#hurt comfort
imfinereallyy · 13 hours
“What are your nightmares about?” Eddie asked Steve as they both stared at the ceiling in the darkness of Eddie’s room.
It was colder than his last place. Sure, Steve had only truly been in the trailer the one time, and there had been a literal portal to hell in the middle of but still. It was warmer there. The new place was bigger for sure. A whole two bedrooms in an apartment building where the loudest thing you could hear was the floorboards creek or Eddie’s metal music at a respectable 5 pm. That was thing though, Steve thought. It was quiet here. Cold and closed off. There was no sense of home in the new Munson house. The trailer had character and depth. It had a story to tell. It welcomed you and asked you to stick around.
This place was just empty.
Steve knew it all too intimately how more doesn’t always mean comfort. It’s why he didn’t spend time at his own house very often anymore. It wasn’t much of a home.
“Everything. You name it, I’ve probably nightmared it.”
“That’s not a real word.”
“Munson, I think out of all people you do not get to comment on things being made up.” Steve turned his head to face Eddie in his bed. Steve couldn’t help but trace Eddie’s face with his eyes. Even in the moonlight that peeked through the blinds of the Munson’s third-floor wall up, Eddie was undeniably pretty.
Eddie kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. “First off, rude. Second, you’re avoiding the question.”
“Well, why do you want to know?” Steve whispered, matching the same tone Eddie broke the silence with. He wasn’t sure why they were talking in such hushed tones. No one else was home.
Eddie sighed, “You’re a pain Harrington you know that? I’m not sure who gets it from who when it comes to you and Henderson. It’s just—“
Eddie shifted around to his side to face Steve's head. Steve noticed the bags had worsened since he last spent the night here. Steve had thought Eddie’s nightmares were getting better over the last few weeks. Steve had been staying with him at night but hadn't been there recently.
Initially, Steve had told Eddie after Vecna that he should contact any of them if the nightmares got bad. Told him it would be good to have someone anchor him when he woke up. Steve had been Robin’s anchor for over a year. Robin had even told him once that he grounded her, and kept her sane on the bad nights.
Eddie had waved him off at the time. It had taken months before he fessed up to having trouble sleeping. Steve’s heart had warmed a little at the idea Eddie had reached out to him of all people. Steve knew he shouldn’t have been surprised but even though they had built a slow easy friendship, it was hard for Steve to believe that people needed him for more than rides.
It was nice.
Steve had thought Eddie was doing better though and wouldn’t want him around as much anymore. That Eddie wouldn’t want to deal with Steve’s own nightmares. So he hadn’t been to Eddie’s in a week. It was when Steve had another nightmare about Lovers Lake that he caved and called Eddie.
Eddie didn’t hesitate before saying a rushed “Come over.”
Maybe they both needed each other.
Eddie blew a breath across Steve’s face, he couldn’t help but smile at the man's antics.
“It’s just, I feel like my nightmares should be of Chrissy and the bats. Ya know? Like, I do get those. They make sure to have their reruns right on schedule. But the nightmares I get the most are either me waiting in the van while you all are in Warzone or me in Dustin’s arms after the bats. Not during but after.”
Steve stayed silent, careful not to interrupt Eddie.
“And every time I’m in that stupid trailer waiting and waiting and waiting. Sometimes nothing happens and I’m left to rot. Other times Jason Carver comes busting through to door with a gun pointed at my face. The worst one is when one of you guys comes in and tells me to get out, I’m not worth the trouble.” Eddie sucked his lip between his teeth and bit hard. “And when I’m laying in Dustin’s arms, I can never get words out. I’m struggling. But not even like I’m fighting to stay alive, it’s almost as if I’m trying everything but that. And I can’t get the words for Dustin. Everything is wrong. And sometimes…sometimes Dustin will tell me that I’ve “done something useful for once.” Eddie finished with a shameful grimace.
Steve thought about this new place. How it was cold. How it hadn’t become a home yet. As if Eddie was anticipating being ripped from it once again. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eddie, Steve realized, didn’t feel like he was permanent anymore.
Steve decided to be bold for once in his life about a good thing and pulled out Eddie's lip from his teeth. Steve let his fingers linger for a moment on the worried flesh before reaching out to gently comb his hand through Eddie’s hair. “Lover’s Lake.”
“What?” Eddie questioned, a little breathless.
“Lovers lake is what I have nightmares about the most. Not the bats. Not the Russians. That stupid lake.”
“I mean you were pulled into another dimension by a bat tail, I would call that pretty traumatizing.” Eddie leaned his head into Steve's soft movements.
“Here’s the thing: that’s not the part that scares me Ed’s.” Steve took a deep breath before he gives Eddie a piece of himself he thought would be his own forever. “It was the drowning that gets me. It’s the being able to break the surface to only be back pulled under again. The loss of control. It’s because this very thing is so mundane, even if the circumstances weren’t, it was something that could happen to me at anytime. There didn’t need to be an Upside Down or a Vecna. I could be pulled under the surface at any moment. I could be forced to leave you all behind, lose myself in something I should know how to do. My limited knowledge on even the things I should be good at isn’t enough sometimes. I am just vulnerable and disposable."
Steve pushed out a shaky breath. Eddie scooched forward into Steve's space. It was as if Eddie knew that the warmth of his body alone would comfort him.
"I'm not sure if I am making much sense. I'm not very good at describing things."
Steve could feel Eddie nod up and down with the light brush of his bangs against Steve's forehead. "No, no I get it. Don't do that. Don't put yourself down just cause your vulnerable."
"You noticed that, huh?" Steve looked into Eddie's doe eyes.
"Kinda hard not to notice things about ya Stevie."
Steve melted.
"Please continue," Eddie asked in a rare form of politeness. The metalhead was used to demanding things. Not when it came to Steve though, Steve had observed lately.
"Right. Well, I guess my subconscious picks up on like my deep fears and like mixes them with my trauma. Do not give me that look yes I learned those words from Dustin and Robin."
Eddie let out a snort. Steve couldn't help but smile. Even at his own expense, he was just happy to make Eddie feel a little bit better. "I guess what I'm saying is, I felt useless in that moment. Or even I had given the last useful thing about me to the Upside Down, to this evil awful thing, and no one would really care or know. That moment just took on every fear I've had and pulled me under. My gravestone would say: Here lies Steve Harrington. Never had control, useless thing that no one ever really knew."
Steve cleared his throat. "My nightmares have a funny way of bringing up my very human fears. The things I still can't get away from. There are some days that I even wake up gasping for air like there is still water in my lungs. And all I can think is no one is coming for me, no one cares. And I just sit there, staring at the phone on my desk, still gasping for air not bothering to call anyone. Because what if no one picks up? It is better to avoid than know the truth sometimes. That I was born alone, lived alone, and will most likely die alone."
The heaviness was back in the air once again. Eddie grabbed Steve's hand between them and gripped tight. When Eddie squeezed it said I'm right here, I'm always right here.
"Until tonight. You called tonight."
"I guess I did. I guess I felt...I felt like even if you couldn't help me, didn't want me, you would still pick up."
Eddie's eyes filled with tears. "Always."
"Thank you, Eds. But now it's your turn."
They stared into each other's eyes as Eddie spoke, "I feel like I am drifting sometimes... like I am not really here. I know that I am wanted. By Wayne, by the kids, by you." Eddie said hopefully. Steve nodded. "Just... I don't have much purpose anymore. That maybe my life was supposed to end in the Upside Down. I'm not like suicidal or anything. But what if like I wasn't meant to be here. And that I am just bothering everyone. I don't—I don't feel like I am giving much. I don't play guitar anymore. Can't get through a solo without cringing. D&D has become too real. I'm not sure I can do it, at least not right now. I'm done with high school, the reasons why Higgin's gave me my degree doesn't really matter, I have my diploma. I'm not going back. No one will hire me, and I'm not even sure I want to work. I'm just here, wasting."
It was Steve's turn to squeeze Eddie back. His squeeze said in my space you are never wasted.
"Eds, I know I don't have much ground to stand on but I don't think there is a big difference between wanting to die and feeling like it's okay if you do. I should know, I spent years throwing myself in front of others. I think you should talk to someone, professionally."
Eddie gave Steve a look that said a bit hypocritical ya think?
"Okay yea, maybe I'm being unfair. It's just, Eddie, I need you to know something and I need you to listen close, okay?" Steve unclasped his hand from Eddie's and moved it to the right side of his face. Then, Steve removed his fingers from Eddie's hair a moved it down to the left side. Steve brushed his thumbs back and forth on Eddie's cheeks. "You are so much more than your hobbies. Then the things you do to fill up your time. Those things can change. They can switch, and turn back around. You're magnificent because you are you. You are Eddie Munson. A man who is much more a lover than a fighter. Who heals people with laughter and affection. He's the guy who steals the room with his "hello" alone. You are bright, you are beautiful and you are everything, even when you are wasting time. Because any of us, especially me, would be lucky to waste time with you."
Eddie's tears were now rolling down his face. "Really?"
"Yea Eds. Really. I don't want to speak for the rest of the party, but I can tell you that they think the world of you. I know you know you're wanted, but Eds you're needed. You are the lungs of this group. You help us breathe. Relief, laughter, life. All because of you."
Eddie released a wet laugh. "Not the heart?"
Steve giggled against Eddie. "No. Not the heart. According to the kids Mike has that role. Personally I think that's ridiculous but that may be because of my own problems with the little shit, so I'll let it slide."
Eddie fully chuckled this time. "Okay Stevie I'll make you a deal."
Steve continued to brush his thumbs on Eddie's face, this time he got to dig his thumbs into the dimples of Eddi'es cheeks. "Listening."
"I'm going to try more. Not try to make myself feel purposeful, but to just try. Try to be there, be present. Even if it's just so I can see that dopey smile of yours." Steve threw his head back and laughed. Eddie's smile grew wide. "And on the bad days, I'll try to talk. To Wayne. To Robin. To you. I don't want to hide anymore. I think I've spent enough time doing that. But you got to promise me something back. I need you to talk too. I need you to believe in yourself a little more. Because you Steve Harrington are extraordinary, and you are not alone. I am always here. And I will remind you every day if I have to for you to get that no one in this world compares to you. Deal?"
Eddie put his head against Steve's head, finally closing some of the space between them. Not all the way. Maybe someday.
Steve thought about how cold it was here. How he wanted to Eddie feel at home again, make him radiate that warmth he once held. He thought about how he would do anything to get it.
Steve brushed his nose against Eddie's, "Deal."
as usual i write a small thing that turns into a BIG thing. I am incapable of creating teeny works. I will try better lol. Anyway this came from me not being able to sleep and having massive anxiety so I decided to create it into something. Enjoy :)
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chaotic-on-main · 1 day
I'm Fine | CanonAU Drabble
☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader
☾ Content/Warnings ➼ one mention of pain-killers
☾ A/N ➼ This takes place probably closer to the beginning of season 2. Levi's ankle is hurt, so he's out of commission. Reader is a captain of their own squad and is in an established relationship with Levi. Reader is hurt in a small scouting mission outside the wall.
☾ Word Count ➼ 707
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A thunderous crash rips you out of the warm pain-killer induced slumber you were deep into. You shoot straight up and regret it immediately. Not only were you extremely disoriented, but your entire midsection screams in pain from your quick reaction, garnering a hiss that escapes your gritted teeth. When the dots that danced in your eyes dissipated, you were finally able to take your surroundings in. You’re currently in a bed lined with cream colored linens, all thrown astray from your sudden outburst. A wooden desk and dresser sit to your right with the one window in the room cracked open, allowing in the early summer morning breeze. Rough sketches of your comrades that hang above the desk ruffle in the gentle wind. It’s your room, back at HQ. Your eyes shift around and land on the cause of your harsh wake-up call.
A man In a dark black suit, panting heavily from what you guessed was from running, glares hard at you from the doorway, the wooden door still shaking on its hinges from slamming into the wall behind it. His black hair is blown every which way, his signature crisp white cravat askew on his neck. Nose flaring and silver eyes sharp, he limps his way into your room.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” His deep timbre growls at you.
“Wow, you could start with a good morning.” You grumble, surprised by how much your throat hurts. The words come out hoarse and scratchy. It takes a lot to maintain eye contact with his cold stare, but you do it anyway, even throwing in an eye roll to accentuate your sarcasm.
“Good morning. What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Levi pulls your desk chair over to the side of your bed and plops himself down. Before you can say anything, he’s grabbing the pitcher that sits on the bedside table and pours you water into the small glass sitting next to it, sliding it closer to you with an index finger after setting the pitcher back down. You grasp it in shaky hands and slowly pull it to your lips, reveling in now it feels against your throat. Levi then leans forward to feel the top of your clammy forehead with the back of his hand. It’s cool against your skin and you close your eyes in relief.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Captain. I’m fine.” You smirk as you emphasize the last word that tumbles out of your chapped lips. When your eyes open again, your boyfriend’s stormy gaze is narrowed at you. You drop your smirk and sigh. “I should have retreated, I know. But I couldn’t just leave Sam.” Levi’s hard exterior softens considerably and uses the same hand that rested against your forehead to tuck a couple of frazzled bed-head strands behind your ear. He mutters your name softly.
“I know, more than most. You know that. But I just-“ Levi shifts in the chair so that he’s closer to you, wood creaking from his movements. “It’s admirable for you to look after your squad. As all good leaders should. But not at the expense of your life.” He moves his hand so that it is now cupping your cheek.
“I made it back this time.” You chuckle lightly and lean into his hand. His palm is rough and calloused against your skin.
“This time. But what about the next?” His eyes search yours, a frown creating a full-lipped pout.
“Then… I guess you’ll need to heal that ankle quickly so you can watch my back next time. I don’t think running on it will help it heal faster, by the way.” A smirk finds its way back to your face.
“Tch, you’re such a brat sometimes.” His lips twitch, fighting a smile. He leans over to kiss the top of your head then lightly shoves you back down into the soft bed. There’s no strength in you to fight him so you fall back heavily with a wince. You’d be surprised if there weren’t any broken ribs. “Get some more rest.”
“You’ll stay with me?” You grab his hand and squeeze tightly. He returns the squeeze with a lopsided smile.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
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Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts
Part III - Your promised gift from this poll!
"Could you hold me? Please."
"Drink some of this tea, it will warm you up."
"I'll do it for you, don't think about it."
"Nothing I'll say will make it go away, but maybe I can make it a bit better."
"Silly of you to think, you would have to do this alone."
"You can squeeze my hand if it gets too much."
"Do you want me to read to you?"
"Put your head on my shoulder."
"Go to sleep, I will not leave you alone."
"I'm afraid I'm not the best nurse, but I'll try."
"Show me your wounds."
"After a while it will be easier."
"Time for your medicine. Here you are."
"I will always watch over you."
"Maybe not pretty, but you're alive."
"Remember that I promised to never let you go."
"I would like to hold onto you a while longer."
"You don't have to say anything, I'll do the talking."
"Come here, let me take a look at you."
"The hurt will stop eventually. I promise."
"Don't look down. I've got you."
"Just listen to my breathing and try to match it."
"Is it okay to hold you this tightly?"
"You can take my hand if you want to."
"Can you smile for me? Alright, that's a good start."
Part I | Part II
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thereifling · 1 month
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Bad Days
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comfort-questing · 5 months
...but what if there is stuff that healing magic can't cure?
wounds made by ruinous enspelled blades that resist closure. old injuries re-opened so many times by their bearer's refusal to rest and let the fragile new skin heal. nerves that don't knit back together properly and leave someone with numb patches and tingling strange sensations. crushed bones that heal unevenly and strain the muscles around them. poisons that provoke reactions too closely intermixed with the body's own immune system for a mage to safely untangle.
sometimes all the healer can do is tend to the symptoms, and ease the pain where they can, and whisper sorry even though they know it's not their fault.
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journen · 8 months
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I wanted to draw back muscles, and hurt Obi-Wan. So I combined the two lol.
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jinkicake · 2 months
~ ♡ Good Enough ♡ ~
(( Day #4 )) Lucifer x Reader
He hates you. He hates you. You’re sure that he must hate you.
A/N: This is my attempt at an actual fic like a long ass story... ummm,,,, I wrote this a while ago because I just love love love luci and mean m3n so I decided to combine the two!!!! xxx this isn’t the longest thing i’ve ever written but it’s the longest thing i’ve written in a while... hopefully it is alright~~
WC - 5,021
mean, stubborn Lucifer (pretty much luci before like lesson 20?? lmaooo)
For as long as you’ve lived in the Devildom, Lucifer has been hard on you. 
You’re not sure why the demon pushes you to your limits but, try as you might, you just can’t make Lucifer come to like you. No matter how early you wake up to be on time for breakfast or how intensely you study for your classes, the demon only says that you can ‘do better’. He always finds a flaw in every single piece of yourself that you present to him and that fact only makes you want to try harder with him. 
No matter how difficult it may be, you still want to get along with him (even if he has other plans).
“(Y/N), you’re on cleaning duty tonight.” 
Lucifer’s sudden announcement in the middle of dinner nearly makes you drop your utensils in shock. He has to be kidding with this. Last night was your turn to clean the kitchen and you didn’t leave a single spec of dust on any appliance. Not to mention, Mammon is the one who cooked tonight and you really do not want to be in charge of cleaning that up. 
“(Y/N) cleaned last night, Lucifer,” Asmo reminds his older brother before he sends a gentle smile your way. He tips his shoulder towards you thoughtfully but then instantly stiffens under his brother’s glare. 
“And?” The avatar of pride crosses his arms over his chest and waits for anyone else to refuse him. No one ever does. Asmo sends an apologetic wince your way before turning back to his food. When none of the other demons stick up for you, you know that you have to do something about it yourself. 
“Why do I have to clean up?” At the sound of your soft voice, Lucifer’s eyes slightly widen. This goes against every moral you have that relates to coexisting with Lucifer, the main rule is to never question his authority. As of lately, you’ve grown tired of the way he picks on you. It’s nothing extreme compared to how he punishes his brothers but, you don’t understand why he tugs on your hair and hands you time-consuming tasks.
All of the other demons slowly look toward you before glancing at Lucifer. The eldest demon places his utensils down gently against his plate as his red eyes narrow your way. 
You don’t have the strength to look him in the eyes so you keep your gaze locked on your half-empty glass. 
“Are you questioning me, human?” His now emotionless expression doesn’t falter once, not even as you fist your hands in the napkin settled on your lap. Everyone in the room knows exactly what you did and the tension becomes so thick that you wish the ground would just swallow you whole.
Right now, you know that you have a choice to make. You can either fight with Lucifer or comply with him. It would be so much easier on everyone if you complied but, it wouldn’t be easier on yourself. 
“I just don’t understand why I have to do it when you already had me organize the library today.” You try to keep your composure, try to keep your heartbeat leveled as you finally muster up the courage to look at Lucifer. 
His jaw clicks with frustration when you look into his eyes. He can see the uncertainty and fear swimming in your iris and the demon hates how it looks on you. 
“You’re not going to be cleaning it alone, I am also on cleaning duty tonight.” Lucifer’s answer doesn’t satisfy you at all but, you take the small inch as a win. For once instead of reprimanding you, Lucifer gave you something to take. 
You truly don’t understand him. You fear that you never will. 
The kitchen is filled with just as much tension as the dining room and you think that you’ll never have the luxury of breathing freely again. Lucifer remains quiet as he hands you clean dishes, ones that he expects you to dry to perfection and then place neatly on the drying wrack. 
Every time that you misplace a single dish, he is quick to correct you. 
“Place it beside the other bowl,”
“Organize the utensils by category.”
At one point, he reaches over and holds your hand to guide exactly where he wants each dish to go. His entire body is pressed up against your own as he leans over to hurry the task along. You hate how your heart skips a beat at the proximity, how you happily soak in the difficult presence of Lucifer. 
When you finally put the last spoon in its drying space, you wipe your hands on one of the kitchen towels. The realization that you can leave puts a smile on your face and you reach over to grab your phone so that you can go back to your room and hide. 
It seems that Lucifer has other plans as he boxes you in against the counter with both hands on either side of your body. He bends his tall frame over slightly, dipping his head so that he can look at you closer. 
“Do you think we are done here?” It’s obvious to you that this is a trick question. Regardless if you say yes or no, the demon is going to give you another task. You battle his question with one of your own. 
“We have classes tomorrow, shouldn’t we call it a night?” You try to keep yourself as polite as possible and even go as far as to give the demon a wobbly smile. Lucifer’s frown doesn’t falter in the slightest as he pushes himself off the counter to stand to his full height. He runs his fingers through his hair, and for a split second, you have slight hope that he is going to let you leave. 
But, then he glances down at you. 
“We’re mopping the floors right now.”
In addition to mopping the floors, the two of you also deep-cleaned the fridge and washed all the kitchen towels. Needless to say that by midnight when you both finish, you are exhausted. 
“I expect to see you at six am before breakfast to go over those reports from this afternoon.” Lucifer’s clipped tone as he leaves the kitchen almost makes you cry. You can feel frustration aching in your chest but when the demon turns around to get your confirmation, all you can do is blink the tears away and nod. 
No matter how many times you go over it in your head, no matter how many hours you spend thinking about it, you just can’t understand what you did to make Lucifer dislike you. His endless tasks feel like a punishment no matter how many times he tells you that they are not. 
You also can’t figure out why you go along with the demon’s gentle torment of you. You can’t figure out why you want him to like you so badly, why you want to make him happy. 
For the same reasons that you can’t figure out Lucifer’s intentions, you can’t figure out the same feelings in your own heart. 
Ignorance is bliss and you plan to continue keeping up with the demon until you physically can’t anymore. 
There is something inside your chest that is pushing you, it’s a feeling that motivates you to shoulder Lucifer’s harsh demands. What a coincidence it is that you can’t figure out that emotion either, love. 
You think it’s the exact reason why you find yourself outside of Lucifer’s office the next morning. Perhaps it’s because you just hate to let him down. 
“Come in,” Lucifer murmurs as you softly open his door. His eyes run over your figure as you enter and gently close his door behind you, the dark circles under your eyes physically pain him. He’ll give you a break after this but, for right now, he just needs more time with you. The demon just can’t get you off his mind and whenever you’re near, unfortunately, he feels a little more at ease. Lucifer knows you can put up with it for a little while longer. “sit.”
You sit wordlessly in the chair on the opposite side of his desk, mirroring Lucifer’s position. After that, you wait. Lucifer doesn’t hand you any documents right away, he continues to read over and hastily marks any section that needs it. All you do is sit there. 
The soft lull of his record player, a gentle piano melody escaping through the speakers, nearly makes you fall back asleep. Your eyes flutter shut under your exhaustion and despite the slight warmth from the fireplace, Lucifer’s office is very cold, the brisk temperature is the only thing that keeps you from escaping into a slumber. 
“(Y/N),” Lucifer calls out to you and causes your body to lurch as you sit up in a hurry. You subtly try to blink the sleep out of your eyes as you face him. The kind smile you give him does not phase the demon in the slightest. Lucifer merely stares at you for a long pause before going back to the document in his hand. 
The entire situation just makes you so incredibly confused, why would Lucifer have you come in and not even give you any work? You could have been sleeping. 
“Umm, I think I should-” The words of your planned escape fall off your tongue when Lucifer glances up at the sound of your voice. There’s something about the expected stare he gives you underneath his thin glasses and the shade of his hair, the dark strands tinted with gray, that makes you squirm in your seat. “never mind.” 
Lucifer continues to stare at you as he carefully watches your attempt to save a pitiful conversation. He notices how you glance over his walls, the clock, and then back down at your lap. The demon focuses on your fingertips and how you tightly clasp your hands together for warmth. 
He seems to have forgotten in his time away from the human world just how sensitive humans are. 
The avatar of pride rises from his seat, standing tall before you as he extends his limbs to take off his jacket. He slowly circles the desk and comes to stand right behind you. His gentle hands softly push your upper body forward in your seat so that he can wrap the thick jacket around your shoulders. Once he’s sure that your arms have gone through the holes, Lucifer reaches over to button each clip extremely slowly. His long fingers capture your attention and you greedily watch with anticipation as he gets closer and closer to your chest. 
“Don’t fall asleep again.” He murmurs against your ear, his lips so close that you can feel them ghosting over your skin. You can only pray and hope that the demon can’t hear the loud thumping of your heart. “Understand?” Lucifer gives you a hard look as he finishes his work with the jacket and walks to stand back in front of the desk. 
At your obedient nod, his lips twitch upward. 
For the rest of the session until breakfast, you sit in the silence of the light piano melody and the sound of his pen against paper. Lucifer doesn’t give you a single file to review. 
“Rest well tonight and tomorrow, I won’t be needing your assistance.” This new revelation before breakfast nearly makes you gasp, Lucifer rarely ever gives you a break. At the sight of your lips twitching as you fight back a smile, Lucifer scowls. “Don’t look so pleased, human. I will see you again the day after tomorrow.”
“Okay,” You quietly murmur before bringing your hands up to your cheeks. No matter what you do, you can’t stop relief from filling your face. It angers the other demon to no end, do you not care that he will be working all alone without you? Do you not care to extend the same politeness and ask if he still wants help? 
He’s aware of his incredible selfishness toward you and your time but, ignores it nonetheless.
Through his anger, Lucifer has to remind himself that you are both a student and a human. The fact that you put up with him so easily is a show of genuine kindness. 
The demon hates it to no end. He hates how you’re changing him despite how hard he tries to fight it. Lucifer is sure that he hates you. 
You become sure of it too the very next evening.
‘Come here now.’
The text from Lucifer comes without warning and you stiffen upon sight of it. Mammon, who looks over your shoulder, even screeches at it. Stupidly, you thought Lucifer would not bother you for the night. You thought you had a free night for once but, it seems the demon can’t even give you that.
“Is he mad about something?” You ask his brother because you really don’t get it, why would Lucifer tell you to relax and then demand that you go to see him? That seems like the opposite of relaxing. 
Levi shrugs his shoulders while Beel continues to down his popcorn. 
“Dunno, good luck! We can rewind the movie when you come back!” Levi’s enthusiasm is not new, he can barely rip his eyes away from the television. Mammon gives your wrist a gentle squeeze of support before you make your way out of the demon’s room. 
Finding Lucifer is incredibly easy since his office is somewhere you can walk to in the dark with your hands tied behind your back. You contemplate waiting before heading into his room, to give yourself time to mentally prepare yourself for his torture but, the quicker you enter, the quicker you get to leave. With that in mind, you push his doors open and step in without a second thought. 
His office is quiet as a soft melody plays in the background, if anything, the air seems relaxing. Well, it seemed that way until you entered. 
“Do you not understand the concept of knocking?” Lucifer asks without looking up from his pile of documents. His glasses rest on the bridge of his nose as he roughly notes something against the paper in his hands. The rough action causes you to tightly swallow the rest of your nerves. “I believe it is a common human world practice, is it not?” 
At your silence, Lucifer looks up at you with an expecting glare. The resentment in his eyes is something akin to frostbite and you’re sure you’re going to freeze over. 
“It is,” You answer and then take a few steps forward to stand directly in front of his desk. Lucifer hums before glancing back to his paper and like this, you can finally get a good look at him. Seeing the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and the lighter strands of gray against the dark backdrop of his thick hair almost causes you to squirm upon sight. He’s a handsome demon and even you can acknowledge and appreciate that. Lucifer is ethereal even when he is glaring at you and threatening you with your life, you’re sure of it. 
“Then why is it that you fail to knock each time you enter my office?” Gone is Lucifer’s patience, it seems that you’ve been given the short end of the stick since you’re now the target of his bitter frustrations. 
For a brief moment, you mull over your words before choosing to tell him the honest truth. 
“I get nervous and forget,” Slightly honest, it’s true that you get nervous but, you fail to knock because you’re always trying to get in and out of his office as quickly as possible. Lucifer’s pen stills in his hand and his jaw clenches together tightly. 
“I give you no reason to be nervous.” He looks at you with a narrowed gaze as if he is trying to understand you, as if you will spill all your secrets under his glare. Much to his dismay, you remain silent and are unable to reply. 
Conversing with Lucifer is always a tricky dance where you try not to step on his feet. 
It’s best to get straight to the point. 
“Um, is there a reason you wanted to see me?” You stare down at his desk instead of his face as you run your fingers along the wooden trim. It’s distracting, a good thing to you, and a bad thing to him. 
“I can hear you all talking through the walls.” Bitter, Lucifer sounds undeniably bitter. “It’s too loud, I thought I told you to rest.” If this is his attempt at showing his concern for you, you find it to be weak. 
“I am relaxing, we are watching a movie.” Lucifer’s frown only grows larger at your words and you anxiously start to toy with your fingers. Your thumb runs over your knuckle and then the tip of your finger before pressing down on the digit to pop it. 
“A movie?” His voice sounds dangerous as if he is insinuating that you are doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. “Who is we?” The rapid beating of your heart must not be good for your health and you try to take a moment just to breathe. 
“Mammon, Levi, and Beel,” You answer truthfully as your eyes dart to a random corner in the room. There is no way you can face the disappointment in Lucifer’s eyes or attempt to understand him. No matter how much you think about it, you can’t understand why he is acting so difficult. 
“Sounds like fun.” He practically spits this out through clenched teeth and you finally look over him. Timidly, your eyes run over his hard face. The feeling in your gut is pity.
“Well, would you like to join us?” At your question, Lucifer looks at you as if you insulted his very being. His eyes widen dramatically and he places his pen down against the hardwood of his desk. However, the shock quickly evaporates from his face and is replaced with anger. 
“No.” His decline is firm, set in stone. “Unlike you and your head full of air, I try not to spend my free time doing such worthless things.” 
Your eyes narrow toward him and your nose scrunches up in disgust at his dramatics. If Lucifer was trying to offend you, he did so incredibly well. As you try to put a lid on your temper you think of your second rule that comes with surviving Lucifer, never let your anger get the better of you. 
Despite how hard you try to remind yourself to do this, the words work to no avail. Who gave Lucifer the right to judge you so hard? To pick you apart and pluck at any piece of you that he doesn’t find satisfactory?
“I wouldn’t want you there anyway.” The petty reply leaves your lips before you can catch it and the glare to match your words is not something you even try to hide. With just the two of you in the room, you have no worries about how this explosive decision would affect any of the other demons. Lucifer’s eyes narrow at the fight instilled in you. He slowly places his hands in his lap while keeping his deadpan stare on your face. 
“Excuse me?” He settles for this and tries to give you an opportunity to take it back. Horns appear on top of his head as voluminous wings sprout from his back 
“You heard me.” If Lucifer is shocked by your outburst, he does an exceptionally well job at hiding it. “Do you really dislike me so much that you have to nag me about everything?” You can’t help how your voice grows with emotion, how you firmly place your palms on his desk and slightly lean over the wood. “I do everything that you ask for and I do it perfectly. Would it kill you to be the least bit appreciative?” 
Your fingers twitch against the hardwood as Lucifer continues to stare at you. Timidness is flowing through your body once again and you try everything in your power to push it away. No good will come to you right now if you back down. It’s not like you can pretend this never happened, no, you have to push through. 
“Do I dislike you?” Lucifer repeats as he finally pushes himself out of his chair, standing to his full height to tower over you. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting his muscle bulge under his jacket and you have half a mind to think that he does this to hold back from lunging at you. “I loathe you, human.” 
Fear instills in your core and disappointment takes root at the painful feeling of it all. 
“What? Why?” You can’t help but ask him of this, ask him why he’s stepping all over your heart so easily. 
“No matter how much effort you put into this place, the Devildom will remain the same.” In contrast to your own wide eyes filled with glossy tears, Lucifer’s are narrowed and tinted with irritation. The bitter feeling rubs him entirely the wrong way. 
“You hate me because you think I’m trying to change this place?” No matter how much work you did for Lucifer, no matter how closely you followed his directions to a ’t’, it didn’t matter. That much is true for you now. “All I ever did was what you asked of me.”
“I did not ask you to change my brothers and I most certainly did not ask you to change me.” This is too much for you to keep up with, your head is spinning under Lucifer’s true feelings. “I see the way you look at me.” 
You instantly freeze and dart your eyes to the floor, he can’t be insinuating this. Right now, you’ve never wanted to run away and hide as badly before in your life. You can’t have Lucifer saying this out loud, not when you haven’t even said it to yourself yet. 
“Do you think that you are subtle, human? All the lingering touches and meaningful stares, I know exactly how you feel about me.” Lucifer’s harsh words stab at your heart, picking and pulling you apart. Unlike you, the demon doesn’t appear affected in the least. Lucifer still stands tall with his arms crossed over his chest and glare as dangerous as ever. “You will not change me.”
“Haven’t I already changed you?” You wish you would bite your own tongue and stop talking but, you can’t. The harder Lucifer pushes you, the harder you push back. At this point, you’re not even aware of what you’re saying anymore. You just want to affect Lucifer as terribly as he’s affecting you. “I-I think you’re wrong about how you feel about me.”
“Oh? Tell me, how do I feel about you?” The demon seems to be mildly entertained, his eyes widening in some twisted amusement as you tremble in front of him. 
“I think what you really hate is how much you need me.” Your hands instantly slap over your mouth after the words finally fall out. Need is a strong word. Regardless of how Lucifer claims to feel about you, you know the demon wants you near him all the time. Why else would he keep you attached to his hip?
It seems that the tension of the entire room, which is filled to the brim, explodes. Before, it was like a suffocatingly thick smog covering the two of you. Now the room is draped in heavy silence, one so loud that all you can hear are the ticks coming from the grandfather clock beside the door. 
You subtly glance towards it, the door, and start planning how exactly you can escape from this situation. 
“Get out.” Lucifer’s orders send you quickly excusing yourself without a second thought. Not once, do you look at him or think to do so. You don’t see the stunned look on his face or the pieces of his heart all coming together. No, you run back to your room and hide with your tail between your legs. 
Under the covers, you pray that no harm will come to you. 
Weeks have passed since that incident with Lucifer and all has seemingly run smoothly. The demon remains cordial with you and does not make a scene in front of his brothers. He simply hands you documents to review and makes you leave them outside of his office when you are done. The complete 180 shift of his treatment toward you almost makes you feel embarrassed about your previous words. 
How could you be so bold and claim that the demon needs you? It’s been weeks, much to your aching heart, and Lucifer has not asked for you once. 
‘I know exactly how you feel about me.’ His lingering words sometimes ring in your mind, forcing you into a state of humiliation. It’s safe to say that you somewhat understand your feelings for Lucifer better now, you can admit that how you feel about him is different than how you feel about anyone else that you know. Your affection for him makes the distance between the two of you more difficult to cope with. 
All you want to do is see Lucifer. 
“(Y/N), Lucifer wants to see you in his room.” Asmo knocks on your door in passing, delivering the words that seal your fate before he happily heads to his own room. 
You regret your earlier dramatics and begs for his attention because as you walk to his room, you can’t think of anything scarier than facing him. The demon must have a reasonable explanation to call you out and you hold onto the hope that it will all pass over smoothly. 
Once in front of his door, you actually remember to knock. The sensation of the hardwood against your knuckles momentarily distracts you from the anxiety in your heart and you’re thankful for it. 
“Come in,” Lucifer’s voice sounds sharper than normal as if he is on edge. You mentally say a prayer to anyone who will listen before entering his room and closing the door firmly behind you. 
The demon can’t hide the shock on his face when he finally sees you. His eyes slightly widen and his hand moves to rest over his chest. The moment of weakness doesn’t last for long before his face falls into a rather pleasant expression. 
“I wasn’t expecting you to knock,” He teases and you can’t help but awkwardly rock on your heels. You’re not sure what to say to Lucifer or how to face him. The demon can tell this right off of your face. “calm down, human.” 
“I’m not going to eat you,” His voice draws you in, and forces your feet to move as you walk over to the couch by his piano. “sit.” You sit on the edge of the cushion, incredibly close beside him, and mentally prepare for the scolding you’re sure you’re going to receive. “I am only going to say this once,” 
You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping his anger won’t be too blunt. 
“Look at me.” There’s a soft touch against the back of your hand and you timidly open your eyes to find Lucifer’s fingers brushing against your own. You obediently look up at him. “You were right,” He grabs your hand with his own.
Lucifer is admitting to one of his faults, your lips part in shock and eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“Right about what?” 
Lucifer looks you over as his eyes slightly soften and a gentle smile takes place on his face. 
“I do need you.” The confession nearly makes your heart stall in your chest and the gentle glide of his thumb against your palm does little to calm you down. 
“You do?” You repeat, testing the words on your tongue. Lucifer bends his head forward slightly, letting his hair brush against your forehead. 
“I do.” His voice sounds much closer now and you freeze at the proximity of his body. “I always have, please forgive me for always being so harsh with you.” One of his hands crosses your body to hold onto your hip, wrapping his arm around your waist. “It seems I was the one who was unaware of my feelings.”
“Your feelings?” Finally, you look up through your lashes to find Lucifer staring intently at you. He nearly sighs at the contact. 
“Must I spell it out for you?” He looks away for the slightest moment before bringing his eyes back to you. “I adore you, (Y/N). I was harsh because of it. I am terribly sorry.” 
You’re having a hard time keeping up with the suddenness of it all. It seems that you couldn’t have been more wrong about this meeting. While you were preparing for a scolding, he was preparing for a confession. 
“Is that so?” You murmur and attempt to hide your face from his stare. Lucifer gently cups your cheek and your skin burns underneath his gloved fingertips. The flustered state of your appearance nearly makes the man coo. 
“It is.” He confirms and dips his head to rest his forehead against your own. Lucifer doesn’t expect anything in return from you, just getting to express his desires to you is more than enough. “I apologize that I took so long to come to terms with it.” 
Deep down, the two of you always knew that you shared a mutual adoration for one another. 
With a slight tilt of your head, you brush your lips against his cheek. 
“(Y/N),” Lucifer warns as his eyes flutter shut. If you continue to be so soft with him, to love on him so kindly, the demon can’t be responsible for how he responds. “do you think I would be satisfied with such a sweet kiss?”
His hands tighten against your jaw before pulling your chin downwards, allowing his lips to brush against your own. 
“Please allow me to shower you with my love for tonight.”
. . .
2023/02/07 ♡
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comfortcap · 8 months
。・*・ soft sinner. ・*・゚
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.・。.・゜ ✫ ・.・✫・゜・。.
summary | there's only one thing lloyd would ever turn soft for in this cruel world: you.
pairing | soft!daddy!lloyd hansen x little!reader
warnings | lloyd's an asshole at the beginning (so basically canon), lloyd shoots/kills someone (not reader, also canon lol), plenty of cussing, eventual soft!sweet!lloyd like so sweet it's unbearably ooc, hurt/comfort, all these petnames he uses got me :'-( <3
.・。.・゜ ✫ ・.・✫・゜・。.
an | okay okay i know everyone wants smut with this guy but??? i wanted to do something different with my first fic with him, and honestly even though soft!lloyd is hard to imagine, i think when done right, he's just so perfect, i want him all for myself please :'-)
.・。.・゜ ✫ ・.・✫・゜・。.
"Where the fuck is she?"
The harsh booming of his voice as he entered the room had Lloyd's men scrambling to attention in record time. Standing in the doorway with a ruthless expression sprawled across his face, the dark-haired man brought a hand up to run over his mouth as he tapped his foot impatiently, unimpressed at how many moments went by with no verbal answer. "I see," he growled, eyeing the four men who all stood around him anxiously, exchanging glances with one another as they struggled to form words. "Someone better start talking, or I'll start fucking shooting," the boss snapped, placing his other hand on the handgun secured tightly in his belt.
"She's upstairs, recovering," the bravest of the bunch finally offered up, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. "Her wounds have been tended to. I can bring you to her now if you'd like, sir."
Hand falling down from his mouth to his hip, Lloyd nodded, his exasperation clear on his face as he continued to berate, "Okay, and would you like to tell me, Dean- since none of the other idiots in this room decided to bring their fucking voices to work today- what the hell exactly happened during her transport here? And why the absolute fuck I wasn't alerted- immediately?"
Swallowing hard, Dean wrang his hands out behind his back, replying meekly, "I-I... there was an ambush, sir. We lost two men-"
"Well obviously!" Lloyd blurted over him, anger raging in his pale blue eyes as he looked around at the faces before him. "At this rate, I wish they would've killed more of you! Useless fucking- fuck," he cursed, kicking at the leg of a nearby chair. Holding their breaths as they watched him, his men didn't dare respond; by now, they were used to his constant outbursts, knowing the safest thing to do was to just stay silent and still.
Sweat beading on his forehead, Lloyd muttered a few more choice words beneath his breath before smoothing back his hair, regaining his composure slightly as he began speaking again. "Bring me to her. And as soon as I shut those doors in your face, you come straight back here and call in more men. I don't care who you have to call. I don't want a single square foot of uncovered territory within a fucking mile of this building. Do you understand?"
"Yes boss," Dean agreed quickly, beginning to lead Lloyd out of the room before he stopped, turning back to face the remaining three.
"And who exactly was it that left my princess uncovered?" he questioned carefully, his glare powerful enough to burn holes through the agents as they looked at each other nervously. "Surely someone was closest to her, someone should've taken the hit."
"I-It was Mike, sir. Mike was sitting next to her," Dean spoke up from behind the group.
Turning his attention to the shorter redhead, Lloyd smiled with a light sigh, almost a chuckle as he addressed the young man. "Mike. Oh Mike, that's such a shame. You were the least obnoxious of you group of fools." Drawing his gun with a shake of his head, Lloyd showed no hesitation as he planted a bullet in the agent's head, clicking his tongue in satisfaction as the body hit the floor.
Turning back to Dean, he tossed his gun on a nearby couch. "You know the rules, no munitions around my angel," he reminded the men. Every head in the room offered a nod at the boss's words. It was known amongst the entirety of the team that Lloyd's girl didn't like to see him holding any weapons; they were much too scary for her little mind to handle. It was one of many strange features of the couple's relationship that any outsider would probably fail to understand or even believe, but of course, no one on the inside ever questioned it. They knew better.
"Of course, sir," Dean dared to acknowledge, motioning a hand towards the door. "If you'll follow me, she's right this way."
.・。.・゜ ✫ ・.・✫・゜・。.
"She's just down this hallway, sir- last door on the left."
"Good," Lloyd muttered, sticking his hand out in front of the man beside him to stop him as he continued his determined steps forward. "Now get back to work. And try not to fuck it up this time."
Dean didn't need to be told twice, promptly turning around to head back the way they had come. And as Lloyd finished making his way down the hall, from the front view, all physical signs of his aggression disappeared as he prepared himself to step into his other role, his favorite and most important role- a role that only one other person on the planet got to witness firsthand. Stopping at the grand set of doors leading to the bedroom, he ran his hands over his belt and pockets once more, double-checking that he had no traces of his work left on his person. After a final glance back down the hallway to ensure that no one but his intended audience would hear, he reached out and knocked gently against the thick barrier, the simple action the most delicate thing he'd done in weeks.
"Y/n?" he called in, his voice like that of an entirely different man from the monster who just shot an agent minutes earlier downstairs. "My love, are you in there?"
Not hearing any response, Lloyd carefully twisted the door handle, stepping into the room slowly in case you were sleeping. Looking around at the lavish golden decor, he found your little body curled up amongst the fluffy blankets and pillows covering the bed, the large king-sized mattress seeming to swallow you up as you drifted in its center.
Raising your head slightly, you peered warily over at the door. Normally, the sight of your daddy returning to you after weeks of being apart would send you running straight into his arms. But after the traumatic afternoon you endured, all you could manage was a soft whimper in the man's direction, causing his brow to furrow in concern as he closed the door behind him, making his way over to you as he let out a sympathetic hum, "Oh sweetheart. My poor angel, come here. Come to Daddy." Resting on the edge of the bed, Lloyd's heart broke in his chest as he watched you cower back slightly from his invitation; yes, he did have a heart. But only for you, only ever for you. "My sweet little girl, it's okay. Daddy won't hurt you, I left all my things downstairs. Know those are too scary for you, too dangerous. Never scary for my baby- right, angel?"
Lifting your head a bit again at the man's soothing words, your wide eyes ventured up to meet his, warmth spreading through your tummy as he gazed at you lovingly. "There's my pretty girl. Come here, sweetheart. Daddy wants to hold you. Missed you so much- and someone told me you got an owwy today."
Nodding gingerly, you forced your sore body up to a sitting position. At the sight of the large bandage wrapped around your arm, Lloyd began to coo softly again, "Oh, my sweet baby. Come here, come on," he coaxed again as he opened his arms for you, his touch brutally soft against your skin as he eased you onto his lap. "There she is," the man smiled, cradling you with an arm behind your back to allow you to rest your full weight against his safe embrace. "I got you, princess. Daddy's here now; you're safe."
Turning your head inward, you buried your face in the soft fabric of his shirt, tears prickling at your eyes as silent sobs begin to wrack through your little body. "Shhh, shhh," he soothed, running a tender hand over your back as you cried. "I know, I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Daddy's so sorry, so sorry he didn't protect you." Rocking you gently in hopes of calming you down, Lloyd struggled to fight back tears of his own as he was faced with the reality he had just spoken aloud: he had failed you. Unintentionally, yes, but it was all the same to him. It was his job to protect you, to do everything in his power to keep you safe and cared for. That was the one thing that mattered to him in life, and he had fucked it up.
"Baby, baby, baby," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips into your hair. Breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo, the man couldn't help it; silent tears began trailing down his cheeks as he tried to keep his voice from wobbling while he spoke to you. "Listen to me, please. Never again. Never again will I leave you, my love. No more time apart, no more endless weeks without me. It's done, angel. It's all done; I'm not leaving you again. Daddy's gonna keep you safe. I mean it, I'll gonna do it myself. I'll never fail you again. Never fail you again."
Lifting your head up to look into his eyes, you're met with pools of watery blue, full of grief and regret; as gently as you can, you plant a kiss to the man's wet cheek, earning a soft smile as he reaches up to cup your chin in his large hand. "Thank you, Daddy," you whisper sweetly, the sound of your precious voice causing Lloyd's heart to swell.
"Anything for you, my love." Rubbing his thumb against your soft cheek, all he could manage to do was look at you, wondering to himself what he ever did to deserve something as pure and wonderful as the miracle sitting in his arms. "My little angel, my perfect girl. Daddy would do anything for you."
.・。.・゜ ✫ ・.・✫・゜・。.
1K notes · View notes
sanguineterrain · 4 months
no more lonely nights - s.h.
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Summary: Steve comes home from Starcourt, bruised and battered. And you're there. You always are.
Pairing: best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 3.1k
Warnings/tags: s3 beaten up Steve, my poor little meow meow. Vomit, hurt Steve, friends to lovers, sharing a bed. Reader's a swell gal, and, to no one's surprise, Steve is a sweetheart.
Notes: heads up that Steve IS thinking clearly; the drugs have worn off by the end. This takes place in s3, reader and steve are 18+, etc.
The flash of headlights rouses you from sleep. Checking your watch tells you that it's a little past midnight. You push yourself onto your knees, squinting at the red taillights. Beneath the streetlamp, you can just make out the maroon BMW humming in the Harringtons’ driveway. A moment later, the driver's door flies open and a figure hunches over the side. Steve.
He grasps the inside handle and stays like that for less than a second. Then he throws up. 
You're out of bed in an instant. 
Steve dry heaves a couple times, his coughs and gasps echoing on the asphalt. You slip on your thin, silk robe—a present from Steve—and haphazardly tie the belt. Your own parents are gone for the weekend to visit a friend, so slipping on your shoes and running across the street in your pajamas draws no questions. 
The block is dead. The silence is thick in the dark; the only sound is Steve's car. You run across the road and carefully step around the sick, sliding a gentle hand over Steve’s bicep. He flinches so hard he hits his head on the top of the door.
“Whoa, hey! Hey, Steve, it’s me, it’s Y/N.” 
“Y/N?” he croaks, blindly searching for your hand.
You hold his hand and rest your other on his shoulder in case he loses balance. Steve squeezes weakly.
“Hey,” you say, softer. “Did you drive home drunk?” 
“No,” he manages, then sits up. 
You gasp.
Steve's face is covered in blood and badly swollen, his right eye sporting the largest shiner you’ve ever seen on him. Yellow and purple bruises bloom along his face and neck. His Scoops uniform has spots of blood and is torn in about a hundred places. You feel as sick as he does.
“Steve, oh my—” Your fingers ghost over his bruises. “What happened?”
“Russians. At Starcourt. They opened a portal or something. Billy, he's…" 
Steve scrunches his brow hard. You hush him, not wanting him to delve into what is no doubt a frightening memory. Then you lean in and turn off the car. 
“Okay, alright. We’ll talk about it later. Can you walk?” 
“Um… yeah, yeah," he says, not sounding too certain. "Just gimme a sec. Feel kinda dizzy.”
“You shouldn’t have driven yourself home, Steve," you say, heart in your throat. "Couldn’t someone else have given you a ride? Mrs. Byers? Hopper?"
“Didn’t wanna bother anyone. ‘M fine.”
You crouch as best you can so you're level with him. He looks at you with droopy eyes, mouth parted. Shamefully, you wonder what it would be like to kiss him right now, despite the cut on his bottom lip. With careful fingers, you touch his less injured side, grazing over a smaller cut. He winces. 
“Sorry,” you whisper.
He smiles, pained and sweet. 
“‘S okay. Did I wake you? You didn’t have to come down.”
Your brows furrow.
“You’re hurt, Steve. Of course I came down.”
He shakes his head, breathing raspy.
“You didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to.”
He looks at you, sleepy and swollen. You tuck a bit of hair behind his ear before you can think about it. 
“Ready to go inside?” you ask.
“Mm, think so."
You roll up the sleeves of your robe and sling your arm under Steve’s armpit. He follows you up, not leaning as much weight on you as you want. You lock the car and hobble over to the front steps, Steve in tow. He braces himself against the brick while you open the door. Then you heft him inside. Steve's head lolls onto your shoulder. 
"Stay awake, Stevie," you urge, jostling his arm. "Just for a little longer, promise."
"'M good," he mumbles. "Jus’ need a shower. Spent a good chunk of the night on the bathroom floor." 
He hisses when you both turn the corner. You stop, turning so you can see his face. Your hand hovers unsurely over his ribs. 
"What hurts?"
"No, 's just a little bruised. Finally won a fight though." Steve's grin makes butterflies flit in your belly, despite him looking like he's been shoved into a meat grinder. "Proud of me?"
"No, Steve. I'm glad you're home safe but I don't want you in any fights. You need to take care of yourself," you say, slowly helping him into the bathroom. "I know you wanna look out for the kids but you're killing yourself doing it."
"Better I get hurt than them," he declares. "Better me than Robin or Dustin or anybody."
You help him sit on the edge of the tub and take the alcohol and gauze from the medicine cabinet. Steve looks up at you with wet, trusting eyes. 
"This is gonna sting," you warn. 
"Yeah," Steve nods, bracing himself with one hand on the lip of the tub. 
You cup his face and gently swab the cuts. He's quiet as you do so, gazing at you with those big brown eyes. 
"What were you doing up?" he asks when you finish. 
"Just couldn't sleep with the house so empty."
You don't mention the fact that you'd been waiting for Steve's car to pull in. That you've done so everyday this summer. No one, including Steve, will tell you details about the strange happenings in Hawkins. Still, it's all you can do to not follow him into whatever maw of danger he finds himself in. And it's only because of Steve that you stay put. 
I can't lose you, he'd pleaded one late night when you'd asked. I care about you too much to get you mixed up in this shit. Don't come, please.
So you hadn't. You regret listening. 
"You can't sleep a lot?" Steve asks. 
You hum, not wanting him to worry. "Sometimes."
"You should call me. I'm usually awake too."
This close you feel Steve's warmth. His hands are dutifully planted on the tub. Every time you touch him, his hands twitch, like he wants to move. To hold. 
"Usually?" you ask. 
"I have trouble sleeping these days," he admits. "I thought—my folks are gone all the time. If anything got me, no one would know. No one would even…"
"I would," you interrupt. "I would care. And I'd do everything to get you back."
Steve's silent as you put everything away. You help him stand once more. He's wobbly, leaning on the tiles to pull off his shirt with one hand. The glimpses of freckled skin make you swallow hard. You focus on the plaid shower curtain. 
"Are you, um, hungry?" you manage. 
Steve's biceps swell as he tugs his shirt off. You turn around when you see the smattering of dark hair on his chest, refusing all temptation.
"You don't have to cook for me, Y/N. I can manage a—"
"So that's a yes."
"You should–should sleep," he mumbles, hissing at a cut or bruise. Maybe both. "I know you worked today."
"Steve." You turn around, so exasperated you have to face him. Steve's only in his briefs. Oh God. "I, uh…"
"Pervin' on me?" he smirks, hands on his hips. 
After being friends with Steve for so long, you should be used to his easy confidence. Steve's always been open with his body. You panic anyway. 
"No!" you yelp. "No. Sorry. I'm–I'm going downstairs. You're not gonna fall in, are you?"
Steve chuckles, smirk softening into a smile. 
"I think I can manage not falling in."
"Okay. Right." You leave the bathroom, closing the door almost all the way. Fuck. "Yell if you need something. Eggs okay?" 
You wait outside the door for a response. When there's none, you lean in. 
"Steve? Are you okay? Ste—"
He opens the door, tall frame blocking most of your view. You swallow hard, not knowing where to look. It's rude to stare at a guy's bare chest, right? Doubly so when he's your best friend, who's bloody and exhausted and just fought Soviets. You really are a perv.  
"Y/N, c'mon. It's nearly…" Steve squints at the clock. "Jesus, three AM?" 
"It's summer," you reason, eyes finally landing on his face. "I don't mind. I want to." Pathetic, pathetic. 
"I just—I know we haven't spoken as much lately, which is my fault," Steve starts. "And I don't wanna drag you into this shit because you're going to college soon and you don't need this on your plate on top of everything and—"
"Steve. Hey. You're my best friend. I know you're out having fun with the lunch gang and Nancy Wheeler."
Steve makes a face. 
"It's not like that with her anymore. You know that."
You hum. "Well, who's that girl at Scoops? Robin?"
"Robin, yeah." Steve smiles. "She's cool. You'd like her."
"I bet I would," you say softly, even though it hurts, hearing Steve say another girl's name.
But so what? Nothing you haven't suffered before. Last year was absolute hell, watching Steve remain stuck on Nancy. 
The worst part is you. You're the one who can't pull away, who can't let him go. Steve was your friend long before he'd been anything of Nancy's or this Robin girl's. Still, you have no right to lay claim. You know this. And yet, you're here at three in the morning, ready to make him scrambled eggs. 
Like you said. Pathetic. 
Steve has a strange look on his face. He can't hear your heart thumping in your chest, right?  
"Sure you're not concussed?" he asks. 
He touches your forehead. You squeak, darting backwards. 
"I'm fine! Go shower. You have a lot of hair to get through."
You hurry out before Steve can respond. Your shoulders only relax when you hear the shower turn on and water rushes through the pipes. Now you can focus on making food. You're good at that. Making food holds no danger of your heartbeat ratcheting when Steve gets too close. 
The eggs turn out just how Steve likes them: softly scrambled. You also fix toast and wash some strawberries because you know for a fact Steve hasn't been eating as well as he should. 
He comes down a few minutes after you finish, still toweling his hair dry. You set the plate down at the kitchen island. He looks better, fresher. His face is still a mess but at least there's no visible blood. He wears the Talking Heads shirt you'd gotten him last year after forcing him to listen to their new album with you. On the bottom are plain blue boxers. Nothing special. Your heart palpitates. 
"Smells good," Steve says, further exhausted after the shower. "Thanks, sweet."
You swallow at the name. "N-no problem."
He bites into a strawberry first. The juice stains his lips red. You find a spot on the ceiling that's particularly riveting. 
"You cold?" he asks through a bite of egg. He dusts his hands of the toast crumbs, getting up to adjust the thermostat. 
"No, I'm fine."
"You sure? You still have your robe on, Y/N."
"Oh. Well, I wanted to… stay modest."
Steve snorts. "Modest? Are we in the eighteen hundreds? I think I can handle your bare shoulders."
"Surprised you'd know that considering how many times you skipped history last year," you shoot back. 
"Still passed, didn't I?" Steve grins triumphantly. "Solid B, baby."
"With my help."
Steve's expression melts into a fond smile. 
"Yeah. I couldn't have done any of it without you. I'm a lucky guy."
He finishes his last square of toast and starts to get up to put his plate in the sink. You quickly beat him to it, resting a hand on his shoulder so he'll stay seated. 
"Why're you so good to me?" Steve asks when you return. 
You tilt your head, leaning on his chair. "Because you're my friend and you deserve it."
"You really think that?"
Your brows knit. "Of course I do."
He shakes his head. "We haven't even hung out this month. I just got totally wrapped up in the new job and the kids and I—"
"Steve," you say. "Where's all this coming from? I know you've been busy since your dad cut you off. I'm not mad about that."
"Well, I am," he huffs. "I wanted to hang out with you more, I swear. I just didn't want to lose you. You're my best friend and I could never lose you—I don't know what I'd do if–if—"
"Hey," you soothe. "Hey, hey. Steve, it's okay. I don't know what happened… something about Russians? Whatever, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. But right now, you're exhausted. Can you try sleeping?" 
He looks at you with wet eyes. His fingers absently play with your robe belt. 
"Promise it's okay?" he asks. 
"Oh, Steve. I missed you. But you still have me. You always will, y'know?" 
He pulls you into a hug. His face nudges the pudge of your belly. You fold and cradle his head. 
"Missed you too," he mumbles. 
Steve is like a furnace, soft with residual heat from the shower. He's always felt larger than life and tonight is no different. Even battered, Steve is Steve. Hugging him feels like an out-of-body experience.
"C'mon," you coax. "You've been up for nearly twenty four hours."
He stands. You step back, trying to smile. Steve's attempt to mirror you isn't much better. He looks at your hand, then his own. 
"I'll see you in the morning? Or, well, afternoon.”
"Oh." Steve avoids your gaze, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth. "Yeah, guess so."
"When are your folks coming back?" 
Steve deflates further. "Dunno. They haven't returned my calls. Been gone for the whole summer."
You bite the inside of your cheek. Steve is a shiny, red apple in your Garden of Eden with his still damp hair and lovingly worn shirt. You need to go home. 
"I just… I don't want to overstep," you say. You look up to the ceiling, take a deep breath. "It's really your girlfriend that should be here." 
Steve's head snaps up.  
"What? I don't have a girlfriend."
"You don't?" 
He shakes his head. 
"Nancy was my last."
Your chest lightens. Steve takes a step forward. 
"You don't have to stay," he begins. "I just—it's so empty."
Damn it. Damn it.
"I'll… I'll stay for a few minutes," you say. "Just until you fall asleep."
He brightens. There's not much to bring Steve peace. You can do this thing for him. 
And who are you kidding? You’re not exactly pulling teeth here. 
You go to his room. You haven’t been here in months, since school let out. It’s the same, more or less. There are a few more photos; of you and Steve, of Steve and who is probably Robin. He still has the same plaid theme and the framed sports car photo you’ve teased him about for as long as you’ve known him. 
Steve’s hand lands on your back. You jolt.  
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Temperature okay?”
“I’m alright,” you say. “Does your face hurt? I could get some ice. Or Advil?”
Steve’s eyes go wide. He swallows.
“No. No drugs.”
His eyes seem to cloud over. You take his hand.
“Steve? Hey, you okay?”
He exhales, lids fluttering.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m—the Russians…”
“Oh, Steve.”
You wrap your arms around him. Steve falls into your embrace, like the night has finally taken him down. His chin rests on your shoulder. You rub his back. His hair is fluffy and smells like lemon shampoo. You curl your fingers into a few strands.
“I’ve got you,” you murmur. “C’mon, Stevie.”
Slowly, Steve rises. You take him by the hand and lead him to the bed. You pull back the covers on his side. Steve slides into bed. His hair fans across the pillow. 
Steve looks like an angel. You feel temptation creep again.
“You’ll stay, right?” he asks. “For a little while?”
You smile and undo your robe belt. 
“Yes, Steve. I’ll stay.”
Steve’s seen you in pajamas and even in panties before. It’s no big deal, really. 
That’s what you tell yourself when you’re down to a big t-shirt and your underwear. 
Steve is a gentleman, of course. He doesn’t stare at you or comment. You clumsily climb into bed. 
“Hey,” he says, pointing at your shirt. “We match.”
You look down at your “Remain in Light” shirt. 
“Guess we’re meant to be,” you whisper, and immediately regret it.
But Steve smiles, eyes drooping.
“Yeah,” he hums. “Guess we are.”
You scoot up against the headboard and pat his shoulder.
“G’night, Steve.”
Steve frowns. 
“Lie down. ‘S uncomfortable sitting up.”
You chew your lip. Steve looks so earnest, eyes like starlight. You swallow and shimmy down, under the covers. 
He scoots closer. Your heart pounds.
“You want the light on?” you ask. 
He hesitates, and you know he’s debating between being brave or being comfortable. You choose for him.
“I like the light on,” you say, and he relaxes.
There’s only a couple inches of space between you. Steve is soft and yours, bathed in orange light. You want to kiss him. You want a lot of things you can’t have.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, Steve.” 
He pats the pillow for your hand. You link your fingers together.
“I’m happy I know you, Y/N,” he replies.
And there, in the dim light, safe under the covers that smell so much like Steve, you want to tell him. You want to tell him so badly how much you love him. How sick you feel seeing him bruised and bloodied. How you never want to see him like that again.
“Steve,” you whisper.
The words crush your throat. God, he’s beautiful. You can’t lose him.
“Nothing,” you say in a rush of breath. “Never mind. Sorry. Go to sleep.”
Steve stares at you for a long moment. You gnaw the inside of your cheek. 
“I thought about you,” he finally says. “When I was down there. I thought about you.”
He closes the last few inches between you.
“I thought about what I’d say if I saw you again. What I’d do.”
“Steve,” you warn. 
Steve reaches for your cheek. Your breath stutters.
“You’re exhausted,” you remind him. “Y-you’re not thinking clearly.”
“I am,” he promises. “Been thinking clearly for a while now.”
And then Steve kisses you. It’s chaste, barely a press of lips. You’re careful of his cut. His lips are chapped and smell like mint and antiseptic. Steve shifts closer and grunts. You pull back, instinctively cradling his ribs.
“Careful,” you say. “Careful, Steve.”
He smiles.
“You’re so good to me,” he says. 
You lean in and rest your forehead on his. 
He kisses your cheek again, unsure and fumbling like you’re his first. It’s sweet. God, he’s sweet. 
“Please stay,” Steve whispers.
You nod. 
“I will.”
You always do.
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whumpster-dumpster · 4 days
Feral Whumpees who are gradually sorta kinda tamed with tenderness. Whumpees who scratch and snap and snarl and duck into dark corners when they feel threatened. They'll drag Caretaker down into the corner too if they think they're being threatened. Caretaker rubbing their head and back soothingly, talking them down and getting cautious yet trusting rumbles in return. Whumpee building their nest, leaving room for Caretaker beside them. Whumpee slow-blinking in adoration for them, and hissing at anyone else who gets too close
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sibmakesart · 11 months
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Loyalty to his captain above all else
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grumpycakes · 5 months
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Had a Rough Brain Day, so Stony comfort was in order
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imfinereallyy · 9 days
Steve Harrington isn't sure he's ever felt beautiful.
He is sure it would be a surprise to most.
However, Steve is overwhelmed with himself. And not in a good way. The constant feeling of the stretch of his skin, every lump, every scar. It's hard to breathe sometimes for Steve.
There is too much of him. Hair everywhere. Worried lips. Voice fluctuating.
Too many errors. Picked cuticles, bitten nails, and crooked noses.
Too many flaws. Loudmouth has nothing to show for it. Big money, but not enough to fix.
When Steve Harrington looks at himself, he doesn't see something he defines as beauty.
Sure he's been called many things across the board. Hot, sexy, and even the occasional handsome. That is typically reserved though for old women at Family Video and his mother's book club in 79' (a disaster of an idea considering it was mostly day drinking). And although Steve is called all these things and more, he hasn't really felt them. They are just more meaningless words he is supposed to nod his head along to. It's rude not to take a compliment, he can hear his mother's voice saying.
But Steve Harrington does not feel beautiful. He knows it's not a masculine word. He can almost hear the unspoken slur every time his father calls Steve a pretty boy, good for nothing but his looks.
(Steve doesn't think it's his father's insults that make him feel this way. He thinks that his comments might have to do more with his repressed bisexuality though. That's a talk for Robin for sure.)
Steve knows he shouldn't feel this way. Should be grateful for the compliments, the praise. It's rude, he knows. To be so ungracious. He can't just push them off, he can't argue.
He knows it isn't good, and isn't healthy to put this on other people. That he should work from the inside than out. Even so, Steve can't help but wonder if it's all his years being put inside a particular box that is the problem.
Who is he to argue with everyone else too? They always know better. The girls at school have told him what eye candy he is. His old buddies would tell him they wish they looked like him. Even the kids would mostly compliment him aesthetically. Talk about his way with women. Talk about how he's lucky he's got looks.
(He thinks he should be bothered more by the value of his looks than his intelligence, but that problem feels separate to Steve. He isn't really sure if he can explain it.)
Maybe that is the problem. People talk more about his looks than to him. Around him, through him, but not to him. Or maybe it's because Steve thinks they are just being kind, being pitiful. If Steve can't be smart, can't be creative, can't be talented all that is left is looks. People can't bullshit the other things, but they can all pretend he's a good-looking guy.
He is probably being dramatic if he's being honest. He can feel the sinking weight of the words selfish, self-centered, vain. It's like a horrible thrumming in his chest, every time he thinks too hard about it. Thankless and paranoid, Steve usually keeps quiet.
It's when Steve meets Robin Buckley, things start to change just a little bit. She's the first to come the closest to making him believe he can maybe be beautiful.
It's after a shift at Family Video. Robin and Steve are sitting on the hood of his BMW at the quarry. They're stargazing. Something that before Robin, Steve would have considered a waste of time.
He is so very glad he met Robin.
Steve has never really told anyone how he feels about himself. He doesn't think it would do him any good. He comes close though when suddenly Robin turns from looking at the sky, looks directly at his face, and says, "Sometimes, you remind me of the stars."
Steve startles and comes up with an eloquent "Huh?"
Robin giggles softly. "It's the moles. Reminds me of the constellations. I sometimes want to connect them, see if they match."
Steve just stares, unsure of what to say. Feels captured by her. Can feel that familial love between them grow even more.
Robin reaches out. Carefully, delicately, as if Steve might stop her. She brushes against the moles across his face and lightly connects them. "Pretty."
It's just one word, but for a moment Steve believes it's true. It's only a second, but he thinks he might remember this moment forever.
"Thanks Rob." He whispers, afraid to break the moment.
Rob pauses for a second before continuing the journey back and forth on his face. It's if she can tell how fragile he is when she whispers back "No problem Dingus."
He doesn't believe it for very long, but it at least makes him more grateful for Robin.
Steve Harrington isn't sure he's ever felt beautiful.
Well, until he meets Eddie Munson.
It's small at first. From the second Eddie meets Steve, it's almost as if he can read every single thought that comes across his mind.
And when they become friends, after Vecna, after it all, it's as if Eddie can see completely through Steve.
Eddie notices when Steve gets uncomfortable with backhanded compliments on his looks. When Steve tenses in the slightest towards what the kids, customers, or even Nance are saying (he remembers a distinct can't believe another woman hasn't been fooled by the Harrington looks yet, from her). And at first, Eddie seems to just catch on and change the subject. Shifts the attention to himself instead.
Steve's grateful.
But then Eddie starts to correct people. Shape the compliments better, more suited to Steve. There is a girl trying to flirt with him in Family Video once when Eddie is visiting. Steve isn't super receptive to it and even shrinks away a bit when the girl—Sadie he thinks her name is—looks him up and down and says "Sorry I'm taking so long, just I can't help if you're so distracting. You look so good today Steve,"
It doesn't feel good, even though he wants it to. But then there is Eddie cutting Sadie off by saying, "It's the smile isn't it?"
Eddie looks directly at Steve, chin in his hands as he leans across the counter. There is a slight uptilt to his lips while ignores Sadie's confused "Huh?"
"Can't look away when you see a smile that bright."
Steve doesn't think too badly about himself for the rest of the day.
After that something shifts in Eddie too. The verbal comments don't become fewer, but the looks do become more frequent. It's these absolutely intoxicating looks, that shake Steve to his core.
Eddie's eyes trail him, whisper to him, fucking follow his every movement.
There is this one time when Steve throws his head back and laughs harder than has in his life when Robin trips into Nancy's lap. He is sure it really isn't that funny, and he knows he looks awful with the snorting and tears running down his face. But Eddie, Eddie's eyes just follow the line of Steve's neck, connect all of his moles with his gaze, and just beams at Steve.
For a moment, Steve feels gorgeous.
Even with these little things, Steve Harrington doesn't feel beautiful.
After everything with Vecna, what little he liked about himself is quite literally torn apart. The stares are mixed now. Some admire him, some look upon him in horror. He can't decide which feels worse. They both make him feel so distinctly other. Something to look at, something to hang on the wall and contemplate.
And moments like these ones, sitting in his backyard in broad daylight, in 90-degree weather for a pool party the kids begged him to have, he can't help but cover himself up. Hide away.
Eddie sits next to him in the lounge chair on his right with a distinct plop, shaking Steve from his spiral momentarily.
"You doing alright there big boy?" Eddie raises an eyebrow.
"Yea. I'm good man." Steve tries to shake off.
"Really? Cause like I know you and Rambo—" Eddie points at Nancy "—don't exactly go in the water anymore, but the least you can do is take your shirt off. It's hotter than Satan's ass out here, and that's a lot coming from me. Considering my reputation with knowing him personally and all."
Steve looks out at the backyard, at the kids in the water, at Robin trying hopelessly not to stare at Nancy, and he contemplates for a moment. He could lie to Eddie, but that didn't feel right. They had grown too close for that. He could tell him to shove off, and Steve knows that Eddie would, no questions asked. It doesn't feel right either. Because for once, Steve wants. Steve aches. So he turns to Eddie slowly and says "I don't want them to stare."
Steve doesn't specify who. He doesn't think he needs to. It's not really anyone really. Or maybe it's everyone.
Instead of telling him they won't stare, or he has nothing to be ashamed or that he's a hot piece of ass, Eddie says "Why don't you want them to?"
Steve feels like he's been hit by a truck.
He takes a sharp breath "I—I just feel—" He tilts his head back trying to hold back tears before looking at Eddie again "—It just makes me feel like a thing. Like something to observe. The scars, they are just awful. And I know yours are the same but it's just different. It fits you, not me. I'm not sure anything fits me really. And—and even if it's not the scars they stare cause they think I like it, like it's a compliment. But I don't believe it. It's not true. It never has been, even before the Upside Down. I'm just Steve. I'm just here and..." he trails off. Steve doesn't even think he is making any sense in the slightest. But then he sees Eddie's face through the tears, so serious and kind, and Steve sees that Eddie just gets it.
Without hesitation, Eddie stands up and grabs Steve's wrist lightly, and drags him up. "C'mon" is all he says before taking Steve inside.
Steve expects a speech, Eddie is famous for them, but instead all he does is pull him into the kitchen. "Let's make the kids lunch, yeah?"
So they do. For the next five minutes, they work in comfortable silence, preparing sandwiches. Steve's shoulder's relax, the tension begins to leave his body. He can feel Eddie's warmth at his side. Can hear Eddie start to hum the tune of "Everybody wants to Rule the World" next to him, even though Steve is certain Eddie hates Tears for Fears. And because Steve knows it's for him he can't help the smile that blooms across his face, dimples and all.
Suddenly, Eddie stops humming and takes Steve's face into his hands, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Steve's smile, albeit softer now, remains on his face when he asks, "What?"
Eddie leans in, a whisper away from his lips, and replies "Beautiful."
He then kisses Steve in the only way that can be described as devoted affection. It's warm and true. It's like coming home.
And Steve Harrington for the first time feels beautiful.
When time moves on, and Steve has bad days, where he feels like he's rotting from the inside out, he remembers this moment. He remembers when his boyfriend saw him covered in sweat, tears, and mayo, and can't help but kiss him for the first anyway.
He remembers Eddie can't see anything beyond Steve's smile and think that he was anything but beautiful.
Do I develop Steve's character more than necessary? yes. Will it ever stop me? no. Sorry I love a good character study. I need to do one for Eddie next.
Not much to say here except, like steve says this might not make a whole lot of sense, but it felt good to get out. Sometimes it's okay to want to be called pretty. It's not shallow or vain. It's good for the soul. Hope the pacing was okay. Llet me know what to write next <3
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jordanstrophe · 24 days
Recovering whumpee's who know they're weak, but don't like to feel weak.
To spite that, they refuse help. They'll walk to the other side of the hospital by themselves one agonizing step at a time. As slow as it is, Caretaker goes their pace without a single complaint; knowing they need this for their sanity.
They just beg quietly under their breath "Please... don't push yourself. Please be careful. Take it easy.'"
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drasticemotions · 7 months
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journen · 11 months
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My roommate said I should draw Obi-Wan just having a really bad day lol. “Everything goes wrong. Gets kidnapped, meets a sith, ship gets blown up, etc… and he’s terribly frustrated by the end”.
I imagine in this drawing, it’s after his long awful day and he has somehow stumbled his way back to the temple concussed, in his blood and dirt clad shredded tunic, belt somehow long lost so he’s carrying his lightsaber in hand. All the clones / Jedi who are gathered in this conference room turn to the doorway, see him and are like “Obi-Wan?! What happened?!” and Obi plays it off like it’s totally normal, delivers them some important intel he recently learned, and them prompty passes out lol.
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