shape in his head. “Okay. I’m going to tell her the truth.”

“I’ll be the whole time,” Eddie says, squeezing Steve’s hand. “But if she starts yelling, I will grab that phone and hang up on her. You understand that, right?”

“I think you hanging up on my mom is the kindest thing you could do to her.”

“Damn right, it is!” Eddie laughs. “Now come on, let’s rip this bandaid off so we can start planning what we’re actually going to do now that we have the 20th free.”

“I’m sure you already have ideas.” Steve laughs, watching as Eddie’s eyes light up as they drink him from head to toe.

“Yeah,” he says, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. “I’ve got a few ideas up my sleeve.”

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sulieykte · 7 months

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a/n: welcome to my attempt at kinktober. while i'd love to deliver new content every day of the month, and i will do my best to write as much as i can, you might find that some of the links below will take you to previous works that fit the prompt or won't be linked until after kinktober. i hope you enjoy my contributions and please check out some of the amazing work of my talented moots here.

prompt list by @pandoraslxna

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howlinchickhowl · 1 month

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It's posting day for my @gallavichthings Gift Exchange gift! I got @rayrayor and I wrote a little something for their prompt about Mickey being a 'straight' patron of Ian's gay bar. Happy gift exchange, I hope you enjoy it!

(There's no warnings and it's fairly PG)

You're Like In Love With Me - a gallavich a.u. fiction 🫶

Someone at the brewery has it in for Ian, he’s decided. They’ve assigned him the world’s weediest delivery guy, who manages to shift one keg for every seven Ian hauls off his truck, and always gets to Ian ‘after lunch’, which, tends to be closer to dinner than lunch in Ian’s opinion, and leaves him very little time to get everything stocked and inventoried and get a break in before the evening rush starts.

He’s sweating buckets as he waves the guy off and staggers back out into the main bar for some ice water. He rounds the bar and snags a dishcloth from Joni who wrinkles their nose up at him as he swipes it over his forehead and the back of his neck.

Joni doesn’t sweat, it’s a point of pride for them. Ian isn’t sure if they actually aren’t capable of sweating, or if they just avoid any activity that could possibly cause them to perspire. If he was at home with his siblings, Ian would shake his head like a wet dog, sending droplets flying all over every surface and into the faces of any person standing close enough. But last year when he took over from Gigi she made him sit through like thirty hours of online health and safety and food hygiene training, and there is an open container of cut limes on the back bar that he can’t in good conscience condemn with his bodily fluids. So he holds himself back and focuses on getting himself a drink and trying not to be too obvious about checking out his favorite regular.

Mickey Milkovich has been coming to The Scratching Post since before Ian’s time, before it was ever even a gay bar, according to the man himself. When he was a kid, before the neighborhood ‘went to shit’ – Mickey’s colorful way of saying got gentrified by the u-haul lesbians and professional gays – it was something of a slum. And Mickey grew up a regular little slumdog. Before The Scratching Post was The Scratching Post, it was The Alibi Room, and the way Mickey tells it, it was basically his dad’s office. He’s told Ian stories about how he used to sit in one of the booths and watch his dad take book or make deals, how he got his first tattoo from the owner’s cousin who was trying to rustle up enough bail money to get her boyfriend out of jail after he shot up their apartment during a bad trip. How his older brother lost his virginity in the upstairs room when it was a short-lived brothel. How the whole fabric of his life is tied up in this place, like he’s just as much a part of it as the stains on the carpet that they’ve never bothered to change.

So now that Mickey is out of prison (attempted murder, but according to Mickey it was a trumped up bullshit charge and if he wanted to murder someone he would fucking succeed) and back living in the house he grew up in, he likes to drink in his neighborhood bar, even if it’s turned into some sort of haven for the L-G-B-T-Q-Whatever (his words). It’s home.

Ian doesn’t mind. Mickey’s a fast drinker and he can hold a lot of booze, and it never hurts to get some steady business during the day. And he likes Mickey. Kind of really likes him, actually. Sort of wouldn’t mind licking the inside of his mouth or tasting the sweat on the back of his neck. And that’s where he gets into a certain amount of trouble. Because Mickey Milkovich? Is straight.

Straight as a ramrod. Straight as a ruler. Straight as the day is long. Capital S Straight. So Ian tries not to think too much about how soft his lips look or how good he smells, and he also tries to keep it under wraps exactly how much he likes to look at the guy. He’s not gonna not look at him. But he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable in, from what Ian can gather, one of the only places he feels comfortable. And he also doesn’t want to get his ass kicked by a guy he has a crush on. He had enough of that kind of fun in high school.

So he grabs his pint of ice water and wipes his forehead with his stolen rag and he limits his glances to two seconds long with twenty second intervals. Or at least he thinks he does until Joni rolls their eyes at him and announces they are going on a smoke break, since he’s clearly gonna be there for a while anyway. He’d be annoyed but honestly, they’re right.

Mickey always sits in the same spot, on a high stool at the bar just where it’s curved around enough so that he can easily see the door but not so far that he can’t see who’s coming and going from the restroom or the back. His vigilance is quiet, but noticeable if you know what you’re looking for. Or if you just spend a lot of time looking.

He’s in his spot today, left hand curled loosely around his beer like he likes to be ready to drink at any moment, and he’s smiling down at his phone in a way that has Ian’s tummy start to fizz with little sparks of jealousy. What’s got him smiling like that? He’s desperate to know.

He doesn’t always talk to Mickey every time he comes in, he tries to show a respectful level of interest, though if you polled his employees they would probably say he fails at that. He does some quick math in his head while grabbing another rag and starting to wipe down the bar top, making his way down toward Mickey’s end. Today is Wednesday, Mickey didn’t come in yesterday, on Monday Ian kept his distance, and he hadn’t worked Sunday. That meant that their last interaction had been Saturday. Four days. That’s a decent interval, he figures, and he carries on wiping over the bar, trying to come up with a subtle way to find out what has made Mickey smile.

“That your girl?” Is what he’s got by the time he’s stood in front of Mickey, and it may not be subtle but it’s all he could think of.

“Huh?” Mickey asks, looking up.

“You uh, you look like something in your phone is making you real happy, I thought maybe it was a girl.”

“Oh, Uh.” Mickey looks down at his phone and then back up at Ian, his lips tugging down into a half frown. “No.”

He closes his phone and shoves it in his back pocket, eyes shifting around the room as he takes a sip of his beer. There’s something kind of shifty about it, like Ian’s made him uncomfortable somehow, and if Ian had more self-control he’d call this one a loss and find an excuse to leave him be. But his discipline only extends to his exercise regime and diet apparently because he finds himself unable to walk away, quietly desperate to know what Mickey had been looking at.

“So what d’you win a bet?”

Mickey huffs a laugh and sticks hi phone in his back pocket, Ian wipes a spot on the bar that he’s already wiped clean three times.

“Naw man, just a picture of my sister looking fuckin’ dumb in a squirrel hat.”

Ok. Not what Ian had been expecting.

“A…squirrel? Hat?”

“Yeah it’s for her job or whatever, she looks like a fuckin’ idiot.”

His words are harsh, but the smile that’s spreading over his lips is kind of soft, like he is actually kind of fond of his sister. Ian’s never seen him smile like that before. His smile is always kind of dirty, or wry, or sometimes bordering on a grimace, this is different, and Ian feels like he’s unlocked a new Mickey nugget. He wonders if he can get some more.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Two brothers, one sister.” He takes a gulp of his beer and then does a thoughtful little shrug. “That I know of. The way my dad was though, wouldn’t be too shocked if I got a bunch more I don’t know about.”

There’s that wry smile that Ian’s used to, with a half an eye roll that belies a lifetime of dealing with a parent who never stops disappointing you. It’s an eyeroll Ian has performed many a time himself.

“God yeah me too. I got at least one half-sister who showed up out of the blue a few years back, but I could be related to half the city for all I know.”

“Half the redheads at least.” And there’s the dirty smile. He’s mentioned Ian’s hair a few times, most people tease him about it a little, it’s no big deal. He imagines Mickey would have terrorized him if they’d known each other as kids, chasing him around calling him Carrot Top or Little Orphan Annie. This is kind of a gentle tease though, something warm, accompanied with a squint that could almost be a wink, if Mickey Milkovich was the kind of guy who winked, and it spurs Ian on.

“I knew this girl in high school, her dad had so many kids running around that she had to ask people for their family tree before she would hook up with them.”

Mickey almost chokes on his beer.

“Fuck me, should I be doing that?”

“I don’t know. She had a close call once, and her dad literally had like, thirty kids.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, so, next time you’re lookin’ to hook up with someone, just, ask for a DNA screening first I guess.”

Mickey nods, and then the air sort of drops out of the conversation, like it has nowhere left to go. Mickey gulps the last of his beer in one huge mouthful that puffs his cheeks out and sort of makes him look like he’s chewing it, and the only thing Ian can think to say is to ask him if he wants another.

“Nah I’m good, gotta get back.” He throws some cash down on the bar to cover his tab and is out the door with his arms still shoving into his jacket before Ian can even say syanora.

And then he doesn’t come back for three weeks.

It’s not like Ian’s moping, Joni can fuck off for implying that. The bar is busy and he has a lot to do and employees to manage and siblings to deal with. But in the afternoons sometimes he’ll find himself staring at the empty space where Mickey would normally be and wondering, kind of forlornly, if the guy is ever coming back. Trying to figure out what he did or said in that last conversation that pissed him off so bad he would forsake his childhood bar.

Ian misses him. His expressive face and his disgusting sense of humour, and the way he makes Ian feel, like on edge and at ease at the same time. It just sucks, not seeing him, and not knowing why.

And then one day, three weeks and four days since The Scratching Post had last seen hide or hair of him, he’s back, sitting on his regular stool when Ian gets done mopping the bathrooms.

It gives him a jolt, a little shiver of excitement running down his spine as he shoves the mop in the corner and rounds the bar.

“Haven’t seen you around here lately.” He greets Mickey, as casually as he can, and Mickey looks up, kind of startled, and then looks down at the bar. Or. There’s a white envelope sitting there, and he seems fixated on it.

“Everything ok Mick?”

Mickey nods, a quick little jerk of a thing, eyes fixed on the envelope. He doesn’t even have a drink in front of him.

“You want a beer?”

He shakes his head, brings his right hand up to lay his fingertips over the envelope and slide it across the bar toward Ian.

“What’s this?” Ian picks it up, there’s no name on it, no details, it’s not sealed but he’s still not sure if he should open it. Mickey’s looking up at him when he’s done inspecting it.

“It’s uh.” His bright blue eyes flick away and then back again, are they wetter than usual? They seem so shiny when they finally rest back on Ian. “It’s a DNA test.”

“A DNA test?”

“Yeah. We um. We ain’t related. So.”

He raps his knuckles on the bar a couple of times in a short sharp knock that he must think serves as a suitable stop to this most bizarre of conversations, and clambers off his stool, heading for the door.

“Wait Mickey—What?!”

“Just. Read it.”

The door has barely had time to swing shut before Ian is practically tearing the envelope in his haste to look at the paper inside. It’s exactly what Mickey said, a DNA test, comparing Mickey’s DNA to his own, which, he’s gonna have to talk to him about where he got a sample of Ian’s DNA from, and confirming that there’s no overlap. In the top right corner, in a chicken scratch of a hand, Mickey has scrawled the words ‘just in case’ and then a phone number, and Ian almost drops his phone in the ice trough in his rush to pull it out of his pocket and send a text.

[2:34pm] I thought you were straight?

The reply buzzes through almost immediately, like maybe Mickey’s stood outside looking at his phone waiting to see what happens.

[2:34pm] Good.

It’s a very Mickey text, and something about it makes Ian feel warm, like he’s being trusted with something Mickey doesn’t trust a lot of people with.

[2:35pm] Where did you get a sample of my DNA??

[2:35pm] That really what you wanna be asking me right now?

[2:35pm] I’ve got a lot of things I want to ask you.

[2:36pm] So come outside, I don’t got all day.

It’s possible that Ian knocks over a stool and drops his dishcloth on the floor, he’s got bigger fish to fry.

#gallavich fic #ian x mickey #fic #GGE2024

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syeren · 4 months

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BATTLE OF WITS.

Sampo is an easy guy, albeit, a con-artist but a real hunk of work. If something doesn’t catch his eye within a second or stimulate his brain for more than a minute… You can say bye-bye to trying to talk to him.

Majority of people view the picture on the vacation postcard of “not-giving-a-shit” and fall in love with the idea — swimming through the clear blue waters in this mental Mediterranean sea can be more deceiving than many think. It’s a one-way ticket to losing the most important skill in life, to feel concern. He for one, couldn’t care in the slightest. It all goes to show as to why he took up the very interesting and controversial means of work in the first place.

But once he stumbled across a person completely opposite to him, he couldn’t help but feel even more irritated. Of course, it was you, with your logical and reasonable thoughts and actions. Your morals were way higher on the scale than his, and he definitely could assume your IQ and EQ followed suit. He never felt so ridiculed and threatened by your demeanour because of this aura of “coolness” and “rationality.” That was the issue, he was always the smart one— or the lack thereof. If both your brains jostled within the ring, his would be pummelled to smithereens.

He wanted to brush off this problem as per usual, forcing himself to play the “unbothered” role because his ego couldn’t handle it anymore (ahh yes, the “be the bigger person” card.) But if this were a choice between mind over matter, the latter would reign dominant. He needs to showcase his true skills, it was his only “skill” anyway.

“Hey,” Sampo called out to you while you fumbled through your satchel. You gave him a quick eyebrow raise in response.

“What’s seven times eight?” he blurted out, standing directly in front with his arms crossed over his puffed chest. Yeesh.

You, on the other hand, gave him an indescribable expression that probably amounted to confusion, irritation, and most likely concern. “What?”

“C’moonn… I don’t have all day!”

Rolling your eyes, you continued to fish out some papers from your bookbag and grumbled the answer. “Fifty-six.”

“— Riddle me this. Imagine you’re in a tough situation where your pal is crying over their partner who was absolutely shit to them. Do you, A, comfort them, B, make fun of them, or C… Listen and give advice.”

Now it was completely indescribable about what you’re feeling or thinking. You slowly looked up to meet his eyes with a blank stare. You were judging him hard.

“… A with a mix of C.”

“No, only one answer!” he protested, wagging his finger in the air.

“Then A.”

He dropped his hand and returned to the same arm-crossed position. “This isn’t fun.”

“You think you’re not having fun? This feels like an interrogation, Sampo,” you playfully snapped, closing your book bag. “The fuck was that about?”

A mere shrug was all he responded with. “Just wanted to… Figure some things out,” he vaguely responded, to which, prompted your irritation even more.

“Sampo—“

“Okay, okay! Just heard from a little bird that you’ve got a head on your shoulders,” he replied in defence. “Wanted to see if it was true or not.”

“Of course I have a head on my shoulders,” you reiterated, shaking your head in disbelief. “What? You mean like, smarter?”

Sampo nodded his head. “Precisely.”

His answer made you immediately chuckle, letting out a breathy laugh. “Shouldn’t this little questionnaire prove the point? Such dumb questions.”

“Hey! They made you think though!” he argued. “Putting you on the spot and such.”

“… Easy questions like that won’t put anyone on the spot.”

Sampo inched even closer as he let out a prideful scoff, flipping his floppy bangs back with calloused fingers. “Fine. I’ll prepare something harder then—“

“Nope,” you interrupted.

“One thing’s for certain, you are one hell of a party pooper,” he stated dejectedly, rolling his eyes as he straightened his posture. “Natasha mentioned you were smart n’ all, but how is that any good if that pretty little head of yours is full of brash comments and half-assed sarcasm.”

“Since when were you and Natasha friends?” you deadpanned, the same sarcastic tone dripping from your lips.

“We always were! Hey! Don’t give me that face!” Sampo responded but as soon as he was speaking, your figure was slowly walking away from him. You lazily waved a hand in the air without turning around.

You, 1. Sampo, 0. Try harder next time, big guy.

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr oneshot #hsr sampo #hsr fluff #sampo koski #sampo honkai #sampo x reader #sampo koski x reader #honkai star rail fluff #honkai fluff

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andreafmn · 4 months

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12 Days of Ficmas ❅ Day 8

Word Count: 4.7K Paring: Jordan Li x Fem!Reader Prompt by @12-days-of-ficmas: christmas baby is sensitive about never being celebrated on their birthday/always feels skipped over Warnings: foul language

Summary: Being a Supe comes with its challenges. But there is no challenge bigger than being the child of Supes that do not care. (Y/N) has been constantly overlooked by her parents in all aspects of her life other than her abilities. Her birthday is not the exception. But there is one person that wants to make sure she knows how special she is, regardless of her powers.

A/N: I watched Gen V last year and naturally became obsessed with Jordan, so I had to give a day to them. I love them with all my heart and I loved this story too. Mainly because I selfishly wrote this about having a Christmas birthday 🤭🤭

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Studying at God U had been (Y/N)’s dream, much like many other Supes. She had been raised to idolize the lifestyle of a crime-fighting Supe and had been trained her entire life to one day become one of The Seven. That much her parents wanted for her.

Having been B-list superheroes just like Polarity, they had wanted more for their daughter. They wanted her to rise through the ranks quickly and efficiently, making sure her name was in everyone’s mouth. More than her parents, they were her managers. Appearing in her life if and when necessary to make sure her image and reputation were always pristine. No amount of money, time, or resources would ever be too much to make sure their baby girl was one of the greats. They truly provided her with everything she could ever need except the love and warmth parents should give.

(Y/N) had always been their biggest marketing ploy. The golden child of Storm Surge and Radiance –the only title her parents cared for. While they went around the world giving conferences and interviews, the girl was stuck at home, by herself, training, slowly being molded into a daughter those heroes could be proud of.

She grew up in isolation. There weren’t many people around her growing up the way she was. It wasn’t until she was touring the university that she finally found people like her –exactly like her.

The first two people she met were Luke Riordan and Andre Anderson. They were finishing their freshman year at Godolkin University and had run into (Y/N) after she had gotten separated from her tour group. The duo had taken it upon themselves to show her the real God U and promised to take her under their wing when she finally arrived that warm August.

In the coming months, the three of them engaged in nonstop communication as they helped her in her transition from intensive homeschooling and training to a more social and balanced life. They had also introduced her to Cate Dunlap and Jordan Li, the remaining members of the golden quartet of God U, as she liked to call them.

The four of them were a refreshing breath in comparison to her life of isolation. She couldn't help but grow a certain affinity for the group of Supes, desiring nothing more than to be at the university to finally experience their friendship face-to-face. Especially a certain bigender student that had caught her eye.

There was a sort of magnetism to Jordan Li that (Y/N) could not deny. She wanted nothing more than to know everything about them –their likes, their dislikes, their hopes, their dreams. She wanted to know what life by their side could be. And a small part of her hoped they wanted that as well.

But when the day finally came to move to God U, she was met with a version of Jordan she had not seen over the phone. Where Andre, Luke, and Cate had welcomed her with open arms, even going as far as to help her move into her dorm, Jordan had decided to keep their distance from her. In their male form, he would grumble under his breath as he moved boxes into her room, asking Luke how long the whole ordeal would last. When Luke answered that they would probably end up getting food and spending the night with her, he could only scoff and say he’d be going to spend the night in his room.

“Did I do something wrong?” (Y/N) questioned as she spread her duvet across her bed. “Why are they so mad?”

“They’re probably tired,” Luke shrugged. “Jordan can sometimes get into these moods when they haven’t gotten much sleep.”

“Maybe you should go check on them, then. I think I can manage by myself now.”

“Nonsense,” Andre grinned as he slid an arm across her shoulders. “We promised you some dinner, and that’s what you’re getting. Jordan’ll get over it soon enough.”

And that’s what she had hoped.

But as the days passed, the only thing that seemed to grow in Jordan was contempt. They would avoid (Y/N) as best as they could, even going out of their way not to run into her. They would barely talk to her when the group went out to a party or simply had a comfortable night in one of their dorms. It seemed like nothing the girl did was good enough for them, and she couldn’t help but wonder if her crush on them would only damage her in the long run.

Still, days turned to months, and suddenly (Y/N) was completing her first semester at Godolkin. She had become busy with her schoolwork, quickly rising through the ranks and coming very close to becoming one of the only freshmen ever to make it onto the Top 5. Christmas break had quickly approached, and the New York winter was coming in strong. Students all around were packing up to go home for the holidays, grateful for a small rest from the school. Granted, a lot of students had loving and supportive families to go home to. Even if (Y/N) didn’t, she was looking forward to sleeping in her own bed once more and having some time away from Jordan's icy treatment.

After packing what was necessary, she rolled her suitcase out of the dorm building, half expecting to find her parents waiting for her, happy to take her home. Instead, she saw other students reuniting with their families or simply groups of friends driving away to their planned vacations. Meanwhile, the fire-wielding girl stood freezing, hoping to see even a glance of her birthgivers.

Once twenty minutes had passed in the cold winter morning, (Y/N) knew deep down what had happened. But instead of jumping to conclusions, she dialed her parents’ phone. “Hey guys,” she said as their faces came up on the screen. “Where are you? You were supposed to pick me up half an hour ago.”

“Oh, honey, we forgot to tell you,” her mother answered, bringing her face forward on the screen. “We had some last-minute stops added to the book tour, and we won’t make it home for Christmas.”

“Yeah, kid, we talked to the Dean, and she said it was okay for you to stay at the dorms,” her father added. “Anything you need, just use the card.”

“Can’t I at least go home? I mean, I could still see you when you get back. Even if it’s after Christmas.”

“Honey, by the time we get back, you’ll be heading off to school again,” her mother said. “And there’s no point in you staying at home all by yourself. Might as well stay there and get ahead in some classes.”

“Are you serious, mom? What about my birth…?”

“Kid, sorry, the flight attendant is flagging us down,” her father interrupted. “We need to turn our phones off. But Nicole will come over sometime soon with your presents. And remember, any groceries or necessities, just use your card.”

“But…”

“Merry Christmas, honey,” they chorused before the screen went black.

(Y/N) shouldn’t have been surprised. It was not the first time she had spent the holiday alone, and it was definitely not the first time they had forgotten about her birthday. With it being so close to Christmas, it had somehow always slipped their mind. But something in her believed that it would have been different that time. She was out of the house and had very little communication with them; maybe they had missed her. Yet, nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change.

As she felt tears falling from her eyes, (Y/N) turned around to head back inside before anyone could see her cry. Walking with her hands on her eyes, she bumped into someone harshly but couldn’t bring herself to care who it was. All she did was mumble an apology and head back into her room to sleep that bad dream away.

By the time she had woken up from her nap, the building had emptied, and she felt, for the first time in a long time, truly alone. The halls would normally be bustling with chatter and mischief. But that winter night, the silence was the most chilling sensation of all. Her footsteps echoed as she walked to the bathroom, every step reminding her of how empty the school was and how alone she was.

For three whole days, (Y/N) had fallen into an automatic routine. She had gone for groceries the very next day, buying all the junk food her parents would have chastised her for getting. But they weren’t there. She had free reign and a credit card with a pretty high spending limit. If she wanted to drown herself in chips and ice cream, she would do so.

Her parents’ assistant Nicole went by on the second day, but she had texted her to come downstairs and handed her a bag with presents without so much as looking up from her phone. It was the only human interaction she’d had; it had felt as cold as her parents had been.

When her birthday finally arrived, three days before Christmas, (Y/N) left the school to buy herself a birthday cake. Her parents would have been furious at her for indulging in such a treat, but they couldn’t chastise her if they weren’t there. She had been dreaming of devouring an entire chocolate cake, savoring the taste of the rich flavor. Alas, all she found at the nearest grocery store was a simple vanilla cupcake without as much as a candle to light. Defeatedly, the girl walked home with her simple treat and braced herself for another birthday in solitude.

Once she was back at her dorm building, she pulled the cake out of the box and produced a flame from the tip of her finger. “Well, make a wish, (Y/N),” she whispered to herself after singing a sad rendition of Happy Birthday. “Not that they ever come true.”

She blew away the flame and, with fresh tears in her eyes, took a bite of the slightly stale cupcake. It was rather hard and bland, but it was as good as she was gonna get without making it herself. And she had no energy left to bake herself a cake.

As the doors of the elevator opened on her floor, (Y/N) was ready to cry herself to sleep watching another movie. She had not expected her entire hall to be filled with her friends and a chorused “Surprise!” to leave their throats.

The girl startled at the noise, instinctually forming a ball of fire in her hand to defend herself against the intruder, but upon seeing her friends quickly put it out. There were couches in the halls, lights and streamers on the ceiling, and balloons littered all over. Where the vending machines normally were, a table of food and drinks rested, a beautiful birthday cake set in the center.

“Holy shit,” was all she could mutter as Luke stepped forward and twirled her in a tight hug. “How did you guys know I was here?”

“A little birdy told us, and we couldn’t let you have another birthday by yourself,” he smiled as he set her down. “Figured you’d want some company, at least for tonight.”

“Yeah, and it’s also a good excuse to party at an empty school,” Andre added with a grin. “It just so happened that it was your birthday too.”

“What if it hadn’t been?”

“Then we’d be celebrating Christmas,” Cate smiled. “Either way, we were gonna come spend time with you.”

“You guys are crazy,” she chuckled before wrapping them all in a hug. “Thank you.”

(Y/N) disappeared for a second to change her clothes, and once she came back, the party went on full-steam ahead. The music was loud, the lights were flashing, there was alcohol and drugs, and everything felt perfect. She was surrounded by her friends –and some acquaintances that had only come to party– and for the first time in a long time, she felt happy and loved. And, even if it surprised her, she had been able to steal glances at her painful crush.

Jordan had kept to themselves the entire time she had been there, finding ways not to run into her or even meet her eye. She noticed how he downed cup after cup, only engaging in conversation when others talked to him. But he hadn’t even smiled or nodded at her. If he was there, it was most likely because Luke had dragged them there.

The girl wanted to enjoy her party. Bask in the love and care her friends had gifted her with, but it didn’t take long before Jordan’s obvious disdain started to damper her mood. She was dancing with a scowl, and every shot she downed was in an effort to forget the person she wanted the most.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Luke asked as he pulled her away from the loudness of the hall and into her room. “I thought you would like the party.”

“I do.”

“Then why do you look so sad, (Y/N)?” he pressed. “If it’s too much, I can get everyone out, and it’ll just be the five of us.”

“No, the party is great. It’s honestly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping as she felt embarrassment bubbling at the words she would speak. “The problem is Jordan, okay? It’s the fact that, for some fucking reason, they hate me and can’t even find a way to hide it on my birthday.”

“Wait, you think… you think Jordan hates you?” he asked with a slight chuckle. “That’s crazy, (Y/N)!”

As he continued laughing, the door opened to reveal Andre and Cate with confused expressions on their faces. “What happened?” Andre asked. “Everything good?”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke said in between laughs. “It’s just that (Y/N) thinks Jordan hates her.”

“No way,” Cate snickered. “Are you serious?”

“Are you?” (Y/N) emphasized. “How is this coming as a surprise to you?”

“Alright, then. What makes you think they hate you?”

“Well, Andre, for starters, they haven’t even said a word to me all night,” the girl started. “They avoid me in the halls and in classes. They’re always trying to intimidate me by changing into their male form when they spot me. They don’t speak to me unless they literally have no other choice. I’m pretty sure if they had been able to, they’d throw me out of God U. Not to mention all the stink eyes they’ve given me these past months. Yeah, Jordan definitely hates me.”

“Oh, this is hilarious,” Luke said, still hunched over in laughter. “You really think they hate you.”

“How is that funny?”

“They were the one who planned this whole thing,” Andre answered. “If it hadn’t been for their call, we wouldn’t have known that you were here all by yourself.”

“Believe me, (Y/N),” Cate added. “They care a lot more than you know.”

“You’re kidding, right?” (Y/N) chuckled dryly. “There’s no way Jordan Li cares enough to do something like this.”

“You’re never gonna believe us, are you?” She answered Luke with a shake of her head. “Alright, then. All we have to do is get you two together so you can talk.”

“Good luck with that,” she scoffed. “The last time they were forced to talk to me, they did it all over text. And not a single emoji.”

“You leave that up to us,” Luke grinned. “We’ll get you two alone.”

(Y/N) didn’t understand what he meant until an hour after that conversation. The second they had left the room, they had gone back to partying. They danced and sang and drank, and she did everything possible to put Jordan in the back of her mind. But it was difficult as she saw them change from their male form to their female, taking a glass of champagne and downing it before going to talk to a girl. It irked her to no avail and only made her drink more and more.

She wanted to numb all feelings. She wanted to forget about her parents, forget about her lonely Christmas, and forget about her fruitless crush on the one person who would never like her back.

As she served herself her third whisky sour in that hour, Luke got onto a table and called for everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone, are you having fun?” Everyone around him cheered, and a shit-eating grin spread onto his face. “That’s what I like to hear. But I think it’s time to kick it old school at this party and play a little rambunctious game. Something you might call seven minutes in heaven.”

His eyes fell onto (Y/N)’s as his grin grew, accepting a glass bowl from Cate as he continued. “I have here all of our names here, thanks to my beautiful girlfriend, Cate,” he said. “I’m sure you all know the rules of the game. But for the person who just came out of a decade-long coma, I will pull two names from this bowl, and those two people will be stuck in (Y/N)’s room for seven minutes. Normally, you’d make out or something similar, but you can’t force anyone to do that. So, whatever happens in that room is up to you.”

“Just do it on Marnie’s bed,” Cate interjected. “Not (Y/N)’s.”

“Hey!” Marnie, (Y/N)’s roommate, exclaimed before shrugging. “Eh, knock yourselves out.”

“Thank you, Marnie. I’ll make sure people thank you for your service,” Luke chuckled. “Well then, let’s see who our first person is. Andre, will you do the honors?”

The boy stepped beside his friend and stuck his hand into the bowl, making a whole scene out of mixing up the papers. But (Y/N) knew. “Jordan Li,” Andre announced. “Get over here!”

Jordan walked to the front of the crowd with a chuckle, her skin turning a soft shade of red. Luke got down from the table and draped an arm across her shoulders in a side hug, then landed his eyes back on (Y/N) before saying, “And who will be the lucky person to join our friend here, Andre?”

With another pretend mixing of the names, Andre pulled out a paper with a smile that spread from ear to ear. “Well, if it isn’t the birthday girl herself,” he exclaimed. “(Y/N), get your ass over here.”

At the mention of her name, Jordan’s smile dropped and quickly changed into his name form, making (Y/N) roll her eyes. The alcohol was taking effect in her system and was making confidence surge from deep inside. Unfortunately, it was walking hand in hand with anger, and she was ready to give them a piece of her mind.

She walked to the front of the hallway as everyone cheered and followed Luke to her room. Jordan walked in first, with her following close behind as their friend stopped at the door. “Have fun, you guys,” he smiled. “Your time starts now.”

As soon as Luke closed the door, Jordan sat on Marnie’s bed, looking everywhere but at her. He remained quiet and uninterested, making ire burn deep inside her. He played with his chain and kicked his feet forward, letting time pass by and anger build.

“What the fuck is your problem with me?!”

Jordan jumped at the sudden explosions, his eyes finally snapping toward her. He was sure steam was coming out of her ears, her face red with anger. “What do you mean?” he questioned. “I don’t have a problem with you.”

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” she spat. “You’ve been avoiding me this entire semester. I don’t know what I did from the first time we talked to the first day of school, but you’ve done everything in your power to stay away from me. So, either I did something, or you just don’t like me.”

“You didn’t do anything,” they answered sheepishly. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

“C… complicated?” (Y/N) stressed. “Complicated is the fact that something seemed to change before the first day of school. And it was big enough that it made you change your impression of me. Unless you were pretending the entire summer and it got harder to do once we were in the same place.”

“That’s not what happened. I wasn’t pretending.”

“Then what is it, Jordan?” she exclaimed, biting back the tears that threatened to spill in her intoxicated state. “Because this whole intimidation and avoidance thing is getting quite old.”

“Intimidation?” he questioned. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Jordan! Do you really think I’m that stupid?” (Y/N) questioned rhetorically. “Every single time you know I am near, you change into your male form. Whenever I try to talk to you, you walk away or answer in the shortest way possible. Hell, even when we all go out as a group, you keep as far away from me as possible. You’ve pushed me away all these months, and I think I deserve a reason why!”

He startled at the raise of her voice. Her anger slapped him across the face, stinging as though she had actually hit him. They had been avoiding her, but she was nowhere close to the reason why. “I don’t hate you, (Y/N),” he said quietly. “I could never hate you.”

“Then, please, help me understand why you’ve been acting this way,” she pleaded. Her expression had softened, and Jordan could see the pain behind her teary eyes. “I just want the friendship we had in summer back. I mean, for almost three months straight, we talked nonstop, and suddenly, it was radio silence from you. What did I do for things to change so drastically?”

“God, you didn’t do anything, (Y/N). It’s me that’s the problem!” Jordan exploded as he stood from the bed. He felt angsty, pacing back and forth as he prepared himself for the inevitable rejection. “I know we built a good relationship over the summer, and it was so good. But that’s the problem. I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) answered defeatedly. “Sorry. I thought…”

“No! This is coming out all wrong,” he said as he ran his hands across his face in frustration. “I don’t want to be your friend because I want to be more than that. (Y/N), I’ve liked you from the moment we met. Through the phone, it was easy for me to keep my feelings in control. But here, seeing you around 24/7, it’s been hard to keep it all in control.”

“Wait, you like me?” she questioned, her heart fluttering fast against her chest. “Like, like me, like me?”

“Of course I do!” he yelled as frustration got the best of him. “You’re this amazing, talented, unbelievably bright girl. How could I not? But I thought pushing you away would be the easiest way to get over you.”

“But I don’t get it, Jordan. Why not tell me? Or, hell, even ask how I felt?”

“Because you’re you, and I’m me! You deserve to be with someone easier, someone that’s in your league,” Jordan confessed. “I come with very heavy baggage, and you don’t deserve to have to carry it. You should be with someone who knows who they are and knows what they want. Definitely not someone who needs constant validation to feel good enough. Even so, at the end of the day, I know you don’t even like me. I mean, you’ve only ever had boyfriends, and that’s an easier thing to explain to parents about and…”

(Y/N) couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed Jordan’s face and crashed her lips onto theirs. They tasted of champagne and chocolate, a mix as soft and divine as their mouth felt. It took everything in her not to melt at the touch. And suddenly, the face they had been holding had grown smaller. As her eyes fluttered open, she saw Jordan’s female form in front of her.

“Oh, hi.”

“See? This is not what you want,” she sighed. “I’m not…”

Once more, (Y/N) interrupted them with a kiss. “I don’t care what gender you are, Jordan,” she smiled, running her thumb across her cheeks. “I like you for who you are. The entire time you’ve been trying to forget about me, I’ve been trying to get close to you because I like you, you idiot.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Why would I lie about this, Jordan? Hell, you can ask Luke about it if you don’t believe me.”

“Luke?” she chuckled. “You’ve told Luke about this?”

“There have been a couple of drunkenly sad confessions over the past few months about it,” (Y/N) sighed, hiding her face in embarrassment. “Andre caught some of them as well. But yeah, they know. They’re actually the ones who orchestrated this whole thing.”

“Sort of gathered that seven minutes in heaven was a ruse,” Jordan smiled. “Especially since we’ve gone past seven, and no one has come to knock on the door.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled softly. “They also told me you were the one who planned this whole thing.”

“I was,” she answered meekly. “I overheard you talking to your parents on the last day of school. You actually bumped into me, and it broke my heart to see you crying like you were. I couldn’t bear knowing that you’d spend another birthday by yourself, so I made quick arrangements to get everyone back today.”

“So, you did the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, and you still avoided me all night?”

“I’m a bit of a coward, (Y/N),” she laughed. “And, well, up until a minute ago, I thought there was no way you could actually like me. Not this version of me, at least.”

“Mm, that explains the continuous shifting into your male form when I’m near,” (Y/N) grinned. “But, regardless of everything that’s gone down these past few months, thank you, Jordan. You have no idea what this all means to me.”

“I thought it was about time you knew how loved and appreciated you are,” Jordan smiled, wrapping her arms around (Y/N)’s waist and pressing her close to her body. “Sorry that it took so long for me to tell you the truth. And I’m sorry your parents are assholes that don’t know how fucking special you are.”

“Thank you, J,” she said as a tear rolled down her eye. “I don’t care how long it took. I’m just happy it finally happened, and now you don’t have to pretend to hate me.”

“God, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have felt to think that.”

“Well, now you have a lot to make up for,” she grinned, crossing her arms around Jordan’s neck. “Starting by wishing me a happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” Jordan said before kissing her lips and accentuating every word with a peck. “Happy. Fucking. Birthday. And. Merry. Fucking. Christmas.”

Their soft kisses rapidly turned heated. Hands exploring bodies, touching and searching. They twisted and turned until Jordan crashed (Y/N) onto the wall, kissing from her lips down to her neck, finding that one spot that made her moan. (Y/N)’s hands snaked into Jordan’s hair, gripping tightly at the base. It was passionate and feverish, and it was taking everything in them not to rip each other’s clothes off.

And it was also rudely interrupted.

“Hey, we’re gonna sing…” Luke said as he opened the door. “Woah. Didn’t think seven minutes in heaven worked this well.”

“Luke!” Jordan yelled. “What the hell?!”

“Sorry,” he snickered. “I thought you guys were only going to talk.”

“We… we did,” (Y/N) said. “We just moved on from that.”

“I’m glad,” he grinned. “But people want cake, and I’m not letting anyone get a piece until we’ve sung you happy birthday. So, get out here now. You guys can keep making out later.”

As he exited, both of them broke out into laughter as they wrapped their arms around each other. They smoothed down their clothes and their hair before walking toward the door, an aura of giddiness surrounding them.

“Will you stay after the party?” (Y/N) asked, pulling Jordan by their forearm. “After everyone’s gone back home, will you stay with me a little longer?”

“I’ll stay the rest of Christmas break if that’s what you want,” she smiled, threading her fingers through hers. “We really do have a lot to catch up on.”

Next ->

My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts or buy me a coffee to support me and my love of writingIf you’d like to be tagged in every 12DoF work, any fandom or story: click hereMake sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Taglist: @arcaurix @cheshirecat484 @venusesworld

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

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Two Trees Collapsed my House so Everythings on Haitus (yes really)

PROFILE:

Ayo, I’m Ghost.

31/PNW/Actual Cryptid

AO3: GhostHost

Twitter: @Hauntedslightly

This is a Stranger Things Account now lol

I do a lot of prompts/thoughts, everyone is more than welcome to take them and run (I wanna see the results thou 👀 ) I have the same policy with fanfic: it’s fanfic, lemme see them inspired works 👀 👀

Fanfics

Steddie

Small Town Rumors (Pseudo Dad Wayne Munson takes in a beat to shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as an owed favor to Hopper.)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

A03

Lifelines (Gareth and Steve as Secret Cousins AU)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Door Prize (Alt S4 where Dustin invites Steve to help out Hellfire during the annual Hawkins High School Holiday Bazaar. He shows up with baked goods in a Hellfire shirt, Eddie catastrophizes.)

Part One / Part Two

Cults of Personality: A Doozy of a Day (A reverse “Hellfire adopts Steve” wherein Steve + The Party Adopt Hellfire! Featuring Eddie “cannot fake being a heterosexual for his literal life” Munson and getting stuck in Hopper’s cabin.)

A03

Eddie Has ADHD Domestic Fluff AU

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Adopt a Jock (Hellfire Adopts Steve in S2 AU)

A03

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five 1 / Part Five 2

Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine

Chokechain (Steve’s parents try to force him into an arranged marriage and no one quite understands their type of abuse towards Steve AU)

Part One / Part Two

AO3 / Podfic by the amazing Rambling_Company

Steve is a completely random teacher who ends up working remotely during the pandemic and the rest of the party is famous/infamous AU

Intro / Part One: Erica Sinclair / Part Two: Eddie Munson-Corroded Coffin

Merry Crisis (AKA After Dustin tricks Corroded Coffin into a white elephant exchange at Steve’s house Eddie becomes determined to solve the Mystery that is Steve Harrington )

Part One / Part Two

AO3

Whumpverse: Eddie finds a drunk and bloody Steve Harrington in a bathtub at Tina’s party three days after Starcourt. He incorrectly comes to the conclusion Steve is in an abusive BDSM relationship)

Windows / Parking Lots

Stobin Timeloop AU (with Steddie)

Bit One / Bit Two /

Rejected Stobin Time Travel AU Bit

Hungry: Werewolf (NOT A/b/o) AU

Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three/ Jonathan Interlude

AO3

Illustrated Bits and Bobs Plaid Walls/ Blanket Forts

The actual fic on AO3

Oneshots

Indie Horror Filmmaker Eddie and Actor Steve AU Steddie

Fake Punk Steve Steddie

Questionable Behavior (aka Eddie Gets his Cafeteria Rants Thrown Right Back At Him) Steddie

Steve and Robin Hold Hands when they Fight Steddie, Stobin

Eddie Gifts Steve a Ring as a Joke Steddie

Steve is a member of the Clause (yes that Clause) Family Steddie

A03

In an alternate dimension, Eddie was Vecna’s sole survivor--This dimensions Steve crosses over to bring him home. Steddie

Werewolf AU, featuring Transmasc Gareth and protective Eddie & Steve

“Are we gonna get through a date where you don’t spend half of it trying to escape?” Steddie

“Steve had to save the guy’s life first, but once he did, Jonathan was a dead man.” Steddie + Greatwise

Eddie’s soulmark was burnt Soulmate AU Steddie

Mike is one of Steve’s kids, even if they both hate it-- Steve & Mike, Byler + Steddie implied

Fanfic tag is #0o0 fanfics

I am weak for the horse AUs

#hey look you can pin shit now #thats so much easier than coding side pages lol #THEY NEVER CENTER RIGHT

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maisonaime · 1 month

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The Star Who Listened [Azriel x Reader]

My little contribution to @starfallweek 2024 ✨

Prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them

Note: Angst with a happy ending. This prompt immediately reminded me of this quote from a very beautiful but heart wrenching spoken word poem about the power of friendship and of friends who dream together. Happy Starfall Week!

“You kept a rock on a satin pillow on your bookshelf and told me ‘It’s a star.’ You said you found in a junkyard. And it had been broken down for quite some time because too many people wished on it, and that’s a lot of pressure for one little star.” Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long, For Instance

There was no telling how long he had lain there. Long enough that the ground had given way to valleys and mountains, snow and grass, fire and rain. Long enough that the wind and the moon cooled his skin, warped from the burnout. Long enough that the bones that cracked on impact hardened in the same position they had come to rest. Long enough that he learned all of the parallels of nature.

First he learned the way the ground vibrates during an earthquake is almost indiscernible from the thundering of hooves and feet as armored men trample over him. His tears flow into the rivulets of blood from fallen warriors, which flow into the river that rages through the carrion. He wants to wash away with it.

Then he learned how the earth would split and crack and flow bright and hot, creeping across the ground like candlewax. It looks like his beautiful, ruined hands. He remembers the skin dripping off of bone when he could no longer hold the burning dreams they piled into his arms. So bright, and so beautiful, but so heavy.

Then he learned how the air would hang heavy before the sky cracks open. It reminds him of the weight that hung around his shoulders in the moments before he tumbled from the sky. Feels the despair, the failure in being unable to remain afloat. He waits for Hera’s wrath for his forsaking of Astraea.

Azriel could’ve recounted all the lessons he learned in all the hundreds of years he’d lain there. Could’ve stopped someone to tell his story, to beg pity or forgiveness, or simply for a listening ear. But how could he have proven his tale?

Who would believe that a small, rough-edged, unassuming rock was actually a fallen star?

How could he even begin to explain the thousands of dreams he had forsaken when he fell? He had seen some of those dreams dashed personally. Had seen the men whose safety had been prayed for fall screaming on their swords. Had seen a woman who wanted nothing more than a child bury seven silent born at the riverbed. Had seen the children who dreamed of their prince or princess and were instead sold into marriage beds with monsters and carted away from their homes.

So he could not move, he could not speak. He could only relive his failure and all the lessons he’d learned from it. Lessons he would never get to use. Lessons that meant nothing to anyone, because lessons don’t mean as much as dreams do.

Rocks don’t mean as much as stars.

But to you they do.

You, who look to the stars to guide you. But who also looks to the ground to see how far you have come. You who use rocks to mark the trail the stars take you along. You who collect the ones you find most beautiful, the ones that remind you of the stars.

You too have a gift for seeing the parallels in nature.

And yes, dreams are beautiful. But so are the lessons we learn when they do and don’t come true.

And so, this is how he finds himself in your pocket, after so many years in the dust. After so many years on the cold ground. The wool of your skirt is warm and soft, and it cushions Azriel’s hardened heart.

The next thing he knows he is resting on a satin pillow, high on a shelf in your room where he can watch over this strange savior. He watches day and night. Watches as you work and write and wander by day. Watches as you dream by night.

He wishes you had left him on the ground. He is stricken and terrified to be so close to another’s dreams, even as his very essence cries out to caress them. It is worse agony than he ever faced. At least before didn’t have to be so close to the humans who once depended on him.

He feels perverted because you haven’t even entrusted him with your dreams and here he is fantasizing about them. Prostrate before you trying to hold himself back, because he cannot warp your dreams with his horrible hands. Cannot bear the responsibility of ruining even one more dream. No matter how large or small.

He doesn’t even know why he is there. Why you plucked him out of his quiet obscurity and forced him to endure this proximity to such a vociferous dreamer. He loves and hates it in equal measure. Loves and hates you in equal measure.

And then the strangest thing happens one day. You are showing a friend around your room. And your friend points to him and laughs “Why do you have that rock on that pillow?” and Azriel would blush if he wasn’t a rock. But you smile knowingly and say “That’s not a rock, it’s a star I found. It fell from the sky when too many people piled their wishes onto it. Too much pressure for anything, don’t you think?” and the friend nods understandingly.

And Azriel glows. And Azriel cracks. Because he is awash with the forgiveness of a dreamer. And he remembers the child with eyes like yours but different, the first who looked up to him and wished. The one who made him want to take as many wishes as he could carry, and then take more after that.

And when the friend is gone, you reach up onto the shelf and bring down the satin pillow. You set it on your desk, and observe the crack that that splits your star down the middle. You gingerly separate the two halves, and behold the bright blue gemstone in the center.

You smile. “Do you think the weight of one person’s dreams is bearable? I promise to leave plenty of room for your own.”

Azriel glows as brightly as he once did in the sky.

#Starfall Week 2024 #acotar #azriel #fantasy #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #classic Azriel angst #because of course I did #angst #angst with a happy ending #night court #acotar crack

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ultra-violet-heart · 2 months

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7th Time Loop Volume 6: A Story About When It's Sweeter to Sleep Together

This is a canon short story written by Touko Amekawa as a Bookwalker bonus for Volume 6 of 7th Time Loop!

Based on how they have been adding bonuses sometimes, it might be added when Volume 6 gets translated by Seven Seas someday, but for now, I've translated it in English!

PLEASE DON'T REPOST OR RE-UPLOAD THIS TRANSLATION ANYWHERE.

Contains spoilers for Volume 6.

Bonus Side Story for 7th Time Loop Volume 6

A Story About When It's Sweeter to Sleep Together

Around a day has passed since the fire onboard the ship, and it was now bedtime. After taking a bath and helping with disinfecting Arnold's bedroom, Rishe planned to sleep with him again today. Arnold had this blank look on his face and seemingly planned to say something, but in the end he just went with Rishe's wishes.

Once again, Rishe would become his body pillow.

(Although...)

"What's the matter...?"

Sitting on the middle of the bed, Rishe's face showed a mysterious expression.

Arnold, who also sat on the middle of the bed, sensed her being troubled and asked her that question.

Raising her face, Rishe stared intently at Arnold, who just finished taking a bath just like Rishe.

Arnold, who usually wore tight collars to hide his scars, apparently wore comfortable clothes for bedtime. His neck, chest and collarbone could be seen from his shirt. Hugging one of the many pillows around them, Rishe then tugged on Arnold's sleeve and asked.

"Your Highness, you always use soaps with less scents, right?"

"It's less of a nuisance, you see."

Arnold made it clear he hated excessive fragrances.

Rishe raised the back of her hand to the tip of her nose and sniffed.

"Hmm."

"Rishe."

He stopped asking further questions and instead called her name, while Rishe timidly replied.

"Actually, um. Master Joel pointed it out to me this morning."

"Pointed what out?"

"..."

She looked so embarrassed, she looked down while continuing.

"He told me I have the same scent as yours, Prince Arnold..."

"..."

Arnold could probably guess how red Rishe's face was with embarrassment right now.

Thinking about it made her more embarrassed, so Rishe tried to excuse herself while clutching her nightgown hem.

"So, tonight, after my bath, I reduced the amount of lotion I put on my body, but the scent still overpowered yours, so..."

"..."

"So before I sleep here with you, I'll just wipe myself. I'll remove that scent away as much as possible, so feel free to sleep first, Your Highness... BWAAAAAAAAAH?!"

Rishe screamed as Arnold's arms reached out to her. He placed a large hand on her back, bringing her closer. Arnold then nuzzled Rishe's nape closely.

"Mmm..."

His black hair tickled Rishe's skin.

Arnold went still in that position while muttering to himself.

"...You smell sweet."

"I-is that so? I apologize, I can wipe off that scent away..."

"But."

Arnold finally pulled away, speaking composedly as if nothing happened.

"I think of it as nothing but your scent."

Before she could ponder the meaning of his words, Rishe's eyes went spinning.

"It's not uncomfortable. You don't need to do anything unnecessary like wiping anything, go to bed soon."

"B-but."

"Here. I'll snuff out the lamp soon."

Being prompted like that, Rishe hurried under the covers.

Arnold didn't seem to mind and didn't say anything as Rishe laid down next to him.

(The meaning of those words... there shouldn't be any deeper meaning on those words...)

Her body now turning warmer wasn't due to her just finishing her bath moments ago. Realizing this, Rishe turned her back away from Arnold.

(As the body temperature rises, the sweet scent on the skin from the lotion turns stronger...!)

"....?"

Of course, tonight, she planned to still be a body pillow to him, but things needed to cool down a bit.

When she asked him to not snuff out the lamp yet, Arnold respected her wish and put off from snuffing it out for some moments.

#7th time loop: the villainess enjoys a carefree life married to her worst enemy!#7th time loop #rishe irmgard weitzner #arnold hein #rishe x arnold #arnold #ArRishe #ルプなな #loop 7 kaime no akuyaku reijou wa #ループ7回目の悪役令嬢は、元敵国で自由気ままな花嫁生活を満喫する

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

Photo

Title: Alpha

Pairing: Alpha! Prince!Lloyd Hansen x Omega!Reader

Kink Prompt: Alpha

Word Count: 1,987

Summary: You try to keep your designation from the crown prince.

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, A/B/O, Mating/Heat Cycles, Regency AU, Public Sex, Smut, Darkfic, AU: Dark, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Minors DNI!

A/N: entry number seven, super late, i’m sorry!! i hope you all enjoy. divider by @firefly-graphics

The goblet crashes against the wall, its contents staining the tapestry deep crimson. You flinch at the sound of it, though you keep your hands folded primly behind you and your eyes trained on the smooth stone floor. You know better than to allow your curiosity free reign, especially here.

“Is this all you have to offer?” The prince’s sneer is evident in his tone. “Barren, withered stock?” Through your lowered lashes, you see the duke flinch, his fingers tightening around his daughter’s hand. “Your daughter is ten years my senior, Lord Thayne,” he drawls. “And she is a Beta.” Prince Lloyd spits the word out venomously. And though his vitriol is not directed at you, you feel yourself shrink anyway, your fingers tangling nervously in the coarse cotton weave of your plain skirts.

This time, you cannot force your eyes to remain locked on the gray stone. You peek up through your lashes, your breath suspended in your lungs as Lord Thayne bows his head respectfully despite the prince’s insult.

“My Prince, when your Lord father bade his court to bring forth their eligible daughters, he did not specify that only those with suitable Omega offspring come forward.” The prince’s eyes narrow, and for a fearful moment you wonder if he will reach for his sword. But his hand only twitches upon the gilded, polished wood of the throne.

“Lord Thayne, how long have you served my father?” He asks quietly, leaning forward to address the older man. Thayne casts a rather unsure look about the silent, almost empty throne room. Indeed, only his Majesty, the Prince and the King’s counsel of advisors were present, other than Lord Thayne and his red-faced daughter. You try to make yourself as small as possible, shrinking against the wall as you clutch desperately at the bundle of herbs in the pockets of your skirt.

“Two score years at least, my Prince.” Thayne answers. Confusion is written in the deep wrinkles lining his brow.

“And in that time, Lord Thayne, how often would you say the King himself has asked you to rule in his stead?” The room grows so quiet, you swear you can hear the sound of Thayne’s heart pounding as his eyes widen.

“M-my Prince, I—” The prince holds up a hand, quieting him.

“You have not ruled a kingdom, Lord Thayne. You have not even ruled a fiefdom. How can you claim to know the will of His Majesty? From the looks of it, the only place you hold counsel is your own home, and even that is lacking.”

Lord Thayne’s face is red with anger and embarrassment, his hands clutched into angry fists at his sides. You feel even worse for his daughter, who stands stoically behind him, though her eyes are glassy and wet with unshed tears. Prince Lloyd sighs, waving a dismissively.

“I grow bored of this endless parade of incompetence.” He looks to his left, where advisor Carmichael nervously wrings his hands. “Lord Carmichael. Inform my father I am finished for the day. I will see no more.”

Silently, you move through the throne room as they depart. You gather their discarded goblets, and other refuse as quickly as you can, eager to escape from the chamber. Your movements are quick and nervous. The room is muddy with scents,ball pushing up against one another. Your hand strays to the bundle of wormwood and verbena hidden in the pocket of your skirt.

The prince’s cruel insults still ring in your ears as you make your way through the vast hall, your head lowered. Though they were meant as insults, you hear them as threats. You know what the prince seeks—what he has sought relentlessly since your first heat a month ago.

The memory still dredges up needle-sharp fear. The prince pounding insistently at the door to the servant’s quarters, scratching at it until his fingernails bled and his throat grew hoarse from shouting.

“It’ll block your scent, mostly.” You hope Piha was right, her nervous instruction in the servant’s quarters weeks before would now be tested. You pluck up the pieces of shattered glass, making a basket of your apron. A sly glance through your lashes tells you Prince Lloyd has not noticed you. His rapt attention remains on the advisors, and their urgent whispers.

Good.

Madge drops a few more pieces of jagged glass into your apron, and eyes the stained tapestry with frustration.

“I shall have to have one taken from the east wing to replace it. Dispose of these,” she waves a hand at you. “There is more work to be done upon your return.”

Though you are only temporarily dismissed, you feel lighter as you leave the throne room. It worked. You feel almost giddy, heartened by your success. You dump the glass in your apron into the dirt outside the kitchens, giving it a good shake to dislodge any stubborn shards. I shall have to pick the herbs fresh once a week, so they stay fresh—So preoccupied with your thoughts are you that the crunch of dry dirt under boots goes completely unnoticed.

“You think to deceive me with weeds?” The cool voice stops you in your tracks as the hair at the back of your neck stands up. The prince watches you from the doorway his eyes dark. He runs his tongue across his lips. “Omega.”

“M-my P-prince, I—” Your eyes dart nervously around the small courtyard, searching for an exit. “I-I am not—”

“Do not lie to me.” He snarls, taking a menacing step forward. “Come here, Omega.” A miserable little whine bubbles out from between your lips as you try to resist the command, sweat beading at your brow as your body tries to move without your permission. You lose, though, releasing a shuddering breath as your feet carry you right to him. You despise the part of you that preens at his attention, the part of you that had fought and cried to be allowed to answer the prince’s desperate calls weeks earlier.

He slips a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head to the side. The modest neckline of your dress hides the untouched gland at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Slowly, the prince undoes the clasp, and you hear him hum low in his throat with approval at your unmarked skin.

“I thought myself mad,” he says, tracing the shape of your gland through your skin. “But I wasn’t, was I, Omega?” Prince Lloyd chuckles. “Though if you had your way, I would still be chasing shadows.” He undoes another few, his fingers straying across each inch of new skin he reveals. The impropriety of it makes you tremble, though your body refuses to cooperate with your desire to flee. “You are a lovely thing, aren’t you?” He murmurs appreciatively, either ignorant of or unbothered by the discomfort on your face.

Alpha hasn’t given permission.

“Pl-please, m-my Prince, I won’t tell anyone, I—” You hiccup wetly as terrified tears well in your wide eyes. “Th-the King will not stand for it!” You hope to temper his lust with the mention of his father. He is a prince, invisible to the eye of the law—but you know the price of attempting to rise above one’s station, and indeed it will be you who has to pay it. Prince Lloyd inhales you deeply, his eyes rolling half shut as he hums low in his throat.

“My Lord father is already half in his grave,” the prince sighs irreverently. “How long do you suppose he has to be angry with me?” He reaches for the tie to your stays, and you cannot stop yourself from catching his hand. Lloyd sneers at you. “You deceive your prince. You lie to him. Deny him.” As he speaks his voice grows crueler. “Lamb, I know you know the punishment for treason. The sentence is not light.”

He reaches again for your corset stays, and you whimper as he undoes them. “P-please, please, Your Majesty, n-not here—“

“Everywhere, Omega,” he hisses, “And anywhere I desire. Now, or in a fortnight, I am your King.” The prince tugs at the fabric of your dress so roughly you fear he’ll tear it and leave you with nothing to cover your shame once he’s through. His kiss is needy and rough, his tongue slipping between your trembling lips. You despise it, though the dark, wanting thing purring in the back of your mind glories in his forceful dominance.

The chaste nothings you’d shared with others before you’d been old enough to really know their meaning cannot compare to this. The gland in your neck throbs, the skin around it heating as Lloyd presses his thumb against it. You whimper into his mouth and he devours it greedily, leaving you breathless and dizzy when he pulls away. The prince’s eyes are even darker than before, the blackness of his pupils swallowing up the blue. ‘

He finishes with your stays, and the modest corset falling to the dirt between you.

“Do you think it will matter?” He asks, sliding his hand into the open fabric, pushing it from your shoulder to bare the smooth skin beneath. “What your father’s name was, the lands he never held—do you think any of it will fucking matter?” He cups your breast, dragging his thumb across swelling nipple. “My word is the truth. You are what I say you are.” Lloyd’s mustache scratches against your cheek as he rubs his face against yours, scent marking you.

The warmth simmering beneath your skin grows to a fever pitch, and suddenly your dress feels itchy and uncomfortable against you, your undergarments constricting. There is a sickening want growing in your chest as the prince’s mouth moves down the line of your throat, his teeth nipping at your flesh.

“T-the people with think me a w-whore, your Majesty,” your words end in a whimper as he withdraws quickly. “I-it is indecent, my Prince, i-it will not stand before the council—”

“The council are a bunch of doddering old fools who would rather mind their tongues than lose their heads.” He grasps your chin with one hand while he rucks up the fabric of your dress with the other. Cold stone bites into your back through the cloth as Lloyd presses you into the wall. “And once I place a crown on your pretty head, it will be treason to utter your name and the word whore in the same sentence.”

His words are meant to be soothing, to belay the fear bubbling in your chest, but they do not. You see the golden cage for what it is—a prison, a pretty one. You press your thighs together as his fingers skirt across your vulva, even as your cunt pulses with shameful wetness.

“Open for me, Lamb.” The command is impossible to deny. Your thighs part inch by reluctant inch until Prince Lloyd’s hand fits easily between them. He chuckles cruelly as he slides his fingers through your slick folds. “You see? It’s in your nature, my Omega.” He breathes the words against your lips as he claims them again. “Your nature is to serve.” He circles your traitorously swelling clit with a finger. “Serve me. To love me.”

His fingers force a sharp gasp from your trembling lips, and your own tangle in his fine tunic. You’re burning from within, burning for him, and he is stoking it. Prince Lloyd’s mouth slides over the curve of your cheek and down your throat until his teeth are pushing sharply into the skin above your mating gland.

Dizzy euphoria washes over you as your bleary eyes turn heavenward, staring up at the late summer sky.

“What is it the priests say?” He chuckles, and you taste the copper of your own blood in the air. “Let none tear asunder what the Gods have made one.”

fin

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tackytigerfic · 10 months

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I Fall On Grass

Drarry ~ T ~ 3k ~ Friends to lovers, late 30s single dads style

Written as a birthday gift for @sweet-s0rr0w who I am very lucky to have in my life. This Harry is a bit of her and a bit of me, so I won't go through all the references, but it's worth noting that Harry's potions shop in this fic is set just off Diagon, in the same location as Draco's shop in sweet's incredible fic, Nor All That Glisters. Happy birthday, matey, and here's to you.

Harry has a garden.

It’s a good one, as gardens go, long and well-drained and south-facing, all the things Harry didn’t realise mattered back when he moved into Grimmauld Place straight after the Battle, and the garden was a near-wilderness filled with brambles and overburdened fruit trees and the nightly shriekings of urban foxes.

Right down near the fence, where the grass is longest, the wildflower seeds that Harry scatters every year have brought forth flowers. When he first started sowing them, Harry didn’t know what any of them were called, just liked the colours and the smell and the wistful way the slender stems bent and danced in the breeze. But he found a good book in the library, and then read more books, and now he knows the names for all of them. He had never really liked Herbology at school but these days he can appreciate the careful magic of it, the way something grows from nothing, the way tough things can look delicate, the way things in nature can not just survive, but thrive, even when they’re neglected.

Sometimes Harry recites all the plant names to himself when he can’t sleep; yarrow, he says, which is also called seven year’s love and old man’s mustard and nosebleed and soldier’s staunchweed and Achillea millefolium. Harry read in his plant book that Achilles used it to pack wounds on the battlefield, and if it was good enough for a demigod, it’s good enough for Harry’s Sanguine Salve. It’s good for boundary setting, warding off evil, luck in love. Pretty impressive stuff for a plant Harry grew out of a seed ball he picked up half price in the little B&Q on Holloway Road.

Meadow cranesbill—that’s for love too, though maybe everything is, in its own way. Bees adore it, snails hate it, Harry thinks it’s pretty and he snips little bunches to put in the vase beside his bed so that particular delicate blue is the first thing he sees when he wakes.

Toadflax, for breaking hexes; Draco likes that one, thinks it’s useful. For Draco’s last birthday, the one he said he was too old to celebrate so no one was to get him presents, Harry had invited everyone round, including all the kids, and when Draco arrived Harry had given him his not-a-present. A protective charm; linen thread coated with wax, and three Toadflax blossoms strung along the thread, Harry’s Stasis and layers and layers of his protective magic laid over the plump little flowers with their wide mouths and full orange throats. Draco had loved it; he had laughed and laughed, told Harry he was turning into a proper hedgewizard.

He has it hanging on the door of his office in Hogwarts, James told Harry, looking disgusted. “He’s just as much of a saddo as you are, in his own way,” James had added with a sniff. “Flowers, honestly. Just ask him out, Dad.”

Just ask him out sounds easy but Harry feels like it might be impossible in practice, especially when there’s so much to lose. So Harry goes on growing flowers, and Draco keeps coming over at the weekend, and even though there is probably a limit to the amount of times that Harry can watch Draco eat a Magnum without pushing him down into the grass and kissing the taste of ice-cream out of his mouth, he hasn’t quite reached that yet. So it’s fine.

Read the rest of I Fall On Grass on AO3

Inspired by @drarrymicrofic prompt Endlessly

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry microfic #rowing and writing

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adventuringblind · 2 months

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Mend Me

Lando Norris X Reader

Genre: Magical Realism via Superpowers (kind of), A mix of fluff and angst

Summary: After a long history of being running and hiding, she finds someone who isn't afraid of her. Enough to risk it all for him. Feat Oscar and Carlos being a chaotic duo for once.

Warnings: A tad dehumanizing (if you really squint), mentions of hospitals, mentions of blood/wounds/weapons/bruises, reader literally bring someone back to life,

Notes: This is incredibly experimental. I like these kinds of AU's that incorporate racing still. It's fun to see different concepts come to life in a normal world! I'm currently working on a few A/B/O fics and a few other experimental things :)

Side Note: and another request! I had so much fun writing these two and this story in general! I'm hoping to write more like this, or for these two specifically, in the future!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

This is not the life she envisioned for herself. The running, hiding, forging papers to try and keep herself safe.

Stupid unnatural abilities that she never asked for. A danger rating that started at three and moved up steadily as these abilities expanded. Classified within a unique group that tends to be more isolated due to their nature.

A healer is what her new papers say, a danger rating of five. Her armband required across the globe remains the same color. Unassuming and weak, which is how she needs to be perceived.

Powers, abilities, magic, auras, whatever you want to call them, manifest in different ways. Some are element based, some a material, some deal with things like the mind and soul. Smaller groups include shapeshifters, psychics and mediums, shadow work, and her own group.

Those who deal in life and death are not to be messed with. The healers and the reapers. Which, you would think wouldn't be dangerous. She was lucky enough to not be sentenced to a life in captivity. The reapers can decide who dies when, if they are strong enough. Usually prompted by the healers if they person is out of reach. It's a peaceful passing. Yet that doesn't stop people from fearing that kind of power and control.

No, she's a healer. Lower levels are kept as doctors and nurses. Knitting wounds together, feeling the pain of others, being able to x-ray a body without a machine, are all useful.

Raising people from the dead? yeah, that tends to freak people out.

Her wound transference started small. A scraped knee on a friend became her own, but without a mere itch. Soon it progressed into deep lacerations which bled less on her and healed faster. Then it was bigger injuries like broken bones and concussions.

Training was required for anyone with abilities. In order to see where they fall in rating, where they can be utilized, and make sure they have control over the chaos.

She spent ample time in the local hospital with the other healers. The paramedics had rushed inside. The body nearing death. They flatlined, mangled in different ways, yet she still managed at the age of sixteen to bring them back.

The amount of pain she was in was nearly unbearable. She'd almost killed herself in the process.

Her rating shot up to seven after that and she was whisked away to a facility for people like her. They moved her up to nine after another year. She'd managed to bring back someone who'd been dead at least a day.

She's a necromancer.

Whatever she is, they all knew they couldn't stay in that place. Inevitably escaping with their combined powers. She'd never run so fast. She was provided new classification papers and sent off to a different country.

Which is how she found herself here. Traveling and healing despite the prior adversity. She likes this job, specifically because she's strong enough to manage drivers and personnel in the paddock who hurt themselves with their own abilities, but not enough to look conspicuous. Which is a fine line she's toeing, but she makes it work.

She has regulars. Max Verstappen frequently asks her to come around. Metal tends to slice him when he's not grounded and specifically more agitated. Lando has a tendency to hit himself in the head with things when he's excited and the telekinesis decides he needs something right that second. Carlos shapeshifts into a bear, which comes with its own set of problems (she didn't know she'd have to be a vet, also). Then there is Alex, who always seems to be summoning feral street animals.

The year she started; she was nineteen. Lando and Carlos were teammates then. The Brit a in his sophomore year of the sport. The number of bruises on both drivers was ridiculous due to Lando randomly pushing and pulling random objects was ridiculous. Carlos even joked he might have been doing it on purpose at the time.

It was 2021, and the encouragement of Daniel, that got him to ask her out. An invitation she accepted. It was nice, but there was that lingering fear in the back of her mind that he would figure her out and turn her in.

A night out in 2022 is what changed everything for her. The ability to trust and a longing for connection driving her to spend the night with him.

Now, her suppressor band is strong enough that she's only supposed to wear it for twenty-four hours maximum. She'd put it on when she woke up the morning prior and hadn't taken it off sense. Lando had asked if she wanted to take it off, let their energies meld together. A privilege only people like them have. But she'd declined and he hadn't pushed.

She slept in. The best sleep she'd had in a while, mind you. Yet the pain firing through every nerve of her body had her crying. She hadn't cried in pain in so long. This was entirely new to her, and if she's honest with herself, terrifying to experience.

~~~~~

Lando stirs beside her. His hands cup her face and eyes scan her body as he attempts to understand what's wrong. She's unresponsive and he panics. Enough to call Carlos and ask if it's something to do with her classification of power. She could've overdone it, or it's the residue of a different injury she took on herself. Whatever the case, he needs help.

"Lando, mate, she's a five right?"

"Yeah? why?"

"Suppressor bands for five and up tend to be stronger than four and below."

Lando pauses for a second. "Aren't you a seven?"

"And I take mine off in intervals." Carlos' explanation makes sense. Enough for Lando to calm himself and locate the chain on her wrist. "Just take it off and see if it helps. It might not be immediate though so give it about ten minutes and then call me back."

"Thank you, Carlos."

"Not sure what we'd do without her. Maybe kill ourselves? So, you better keep her alive, mate!"

Lando ends the call. Her body seizing in his arms in a scary kind of way that makes him want to vomit.

The chain doesn't come off easily. The second he manages to unclasp it; she becomes deadweight in his arms. But he doesn't get the kind of relief he is hoping for from it.

The aura she has around her is strong and intense. The kind he's never felt before. It's not nauseating like when Carlos or Max is high on emotion, this is serene. Like he's never felt better in his entire life. Which is strange, considering how strong it is...

He calls Carlos back. This cannot be normal for a five. The fact he has it off, but she's sweating and gripping his hand like she's in turmoil makes him wonder.

"Did it work?"

"Uh - possibly?"

There is a brief pause. "What does that even mean?"

"Okay, so, energy of a five healer, is it supposed to be this intense? Cause I feel like I'm on cloud nine and she's still in pain." He wishes he could reverse it, just get her to settle and not look like she might die until he can help her.

"I'm coming over."

It takes Carlos too long to get to his room. His anxiety is getting worse by the second. She's finally exhausted herself enough to fall asleep, but her energy is still permeating the room in a way he can't describe.

Carlos nearly falls over when he steps inside the door. "You like this?!"

"I feel fantastic!"

"Well good, we know you have a soulbond now. We'll talk more about that later. I'm going to pass out if she doesn't have a suppressor on."

Lando whines, but he knows Carlos won't last like this. He just hopes something reset and bought them time to figure it out. He puts the chain back on her wrist and Carlos immediately looks better.

"Verdict?"

"She's not a five, that's for sure." He inspects the chain and her arm band. Carlos' own brown band is still around his bicep. The shapeshifter colors. Lando's is yellow for the energy category, Max's is red for the secondary elements, and Alex's is brown with a green stripe in the middle for the animal handlers. Her band is white with a black ring in the middle, the reapers are the opposite. The number attached to her band is a five. It's the same as a legal document.

Lando snatches the band off of where it lays next to his own. Sure enough, when he flips is around, A different number is crudely patched over enough that nobody could make it out unless staring for an obscene amount of time.

Lando hands the flipped band to Carlos. "She's a fucking ten."

Carlos hums and examines the elastic in his hands. He then fishes a suppressor ring out of his pocket and switches hers for the one he brought. The energy is still there, but the Spainard doesn't look like he's going to be sick anymore. Lando claims this as a win.

On the other hand, he can't fathom why she didn't trust him enough to tell him. "I don't understand-" The crack in his voice is embarrassing.

Carlos gets him to sit down next to him on the edge of the bed. He places Lando's hand on her shin and they watch the tension she was holding in her body disappear.

"Have you ever seen how the treat anyone six and above?"

"No... you never talk about it."

Carlos sighs. It's a pained one; eyes distant as he recalls memories. "Fives toe the line of being stronger than the people deem safe. These universal numbers used to classify us aren't just for the amount of energy we exert, it's what we can do as well. I shapeshift into a bear, which can be destructive, but I can also do it with fewer breaks and for longer stints."

"What does that have to do with any of this?" Frustration now evident.

"Relax, I'm getting there." Carlos gives him a pointed look and quiets himself. "Six and above tend to have more restrictions. They want to make sure we can't cause any chaos or start wars or something. Reapers are immediately labeled as tens. Healers start small but increase depending. I met a good few back in school that ended up being taken away for some unknown reason."

"So, she's a ten, meaning she can do what?"

"I'm not sure... but she is definitely at risk if anyone were to find out."

Carlos stays with him. Explains to him what is probably happening due to the extreme suppression of this kind of energy. He explains this soulbond thing. How their energies mesh well together which is what was giving him that euphoric feeling earlier. It's not rare, Lando is only a three himself, but for her it is because of the intensity.

It's around midnight when she wakes up, panting and drenched in sweat. Whatever these higher energies are, the seem to communicate for them. Carlos gets next to her and switches the suppressors again. He's giving her the familiarity in a stressful situation with no words.

"Fuck - Lan, I'm so sorry!" Her voice is hoarse and cracked. He wants to tell her that he's fine, that he understands, but words aren't there. Not when she looks this sick.

He opts for the physical contact route instead. The gentle kind, so he doesn't scare her. This hug feels different than any he's had before, but he assumes it's because his aura is actively seeking hers. "We have a soulbond. Our energies mesh together quite nicely."

"So, you know now? You're not going to turn me in?"

"Absolutely not! Carlos has been giving me a crash course and everything. I'm sorry that you are treated so horribly..."

She grips onto his shirt and sobs harder than she has in her entire life. It's broken, and Lando can't help but wonder when the last time somebody cared for her and her abilities alike is. "I'm not leaving you, okay? I might be a three, but I'll do my best to keep you safe." And he means it. He has every intention of keeping her out of the clutches of those who would see her locked away.

~~~~~

Lando convinces her to quite working under the FIA and let him take care of her instead. She still attends to the drivers since she can, because she wants to.

It's never a surpise when she receives a phone call from across the paddock asking for her assistance. It's more fun this way, not having the constant pressure of people watching her for any semblance of too much power.

Carlos keeps a close eye on her when she looks on the verge of overexerting her power or suppressing for too long. He had her and Lando set alarms for when to take it off and put it on again.

2023 comes around, and both her and Lando are more relaxed this year. Car wide, the Brit would rather die, but otherwise, he's fine.

Oscar is a rating six water manipulater. Carlos makes sure he knows where to find him if he ever needs anything. The FIA tends to get on the case of higher ratings.

It's because of that rating that Oscar manages to figure out she's not what she says she is. Lando gets wildly defensive when the Aussie brings it up. She just laughs when he threatens to throw his teammates dinner into his face.

They all get along nicely. Lando manages to not send random objects at Oscar despite various threats, and she still finds herself in every garage.

Then Vegas happens, and everything changes.

The crash replays on the screen, but she can't hear it over the sound of her heart. Their soulbond had only gotten stronger, she can feel his pain and discomfort now because of it.

As an established healer, Jon lets her tail him to where Lando is. The medical team only lets her go so far.

But it's worse than anyone is letting on. She can feel his heart slowing, the internal bleeding more than they originally thought.

He's still alive when the race ends, but he won't be for much longer. They won't let her inside. Oscar and Carlos can barely get past the front desk to where her and Jon are sitting outside the door. Doctors are still working away at a problem they haven't found yet.

"They won't let you in?" Carlos gives a look of utter confusion. "Wouldn't it be helpful to them?"

"Yes, but I'm too emotional to be in an operating room as a five."

Oscar's face lights up. "How far does your energy reach?"

"Decently, why?"

"If me and Carlos take our suppressors off, then we can blame the energy on that."

The three of them take off their suppressor in unison with Jon watching the end of the hall in case someone comes around the corner.

The wall makes it hard to navigate. But she knows Lando's aura like it's her own. She's mapped his entire body, healed him more times than she cares to remember.

The flatline of the moniter rings through her ears.

She finds his heart. Where he's bleeding out, where his ribs are cracked and splitting him open.

And she fixes it.

Lando sits up on the table, heat beating erratically, but he's alive. The doctors don't know what to do with themselves.

They open the door. The only one there is Jon, teary-eyed, but not from sadness despire what he says.

~~~~~

Lando is high on painkillers. Though he wishes his human healer were here to make it better. He just wants to meld with her, thank her without words.

Jon had filled him in on the details. It's not safe for her at the moment, but his teammate has her, and Carlos is on his way back to Lando after helping get her settled.

The Spainard drives him back. Even stopping for food on the way since none of them have eaten and Carlos has this perpetual need to store food for the winter. Lando always gets him honey as a joke.

"When you see her, don't panic. There's blood we have yet to clean up from the incisions they made. But it's mostly just pain and exhaustion."

Lando nods and opens the door. The sight is odd, more so than scary. She's on the bed, pale, and covered in different fluids. Her mouth is open, and Oscar is dripping tiny water droplets inside. Her supressor bracelet has been ditched, but her ring is on so the other two can be around her.

Her eyes drift towards him the closer he gets. "Lan!" She tries to sit up but fails after two seconds and yelps in pain.

"If you'd just take the water and stay put, then you might not be in as much pain." Oscar scolds her, but she just rolls her eyes.

Lando crawls onto the bed next to her. His hand drifts over where he heart is, and he places her hand over his. "I'm alive because of you. I can't - I just - I don't understand why they didn't let you in. You're not dangerous. You saved me."

"Lan, it's okay... I'm happy being considered dangerous as long as I have you around."

"Ay! What are me and Oscar then?!"

"Rivals, according to the media." Oscar muses and drops another bead of water into her mouth.

"That was planned and executed well, okay, we make great rivals." Carlos nearly jams some kind of pastry into Oscar's face, but he opens his mouth just in time. "What am I going to do with you three?"

Lando doesn't have the energy to ponder the question. Him and his lover end up falling asleep at some point. Both of them are still in pain and in desperate need of rest.

He wakes up to a call the next morning from Jon. His trainer is adamant about speaking to all four of them.

Yeah, they all get lectured about how he had to go get tested and was humiliated by the hospital staff when they laughed at Jon's own ability. "Aparently, making people sneeze isn't an ability. But I'm happy you're okay, Lando. I would've missed you, buddy."

"I second that!"

"And a third."

Everyone looks at her expectantly. Some kind of response swirls around in her head. Maybe witty or sarcastic with the way she's smiling to herself.

"If you died, Lan, I would've never forgiven myself." Her energy taps on his. It envelopes them, warm and comforting. Their bond still growing stronger as their souls dance together around them.

"Gross, you two should get a room."

"This is our room!"

"Your point?"

Carlos and Oscar can't stop their laughing fit. Delerious from the long night they had previously and little sleep then managed to get. Still, Lando goes back to being in his own world.

He's wrapped up in her, and she's wrapped up in him. Exactly as it was intended to be.

"Reckon you could make an undead army?"

"Osc - I swear to god-!"

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 4 months

Text

Enclosed

When he's far away at sea, Tom finds himself infinitely grateful that you found work at a photography studio.

Author's Note: This fic, two days late? Noooooo.... Also! I've inadvertently made all the Tommy B smuff fics connected, so this can either be read alone or as a sequel to "After the War"

Pairing: Tom Bennett x Reader (2nd person)

Warnings: masturbation (m), lingerie, references to oral sex (f receiving) and p in v sex

This work is a part of my 12 Days of Smuff event! Read the rest here.

My Masterlist

Enclosed

Prompt: Letters & Lingerie

Tom lay in his bunk with a cocky smile on his lips. He cast his eyes around the rest of the room, finding only one or two other sailors, both asleep and far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to hear him.

This ritual was well worth skipping his mid-day meal.

He weighed the envelopes in his hands for a moment. It felt heavier than it usually did – that boded well for him. After taking a moment to inhale the perfume you had lovingly sprayed on the envelope, Tom dug into your letter.

Tom, my strapping husband,

You said in your last letter that your life in His Majesty’s Nave was ‘fucking boring.’ Shall I tell you how exciting my life back home is?

My uncle has changed the studio’s opening to eleven in the morning so he can get some sleep after staying up all night as an air raid warden. Which means I must find a way to fill that time, assuming I am not also sleeping as I often do after spending a night crammed into a shelter with every screaming and crying child in the whole goddamn neighborhood.

But when I am not sleeping, I often find myself doing the chores that Mum no longer has the energy to do. I swear, if I didn’t do the shopping and cooking, we’d all be eating nothing but bread. Since dad left, she just hasn’t been the same. I think him leaving again reminds her of the last war. He went missing for seven months, seven! I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for her.

Don’t you ever put me through that, Tom Bennett. Not even for a week. I swear I’d come to France myself to drag you back here by your ear.

Now that’s out of the way, I do have something somewhat exciting to tell you. My uncle’s been letting me use the camera a lot more than before he signed up to be a warden. I even got to do a family’s christening portrait all on my own! He wants me to be able to handle the studio on my own, should he ever get called up (not that we’re even slightly concerned about that, considering his age). Or – oh no. That’s not really why he’s doing it, is it? He wants me to be able to run it in case one day he doesn’t come back after the sirens go off, doesn’t he? I’m going to try not to think about that.

I brought it up because he’s allowed me to start using the portable camera rather than the big one in the studio. This way, I won’t always have to be nervous that he will walk in on me when I take pictures for you.

Speaking of, I think you’ll like what I enclosed today. I borrowed Mum’s, just as you asked.

Your adoring wife,

Tom stared at those two wonderful words. Husband. Wife.

He wished he’d been able to give you the ceremony you deserved. Not simply standing in the register office with all your parents looking on with half-hearted smiles before being rushed out almost immediately so the next couple could come in. You deserved so much more than that, roses and a band and a grand hall and all that shit. Once he was home, for good, he’d give it to you. All of it. Most of all, a big honeymoon. Not the one night in a shabby local hotel your parents, your uncle, and even his sister Lois had helped pitch in to get you. Only for him to have to leave again the next day.

The fact that he was leaving you as his wife instead of just as his best girl made it somehow so much harder.

But this helped.

He started by writing his reply to the actual content of your letter. If he started with the pictures, he knew he wouldn’t give a shit about whatever you’d written by the end.

My sweet darling wife,

I am so very sorry that you have things to do all day. Whenever I feel bad about sitting at the prow and staring at the endless ocean, I will remind myself that you are enduring such tortures as shopping and taking undoubtedly lovely family portraits. It will remind me that I should be eternally grateful that the king himself has sent me on the world’s most boring cruise.

Joking aside, I am very sorry you’re stressed. Give your mum my love and tell your uncle that I’m counting on him to look after you while I’m gone, and thank him for his good work (with the warden thing, not the photography). Please take care of yourself. I know you’re willing to stretch yourself thin for the people you love, but I love you too, and I’ll be pissed if I come home to a wife too exhausted to even fuck me.

I actually might not be bored for a few days. They’re sending us to do a job, even if I will be stuck in a rowboat for a day, maybe more. Ah well, at least I won’t be the one rowing, at least.

I’m very happy about you getting more responsibility at the studio. Of course, most of that is for selfish reasons, but I’m still proud of you, love. Can’t wait to see what you’ve enclosed. Oh and before I forget, I’d like to request something… red in your next letter.

Your proud husband,

Tom Bennett

He never wrote as much as you did, but he knew you didn’t mind. You didn’t want any details about the horrible, upsetting things he’d seen, it would only worry you too much. Besides, you knew what he really loved about your letters.

After taking another deep breath, Tom set the paper aside and finally allowed himself to look at your pictures.

“Oh, you gorgeous, gorgeous girl…”

The pearl necklace you wore was a little off-center, but Tom hardly noticed it. He was solely focused on what you were wearing—a full corset, in some kind of shiny, light-colored fabric. The top of it only held half of your perfect tits inside, allowing him to admire their smooth curves. What he wouldn’t give to hold them in his hands. Once he got home, he’d do just that for an hour at least.

Over your delightfully cinched waist, you’d worn a sheer petticoat with ruffles at the bottom – exactly like one you might have worn under your wedding dress, if you’d been able to wear one. He’d get you that, too. Even if only to go to your uncle’s studio to take pictures. Tom wouldn’t need to rent a morning coat, as he’d just wear his uniform, so he could spend extra getting you the perfect dress.

Maybe you could even redo the wedding night.

Tom surveyed the room again before lying back and sliding his hand below his waistband. He’d done this so many times that now, he got hard the instant he picked up the envelope, so he was still relatively proud of his restraint, and was sure you would be, too.

He started slowly, imagining slipping the petticoat off you. Imagine how you’d shiver as his finger ever so slightly brushed your skin. The sounds you’d make – sighs and little whimpers. He loved those little whimpers so much.

He let out his own soft sigh as he began to move his hand faster. Once the petticoat was down, he’d kneel in front of you and make quick work of your shoes, then take his sweet time unbuckling and lowering your stocking.

God, how he missed those legs, shapely and soft. He loved touching them, kissing them, laying between them. His hips kicked up as he imagined himself kissing his way up them when he got home, all the way up to that delightful place where your knickers dug into the little dip between your leg and your hips.

It was hard to hold back his moan at the thought.

He’d lower your knickers first, he decided. So he could bury himself in you until he was satisfied. Yours was a taste he craved as badly as he did for decent cigarettes. He sometimes woke from dreams of devouring you, thinking he could still taste you on his tongue.

Only when your legs were shaking would he stand, prowling behind you with his hands on your waist. He’d kiss your neck as he untied your corset. Or unhooked? He didn’t know, but he hoped it was untie – it was sexier.

The pearls would stay on the whole time as he kissed you, touched you, fucked you. He’d put them between your teeth to help you soften your cries and moans, then watch them fall back on your chest when you came. You always came with your mouth wide open as you screamed his name.

That memory of your voice and the way your nails would dig into his skin is what drove him over the edge, spilling himself into his hand.

Tom lay there, reliving his imaginings, until a bell rang, signaling it was time to get in the rowboats. He made sure to wipe his hand on the mattress of one of the rich cunts who mocked him and the other working-class boys before leaving, his own letter in hand.

He stopped by the room where they kept their post on his way to the rowboats, quickly folding his paper to stuff it into an envelope. A smile crept over his features as he addressed it to ‘Mrs. Tom Bennett,’ before filling out the rest. He was glad that you were living in your parent’s house, but he couldn’t wait until he could get a place just for the two of you.

Lastly, he wrote the date in the corner of the envelope, as you always liked to know when he received yours, so you could be sure to include all the relevant gossip he’d missed.

26 May, 1940

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett fic #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennet fanfiction #tom bennet smut #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x you #world on fire #ewan mitchell #12 days of smuff

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steddieasitgoes · 4 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 17 Prompt: Accidental Kink Discovery

Tags: Established Relationship, Questionable Use Of Christmas Lights, Light Bondage? (In both senses of the word lol), Steve Harrington Is A Tease, Eddie Munson Is A Menace, Implied Smut, Italian Steve

wc: 1158 | Rating: M

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve’s in the kitchen, eyes glued to the simmering pot of sauce. He can hear his Nonna’s voice saying “eyes on sauce” over and over again, intermixed with the sound of the wooden spoon swatting through the air whenever he disobeyed. It’s been years since she passed, even longer since they stood shoulder to shoulder in her home in Italy, but the memory feels as fresh as ever.

It was a fight to get her to jot down the recipe for him all those years ago. Grumbling the whole time about how “recipes live in hearts not on paper.” But he’s glad he went toe-to-toe with her then. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t be here, christening his and Eddie’s new pot in their new kitchen with the smell of his Nonna’s famous sauce.

He’s carefully stirring the pot when he hears a crash, a slew of curses follows shortly after before Eddie’s panicked voice cuts through it all.

“Steve!”

Sorry, Nonna, Steve thinks, my boyfriend is more important than sauce.

Abandoning the sauce without even bothering to turn the burner off, Steve goes sliding into the room. He skids across the floor, spatula brandished in the air sending mariner sauce all over the place. On a path directly towards Eddie and their seven-foot tree, Steve flails his arms and manages to cling to their lamp to keep himself from knocking everyone, including their sleeping cat Bilbo over.

“What’s wrong?” Steve pants, already out of breath from his short trip and the anxiety building in his gut. He closes his eyes, hands flying to the top of his head as he tries to catch his breath.

“These stupid fucking lights,” Eddie groans. “I swear they come out of the box tangled!”

When he opens his eyes, he expects to find the traditional mess of tangled lights he’s grown accustomed to. A giant knot, a few loose strands, maybe Eddie frustratingly tugging at them making things worse. What he finds is so, so, so much worse.

Eddie’s standing in the middle of their living room. Naked Christmas tree to his left, a clutter of boxes to his right. The colored lights that are supposed to be strung on the tree, are wrapped around him from head to toe. Looped around his ankles, winding up his legs. His torso was a tangled mess with strands going every which way, creating knots here and there. There’s a strand pinning his wrists together in front of him and another that looks dangerously too tight around his neck.

“Christ,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. “Are you sure you didn’t fight them or something?”

“No!” Eddie hisses. His attempt at breaking free is thwarted, strands tightening with every little move he makes. “I was trying to untie them and then this happened.”

“If you say so,” Steve hums, slightly enjoying the sight of Eddie all tied up. It almost looks like he was trying to be the Christmas tree. Steve says as much.

“I was not trying to be the tree!” Eddie huffs, struggling against the lights again. “And if you don’t help untangle me right now. You’re going to be decorating that damn tree by yourself!”

“Alright, alright,” Steve laughs, hands thrown up in casual surrender. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, I’ll help you.”

Steve knows Eddie must be frustrated when he doesn’t make his usual “I’m not wearing any” joke. Closing the distance between them, Steve assesses the mess from his new angle. He walks around Eddie a few times, trying his best to find the end of one of the strands but there’s no use — he’s a tangled mess.

“You really got yourself in quite a pickle, Eds.” Steve whistles to himself as he shakes his head. With no clear sign of how to untangle him, he opts for plan B: start at the bottom and work his way up.

Slowly and carefully he drops to his knees to start working on freeing Eddie’s feet. His fingers barely graze one of the strands of light, fingers ghosting over his exposed ankle when a high-pitched gasp falls from his lips. Steve pulls away and leans back on his heels as he gazes up at Eddie.

“You okay up there?” he asks, brow raised as he takes in the sight of Eddie’s blushing face.

“Mhm, yep, peachy,” Eddie says, eyes closed so he doesn’t have to look at Steve.

Steve hums and gets back to work. It takes a bit of patience and clever thinking, but Steve manages to free Eddie’s foot from one of the strands. With the end free, it’s easy to untangle the other leg until he hits another knot near Eddie’s thigh.

He tries the same approach, needling his fingers under the strand before wiggling them around in the hopes of loosening in. It works for a moment before Eddie’s body twitches against Steve’s touch and the strand tightens again. When he looks up to scold him, he finds Eddie’s head tipped back, lower lip wedged between his teeth.

Oh.

“Are you… Is this turning you on right now?” Steve asks, incredulously.

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

Steve doesn’t wait for a reply and instead lets his fingers trail up, up, up Eddie’s thigh until they’re settled just above the knot that’s formed. Eddie jerks at the touch and the strand tightens. This time he’s not quick enough to muffle the moan that slips from his lips.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he groans, arms thrashing in front of him as he tries to free his wrists from their constraints. “Would you quit teasing and free me already?

Steve hums in contemplation before shaking his head. “I don’t think you really want that. I think you purposely tied yourself up.”

“That’s stupid, why would I—“ Eddie’s words are cut off by a choked-out sob when Steve moves in closer, nose nudging the hem of his sweat pants.

“You know, if you wanted to try being tied up you could have just asked,” Steve says, nuzzling his face in the crease of Eddie’s thigh. He’s careful to avoid the bulb on the strand. The last thing they need is a trip to the ER because he got too excited and stabbed himself. He’d never live it down. “M’always down to try new things.”

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie moans as one of Steve’s hands slip under the waistband of his shorts, the other tugs at the loose end of the strand of lights, tightening it so Eddie’s body lurches forward again. “Just to be straight with you, Stevie, I really wasn’t trying to start something.”

“I believe you,” Steve says, glancing up at Eddie. “But I think we need to finish what you accidentally started, don’t you think?”

“Only if I get a turn after.”

“Deal.”

In the end, they end up with one ruined dinner (Sorry Nonna) and a new kink to add to their ever-growing list.

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie smut #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #eddie munson smut #eddie smut #steve harrington #steve smut #steve harringotn fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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gapsbetweenlovers · 1 year

Text

shivers

——

You're awoken by the sound of the shower being turned off, a muffled thump followed by residual droplets of water pattering onto the floor and down the gurgling drain. The room surrounding you is soaked in golden sunshine, your vision blearily adjusting to the blinding December morning. The sheets beneath you are warm despite the frigid temperature outside, and the sun manages to forge past the thin layer of cracked ice on the window panes, casting geometric shapes of light across the bed.

If you had to guess, you'd say it's sometime after seven. Luckily, it's Saturday, and you don't have any other plans except burrowing in the warmth of fleece blankets and a heated apartment. Your eyes flutter shut at the satisfying thought. It would be nice if your boyfriend could join you in the pleasure of doing absolutely nothing, but work loves to cruelly snatch him from your grasp. Weekends never really exist with him.

You turn onto your side and shiver when the blanket slips past your shoulders. Even with the heat cranked and hanging heavily in the air, being close to the windows causes the tiniest draft to waft through unknown passageways.

Behind you, the bathroom door opens with a familiar creak. The carpeted floor creaks similarly when Carmen walks around, probably getting ready for a shift at work. It feels good not to move, so you just listen intently. Dresser drawers clunk shut, fabrics rustle, and a pill bottle of painkillers rattle, the noises causing your consciousness to fully float to the surface.

It's a routine you've become accustomed to. In a matter of time, Carmen will jangle his restaurant key and leave with a kiss on your forehead before slipping out the door into the vast metropolis of early birds and breadwinners. Then you'll get more hours of shut-eye, missing the body curled beside you, before aimlessly wandering around the lonely apartment until evening darkens the sky and your burnt-out boyfriend comes home.

It's worth it when he sees you and flashes that rare, carefree smile, two little dimples indenting his cheeks.

What you don't expect this morning, however, is a prominent dip in the mattress and a wonderfully warm hand spreading over your bare back. You mumble a sleepy noise into the pillow before stretching every limb in your lax body until you tremble from an instant rush of endorphins.

"Morning," Carmen says quietly. "You got the shivers?"

You grin tiredly, rubbing at your eyes. "Yeah. Are you leaving?"

"No." His hand smooths down your spine, prompting more shivers, the pleasant kind. "There was a blizzard last night, so everything's closed because of the roads."

It makes sense. The forthcoming whiteout was all anyone talked about the past week. It must have decided to arrive early, and you're grateful you avoided driving anywhere and could sleep through the roaring gusts of winter.

"Mm... I have you to myself for the entire weekend?"

"Looks like it."

"Hallelujah," you say, ecstasy coursing through your veins.

Carmen laughs and lightly scratches at your scalp, the lulling motion forming goosebumps all over your skin. Shivering again, you burrow deeper into your blanket cocoon like a hibernating rabbit. You eventually hear Carmen get up and go about his morning. You wish you could convince him to seek shelter back in bed, but you know that he'll be wide awake until nightfall once he's up. It doesn't take long for you to drift back to sleep, sighing contently at the mere thought of two days spent snowed in with Carmen. No work or outside obligations, just you and him alone in the cozy warmth of your shared apartment.

When you awake for the second time, the sun has opted to hide behind a grey gloom for the remainder of the day. The room is still light enough to see your surroundings, thanks to the piercingly white snow scene visible beyond the sheer curtains blowing by the humming space heater. There's also a faint glow coming from the TV opposite the bed. The weather channel is droning on in the background, with repetitive talk of hazardous road conditions and powerful winds threatening the entirety of Chicago. Heaps of snow currently block the sidewalks, halting most modes of transportation.

Your senses pick up more sounds every second that passes. Snowplows rumble past every so often. The heater occasionally rattles from years of use. The wind howls fiercely, a scattered mosaic of snowflakes sticking to the windows.

And then there's… crunching.

Bizarrely enough, it almost startles you. You're out of it, the recent hazy winter mornings amplifying your drowsiness so much that you forgot you live with someone. And that certain someone is eating a bowl of cereal right next to you in bed, a plaid robe draping off his otherwise bare body (save for a pair of white briefs snug on his lower half), hair still damp from his shower and falling over his forehead like tendrils of a cute, curly plant. A corkscrew willow, perhaps.

You shift your head to watch Carmen. He's cross-legged and mindlessly watching the meteorologist on TV point at a weather map of the Midwest, blotches of blues and purples sheathing almost every county. His spoon hovers over his bowl of Fruity Pebbles, dry because milk hurts his poor, fucked-up stomach. Plus, the crunchiness of Fruity Pebbles is the best part; there's no need to ruin that delight by making them soggy.

"You're still here," you mumble, resting a hand on his thigh.

A sliver of you expected him to face the brutal winter and somehow make it to the restaurant because he's a workaholic and possesses a dire need to satisfy customers. But he probably knows well enough that no one in their right mind is stepping outside today, not even for the best deli sandwich in the Chicago area.

Carmen's leg jerks upward, his attention focusing on you. "Jesus, you're cold. How are you still freezing? You were literally wrapped in the blankets like a burrito for hours."

You let out a cat-like yawn before asking, "What time is it?"

"Almost ten."

You stiffen, not realizing time flowed by so quickly already. "Oh. Whoops."

He shakes his head with fondness. "You hungry, sleepyhead? I can make you something."

"No, don't leave," you plead, frowning when he moves a fraction of an inch.

"I'll be back," he replies, squeezing your hand still on his thigh, a weak attempt to keep him here. "Let me whip you up a couple of pancakes."

"Wait. Can we just cuddle for a bit? We never get the chance to in the mornings."

Carmen goes silent, taking one last bite of cereal before setting his bowl on the nightstand and scooting into your personal space. His body radiates heat better than any furnace could compete with. He looks younger with his disheveled hair and robe you've only seen him wear on Sundays when he's cooking a five-star breakfast for two. It's weirdly attractive to see a world-renowned chef confined to a tiny apartment, to see him cook for you in a vulnerable, domestic way. Who else knows you like a dollop of salsa on your scrambled eggs? Or how to cook bacon to the perfect crispness because you like it even if he doesn't? The intimacy of sharing a space and seeing a soft side of him no one else has makes your heart almost give out just thinking about it.

You slump into Carmen's open embrace, feeling his arms wrap around your shoulders and squeeze tightly. You pull the blanket up higher until only your head is showing. Carmen purposefully chews obnoxiously next to your ear, making you kick his shin and grumble, "You're so annoying."

He swallows and laughs, nuzzling his face in your neck. His hair tickles, and one of your arms goes numb under his back. This isn't going as planned. Coolness keeps finding pockets to writhe its way under the blanket, making you groan frustratedly.

"Can you just lay on top of me?" you ask.

Carmen makes a funny face. "What?"

"Suffocate me, but gently," you elaborate. "Like, just lay your body on top of mine. That sounds like heaven right now. Warm me up, Carmy."

"You're a wacko."

"Is that a yes?"

Your prayers are answered as Carmen maneuvers both your bodies so that he can settle on top of you, chest to chest, without the possibility of getting any closer. He's practically melding with you. Sure, it's a little more complicated to breathe, but if you died here, you wouldn't have too many complaints about the circumstances of your passing.

Oh, his natural heat and the smell of his aftershave liquify your soul entirely. Your limbs turn to jelly as his cheek rests flat against your collarbone, the addictive and potent citrus scent right under your nose. One day, you're going to bite him if he keeps smelling this glorious after a shower.

His left hand blindly searches for yours, and when he finds it, he intertwines his fingers with yours. "Warm?" he murmurs, voice slurring from… sleep? Shit, look what you've done. Now, there's no way you're both getting out of bed before noon, but maybe that was your master plan all along.

"So, so warm," you say, legs twining with his. "And happy."

You feel his small smile against your skin, punctuated with a kiss. "Good. No more shivers."

——

#the bear fx #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #the bear fanfic #the bear #jeremy allen white

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