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depresssant · 4 months ago

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Shades Of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

so reader is very flawed ppl. i’m trying to make this as gn as possible for pls bear with me. asks and requests r open. reblogs are also much appreciated. now that i’ve gotten my e-begging out of the way, enjoy this pathetic excuse of a story

warnings : child abuse, past sexual abuse, yandere, etc

you want to die.

you always do.

staring at the wanna be thug pointing a gun at you, you sigh and roll your eyes in exasperation. perhaps pissing him off will the best way to get him to curl a finger around the trigger. or judging by his temperament, you won't have to do much.

"you? i should give my money to you?"

"who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?" the thug screams at you angrily. his grip gets tighter and clammier. he's not experienced with this. he's probably ganged up with a bunch of thugs to pull shit like this. it wouldn't take much to disarm him. "give me the fucking money before i blow your head off!"

"to a junkie like you?" you are a junkie, too, so you're not too sure about making fun of him for that. "i don't give money to hobos."

that is wrong, too. but you want to piss him off.

"that's it, you stupid bitch!" the thug's stances becomes defensive. his hateful glare is pointed at you while he musters the courage to actually press the trigger. he doesn't look like he'll do it. you've seen countless like him roaming the streets, holding you at gunpoint. he probably won't do it. then again, this is gotham. you don't expect much. either he'll shoot you dead, forcibly take your stuff, flee the scene out of fear, or be dismantled by one of the city's vigilantes. perhaps he'd shoo—

"stop right there!"

damn it.

you think too soon.

a young robin is quick to have the wanna be thug tied up and beat down. you would've questioned why a kid who seemingly looked twelve can do such a thing, but you've learned to not question most things in your life. you merely sigh in disappoint and pick up your dropped backpack before beginning the journey to hell.

"excuse me? wait! where are you headed?"

gosh, his boy-ish voice grates your nerves. makes you clench your teeth. your gaze narrows, but you know better than to react. reaction gains a reaction—one that will never be in your favor. it'll lead to a fight—one that will never be in your favor. you'll end up broken, bleeding, and bruised. now that isn't something in your favor. now you're thinking of favor too much. forcing a smile, you turn around to face the pre-teen vigilante. "yes?"

"are you alright?" he asks with practiced concern. he doesn't actually care. it's probably just protocol.

"a-okay!" the words are hollow. they lack depth. like you. "thank you for your help. i don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't there."

you do know. you wish you wouldn't.

"you're welcome," robin replies with polished words like he's not exactly convinced. "would you like for me to walk you? the city hasn't been safe for some time now."

"when is it ever safe? but that's okay. i live just around the corner, so i think i'll be fine."

"are you sure—"

"completely."

please. why won't he just leave you alone? there goes your plan spoiled by him again. every time you've been in an attempted robbing, he's been there to destroy your chances of getting shot. of escaping. he always does this. this is a repeated cycle between the two of you. he's a flying bird until you shoot him down. your name clearly wants to escape from his lips, but robin nods his head in understanding.

"this seems to happen to you all the time. my wish is for you to be safe."

"this is gotham." the grip on the straps on your backpack tighten. "everyone's gotta go through this. anyways, i gotta go, you know. thanks for savin' me."

"of course."

you don't spare him a single glance. the sky is wrapped up in black clouds heavy with the burden of rain. icy cold wind sings a melancholy tune through the stiff air. the door to your apartment looks like the gates of hell. it's all futile. no matter how many sighs you sigh, how many wishes you wish, and how many curses you curse, you'll still land up in the same fate. without escape.

that is the summary of your life.

taking a few seconds to prepare yourself for the incoming session, you open the door to be met with radio silence. silence is never good. half the time, it means something is brewing for you, and they're taking their sweet time to scare you into thinking nothing will happen. sometimes. not all the time. the other time, it just means he need to rise from his pile of misery first.

the hand of your mother's boyfriend is instantly wrapped around your neck before you can even register why the hell the apartment looks like a tornado hit it. he squeezes so tightly you feel like blood is gushing out of your ears with how loudly they ring. white spots dot along your blurry sight as you struggle to breathe. you can hear a frantic voice telling him to let you go, but you're pushed up more against the wall. this is the norm. doesn't mean it hurts any less. he'll let you go, give you some time to regain your breath, and then rain down bullets upon you.

that's exactly what happens.

your hand goes straight to your neck as your raspy and shaky coughs wreck your chest. he squeezes hard enough for it to hurt but it not show. and then the kicks and punches come. with how much your chest and ribs are struck, you're a bit surprised at how you haven't broken a bone yet. your potential step-father screams at you, but you can barely hear it over the repetition of words in your head. he grabs your bloody face and shout something incoherent before letting you go to kick you.

leaving you in your own pile of misery.

it's normal. yes, it's completely normal. you're used to this. it'll get better. it always does. but you've got the crushing idea it never will.

gotham heights high school—the school you're forced to attend.

the class division is insane to look at, because it's there even from a short and near prospective. how the richest kids got put in a school with the poorest—you'll never know. the only thing you do know is that every one of these kids are pieces of shit. even the ones that pretend to be nice.

tim drake—or shall you say tim wayne—is no different.

even as he helps up the girl who just got roughly pushed to the floor, causing all her textbooks to scatter, you can only eye him with disdain. if he really cares, then he would've beat the shit out of those athletes. but he doesn't. they're all the same—privileged and all. sympathy shouldn't be given to them. not to drake or the wealthy yet somehow bullied girl.

"but y'know what i heard?" your friend drags your attention back to him. zarian leans against a locker lazily, but excitement practically buzzes off of him. "the bruce wayne is coming to our track meet today!"

your other friend, jaylene, rolls her eyes as she applies her eyeliner using the mirror hanging up on the inside door of her locker. she speaks exactly what you're thinking. "only because his beloved son is gonna be there."

"well, still. think about the connections we can make! all the famous people that'll be there."

"keep dreaming. asshat. i put all my money on the attention being on rich the kid. i don't even know why he joined track. varsity, at that, too. there has to be some sort of bribery going on."

an incoming argument is clearly brewing up, so you take in a deep breath to say something, but a new voice beats you to it.

"excuse me?"

you and your two friends turn to face the guy standing in front of you. charismatic, intelligent, and optimistic—he's an enigma that shines on everyone. tim drake. his black, messy yet somehow in place hair does no justice for his good looks. he's the complete package. rich, good looking, tall, and empathetic. the mere sight of him annoys you.

zarian is the first to speak up. he quirks a brow and offers tim a grin. "what's up, man?"

"you're leaning against my locker." tim rubs the back of his neck. he smiles awkwardly in the presence of the three of you, and it takes your friend a beat to understand what he's saying before moving away.

"oh yeah. my fault," he says as he moved to stand next to you.

the school's very own bruce wayne only shakes his head and tells him it's okay while opening his locker and grabbing a few things. people flock around, waiting for him to be done with whatever the hell he's doing, so they can be back to his side like leeches sucking on blood. he surely can't be this dumb, no? these people don't want to be his friend...

well, it's not as if it's your problem. you wish it is. you and your friends turn to make way to first period, but drake clearly has other plans. he sandwiches himself between you and zarian with a grin of his own plastered on an unblemished face. one carefree of any worry or pain. "so," tim begins. "first track meet of the year, huh? aren't you guys nervous?"

jaylene merely hums in amusement and shrugs. "it gets better. when you've spent four years in track—in front of all those judging people—it wears off. hopefully, you'll get used to it soon."

that is jab, though, rich the kid doesn't seem to catch on. he laughs casually, but even you can sense the anxiety like it was radioactive. ""i hope so. i've sprinted so much i feel like i'll get shin splits again."

you zone out while he has a conversation with your friends. as if drake has ever had experience with track. it took you all of freshman year to just prove that you can actually be a part of the track team, and here tim drake is, parading around about getting on varsity without a single grain of hard work. he's a naturally talented person. good at everything. that's what makes you hate him so much. people like him get everything handed to them just because they're good at it first hand and leave behind people that actually work for it. you want to tell him to buzz off—that he can't talk about how much he's practiced and how nervous he is, but you keep your mouth shut. that is, until he directly addresses you.

tim's eyes narrow at you with comedic suspicion. "you know, you look like someone i know. a lot. the resemblance is crazy."

"eight billion people out there. you never know." your tone is flat, stoic, lacking any bit of emotion.

"gosh, you even sound like him! that's really terrifying."

"well, whoever, it is, i hope i never meet him," you murmur.

your two friends leave for their classes soon, and you and drake find your seats at the back of high school economics. exhaustingly so, you sit together in one of the many desk pairs, and drake uses this opportunity to annoy you any chance he gets. you give off the vibe that you don't want to talk to him. he doesn't get the hint. you don't tell him, though. maybe that's the problems. his shit-eating grin ticks you off when you look in his direction. "what?"

"let's be friends!"

"no."

"what? come on! don't be so cold!" he whines like a petulant child being told no.

"no."

"too bad! you're my friend now."

"tim," you sigh. it's wrong to scream. it's bad to scream. screaming leads to fights. fights lead to you laying in a pool of your own blood. laying in blood leads to missing practice. missing practice leads to less skill. less skill leads to less of a chance of getting the hell out of here. just smile. forgive and forget. know your persona. know who you are. kind. happy. funny. "fine." so you smile with gritted teeth. you smile like you played a cruel joke on him. "we can be friends... i guess."

his face brightens at your fake words like he is just given the the world.

tim drake wiggles his eyebrows playfully and nudges you with his elbow. "you know, i've been trying to get you to say that since school started?"

"really now?"

"really. i'm glad we're going to be friends. oh! should we go out to eat with zarian and jaylene after the meet?"

... there's a chance your mom's boyfriend will get pissed off. he'll probably beat the shit out of you since the track meet would have happened, and you wouldn't need to have an unblemished body for meets. he'd scream, yell, and punch... like his life depended on it... fuck it.

"yeah," you reply shortly after with a firm nod of your head. "we can go to this diner near the theater. i'm sure you'll love the food."

this doesn't mean you hate him any less. he's still rich scum⏤how you're poor scum. he's stuck up, pretentious, and sickeningly sweet. exactly what you hate. you just hope you can have a good time after the track meet. the mischievous glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

"and this is my dad, bruce wayne."

what the hell are you doing?

the sun is setting along the horizon, the air is getting cooler again, and you want to sink into the floor. the plan was to head straight to the diner after this, but rich the kid somehow roped you into meeting his dad?

nausea pools in your stomach from both hunger and the feeling of thousands of eyes staring at you. cameras are flashing at gotham's billionaire as he smiles and firmly shakes your hand. confidence drips off of him disgustingly. his high-tailored suit radiates wealth and money. his stoic demeanor gives off an aura of mystery. you want to lay on a railroad track with an incoming train speeding along the way.

"it's nice to meet you. tim has ranted about his track teammates quite a lot."

there's an eleven year old standing next to him. his eyes are on you like that of an owl's but you neither glance at him or bother to acknowledge him. you just want to eat some food before meeting your doom at that apartment for not placing first like your mom's boyfriend wanted you to. like a goat getting stuffed before slaughter. it always leads down to that. no matter how many times you try to wish it was different. no matter how many times you imagine it to be different. no matter how many times you try to make it different.

"nice to meet you too." you shake his hand as well with a polite smile on your face. polite. calm. gentle. proper. "and yeah, he seems very eager to be on the team."

"of course, of course. well, it is getting late. why don't you come over for dinner some time?"

"maybe tonight?" tim suddenly adds in. at your hesitant expression, he groans in exasperation. "who do you think we are? blood-sucking bats? come on, we can go to the diner some other time!"

you have just met him... you've just accepted being his friend... you aren't the most social person. you've never had much friends, but even you can understand that dinner with the family doesn't happen until the friend and person have come close in a long period of time. jaylene and zarian have other matters to tend to, so it's going to be just you and tim at a diner. not⏤

ding!

your phone's notification's alarm chimes, and when you check who has sent you a message, you feel like getting on the ground to pray to whatever deity for letting you have a moment of peace.

mom: ⏤he's heavily drunk. don't come home.

a part of you is hit with a strong current full of guilt. this is your mother. you're supposed to be there for her through thick and thin. you're supposed to protect her and be her wall of defense against monsters like him. family look out for each other. you have to take care of her... but she doesn't take care of you. this makes you a terrible person. you know that. she'll probably get beaten to an inch of her life and hide her heavy bruises under makeup that was terribly done in a rush. and then, she'll throw whatever object is in sight at you in a fury of anger.

telling you she made too many sacrifices for you. telling you that you're ruined her life. telling you that she should've aborted you like your father had told her to. telling you exactly what you believe yourself. a curse that should've never been born... she'll be beaten within an inch of her life. but you have already lost yours.

after pretending to text her and sliding your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, you nod with a sigh of joking resignation. "sure. i asked my mom, and she said it's okay."

"wonderful." mr. wayne nods and gestures to the limo you can see in the parking lot. a bit of overkill, perhaps.

honestly, you're still surprised that gotham's billionaire is inviting you to dinner. this man is the topic of magazines, and you're about to take a ride in his limo. how the hell have you ended up in a situation like this? fate is still fucking with you, isn't it?

you find yourself seated next to tim while mr. wayne and his youngest son, damian, sit on the seats to your right. they're talking about something, but once again, you find yourself half listening and zoning out, staring at nothing until mr. wayne's questions pulls you back to reality.

"so how has school been faring for you?" mr. wayne asks in a cool and collected tone.

you laugh lightly and smile as politely as ever. "pretty good. i hope to leave gotham after graduation to study somewhere else."

"who would want to stay in gotham?" tim rolled his eyes, rolling the first place medal between his fingers. "by the way, remember when i said you looked like someone i know? i was talking about my dad?"

your brows rise in both exasperation and annoyance at his claims. now he's just plain, out right trying to make fun of you in front of a billionaire. your shoulders tense, ready to refute his claims, but mr. wayne surprisingly chuckles and rubs his chin while taking a good look at your face. "well, i can see it, but there's eight billion people out there in the world. i'm bound to look like someone. though, i didn't expect for it to be someone as talented as [name] here."

you force a quiet laugh along at the sound of his tone. foreboding. you know tones like this. like he's hiding something that they all know except for you. it means you've made a mistake in even giving in to tim drake's constant begging. why the hell was he so eager to have you become his friend? why is he so eager to maintain a friendship with you? why the hell has mr. wayne invited you to dinner when he's rumored to be mysterious, secretive, and a literal brick wall that nobody can get past?

"you've achieved so much for a child your age." mr. wayne sets his gaze dead on you. "your father must be so proud."

and his eyes glimmer with that same shine you saw in tim's.

ewwww

this was not proofread so forgive me and uh, i will be turning this into a series

um also making a tag list if anyone wants to be a part of it

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rin-may-1103 · 6 months ago

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The Wrong Robin Au (part four)

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Danny slowed his car down, staring at the black iron gate coming into view; Bats and ivy welded on in an elegant pattern, obviously more thought-out than The Drake's ducks had been. He had to give it to Tim, the kid had been right about how stupid the ducks looked.

Glancing around, Danny found he was completely alone on the dirt road. The gray sky slowly brightened as the sun climbed higher in the distance, trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and birds chirped.

If it hadn't been for his experiences at Vlad's place, he would have found the scenery comforting, maybe even inviting. But the knowledge that this was the home of a billionaire, one that went out at night to fight crime like a furry on crack nonetheless, ruined it.

Maybe he should just head back to the motel...

...

Fuck it, when had Phantom ever backed down? That's right! Never! Danny was going to stick to his metaphorical guns and follow through with his admittedly stupid plan.

Taking his foot off the brake; Danny activated his intangibility, shared it with the car, and drove through the gate. (look, what were his powers for if not to make his life convenient? He deserved it after literally dying for them. AND the gate was probably locked. There was no way he could convince someone to let him in at this time in the morning, so...)

Danny kept an eye on his surroundings as he drove, he doubted Bruce Wayne would have ghost vultures working for him, but that doesn't mean Danny wouldn't be prepared if he did.

Eventually, a large building came into view. Its gothic architecture and obvious timely design set it apart from Vlad's modern monstrosity of a castle. Danny could just tell this was a home for a family with old money; the weathered roof and aged water fountain told stories of the people who used to live there. This was a home, not just a house.

Pulling his car over and parking, Danny quickly sent a mental prayer to the home's ancestors. He hoped they could forgive him for what he was about to do.

Grabbing his backup phone and his keys, Danny tossed the car door open and stepped out. Immediately his senses were clouded with grief and anger. It was so strong he almost lost his footing. The house was just drenched in the emotions, tendrils reaching out and wrapping around anything and everything.

Closing his eyes, Danny held his breath so he could focus on blocking the emotions out. (flashes of someone else's memories rushed past his mind; a glimpse of a young boy sitting in a library reading a book. An older man sitting next to him silently. In another flash, the two were now in a dark cave, the light of a computer the only thing illuminating them as the older man draped a blanket across the boy's back. whispered words of sincere promises echoed in his head.)

He had believed Tim, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Ancients, this was worse than when he had to deal with Spectra.

Batman definitely needed therapy.

...

Maybe Jazz should be Robin instead, she'd know how to handle this properly. but Jazz wasn't here right now, she was in Sweden learning all about mental health. Which meant Danny would have to do this himself.

yay.

He had two options; One, he sits down with the man and they have a sincere and very emotional conversation. Or two, he beats it into the guy's head that he needs to stop going out and trying to get himself killed. Based on everything he knows about Batman? It was going to be number two that was going to get results... Well, at least Danny had experience punching things until he got what he wanted. (even if it didn't always work.)

Shaking himself out of his mind, Danny started making his way to the front door. It was past five in the morning, Bruce should be home now. Whether he was sleeping like Danny would assume he usually did, was a different question altogether.

Glancing around the door, Danny found there was a large rope hanging to the left. Vlad had the same thing at his place, it was an old-fashioned doorbell.

shrugging, Danny pulled on the rope and waited.

and waited.

After a minute or two, Danny pulled the rope again. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in a nice waistcoat and trousers.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, a British accent completing the look.

Danny blinked for a second before quickly focusing back on his task. "My name's Danny. Bruce is being a dumbass who needs to take a chill pill and take a step back from hospitalizing criminals. Can I come in?"

It was the old man's turn to stare and blink at him. After a minute, the man stepped back and opened the door, his eyebrow raised. "I would like to see how you plan to tell this to Master Bruce. His office is this way, young man."

"May I ask what exactly you're doing here?" the man asked, closing the door behind Danny.

Danny shrugged, "I'm here to beat some sense into him. He's going to get himself killed and no one wants to see what happens when he does."

The butler, because the rich fruitloop would obviously have one, hummed as he nodded his head in agreement. "I see. Maybe this is what he needs then. he won't listen to me, no matter how much I nag him."

Nothing else was said as he guided Danny through the manor, eventually stopping at a fancy dark wooden door. "Master Bruce, you appear to have a visitor." Then He opened the door and gestured for Danny to enter.

He only had a moment to ponder how he should do this before he entered the room. He should keep his powers hidden, for now at least.

He was greeted with the sight of an exhausted man in a bathrobe sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He was clutching a very worn and loved book in his hands, his brows slightly furrowed. (Danny noted that it was the same book the kid had been reading, The Hero and the Crown... or something like that, Danny hadn't really gotten a good look at the title.)

The butler stepped back, closing the door, and stood next to it to maybe await his new orders. Ones he probably wouldn't get any time soon, if the way Bruce hadn't moved or responded meant anything.

Well, if the old man wanted to see this then who was Danny to stop him?

Stepping forward, Danny leaned over the desk and slapped the back of Bruce's head. The man swiftly turned and stared at him, raising one of his hands to touch his head in shock. Danny heard the butler choke in surprise but ignored him. He could only pray to Clockwork that Bruce didn't kill him for this.

"You are being absolutely idiotic, dude." Danny declared. "Do you think Jason would have wanted you to act like this?" Bruce stood up, his chair slamming into the wall, his eyes burning in anger. "No? Then get your shit together and be the man he would be proud of."

Bruce lunged over the desk, his fist pulled back to hit Danny. It was just like Danny expected, just like Tim had told him, the man was letting his emotions control his actions. Dodging to the side, Danny continued talking, "This going out every night, fighting more and more dangerous and outlandish people all by yourself? It's going to get you killed."

Bruce gave up on trying to punch him, instead, he threw himself forward and body-slammed Danny to the floor. Danny coughed, quickly blocking his face as Bruce took a swing at him. Using the man's blind anger to his advantage, Danny kicked Bruce in the chest and sent him flying into his desk. "Jason's dead. It sucks. and it hurts. It's probably the worst pain you've ever experienced, but there's nothing you can do about it."

Danny glared at the man as he scrambled into a crouch, waiting to see what Bruce did next. "Shut up," the man growled, shoving himself up and away from his desk. He picked up his stapler; he was probably either going to use it as a blunt weapon or throw it at Danny. Widening his stance, Danny got ready to dodge or lunge.

He remembered reading about him, online when he first became Phantom. He remembered reading about Robin and Batman and how they worked together to protect Gotham. How they tirelessly worked day and night to put their rogues away every time they got out again.

He remembered seeing pictures of Batman standing next to little Robin, a proud smile on his face as the police took the criminals away. Pictures of the man helping and protecting Robin whenever the boy couldn't handle whatever mess he had gotten into. There was even a memorable one of Batman scolding an obviously sheepish Robin, a knocked-out Riddler slumped behind him.

He had wished so badly for someone to help him back them, for someone to be his Batman when times got hard. He remembered how devastated he was when it turned out the only person like him was Vlad. Vlad, who had wanted to murder his father and marry his mother. Vlad, who had overshadowed people to gain more wealth and power. Vlad, who hadn't seen how wrong it was to try and clone him.

He remembered the comments and videos from the citizens of Gotham, cheering for their heroes when they succeeded in capturing the rogues. How they still supported them when they failed. It was nothing like Amity's reaction to him.

He remembered how Gothom reacted when Robin was pronounced dead. How the city had cried and raged. He felt it all the way over in Amity, the grief and anger. The whole city had come together to mourn the boy who protected them. Even two years later, Danny could still feel the echoes.

"Jason's dead. He's dead and gone and you're letting yourself get consumed with your grief. but you made a promise Bruce."

Danny knew he had, it was the same promise Danny had made just four years ago.

Bruce's eyes widened and the anger that was surging in his eyes froze for just a moment. His hand loosened around the stapler but didn't let it go. The butler looked concerned, unsure if he should interfere or not.

"You made a promise all those years ago when you first dawned that stupid bat suit. You promised to do everything in your power to help your city. To protect it. Robin made the same promise. When he took up his suit. They both did."

Bruce's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. Danny lowered his body, still ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"You made a promise to your son, Bruce. Even if he didn't know it. One that you couldn't keep."

Bruce threw the stapler, making Danny jump to the side to dodge it. His mistake was not keeping an eye on what Bruce did after throwing it. The man quickly rushed up to him, eyes blazing in anger. "You don't know anything!" he cried, his fist slamming into Danny's jaw. Danny staggered back but ducked under the next punch.

"I lost my son! I wasn't there!" Bruce shouted, kicking Danny's legs out from under him. Danny's back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of him. Bruce followed him down, breaking his nose with another punch to the face. "I promised I would protect him and I wasn't there!"

Danny growled, catching Bruce's fist in his hand and sending a punch at the side of Bruce's head. Bruce tried to lean back, Danny's fist clipping his forehead. Bruce grunted, reaching up to grab Danny's fist to keep him from punching him again.

"You couldn't protect him! I get it, it sucks!" Danny shouted back, flashes of Dani's melting form grasping at his shirt in panic pulled to the front of his mind. "It leaves a black hole in the center of your chest! It sucks all the warmth out of you, leaving only the cold bitter knowledge that you couldn't save him!" (that he couldn't save her)

Bruce pulled his fist out of Danny's hand, slamming his elbow down into Danny's chest and twisting Danny's right arm sharply in an attempt to break it. Danny kept talking though, ignoring the pain as he pulled his arm out of Bruce's grasp, "But Jason made a promise! and you're doing nothing to keep it!"

Danny grabbed onto Bruce's bathrobe and flipped them so Bruce was the one on the floor now. Quickly reaching up, Danny grabbed both of Bruce's hands and held them as still as he could. Bruce was strong, but Danny had years of fighting Skulker and the other super-strong ghosts under his belt. "He made that promise knowing that you had made the same one!"

Bruce growled, throwing his head up in an attempt to hit Danny with it. Danny leaned back, accidentally loosening his grip just enough for Bruce to break out of it. Bruce shoved him off of him, making Danny slide back and hit a chair.

Grunting, Danny stood up and lunged at Bruce. Bruce dodged to the side, dropping down to pick the stapler back up. "I can't claim to know what Jason would have wanted," Danny spat, backing up to give himself more space as Bruce stepped toward him. "but I know as someone who made the same promise, I wouldn't have wanted you to change into what you are now!"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Danny, "Yeah, and what's that?" he growled.

"A careless, suicidal, moron," Danny growled back.

Bruce froze, stopping in place as he stared at Danny.

Danny took his chance to drive his point home; standing up straight, he raised his hands up in surrender. "He was your son. He looked up to you for protection. For guidance. And sure, maybe you weren't the best dad, and maybe you made mistakes. But you were his dad."

Danny stepped forward, watching as the butler stepped forward to reach out to the man. "and what kind of son would want his dad to kill himself?"

Bruce dropped his stapler, his eyes falling to the ground and catching onto the book he had dropped earlier. It was opened to the front page, written words in messy writing covering it.

"You need to stop, Bruce," Danny said, slowly crouching down and reaching out for the book. Bruce watched him as he stood up, the book still open to the front page in his hands. Jason's writing visible to all of them.

"you couldn't keep your promise to protect him. It sucks and it hurts. but you can keep his promise. The same promise you made all those years ago."

Bruce looked up at him, his blue eyes filling with tears, the butler's hand resting on his shoulder. Danny stepped forward again, holding the book out for Bruce to take.

"You can't protect Gotham if you're dead."

Jason's handwritten note stared up at them, the ink messy and smudged.

'to the best dad in the world and the many adventures we'll go on!'

and Bruce? Bruce crumbled to the floor with a sob, leaving Danny to stand in front of him. Blood running down his face, staining his hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pants, the book still held out with steady hands.

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hauntedbythefanficsofmypast · 3 months ago

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Not so Fake

Masterlist

Tim stationed himself in the third sitting room in the Manor. It was the closest to the kitchen, and furthest from the bedrooms and entrance of the manor. In other words, the perfect hiding spot from his overactive family that have united to try and make Tim rest. The only member that would find him right away would be Alfred, who already left him a cup of tea with a few of his cookies along with one of his laptops.

A note left on top stating that Alfred expected him to actually relax, and spotting the stickers Tim could tell this was his personal laptop. Taking Alfred seriously, Tim booted up YouTube and decided to watch his new favorite, GalacticPhantom, or Danny. He had found the channel a few months ago when one of his search engines caught a mention of Tim Drake and Red Robin being the same person.

The video in question had started off with a very well made video of the camera zooming down from a space view of the Earth to Danny’s home town, through his window and coming to a screeching halt in front of Danny and his friend Wes. The opening was highly impressive to Tim and the twenty-five minute video that followed had Tim wanting to pull his hair out.

Everything Wes said was true, completely true.

Tim was absolutely stunned and terrified because the other teen had managed to fully pull together who Red Robin was without even being in Gotham. The only thing that stopped Tim from calling a meeting about it, was that no one in the comments believed him. Instead Wes was mocked with the tried and true, ‘what do the butts match?’. He ended up watching every video under the playlist, ‘Wes the Detective’ and every single video hit right on the money but absolutely no one believed him.

Well, no one but his friends it seemed. Tim had a couple theories about it and if it wasn’t for the fact that Wes has his identity clock he’d be staking out the town now. So he chose to stick to the theory that Wes was incredibly smart, but cursed in some way.

However today Danny had posted a new video and Tim could barely wait to watch it. The title was called ‘This thing wont leave me alone.’ and the thumbnail showed a screaming Danny holding a broom with a humanism but clearly not human girl spiderman to his ceiling seemingly hissing at him.

Tim grinned as he pressed play and settled back into the couch to watch. As the intro came to an end it found Danny in the closet of his bedroom speaking into the camera as if he was documenting his last moments.

“Hello everyone and welcome back to my channel.” He whispered softly only stopping at a noise outside the door that sounded like nails scratching against something. “What the—” the chittering of a badger interrupted him to cover his curse. “Today I’m hiding in my closet because this demon thing showed up and won’t leave me alone.” Something being knocked over in the background was heard causing Danny to freeze again. “I am taking my stand though, I have my makeshift weapon and-and I’m gonna face it. In the event that I don’t come out of this alive, Tucker you can have my Doomed character, Sam just ask them out already, Val you can sell all my stuff, and Wes I’m sorry I gaslight everyone in school that one time into thinking you weren’t real.”

“That was—you Danny, oh you better hope you don’t survive after this!” Wes snapped from behind the camera, his curse being covered by bird chirps, and a second later Tucker’s head popped up from the bottom right screen.

“You’re focusing on that rather than the fact Danny said that all to the screen like we weren’t even here.” Danny shushed them all dramatically holding his broom in front of him like a weapon.

“It is time. Remember me views, remember me.”

“So—dramatic.” Sam is heard but not shown on camera, soon after Danny is shown bursting out of the closet startling the humanoid creature with white hair and bright neon green eyes.

Tim assumes the creature is one of their little siblings decked out in a creepy cosplay, a really creepy one that Sam definitely had to have a hand in making.

The girl immediately starts screeching and hissing at Danny who starts screaming back before starting to swat at her with the broom. Only for her to drop on all four and start crawling around to dodge him.

“Why won’t you stay still!!” Danny cried out as he panted slightly out of breath. The girl let out an evil cackle starting to crawl toward him and the others fast as he head began to turn to the point that it was upside down. Everything was silent before Danny began screaming hysterically while hitting the girl with the broom before she managed to jump on him and they began to fight. The video cut off right as the girl got a good hit on his nose, only to come back to Danny back in the closet with a bloody nose.

“You okay man?” Wes asked from behind the camera as Danny just stared dazed ahead. Danny turned to him, eyes unfocused as he stared at the camera.

“Do-do I call an exorcist? Do we have exorcists around us? Bro I have a demon in my house, and my parents who are ghost hunters can’t even detect it. What do I do?”

“Danny, I think she might have broken your Lego space shuttle.” Val was heard and seconds later Danny was shown back outside the closet in a screaming match with her while fist fighting and rolling all over the ground.

“THAT LEGO SET COST ME FOUR MONTHS ALLOWANCE!!”

“I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU REGRET BREAKING IT!”

“ALL I DID WAS HIT YOU WITH A BROOM!”

The girl seemed to be responding to him in either gibberish, or a language they created. Which only seemed to anger Danny more.

“ENGLISH! SPEAK ENGLISH!!” The girl paused, stopping herself from landing a solid punch to his cheek before grinning at the confused teen.

“No.” Danny seemed stunned before anger took over again and the fight continued.

“You can_____speaking english! You____daughter of a______!!” The feed cut off before returning to Danny who was sitting on the bed of his wrecked room. The girl in question nowhere to be seen as Val cleaned some blood off Danny's cheek with a grin.

“I don’t know where she went, but I know she is still in my house. Tune in next time I find her because she better have some money to pay me back for my lego set. Thanks for stopping to watch this episode of mine and until next time, don’t let the ghosts get ya.”

“That was pretty interesting.” Dick said as he stole a cookie from Tim’s plate. “Are all his videos like that?” Tim didn’t even blink at his brother's sudden appearance as he moved to type out a comment.

“For the most part, ya. He’s a shit poster, his content is just a tun of stuff that is so outrageous and realistic but clearly not real.”

‘That fight gave off peak sibling energy. It’s giving, I’m gonna fight my sibling to the death because of one slight inconvenience.’

Jason hummed as he picked his book back up, dropping down in front of the couch to reread Pride and Prejudice. “Ya he was definitely fighting his little sister. He held back too much and she wasn’t pulling her punches.”

“Only Drake would spend his time watching pointless videos.” Damien huffed, causing Tim to roll his eyes.

“Awe Dami, you know Tim is on mandatory rest. No work of any kind.” Dick grinned before jumping up, wrapping his arms around Damien and dragging him down onto the couch.

“Richard!! Let me go this instant!!” Damien screamed struggling to get away from his octopus of an older brother.

“No! I need my little brother cuddles and I need them from my Dami! No escape for you now.” Damian kept fighting Dick’s hold for the next twenty-five minutes while Tim put another of Danny’s videos on and rewatched it with Jason and Dick watching as well. The video in question was one where Danny went through a locker with his friends and went back in time to when his school first opened. Jason snorted, commenting on them making everything black and white. Danny meets a seemingly see-through kid named Sidney Poindexter and it ends with the two of them having a dance off.

“Bruce, why the fuck are your kids watching a video of a kid dancing with an Infinite Relams ghost?” Tim paused, staring blankly at his computer screen before turning to look at Bruce and John Constantine. “Wow holy shit, the Infinite Realms rarely interact with us since Luthor let the Anti-Ecto Acts pass. Yet that kid is interacting with one like their friends.”

“You’re saying this shits real?” Jason asked, closing his book looking at the screen more interested.

“Language Master Jason.” Alfred said as he walked in from a tray of tea for everyone.

“Sorry Alfred.” John nodded as he moved closer, eyes trained on Poindexter.

“If it is not real it is still more similar than could be possible. They’ve definitely had interactions with the Realms.”

“Wait, what are the Anti-Ecto Acts?” Tim asked his attention zeroing in on John.

“Well fuck, you don’t know? It affects like all of you, thought for sure you’d know. Shit this is gonna take so long to explain. We’re gonna have to call a JL meeting for this explanation because I’m not doing it twice.”

Of Meetings and Musings

#danny phantom aus #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc au #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #batman #tim drake #dc universe #dcxdp

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chaptersleftunwritten · 4 months ago

Text

Strawberry Fields Forever

Blurb: You go on a picnic date with some friends, not expecting to rile Eddie up.

Pairing: Perv!Eddie Munson x Friendly!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ This is basically smut with a tiny bit of plot, cursing/swearing, some light mentions of alcohol, corruption kink, praising, exhibitionism, oral (f & m receiving), oral fixation, choking, fingering, teasing.

The sun flushed the earth with an unwavering heatwave and everyone in Hawkins was struggling to keep cool during this scorcher of a summer. There was no hiding from it. The humidity even penetrated the shade- no where was safe.

Naturally you seek out the forest, travelling along a trail with Steve, Nancy, Robin, Eddie and some of the younger bunch who had begged to come alone. They wanted to go swimming in Lover’s Lake and you wanted to have a picnic next to the water.

“Fuck me,” Eddie groans, dragging his feet behind you, “Can’t we just stay in here? It must be hotter than Hell out there.” In a huff, Eddie shrugs off his denim jacket, exposing his tatted arms as he slings the coat over his shoulder. He wore a black t-shirt, of all colours he chose black, no wonder he was melting into a puddle.

Steve wipes at his sweaty forehead with his forearm, his long mousy brown hair sticking to his sun kissed skin, “Eddie has a point, I’m sweating my balls off here.” Nancy snorts a laugh, her fingers interlocked around Steve’s bicep.

Robin marches in front of you, on a mission to try and keep up with the others children whom had snuck off into the distance, squealing and revelling in the great outdoors. Robin evidently being fearful that they were going to run off or worse- disappear.

“C’mon guys, it’s not so bad! Maybe you should have worn more appropriate clothes,” Your dig is aimed at Eddie and he rolls his eyes, panting in response. He is clearly hating how his hair seems to be gluing itself to his neck.

“I’ll take my shirt off if you pay me,” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, his lips baring a wolfish grin, “This ain’t a free show, sweetheart.” He fans at his face, his flirtatious attempt quickly evaporating with his rising body temperature.

You take a hair tie from your wrist, handing it to Eddie, “You’ll be a lot cooler if you tie up that nest of yours.”

He gapes at you, offended, “Wow…” he drags out the word, “And here I was thinking that we were finally getting along.” You giggle at him before continuing your pursuit further, trying to catch up with the two love birds who had somehow overtaken you.

“It’s not long now, only a little further.” You call back to Eddie who is slugging behind you. Usually Eddie loved being outdoors, but in this heat? He would rather be dead.

The only thing keeping Eddie alive at the moment was the view he had of you from behind. Your ass is clad in the cutest pair of light denim shorts he had ever seen, hugging your thighs and body perfectly. You wore a red checkered blouse on top that slipped effortlessly from your shoulders, exposing the mounds of your breasts to him every so often. He was already fighting for his life against an erection.

So when the pale yellow and pink picnic blanket was set down onto the unnervingly fried grass and Eddie watched you unload the weaved basket he couldn’t help but notice when your eyes light up at the sight of a massive bowl of strawberries.

“My favourite!” You squeal happily, flashing the bowl to Eddie he chuckles heartily, his legs crossing over one another as he lays back, propped up on one elbow.

“Strawbs are good, I guess.” His shoulders shrug.

“You guess? They are the superior fruit, Ed’s!” This was a debate you were willing to fight until your dying breath. You would die on this hill.

Eddie plucks one from the bowl, examining the red fruit before he pushes the whole thing into his mouth, taking a moment to chew before swallowing.

“Y’know, I’ve always thought strawberries were much better with a little bit of cream…” Eddie’s tongue dances out onto his lips, licking them clean of any juices that may have escaped.

He doesn’t mean for it to sound so dirty, but when you don’t register it that way Eddie sees this as an opportunity; to make this into a fun little game where he is a perverted fuck and you are absolutely oblivious to it all.

“Hmm,” you hum in response, not batting an eyelash to Eddie’s cream comment as you push a strawberry between your lips, biting on the pointed end of it softly- savouring the flavour.

Glancing around you see nearby on the blanket Steve has his tongue wedged down Nancy’s throat. She’s nearly choking on it as they sloppily dish out kisses. Talk about no shame..

Robin is on life guard duty- or so she says. In reality, she just wants to do cannonballs into the water with the kids, splashing them and fighting with them. Jokingly pushing Dustin’s head beneath the water whilst Mike tries to do the same to Will.

Dustin emerges, crying attempted murder and you laugh hysterically, shaking your head proudly at their free spirits.

“Are you thinking of going in the water?” You flick your attention back to Eddie and he can’t help himself from staring as you wrap your lips coyly around a massive strawberry. Your eyes peeking innocently up at him has his cock threatening to burst in his jeans and the thought of the strawberry being replaced by his thick manhood leaves him feeling dizzy.

“Possibly,” he gulps, his crossed legs becoming more tightly acquainted, “You?” He cracks open a can of beer, taking a light swing to cleanse his drying throat.

You nod, looking between the lake and Eddie, “I might- it looks like they are having so much fun.” You sigh, feeling the most relaxed you have a in a while. It’s not as hot anymore now that you have sat down.

“You should.”

‘Please!’ Eddie thinks to himself. He doesn’t know why, but you have him totally bewitched. His hungry gaze never leaving your mouth as dark pink juice stains your lips. You slurp to try and prevent it from spilling all over you, the pad of your thumb swiping quickly at the leaky corners of your mouth.

Eddie thinks he might combust into flames right there and then, biting his tongue harshly to try and keep a groan lodged in his throat- can he taste blood?

“Do I have something on my face Ed’s?” You ask after feeling his eyes on you for a prolonged period of time, your fingers tips tracing your cheeks gently.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, love. Not a single drop touched your chin.” His voice is low, nearly a growl as it leaves his mouth.

From his side Eddie can sense Steve’s amused smirk on him. You might have been unknowing to Eddie’s game, but Steve knew exactly what the ‘freak’ was up to. It relieved him to see Eddie finally trying to shoot his shot with you- it had only taken him a year and a half.

“You would tell me, right?” You giggle, scooting closer to his lanky frame, “Promise?”

“Promise.” He tucks a rogue strand of your hair behind your ear and heat unrelated to the sun prickles at your cheeks, causing you to advert your gaze.

Eddie almost coos aloud at how adorable you are. He can guess that you’ll taste even more sugary than the fruit you’re sucking on, “Can I…” He picks up another strawberry, bringing it to your mouth. You hold eye contact with him as he swirls the tip of the fruit across the plumpness of your lips, allowing the lowest groan to emit from his throat.

“Open wider,” His demand comes out as a bark and you slacken your jaw, your mouth gaping open wider for him to slot the strawberry inside. Eddie’s own jaw laid slack, his soft eyes on you unabashedly, “Does it taste good, princess?”

You nod, your tongue slick with juice from the strawberry. It wasn’t foreign for Eddie to call you sweet pet names, but something inside of you stirs at his voice. Sure you thought Eddie was attractive, often times you’d fantasies over him… but it hadn’t ever gotten this intense in real life.

You’d take every compliment from him with a grain of salt, but with the way his darkened eyes are staring at you now, it leads you to believe that something may be upon the horizon.

gif by @kwistowee

“What’d you say?” Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, his eyelids narrowing at you distastefully.

“Uhm…” it takes a moment for the gears inside of your head to turn, “Thank you?” It is more of a question rather than a response, luckily Eddie seems satisfied nonetheless.

“Exactly,” He grins at you dirtily, “Don’t go forgetting your manners now, babe. I know you’re a good girl.”

An inaudible sound leaves your windpipe as you try to contain the feverish blush that has claimed your face as its own. Your heart is quick inside of your chest and you can’t ignore the fluttering of your stomach and the pulse between your thighs. No one had ever made you feel like this before. No one was crazy enough to speak this filthy to you in person. So blatant and forward.

Just before Eddie can say anything more, water hits you both. So lost in your own world you had forgotten about your friends who you had came here with.

“Are you guys just going to sit there or what?!” Robin exclaims in a high pitched tone, visibly vexed at your unwillingness to join in.

Steve and Nancy were stripping down to their underwear, something that didn’t phase you in the slightest. You look to Eddie for some sort of guidance and he shrugs his shoulders, leaving the choice to you.

“I’m happy here! Sorry- love you though!” You announce loudly and Robin rolls her eyes, shouting back that she loved you too before she was swimming off. It seemed like the group were venturing further down stream, leaving you and Eddie totally invisible to them.

“Good choice,” He purrs into your ear, making you jump slightly startled at his close proximity.

“I don’t mind spending time alone with you, Eddie.” You reply honestly and Eddie toys with a piece of your hair in his fingers, twirling and twisting it.

He hums, intrigued, “Is that so?” Eddie knew he was pushing you, but fuck, was it fun.

You suck on your bottom lip, teeth nibbling at the skin as you nod your head, “You make me feel.. happy.” The words come out as a low mumble, your finger tips playing with the hem of your shorts as you try to busy your nervous hands.

Eddie rumbles a chuckle, “I know a few other ways to make you feel ‘happy’…” You are desperate to avoid his cocoa coloured orbs, but Eddie isn’t having none of it as he gasps your chin sternly with his fingers, pulling your face to him.

“H..how so?” You wish the ground would swallow you whole as you stumble pathetically over your words. He hadn’t even touched you intimately and yet, you can’t think straight.

From your chin, Eddie’s fingers tickle down the front of your throat, hesitating there he decided to take a leisurely second to curl his strong fingers around your trachea. The momentary loss of oxygen makes your eyelids fall to hood your eyes, “Fuck, I could ruin you.” The whole time Eddie continues to gawk at the partition of your lips, and how relaxed you look beneath his touch.

Releasing you slowly he continues his assault on your hot skin, his feathery touch causing goosebumps to erupt after their wake. He palms your breasts through your blouse, grabbing a fist full of the plush flesh which causes you to cry out quietly, “No bra? Such a little fucking tease.” Eddie clicks his tongue, pinching your coiled nipples and roughly plucking at the stiff peaks with his fingertips.

“Ah...” you mewl and Eddie’s ears perk at the sound, like a puppy being called on for the first time.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” His raspy voice asks as his lips pepper a kiss to your exposed shoulder, his tongue running briefly over the skin just because he wanted to taste you. You shake your head, in total awe of him and everything that he is.

“Poor baby,” He pouts out his bottom lip mockingly before his lips stretch into a lascivious grin, “I can take care of you.” His tongue flicks at the lobe of your ear before he is pulling the flesh in between his teeth, gnawing on it playfully.

“But we’re outside…” you remind him, your eyes focusing on the slow current of the water. The sun beating down onto it, making it glisten and glitter in a heavenly way.

“Mhm, we are,” He sucks at your neck, your body jolting ever so slightly at the electricity that zaps at your cunt from the contact, “She likes that, doesn’t she.” Eddie laughs breathily as he pulls back from your jugular, situating himself between your bare legs.

“I bet your pussy tastes so fucking good.” Eddie nuzzles his nose into the soft skin of your inner thigh, causing you to giggle at the ticklish touch of his hair.

“What if someone sees us?” A look over Eddie’s shoulder confirms that the group are way too occupied with one another to even focus on you two.

“They won’t.” His voice drips with confidence and his fingers move with deliberate precision as he rips your denim shorts from your legs, taking a pause to truly admire your underwear, and the darkened wet spot that had the material slick to your pussy lips, “These are cute, baby. You always wear such pretty panties?” He perks an eyebrow whilst his fingertips dance over the lacey fabric and you look at him with wide doe like eyes, stunned by the question and his touch. You hadn’t really thought about it.

“They are just my regulars…” you admit bashfully in a hushed tone and Eddie’s husky groan declares that he really likes that answer.

“Need you so bad,” His fingers hastily hook around the thin elastic of your waistband, “Can I?” Even when he is too horny to think straight, he remains a gentleman.

Feeling just as needy, you nod, and without a beat Eddie is yanking your panties all the wall down your legs, taking them off and shoving them into his jeans pocket.

His large hands catch behind your knees, hoisting your legs up so they sit comfortably on his shoulders. He wastes no time in bringing his mouth to your mound, his tongue frantic as he laps at your soaked core, “Mmm so fucking sweet.” He mutters, his voice dripping with possessiveness. Each caressing touch of his tongue driving you insane as you wrestle to keep yourself quiet.

Your whimpers send Eddie spiralling, awakening something primal within him. He wanted to watch you whither and crumble beneath his touch- he wanted to make you his.

Eddie moans into your dripping cunt, totally self indulging in the very taste of you. Your scent was now his favourite perfume and he wanted it to be seared into his memory forever.

“Oh god…” you pant, your eyes tearful as you look down at Eddie lapping messily between your thighs. You want nothing more than to scream his name at the top of your lungs, but instead you had to settle for silence.

Just when you thought you had mastered the art of biting your tongue, you feel a prodding at your entrance and then a gaping stretch as Eddie pushes two of his fingers deep inside of you, eliciting a grumbly moan from your throat, “You’re so responsive, such a good girl for me.”

The feeling of his long fingers pumping in and out of your sopping wet pussy leaves your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your mouth hanging open when he curls his digits inside of you, massaging that sweet spongy spot.

Eddie has to pry his own lips away from your core, his addiction to you worsening with each passing second, “You’re gushing baby, think you could handle three?”

The noise of your own arousal hits your ears like a symphony and you swear you have never felt pleasure like this before. Even when masturbating, it didn’t compare, “Ed’s.. please..” your voice is a pathetic whine and Eddie smirks at the way your eyes have blown in total submission to him. You’re just as drunk on him as he is on you.

You’re a babbling mess for him and Eddie is contemplating whether or not this is reality or just a really fucking good dream that he’s having, “That’s it, baby, fuck my fingers.” Your hips buck upward to meet each thrust of Eddie’s fingers and you nearly cry out- seconds away from blowing your little operation but thankfully Eddie manages to clutch his hand harshly over your mouth, “Shhh!” He warns with a smile as your eyes glaze over with pure lust. A tightness brews in your lower stomach, a blissful burn that you chase and chase and the next thing you know you’re a shaking mess, your thighs pressed firmly together entrapping Eddie’s hand inside of you as you cum- hard, screaming into Eddie’s palm.

“Clever girl, taking my fingers so well, darling.” Eddie winks down at you, his lips punctured by his two front teeth as he forces his arousal dripping fingers into your mouth, the pads of his fingers exploring the length of your tongue, “You taste so good, don’t you baby?” You moan around his digits, still fleeting from your release.

“I would love to see those perfect lips of yours wrapped around my cock… you wanna do that, sweet girl?” He palms himself over his jeans, so rock solid that any touch to his cock nearly causes him to burst at the seams, “C’mere.” Eddie is gentle as he takes a hold of your elbows, pulling you in for a quick but heated kiss before he sits you propped up on your knees.

“Lookin’ all pretty, just for me.” You are so gone, your head is in the clouds- mind filled with Eddie, Eddie and more Eddie, “Open up, sweetheart.” Eddie’s fingers glide through your hair, clutching the delicate strands at the root in a domineering grip. You shouldn’t like the pain, but you do.

Obediently you listen to Eddie’s deep voice and you open your mouth nice and wide, sticking out your tongue flatly to allow Eddie’s length to sit comfortably on the muscle, “Shit, princess, have you done this before?” He blurts, the question being rhetorical as a rapacious smile appears on his face as he forces his cock further into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag slightly.

“You can take it, right?” He punctuates his question with a thrust, tears swelling in your eyes as you struggle to breathe. Your nostrils flare, desperate for air as Eddie menacingly fucks your throat, “Just as I imagined.” He beams, balls deep in your mouth as you peer up at him, your nose tickled by his small snail trail leading to his belly button.

“Keep looking at me,” He asserted, his lips parted in astonishment at the image of you in front of him- so picture perfect, he wanted to carry it around in his wallet. You hollow your cheeks, drool pooling from your open mouth and dripping shamelessly down your chin. You can feel the wetness of your own saliva soaking the skin of your thighs, “That’s it, princess, eyes on me.”

“Shhh… I know it’s a lot, don’t cry.” His large thumb wipes your tear streaked cheeks, his eyes swirling with adoration and sin, “I’m so close baby, keep goin’ please.” And you do. Anything to have Eddie be pleased with you. To hear him call you a good girl. His good girl.

Your cheeks ache as your face bobs up and down his length, your chin pressing against his sack every time you meet his base. His hand is tangled messily in your hair now, fucking against your own movements.

A pleasure filled wail leaves Eddie’s mouth, his head thrown back in euphoria as his cum shoots far into your mouth, leaking down your oesophagus.

You both stay that way for a moment afterwards, Eddie’s hips rutting gently against your tongue as he allows his high to subside.

“You okay?” He muses, checking your features for any sort of discomfort or sadness.

“Yeah,” you reply, a happiness apparent in your cheerful voice, “Thank you.”

He starts himself up and pulling his jeans securely back around his waist, however it takes him mere seconds before he turns his attention to you. Dropping to his knees he grabs some napkins from your picnic basket, gliding the soft paper tissue over your swollen mouth, “You look so beautiful right now.” He chirps, landing a kiss to your forehead before continuing to clean you up. His touch is tender as he helps you shimmy your denim shorts back onto your hips, his lips littering kisses up your bare legs as he did which causes you to giggle. The moment feels light and airy and you can tell that this is the beginning of something really special.

Without a second to spare, the group approach shore. You are met with raised eyebrows and confusion at your flushed appearance and messy hair.

“So,” Steve interjects with a catty smirk, “What’d we miss?”

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson smut #smut #perv!eddie x reader #perv!eddie munson #mean!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie the freak munson #fandom #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #strawberry fields forever

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ghostbsuter · 1 year ago

Text

Water drips down in the corner, the steady dop drop drop— does wonders for the bat.

Batman has been taken, tied up, and undressed of his utility belt. It takes him a second to figure out who took him, by the large but empty and run down warehouse, the sound of the shore not far away.

The docks. He shuffles, bound and comm off.

Then, the steel enforced door slams open and Joker enters.

"Batsy!" He calls, overjoyed. The man walks to the bound vigilante and crouches to his height.

"It's been so long, hasn't it been?"

The vigilante grunts. "Joker."

"Today will be different." He goes on, "today, we have," the crime Prince drums his fingers on Batman's thigh. "A guest!"

He freezes at that, Joker has a civilian.

(Oracle sends out the message, her voice firm, and the coords are shared to the rest of the clan in seconds as she looks at her monitor. Batman's red dot at the harbour bright.)

"I'm a guest now?" The voice of a child asks, it brings slight confusion that the boy wasn't tied nor harmed in any way.

It's relief that he seems okay, but the danger of standing next to the Joker has Batman wiggling in his restrains.

"Is that a promotion or demotion for son?"

A brief look of annoyance enters Joker before being smoothed out, the boy is dealing with a delicate time bomb. Uncomfortably close to the madman.

(He hurries in the process of breaking free.)

"My son! My blood!" Sings the clown, throwing his hands around the boy's shoulders and prancing around.

Which brings another question.

Son?

Cool lighting hits the boy's head and the tuffs of pink, blue and green become more obvious, hidden beneath black hair previously.

Joker and Harley have a child. A son.

He will visit harley later. The boy comes first.

"Dante! Danyal! Daniel?" Joker croons, shaking the boy. "What was it again?" He stops, turning his son toward him with a grin.

(Robin drops down behind him, hiding, katana ready to be swung.)

"Danny, actually," the child— Danny– shrugs off the hands and steps back. Unflinching from the judging stare, simply waving off the hands creeping to his throat.

"Danny," the name is tested, and the Prince of Crime hums to himself. "We can always replace it as Joker Jr! It fits you better than Danny."

(Red Robin and Spoiler get on position above them, ready to pounce from the construction pillars.)

"Yeah, I don't know about that." He chuckles nervous, catching Batman's eyes and—

His eyes alone scream of fear, scared– scared—!!

"We will get you an acid flower, a new suit as well, the hoodie looks horrible on you." The man notes, humming.

"I prefer hammers." Danny replies with tense shoulders.

Joker clicks his tongue, "You always went after your mother." he hisses, outright glaring at his son now. His hand tightened around the crowbar he'd gathered not long ago.

"I mean," he hesitates, eye trailing off the Joker and over his shoulder. "I did come out of her."

The sound of a loaded gun shatters the silence, and Joker is pulling Danny, switching their positions and pushing him right in front of the gun in Red Hood's hand.

"Always a coward, hiding behind others, aren't you." Danny stops himself from squealing. That's the Red Hood!

(Escrima sticks light up with electricity as Red Hood speaks.)

Joker is ticked off, party ruined and surrounded now that he looks around.

Oh well, he can get his son on his villain path another day.

Cackling, he evades the escrimas, dodging the wonder boy and evading the twin attacks from above.

He pulls out a trigger and presses the bright red Button.

"Have fun bats and birds!"

The warehouse is completely flooded with fear gas, scarecrow wouldn't be mad he sacrificed one of his warehouses, will he?

It's all blurry. In one moment, his view is shrouded, and he's coughing. In another, he gets picked up and brought outside, the Joker gone.

An oxygen mask is placed on him by a paramedic, being handed off to an ambulance that had been called.

Peeking around, he sees Red Hood (!) still lingering around. Danny catches his eye and with a wave, the man is walking towards him.

He simply crosses his arms and tilts his head, waiting.

"Could I get a picture?" Danny blurts out, flushing after and coughing, holding the oxygen mask in his lap.

Red Hood makes a show of his shoulder sagging before crouching down and leaning toward him.

Later, Danny will look at the picture with a boyish grin, crooked and charming.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

A continuation

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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Trailer Park Steve AU

part 1

“Are you lost?” Munson frowns, propping his shoulder against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. His rings glint against his jacket sleeve; he’s got new tattoos on his fingers.

Steve’s head fills with static fuzz for a second, and he stares like a mouth-breathing idiot before helpfully answering: “Um.”

“…Right. Well, this has been weird as shit, man, but, uh— pharmacy’s closed until my uncle leaves at sundown, so…” He lifts his hand to make a shooing motion, then pauses, assessing Steve with narrowed eyes. “What are you all dressed up like a good little school boy for, anyway? Didn’t you graduate last year?”

Oh, okay. Wow. (Like, yeah, he does kinda look like some goody two-shoes freshman with Robin’s forgotten backpack hiked up way too high under his armpits, but also fuck you, dude.) Steve squares his shoulders, plasters a falsely polite smile on his face and cocks his head to the side, all innocent, like he doesn’t know, like he’s just asking, man. “Sure did. Weren’t you supposed to do that, too?”

Munson glares at him like he’s imagining doing to him what Misty did to the rat. “I really don’t want to fight this early in the morning, man.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Steve snorts. “What, Munson? You gonna beat my ass? Think you can take me? Go ahead.”

He doesn’t know why he’s egging on a fight, but he’s suddenly itching for one. Feels the urge bubbling up beneath the surface. Hot under the collar. Probably this is the part where Tommy would hold him back and tell him it isn’t worth it, man, come on, but Tommy’s not around anymore.

A lot of people aren’t around anymore.

Nobody fights for fallen kings.

So Steve bows up with a sneer and a huff, and Munson does the same, and that’s… concerning. It gets a hell of a lot more concerning when he flashes a menacing grin and claps a hand to Steve’s shoulder; gets right up in his face, nose to nose, breath sharp with spearmint to cover the scent of weed.

From Wayne’s point of view they might almost look like friends.

Steve barely hears the thwck slice past his bad ear before he feels the cold press of a blade against his throat. Pocket knife, unpocketed. Munson’s smile widens, and Steve swallows hard, feels his pulse jump against the blade, the blood rushing to his cheeks. It shouldn’t be hot. (And it isn’t, because it shouldn’t be.)

“You want to try that again?”

Munson’s voice is deadly soft, a raspy whisper that makes Steve’s hair stand on end. His eyes are huge and dark. Intense. Kind of endless.

Kind of like Nancy’s when she’s staring down a loaded gun.

Steve blinks and licks the sweat off his upper lip, fingers trembling against frayed denim where he’s got his hands raised in surrender. “We’re c-cool, man. We’re cool. My mistake.”

Munson backs off with a pleased look on his face, snaps the knife shut and tucks it back into his pocket. Soft squeak of worn leather; casual shrug. “Cool. Glad we understand each other.”

Then he scruffs Steve under the chin — patronizing and quick, this humiliating little bullshit maneuver like ‘chin up, Steve-o’ before he hops down the steps and swings himself up into his van. The tires screech in the loose gravel, and Steve just stands there and stares. Gobsmacked. Pissed off.

A little stiff in his jeans.

When he looks down there’s a black cat brushing itself against his sneakers. “Misty?” he asks.

“M’row,” says the cat.

There’s a dead bird at her feet.

—

part 3

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic #trailer park steve au

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madds-is-ace-trash · 2 years ago

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Nightwing why are you warring a cape? Well for the baby of course! Dcxdp

This takes place in the same universe as my fic Mother of the storm and her star child.

A few years have passed and Danny is completely settled in and moved to bulhaven with dick. Eventually around the time he’s Turing 9 he insists that he wants to go out at night with dick. Dick is hesitant but Danny insist, pointing out how his abilities would make him the perfect recon detective. Dick can no longer argue when Danny beats both Damian and Cass the first day of training and he is out out in the field.

Danny hose out in his ghost form and picks the name phantom because it feels right and now nightwing patrols with a bird if his very own for the first time in a while. Danny is very good on patrols, he sticks close to dick often clinging to him and hiding behind him when dick is interacting with people. He’ll often turn invisible but it still doesn’t fell like enough to dick. He quickly released that he missed the cape and the layer of securing it added when Damien was his Robin.

So nightwing starts wearing a cape, and the people of his city starts coming up with all sorts of theories for the sudden change. The range from him practicing because he’s taking over the cowl to him hiding new gadgets. Very few have seen Danny and those who have are often not believed because, “nightwing had glowing eyes under his cape!” Is not very believable.

He doesn’t wear the cape all the time just when he has Danny, the cape is long the outside is black but the inside has a blue and black feather design so it looks like wings when he glides. It has a feature where it retracts in to a role on his back when he need more freedom of movement. And I’m addition to the cape he now has an extra loop hanging form his belt for Danny to grab on to as the hop rooftops. (Danny can will him self to weigh nothing so dick tends to pull him along as he floats any way)

As the news of dicks sudden costume adjustment is circulating he has to come to the watchtower with B for a mission. Danny tags along hiding in his cape like all the Robin had before him with Bruce. Meanwhile Bruce is totally not going all mushy over his grandson he is totally normal about this. All of the Leagers keep giving dick looks.

Until flash finally ask

Wally: so um nightwing what’s with the cape? I thought you hated them?

Dick*with a bright smile across his face*: it’s for my shadow!

Wally: your shadow? How is a cape ganna hide your shadow.

Dick: no not my actual shadow it’s to hide my bird.

Diana: your bird?

*Dick flares one side of the cape revealing the feathered pattern underneath but nothing else is visible hidden under the cape*

Wally: I don’t se-

Dick: whistles like a bird call

Danny slowly fading in to view giving the league a small wave as he scrambles to hide behind dicks legs: Hello

Hal: really Bruce another one!?

Dick Smiling at the small boy in his cape before closing it : nope this one’s all mine!

Meanwhile John Constantine who is present for this mission is freaked the fuck out. Because that kid with the flowing white hair and glowing freckles is definitely not human. And worse than that from what he can sense it’s pretty darn powerful to. He watches as all of his coworkers are working to get the boy out from hiding cooing over him.

Clark: he’s looking a lot better nightwing

Wally: Waite you already new about him?

Clark: yes the boy is nightwings child I’m guessing he only is just now joining the team

Diana: what’s your name little one?

Danny poking his head out of the cape: phantom my name is phantom

Fuck why was that name familiar? Oh shit that’s right John had heard rumors of the new ghost king and a prince milling around the infinite realms this must be the little ghost prince. How the fuck did dick end up with him? Waite sups said that was dicks kid, hold did dick?

John: ha Oh my god! You crazy fucker you fucked the ghosts king!

#danny phantom #dc x dp #danny fenton #dp x dc #dp #phandom #ghost king danny #i write some times #dpxdc #ms&sc #dc x dp prompt #you can use it as one I don’t care #this will not be continued so feel free to steal the idea #I just want Danny to hide under his papas cape #dick is very confused #over what John siad #and now the league is side eyeing him #Wally ask Danny who his mom is and he just says ‘dead’#this dose not help dick trying to explain he did not fuck the god of the dead #eventually they ask Danny if he knows who the king is #and he just says ‘Yhea me!’ and the crown of fire just appears over his head #he smiles and shows of his little baby fangs #John is having a melt down #the league just thinks it makes him even cuter #Danny explains he’s only a prince now until he’s big enough #John has to explain that actually makes a lot of sense because the realms have been running them self for years #The whole team is now having a crisis because they realize that means Danny has died #Danny is surprisingly nonchalant about it #he turns human to show them he’s fine #Batman is desperately trying to get everyone back on track so they can get to the mission

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crappymixtape · 9 months ago

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because of you • part three

PART I • PART II • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 3.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T H R E E 🎶 thick skull ( re: julien baker ), paramore ft. julien baker

❝ GOOD GIRLS DON’T CRY & GOOD GIRLS DON’T LIE & GOOD GIRLS JUSTIFY BUT I DON’T ❞

“Think she’s okay?”

“Shh!”

“What? No way she can hear us back here.”

“Dustin, ‘back here’ is literally a seat behind her.”

Sat quietly at a table seat in the Winnebago, Eddie looking on worriedly across from you, you were still grappling with the fact that you were alive. That you didn’t die. That you were breathing fresh air and free from the dark and free from Him.

For now.

And as the RV bumped down the road out of Hawkins you said nothing. Felt Steve’s eyes on you constantly as he glanced at you in the rearview. Eddie’s hand still holding tight to yours after he helped you up, afraid to lose you again. Dustin and Lucas and Max all talking in not-so-hushed voices behind you about what it all meant and if El could get back in time and was this all gonna be enough?

Voice thick and choked by the sobs that had felt endless, you’d managed to tell everyone what Vecna had showed you. Told them about Hawkins, about the monsters, about your family, about them. Eddie, Robin, Nancy Steve. And no one had said anything at first. The sounds of your cries filling up the RV. Stark against the silence and heavy with the weight of your words and they knew before you’d even opened your mouth that it was going to be bad.

Of course they knew.

But now that Vecna had revealed his master plan, the efforts you were all making just felt hopeless. The munitions stuffed under the bench seats and closets and cabinets, all puny and worthless against Vecna and his army of nightmares.

A big bump in the road brought you out of your thoughts and when you glanced up your eyes met Steve’s as he snuck another look in the rear view. And instead of glaring, instead of flipping him the bird, you looked right back. Held his gaze for moment longer and he didn’t shy away until he came up on a turn-off.

“Alright, shitheads. We’re here.”

“Here?” Lucas asked, more than confused at the thick forest Steve was now driving you all through.

“Yeah, this is it.”

And as the trees slowly thinned out, thick grass and wildflower blooms took their place. Creeping out ahead of you to reveal a meadow, wide and green and lush. A haven that felt so very far away, felt safe, and as Steve parked and the engine quieted you let out the breath you’d been holding.

❝ MAYBE IF YOU JUST GOT SOME GUTS WE’D KILL ‘EM WITH A THOUSAND CUTS AND SAY WE DID IT OUT OF LOVE ❞

Everyone piled out of the RV and got after their tasks. Pretended like preparing for the end of the world was totally normal and routine. Nancy and Robin sawing off the end of a shotgun. Lucas and Erica attempting to make spears from tactical knives and broom handles. Eddie and Dustin shoving each other around in the grass with their garbage can lids full of nails at their feet and none of it instilled you with confidence, but Dustin screaming No wedgies! did manage to pull a little smile out of you.

And for a split second it felt okay.

Laughter, the sound of birds, the feeling of the wind on your bare skin and all the green around you – so unlike the cracked and bitter feeling in the Upside Down and then your smile fell.

You wished He hadn’t shown you.

Wished Vecna had just left you alone. Wished for just a moment that you hadn’t gone to Max’s trailer and put yourself in the middle of all this, but then Eddie grabbed Dustin in a big bear hug and your chest squeezed.

Your best friend.

The reason why you had gone to Max’s trailer.

The reason why you weren’t going to run.

The reason this was all worth it.

“Ah, shit.”

Sat next to you, Steve sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. The funnel in your hands slipping as you lost focus and liquid trickled down your hands and wrists.

“Hold it still,” Steve quickly tipped back his can of kerosene and set it down to grab a piece of ripped towel.

A string of curses were muttered under your breath, so much for homemade molotov cocktails.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment you went to wipe your hands on your sweater, but when you looked back up at Steve he was looking too. Eyes searching yours, unsure and tentative. Moles dotting along his cheeks and jaw like tiny constellations. Skin gold like it held summer and when you blinked away the haze of him, you realized he was reaching out to you.

“Here, get that off so it doesn’t burn,” he said a little softer. Cloth in one hand, he took yours in the other and wiped at the kerosene.

Oh, fell from your lips. Surprised. Unsure. Your skin buzzing where he touched you and you swallowed thick as you felt your pulse flutter against your neck.

“Uh–here, you can get the rest,” Steve said quickly, like he’d felt it too and hastily passed the cloth off to you, dropping your hand to wipe his on his jeans.

“Thanks,” you mumbled back.

It was quiet for a moment as he cleared his throat and picked up his can of kerosene again. You followed suit and grabbed your empty vodka bottle and funnel. Wordlessly he leaned over to hold your hand in his and once it was steady began pouring again, eyes flicking over to look at you.

“I’m an asshole,” he suddenly admitted, breaking the silence, and you had to focus really hard to not fumble the bottle again.

“I didn’t say it,” you started and he chuckled under his breath. A low, warm thing that made the air around you fizzle and crack like bonfires down at the quarry.

“Didn’t say you did,” he gently pushed back, lips still tugged up into a small, wry smile, but it faded the longer he looked at you. “Listen. I know we aren’t…well, I know I don’t have a great track record,” he said and the change in his tone surprised you. Told you he was serious and you had to look away to try to gather yourself back up again.

"No, really?" you said, all sarcasm, and he huffed another laugh.

“Hah hah,” he joked, weakly at first, and then his expression shifted more serious. “I just wanted to say that…well, that you have every right to be here it’s just–” the boy hummed around his words. Dropped his gaze down to where your hands met on the kerosene filled vodka bottle and put the can on the ground.

Talking to you like this, showing weakness and vulnerability, made him feel so exposed. Uncomfortable. Unable to find the right words and his tongue jammed into his cheek as he tried to decide just how honest he wanted to be.

With you.

“It’s just–everything about the Upside Down wants to kill you and it’s like–” he sighed heavy and carded a hand through his already messy hair. “I dunno. How many more people have to die? You know?” and then he was looking at you again. Really looking, really asking, and for a second it made you doubt everything you felt about him.

Jock. Asshole. King Steve.

No second chances, remember?

“Can I ask you something?” you heard yourself say and you could feel the muddled mixture of nerves and frustration and anticipation buzzing under your skin. Everything you’d been holding onto all this time pent up and pushing against the wall you’d built around it. Waiting waiting waiting for you to set it loose.

“Oh–sure, yeah.”

“Why are you really here?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide and he sat back on his milk crate, hands squeezing at the tops of his thighs.

“Why am I here?”

“Yeah. Do you really care about Eddie?”

Steve’s eyes darted back over to where Eddie and Dustin were hammering more nails into their garbage can lids and maybe you were impatient or maybe Steve was stalling, but you didn’t want to wait.

“Cos you didn’t care about him before.”

“B-before? I don’t–what d'you mean–”

Steve was stumbling over himself now, struggling to own the words you put on him and frustration grew warm in your chest, but you tried hard to swallow it down. Tried hard to let him prove Eddie’s theory of change.

“High school, Harrington,” you started, trying to keep your tone even and calm. “Yelled at us in the quad? Tossed people’s books in the hallway? Threw fries at us in the cafeteria.” You paused, debated whether or not you wanted to tack more on, and then you thought of Tommy and it came out all on its own, “Let your friends say really shitty things to me.”

Steve’s gaze dropped down to his feet and he didn’t say anything at first, not a word, and you kicked yourself for even bothering to think he’d be able to handle it. Of course he couldn’t.

“You know what–nevermind,” you mumbled, capping your bottle and moving to stand, but his hand grabbed yours and pulled you back down onto your milk crate.

“Wait. Please?”

And the way he was looking at you was pained, the pinch between his brows deep, and it made you pause. Was Eddie right? The way Steve cared for these kids, for your best friend, showed clearly something had shifted in him, but was it enough?

“Wait for what, Harrington? So you can show me things are different now?” your voice was softer, but hurt, “Because Eddie swears you’ve changed, but you still sound just like Tommy.”

The mention of his ex-best friend felt like getting the wind knocked out of him. He knew Tommy was wrong now. Hell, he knew it back then too. Knew how fucked up it'd been in the parking lot at the school, but he hadn’t had the guts to say anything. Couldn’t stand up to him or tell him off because he ‘had a reputation to uphold’ and what would everyone else say if he went ‘soft on a freak’?

“I–I know. I fucked up. I get it and I don’t know how I can prove it to you, but–” he started truthfully, hand still holding yours, thumb shifting softly against your palm, “–but I am. Really sorry.”

Really sorry.

Finally. After all those years. After everything he’d said and done, but sorry didn’t fix it. Or take any of it back. Was it too late?

Reluctantly you pulled your hand away from Steve’s, his fingers flexing as they fell away from yours, wanting to hold on just a little bit longer but you weren’t ready.

“You know that doesn’t fix it, right?” you said quietly, glancing up at Steve through the long sweep of your lashes and guilt settled heavy over him.

He knew it didn’t fix it. Knew all too well that words didn’t mean shit, but he would be the first to admit he was a slow learner. Crawl before you walk. Hit your head and maybe something will suddenly make sense and when it came to you? Vecna had been like a sucker punch.

You were strong-willed. Didn’t take shit lying down. Were fiercely loyal to your best friend and just wanted to try to help and it had taken Steve a minute to realize – in your eyes he was still bullshit, but he didn’t want to be. It wasn’t going to be easy, not in the least, but just like you he wanted to try.

“I know it doesn’t fix it.”

His eyes squeezed shut so he didn’t have to look at you. Tried to make it easier on himself as he pushed through the discomfort of taking responsibility for his actions. Tongue running along his bottom lip, just like it always did when his brain was working overtime, he finally looked back up at you.

“I��m not asking you for forgiveness or–or to be my friend or anything. I just want you know I really am sorry. For all of it. Okay?”

Sitting there so close to him, your hands inches away from touching, holding each other’s gaze as you listened to the words falling from his lips in sincerity – it was almost too much. The wall you’d built around yourself cracking and straining against this new feeling that had settled in your chest, but the words wouldn’t come to you as your lips parted and you tried and pull yourself together but–

“Dammit, Eddie, no wedgies!”

Dustin’s voice cut through the silence that had settled and Steve reflexively sat up. Pushed himself away from whatever it was you’d waded into together. Away from sorry and the feeling of your hands pressed together and the look you gave him through the long sweep of your lashes and the way you made his heart race. Turned away from you and played it off.

“Hey! Less dicking around, more putting shit together!” he yelled at Dustin and Eddie flipped him off without looking.

“Like you’re doing anything important, big boy!” Eddie hollered back and the way it made Steve’s cheeks grow pink made your lips twitch with a smile you had to work hard to hold back.

“Shut up,” Steve muttered at Eddie, but mostly to himself, and stood from his milk crate to put your filled vodka bottle into the box with the rest.

You watched quietly as he placed the last bottle in and folded the cardboard shut. Muscles tensing and pulling taut as he worked, moving against the fabric of his shirt and you quickly looked away for fear of being caught.

Then your eye caught his nail covered bat tipped against side of the Winnebago and the threat of the Upside Down and all its nasties wrapped around you tight like a vice.

Oh.

Right.

The end of the world.

Just a few yards away Nancy pulled the trigger on her shotgun, the sound making you flinch, and it hit you like a ton of bricks – you had absolutely no clue how to defend yourself against this. Against Him. Against an army from hell. You knew how to throw a punch and knee someone in the crotch and you’d always had an arm on you from playing volleyball, but none of that had anything to do with monsters. Or guns. Or nail covered bats.

“Uhm–” came out mumbled, more sound than word, and it pulled Steve’s attention up from the box.

“What’s that?”

“Can you–er–would you maybe show me how to swing that?” you asked and it made him turn to face you, giving you his full attention.

“What?”

Your cheeks grew hot.

“That bat,” you said shifting uncomfortably on your crate, “I don’t think–I can't shoot a gun.”

Steve’s expression softened as he remembered what it'd felt like the first time he saw a demogorgon. The first time he swung that very bat into the side of a demodog. The first time this world had been exposed to him and he knew how overwhelming and absolutely crazy it all felt.

Grabbing the bat in his hand he gave you a small smile and took the few steps back over to you.

“Sure. It’s not too hard. You know, just aim and swing.”

“Just aim and swing?” your tone was flat, all skeptics, a defensive move against his kindness and it made him chuckle.

“Well, there’s probably more to it than that, but those stupid bats are thick enough when they swarm it’d be hard for anyone to miss.”

Your eyes grew wide at the thought of swarming bats and it made him laugh again, a half-grimace pulling at his features.

“Shit, sorry. Uh–here,” readjusting his grip he bent his knees a bit and dug his heel into the ground. “Just make sure you get a wide stance, yeah? Like, hip width apart? And don’t be afraid to choke up on your hold. It’ll make your swings hit harder.”

He swung the bat and the sound it made as it cut through the air made your breath catch in your throat.

“Wanna try?” the boy held the crude weapon out to you and you swallowed thick. Stood up from your own milk crate and tentatively took it from him.

It was heavy in your hands, heavier than you thought it’d be, but smooth. You did as he said and slid your hands up a little further on the handle and tried a swing, but threw yourself off balance and stumbled forward.

“Ah, that’s okay. Here, uh–” Steve stepped in behind you and placed his hands over yours on the bat, “–try again, but follow through with your hip. Your grip’s good, just don’t throw your full weight forward.”

The warmth of his chest on your back made your cheeks burn again. Made your heart race. Hammering against your ribcage as he slowly took you through the motion again.

“Then when you get to the end of the swing, follow with your hip," his voice was much quieter over your shoulder, words falling into your ear and making you dizzy as he tried so damn hard to keep his focus. Placed a hand on your waist to guide it and toed your foot forward with his shoe as he took a step. “See?”

“Yeah,” was all you could manage, the feeling of his breath on your neck trailing goosebumps across your skin and you couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way the closeness of him pulled your gaze and when you looked up he was looking too.

“Does that–uh–did that make sense?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper and you nodded. A small thing that barely registered and he was so close now. Close enough his nose nearly brushed your cheek, getting closer by the second and–

“Harrington! Where are those bottles? I gotta get ‘em loaded up!” Eddie yelled from the other side of the RV and the space between you shattered. Both of you stepping away as though you’d touched a hot stove and you pressed the bat into Steve’s hands.

“Should probably get ready,” you muttered and he nodded, cleared his throat and took two big steps back to set the bat down.

“Coming!” Steve called back as he scooped up the box of molotov cocktails, bottles clinking against each other as he walked away and disappeared around the corner of the RV.

King Steve turned Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington turned something else.

Something more.

Something you thought you’d written off.

Something that held you so tightly now it made you want to run, but at the back of your mind, somewhere soft and warm, you couldn’t help wondering what might happen if you didn’t.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART THREE OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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phoenixkaptain · 1 year ago

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My favourite part of Dick Grayson as a character is that he is never afraid of Bruce.

Like, Jason has his fear of disappointing him, Tim is a bit intimidated and has his hero worship, Damian fears that Bruce’ll kick him out the way he thinks Talia did, but Dick?

Dick is so unconcerned about Bruce at every possible moment. Even the earliest comics had Dick calling Bruce lame to his face. Dick works with Bruce and his partner for years and they understand each other on a deep level and Dick multiple times calls Bruce a fucking square.

Dick does not tell Bruce anything. He does not write home. If Bruce wasn’t in the room with him when Dick got called to go somewhere, I’m pretty sure Dick would not have informed Bruce that he was even leaving, let alone where he was going. The Teen Titans joined the Peace Corps, they were in Washington for at least a few days being trained, and Bruce finds out that Robin joined the Peace Corps from a newspaper. Dick does not tell him anything.

Dick and Bruce have such a fascinating relationship to me because Dick really doesn’t treat Bruce as his dad so much as he treats him like a particularly obnoxious older brother. Bruce treats Dick like his little baby bird who he cares about and doesn’t want to get hurt, but Dick is over there like “ugh, Bruce is so overdramatic” while he nearly drowns for the fifth time.

In early Teen Titans, there’s no question that Robin is physically the weakest member. Aqualad and Wonder Girl both have super strength, Kid Flash’s speed means that he doesn’t need super strength, but Robin is by far the easiest to capture. He gets caught very consistently through the early issues, albeit people can only catch him if they take him off guard, but it’s a lot easier to catch him off guard in early comics. Robin is the brains of the group, the others look to him for direction and depend on him to make plans that will work and panic when Robin gets nabbed because what will they do without Robin??

Robin gets captured a lot in early Batman comics too. Robin is the ultimate damsel, but he’s never really in very much distress? Like, Bruce and the Teen Titans are distressed, but Robin just looks maybe a bit surprised and bored. Robin never seems to take his own mortality into account when he does things, meanwhile literally everyone else does.

Dick only ever really gets annoyed with Bruce. He bever gets mad at his teammates, even when they question his ability. For the most part, Dick doesn’t even respond when they underestimate him to his face. I have no idea what’s going on in Dick’s head, but he isn’t a part of Aqualad and Kid Flash finding each other and him annoying in their first team ups and he never gets upset when they don’t believe in him.

Then, on the other hand, Bruce calls the music Dick is listening to noise, and Dick immediately is annoyed. Dick and Bruce having a turbulent relationship is more apparent later on in the comics, but Bruce is truly the only one in all the galaxies who gets under Dick’s skin as much as he does.

And it’s funny because fandom likes to paint Dick as bitter that Bruce didn’t adopt him, while I think Dick would have blown his top if Bruce even tried to adopt him. Dick had parents, he never views Bruce as a parental figure. Don’t get me wrong, Dick loves Bruce. Bruce does so much for Dick and Bruce is protective of him and Bruce is open about his affection, but Dick just doesn’t view him as his father.

I really think Dick views Bruce as more like a guard dog than a father. He talks so casually to Bruce, but he’s more formal to other adults. He complains about Bruce not trusting him, but doesn’t care when his teammates don’t trust him either. He views the rich billionaire vigilante who can take down a god in a fight as fucking lame.

Their relationship is amazing. They get along great. They’re a perfect duo, they work in tandem, they’re absolutely unstoppable together. If Bruce talks too much Dick will roll his eyes. They trust each other with their life. Dick is never telling Bruce anything. Bruce says “I guess I can spare Robin for a minute” and Dick is like “I would be perfectly content to never return home for the rest of my days.”

Of all the Robins, Dick is absolutely the one who respects Bruce the least. He loves the guy, but he just canNOT take him seriously.

(Do you think it was the time Bruce sent a box of bats to someone? Or the times Bruce gets captured and has to be rescued by his damsel side-kick? Or the way Bruce is like an overprotective mother, coming this close to reminding Robin to wash behind his ears? Or the way Bruce lets Robin say whatever he wants and never gets upset or offended or even hurt?

Or, maybe, Batman tripped on his cape once, and Dick just can never forget.)

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danisdistant · 5 months ago

Text

sunday - spoiling you

[intro blog] | [taglist] | [masterlist]

»» ──────ஓ๑ ★ ๑ஓ ────── ««

your life inside penacony was nothing special. what mattered to you was the fact that it was safe. you had a roof over your head, money wasn’t an issue, and you were eating well. once you started to date sunday however, your lifestyle quickly began to change.

you found that every time you go out in the dreamscape, you always noticed at least one bloodhound member following you. at one point, you tried to walk up to the bloodhound to try and confront them, but they quickly walked away back to hiding.

since they’re connected to the family, you asked sunday if he knew about their actions. he was slightly embarrassed to reveal the truth, where he ordered for your protection whenever possible. you tried to convince him that you didn’t need that level of protection, where he agreed to call the order off.

in reality, he just hired a better bloodhound member who could keep themselves concealed from your sight.

whenever he can, sunday enjoys to find trinkets and items that remind him of you. he likes to give them to you, while keeping some of them in his office. your bedroom, desk, and office are full of his trinkets. some of these would include plushes, small figurines, etc.

it’s not often that the two of you have time to get out of the pavilion and explore around the dreamscape. at golden hour, sunday enjoys spoiling you buying jewelry and clothes that you liked.

“you’ve my precious. you deserve to be spoiled,” is what he says to you every time you ask why he sometimes get such expensive materials.

some of the jewelry matched his attire. necklaces that would match his piercings. jewels that would match the color of his eyes. clothes that were similar with his color scheme. he did this not only to give you things that reminded you of him, but to also subtly show to the public that you belonged to him.

sunday doesn’t only buy clothes and jewelry, but he enjoys buying your favorite foods. he wants to make sure you’re well fed, while also giving you food you enjoy. as long as it’s not cooked birds or doves… (reluctantly, he’ll still buy it for you if it makes you happy.)

when you’re close enough, sunday will offer you a position in the family. it completely replaced your job, while you get to stay in the pavilion closer with sunday. as a family member, you would also be granted full protection by him and the oak family.

at first, you were overwhelmed by this offer, but sunday wanted to make it very clear that the decision was yours to make. he wouldn’t love you any less if you declined, or needed more time to think. eventually, you agreed to stay with him.

if you’re comfortable enough, and you told sunday that you didn’t mind, he would dedicate an entire event to your birthday, where family members and the public would attend. even robin would show up, singing and giving a speech for your birthday. being good friends with robin, you almost cried from the whole event.

if you rather preferred something more private, sunday would be happy to orchestrate a smaller party instead. he’s still inviting robin, along with other close family members and some of your friends. even without the eyes of the public, you still enjoyed the moment.

while you can’t exactly spoil him back, he still enjoys any quality time the two of you spend together. as soon as you found this out, you would take him to dream’s edge whenever you could. at first, he was curious as to why you were bringing him to a restricted area, but as soon as he saw the view he understood.

on your way back, he gave you a bracelet that matched his halo, as sort of a thank you.

»» ──────ஓ๑ ★ ๑ஓ ────── ««

#honkai star rail #hsr #sunday hsr #sunday hc #happy sunday #sunday headcanons #hsr headcanons #i really want sunday playable #robin hsr #robin honkai star rail #sunday honkai star rail #sunday x y/n #sunday x you #sunday x reader

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albertdabuttler · 1 year ago

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Masked Adversary | D.L.

Pt. II

MASTERLIST

this fics masterlist

fandom: Kick-Ass

pairings: Dave Lizewski/Kick-Ass x F!Reader

WARNINGS: language! patching up an open wound, mentions of blood, wound descriptions, fluff OOOO, also angst because he knows you don’t like HIM, kinda proofread but idk..

summary: You and Dave have lost a childhood friendship. The circumstances have made you grow to despise one another, until Kick-Ass has no one else to turn to but you, causing him to develop a small crush. The only problem being that you don't know it's him.

WC: 3.1K

gif not mine!!!

A/N: Low key insane this is the first fic I write that isn’t smut ☠️ also sorry for posting this a day late mb…

———————

“Dammit,” You spoke as you quickly lifted your water bottle up from your desk. It had spilled all over your research papers and ruined some of the fresh ink.

“Fuck.”

You had already spent a little over an hour trying to get your information together and you needed a break. Grabbing your headphones, you made your way to the little sofa you had sitting by your window and took out a comic.

It was rare, but it didn’t take long for you to get bored, you had read this specific issue many times. The music made it that much more boring and you were getting restless. Cracking your window open just a bit, you heard the soft chirps of the birds and crickets outside, feeling some of the cool breeze enter into your room. The sun was set and there was still some twilight left over the New York skyline. You lived a few blocks from Dave, getting a decent view of the city although it was blocked by a tree near your window.

Soon after you had opened your window, you felt yourself getting drowsy, that breeze and the sounds of the night settling in almost made you doze off.

The state you were in wasn’t fully conscious, but you weren’t quite asleep either. You heard a faint sound outside your window, like some big bird just fell onto your roof. You tried to ignore it and relax, but soon you began hearing faint taps at your window.

How odd.

Your eyes slowly opened, allowing your pupils to adjust to the soft fluorescent light.

“Please,” You heard someone whisper, in that moment your eyes shot open and you jumped out of your chair, turning to your window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You almost yelled, keeping it quiet enough not to alarm your parents. Kick-Ass.

“You said I could—“ he groaned quietly, wincing.

“You said I could stop by if I needed something,” he sighed.

“What?” You questioned, confused at first until you noticed one of his gloves covered in blood, clutching his side.

“Please, you said…” He paused to take a breath, “Your mom’s a nurse, right? I—I can’t go to the cops or the hospital.”

“Well—I mean yeah, she’s a nurse, but… If she helps you she’s gonna end up telling someone.”

He only stood there and waited.

“I can patch you up myself,” You swiftly moved forward to open the window, allowing the boy into your room.

“Agh, fuck—” He groaned, you helped him walk over to your bed.

“Hold on,”

Setting a towel on your bed, you motioned for him to sit down, grabbing his batons from his back and setting them to the side. You ran to your closet to grab a cloth or anything similar.

“Here, put this on there with pressure, okay? I’ll be right back.” You gave him an old shirt and left your room to find a med kit your mom had somewhere downstairs.

He noticed the shirt you gave him and smiled softly. It was an old shirt you had matched with him, well, Dave, in middle school. It was really oversized when you got it, so it still fit. He was surprised you hadn’t thrown it away. It was a Robin shirt, himself owning the Batman one. He remembered how much you loved Robin.

Kick-Ass sighed as he waited for you, holding the shirt to his wound with as much pressure as he could to stop the bleeding.

“Okay,” you spoke out of breath, closing your door and locking it.

“Um…” You looked at him awkwardly, and he waited for you to continue. Clearly in pain.

“I’m gonna need you to take your suit off.” You informed, it was only necessary.

“Okay…” he hesitated, “I can’t really take the suit off...by myself,” he breathed. You could tell that speaking was quite the chore.

You moved towards him, helping him take his gloves off one at a time as either of his hands held the cloth to his wound. Sitting behind him, you unzipped his suit, pushing it off each one of his shoulders.

Woah.

His back was very well defined and it took everything in you not to graze your fingers along his muscles. He felt this, trying to hold in a smile.

“You’re gonna have to let go for a second, okay?” You warned him. Kick-Ass let go of the cloth on his cut, clenching his teeth as you pulled his suit down to his hips. The blood caused it to stick to the wound, it seemed to burn as you peeled it off.

“Shit,” He sighed in pain, taking a deep breath as you soaked a small towel in a little bowl of soap water. He frowned as you brought it up to the gash on his side.

“This is really gonna sting, so you should use something to bite on.” You handed him the cleaner glove and as soon as he bit down onto it, you began dabbing the cloth onto his injury.

He let out a significantly loud groan through the glove and tears welled up in his eyes, his breathing quickened due to the sharp, stinging pain of the soap seeping into his wound. He was seeing stars.

“Okay, we’re done.” You spoke, turning back to the med kit to take out a gauze pad. “This cut is too big to heal on its own, I’m gonna have to stitch it up…” You looked at him to make sure he was okay with it. He only nodded. You continued to dab at his skin to remove all the blood around the slash to see it clearly. It was a cut right above the chiseled area of his iliac furrow, a few inches to the left of an already healed scar that seemed to appear like another stab wound.

“You okay?” You asked him, just to make sure. He nodded once more, removing the glove from his mouth and smiling weakly as you grabbed a needle and suture. You noticed he had a pretty nasty cut on his lip, and his eye was starting to bruise.

“This one’s gonna hurt even more, right?” He joked.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Are you ready?”

Kick-Ass clenched his jaw, locking eyes with you for a moment, “Yeah,” he grunted, keeping his eyes glued to yours.

You pierced through his skin and his back straightened. Choking out an agony-filled moan, he threw his head back, his hand flying to cover his mouth. Your eyes widened looking up at him.

“If my parents hear you, it’s over.” You whispered and he nodded, chewing on his lip.

Continuing the process of piecing him together, he kept whining about how much it stung even with his fucked up nerve endings.

“Of course it’s gonna hurt, dipshit! How the fuck did this happen to you anyway?” You questioned.

“Oh y’know, some muggers with a knife. Guess they were serious about taking that lady’s bag.” He chuckled.

As you drove the needle through him one last time, he inhaled a sharp breath, gripping into your sheets for his life.

It was quiet for the moment in which you cleaned up, putting everything away and leaving out some bandages to put on him.

You could feel his gaze on you, but goodness, were you scared to look him in the eyes. You knew that if you looked, you’d wanna lean in and kiss him.

“Thank you,” He said, watching you intently as you got up to take the med kit back.

“No problem, Kick-Ass,” you smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Your smile was super pretty and holy hell was this mask giving him confidence.

“I’m gonna go put this back, the bathroom’s right outside my door to the left, incase you wanna wash your face or something.” You made your way to your door and left it slightly ajar, so that no one would hear it open while you were downstairs.

Kick-Ass slowly limped into your bathroom, finally taking off his mask after closing the door. His face was covered in blood, so much more happened than some muggers with a knife. Frank D’Amico’s men had tried beating him senseless, but he oh so fortunately got away due to a patrol car nearing the area. Yes, he had made sure no one followed him to your home. He wouldn’t know what to do if he was the reason some fucked up kingpin tried to hurt you.

He washed his face as best he could without getting any blood anywhere, his left eye beginning to grow a soft red color.

You knocked softly on the door, “Hey, just come back to my room when you’re done. My parents are watching TV so you should be good.”

“Thanks.” He answered, staring at the door.

Guilt began to overcome him. He was lying to you, not only in keeping his identity from you, but in making up some bullshit about getting jumped by some "muggers."

He wanted to tell you it was him, but he found the thought embarrassing, maybe you would call him pathetic for this whole Kick-Ass thing, even the thought of coming to you when he had no one else was enough to make him cringe. He would rather get stitched up without anesthesia again than have you react badly and get angry at him for lying to you.

Sitting at your desk waiting for him, you finally heard the bathroom light shut off, the door just then clicking open. He limped into your room and you quickly ran to help him sit on the edge of your bed.

You grabbed the gauze, pausing and taking a look at him for a second. Goodness gracious, he was an Adonis of a man. He had really well toned arms, his abdominal muscles very defined as well. He was quite the specimen. And his eyes. The way he looked up at you, like some lost puppy, it made you melt.

“Um, just lift your arms up a bit,” You cleared your throat, embarrassed of the way you were thinking in such a moment.

He lifted his arms and you put the gauze over his now closed wound, grabbing a roll of bandages to wrap around his waist.

“Hold this here,” you told him as you knelt in front of him. Pulling the white fabric around his side, you had to move closer to him in order to reach for it with your other hand behind his back.

You tried focusing on what you were doing, but he kept staring holes into your head. His hand twitched, wanting to brush a stray hair from your face to see it clearly but he held back.

After wrapping the bandage around his waist a few times, you used some medical tape to keep it in place.

“Alright, I’m almost done.” you spoke, finishing up.

Kick-Ass spoke your name with a light tone. This startled you and you looked up at him to see what he was going to say. He only looked at you, glancing at your lips before looking away and it caused your heart to beat a million miles a minute.

“Thank you...” He finally moved his eyes to meet yours, a look of guilt upon whatever you could see of his face.

“I’m really sorry…” He frowned, looking at the ground next to you.

“It’s not your fault, Kick-Ass,” you reassured him without even knowing what he was talking about.

He shook his head as if he was about to speak but the two of you could only watch each other those following moments, your faces moving closer together like magnets. You didn't know why it felt so right in the moment, but you quickly leaned up and kissed him.

He slightly jumped but immediately kissed back. His lips were so plush and smooth, they felt like clouds. And he kissed you like no other boy had ever kissed you before. He kissed you with emotion, he didn’t just kiss you for the sake of kissing. Even if he wasn't the best at it.

The fabric of his mask brushed against your chin as he tilted his head to the side, moving himself closer to you. You felt like he was going to pull away because you were already starting to feel the need to breathe, but he kept kissing you.

Resting your hand on his chest, you felt his heart beating rapidly under your palm. You stood up, causing him to have to lean upwards in order to keep his lips attached to yours, but the movement caused him pain, making him release a grunt and quickly pull away.

“Sorry,” you apologized, referring to the kiss and the wound. He stared at you in utter surprise.

From now on, Dave knew he would look at you in a different light. Why’d you even kiss him? And what gave him such a desperate urge to keep his own lips connected to yours?

He chewed on his bottom lip, "It's okay..." He replied softly.

“I shouldn't have done that, right...? I—It won't happen again—“ You rambled, suddenly cutting yourself off and picking up the empty packaging of the bandages to throw them away and keep yourself busy.

Kick-Ass watched you pick things up with his jaw hanging, still trying to process the kiss and why he... Enjoyed it?

“You can do it again, if you want.” He mentally screamed at himself, why the fuck would he say that!?

You whipped your head around and stared at him from across the room, your face heating up like the Titanic's boiler room.

"I haven’t kissed anyone since like… sixth grade, so…" He chuckled.

Hiding a smile, "Yeah…that was kind of obvious." you spoke, scrunching your nose.

"Sorry." He looked away while giggling at how pathetic it was.

“It’s okay…” you smiled.

You sat next to him. "Everyone needs practice…” You said suggestively.

Turning to look at him, you saw that he was already gaping at you.

"Yeah..." He kept his eyes on yours this time. The reason he was so afraid to do so before was because he felt vulnerable, like you’d know it was him just by his eyes or something.

“So…” you began, “can I kiss you..?”

“Yes—“ he replied a little too quick for his own comfort. “I mean…Yeah.”

You placed your hand on the side of his neck and moved your head closer to his. You noticed him watching your mouth as it neared his, the palm of his hand coming to press against your lower back as you finally connected your lips.

He kissed you softly, innocently, almost like he was afraid you’d pull away if he kissed you any differently.

Moving one of your hands to rest on the back of his neck, you slipped your fingers under his mask, feeling a bit of his soft curls.

You just wanted to kiss him, missing the feeling of someone's mouth on your own. He felt the same, he didn’t feel judged on the fact he was kind of a shitty kisser.

The two of you sat there for a minute, his calloused hands moving from your waist to the sides of your face, the tips of his fingers playing with the shorter hairs on the nape of your neck.

“I hope you don’t hate me,” he breathed, mumbling against your mouth.

“Mm-“ You made a sound of confusion.

You began to realize why he had said it as he brought his hand up to the hem of his mask and began tugging it upward. Quickly pulling away, you reached for his wrist to stop him.

“Don’t do that…” You watched him, slightly alarmed.

His heart dropped, “Why not…?” he spoke, uneasy.

He couldn’t lie to you. Yeah sometimes he hated your guts and wanted you to just shut the fuck up, but today was a completely different story. He changed in the way he saw you. With everything that had just happened in the past ten minutes, he couldn’t lie to you.

“What if I tell someone? How can you trust me if you barely even know me…?”

But he did know you. He knew you enough to trust you, and that there was no way in hell you would ever tell anyone a secret entrusted to you. But he didn’t want to argue with you. Not as Kick-Ass.

“Fine. Sorry...” He apologized.

"You should probably get home... It's kind of late." You suggested looking at your hands as you fidgeted.

“Yeah,” He stood up, grunting as he pulled his arms through his suit to put it back on. “Could you…” He was nodding at you, referring to the back of his suit where the zipper was.

You pulled the slider along the teeth of the zipper, enclosing him completely in his suit.

He turned around to face you “Thanks…” He watched you for a moment. “For patching me up… And stuff…”

You chuckled, “No problem.”

He smiled awkwardly. “I’ll see you tomor—or uhh, whenever I need you again—or whenever you need me,” He stammered, realizing what position he’d almost put himself in. “I’ll just see you.” He chuckled, swallowing hard as he grabbed his gloves and batons and turned to your window.

“Will you be okay to get home?” You watched as he limped by your window. “I could walk with you… Until we get to your neighborhood or whatever.”

“Uh—No, it's like a 10 minute walk. I’ll be fine. Thanks though.” He smiled softly, beginning to climb through your window as he held his side.

You thought about that. There were no other neighborhoods within ten minutes of walking, so he had to live here. That means he had to go to your school. And that means you have to know him if he said he was your age. Holy shit.

“Kick-Ass?” You rested your palms on your windowsill as he crouched down to look at you from your roof.

“Do you go to Fillmore?”

He paused, staring at you like he’d just been caught.

You felt your hands getting clammy.

After a few more moments of silence, you spoke again.

“Do I know you…?”

He stayed silent. All you could do was take it as a yes.

“Weren’t you just getting mad at me for wanting to take my mask off?” He shot back.

“Fuck, you’re right. I’m sorry.” You looked down. “I’ll… I’ll see you around.” You pursed your lips.

He smiled back softly and made his way off your roof and out of your view.

You sat back down to finish your homework, somehow taking three times as long because the only thing on your mind was those beautiful blue eyes of his. And who else in your school had them.

———————

Thank you for reading!! x

#dave lizewski #kick ass #aaron taylor johnson #kickass fic #kickass x reader #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski fluff #dave lizewski angst #aaron taylor johnson fic #fanfic #writing #iz writes #dave lizewski fic #angst #fluff

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curiositydooropened · 2 months ago

Text

Hell Hound • Part Two

After a few days spent protecting you, a promising lead is found. Steve is wracked with nightmares. You grow closer.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 9,770

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *This chapter also contains allusions of voyeurism, sex, drinking, recreational drug use, overdose, religious elements

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Three [Coming soon]

Robin: Have you told her yet?

“I need to get out.” You said it, slinging your denim jacket over each arm.

Steve’s breath tasted of your toothpaste, and his hair smelled of your shampoo, and he would’ve gone with you over the border to Canada if you’d asked.

Instead, you carted him down several flights of stairs and the opposite direction of his car and the gallery and to a little park with a coffee kiosk on the corner. You ordered for him and boxed him out of paying, and you waited in silence, smiles playing on your faces.

The coffee was good. The coffee was really good. It could have been that it warmed the ache in his spine from scrunching on a sofa that wasn’t long enough for his legs, but Steve knew it was good because you waited expectantly for him to take a sip, eyes wide in wonder and curiosity.

“S’good,” he licked his lips.

Satisfied with his answer, you started off again.

Steve hurried to keep up. “Where’re we going?”

You smiled and didn’t respond, but slowed your pace to let him fall in step beside you.

Sunlight fell, dappled, through the trees as you walked, and birds chirped, and eventually, you passed through wrought iron gates. The sidewalk grew wider, and with it the distance between the two of you, still at a brisk walk.

“Let’s sit,” you nodded toward a stone bench nearby, and Steve followed you there.

You set your coffee on the bench beside you and began to dig through your leather bag for your camera and whatever size lens you’d deemed the perfect fit.

Steve peeled his gaze from the concentration etched into your forehead to glance around, curious of your subject. It wasn’t until then that he realized you’d pulled him into a cemetery. His jaw ached a little. “What uh… what’re we doing here?”

You shrugged, a sly smile curling peachy pink lips. You nodded behind him. “Saw those lattice roses last week, wanted to get them in softer lighting.”

Behind him, curling their way up stone and iron fencing, were peachy pink roses. A few had seen better days, petals gathering at the base of the wall, but more were reaching skyward, bloomed and beautiful and delicate.

“How do you do it?” Steve asked, regretting his word choice immediately when you turned to flash him a cocked eyebrow. “I mean, how do you know what to capture?”

You shrugged, snapped a few, glanced at the display on the back of your camera. “I don’t think it’s a conscious thing. If you hunt for something, you’ll never find it.”

Steve hummed, took another drink of coffee. He wondered what Robin’d say to that philosophy. Sounds like your love life, dingus. He rolled his eyes. “What about these roses?”

You tilted your head, snapped a few more, looked at the display again. “It’s a little about anticipation. I knew these roses would wilt. I knew a storm was coming in, and that usually batters them. Fresh flowers in a cemetery doesn’t tell a story.”

God, you really were perfect, weren’t you?

You were annoyed at whatever the view finder was showing you, and even that was cute.

You must have felt him watching because you glanced up and immediately pulled your camera in front of your face and started clicking away. “And what about you, Steve Harrington?” You smirked. “What is your story?”

Steve stiffened and dropped his other leg to the ground, sneakers grinding into dead leaves on the asphalt.

You laughed and swept his insecurities away. “Quit being weird,” you snorted. “Just talk to me.”

“About what?” He couldn’t help but smile, trying to ignore the gentle click, click, click of the shutter.

You looked at the view finder and seemed as displeased as you were with the roses. You took a few steps back and got down on one knee, shooting up at him.

Self-conscious, Steve crossed an arm over his chest.

“Stop it,” you scolded, eyes bright, smiling playing on your lips. “Tell me about your life outside of this.” You gestured vaguely to his person and snapped a few more shots.

You snickered at the frown he pulled.

“You know like, outside of being a bodyguard slash private investigator slash Tour Mom. Are you close with your family? Does your girlfriend miss having you around?”

Steve sunk a little further into the bench, letting a breath burst from puffed cheeks. He ran his thumb along the perforated ridge of his cup’s sleeve. “Uh no and no… um… no girlfriend.”

You looked up at him then with the same pity and sadness he felt in the depths of his person.

He tried to hide behind his drink, wishing there was something stronger in his cup.

“Oh my God, Steve, I’m so sorry. Eddie didn’t tell me. You and Robin broke up?”

He sputtered around the sting in his nostrils and wiped at coffee that splattered and stained his pants. “Robin isn’t… no. I mean, she’s drop dead gorgeous and like the second best person I know, but no.” He shook his head, frantically. The amount of women that left him because of his relationship with Robin was honestly astounding, but he never imagined he’d have to explain it to you.

You sucked your cheeks in to shut yourself up and squinted, trying to decipher his ramblings.

He blanched. “Robin’s gay.”

You blinked for a moment and then barked a laugh. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You just… you and Eddie talk about her so much, I just figured…”

Steve nodded. He understood. “I get it, but nope. We’re just best friends.”

Your laughter slowed to something softer, and he could have sworn he felt something spark in your gaze, in the way your lashes fluttered.

You snapped another photo and seemed satisfied with what you found in the display. You turned the camera his direction to see.

Sunlight haloed around him, roses climbing the walls behind his head, out of focus. He looked comfortable. He looked hopeful. A soft small was etched across his features, and he looked madly and irrevocably in love.

“Blue’s your color.” You commented, detaching your lens and packing your things away.

—

Cheap hangers screeched against metal racks, and you pulled another blouse with 80s shoulder pads and held it up.

Steve made a face.

You conceded and replaced it on its rack and kept pushing.

He’d followed you all day, through the cemetery and back through your neighborhood. You tugged on the passenger’s side door handle of his car until it was unlocked, and you’d given him street-by-street instructions on where to go.

You’d inquired about half-a-million things about his life, none of which he was happy to share, but all of which he’d share again if it meant seeing your face light up the way it did when he rolled his eyes.

You found a thrift store along the route and insisted you’d pick an outfit for him if he picked one for you, and he leisurely followed you down each aisle, turning down anything and everything made of satin and silk and printed in florals.

“I really shouldn’t let you peak,” you informed him finally, hand on your hip.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you waved him off.

“Women’s is over there.” You spouted your size. “Don’t make me look ugly.”

He couldn’t if he tried.

With a sigh, he turned to tackle the circular women’s racks. He wondered if he should pull something in your favorite color, or a color that complimented your eyes the same way the peachy pink lipstick did.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Eddie: How’s my girl doing?

My girl. Steve’s heart sunk. He glanced back up at you, arms already teeming with bright yellows and forest greens. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself get lost in today, that he’d forgotten why he was here with you. It wasn’t because you’d asked, it was because he was being paid to keep an eye on you, to ensure your safety.

At that moment, a young man approached you. Steve stiffened and took a handful of strides closer to get a better look and a better listen.

“Is that a camera bag?” He asked. “Very cool.”

His earring jangled beneath a curly blonde mullet: a hipster type. He wore a white tank top and Levis, and his blue eyes darted between you and the clothing rack and back again.

Steve bristled.

“Okay,” the kid spoke again. “This is going to sound like… really weird, but I think I’m following you.”

You looked back up at him, wide-eyed and arms full, but managed a smile and a thank you. There was something else though. Steve saw the way you were looking at the guy, saw the way fear sparked in your features when the kid reached into his back pocket for something - his phone. Suddenly, frantically, you were looking around the store.

“On instagram? I just wanted to say I think your work is incredible.”

Steve was two steps ahead. He swung his arm around your shoulders and brought you in tight, pressing his lips to your temple. “Sorry, babe, the line to the bathroom was surprisingly long. What’d you find me? Oh, who’s this?”

You stiffened before sinking into him, gesturing to the stranger with his phone out. “Steve, he was just telling me he’s a fan of my work. Isn’t that great?”

Steve plastered on a grin and nodded. “She is incredible, isn’t she?”

The kid nodded and put his phone down, features pulled tight in an awkward smile. “Absolutely.”

“You have excellent taste,” Steve glanced down the kid’s body for any sign of a weapon. He extended a hand. “What’s your name, bro?”

You were frozen in your spot. Steve could feel your pulse against his side.

The guy eyed you warily before shaking your guard dog’s hand. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Good to meet you, Billy.”

Billy nodded, though now his expression had pulled into a frown, seemingly a bit miffed to have been interrupted. He straightened his shoulders and turned his focus solely on you. “I really just wanted to say congrats on the gallery opening.”

“Thank you,” your voice came out in a flush of air, and Steve released his hold on you, worried he was squeezing the air from your lungs.

“Good meeting you both, I guess,” Billy shot Steve a look. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

When he left, you deposited armfuls of clothing to the top of the nearest rack. It teetered under the weight.

Steve bent to catch your gaze, but your face was stoic.

You adjusted the strap of your camera bag and sighed. “Pizza? I’m starving.”

—

1 Voicemail

Steve, it’s Hop. Yeah, William Hargrove does have a couple of priors: B&E and a little GTA, but he was a minor. It’s a good lead. I’ve got Callahan heading down to ask him a few questions. Stay safe. Let me know if anything else happens. Stay sharp.

Steve sighed and reentered the small pizzeria.

The pizza lay steaming, untouched in front of you. You sat against a red brick wall, chewing on a thumbnail and scrolling through something on your phone.

As he approached, he could just make out the blurry mirror selfies of a douchebag in a backwards baseball cap. He had a skull tattoo on one bicep and had a difficult time keeping his tongue in his mouth.

Steve cleared his throat, and you locked your phone, screen going black. “Everything okay?”

He pulled out the seat across from you and made about shelving gooey pizza onto each of your plates.

You hummed, but your gaze remained far off, staring at something written in chalk on the menu over his shoulder.

He tugged a handful of napkins from the dispenser and placed one in his lap before passing another to you. Then, he lifted the drooping piece of pizza high enough to manage one scalding bite. Instantly, it torched the roof of his mouth, and his eyes watered in his swallow.

He supposed the pain was worth the uptick he found at the corners of your mouth.

“I was letting it cool,” you explained.

He nodded and chugged some iced soda until a burp pushed its way up his esophagus. He hid that behind a fist and pounded a little at the burn in his chest, but again, it was worth it to see your eyes sparkle like that.

“Don’t move,” you said, reaching into the bag beside you.

Steve froze, as instructed, fingers dangling greasy above his plate.

You camera covered your face, massive lens encroaching in his space in what he knew couldn’t be a flattering angle, but he felt himself melt when he heard your chuckle behind the viewfinder.

“Lemme see,” he said.

You cocked a brow, but flipped the camera to show him the image.

He had a string of cheese on his chin, which he scrambled to wipe off, and the image taken made it look like he had two floppy ears and a long, wagging tail. Frowning, he turned to find a golden retriever had been chalked to the wall directly behind him.

He snorted and wiped his hands on the napkin in his lap. “Glad I can amuse you.”

You nodded, putting your camera away. “Very much.”

A notification lit up your phone. The background was an image of the gallery bustling with people. Steve spotted himself in the foreground, arms crossed, head thrown back in laughter. He remembered speaking with the woman beside him about her kids’ art projects. One had brought home a macaroni necklace the cat ate.

Another notification dinged. Instagram.

Steve glanced up to see you stiffen in your chair. “What’s wrong?”

You blinked, shrugged, plastered on a smile that didn’t meet your eyes. “Nothing. All good.” You dove in to your pizza.

Seeing you hadn’t managed to burn your own mouth, Steve ventured another go. He couldn’t taste much.

The two of you ate in silence, some catchy pop tune absorbing into the brick walls surrounding you both. Your phone continued to light up with notifications, and Steve felt his own buzz in his pocket a few times.

“So,” you said around a mouthful, “tell me something else about you, Steve.”

“Like what?” He wiped at his cheeks with a new napkin.

Before you could pose a question, the song changed overhead to one distinctly familiar. Heavy drums and masterful guitar playing filled the little pizzeria.

That killer smile spread across your features again, and your head began to bob along to the track. You pulled a pepperoni from your slice, stretching the cheese with it, and popped it between slick lips, licking your fingertips.

“How did you and Eddie meet?”

Steve licked his teeth clean and dished you both another slice. “At a party, through a mutual friend.”

You rolled your wrist for him to elaborate, taking another large bite.

He shrugged and peeled a rogue pepperoni from the tray. “We have this friend name Chrissy Cunningham.”

“The cam girl?” You dropped your pizza.

Steve warmed under your gaze, wishing he could read your mind. He wondered how much information to tell you, wondered what might spook you, wondered what Eddie had undoubtedly already let slip.

He cleared his throat and picked at some rogue cheese on the plate. “So, Chrissy invited me to this house party, and it was in his huge ass house way out in the suburbs, and there were all of these famous people there, like so many I couldn’t even process it. It felt like I was in my television, like MTV growing up.”

You smiled and nodded, taking a sip of your soda.

“And there was this asshole from Corroded Coffin coked out of his mind -” Steve stopped himself. He wasn’t sure if Eddie had told you about the Coke Years.

You cocked a brow, leaning forward, seemingly intrigued by this salacious story.

Steve swallowed his words and leaned a little on his elbows. “Anyway, we got in a fight.”

“Like a fist fight?” Your eyes went wide.

Steve nodded. He could still feel the satisfying crunch of Eddie’s teeth before the lanky ass guitarist hit the ground. “I used to fight a lot. Daddy issues.”

You laughed at that, a barked sound that sent his heart racing.

He smiled and shrugged. “Anyway, he got my number from Chrissy and called me the next day to tell me I was hired.”

“He didn’t ask?” You frowned.

Steve shrugged, picked up a new slice to take a bite. “Eddie Munson has a way of getting what he wants.”

You hummed and glanced down at your phone as another notification illuminated the screen.

“I sometimes think he’s just a curator of really great people,” Steve said, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smiled at that and took another slice of pizza from the tray. “He told me you saved his life.”

Steve could still smell the mix of sweat and cigarettes that clung to his clothes, could still feel the clammy cold skin of his friend’s cheeks, could still feel his fingers hit the back of the other boy’s throat.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

The bodyguard set down his pizza and wiped his hands on his napkin before answering.

“Hello?”

“Steve? It’s Powell. That Hargrove kid was acting shady so Callahan took him in. It’s looking good that he might be our guy, but just to be safe, is there anywhere you can take her tonight, just in case?”

Steve watched you watch him from across the table. “Yeah, yeah I could take her to mine.”

—

Steve hoped you hadn’t felt this vulnerable when unlocking your own door and pushing it open to let him in.

The moment he followed you over the threshold to his apartment, he second-guessed everything he owned.

The place was a wreck of pizza boxes piled near the front door. The whisky bottle Robin had bought him was next to an open, but dead laptop. He really had just up and abandoned everything when you called.

“This is it,” he introduced the space, feeling itchy under your scrutiny while you looked around.

His leather couch had a Joyce-crocheted blanket tossed over the back. He was grateful for the coffee table books gifted and stacked neatly where they belonged. Quickly, he crunched the open bag of chips left in the seam of the couch and stuffed it into an overflowing snack cabinet.

“I like it,” you nodded, taking a few steps forward to the window, gesturing for permission. “How’s your view?”

He shrugged, scratched at the back of his head. “Not great. Big buildings and fire escapes.”

“There’s beauty in that.” You smiled, slipping the blinds open to peer through.

Light spilled in, caressing your cheekbones and shining through your hair.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

If Robin were here, she’d kick him.

You hummed, satisfied by what you found, and turned to face him. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

His bathroom was worse than he thought. He scrambled to scoop dried toothpaste from the sink and re-roll toilet paper that had gone rogue. Not one, but three sets of boxer-briefs were discarded on a navy blue rug. Thank God Robin had reminded him to scrub the toilet before she came to visit.

“Smells like you in here,” you mumbled from the hallway as you swapped spaces.

Steve warmed.

“Your aftershave,” you said with mischief in your eyes. “Give me a minute?”

Bumbling like an idiot, he gave you space and wandered down the hall to him room, once again scrambling to pick up piles of clothes.

Steve: We’re at my apartment. Why didn’t you tell me how disgusting I am?

Robin: I do every time I’m there, dingus. When’s the last time you had a girl over?

Steve: Please don’t make me feel worse.

Dirty dishes went from the nightstand to the sink, and he made about loading his little dishwasher. The kitchen was easy to tidy in piles. Luckily the garbage didn’t smell too bad.

After a long, quiet while, he glanced up from his phone to find the bathroom open and abandoned. Dim light splashed into the hall from his room. With a frown, he toed down the hall to find you admiring photos pinned to a cork board above his dresser.

“Can I help you?”

You shrugged and smiled. “I showed you mine.”

He wondered if you found his bedroom to suit him as much as yours had suited you. He glanced around at a plaid duvet, lightweight curtains, the baseball bat he kept at his bedside.

“Is this Robin?” You tapped your fingertips to a polaroid of him and his best friend, faces squished in smiles.

He nodded.

“She’s pretty.”

He nodded again, shoving his hands in his pockets to avoid the temptation to tangle his fingers with yours. “She’s single if you’re looking.”

“I just might be,” you shot him a sly look.

Steve warmed at the idea, a challenge stirring under his ribs.

“What’s on this?” Your hand found the SD card. “Top secret files? Blackmail?”

Heart racing now, he shrugged. “You tell me. It’s yours.”

You frowned back at him.

Cat’s out of the bag now. “You gave it to me at the hometown after party.”

You played with the tiny card in your hand for a moment. “You were supposed to give it back.”

Steve’s mouth went dry, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I must have pulled it out of my pocket and forgot it was there.”

You shook your head and looked up at him. “No, at the party. You were supposed to come find me at some point. Did I… was it not obvious?”

His pulse thundered in his head.

You just blinked back at him, expressionless like you hadn’t just confirmed everything he’d been doubting for months now.

His mouth just hung open like an idiot until he rubbed some feeling back into his face and willed himself closer

You continued to weigh the SD card in each of your hands, and he held his breath as you inched nearer. Your boots rested between his sneakers. “When you had me sign that NDA - “

Steve’s phone rang in his back pocket, a loud ringtone that came with the device that he hadn’t heard since he bought the thing. He must have accidentally taken it off silence when he was doing the dishes.

Cursing, he pulled it out to see an unknown number. He slid the answer button. “Hello?”

“Stevie? It’s Lizzie!” A familiar voice cooed from the other line, a little scattered, a little broken. “Where the hell are you?”

Steve stared back down at you, breath heavy in his chest. “I’m in Chicago. Where are you?”

“Backstage with this fucker who tells me he’s met the love of his life. Is that true? And if that’s the case, where are you? I need a good cock to sit on.” A hair-raising cackle preceded a shuffle.

He could feel your warmth now, smell the peppermint on your breath, the lavender in your hair.

“Harrington? It’s me, it’s Eddie. You there?”

In a flash, he saw his friend bent over a pile of vomit, strapped to a gurney, disappearing behind red and blue lights.

“I’m here.” Steve muttered.

“You got my girl, Stevie? Keeping her safe? Put her on.”

Wordlessly, Steve held the phone loft between you, putting it on speaker.

“Sugar, you there?”

You blinked back at him before glancing down at the device. “I’m here, Eds.”

“God, I miss you both. England isn’t the same without you. I’ve been telling everyone here about you, Sug. You’ve probably gotten a million offers today just from me bragging about you. I’m really proud of you, you know that right?”

“Thanks, Eds.” You breathed.

Steve pushed the phone into your hand and trailed his thumb down your wrist, catching goosebumps all the way to the crease of your elbow. He hated the sour taste that accompanied every word Munson said.

“Recorded a song about you today. I got very jealous hearing Simon sing about you.”

Steve let his hand fall to his side before he gestured back down the hallway and let you have your privacy. His hand tingled, and he flexed it in a vain attempt to shake away your touch.

—

Hopper: Got him, kid. Great job. Tell the girl she can rest easy.

—

You were all-encompassing, everything above and around him, a tight pull that had him on the verge of combustion. You were silky smooth, and soft mews spilled from between plush lips as you sunk down onto him, head cast back to expose the beautiful column of your throat.

Steve’s hand was pressed to your bare sternum, dwarfing your frame as he extended his touch to every part of you, desperate to squeeze and caress while the stars began to spin behind his eyes.

Directly above him, you were mirrored, the steady push and pull of your bodies, the rucking of his hips on white satin sheets for all the world to see.

He breathed your name, whined it really, in desperation, begging for you to go faster, to slow down, he didn’t know, he just felt the curl of his stomach, his toes, the building of that climax about to burst.

And then he heard the thunk, a distinct crash of glass and pill bottles from the adjacent suite bathroom.

He took two steps inward to find the Devil himself lying motionless beside the bathtub. Scarlet red skin, cloven feet, two horns that jutted from beneath jet black curls.

Steve shook his head, feeling the weight of something in each of his hands. An empty pill bottle and a fifth of whisky. You did this.

No, no, no, no. Steve knelt beside the man, slapping ruby red cheeks, shaking at a studded leather jacket. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pried the man’s mouth open to expose pointed fangs.

“Guess you’ll have to take my place,” the man said, eyes wide and ice blue. “You’re the Devil now.”

—

“Holy fucking shit,” Robin exclaimed, all limbs, blocking the aisle in a local bookstore.

Steve shushed her and pulled a photography book off the shelf. He wondered if you were familiar, if you’d thumbed through the pages with a glass of wine in hand, curled into your futon, maybe you were wearing a nightgown… Jesus Christ.

“You had a Wet Nightmare?”

“Not quite as satisfying as it sounds.”

Robin made a face of disgust. “Please spare me.”

Steve sighed and returned the book to its shelf, pressing on through the aisles as though he had something to look for that didn’t remind him of you.

His best friend rounded to the other shelf, freckled face exposed when he removed the next book. He sighed and replaced it to cover her grin.

“So, what do you think it means?” She asked, having returned to his side and looped her lanky arm through his.

“I don’t know, Rob,” he ran a hand through his hair.

“I mean, it feels pretty obvious.”

He rolled his eyes. “Enlighten me.”

With a tug of his arm, she twirled him to face her. Sun poured in from a skylight, warm and yellow, illuminating the blue in Robin’s eyes. Steve wondered if you would capture a moment like this.

“You feel immense guilt over trying to steal Eddie’s girl when you promised him you’d make her fall in love with him.”

Moment ruined.

Steve palmed her face and shoved her away.

She swatted at his arm and chased him past the meow of a little ginger shop cat and down a new aisle.

“I’m not trying to steal her,” he muttered when she finally caught up.

“I know you’re not, dingus. You’re much to chivalrous for that crap.” Robin nodded, rubbing a circle into his shoulder.

Steve hummed and pulled a book from the shelf, too heavy, probably a million pages, with a dragon on the cover. The dragon’s eyes were wreathed in flame, his scarlet scarlet. He shelved it. “You should have seen his face.”

“The Devil on the ground? He wasn’t real, babe.”

Steve rubbed at tired eyes and shook his head. “No, Eddie. It’s like, the second he realized he might lose her, he freaked. And I think the most irritating part is that I felt it too. I thought she was going to run and that I’d never see her again because I have to pick him.”

Robin nodded, sliding a book from the shelf to read the back cover. “And why do you feel like you have to pick him?”

Steve swallowed. He knew the answer. It had been nagging at him for days, spinning around in his skull with images of those empty bottles, those tile floors. “Because he needs me.”

His best friend kept her face incredibly expressionless as she flipped through the novel in her hands. Then, with a sigh, she said, “I’m going to ask this will all of the love and understanding in the world. Do you think maybe you need him because something inside of you needs to feel needed?”

Steve didn’t respond, just felt his molars grit around the pang in his chest when her insight hit the nail on the head.

Robin replaced the book on the shelf. “Eddie’s a big boy. He’s grown a lot over the years, thanks to you, and I know he just wants what’s best for you. I think he’ll understand.”

“You think he’ll understand that I’m trying to steal his girl?”

She shot him a look. “I thought you weren’t.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I think when you talk to him, he’ll understand why you can’t be his wingman this time.” She shrugged, turning the corner down another aisle. Books were stacked to the ceiling near an open stockroom, and her fingertips etched the spines.

“Remind me why you came to town? To torture me?” Steve leaned against a big rolling ladder, locked into place.

“I missed you, idiot,” she pinched his cheek and carried on into Science Fiction.

He swatted her away and followed. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, words left unsaid between the two of you, a wordless trek to the gallery. You thanked him at drop-off. You promised him you’d call if anything came up and that you felt safer knowing Hargrove was locked up. Steve promised you he’d have a good time with Robin and that he was happy you felt safe.

Neither of you said anything about the SD card, about the phone call with Eddie.

Maybe Robin was right, maybe he should call his friend. Maybe he should fly back to London with Robin, leave you and the city behind for a while, clear his head.

“So tell me about this gala.” Robin interrupted his thoughts, hands somehow already full.

With a sigh, Steve took her haul under his own arm. “Some charity is auctioning off her pieces and invited her to be in attendance.”

“That’s very cool. Are you still going?”

He glanced down at the titles in his hands, shrugged. “I don’t have to. I can tell her you want to spend your time here with me. I’m sure she’d understand.”

“And miss all of the aftermath drama? Hell no! You are going, Harrington and you are staying all night. Mainly because I’m going to bring a girl back with me and I need you to not kill the mood with your melancholia.” She gestured to his person and held out another book for him to take.

“These aren’t all going to fit in your suitcase,” he pointed out.

She shot him a look.

“Why do you get to bring a girl back to my apartment?”

“You had your chance, Harrington, and you ended up on the couch. Time to let the master show you how it’s done.”

He watched as she strolled through the aisles toward an attractive young woman with a curled bob and overalls. Robin commented on the stack of books in her hand, and the girl chuckled. Moments later, Robin was slipping her phone from her pocket and into the girl’s hand.

Steve shook his head, mouth agape, as she offered him a little wink and gestured for him to hurry and follow her to the register.

—

You: Headed home. Thanks for everything.

—

Steve winced as Robin pushed her little wooden stick into his cuticle. He wasn’t sure how she’d talked him into it, probably guilt tripped him, but they sat cross-legged across his coffee table with beer and chips and the sting of acetone and nail polish.

“Okay, hypothetical scenario for you,” Robin continued her assault on his nail beds, tonguing the corner of her mouth for concentration on his pinky. “Let’s say you call Eddie right now, tell him you’re in love with her, and he realizes he doesn’t want her as bad as you do. So he moves on. He hooks up with Lizzie or finds another girl in the UK who is far more metal or far more Lord of the Rings elf, right up his alley.”

“Where are you going with this?” Steve groaned.

“Let me finish,” she poked at the back of his hand for emphasis before dripping a tincture of oil onto his fingertips. “So he falls madly in love, right? And they deserve each other. And your girl is sad because Eddie broke her heart. What do you do?”

Steve shook his head, not willing to play games that’ll get his hopes up.

“You’d comfort her. Because you don’t like the people you love to be in pain.”

“Like Eddie if I told him I was in love with his girl.”

As if on cue, Steve’s phone buzzed on the table between them. Munson’s picture lit up the screen, and before Steve had a chance to snatch it off the table, Robin answered.

“Speak of the Devil,” she said.

“And he shall appear,” Eddie finished. “Hey, Buckley, how’s my favorite world traveler?”

“Jet lagged,” she managed a weak smile, circles dark under her eyes. Steve tried to force her into a nap, but she was insistent in staying up.

“I bet,” Munson laughed. “You are with Harrington, right? Or have you finally stolen his identity?”

“I’m here,” Steve sighed, paint fumes making him dizzy.

“Oh good. Where’s Sug?”

“On her way home from the gallery,” Steve glanced at the clock, making a mental note to check in on you. You should be home by now.

“I’m not going to ask why you aren’t with her, but I guess this is a good opportunity to ask how our plot is working. She in love with me yet?”

Robin made eyes at him like he ought to tell the truth, those “if you don’t tell him, I will” eyes.

He made a face back.

She opened her mouth to start talking.

“What’s up, Munson? Isn’t it late there?”

“Coward.” Robin mouthed.

He rolled his eyes, resisted running his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, did you guys get my packages?”

“What deliveries?”

“Becky didn’t call you down?”

Steve blinked back at Robin’s teasing expression for a moment longer before Eddie’s sentence made sense. “Oh, we haven’t been back to the loft since you left.”

“Why the hell not? There’s full security, a door man, a reception desk, and we installed that huge lock. Not to mention, there’s enough beds for all of you. Robin, tell him to let go of his pride and let you sleep in a King sized bed.”

“What he said,” Robin nodded fervently.

Steve rolled hie eyes. “What packages?”

“I bought Sugar a dress for the gala. Robin, I’m actually glad I’ve got you. I’m looking at earrings right now. Do rubies say ‘I love you but I’m not desperate’?”

Steve stomach churned.

Robin’s eyes went wide, and then her face went through a myriad of emotions before settling on, “Sure. Yes, definitely go with rubies.”

“Shit, are her ears even pierced?”

“Yes.” He hated that he knew that, hated that he watched you loop a silver hoop just before the gallery opening, hated that he wanted to press his nose to the spot where your pulse met your jaw.

Robin snorted, all accusation and face hidden in her bright blue nail polish.

“Great. I’m having Angelo make - a tux. You haven’t - beefier since our last -?”

Call waiting beeped over his voice. Steve glanced down to see Hopper’s name, no photo attached.

“Eds, I’m going to have to call you back. Hopper’s on the other line.”

Before his friend had a chance to ask questions, he switched lines.

“Hello?”

“Steve, Jim Hopper here. Listen, I’ve got your girl at the station. She’s fine, just a little shaken up. She asked me not to call you, but I’m not letting her leave here without you.”

—

Hopper’s precinct hadn’t been updated since the 80s. Bricks painted yellow cast sallow shadows on the faces of everyone who shuffled papers around a small office. Florence greeted them with a friendly smile and the smell of stale coffee.

The thundering of Steve’s heartbeat hadn’t quieted since Hopper’s phone call. Robin was up and pulling his jacket off the rack before he even had a second to ask Hop for context, and the two of them split from his apartment and rushed down rainy sidewalks to get there.

Flo buzzed them in, past a glass divider and into a small room with desks stacked with bobble heads and baseballs. Just beyond was an office with a plaque reading Jim Hopper, and a gruff voice asked, “what?” when her knuckled wrapped on the hard wood.

The door opened to reveal a hulking frame behind the desk, broad shoulders and a bushy mustache. A coffee cup steamed in his hand.

Across from him, you sat in a little aluminum chair, your own hands wrapped around a ceramic mug, shoulders slumped. You turned to see who had entered, eyes glassy. “Steve?”

“Sorry, kid, didn’t want to let you loose on your own.” Hopper confessed.

Prodded by Robin, Steve took a few tiny steps into the office and knelt beside you.

Your hands trembled around the mug. A tear escaped the corner of your eye and began to streak the side of your face.

He caught it with his knuckles, brushing it into the hair on your temple. “Are you alright?”

You wiped frantically at your other cheek and nose, straightening your shoulders up and away from his touch. You set the cup onto Hopper’s desk. “I’m fine.”

Steve teetered back on the balls of his feet and pulled himself to stand. “Want to tell me what happened?”

You avoided his gaze, instead nodding to the Chief to tell your story.

“In her building, some guy said hi to her, and when she got to her door, more roses and this,” Hopper slid a card across the desk for Steve to read.

Your name was scrawled in red marker and on the inside, more images of you and Eddie, these taken during your gallery opening.

Eddie’s sunglasses were pulled down his long nose, tongue to his canines in a sly grin, hand tucked gripping your waist. You were swatting at him, just as giddy. Only the same red slash mark through your throat had pierced the paper. This time, the artist only got more graphic in his illustrations on the following couple of photos. Enough to churn Steve’s stomach.

“What the fuck?” Robin hissed.

Steve shot her a look over your head.

The poem went as follows:

Roses are red

I thought you’d been warned

I must make you understand

That you will be harmed

“What did this guy look like? Have you seen him before?” Steve tossed the card back to Hopper.

You shrugged, rubbed at the exhaustion in your eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe? He had these blue eyes. They looked so familiar, but I can’t place him.”

“We’re thinking Hargrove’s got an accomplice, maybe a brother or cousin. Seems like his dad’s a total dick, so it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. We’re looking into it. Think he doubled-down when we took him in.” Hopper explained.

Steve nodded. “We’re going to Munson’s. There’s triple the security there, high quality CCTV. She’ll be safe there.”

You looked up at him then, something terse hardened your jaw and your gaze. When Steve frowned, you looked away again.

“Good, you all try to get some rest. I’m going to send some guys to have eyes on you, too. Call me if anything changes.”

Steve nodded again. “You too.”

You stood before anyone could prompt you and thanked Hopper. You rounded the chair the opposite side of Steve to charge out of the room, but halted abruptly when you found your way was blocked by a leggy blonde in Steve’s denim jacket.

“Oh, hi,” Robin gulped, glanced up at Steve and back to you. “I’m Robin.”

You introduced yourself, voice softer than he had ever heard, a shell of yourself. You glanced back over your shoulder at Steve, looking so small and so lost.

—

Your skin was supple and smooth beneath his palms, throat extended to he could kiss the dip where your jaw met your earlobe. A mewl escaped plump, bitten lips. Steve growled into your clavicle and pressed you tighter into the pane of glass.

“Eddie,” you breathed.

Steve blinked and pulled back from you, that familiar pang of jealousy tight under his sternum.

He trailed your arm to your hand tangled in a mess of curls. Eddie knelt between your thighs, curling your toes.

Steve’s heart raced in his chest, and then you were grabbing him, pulling him back to you.

“Steve,” you gasped in his ear, clutching at his shoulders, raking fingernails along the muscles of his back.

He groaned and buried his face in your chest once more.

Then gravity gave out.

A crash of glass cracked and splintered the pane behind you and the three of you were falling, spiraling downward, endlessly, terminal velocity to a ground that never came. Steve couldn’t fly to you fast enough, watching you float further and further away, fingertips grasping for his own. Eddie clung to his knee, screaming for him to get you, to save you, that he needs you. Help him, Steve, help him.

You hit the ground first.

—

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” You whispered, clutching a glass of water in both hands. You stood at the window, city lights painting you in deep reds and yellows.

Steve’s heart raced, nightmare having startled him upright on the sofa. He was drenched in sweat, t-shirt clinging and faux fur blanket wrapped around his waist. He gulped and gestured for you to come sit, anything to get you away from the glass. “Everything okay?”

You shrugged and glanced out at the world once more before taking cautious steps toward him. You perched on the very edge of a plum velour chair, the back rising up and over your head like a throne, blanketing you in shadow.

“You want to talk about it?” His voice was hoarse. He wondered if he’d been yelling. He hope he hadn’t woken you.

“I don’t want to wake Robin.” You whispered.

He rubbed at the sleep in his eyes and glanced upward to the loft stairs. “Nothing can wake Robin. Plus, she’s jet lagged. What’s going on?”

You hesitated for several long moments before you spoke again, voice still soft, but above a whisper. “I looked through every single one of my Instagram followers and Billy’s and none of them were that guy. I just feel like I know him from somewhere. I thought maybe he was at the gallery opening, so I went through the guest list and my client list. He’s not in there. Maybe it’s just a guy who lives in my building, and that’s how I recognize him. I don’t know, Steve, I just feel like I’m going crazy here.”

“You’re not.”

“And I know it’s safer here, but sleeping in that big bed all by myself just pisses me off. I kept catching the reflection of my phone in those stupid mirrors, and I just feel like I’m being reminded of what a fucking idiot I am.”

“You’re not,” Steve repeated.

“No, I think I am. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe that because I’m such a nobody, I’m impervious to all of the other shit that comes with sleeping with a rockstar. I just thought it couldn’t touch me. Paparazzi, fans, whatever. I’m just a girl with a camera like they are. I’m just being young and having fun. Nothing and no one can hurt me. Fucking stupid.”

“It’s not,” Steve shook his head.

“And I thought telling myself it was casual every single day would keep me at arm’s length, but that’s not how emotions work. I can’t just stop how I feel or who I’m in love with or -” You went silent in your chair.

Steve felt the pang in his chest again, like a cloven hoof crashing through bone and muddling his organs. He glanced at the pane of glass, vaguely wondered how easy it’d be to crash through.

“I just,” you took a deep breath. Your exhaled was so shaky, he thought you might be crying, but he couldn’t see beyond the veil of shadow. “I just want to catch this guy so I can decide how to keep living my life.”

“We will.”

—

Eddie: Send me a photo of you in that tux. I need spank bank material.

—

Steve felt ridiculous with the luggage cart of packages he wheeled out of the elevator to Munson’s front door. Everything had been opened in front of Becky’s curious gaze, tissue paper torn to ensure no weapons or bombs had replaced the thousands of dollars worth of merchandise Eddie had purchased the day before.

He’d almost walked away without the coffee when Becky called his name to remind him. He thanked her, grabbing the drink carrier, and before he could walk away, she extended a hand with a lime sticky note pressed to her index finger.

“In case you need anything else,” she shrugged.

Front Desk Becky was scrawled across the note above a ten digit phone number.

Steve felt his face flush, but smiled and slipped it into his pocket. He nodded. “Thanks, Becky. I’ll see you around.”

Seemingly satisfied with his response, she nodded and buzzed to unlock the elevator.

He keyed in the six digit code to Eddie’s place and the door slipped open with ease. He thought about shouting for Robin to help him, but seeing your bedroom door closed, he figured it’d be best not to wake you. He decided instead to slip inside unheard.

Dumping keys on the side table and toeing out of his shoes, he made for the kitchen before lurching to a halt at the end of the hallway upon hearing Robin’s voice.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I have to know the answer to this before Steve gets back and tells us to shut up.”

Steve’s heart began to thud in his chest. He had half a mind to tell her to shut up right now.

“Shoot,” you chuckled, a low sound that sent his stomach doing cartwheels.

“Is Eddie like… a freak in bed? Is that why you stick around? Because I knew him in his Lord of the Rings phase and honestly, you are way out of his league. So it must be the kinky shit keeping you here, right?”

Steve’s head hit the wall at his best friend’s tact.

“Honestly?” You laughed. “He’s the total opposite of his… persona, I guess you could call it. He’s so sweet and tender. He’ll never try anything new without talking about it first. He makes you feel so… seen, I guess? Like you’re the only woman in the entire world and he just wants to make you feel desired.”

Steve closed his eyes and tried not to remember all of the moments he’d walked in on, all of the stolen kisses and whispered promises.

“Well you’re a very lucky girl. The way he talks about you, I think he really does love you.” Robin’s voice lingered, like maybe she was asking it instead of stating it, gauging a reaction.

Steve didn’t know how much more he could hear.

“Okay, my turn to ask you,” your tone shifted, conversation alleviated of its tension. “You’ve known Steve forever, right? So you must have gained some insight from the women in his life.”

The bodyguard’s face warmed.

“Oh boy, where do I start?”

“No, it’s fine, Robin, I got it.” Steve said a little too loudly, rounding the corner into the living quarters. The large windows poured in the light of a foggy morning. He made eye contact with Robin, and he could tell from her expression she knew he’d heard everything.

“Do you need help?” She asked, uncrossing her legs on the sofa.

He shook his head and smiled, “I got it. Here’s your coffee.”

She took his drink with mumbled gratitude.

Then he pulled yours from the carrier to slip between your soft fingers. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Fine. You?” You hadn’t.

“Good, yeah,” he nodded. He hadn’t either after his nightmare. He sat up scouring the internet for any and all suspects. He knew you were, too, yards away in that big bed all by yourself.

“Can we start digging into those presents from Eddie?” Robin cut the tension. “It feels like Christmas, and he promised he’d buy me something too. I wanna know what I got.”

Steve gestured for the entry hall and sipped his own coffee, too hot and too bitter for such a grey morning.

You feigned a laugh, allowing Robin to pull you up by the wrist.

—

1 Voicemail

Steve. It’s Hopper. No leads yet. Munson’s driver has been vetted, and the building security staff. We’ll have patrol cars out front as well as guys posted near the exits. I’d been packing if you got it. I don’t think Brenner’s affiliated, but we’re taking all necessary precautions. Joyce wants pictures. Stay safe.

—

A valet opened the door and Steve hopped out of the large SUV before you, extending a hand to help you down and onto the pavement of the function hall. You teetered a little on your heels as you began to ascend the stone steps, but Steve ensured the crook of his elbow was there to stabilize you.

Cameras flashed, and you clung to him like a life raft, a panicked look etched across your features.

“Relax. I’ve got you,” he muttered into your hair when you reached the massive front doors.

Coming to a coat room, your worn leather jacket was slipped from your bare shoulders, and your white invitation was exchanged for a numbered stub that Steve slipped from your fingers to stash in the inside pocket of his tuxedo.

You didn’t wait for him to proceed into the massive event space, marble pillars standing hundreds of feet tall on either side of you.

Say what you will about Eddie Munson, but the man had style.

Your dress was the perfect shade of burgundy to match the rubies dangling from your earlobes. It billowed with each step, yet maintaining enough structure to hug and accentuate every beautiful curve. The silk garment left your shoulders bare, the expanse of your beautiful skin exposed and gathering goosebumps as you entered the vast space.

Steve suffered the same goosebumps when you’d both stepped out from your designated dressing spaces, you in your dress and heels, he in his all-black ensemble. The two of you just took a breath to stop and stare, a moment suspended in time.

For half a second, he was tempted to sweep you off your feet, to crash his lips into yours and never let you go. He took two strides closer. You did the same, fingers tangling with nerves or excitement or anticipation, that familiar glint of mischief in your eye.

“Alright, I’ll say it,” Robin sliced into the moment. “I’d fuck both of you. Right now, if you’d like?”

You laughed, head thrown back, dark lipstick accentuating your sparkling white teeth. He’d pay to feel them sink into him.

Now, he remained two strides behind, giving you space to relax, to take in your surroundings, to lead the charge.

Your name was called from nearby, and he watched every muscle in you tighten and release when you looked over to find Martin Brenner, host of the gala, with his hand outstretched to you.

You accepted and allowed a kiss to the height of your cheekbone.

Brenner introduced you to a handful of guests surrounding them. Steve tried to memory-bank their names and faces. All of them older, none of them had blue eyes.

“This is my date, Steve Harrington,” you extended your hand now, and your bodyguard fell into place beside you, shaking hands and offering curt nods.

“You work in the music industry, do I have that right?” Brenner sized him up, squared shoulders and pursed lips.

Steve spared a glance your direction, felt himself tighten at the fear in your gaze.

Brenner shrugged, let a smug smile slip onto his features. “Background checks. We want to ensure our get-togethers are safe. I’m sure you understand. You’re in security, right?”

Steve nodded, tight-lipped. “I appreciate your diligence.”

Brenner’s smile widened at this. “Good man. Your job must feel grueling, all of those late nights, traveling the world. Have you ever considered settling down? Maybe taking a stationery position somewhere? I’m always looking to expand my security team.” He nodded to indicate men with earpieces scattered throughout the floor.

Your fingers gripped Steve’s bicep tighter. He smiled and shrugged. “I tend to thrive in chaotic circumstances.”

Brenner seemed to appreciate his response, but glanced over his shoulder with a nod. “Well, it was fantastic seeing you both again. Hopefully I’ll catch up later. More guests to greet. Please, help yourself to some drinks.” And he was off.

—

Several champagne flutes had found their way into your hands and then abandoned on tables, still full, while you met and greeted dozens of Chicago’s elite. Steve recognized a few faces, elbows he’d knocked before, and tried to impress you, when he could, with introductions. He couldn’t help but delight in the way your timid smile grew with each compliment.

“You’re doing great,” he managed to whisper between senators and lobbyists.

That smile had his stomach doing somersaults.

“When I saw your piece, I cried,” another woman said, clutching your arm with diamond encrusted fingers. “I’m serious. I thought, ‘that’s it. That’s my city.’ Your work is amazing. Isn’t her work amazing?”

Steve nodded and smiled. “Her eye is incredible. I feel the same way every time I look at it.”

“It’s not enough that her work has to be beautiful though, I mean, will you look at her?” The woman’s secretary pitched in.

“Isn’t she breathtaking?” He agreed. The soft candlelight wrapped you in warmth, reflecting off smooth skin and the sheen of your dress. If only they knew what you looked like in a t-shirt, hair tossed to the top of your head, sipping a lavender latte.

“You’re a very lucky man.”

“I am,” he nodded.

“Ladies, will you excuse us? I think I need a little air.” You tugged at his forearm, and the woman chirped and cooed goodbyes.

When you finally stepped into the hallway, breeze brisk from outside, you rounded on him.

“Why did you make me sign that NDA?”

Steve blinked, whiplashed at your change in demeanor. After the first exchange, he noticed your shoulders relax, that light come back into your eyes. Now, you were all harsh angles and spat words. “What?” He shook his head.

“I gave you the SD card and told you to come find me, as in, come talk to me, as in, I’m interested in you, Harrington. I thought I made it pretty fucking clear. And then I met Eddie and started talking to him, and he told me I had to talk to his security guard to sign the NDA, and I don’t know I guess a part of me really hoped you would talk me out of it and convince me to go home with you instead, but you didn’t.”

Steve glanced around the hall at on-lookers before gripping your hips and pushing you back into a more secluded corner.

“Don’t touch me,” you huffed.

He released you immediately, hands threading through his hair while his brain tried to catch up with everything you’d said.

“And now I’m getting death threats and am terrified for my life, and Eddie Munson is in love with me, and I can’t even reciprocate even though he’s the most genuine, sweetest man I know because part of me is still holding out hope that you feel the same way about me as I do about you.” You hissed, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one could eavesdrop on this onslaught of confessions.

Steve felt his jaw go slack, but only in the way he can feel his hands go numb if he’s been laying at a weird angle on an airplane. Everything buzzed and his ears popped and his heart thundered in his ears.

“So why did you make me sign the NDA?”

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond, couldn’t find words past. “I don’t know.”

You were trembling, breath shallow as you slipped one hand into his, the other tucked up under his lapel. “Do you feel..” You glanced up at him through long, thick eyelashes.

He swallowed, nodded, allowed his hand to caress the small of your waist. Your smooth dress caught on calloused fingers.

“So kiss me,” you tilted your head, breath warm on his face.

He traced circles into your hand with his thumb.

“Steve,” you breathed. “Kiss me.”

Your name cut through the air too loud, too disruptive, ripping through you.

“The woman of the hour, have you seen her? I heard she came out this way. I simply must compliment her on her work.”

Steve’s blood ran cold at the sound, and he turned on his heel to find a man in an all-white tuxedo, a menacing grin splitting his features.

“Oh, Harrington, right? Good to see you.” Jason Carver extended his hand.

---

[A/N: Dun dun dunnnnn. I think I might be in love with him. Steve. Just for clarificaiton. xoxo]

#steve harrington fic #hell hound fic #steve harrington x reader #bodyguard!steve harrington #bodyguard!steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader x eddie munson #steve harrington

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jadewritesficshere · 1 year ago

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Happy Birthday

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Summary: Steve gets a video from you for his birthday.

Warnings: masturbation (male and female), f masturbation on video, pet name (baby), no use of y/n

18+ only

Steve sighed contentedly as he flopped onto the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. He surveyed the destruction across his living room and smiled. Balloons were strewn about, streamers falling off the walls, and random cups that had been forgotten. Robin had thrown a surprise party, and though part of him thought he was too old for a party being in his 20s, he couldn't help but feel elated. Cherished even.

He glanced at the pile of gifts he had received. Eddie had gotten him an album, Nancy had given him more clothes in yellow, and Robin had gotten him tickets to a hockey game. You had given him three movies: one was a favorite of his, the other a new release he had wanted to watch, and then a home movie. You had asked him to watch it alone, claiming it was too embarrassing to show everyone and that you had been emotional in it. You made him promise, and Steve tried not to break his promises.

Steve hoped you were emotional because you confessed you liked him. Steve and you had a flirty relationship, but neither of you had "officially" said anything. One drunken make out session kiss was enough to fuel his fantasies for months, a kiss that you didn't seem to remember. Steve wasn't sure if he should bring it up, afraid of rejection. He wondered if you were silent for the same reason, or if you didn't even remember.

However, you could be emotional because one of the times you had your camera, you had found a stray dog. Both you and Robin were bawling about how the dog had been abandoned, leaving him as he wrestled with the dog from hell. Steve cursed that stupid rat dog, he would even curse the breed if he knew it, as it had scratched him relentlessly. Giving the dog a bath was funny in retrospect, but at the time Steve was fuming over this dog soaking both him and Robin and causing Robin to somehow fall into the tub, yanking Steve down with it. Of course, you were recording the whole time. The only good part was hearing your laugh.

Or maybe it was the time everyone had went to the lake. A seagull, which made no sense to Steve as it was the lake and not the sea, had stolen Eddie's sandwich. Eddie had taken off chasing the bird, yelling and cursing the whole way. Steve remembered laughing so hard he was crying, and he remembered the way your face had beamed at him. The way you pushed the hair out of his eyes.

Or it could be the party where everyone had gotten drunk, except for him. Sure, he had done a few keg stands in his days, but he wanted someone to be sober to take care of you. You had been rambling about something before stopping and calling him "pretty". He had blushed and tried to deny it, somehow making you think that he didn't find himself pretty. You had started trying to convince him, getting more sad that he felt bad about himself. Which Steve didn't feel bad about himself, but he wasn't going to complain as you gave him compliment after compliment. You even wrapped your arms around him and cuddled him. You were so warm in his embrace. How he wanted to embrace you in other ways.

Steve snapped the VHS case open and stared at the tape. He was alone now and his mind was going crazy with what ifs. He probably was overthinking it. He popped the VHS in the player and grabbed the remote before sitting back on the couch. He hit the power on and-

Steve's eyes widened and he dropped the remote. He wasn't sure what he was expecting but seeing your chest in red lacy lingerie was not it. The swells of your breasts pushed up slightly. He wanted to kiss and suck at your chest. Red lace contrasting against your skin. Your chest moving up and down as you breathed. Your hand comes into view and gently grasps your breast, squeezing it. Steve wished it was his hand.

Steve inhaled deeply and his hand shook. Holy. Fuck. His jeans were unbearably tight as he watched you slowly remove the bra. Your nipples were hardened-God, how he wanted to lick and tease them. You pinched one and let out a moan. Steve wanted to make you moan like that, but just hearing you? He was harder than he ever had been in his life. You sounded sweeter then anything he could imagine. You sounded like an angel, and he was in Heaven.

Steve unbuttoned his jeans and peeled them down enough for his cock to bob up and hit his navel. He was already leaking. He spit in his hand and wrapped it around his hardened length. He focused back on you and-

Steve moaned. You had moved the camera down to the red lacy panties you were wearing. "See that Baby?" You were out of breath, barely speaking above a whisper as you traced a finger over your clothed pussy. A damp spot was noticeable in the fabric and you sighed as your finger traced over the spot," See how wet I am for you, Baby?"

Steve's eyes closed instinctively before he snapped them open. He didn't want to miss a second of this. Steve's hips bucked into his hand as he stroked up and down his dick. On screen, you removed your panties, and his mouth watered. Steve bit his lip as he got a clear view of your pussy. You were so wet; he wanted to lick every drop. He wanted to taste your arousal. He wanted to hear you scream and writhe against his tongue as you came. He wanted his face covered in your release.

Your fingers on screen played with your clit before circling your weeping hole. One of your fingers easily slid in due to how wet you were. Steve moaned at the site of you adding another finger and pumping in and out. You moaned and ground against your hand. You added another finger and Steve couldn't help but think of how small your hands were and that it wouldn't even prepare you for his dick. As you picked up your pace and started to buck your hips wildly, Steve sped up to be at the same pace as you. He imagined that it was his cock spreading you open. How wet you would be. How warm. How tight. Your mouth dropping open in pleasure, your whimpers under him (or over him he wasn't picky).

"Steve!" You let out a gasp and moaned on screen, fingers getting drenched by your release. "Oh fuck shit fuck," Steve rasped out in between whines as he came all over his hand. His chest was heaving. Brain foggy from pleasure. His hair was stuck to his forehead from sweat. Steve sighed as he grabbed a napkin off the table and cleaned his hand, rubbing at the hem of his shirt that had gotten dirty. He looked back up on the screen to see your smirk. "Call me Stevie, next time you could do this to me yourself." The screen went black as you covered it with your hand. He could faintly hear,"Oh God what did I just do fuck ok this is fine, he'll like it right?" It took Steve all of two seconds to jump up and grab his car keys to head to you. Oh he definitely liked it. Fuck calling you though. The only calling that would be happening tonight was you calling his name.

#Not me having a part two already been started #Listen yall Steve deserves a great birthday first off cause I know his parents never really cared #But secondly that man deserves to be wined dined and fucked #Anyways uh have this #Is this self indulgent? Bro you telling me you don't want Steve to get off to the thought of you 🤨#Anywho keep an eye out for part 2 i guess uh its gonna be awhile #But I got the start of it but uh I have like 6 other WIPs rn so #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x female!reader #Steve Harrington/female!reader #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington/reader #Steve Harrington/you #Stranger Things fic #Jade is Talking

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bettyfrommars · 2 days ago

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When the Night Comes

Steve Harrington x Reader

I received an ask from @madaboutjoe for option #2 from our Stranger Prompts which is: You mistake him for the man who is supposed to be your blind date, and he goes along with it, with Steve. I put my own spin on it and made it extra weird.

18+ONLY for horror, mention of gore and adult themes, fear of the unknown, hurt/comfort I suppose, she/her pronouns used for reader. WC: 11.8k

Summary: After being single for a while, a personal ad in the classifieds catches your eye, and the guy who posted it invites you to meet for coffee. There's a tree blocking the road, causing you to detour, and once you get to Hawkins you find it's not at all what you expected. Mention of Robin, and appearances from Hopper, Joyce, and Eddie Munson.

Author's Note: This was inspired by the horror show From (which I highly recommend), but you do not have to be familiar with it to understand/enjoy this. In fact, it might be even better if you don't know anything about it. Also, the Benny's described in this fic is a cross between the original burger joint and the diner in the show.

--------

It was mostly by accident that Steve and Robin took over Benny’s. One day, they were hunkering down there to hide, scared as hell, trying not to make a sound, and the next thing they knew, they were painting the walls and adding items to the menu.

When caught in a hellscape, it was important to have a place to go to bask in the illusion of safety, even if just for a meal.

Things generally slowed down in the afternoon on Wednesdays, as it was post lunch rush and right before the seniors dropped in for that early bird special. Robin was with Vickie tending to the farm animals across town, and the only customers at the time were Claudia Henderson chatting with a friend over coffee and pie. Steve would bus the table once he made a list of supplies he’d need to go searching for the next day. .

At a booth nearest the front door, in his trusty red and black flannel that was missing two buttons and a pair of jeans, Steve wore a white apron around his waist. He took the blue bandana off his head to let his glossy mane flop free, running a hand through it a few times, sweeping it to one side.

“Is this it?” You mumbled from behind the steering wheel of your car, peering ahead through the windshield at the first signs of a town after a long stretch of forest. The pavement was cracked and worn, giving you a passing thought about where their tax dollars were going if not to those improvements. The Welcome to Hawkins sign was just as weathered and also pockmarked with bullet holes.

A certain gloom settled around the town, like those places that exist in the lower valley between two mountains, nestled in a sea of fog. The afternoon had been fairly bright and sunny until you approached the Hawkins border and had to take your sunglasses off in order to see.

He said you’d be able to see it from the road, that burger place Steve said he’d meet you at. You took a right down the first street and craned your neck to read a sign scrawled in black marker on a sandwich board out in front of the post office:

62 Days Without Incident

You didn’t have long to ponder it before you were pulling into the parking spot at the far end of Benny’s. One of the windows had a menacing spider web crack in it that appeared to be mended with duct tape, and if not for the station wagon in the lot and the dim lighting inside, you’d think the building was abandoned.

Hawkins felt like someone's memory of a town, and the memory was fading.

“It’s just coffee,” you whispered, pacing on the other side of the building near your car. “It’s just coffee with a complete stranger.”

A complete stranger you contacted through a personal ad in the paper, to be exact.

You considered having a smoke first, but didn’t want the nicotine smell to cling to you. Maybe he was also an occasional smoker, you’d have to wait and see. You stepped into view of the front window, and then jerked yourself back to lean against the slate gray wall, cringing as if you’d just stubbed your toe.

You hadn’t been on a date in over a year, but there was something about the ad in the classifieds that made him sound so…normal. Unlike the others.

SWM 5’10, brown hair, hazel eyes, 30yr old business owner, hopeful romantic seeks SF for friendship and adventure with the potential for something more. I like to cook and want to make you laugh. UB kind, curious, homebody looking for LTR.

You’d left a message for him in the extension given by the paper, and then he’d messaged you back almost immediately, inviting you to an afternoon coffee date at a diner in Hawkins.

You were 98% certain that he did not have the voice of a serial killer, whatever that meant.

Fairly new to Indiana, you’d never ventured to Hawkins before, and there happened to be a downed tree blocking the exit you would usually take to the highway, forcing you to use the backroads instead.

A glance at your watch let you know you were fifteen minutes early, all things considered.

The interior of the diner was cozy dark wood with cream tile at your feet. Burnt orange nestled here and there as accents, including on the vinyl covers for the booth seats. A cigarette smoldered in a brown glass ashtray nearby, and to your right, two women spoke softly across the table to each other, but paused mid-conversation to nod suspiciously in your direction.

Maybe you’d have a chance to find a seat and order something to drink before he—-

Steve had to do a double take when he looked up at the sound of the bell ding. There was a stain on his white Hanes tee the shape of Australia and faint purple moons carved under overly caffeinated, bloodshot eyes.

At first, he assumed you were just another patron, but then you met his casual stare with enthusiasm, and offered a nervous yet generous smile, beelining in his direction as if the two of you were familiar.

You were new, and such a thing was a rare and unsettling thing to see in Hawkins.

He’d asked Robin to put fliers up at the post office and the library announcing that they were looking for waitstaff help, but that was only a few hours ago. Surely, someone wasn’t inquiring already.

It was hard for you not to run in the other direction when you saw how handsome he was. What the hell was a guy that good looking doing paying to post a personal ad? Better question—-what was a person like you doing answering one?

He’d been frowning down at the notepad in front of him before he glanced up, warm maple hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. Brown diner mug near his elbow, confusion tightened around his eyes when you jutted an arm out to shake his hand.

You introduced yourself. “And I thought I was the early one,” your cheeks felt hot, clutching your bag to your side.

“Uh, hi,” was all he could manage at the time, returning the generous hand squeeze. It took him a few seconds, but then he realized what the only possible explanation could be. “You must be here because of the ad?”

You slid into the booth seat across from him. Maybe he was trying to be funny, like it was some type of dry wit.

“Am I not what you were expecting?”

“No, no, that’s not—” he stammered, jerking his arm to the side so fast that he hit the coffee mug, causing liquid to splash out onto the table. He clawed some napkins out of the dispenser to wipe up the spill, a stray curl of hair bobbing over his forehead as he did so. “I just mean, I wasn’t expecting you this early, that’s all.”

You weren’t what he’d been expecting to walk through his door that afternoon in many ways.

First of all, he was attracted to you, so taking you in as an employee might not be the brightest idea, but also, why had he never seen you around before? Even if he didn’t know everyone in Hawkins personally, they’d all for sure crossed his path at one point.

The town was funny like that.

A hard pit in his stomach told him that you weren’t from town at all, and he really hoped that was not the case, for your sake.

A few beats of silence hung in the air, and the bell dinged again to herald the exit of Claudia and her friend, chattering as they went.

“Is the food good here?” You settled back in your seat, eying the display case near the register while shrugging out of your coat. “The pies look yummy.”

Like a trout thrown to the ground, Steve’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows, finding his words. “They’re pretty good, yeah, I think. The guy who makes them is a bit of a nut and takes his pastries pretty seriously.”

There were creased paper menus that looked hand-typed tucked in between the ketchup and the tiny, tableside jukebox. You grabbed one and put it in front of you, eyes roaming over the words without really reading a thing.

“I didn’t expect you to be so handsome,” your tongue was often faster than your brain, and you flicked a nervous glance up at him after realizing what you’d said. “Sorry.”

Totally inappropriate for a professional conversation, but why did it make Steve feel all tingly?

“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered. To avoid eye contact, he picked up the nearby pencil and started drawing squiggles on the yellow notepad in front of him.

“Do you have any experience waiting tables?” He cut right to the chase, not that any experience would make a difference. He wasn’t going to be able to pay you, anyway, that wasn’t how it worked around there.

You were not at all thrown off by the question; you figured there’d be a good helping of small talk.

“For a year in high school, yeah,” you were flicking the corner of the menu with your thumb. “It was a 24 hour waffle house. Met a lot of interesting people.”

“I bet.” He tried to sound casual, but the nervous eruption of a laugh bubbled out.

So, there it was: you were definitely not from there.

The idea that you would soon go through the stages of shock and denial and depression that was common for everyone who resided in what they’d once known as Hawkins, made his stomach drop.

He didn’t want to be the one to watch the light drain from your eyes.

You straightened up from staring at the menu to search for whoever might be behind the kitchen hatch. “Do we walk up there to give our order? Or will someone come to the table?”

“That’s, um, I can—let me,” Steve stuttered before taking a breath. “Uh, do you know what you want?”

“Just iced tea for now I think,” you were concentrating on the offerings, bottom lip sucked in between your teeth. “I’m not very hungry. Some of those steak fries maybe? Would you eat some with me?”

There were plenty of mysteries about the town that no one had been able to solve yet, including the way vegetable crops and farm animals showed up in various spots out of the blue. People found garbage bags full of packaged, grocery store quality bread in their backyards as if dropped from the sky. A few months ago while scavenging, Jonathan Byers stumbled upon a concrete door in the ground that led to a bunker stocked with endless dry goods. Steve didn’t ask questions much anymore, he was just grateful they had resources.

He figured whatever trapped them all there wanted to toy with them and fattened them up for the kill.

There was something very casual and familiar about your disposition that made him even more curious about what universal tide washed you up onto his shore.

To most people, ending up in their corner of the world felt like a punishment, but one that they’d somewhat adapted to over time. One day, hopefully, you would find your peace with it too. Maybe even share a piece of pie with him and tell him stories about what he’d missed out in the real world.

For now, you’d have iced tea and fries and pretend none of the horrors were real.

Steve got up from the booth, tucking his chin as he spoke. “I’m serious, I’ll make you anything you want. I mean, within reason.”

Your head snapped up. “Wait, you work here?”

He couldn’t help but frown at your genuine display of confusion.

“I kinda run the place, yeah. It’s not much but,” he shrugged. “My best friend and I, we—”

You blinked a few times. “I feel so stupid, I didn’t realize—”

“You’re not stupid,” he interrupted, planting his hands square on his hips. “Gimme…ten minutes, okay? Just need to throw them in the fryer.”

Your head snapped a few quick nods in a row, unable to settle the feelings of embarrassment.

“Oh, wait,” he spun around, snapping his fingers once in the air. “You like lemon in your tea?”

“Sure.” The more you looked around, the more you sensed something was really…off about the place. Not just the diner, but the entire town.

Outside, the grass was either dead or overgrown and there’d been a wrecked car--possibly and old Chrysler LeBaron---sticking out of an empty public pool on the corner when you first drove in. You remembered the way those two women at the other table glared at you, like maybe you were not at all welcome there at all, no matter what the tattered doormat out front said.

Steve returned to set your iced tea in front of you. There were a couple cubes of ice in the glass, a pretty lemon wedge perched on the lip, and a straw sticking out of it with the paper end still on to protect the sanitation of it. The only odd thing was the pint glass that it came in: it said Shiloh Inn Lounge on it.

“Sugar?” At first you thought he was calling you by a pet name and it gave you a heart palpitation, but instead he set a few packets of actual sugar down that were all different brands. “If you like.”

His eyes were kind and weary and you sensed a weight hanging in the air like maybe he wanted to tell you something but didn’t know how.

He hovered there, refusing to sit back down, and you took that as a hint that he just wasn’t feeling a connection. If that was the case, you didn’t want to waste any more of your time.

“If you’re not interested, I understand,” you took the paper off of your red and white striped straw. “That’s what things like this are for, right? To see if you want to get to know someone better.”

He frowned, cocking his head to one side, curling his lip. “Not interested?”

“You know…in me.” You squeezed a bit of the lemon in. A seed shot out and almost got you in the eye.

Steve softened, crossing one arm over his chest to hold onto the other, absently guarding himself. “Okay, but why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”

You snorted a laugh. “You can just say I’m not your type, it’s fine. You don’t have to be weird about it.”

Outside, an avocado green Ford Pinto pulled up to the curb and parked.

“Why did you come here?” He asked, massaging the elbow area where he clutched his arm.

You considered the weight of that question and all of the answers you could give. Practically everyone you loved was either dead or no longer a part of your life. You hated your job with the intensity of a thousand suns, but you’d acquired too much debt to up and quit. There was no family money or support to act as a safety net; no savings account to pull from. The last time you were in a committed relationship, you had your heart tramped, and to be honest, your wounds from that were still open and weeping.

All things on the table, you had no business floundering around in the dating world. You were the walking wounded just looking for a distraction from the emptiness.

Why did you come here?

“To meet you, obviously,” you scowled into your drink, trying to mask a hot wave of insecurity. It felt like a hornet was stuck in your throat. “But I can just go back the way I came, it’s no biggie.”

“See, that’s just it,” he wet his lips a few times. “You can’t go back the way you came. No one can.”

His heart stuttered at the idea of having to break the news to you right then, or ever, but it would be dark soon, and he’d need to make sure you were safe. Leaving you out without protection, out there for The Others to find you was not an option.

That made you bark a laugh. “Oh yeah? What is this? Hotel California?”

The accuracy made him feel like someone just dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. “Something like that, yeah.”

The front bell dinged again and in walked a dark haired woman with one of the most likable faces you’d ever seen. The shins of her jeans were dirty like she’d been working in the garden, and there was a tear in the shoulder seam of the hunter green button-down shirt that she’d left untucked. It was about 2 sizes too big for her, sleeves rolled up so that her hands wouldn’t drown in the material.

She looked right at you and a vacant smile quivered at the corners of her mouth, as if she was forcing it in place with all her mite. It felt like she had absolutely nothing to be smiling about, but wanted to put you at ease.

“Hi I’m Joyce,” she held one open palm up in greeting, approaching with the caution of someone trying not to scare off a feral cat.

“Word travels fast,” Steve muttered under his breath, introducing you.

“Hopper saw the car on his way by,” she progressed to wringing her hands in front of her. “And I came over to see if it was true. To see if…see if you needed any help…

…it will be dark in an hour or so.”

They were having a private conversation with their eyes right in front of you and a heady mix of disorientating fear prickled the back of your neck.

“I think I missed something,” you fisted a handful of the material on your jacket, ready to head for the door. “I think this was a bad idea.”

But the two of them were blocking your path at that point, and you sensed they had no intention of moving.

“Hey, listen,” Joyce made a steeple out of her hands as if she were about to pray. “I know this is absolutely not what you want to hear, and believe me, I know it’s bonkers, but we can’t let you get back on that road tonight.”

Your mouth went dry and you turned to Steve thinking he might offer comfort, but his jaw was set, muscles ticking on one side as he ground his back teeth.

“You can’t be serious.” You let out a chuckle that was void of humor.

Joyce vibrated loving mother energy and as much as you wanted to get out of that diner, you also wanted to hear whatever it was she had to say. Maybe even get a hug from her.

“I know this sucks,” she continued. “It sucks and there’s a lot we need to explain to you, but pretty soon…the roads won’t be safe.”

Your breath caught in your chest, tightening there.

“There’s a spare bedroom at my place,” her expression made it seem like she was offering you a trip to Disneyland. “Clean sheets, I’ve got some soup on the stove. I can take you there now and we can have some coffee, you can meet my sons, and I’ll tell you everything, but you can’t drive back into the woods.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll pass,” despite the tough exterior, your voice wavered. “Not to sound ungrateful for the hospitality, but this is crazy.”

You waited for them to burst into laughter and tell you they were kidding. Ha. Ha.

“It is fucking crazy, tell me about it,” Steve mumbled. “We just want to make sure you…” he trailed off, staring up as if trying to remember his lines.

The entire thing was turning out to be some twilight zone shit, and it was no longer amusing. Sure, Steve was hot and you already liked him plenty, but clearly there was lead paint in the water or black mold in the walls because the two people in front of you were off their rockers.

Your steady gaze landed on your blind date. “Is that why you put the ad in the paper? So that you could get me here and abduct me?”

“Paper?” Confused, he frowned at Joyce and then at you. “What paper? What ad?”

Ice and thorns shot through your blood.

“The personal ad, Steve. The one you put in the gazette, the one I answered. You left a message saying to meet you here.”

When they talk about a “pregnant” pause, well that pause gripped the air like it was having quadruplets.

“Personal ad?” Joyce peered at Steve, but he only shrugged and shook his head like he had no idea what was going on. Because he didn’t.

You raised your voice then, practically shouting. “And why do you two keep looking at each other like that? What am I missing? You invited me here for coffee and now you’re telling me I can’t leave? This is bullshit, I’m sorry, I’m going.”

You prepared yourself to fight to get beyond them, but they parted easily and gave no resistance when you bolted from the booth, strapping your bag across your body with a grumbled curse.

“I didn’t put a personal ad in any paper,” Steve said softly, but his words had enough impact to make you freeze in your tracks halfway to the door.

Hawkins, as they knew it, didn’t even have a circulating newspaper anymore. Nancy and a few others kept The Post going for as long as possible to keep morale afloat with a sense of normalcy, but after a while started to run out of supplies and purpose for such an endeavor, especially since they had no line to the outside world. She did publish a pamphlet every so often that announced local events, and whenever one of The Others got a hold of a member of the community, she would be the one to break the news to those who weren’t privy to the information.

…62 Days Without Incident….

“Who did I come here to meet then?” You kept your back to them, asking the question more to yourself.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’ll explain everything to you once we—” Joyce hugged herself as she spoke, watching you storm the rest of the way to the door and then jerk it open to the tune of a violent rattling of the bell.

“Please, wait!” Steve jogged to your side.

“I want you to have this,” he tugged down the front of his shirt to pull out a quarter size, oblong chunk of rock attached to some type of cream colored string. He lifted it up over his head, fluffing the back of his hair in the process, and held it out to you.

There was some sort of design on the smoke gray stone, a symbol that itched a part of your brain as being familiar.

He had it dangling in front of your face and your stare narrowed beyond the swinging cord to find the colors in his hazel eyes swirling like some uncharted universe. They made you want to go swimming in the stars.

“If you want to go, I can’t stop you,” he shifted close enough for you to smell the fruity scent of his hair product and coffee on his breath. “But please wear this.”

You winced at the necklace without touching it. “What is that?”

You might as well have been asking him to teach you conversational German in the span of ten minutes, even though he only knew a few letters from their alphabet.

“As long as you have this with you inside wherever you are, They can’t get to you. I’m telling you, I don’t even know how it works. But, if you won’t stay here with me or go with Joyce, I need you to put this on and keep all of the windows up on your car. All of the doors stay locked, got it?”

“Who is They?” You did not receive a verbal answer to your questions, only more clandestine looks.

It hit you like a flying brick just then that they were indeed not being malicious, nor were they trying to drug you to put you in a well and skin you alive. Steve and Joyce truly believed everything they were telling you:

Some unspecified Things come out at nightfall and kill people, but wearing a stone around your neck magically keeps them at bay. Got it.

You didn’t know why they came across as so sheltered and endangered when anyone could hop on the highway and be back in civilization in ten minutes. There were probably wild animals out there in the woods; coyotes and wolves and maybe even bears, and those were the things that showed up to terrorize the locals at nightfall, not some nocturnal horde of zombies.

Your survival instinct won out over curiosity, and you mumbled “bye Steve” over your shoulder, dashing out into the parking lot.

Behind you, Joyce took hold of Steve’s arm to keep him from following in your wake.

“She’ll have to learn this one the hard way, unfortunately,” she whispered to him. “Like most of us did.”

They watched you throw yourself in behind the steering wheel, and then heard your door lock after it slammed shut.

“I’ll fix up the cot in the supply room just in case she—-” he didn’t finish, but Joyce knew what he meant.

You’d be back once you realized there was nowhere else to go, and hopefully your pride wouldn’t keep you out too long after dark. He’d wait up and keep the light on.

Without one of the stones of protection, it wouldn’t matter if you were in a concrete bunker, The Others would still be able to get to you if they wanted to.

Maybe if you got stranded in your car, you’d be smart enough to hide under a blanket and stay quiet until morning.

What if you tried to run from them on foot or, worse yet, tried to physically defend yourself?

As far as Steve knew, those things they called The Others couldn’t be stopped.

You literally squealed out of town, tires leaving fishtail skid marks on the pavement.

“What the fuck was that?” You mumbled, breathless, eyeballing the two in your rearview mirror as you got back on the highway and were swallowed up by fog.

The misty forest continued for about a mile, and then it wasn’t long before you were approaching another town. Had you somehow passed through a similar place without realizing on your way in? Seemed impossible, but you rationalized it as first date nerves getting the best of you.

And what a fucking bonkers “first date” that had been. One for the books.

Shame because Steve had one of those faces you’d never get tired of looking at.

All the same, you were grateful to be out of Hawkins, but you needed gas. You’d be able to get home with what you had in the tank, but didn’t want to have to take time to fill up on your way to work in the morning.

On your right, you passed another weathered Welcome to Hawkins sign.

No, that was a mistake. The natural light was fading rapidly but surely you’d misread it without your headlights on.

You slowed to honor the speed limit through to the center of whatever town it was. There was an establishment called Melvald’s, a Radio Shack, and further down was a Family Video, but the streets were deserted. It was barely dusk and not a single soul strolled the sidewalks or drove by in a vehicle.

A church bell rang in the distance, and you spotted a woman hustling three young children up a flight of stairs. The youngest didn’t seem to be taking the steps fast enough, so she picked him up and carried him the rest of the way to a door that slammed shut as once they were all inside.

They were acting as if the moonlight was poison and they couldn’t get any on their skin.

Pink and orange blossomed over the horizon while the sun sank behind the mountains, and the church bell persisted with its haunting tune. A little further and there were cars parked outside of fenced houses, but not a single human or animal to be found. A pair of seats on a swing set swayed back and forth as if occupied by ghosts.

Coming to a halt at a stop sign, there was a very familiar sight:

62 Days Without Incident

The same sandwich board, the same cursive handwriting in black marker in front of the same red brick post office building.

“Nononono..no. This is not right…” you started mumbling to yourself, inching along the pavement.

It wasn't long before you spotted the empty swimming pool with the back end of a wrecked car sticking out of it. If you turned down that first street, you knew you’d find Benny’s Burgers and Steve probably at the front window, waiting with flex cuffs to tie you up in his basement.

You’d missed a turn, that was all. That was the only explanation.

You went extra slow the next time through the forest, making sure to spot whatever exit or turn you’d missed before.

But then the trees opened up to a town and there was the Welcome to Hawkins sign. Melvald’s and Radio Shack. Family Video. 62 Days Without Incident. Wrecked car in an empty pool.

White knuckle grip on the wheel, frustrated tears welled hot at your lash line.

“This can’t be right.”

You tried it again, going no more than 10 mph through the woods, and it didn’t help that the smog was billowing thick as cream.

Why hadn’t you passed any other cars on the road?

On your fourth time back around, after a good cry, you reasoned that maybe you’d taken the wrong way out of town somehow, but you’d have to ask someone in the morning and try again due to the staggering lack of visibility you were currently faced with.

Plus, according to your gas gauge, you’d be coasting on nothing but fumes soon.

Wiping wet cheeks with the back of your hand, you flicked the blinker and coasted in under a metal awning alongside two gas pumps that were connected to a single mechanics garage and a mini mart.

“Please be open,” you said to the glass front door of the service station which, once again, looked like it had been abandoned for the evening, or possibly for the entire year.

When you turned the engine off you realized that the church bell was no longer thumping to the beat of your headache, and the dead calm silence settled around like a veil, much like the ambiance of a horror film.

The type of horror film your character didn’t make it out of.

You shook your head and thought about slapping yourself in the face. This was all just some wild mixup. You’d get gas, get a room at the motel you’d spotted a few blocks back, and find your bearings first thing in the morning.

Deep breaths in and out of your nose a few times while you sat trying to psych yourself up to get out and find someone to pay for the gas, pending the pumps weren’t dry.

Relief blossomed when you spotted a person approaching from the street. With each steady step, they took their time to cross the distance, as if calculating if they should .

“Oh thank god, a person,” you said on an exhale.

He was balding, but his dishwater blonde hair was combed over to try and hide it, he wore an oddly formal brown suit jacket and slacks. Polka dot orange and chocolate necktie, his hands relaxed at his sides, he reminded you of a used car salesman thinking he spotted an easy mark.

The smile was wide and plastered to his face, unwavering, as if his teeth were clamped shut and he was gritting through some private pain

“Hey,” you said, stepping out of the car, but keeping the open door in front of you as a barrier. “I was hoping to get some gas. Do you happen to know if anyone works here?”

His pace did not falter, nor did his deranged grin.

You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you clearly at first, so you waited for him to get a few feet closer. Nearly three car lengths away at that point and you made the decision to stay put, ignoring the sharp gut instinct telling you to start the engine and go.

“Sorry, do you work here?” You weren’t sure why that came out of your mouth considering his attire. “I only need a couple gallons. I have cash if—-”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the smiling man said, maintaining a show of teeth.

He also said your name. Somehow, he knew your name.

An alarm went off in your gut. “Do I know you?”

You hadn’t yet had time to process the idea that you’d gone to the wrong place entirely for your date, and Steve wasn’t even the one you were supposed to meet.

The smiling man got closer, only a car length away by then.

With a start, you noticed that a woman in an old fashioned Nurse uniform—like the type one might wear for Halloween—was not far behind the man in the suit, headed toward you at the same pace with her hair done in two platinum blonde braids..

Her smile was not as wide but just as unsettling.

“Hello?” You yelled in the direction of the service station, knowing you should go over and try to knock, but your feet felt like they had concrete shoes on.

“Hello?” A high-pitched voice came from somewhere behind you, and it was clearly mocking, complete with a maniacal giggle at the end.

You spun around to find that the smog was a curtain, and you were unable to see beyond it. It was gathering around you legs too, as if preparing to drag you into the void.

Disoriented and panting, you watched a car come flying up over the curb, gunning the engine so hard that one of the hubcaps flew off.

The avocado green Ford Pinto caught air for a second before the bumper crashed into the smiling man, bending him in half like a rag doll. It pinned him into the stone of the building with a loud, sickening crunch.

You would’ve screamed but your breath caught on a sharp inhale, making you choke.

Clearly broken by the impact, the smiling man’s expression never faultered, and he was still staring pointedly at you while bits from the wall crumbled around him.

Black blood dripped from his lips and eyes like tar.

“Fuckfuckfuckwhatthefuck,” you babbled while Joyce flapped her arms to try and get your attention from the window of the passenger seat.

“Hurry, get in!” She shouted, her voice cracking at the end.

Steve was driving, and he backed up enough so that the body of the smiling man slumped to the ground.

Throwing the vehicle into park, Steve bolted from his seat with what looked like a baseball bat covered in jumbo nails like a medieval mace.

He swung to strike the woman in the nurse uniform with it, but missed, and she hissed at him. Her mouth grew 5 times its original size, crowded full with rows of sharp teeth. Her eyes stretched into empty, cavernous holes with nothing behind them, her fingers were long claws and her…her….

It was then that you realized you were screaming.

“Steve watch out!” Joyce had a hold of your hand, dragging you along with all of her mite.

The thing that was once the woman in the nurse uniform let out a shrill cry just before the nail bat made contact with its skull. Its head whacked into the side of the Pinto and bounced off, causing a spray of black blood.

It barely made a difference.

It lunged jerkily and swiped at him; mouth gaping, eyes two spirling tunnels to hell, but before it could make contact, Joyce pulled a tiny firearm out of her sleeve and took aim, cracking the thing in the cheek with a bullet.

“I hate these things,” she muttered under her breath while the tip smoked, and you weren’t sure if she meant guns or the Other thing that tried to take a bite out of Steve; possibly both.

The nurse stumbled back behind the pumps and fell out of view.

“GET. IN.” Joyce was stronger than she looked as she stuffed you into the back seat of the Pinto. In haste, you scraped your knee on a piece of metal behind the passenger seat, but had no idea until you saw the blood running down your leg some time later.

The smiling man shuffled to his feet like he was being tugged up by strings.

His guts were spilling out of him but yet, he was able to stand. Stand and smile. With inky ooze dripping from everywhere like melting wax.

Joyce was in the process of shutting her door as Steve backed up. You felt the jarring bump when the wheels went over the nurse.

You caught Steve’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay?” He demanded. “Did any of them touch you?”

On the seat next to you was the nail bat; some of the nurses’ blonde hair was sticking to it.

“No, uh, no, I don’t think so. What are they? Did you just kill that woman? Take me back to my car. Tell me what is going on!”

He was lightning fast on the gears once he’d backed up into the street, just in time for you to see the nurse sit upright; black tar leaking from the hole in the back of her head.

“That’s not a woman,” he grunted, flooring the pedal. “It's not even human.”

“What does that mean?” Shaking, you listened to your own horrified voice as if from a distance.

Joyce swiveled in her seat to give you the best comforting twist of her lips that she could muster. “I’ll do my best to explain, back at the diner.”

“Why aren’t they dead?” You whined, staring back at the nurse one last time before the gas station disappeared in the smog.

Through the window you saw that there were more of those Things that resembled people lining the sidewalk, standing shoulder to shoulder. They swarmed in from the shadows one by one to watch the vehicle pass with vested interest.

Their eyes followed you like the pinto was a one-man parade. Or perhaps a meals-on-wheels.

“Where did they all come from?” You asked, almost certain you wouldn’t get an answer.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Steve sighed.

He was awfully calm considering what you’d just witnessed.

From the rearview mirror dangled a similar stone to the one Steve wore around his neck, suspended by cream string or twine.

There was a crackling noise and then a new voice sounded like it was coming from a radio.

“Joyce, are you there?” A pause and more crackling. “Need you to talk to me Joyce. Harrington? Anyone?”

There was a CB radio attached to the dash. Joyce unhooked the mouthpiece from its metal hinge and put it to her mouth, depressing the side button.

“I’m here, Hop,” Joyce was doing her best not to sound rattled, adjusting her collar. Her glance flicked to the back seat. “We’re safe. We got her.”

The following silence hissed static before Hopper cleared his throat. “Good, that’s good. And Steve?”

“He’s here,” she assured. “Not a scratch.”

Jim was all the way on the other side of town about to take his shoes off and have some of the potato vodka his buddy Scott distilled in his basement when he got word that Joyce and Steve were going after you. He’d begged Joyce to wait for him, but knew she wouldn’t. He’d sped to the scene as fast as he could.

“I’ll be at Benny’s in two,” he said. “Be careful. Over and out.”

Gravel crunched under the tires as Steve pulled into the diner. Three of the things with the same posture as the smiling man were slinking out of the woods. Two from the left, and one from around the corner on the right.

They had the same lock-jawed grins, but this time, one was a high school boy in a green letterman’s jacket, one was an elderly woman in a robe with a shower cap on her head, and the third was a boy no older than twelve.

Disarming at first, but then you recognized the dead eyes, assessing you like a shark.

“There’s more,” Joyce gestured behind at the handful that were meandering up from the street. They all had a certain gait to them; like those serial killers in movies to go at a snail pace, but somehow always catch up to the victim.

Steve looked over his shoulder to get a look through the back window, and then his gaze landed on you again.

His scowl was more stern than he meant for it to be. “If you run, I can’t promise I’ll be able to save you again,” he swallowed, softening. “Joyce is going to head into the diner first, you follow her, and I’ll take up the rear, got it?”

You thought you gave a response, but maybe not.

“Nod if you understand,” he rumbled.

“I understand,” you said weakly, noticing that your cheeks were wet.

The things had the gait of zombies, but they were far from brain dead, and their skin suits weren’t composed of rotting flesh. Aliens, maybe? Vampires? How the fuck was this even happening?

“Ready?” Joyce had her fist around the door handle, ready to jump out and push her seat forward for your exit.

The old woman and the little boy with a mop of raven hair were only a few yards away, and you remembered how the nurse’s face had changed into a horrific maw of terror.

“Don’t look at them,” Joyce urged. “You just grab onto the back of my shirt and keep your eyes forward. They’re scary fuckers, but they are also really slow.”

You broke through the wall of fear that had you frozen in place, and tried not to think about how close the old woman was when you bolted from the back seat and tripped.

Of course you would trip.

Your knee caught all of your weight making you gasp in pain, but a surge of adrenaline pushed you through it, snatching Joyce’s hand as you went.

“Good to see you again, Joyce,” the old woman purred. “Who is your friend?”

“Fuck you!” Joyce said from the front door of the diner, yanking a janitor cluster of keys from the crossbody bag she wore.

You kept your gaze glued to the back of her head, but peripheral vision showed that the duo were almost within arms reach. Ice cold breath prickled down your spine.

Steve was behind you then, warm body crushed against yours, shielding you from the Others while Joyce undid the lock. All of you practically landed in a dogpile on the floor inside the diner.

Joyce sank down on the ground right where she was on the tile, panting while the strange Others begin to huddle at the entrance, peering in at you with salacious intent.

“She’s pretty,” the little boy said. “We just want to introduce ourselves.”

“You can’t keep her from us forever,” said the guy in the letterman’s jacket. Now that you had a closer look, you could see that the gums around his pearly white teeth were the color of rot.

Steve rolled his shoulders back, nostrils flaring while he maintained the stand-off with nothing but a single pane of glass between them. .

You took hold of his arm, unnerved by how close he was and how easily the glass could be shattered.

“Steve, get away from—-”

“They can’t do shit,” he snapped, more to them than to you. He pointed to a stone that was ten times the size of the one around his neck and mounted on the wall. “They can’t touch us now.”

How those rough cut rocks with some type of symbol carved into the surface kept anything out was another mystery. Was it like the symbol of the cross for demons and vampires?

Were those things some breed of demon?

Blinded by a sudden white flash, you had to shield your face when a pair of headlights bounced into the lot.

“It’s Hopper,” Joyce sounded relieved, getting to her feet.

The three that had been crowding at the door to leer in at you shuffled off to go and check it out.

The next thing you heard was the discharge of a gun. The jolt of it made you throw your arms around Steve, but then you quickly pushed off, clutching a hand over your heart.

Another gunshot, and then another.

One more for good luck.

A large man in a tan uniform and a substantial mustache squeezed his thick shoulders through the diner door, holstering his gun. He took his hat off once he was inside and swept a large hand through the new haircut Joyce had given him.

Outside, you could see the high school kid face down on the ground, sprawled like a starfish.

“It won’t kill them,” Hopper said, as if he could read your thoughts. “But it does slow them down a bit.”

He fished a toothpick from his front pocket and bit down on it. “We try to keep bullet use to a minimum, but that sure felt good.”

“You didn’t have to come,” Joyce tucked herself under his open arm and hugged him. “I told you Steve and I had it covered.”

“Yeah, well,” he closed his eyes and perched his chin on the top of her head. “It’s not every day we get someone new in town.”

You must’ve looked like you were about to throw up or pass out because Steve started making comforting circles on your back with the flat of his hand.

“You guys are only a few miles off the freeway,” the synapses in your brain were still fighting for a chance to make sense of it all. “How do the authorities not know about this?”

You couldn’t peel your attention away from the sprawled body out on the pavement. In the distance, groups of Others lumbered toward the building.

“I am the authorities,” the man introduced as Jim Hopper said with a glint of humor in his eye.

“She’s with me,” Steve blurted. The comment came so far out of left field that everyone turned to stare at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.

“I mean,” he stammered, nibbling his bottom lip. “She can stay here with me if she wants, on the pullout in the store room. I’ll be fine in one of the booths.”

There were 7-8 of those things waiting outside the door at that point, including the ones that had been shot by Hopper, but those were all rising like marionettes by then. A busty woman with long red hair joined the stalkers, as well as a balding middle-aged man, and what appeared to be an elderly Priest.

Hopper put his hat down on a nearby table and sank into a chair as if it was just another day. “Coffee if you’ve got it.”

“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll make a fresh pot,” Steve moved around the partition toward the kitchen, grazing your hand with the tips of his fingers to urge you to move with him.

He leaned over to whisper. “We need to wait 15-20 minutes before they can go back out. Those things will get bored and wander off somewhere else. Back to hell or wherever they are from.”

“Sit here,” he tapped the end of the counter and a padded stool so that he could talk to you while he made the brew.

He put several scoops of grounds into a filter at the top of the machine and made sure it was filled with water. He’d removed his flannel at some point, and you caught yourself watching his back muscles twitch under the thin material of his white tee. The water he used was not from the sink, but in a plastic gallon jug with a duct taped handle.

You were still standing when he turned and wiped his hands down his denim-clad hips.

“That guy at the gas station,” you started. “The one you…the one in the suit, he…”

Tasting bile, you tried to find your words and Steve did not try to rush you.

“That thing…he knew my name. How could he know that?”

On an exhale, Steve leaned forward to rest his forearms on the counter. He wanted nothing more than to be able to put you at ease and say you had nothing to worry about, but alas.

“Yeah so it’s one of those mysteries I’ve been trying to figure out since I got here,” he opened his hand and ran his thumb over the calluses on the opposite palm. “They know things they shouldn’t know and they survive things no living organism should survive. The only way we know how to kill them is—-”

“Since you got here?” You blurted. “Did you just show up like I did? How long have you been here?”

“Well, I guess you could say I showed up like you did, but not really,” he rolled his head, stretching the sides of his neck so that something popped. “One day I was in a place I refer to as Normal Hawkins, and then I was in this very different version of the same town. We all were.”

“Wait, so,” you frowned, simultaneously comforted by the familiar warm scent of brewing coffee. The machine spit and sputtered. “You mean this isn’t Hawkins?”

“No, it is,” he swiped a tongue over his top teeth. “It’s hard to explain. Robin and I have been reading up on, you know, alternate universes and such. Parallel worlds. We think this might be one of those.”

“Robin?” Your eyebrow shot up.

“My best friend. I mentioned her before.”

“Oh yes, right. Where is she tonight?”

“Safe at home, I hope,” he went over to get a couple mismatched mugs from a light blue drying rack. “We used to live together but she moved in with her girlfriend and—” he stealed himself, realizing he was about to ramble on about his personal life.

“We’re out of cream today, but I have a lot of sugar,” he plucked a few packets from his magic apron pocket: one pink, one white, and one brown.

He loved offering you sugar.

He took the other two steaming mugs over to Joyce and Hopper while you stirred in the white crystals with a tiny spoon. It crossed your mind that maybe never left your apartment, and were actually asleep on the couch, dreaming all of this.

Easing down to take a reluctant seat, you perched on the edge of the stool. The deep orange of the upholstery was worn and split down the middle, exposing the white stuffing.

You took a peek over your shoulder to find that half of those Things were gone; only the redhead, the priest, and the high school kid remained. Where the bullet hole tore through his cheek was almost completely healed, but the weeping black blood remained like tear-soaked mascara.

His evil smile widened when he caught your eye, making you swiftly spin away. You scooted down to the opposite end of the counter so that you wouldn’t be within view.

Steve observed your seat change and did what he should’ve done when they first got there, which was to walk over and pull the shades down to cover the glass on the door. He was so used to ignoring them, he’d forgotten what it was like to comprehend their existence for the first time.

“I promise, you’re safe in here with us,” Steve leaned in to whisper. “I don’t know how the stones work, but they do.”

In a few days, it would be exactly two years since he’d been forced to cohabitate with those…ghouls.

A ghoul was the closest he’d come to describing them. But they weren’t a typical braindead zombie on the ravenous hunt for fresh organs like he’d seen in the old George Romero movies; they were unfortunately intelligent and possessed some type of psychic ability or hive mind.

The only thing that could kill them was decapitation, which also synced up with common zombie lore. If bitten or attacked, the person afflicted did not turn into one of them, which was a small mercy. Steve’s good friend Tommy had been one of the first to meet such a fate; they’d buried all of his mauled body parts out near Skull Rock.

Twenty months later, there were several rows of marked graves to accompany him.

“Steve?” He liked the way you said his name.

“Uh huh,” popping a hip out to rest it on the counter, he took a sip of his coffee from a Star Wars Ewok mug, addressing you over the rim.

“So, you never put a personal ad in the newspaper?” One hand was trembling, so you slotted it between your knees.

He inhaled to speak, but you continued. “The voice message I got sounded just like you, and it told me to meet you here.”

Your mug was beige with brown lettering that said: Accountant’s Never Die, They Just Lose Their Balance.

“It wasn’t me,” he said softly. “Believe me, I would never want to drag anyone into this.”

He continued, frowning. “I wonder if it was Other Steve that put the ad in the paper?

“Other Steve?”

He shrugged. “I mean, if this is a case of parallel worlds, there is a chance that there is another version of me back in that other version of Hawkins. The version that didn’t keep us trapped like rats in a cage.”

Even though it sounded ludacris, you considered it, because even that was quite a bit more comforting than the alternative.

He said your name, making you look up.

“So, you were supposed to go on a date with some other Steve guy?” It had been a while since he felt that particular brand of jealousy. “What a small world.”

“You could say that,” you swallowed, feeling judged. “I should’ve known that the only promising personal ad would lead to more horrors.”

He gave a low chuckle, feeling bad for the other parallel version of him who probably waited at Benny’s for a solid hour, thinking he got ditched.

If only Other Him knew you were absolutely worth waiting for.

“Steve?”

“Mhmhm,” he scratched the stubble on his jaw.

“Are we dead?” It bubbled out of your chest as you stared into your coffee. “Did I die out there on the highway or something?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, tucking his chin. “I’ve wondered that too, like, a lot, but I don’t think this is the end. I think we’ll make it out of here one day. I know we will.”

Something vibrated in the shared silence and you found yourself staring at his parted lips.

“I’m not ready to die.”

Your whisper was interrupted by a sudden, obnoxious noise coming from the back room.

It sounded like the rattling of a doorknob, like someone trying to get in.

“Stay here,” Steve instinctively grabbed the closest and biggest knife, held it aloft like Michael Myers, and went to investigate.

He put a hand over the stone under his shirt too, reminding himself that this building was protected. Those things could try to open the door, but even then they’d be powerless to step over the threshold, much like a vampire without a proper invitation.

The ghouls that had been huddling like cattle at the front door were all gone as far as you could see, and you wondered if maybe they’d wandered around to try another way in.

“What’s going on?” Jim scooted his chair out and stood to see why Steve was holding the knife like that.

Without answering, Steve made his way around a metal supply rack, eyes narrowing on the brass knob of the back door.

It was wiggling violently, causing Steve’s heart to explode in his throat.

The jostling stopped only long enough for there to be a loud thud and quake of the door frame while whatever was on the other side rammed itself against the wood.

By then, Hopper had unholstered his gun and was on his way over.

You and Joyce had the same idea at the same time and both started looking for a weapon. Joyce found a pair of scissors, but all you could find was a fork.

“Let me in, motherfuckers!” A voice shouted from the other side of the door.

Another thud, more frantic twisting of the knob.

“Wait,” Steve put his hand up to slow Hopper from going ahead of him.

The possible intruder went still.

“Munson?” Steve asked. “Is that you?”

��Yeah, it’s me man. You need a secret code or something? I’ve got one of those freaks on my ass, please open the fuck up!”

Hopper’s shoulders sagged and he lowered his weapon. Out of habit, Steve checked above the door to make sure the protection stone was still mounted there before he searched to see where you were. The ghouls were capable of mimicking voices to trick people into dropping defenses for them, but if there was even a tiny chance it really was Eddie, he had to check it out.

He planned to drill a peephole in that door the first chance he got.

Steve twisted open the lock and stepped way back. “It’s open.”

The guy who blew into the kitchen before slamming the door behind him to lean against it shivering was definitely not one of those things from earlier.

Panting, Eddie clicked the lock. “Fuck me Harrington, that thing almost got me. There were two of them, fuck, maybe ten. I stopped counting once I started running.”

“Eddie, what happened?” Joyce pushed by Hopper. “Where are your shoes?”

It was just then that you realized Eddie’s feet were bare. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and a worn shirt with the faded phrase Hellfire Club on the front. His long hair was wet and if he’d already taken a shower, the looks of his feet said he needed another one.

“Leave it to me to lock myself out of the trailer again,” his teeth were chattering, and without asking for one, Joyce handed him a multicolored, crocheted blanket from the broom closet to put around his shoulders. “I was headed over to find Wayne at Claudia’s, but then I got cornered and well, the rest is history.”

“Why didn’t you use the front door?” Steve crossed his arms with the point of the knife sticking up.

“I don’t know, man,” Eddie pulled the blanket tight around himself like a cocoon and shut his eyes tight. “Why doesn’t anyone do anything? Sorry if I scared you or whatever.”

Joyce introduced you as Eddie shuffled out to the dining area, and all he said was, “hey,” in greeting before he slumped into one of the booths, adjusting so that his back was to the wall and his legs straight along the bench seat.

“You got any shoes I can borrow?” The visitor with the long, wet hair asked Steve.

Steve put the knife back in the slot with the others. “Borrow as in I get them back tomorrow or borrow as in they become yours and I’ll never see them again?”

“Just forget it,” Eddie grunted. It wasn’t long before Steve threw a pair of flip flops at him and brought him a cup of coffee.

“Looks like it’s safe for us to split,” Jim announced a few minutes later, putting his hat back on. The parking lot was quiet, and even if there were any creepy ghouls nearby, they’d be able to get behind the wheel of their cars without making contact.

“You need a ride back to your place, Eddie?” Joyce asked while she walked their coffee mugs over to the back sink. “I still have a spare key from that time you let me and Will stay there.”

“Yeah that’s cool,” Eddie said absently. His attention had shifted and you realized he was staring at you.

“So, wait, you’re new here?” Eddie asked.

“Just came into town a few hours ago,” Steve answered somberly.

You’d been sitting with your back to Eddie, but then turned on your stool to make eye contact across the room.

“Shit, that sucks,” Eddie blurted. “I mean, you don’t suck, but just like, I’m not sure what type of bad luck makes people end up here.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you simply nodded a few times in agreement; it did, indeed, feel like bad luck, or something worse.

After a beat, Eddie cleared his throat. “You, um, don’t happen to have any smokes on you by chance?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” you could almost hear a soft whine of relief come out of him. “Well, not on me. There’s an untouched pack in the glovebox of my car but it’s…”

You trailed off realizing that your bag with all of your ID and personal shit were back in the car, too. You’d left in such a hurry, the keys were probably still in the ignition. Fuck, the last thing you needed was for someone to steal your car and your bag. Could those zombie things drive? You’d almost forgotten about that secret pack of Camel Lights that you’d stuffed in there for emergencies, but you never expected it to be for an actual emergency.

“Yeah? Where’s your car?” He sat up, alert.

“Back at the gas station,” Joyce rolled up one of her oversized cuffs. “There was a run in with a few of those Things earlier and we had to leave in a hurry.”

“I should probably go back there and get my things,” you mused.

“Not a good idea, not tonight,” Steve interrupted, swinging his arm out as if to block you from the rest of the group. “In the morning I’ll take you. Those things usually don’t bother with inanimate objects, unless they are attached to a living-breathing human.”

Eddie mumbled. “Better not catch one of them enjoying a fresh cigarette, or I’m gonna be pissed.”

You stood up, addressing Eddie. “If you want to go by there and take the pack, you are welcome to them. I quit a while ago, so—”

“Yeah, so did I,” Eddie blew a raspberry of a laugh. “But not willingly. They don’t exactly grow on trees here.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest again, rolling his shoulders back. “I don’t think anyone should be making any unnecessary stops tonight.”

“I agree,” Hopper voiced.

“I’d say it’s necessary,” Eddie countered, knowing that Steve was right. The safety of morning light would come soon enough.

Steve shut off the overhead lights and released the blinds that covered the door to peer out. Eddie shuffled over in Steve’s flip flops and the blanket around him like a little kid leaving for a sleepover.

The three made the decision to take Hopper’s Bronco, and Joyce told Steve to take care. She kissed his cheek while Eddie gave him a fist bump that Steve seemed unsure how to respond to at first.

“See ya later, alligator,” Steve told them before turning the lock to seal the building again.

You stood side by side and watched until they were safely on the road. In their wake, something bolted out of the woods and threw its head back to wail like a beast. It had a bald head and pointed ears and crouched to all fours like an animal.

“Why is that one different than the others?” You asked, clutching onto Steve’s arm.

“We think those are the older ones,” he cleared his throat. “But there are only a few of them that I know of.”

“Why do you think they’re older?” Your gaze was locked on the Thing as it lumbered back out of sight.

Steve shifted on his feet before pulling the blinds back down. “It’s just a hunch really, but they seem to be faster and smarter than the others. Those are the ones that can mimic voices.”

You shrugged away and put your face in your hands. “This can’t be real. This has to be a fucking nightmare.”

“It is a nightmare alright,” Steve agreed with you. “But the thing is, we’re not asleep.”

“How do you know that though? This is probably one of those deep REM dreams that we won’t even remember once we wake up.”

“If this is a dream,” he had his hands on his hips and the sides of his mouth wiggled with a repressed grin. “How can I find you when we wake up? Do you have a phone number I can call or?”

You shifted your gaze to the floor so that you wouldn’t get lost in his eyes. “When you wake up, put another personal ad in the paper for me to find.”

“Deal,” he offered a genuine smile that time. The guy had perfect teeth; it almost made you self-conscious.

You had the impression that Steve lived somewhere on the premises, but that was not the case. The “spare room” he’d mentioned was a cot in the pantry. Apparently he lived in the family home he’d grown up in, but crashed at the diner more often than not. He changed the sheets and threw a Sesame Street comforter on that had probably once been on a twin bed for a child while you were in the bathroom. He handed you a spare toothbrush and before you went in, you asked if the toilet worked.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Steve was honestly confused.

“Well,” you gestured around vaguely. “If this is some type of post-apocalyptic wasteland where nothing new comes or goes, where is the electricity and water coming from?”

There was a main generator that powered the town, but he didn’t have a chance to get the words out.

Your throat constricted. “We are dead, we have to be.”

“Because the toilets flush?” He chuckled.

You bristled with annoyance and turned away. Not annoyance with Steve in particular but with your shit show of a life that refused to let you know peace.

“Hey listen, I know—-” Steve reached out for you only to freeze his hand in mid-air.

There was music coming from the dining area.

The sound was shrill static at first but then the chorus bloomed, and it took you a second to recognize that the song was When the Night Comes by Joe Cocker.

“I just wanna be the one you run to

I just wanna be the one you come to

I just wanna be there for someone

When the night comes”

“Steve…what is happening?” With each word you were moving toward the sound, disregarding the protests of your gut.

“Let's put all the cares behind us

And go where they'll never find us”

With the only other light being the moon shining through the slats in the blinds, the neon red and yellow caught your attention.

At a table near the window was a replica of an old jukebox, no taller than a bowling ball. There was a coin slot at the top and white buttons at the bottom to choose from the flipcards with song titles on them. As you approached, you checked out the window above it to see the shadows made by rows of trees and wondered what could possibly be lurking there, observing you.

“It does that sometimes,” Steve was a few steps behind, combing fingers through his hair.

“Two spirits in the night

That can leave before the morning light

When there's nothing left to lose

And nothing left to fear”

You stood at the end of the booth and stared at the machine. “Is it the same song every time?”

“Different ones,” his chest was inches from your back, his warm breath on your neck. “But this one is a favorite.”

“I know there'll be a time for you and I

Just take my hand and run away”

“Do you want to wear this?” He’d picked up the flannel and put it over your shoulders. “I saw you shivering.”

“Think of all the pieces of the shattered dream

We're gonna make it out some day”

Without taking your eyes off of the jukebox, you let him wrap the wool shirt with a quilted lining over you and then, without hesitation, your hand slipped into his and he held it there, interlacing his fingers to step to your side.

A strange weight lifted off of you at the idea of not being able to go home.

“Do you really think we’ll get out of here one day?” You asked in a whisper.

“I just wanna be there beside you

When the night comes”

Steve admired your profile. “I hope so,” his voice was a murmur. “But it doesn’t seem so bad here all of a sudden.”

The jukebox did not run on batteries and it was not plugged into a socket on the wall.

You tipped your chin up slowly to meet his gaze and, just then, out in the street, something inhuman scampered through the parking lot and into the woods.

His thumb gently rubbed along yours and you could smell a touch of cologne on the flannel.

“Steve, I think we should have some pie.”

He was staring at your mouth while he nodded in agreement.

The music cut off before the song was finished, and the jukebox went dark.

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My friends, thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed.

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#strangerprompts #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington x reader #From au #horror au #Steve Harrington fic #Stranger Things fanfic #Spotify #marmite fic

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