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whoreforjisung · 9 months ago

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Pervy neighbor Jisung one-shot ✨

-Might continue the story in multiple parts if people are interested! I still have many ideas when it comes to pervy jisung

-Content / tags / warnings: smut / non-idol au / perv!jisung pining for new neighbor reader / masturbation (m,f) / ji is a little bit of an asshole / non-consensual pictures / one use of “noona” / drug and alcohol consumption / brief mentions of Felix, Minho, Changbin, and Seungmin

-Names are used as faceclaims only, and do not reflect the actions and personalities of real people

-Word Count: 6.2k

-I am very new to tumblr, and this is my very first time writing anything like this, so it is not proof-read or edited. Constructive criticism welcome!

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As a full-time freelance artist, you luckily had the liberty to pack up your cherished belongings and move to wherever you desired whenever you liked. That’s how you ended up landing yourself in Seoul at the ripe age of 24. It might sound silly, but you had a lifelong dream of living in a cozy apartment with a decent-sized balcony area. When a listing popped up during an impromptu trip to Korea, in Seoul nonetheless, for a manageable price, you immediately jumped on it. It was game over as soon as you visited and saw the beautiful balcony with a wrought-iron spiral staircase. After reluctantly returning home, it was hard to contain your excitement in the weeks leading up to your move. You were already eagerly selecting furniture to buy, as well as decorations, and brainstorming ideas on how to use the space as soon as you finalized the lease.

As you finally pulled up to the new apartment, you couldn’t contain the wide smile that crept across your face as you shielded your eyes from the sun, admiring your spacious balcony. Just the thought of being able to curl up at dusk with that book you’ve been meaning to read for ages on the hammock chair you purchased for it, had you teeming with excitement. It kept you in a positive spirit as you lugged boxes containing your possessions one by one up the stairs and into your new home. That was, until you accidentally dropped the large framed painting you were attempting to transport, sending it tumbling down the stairs leaving hundreds of glass shards in its wake. The sudden noise startling your cat, Newt, from his peaceful slumber in his carrier. He reacted with a hiss and a few agitated meows.

“Would it kill you to keep it down? Some of us are trying to WORK here! FUCK!” You look up from your kneeled position on the stairs as you’re scrambling to pick up the glass shards, and your eyes meet a young man with a scowl on his face, leaning over the balcony opposite to yours. He has a pair of headphones dangling around his neck and is clutching a can of beer, fingernails adorned with black nail polish. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve been more careful. It won’t happen again!” You replied as you continued picking up the pieces. “Whatever. Can you do something about your hairball? It’s making my damn ears bleed.” He angrily snapped in response, pointing towards Newt’s carrier. You could tolerate the first comment, but who did he think he was to so directly insult your pet like that? “Just because I caused a minor commotion doesn’t give you the right to be so rude to a complete stranger. Since I’m no longer disrupting you, Why don’t you close the window, remove the stick up your ass, and get back to your oh-so-important work while I quietly move the rest of my boxes into my house. Sound good?” He didn’t seem to have a response for you, instead opting to toss back the remainder of his drink, crushing the can and tossing it directly towards your feet before shutting the window. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your dustpan from the box labeled “cleaning supplies” and swept up the rest of your mess (along with “mystery jerk neighbor’s” added trash) before moving the final few boxes, as well as the cat carrier inside.

You were so grateful the place came furnished, as you promptly slumped down on the green velvet couch, allowing yourself to take a quick breather before taking Newt out of the carrier, letting him explore while you unpacked his necessities and began assembling the cat tree. By the time sunset began to roll around, you had made a decent amount of progress unpacking and building a good amount of your living room and kitchen furniture, including your hammock chair for the balcony. After brewing yourself a cup of tea and grabbing the book you intended to read, you finally made your way to your new outdoor relaxation sanctuary.

After situating yourself in the chair, draping a thin blanket over your legs, and taking a sip of warm green tea, you let out a content sigh as you finally opened your novel, ready to immerse yourself into the story for the next hour or so. You made it through exactly 2 1/2 chapters before “mystery jerk neighbor” made his second appearance. This time, followed by a small white puppy and the unmistakable smell of weed. Now, you normally wouldn’t consider yourself to be the petty type, but his disrespect towards you earlier prompted you to throw some back his way in retaliation. When he took a long drag and proceeded to start coughing up a lung, you shouted “Keep it down would ya? Some of us are trying to READ here!” Mirroring his first words to you. “Oh that’s realll original” he replied with a pained rasp between coughs. Rolling your eyes, you redirected your attention back to your book, assuming that would be the end of the distraction.

A small handful of pages later, a loud “YOOOO FELIX” pierces through the silence as he starts a phone call. Placing a bookmark to save your spot, you close the book and set it on your small side table. After a few minutes you return , donning your noise cancelling headphones. You’d be damned if you were going to let him ruin your highly anticipated reading time after a long and exhausting day. A peaceful 10 minutes later, he retreats back into his own apartment- much to your delight. However, your joy is short-lived as he soon returns with an acoustic guitar slung across his torso and takes a seat. Unfortunately, you quickly realize his strumming penetrates through your headphones. So much for noise-cancelling. Completely losing your focus and not wanting to engage with him any further, you decide it’s time to head inside and get yourself ready for bed. After a much-needed shower to rinse off the sweat and dust that had accumulated on your body throughout the day, you continue your nightly routine. Slipping on a pair of panties and one of your many oversized sleep shirts, you head to the kitchen to finish your cup of tea while absentmindedly scrolling on tiktok. After setting your mug in the sink and brushing your teeth in the bathroom, you finally turn into bed and listen to Newt’s content purrs as he cuddles up to you, both of you quickly drifting off to sleep.

You curse yourself for setting your alarm so early as you’re jolted awake by the incessant, absurdly high-pitched beeping at 8:00 AM. You did have a specific reason for wanting to wake up so early though, as you remember your plans and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed. Your first task of the day was grocery shopping, so after brushing your teeth and twisting your hair up into a claw clip, you threw on a pair of sweatpants with a black cropped hoodie and began your walk to the nearest market.

Arriving after about fifteen minutes, you began working through your ingredients list. You stopped at an herb stall with a middle-aged woman behind the booth. One of your many plans for your balcony space was to install a fresh herb garden, so you engaged in small talk with the seller as you selected various herbs to purchase. “Do you sell cat grass?” You asked. Suddenly, a young man with blond hair springs up from under the counter. “You won’t find any here at the market, but I can show you where to get some!” You’re taken aback by the deep voice that comes out of him, as well as his strangely friendly offer. Sensing your apprehension, the woman adds “Oh don’t worry dear, you can trust him! Yongbok here is our designated neighborhood helper.” She smiles at him as she pats his back. “Oh uhh okay. I have a few more things to grab here first, if that’s okay?” You reply, setting your items down for him to ring up. A few minutes later, you finished picking up the rest of the items on your list and returned to the stall to let him know you were ready. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes Auntie!” He called back to the woman as the two of you walked away.

You found it surprising how talkative he was. He told you his name was Felix, he grew up in Australia, but moved to Korea when he was seventeen, and he loves cooking, baking, and gaming. Even though you just met him, you were happy you shared some of the same interests, and honestly a little part of you hoped this wouldn’t be the last you’d see of him. The short walk led you to a large apartment complex. Felix told you his friend, Minho, is a huge cat-lover who grows his own cat grass, so you figured this is where he lived. It seemed like he spent a lot of time at Minho’s place, as the security guard immediately buzzed you both in as soon as he saw him, greeting him with a wave.

Felix knocked on the door as you arrived at, presumably, his friend’s unit. You could hear multiple voices from outside the door, and began to feel a little bit anxious. The door opened to reveal quite possibly the buffest man you have ever seen in person before. He quickly pulled your new acquaintance into a bear hug, shouting “FELIX IS HEREEE- and who’s this?” He added as he broke away, noticing you. You shyly introduced yourself to him, still standing in the doorway before Felix enters, pulling you both in. Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the amount of people present, you keep your gaze trained on the floor as he ushers you into the kitchen. “Hey Minho! This is the girl I texted you about. You know- the cat grass” He explained as he gestures toward you.

You pry your gaze from the floor to see an -admittedly, beautiful man holding a spatula and wearing an apron that says “world’s best Mom” on it in hot pink lettering. As you struggle to stifle a giggle, he quickly explains that he received it as a gift from his friend Seungmin. Since he can’t leave the kitchen while he’s cooking, he instructs Felix to take you to his study, where he has prepared a small pot for you to take home. As you enter the study, you notice a sleeping figure on the black leather couch in your peripheral vision. It wasn’t until you quietly retrieved the pot, turning to exit the room, that you recognized the person sleeping. He was your mysterious jerk neighbor! You had to admit though, as much as your very limited interactions with him pissed you off, he looked kinda cute peacefully sleeping like that- with his dark, curly hair cascading over the side of his face, cheeks all puffed out and lips formed into a devastating little pout. It was hard to believe this was the same man as the asshole that lived across from you. Once you realized you were staring at him, you shook your thoughts away and silently made your way back into the living room. Thanking Minho and bidding farewell to everyone else, you and Felix began your trek back to the market.

Arriving back home shortly after dropping Felix off and giving him your socials, you got to work putting away your groceries and began to tackle the daunting task of unpacking and organizing your belongings. In order to not burn yourself out, you made sure to take breaks every few hours. During your breaks you would work on artwork, watch an episode of the kdrama you were currently immersed in, play with Newt, crochet, and stretch- even doing a little bit of yoga in the evening.

After you were satisfied with the progress you made for the day, you booted up your computer and logged on to Miroh- a new labyrinth MMORPG you had found yourself getting absolutely sucked into lately. You didn’t find the time to game as often as you would have liked to, but when you did, you preferred to set aside a good four hours or so in order to ensure you’d make a decent amount of progress with every session. After several failed attempts to demolish the octo-cyclops boss of the S-Class dungeon- in order to acquire its exclusive armor set, you were about to call it quits for the night when a random player requested to join your party. You accepted the request from _doolsetnet, sending a gratitude emote as you entered the dungeon for the umpteenth time that night, this time with another player at your assistance.

Your morale was high as you successfully cleared the second stage almost flawlessly, mentally preparing for the third and final stage. It started off well, but as the boss’s rage intensified, so did it’s attack speed. You both took a few good hits, your health bar depleting rapidly. Your helper still had a good three-quarters of their health to spare, and enough mana to cast one spell. The boss only had about a quarter left on its health bar- two more good hits and it would go down. You unmuted your mic to request a heal from your partner, which they promptly offered. With your health bar restored to half-full, and your mana charged for two attacks, you were finally able to hear the sweet, sweet cries of defeat as you slayed the beast. You jumped out of your chair, raising your fists in the air and letting out a loud “FUCK YESSS! TAKE THAT YOU ONE-EYED SLIMY CUNT” as the game rewarded you with the gorgeous mother-of-pearl armor set you’ve been ogling for months- complete with an iridescent helmet showcasing the monster’s eye. You sent user _doolsetnet a thank you message, and attached a gift containing a couple hundred gold along with a few of the rare armor dyes you had extras of. They responded by shooting you a friend request, which you accepted, and a rare weapon skin you also had your eye on. After logging off for the night, you hopped in the shower, brushed your teeth, crawled into bed with Newt in your arms, and fell asleep.

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The day you moved in was a rough one for Han Jisung. All morning he worked tirelessly, trying to perfect the song he was commissioned to produce for a high-profile client. Each time he finished editing and emailing the file, he was always met with a problem. The beat overpowers the vocals, the guitar is too quiet, the bpm is too fast, too slow- it was impossible to please them with this song, and he was going to absolutely lose it. As a perfectionist, he couldn’t let it go until both him, and the client, were both one-hundred percent satisfied. He was running on about six hours of sleep in the past three days, with a concerning lack of food and over-dependence on coffee, energy drinks, and beer. He could barely rip his focus away from the project long enough to shower and make sure his beloved puppy, Bbama, was still well taken care of.

When the blaring hisses and sharp beeps of the moving trucks breached through the music he was working on, he nearly screamed out the window at them to shut the fuck up, but he still had self control. Honestly, it was his fault for procrastinating even though he knew someone would be moving in across from him today. He tried to drown out the noise for the next hour, and when the trucks pulled out, his focus finally pulled in again. He locked in- diligently toiling away at the project, until two hours later, he had the latest revised version complete. Making sure he took all of his client’s requests into account, he submitted the file and began the waiting game. Anxiously pacing around his apartment and biting his nails for another hour, he received an email notification. He sprinted to his computer, not even bothering to take a seat as his hand hovered over the mouse for a few seconds in anticipation. He slid the cursor over the most recent email in his inbox, squeezing his eyes shut and chanting a quiet “please, please, please..” he clicked the mouse and slowly opened his eyes, scanning the results. “Mr. Han, We always appreciate your hard work, and are nearly content with the song. There are just a few small tweaks we would like to- “MOTHERFUCKER” he threw himself onto his couch and muffled an anguished scream with his pillow. He nearly started bawling due to the overwhelming frustration and crippling exhaustion.

The deadline was tomorrow, and he would have to rework the godforsaken song for the sixteenth and last time. He had to make his next submission perfect- or risk losing one of his most important clients. He peeled himself off the couch, sauntered over to his fridge to grab yet another can of beer, returned to his desk, took a few deep breaths, and got to work. There was one specific part of the song that needed reworked. He began playing the same fifteen seconds repeatedly, closer and closer to losing his sanity as he just could not pick out what was wrong with it. Another ten times- still couldn’t place it. Twenty more times, and then he caught it- at the very end of the segment. His full focus on the next loop, he cranked the volume and listened intently, not even daring to breathe in fear of it disrupting his flow. The last five seconds coming up- this was it.

A loud crash broke his focus, followed by the shrieking howls of an agitated cat. That was his last straw. He slammed his left fist down on his desk, still clutching his beer can in his right hand. Shooting out of his chair he flung open the sliding door and stormed to the edge of his balcony. He started yelling before even thinking, just letting all of his pent-up rage out on whoever his new neighbor was. Once the red-hot fury died down, and he actually saw the unfortunate victim of his outburst, he retreated in embarrassment. She was a girl who looked to be in her early to mid twenties, around the same age as him. Kinda cute too, and he threw his fucking beer can at her! God, what the hell was wrong with him? He wanted to crawl into the fetal position and just disappear forever. Unfortunately for him, though, he still had the grueling obligation of completing his wretched assignment. He stretched, cracked his knuckles, and got to work once more.

A painstaking six hours later, he checked over the email again, to refer to his clients requirements. Making damn sure he remembered EVERYTHING this time, he went through a mental checklist. He listened to the full song one more time, paying close attention to the fifteen second segment he had reworked dozens of times. This time, he had swapped the guitar for a bassy synth to create a break at the end of the pre-chorus, and he honestly felt satisfied with the outcome. He might’ve entered a state of delirium after twenty-four restless, stress filled hours, and slipped into a rather cocky mindset. He was happy with the song at last, and the client would be content with it too. Honestly, they were lucky to have a producer like him working with them. He was a musical genius. After confidently re-submitting the file for the final time, he rolled himself a much-deserved joint. He gave little Bbama all the belly rubs and smooches he had missed the last few days as he made his way to the balcony for a stress-relieving smoke.

Jisung took a few deep drags, feeling increasingly calm with every exhale, until his breath caught in his throat upon noticing you lounging on your balcony straight across from him- seemingly deeply invested in a book. The smoke in his throat burned, launching him into a painful coughing fit. He silently prayed that you wouldn’t notice, and mentally cursed himself when you did- repeating his same harsh words to you earlier, absolutely dripping with sass. He threw back a half-assed reply, wishing he could’ve put more effort into it, and was rewarded with a nonchalant eye-roll. Oh, it was game-over for him now. One thing Jisung could never control himself around, was a person who simultaneously gave off the vibes of a dom, while exuding just the perfect amount of brattiness- just enough for him to want to mercilessly fuck the attitude out of.

He decided right then and there to “test your limits”- so to speak. He dialed up his buddy Felix, making sure to greet him as loudly and obnoxiously as he could possibly muster. Only to be met with disappointment, as you just sighed and closed your book, withdrawing back into your living space. Maybe he jumped the gun- and assumed too much too soon? Oh well, he’d have plenty more chances to get a rise out of you, and began plotting his next move as he continued his conversation with Felix. When you returned wearing headphones, and sat back down to resume your book- completely ignoring him, he immediately felt his dick tightening against his pants, begging to be freed. He didn’t have you all wrong- quite the contrary. He had you just right, and the little bit of tantalizing cleavage your tank top revealed to him was the perfect tease, your breasts slightly squeezing together with every page you turned.

He attempted to mess with you a little more, even bringing out his guitar, in the hopes of disrupting your reading just enough to prompt an annoyed outburst. (And maybe even impressing you a little bit with his skills). When you once again retreated inside, and didn’t return, he figured you just went to bed this time. It was like all of his pent-up frustration throughout the week sent itself straight to his manhood. He was throbbing as he fell back on his couch, palming himself over his jeans. He had to use his imagination, having only his limited view of your cleavage to work with, but that wasn’t a problem for him.

You were straddling his lap on his couch, plush thighs squeezing either side of his as you slowly and tortuously ground yourself against his aching length. In this scenario, you had caught him sneaking a peek at you through the window and stormed over, angrily knocking on his door to confront him. You were yelling at him with your arms crossed, squeezing your tits together and giving him the perfect view. -He finally released himself from his denim prison, wrapping his hand around his thick, hard length, and letting out a sigh- When you noticed where he was staring, and looked down to see the prominent bulge in his pants, you forcefully pushed him down on the couch, climbing on top of him. Yanking the nape of his curly hair, you compelled him to look up at you, chastising him for being a dirty pervert. “You disgusting piece of shit- can’t even be scolded by a woman without getting yourself all hot and bothered.” You spat at him as he let out a whimper. “How pathetic” the way you breathlessly enunciated that word had him fisting his angry cock furiously, thighs twitching and breaths panting as he felt his chest tighten. He was so close already- probably due to his lack of jerking off for the past few days.

When you crept your hand up his chest and around his throat, harshly squeezing your fingers around it, he came. All over his hand, shirt, pants, couch, and even spilling a few drops onto his floor. He can’t even remember the last time he came this hard- it was probably one of the first times he ever masturbated. He didn’t even get to the best part in his scenario, the part where he takes over, flipping you onto your back and burying his face between your legs, eating you out like you’re his last meal while you’re whining and begging him to take you, as you release all over his fingers and face. He felt himself twitch, and looked down in disbelief to be met with yet another raging boner. God, the things you did to him, and you didn’t even know him, or his name. It just made the whole thing that much hotter. He’ll make sure you’ll find out soon, though, so the you in his fantasies can scream it for him.

After cleaning up his mess, and slipping into a clean pair of sweatpants, he made his way over to his fridge, and grabbed himself a cup of water. Chugging it down to soothe his dry throat, he glanced out the window- his eyes falling on you. You were wearing nothing but a large t-shirt, barely covering the curve of your ass, as you leaned over your kitchen counter. Sipping on a mug in one hand and scrolling on your phone in another, you were unknowingly giving him some quality material to work with. He made sure to engrain that image of you in his mind, taking note of every detail of your legs, including your tattoos, for next time.

The next morning, after getting a few hours of sleep and clearing his brain fog, he was mortified to say the least. He made himself out to be a complete asshole to his new (hot) neighbor, and immediately proceeded to ferociously pump himself dry to his imagination of said neighbor. Embarrassed was an understatement. He groaned as he got out of bed, heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth. As he refilled Bbama’s food and water dishes, he decided he should apologize to you for his rude behavior.

A little while later, he found himself standing outside your door, preparing his fist to knock. As he heard your footsteps nearing increasingly closer, he panicked and made a beeline to the end of the hallway, tucking himself around the corner. He caught his breath, noticing you exiting your unit and heading down the stairs. He was startled by his phone buzzing, pulling it out of his pocket to read a text from Minho. “Get your ass over here NOW. I know you haven’t eaten well in days and I’m preparing some bulgogi.” He honestly didn’t even notice just how hungry he was, being too distracted by this work, and- well, you, to care. He pulled himself up and made his way over to Minho’s.

He immediately flopped down on the couch in the study after greeting his friends. They knew him- and his current work dilemma, well enough to understand he didn’t have the energy for socializing until he got a good rest, so that’s exactly what he proceeded to do. Seungmin kicked open the door when their meal was ready, jolting Jisung awake. He drug his feet to the kitchen, joining Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Suengmin at the table and taking his seat. While quite literally stuffing his mouth, he listened to his friends converse and argue, adding in a few comments muffled by the food stored in his cheeks. His interest piqued when Changbin mentioned the girl that came by, turning to Minho and sending him a puzzled look. Since when does Minho invite girls over? His older friend noticed his expression, and responded by explaining that Felix had brought her over because she was on the hunt for cat grass. “I can’t deny though, she was just my type. I’ll have to ask Felix if he got her number.” Hyunjin piped up, wiggling his eyebrows.

Seungmin shot him a side-eye, pinching his arm and causing the other to yelp while chastising him for his fuckboy attitude. Jisung on the other hand, was intrigued- asking Hyunjin to describe her appearance, practically begging, honestly. Who could blame him? He was currently down bad- astronomically, even. After listening to Hyunjin’s description, agreeing that she did, in fact, seem very attractive, he rewarded his friend with a description of the goddess that had just moved in next door to him. Hyunjin was practically drooling as he described her perky tits and thick, tattoo-adorned thighs in great detail, prompting Seungmin to manually shut his jaw. “No more horny talk over the meal I slaved away at all day, to prepare for you ungrateful degenerates!” Minho shouted, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt. After finishing the perfectly-cooked bulgogi and cleaning up after themselves, Jisung walked home, with Hyunjin in tow, begging him to let him crash at his place. Hyunjin lived only a block away from him, so he knew the only reason was so his friend could get a look at you. Cursing himself for his overly-enthusiastic recounting of your gorgeous body- only having seen the lower half so far, he pushed Hyunjin towards the opposite end of the fork dividing the paths between both of their residences.

When he returned home, he cracked open a can of beer, bringing it to his lips as he looked out his window, once again catching a glimpse of you. He quite literally spit out the liquid he was holding in his mouth, as his gaze was met with your ass pointed directly towards him, your back arched towards the floor, and arms outstretched while you contorted your body into what seemed to be a yoga pose. He silently praised whatever god might exist for you leaving your curtains open, and wearing the shortest compression shorts, as he stared- dumbfounded. He could literally see the outline of your pussy, leaving barely anything to his imagination. He wasn’t proud of it at all, but simply his memory would not suffice. He just had to snap a pic. He laid down on his bed as he pulled down the waistband of his joggers. Staring at his new favorite picture,

He began to slowly stroke himself as his imagination ran wild.

This time, you were doing yoga on your balcony when you caught him staring. You didn’t seem mad, quite the opposite, however, as he watched you sit down and part your legs, not breaking eye contact as you shoved your fingers in your mouth, slowly sucking on them. He watched you leisurely trail your other hand down your chest, squeezing your right breast, and releasing a pretty moan muffled by your fingers as you grazed over your nipple. He wondered how your moans would really sound. Would they be as needy as he’s picturing them right now? He hoped he would get the chance to find out. He imagined you releasing your spit-covered hand from your mouth, placing it on your inner thigh and leaving wet trails as it inched further and further to your puffy cunt, obstructed by your tight compression shorts. Still not breaking eye contact with him, you slid the garment to the side, as well as the tiny red thong you wore underneath in his fantasy. Giving him a mouth-watering view of your dripping heat, you plunged two fingers in, gasping at the feeling of fullness. You closed your eyes as you slowly pumped in and out, letting the quietest whimpers grace his ears. You lifted your head and offered him a sexy smirk, beckoning him to “come here” with your two glistening fingers. He brought his hand to his mouth, spitting into it and resuming its position wrapped around his needy cock. The added lubrication allowed him to increase his pace- still careful not to go too fast and risk missing out on the best parts of his scenario again.

He started to let out a few breathy whines as he imagined himself knocking on your door. You answered quickly, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him in before closing the door, and leading him to your bedroom. He kicked off his shoes somewhere along the way, and you sat on the edge of your bed, instructing him to kneel on the floor between your thighs. He trailed sloppy, open mouthed kisses up your inner thighs as you tangled your hand in his curls. He broke away to remove your shorts and thong, giving him a clear view of your arousal. He caught a whiff of your sweet scent, flattening his tongue and slowly lapping up towards your clit. You responded by pulling on his hair and grinding yourself against his face, causing him to release a deep moan, the vibration had you shuttering against him. He slipped his ring finger in, the cold metal of his ring contrasting with the warmth of your walls caused your eyes to roll back. You let out a loud moan as his middle finger joined the other inside you, relishing in the juxtaposition of slight pain and pleasure, as he stretched you out. You used his fingers to fuck yourself towards him, allowing his undivided attention to focus on sucking and circling your clit. This had you absolutely reeling, crushing his head between your thighs and coming undone, rewarding him with the most filthy, sinful, screams as his face was coated with your sweet nectar. He looked up at you as he sensually plunged his fingers into his mouth, licking up your release, and groaning at the taste. Your eyes glistened as he stood up, looking down at you as you returned his gaze through your lashes. You lowered your focus to the tent in his sweatpants, taking in the perfect outline of his curvature as you parted your legs and begged- no, pleaded with him to fuck you. You promised you’d be good for him, make him feel good, let him use you. The incoherent mumbling faltered as he sandwiched himself between your legs, and pulled his waistband down- his hard, leaking dick slapping against your abdomen. He hoisted your legs over his shoulders, keeping a strong grip on them as he finally plunged himself deep into your soaked cunt. He allowed you to adjust yourself to the stretch, choking out a guttural groan and a “fuck.. noona!” (He has no idea how old you are, he just has a little bit of a fixation on the idea of you being slightly older than him. He’ll unpack that another time.) As he imagined feeling you clench around him- and he felt his cock twitch violently in his hand- he blew his load all over himself, feeling the warm liquid coating his fingers and abs.

Panting heavily, he still couldn’t look away from his phone in his grip, displaying the picture he took of you. He wanted -needed- to know what it was like to see you up close in the same position. After taking a few moments to collect himself, he walked past his window on the way to the fridge. Seeing you sitting in front of your computer, back tensed in what appeared to be frustration, he tried to maneuver his vision around you to get a peek at what you were working on. He figured you were an artist, as you had all kinds of equipment set up around your living room- canvases, easels, and a cart full of what appeared to be paintbrushes and paints. He wanted to see if you were working on a digital art piece, and nearly came in his pants when he finally caught a view of your computer, instantly recognizing the images on your screen. You weren’t working on art, you were playing Miroh- his current favorite MMORPG. He opened his phone camera and zoomed in to try to get a better view of the game. Adrenaline surged in his chest as he saw the familiar Octo-Cyclops he has beaten countless times. In fact, he helped many players through that dungeon in the Miroh discord server he was an active member in. This was his time to shine. He captured a picture of your screen, hoping to make out your username. Sure enough, it was legible.

He practically sprinted to his computer and logged into the game, quickly typing in your tag and requesting to join your party, which you immediately accepted. He got to work preparing his inventory and chuckled to himself when you sent him a cute emote to thank him in advance for helping. At the third stage of the boss fight, he was playing defensively- letting you take the brunt of most of the attacks while he conserved his mana for a healing spell. As he watched your health bar start to deplete, he was preparing to heal you when you unmuted to beg him for help in the sweetest voice. He smirked as he released the spell, effectively restoring your health and mana, allowing you to fire off your last two attacks, defeating the boss. He smiled to himself as he heard your sailor-mouthed victory chant. Browsing his inventory for his rarest extra weapon skin, he attached it to the friend request he sent you before logging off and heading to bed. He was overflowing with pride with himself for being able to send you a nice gesture, even if it was anonymously.

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 1 year ago

Text

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 5

AO3

Summary: Egan's first mission since Cleven's disappearance proves disastrous, leaving Frankie to clean up the damage he left behind

Warnings: Language, vomit, this one's angsty guys

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58

The smell of cigarette smoke stung Bucky's nose, his warm breath fogging up the inside of the cockpit windows as he stared aimlessly at the early morning sky, dull grey gradually giving way to a vivid blue as the sun crept above the horizon. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, glaring at nothing, but this certainly wasn't his first cigarette, a pair of burnt-out butts on the floor by his feet a testament to this. It could have been sadness or anger that had driven him up here, but when the two combined it felt awfully more like numbness than anything else.

A sudden hammering against the glass broke his train of thought, dropping his cigarette in surprise as if left a small scorch mark on the inside of his trousers. Turning to his left, expression contorted in shock, he came face to face with Frankie, her furrowed brow only inches from the window after somehow managing to clamber up onto the wing without him noticing.

"What the- get down!" Egan cried, stomping out his cigarette before it could become a fire hazard.

"If that cockpit's full of cigarette butts now, I'm gonna beat your ass," She warned, her voice slightly muffled by the glass.

"...No," He shook his head, attempting to covertly use his uniform cap as a makeshift dustpan to clean up his mess, but when he looked back up at Frankie her eyes had narrowed at him. "What do you want?"

"Colonel Harding's looking for you. Personally, I just didn't want to deal with the smell after you drink and smoke yourself to death in here. I'd much rather you do it somewhere else, please."

A flicker of a smile crossed Egan's face, perhaps the first he could remember since he'd heard the news about Cleven. Half-empty flask tucked in his pocket, a hat full of ashes in his hand, he clambered out of the pilot's seat, weaving his way through the plane's interior to drop down out of the door. Frankie was waiting on the tarmac for him as his feet touched the ground, peering discerningly up at him. She swiped the flask from his pocket and took a swig for herself, giving a shrug of almost-approval at his choice of drink as she handed it back.

"I'm not gonna ask if you're ok," She frowned, yanking the cap from his hand and upturning its contents.

"Good," Bucky nodded, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they wandered back towards the jeep she had come in. "Weather report?"

Frankie glared up at him. He knew she objected to his participating in the next mission - it was only a matter of time before she actually tried to argue about it. Really, it was more a question of whether she was going to fight him, or try and take on the general. "Clearing up. D'you need me to drive you back?"

"If it was anyone else I might have said yes, but you... you're really bad at driving," Evidently she had anticipated this response, for her bike was already sticking out of the trunk, waiting for her to surrender the vehicle to him.

"Alright, one sec," Frankie gestured for him to turn and face her, surveying his appearance like she was a mother about to send her son off to the school dance. Reaching up, she tugged his tie straight, brushing a few flakes of ash from his jacket with the back of her hand. "Open," She demanded, and he opened his mouth without question, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Taking a whiff of the alcohol on his breath, Frankie frowned, and Egan found himself unable to utter a word before she shoved a couple of breath mints into his mouth with such force he almost choked.

"Gee, thanks," He spluttered, coughing. "Might choke to death, but at least I'm not gonna smell."

"I can't do everything," She shrugged, stepping away to grab her bike out of the jeep.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Bucky drawled sarcastically, clearing his throat one last time as he slid into the driver's seat, the engine starting with a roar as he watched Frankie begin to cycle away in the rearview mirror.

It was barely beginning to rain, spots of cold water striking Frankie's face as she pedalled relentlessly, taking it at a somewhat leisurely pace for once, too distracted to sprint the way she usually would. They were running a mission today. They had run one yesterday. They had run one the day before. She was losing track of the last time she'd slept more than a couple of hours in a night, the constant missions meaning tougher, tighter deadlines for all her work. The fixes needed to be completed twice as fast, and it was becoming physically impossible to keep all the buses air-worthy as needed.

Lemmons and the others were already on site and working away as she arrived, a fact that lessened her anxiety ever-so-slightly. In the months since they'd arrived, her begrudging acceptance of the American mechanics had grown more and more willing - they'd proved their worth, their dedication, and she couldn't ask more than that.

"How many can fly today?" She called, abandoning her bike in the grass as she jogged over to the hardstand where Ken was working away.

"Still only seventeen," He sighed. "A couple need fixes to the return lines, but we just don't have time for any big repairs."

"I know," Frankie nodded grimly. "Daily missions are a nightmare, just pull through with what you can, they can't blame us for any of this."

His expression was tense, tainted with guilt. She could tell he was thinking of Cleven again. "Hey," Frankie urged, pressing a reassuring hand to his shoulder. "None of this is our fault." Lemmons nodded after a moment's pause, tilting his head to let his chin rest upon the spot where her hand gripped his shoulder.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time the flight crews began rolling in in their jeeps, Frankie had grown so irritable that she swore her teeth would shatter if her jaw clenched itself any harder. The constant frustration of never being able to carry out the repairs she wanted, the ever-present worry that burrowed into her stomach whenever the pilots left, and the anger she felt at Egan for going with them, were all colliding in an explosive combination. And her fellow mechanics seemed to feel it - even Ken was keeping his distance.

Bucky's car slowed to a halt behind her as she finished up, and she turned to glare at him, a look he was sure he'd never seen crease her face before. "Now, Frankie," He approached with a plastered-on grin, seizing her by the shoulders as he tried to alleviate her mood with his own false joyfulness. "Why is it that we're only flying seventeen buses this morning? I hope Lemmons over there hasn't been screwing with your excellent work."

He had touched a nerve. Unfortunately for Egan, this realisation came a split-second too late. Before he knew it, there was a spanner jammed under his chin, as if she held a knife to his throat, her expression only made harsher by the remark. "Maybe if some people didn't force themselves in where they aren't needed we wouldn't have to pull everything together in such a fucking hurry, eh?"

"Ok, Frank, tough morning, I get it," He nodded, releasing her shoulders and taking a full step back. But he wasn't going to pretend her statement about him being unneeded hadn't sparked his own anger. "But don't take that out on me, I'll pass your concern on to Harding, and we'll see what he can-"

"The only thing I want Harding to get is a smack up the fucking head for letting you fly."

"This is war, Frankie, you think I'm gonna sit out because of what happened? I've never wanted this more than I do now!"

Without fully realising, their voices had begun to rise, argument audible to the other ground and flight crews nearby as they attempted to awkwardly go about their business.

"We both know you're not fit to fly - oh, or does a breakfast of whisky and cigarettes pass the military standard these days? You're burning the candle at both ends and you won't talk to me about it because you're embarrassed by how obvious it's become, John!"

"You really wanna go there? How 'bout we talk about how you spend every fucking night up here working until you drop, and the only times you don't is when you're drinking yourself to the same effect? How many hours did you sleep last night - or the night before, huh? Two? Three? Don't stand there and fucking lecture me about 'burning the candle at both ends'-" He lifted his hands in quotation marks, mockingly mimicking her accent. "- when I'm just following your example!"

Frankie didn't speak for a moment, but as Bucky tried to walk past her, she swivelled on her heel, yelling at him with such force that it was a miracle the entire bomb squad didn't hear. "Why do I have to lose my friend just because you lost yours?!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, stone-cold expression cracking for a second. "Frankie-"

Raising a hand to silence him, she shook her head. "No- you know what? Just fuck off. Get in your death trap and fuck off. At least I'll have one less mess to clean up when you don't come back. I'm sure Cleven will be so proud that his legacy amounted to that."

Frankie could tell she'd hurt him. His glare didn't falter, but she saw the way he flinched when she mentioned Cleven. If she'd been in a more forgiving mood, she might have apologised on the spot - taken it all back, promised she wanted nothing more than for him to return safe and in one piece. But she was tired and she was angry, and apologising was the last thing on her agenda. Hot tears were welling in her eyes as she stomped off, the clanging weight of her toolbox accentuating every step as she officially declared whatever happened next as Not Her Problem.

'Royal Flush' was the next plane along the runway, close enough so that every shouted word of Egan and Frankie's exchange had carried on the wind, the flight crew exchanging embarrassed glances as they tried to ignore the conversation they had suddenly found themselves privy to. Rosie had been about to climb in, but the sudden shouts had given him pause, waiting by the hatch as he watched on with a furrowed brow. Her boots thumped hard against the tarmac as she marched up to them, tools weighing her down on one side.

"Everything looks good?" She demanded, stopping in front of the plane, her usually jovial tone gone.

He frowned, concern twisting his expression. "Everything is - yeah - are you ok?"

Frankie's lip jutted out for a moment, and Rosie grew suddenly worried that she was about to burst into tears. Taking a sharp, shaky inhale, she nodded firmly. "Everything's great."

He slammed the hatch shut, gesturing for her to step underneath the plane's belly so that they were out of both sight and earshot of the rest of Rosie's Riveters. She did so, putting her toolbox down at her feet so that she could wipe away the tears that were forming with the heels of her palms. "I'm really tired."

Rosie almost laughed, a huff escaping him as she confirmed every suspicion he'd harboured about her unorthodox work hours. Lifting a hand to her cheek, he brushed her hair away from where it had stuck to half-dried tears. "Oh, honey," He uttered before he'd had a chance to actually consider the words, the pair of them brushing past the term of endearment without a second thought, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "He's gonna be fine. Egan'll come back in a couple hours, and you can both apologise to each other, and everything'll be fine."

She sniffed sharply, nodding, and he chuckled as she reached up to tug the zipper on his jacket all the way up past his collar, the sheepskin brushing against his chin. "Don't get... like... shot, or anything."

He grinned, nodding affirmatively. "Duly noted. Nice pep talk."

Frankie smiled then too, thumping him in the shoulder like she always did when he teased her. "I'm not kidding," She chuckled. "If every person I'm seen talking to before a flight fucking dies people will start thinking I'm bad luck."

Rosie raised a brow at this, flicking away another stray strand of hair that had gotten caught on her eyelash. "Well... of all the ways to go, I'll take your weird bad-luck-magic any day."

She sniffed again, her eyes still red from almost crying. "Thank you," She nodded earnestly.

"Alright. I'll see you later?"

"You hope," Frankie joked, smile flickering for a moment as she realised the remark may have been in bad taste, but he chuckled nonetheless, opening the hatch and climbing up into 'Royal Flush'. As his head popped up in the belly of the machine, Rosie noticed his co-pilot crouched on the floor beside him, eyeing him with a raised brow.

"... What?"

"Jesus Christ," Pappy muttered, pushing himself to his feet and worming his way through to the cockpit.

"Pappy, what?" Rosie insisted, close behind him. The man batted him away, and he threw up his hands in frustration, sliding into the pilot's seat.

"This thing ain't as sound-proof as you think it is, that's all I'm sayin'."

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Frankie squinted in the midday sun as she lay in the grass beside the runway, the tall grass blowing in and out of her peripherals on the cool breeze. The wait was always agony - the uncertainty, the sense of powerlessness, the surety that some of the men who had left were never coming back. It seemed word of her public argument with Major Egan had travelled fast, for as soon as lunchtime rolled around, there was George. She never bothered to walk all the way to the airstrip from the command centre, but today she had made the hike, a paper bag full of cheese and cucumber sandwiches in tow.

Lemmons sat silently, cross-legged in the grass as he enjoyed his lunch. "Thanks for this, ma'am, it was real nice of you," He nodded appreciatively, making up for his and George's lack of familiarity with polite flattery.

"Yeah," Frankie agreed, speaking with a mouth full of cheese. "Much better than the shit coffee and stale crackers we keep in the hut."

George furrowed her brow, frowning questioningly over at Ken. "No refrigerator," He shrugged, offering no further explanation.

Frankie ate with one hand, a difficult task when lying down, half of the sandwich filling falling out onto her chest. But her other hand was draped across George's leg as she painted her nails a subtle shade of mauve, scolding her whenever she twitched. When she was stressed, she smoked too much, and George had long since realised that the best way to curb the bad habit was to distract her with food, or to ensure her hands were indisposed. On a particularly stressful afternoon such as this one, it seemed combined efforts were in order.

"... You don't think Bucky hates me now, do you?" Frankie asked quietly, her two companions frowning down at her.

"What are you, twelve?" George snorted, carefully finishing off the edges of her thumbnail. "He'll get over it. Grown-ups fight, dear."

"You're both having a hard time," Ken added. "He's just blowing off steam, I don't think he meant any of it."

"I meant what I said. When I said it, that is."

"Once you got drunk and told me you wanted to rip my eyes out because I was too pretty - I haven't held it against you," George shrugged. "You definitely meant that at the time."

"I'm easily frustrated."

"Yeah, no shit."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

George's watch ticked steadily past the time they had expected the planes to return. She didn't return to work - didn't leave Frankie's side - sitting beside her in the grass, a deathly silence hanging over them as she began to pick and chip away at her freshly dried nail polish.

"They should have been back by-"

"Shh." Frankie interrupted sharply, an utterly dreadful sense of foreboding hollowing out her gut. She didn't realise how thoroughly she'd picked at her hand until her finger came away bloody. Where were they?

The sound of an engine rattling above made their ears prick, gazes locked on the same spot on the great blue horizon as a single plane came into view.

Just one.

Before she even realised she was nauseous, Frankie had vomited the contents of her stomach onto the grass in front of her. If none of them had returned, it could have meant any number of things. She knew exactly what one plane meant. She didn't even watch it land, just stared down at the stinking puddle before her as it soaked into the dirt.

In her mind, she had a choice now. When the time came to head over, she had to decide on who she was praying would climb out.

Bucky or Rosie.

Even if it was neither, it couldn't be both.

But then a second rumble sounded, and before she'd had time to look up and track its movements, another plane was pulling in, its wings jagged and torn, engines sputtering as it slowly descended.

'Royal Flush'.

A terrible, ragged noise escaped Frankie's throat, something between a sob and a sigh of relief. Scrambling to her feet, George thrust her half-empty flask of lukewarm coffee into her hand, and she downed the whole thing, the bitterness mixing with the acidic tang in her mouth, masking the smell of sickness as best she could.

Rosie hadn't even had time to register her approach. No sooner had he slipped out of the hatch did he feel the sudden crush of another body against his, her arms thrown around his neck, her hand in his hair, holding him steady. Suddenly he was breathing again.

He wasn't sure he'd ever held anybody so tight, relishing the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet as he wrapped his arms around her back, hands pressed so firmly against her skin that he could feel her rapid heartbeat beneath it, a desperate tether to life. She was breathing in his ear, his curls waving back and forth with it, and without thinking he reached up to pluck a piece of grass away that had gotten stuck in her hair.

Her breath didn't come easy - he could hear the laboured way she pulled in each inhale, as if a weight were pressing on her chest, keeping her lungs empty. When she spoke it was barely a whisper.

"Egan?"

Rosie shook his head ever so slightly, the guilt of what he knew he had to say eating away at him. "I gotta wait until after interrogation, I can't-"

Suddenly Frankie pulled out of the embrace, hands clutching either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. Her hands were gentle in the way they pressed against his cheeks, but in that moment it felt like a vice grip. That warmth he had become so fond of was gone, her eyes merciless, and Rosie knew in that moment that if he didn't tell her now she would never forgive him.

"He went down Frankie, they all- ... They all went down."

A horrible, agonising sound tore free from her throat, half whimper, half choke, and immediately she was blinded by the tears that filled her eyes. His fingers found hers, ever so gently prying her palms away from his face so that he could hold her again, pressing his lips briefly to her sweat-soaked temple. If he could, he would have stayed there for hours, for as long as she needed someone to be there whilst she wept. But he couldn't. For someone he'd known only weeks, walking away from her was suddenly the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

Frankie didn't turn to watch him go, didn't spare a glance to the surviving Riveters as they climbed into the back of one of the trucks, whisked away to interrogation.

What the fuck could they say that wasn't already obvious?

She felt a hand press against her shoulder, and turned her head to meet Ken's gaze, his expression twisted with fear.

"Bucky?" He asked. The simple question was enough to undo her, and all at once Frankie burst into tears, accepting his embrace as he offered it.

Just fuck off. Get in your death trap and fuck off.

At least I'll have one less mess to clean up when you don't come back.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't feel anything but a terrible, harrowing guilt, so heavy that it made her very bones ache. If she hadn't already upturned the contents of her stomach, she would have done so now, the desperate feeling of nausea left with nothing to cling to within her.

Frankie Bevan had lost people to war before. She had loved people and sent them away, and they had never returned. But not once in her life had she let them leave without them knowing she loved them. Not until now.

"He forgave you," She heard Lemmons murmur, his hand stroking her hair in that way her father used to soothe her when she got too mad - when the world got too heavy, too weighty for her hands alone. "He knew you didn't mean it."

She sniffed loudly, clutching at the dirty fabric of his coveralls. "He loved me, didn't he?"

"Oh yeah."

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Rosie sat on one of the benches outside the interrogation hut, staring down at the cup of Red Cross coffee that warmed his hands. They had made too many cups. He had walked in and seen them, laid out row by row, and taken the first of the front row like he was supposed to - leave the rest for the others. But there were no others. And suddenly the bitter liquid was the least appetising thing in the world.

The bench's wooden slats creaked as someone sat down beside him. Frankie was sitting on her hands, staring blankly at a fixed spot in the grass ahead. Wordlessly, he held the coffee out to her, and she took it, the hot liquid scalding her tongue as she took a sip.

"Jesus," She sputtered, grimacing at the sudden pain.

"Still hot," Rosie said.

"Yeah, I noticed," Frankie huffed, sucking in cool air through her teeth to soothe the burn.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about-"

"Don't," She interrupted, shaking her head. "You don't have to do that, it's okay."

At some point during their flight, Rosie had sliced the skin along his hairline, droplets of blood drying and encrusting his forehead. Frankie put the still-hot coffee down, reaching up to brush his curls out of the way with her thumb. Her hand was still warm from holding the cup, and he felt the urge to lean closer.

"That hurt?"

"Nah. It's just a scratch - I don't even know how I got it."

She nodded, hand falling back down at her side. Neither of them moved for a moment, but when Rosie lifted his arm she seemed to get the message, leaning into his side, arms wrapped around his torso. His chin rested atop Frankie's head, the smell of her hair filling his lungs with each slow inhale.

"I don't know what we're supposed to do now."

#masters of the air #masters of the air oc #masters of the air fic #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #mota #mota fic #john egan #ken lemmons #oc: frankie #oc: george #fic | i'm your man

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sexybabystevie · 2 years ago

Note

hurt/comfort steve thought (if you’re still accepting them!): he really hates crying in front of ppl so throughout the beginning of your relationship you try to gently remind him it’s ok if he cries in front of you, it’s not a sign of weakness etc. and when something happens that makes him break down in front of you for the first time, he’s like rly shy & embarrassed at first :(

A/n: Oh my gosh this took SO long to answer, I am SO SO sorry about that. Anyways, I enjoyed this thought so much that I decided to pair it with a running idea that I had in my brain lately, so this ended up Steve-Thought-turned-whole-fic, so I hope you enjoy it, lovely!! Once again, thank you for sending this in and partially inspiring this!

His Knight in Shining Armor

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: Post Volume 2 Setting, Mentions of Eddie's Death and Max's Coma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Guilt, Comfort/Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Harrington, Steve Finally Gets to Cry, Despite the Title Reader's Gender is Ambiguous, Episode: s04e09 "The Piggyback"

Word Count: 5527

Summary: Even as Steve's long-term partner, you've never once seen him cry. In the aftermath of the final battle against Vecna, and in the very hospital room where a barely-living Max Mayfield lies, that changes.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

“Steve!”

Your legs burn as you chase your boyfriend out into the hallway, black Converse tapping softly at the dingy grey tiles beneath you. Everything is a blur – white walls and white coats and white lights that are far too bright and probing at you; it’s all blending together – and the smell of chemical antiseptic gives you a nauseating headache. Still, all of your grievances are floating, fading, flying away at the sight of the man before you.

Steve Harrington is too strong for his own good. A lover, probably one of the most caring people you’ve ever known, and yet he carries so much. The guilt of being Nancy Wheeler’s bullshit for much too long, the awareness of Hawkins’ looming and inevitable doom, the instinct and need to be there to protect you and Robin, to protect the kids – all of these are things that Steve Harrington has placed upon his own back, heaving emotional weights that even a sumo wrestler would struggle to uphold, and yet you had never once seen him cry. Or, rather, he had never once let you see him cry.

You had cried in front of him several times – stress from work and just shitty days in general tearing you down – so it was difficult to imagine just how he was holding himself together. With the thinnest of threads, is what you would assume.

You had always told him that it was okay to be vulnerable, that you would be there to catch him if he ever fell, to hold him during his starless nights, but he was persistent. He shrugged off your offers, not in an unappreciative way, but in a manner that seemed to mean that he wanted you to be under the impression that he was fine. That he didn’t need you to sweep up the broken pieces of him and put them into the dustpan, because he had only ever tried being so defenseless with one other person before, and what had that gotten him? Bullshit…

You never pushed him, hoping with everything in you that he would absorb your words into his heart and come to you when the walls crumbled, but you had a feeling that the first cracks were forming in his foundation when this entire mess with Vecna started.

When you had stepped into Max’s hospital room together, hands interlocked, you almost felt his breathing catch as if you shared the same lungs. His palm stilled against your own, cold and clammy, and he was slinking away from you, back out the door you had barely stepped through to begin with. He was running down the hallway, towards the emergency fire exit at the very end, and you knew that the river was overflowing the dam.

“Steve, please–” you breathlessly call out to him, gaining a few confused glances from patients and visitors nearby, but he’s out the door before the words have fully fallen from your lips. Whether he’s ignoring you in the hopes that you turn away or he somehow just hasn’t heard you yet, you’re unsure.

Regardless, you’re still hot on his heels, your feet hitting the ground impossibly faster. The force of your speed causes them to go numb, nerves firing like you’re stepping on little knives, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on watching Steve’s hazy outline through the blurred windows to really notice. Everything in you hopes that his silhouette doesn’t get smaller – he’s not walking away into the parking lot, he’s not – and you must be really good at manifestations because your wishes somehow ring true. That, or maybe it’s the fact that you know Steve Harrington like the scenic backroads to your parents’ house.

You underestimate just how rapidly the door to the outside is approaching, too caught up in your own worry to think about your physical body. The breath is knocked out of your lungs as you collide with the exit, harsh metal bruising your hipbone as the force of your being sends the door flying open. Wincing and gasping for air, you wobble and step down onto the concrete landing below, eyes scanning for your boyfriend with the intensity of those futuristic pieces of spyware that Joyce Byers said local conspiracy theorist Murray Bauman owned. Maybe your eyes were as powerful as the spyware too, because you easily found Steve’s mop of ruffled-through hair even when it was barely visible over the stairs.

Posture slumped, a man – no, younger; he’s a helpless boy now, a boy who has bravely bitten off far more than he’s able to chew – with shaking shoulders, hollow and yet so unbearably full. His palms shield his face from the world, the only way he can go about holding himself up in this moment, and he caves in on himself, a statue who’s been pushed a little too far over the edge and who is now facing the irreparable consequences. Statues only are made for heroes, how did he end up with one anyway?

You tentatively approach him, walking a little over halfway down the staircase with each move forward feeling like a punch to the gut, and his despondence is like someone has taken your favorite sweater and tried to replace it, but the material isn’t as soft as before and the stitching on the inside isn’t in the same pattern. You stand three steps behind him – his shadow is on your shoelaces – and he says nothing. Three becomes two and two becomes one, and he says nothing. You sit down next to him, a gust of wind and your legs against the cool rock below making you shiver, and again, he says nothing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge that you’re there or that your breathing is still heavy from chasing him, and a pit begins to form in the most sensitive area of your stomach. The tides are receding and the morning skies are red – Steve Harrington is becoming a tsunami.

You, then, say nothing. You’re afraid to reach out to him, afraid he will turn away from your touch like he’s been burned, afraid that you’ll try to mend his heart and it will scurry away from you forever, and you love him. You love him so much that you can’t risk it – the prospect of loving him so much that it drives him away is your very own circle of Hell – so you sit and you say nothing.

Minutes pass, and the air feels like it’s rocky – you’re inhaling pebbles when you breathe. There seems to be a mountain between you – better yet, he’s at the top of the mountain and you’re a traveler without the proper gear to reach him – and you feel as though your hand would have to go through lightyears of space and time to brush upon his shaking arm. The silence doesn’t seem like it will let up, and you’re growing to think that maybe he won’t open up to you at all.

Steve’s position shifts – he buries himself further in his hands, somehow – and that almost gives you the impression that his body isn’t violently shaking. He talks then, moreso brokenly whispers, and if you weren’t right next to him then you might have mistaken it for the whimpering wind.

“I can’t go back in there.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to do next. Your most basic instinct in that moment is to wrap yourself around him like a warm coat, keeping him from the cold of the air and the cruel of the world, but you don’t even settle for resting a palm against his arm. Any move is a push too far when it comes to Steve Harrington and allowing himself to feel for once.

Instead, you pray that he continues on. To your luck, again, he does.

“I know they need me. The kids need me, Robin needs me…” His voice trails off, and he retreats from his hiding place between his hands. He doesn’t turn to you, but it’s a sign of acknowledgement that’s moving in the right direction, nonetheless. “She needs me. Max–” His voice cracks and he tries to cover his tracks by clearing his throat and biting his bottom lip, but you can already see the sheen of unfallen tears on his waterline.

All thoughts of moving too quickly thrown out the window, you shuffle closer and angle yourself so that your knees are inches away from one of his. The warmth from his body fades into yours, intermingles and creates a voluntary bubble of safety around the two of you, and you don’t stop your hand from reaching out and snaking its way down his forearm. A ghost against his skin, leaving goosebumps along your wake, you carefully interlock your fingers with his, and while he’s trembling and resistant at first – stoic – he seems to surrender to himself as his grip hardens against your own, leaving his knuckles white and your hand feeling a little cramped, but you know better than to say anything. Not now.

The reciprocation of his hand to yours settles his internal battle – it’s okay if he keeps going, keeps feeling – and so he finally lets out a long, quivering breath that is reminiscent of the steam above a volcano.

“I’ve already failed her once, and now I’m doing it again.”

The words are what you expected to hear from him, but that doesn’t mean that they make your airways feel any less constricted. Imagining the guilt that he must be carrying – the guilt of losing a friend, a sister, almost a daughter – somehow is more painful than when you collided with the heavy hospital door a few minutes ago.

Everything is suddenly too real. Just days ago you felt like you were on top of the world with your plans to take down Vecna, overconfidence being the sunlight that kept all of you on your toes, and now you were here. Here, with several of your friends gone and one on the verge, skirting the veil between life and death, and you hadn’t really had time to process it all until now. With Steve’s fear and guilt and grief bleeding into you via osmosis of the hand, reality is finally settling in.

It was easier to pretend that none of this was real when you were packing up all of your things to move into Steve’s – all of you had seen the empty ground where Vecna’s gunshot-riddled body should have been, so Steve wasn’t going to have you living in your place alone, even if it meant there was a minuscule chance his parents came back to awkwardly find you there – and it was easier to pretend that nothing had changed when you went to volunteer at Hawkins High, mindlessly going back over the clothes your boyfriend had folded to make sure that they were presentable. The days after the rift was created between Hawkins and its Upside Down counterpart were hazy; it was as if everything before had been some fever dream that all of you had shared, and your schedule was so busy with volunteering and moving that you didn’t have time to fret or to try and tackle what had happened and how that had made you feel.

Everyone had spent those first few nights in sleepless petrification. Joyce hadn’t surprised the group by returning and recovering Hopper yet, and Jonathan and Argyle were still making their way back to Hawkins with El, Will, and Mike. The party was broken, in more ways than one, and so everyone who remained stayed together.

None of you even bothered with packing up night bags or suitcases – truthfully, no one knew when you would all be returning home – and none of you complained when Steve led the rest of you back to his place on foot, ushering you inside the door with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Max had already been transported to the hospital then, and while Lucas had traveled with her initially, they sent him home after she went into emergency surgery. The home he went back to was Steve’s, and those who were inside – Robin, you, Steve, Erica, Dustin, and Nancy – greeted him with heavy embraces and unspoken solemnity. No one spoke at all that night; rather, everyone piled up on extra mattresses and couches in the living room and huddled together as the TV displayed movie after movie. Each time one went off, Steve got up to find another one to put in the VHS.

Once an old helicopter from Russia and a pizza van from California touched Indianian soil, the family reunion had begun. Some victories and losses were shared with one another, but certain topics remained unmentionable. Max. Eddie. Their names were like lava on your tongues, and saying them meant that it was real – Vecna was still out there and he was real, several innocent people had died and had been declared missing since the rift had opened and that was real, and just as Max was finally becoming more forgiving with herself, she was gone again, and that was real too. It was too much all at once, too much for a group of children who had somehow fought for the world and won, even on more than one occasion, and so, however wrong it may have been, you couldn’t dare utter a word.

It was still too soon when Wayne Munson touched his nephew’s missing persons poster at Hawkins High, but Dustin was more brave than anyone else and stepped forward. The rest of you watched with grief-stricken hearts as he stood up for one of his best friends and role models, and while you couldn’t say everything that Dustin did because the words wouldn’t stop getting caught in your throat, everyone else did give Eddie’s poor uncle the reassurance that his nephew was, in fact, innocent, and was, unfortunately, a hero.

It was still too soon when the hospital rang Steve Harrington’s house to let Lucas Sinclair know that Max Mayfield was now allowed to have visitors, but you all piled into Steve’s BMW anyway and rushed to the hospital. Steve broke several traffic violations and there were so many people in his car that you were genuinely shocked you could all fit, but none of that mattered. It was almost as if your chance to see her would be gone if you were even a fraction of a second too late, and none of you were willing to take that chance.

Despite how quickly you all bombarded into the hospital and into Max’s room, your feet never once hit the ground. You were walking on air, somewhere far above the earth that was dreamy and made your head spin, and all of that crashed and burned the second that Max’s mother opened the door.

The severity of your situation was so dark, so desolate that it took Steve Harrington’s hand squeezing the life out of yours and the declarations of exclamatory guilt coming from his lips to get you to finally adjust to how things would have to be from now on. The crushing weight of it all brought bile to your throat, and you subconsciously returned Steve’s death grip on your fingers.

“She relied on me.” You can hear Steve talking, you can still feel him right next to you, but you’re still floating. You’re still trapped in some kind of daze, and his words only make your chest ache with loss. “She relied on me, and I let this… I didn’t do anything to stop it. I promised her I’d make sure she’d be okay. I promised her that she would make it out of this.”

The pain and guilt of Steve’s voice goes right to your gut, making you feel more nauseous than the chemical scent of the hospital ever had, and dizziness overtakes your body despite the fact that you’ve been sitting entirely still.

Even in his current state, your boyfriend takes notice of the way your palms grow more shaky and rigid. By habit, he turns to direct his gaze towards you – always more concerned about anyone other than himself – and you have one small moment of eye-contact, a glistening of pain and anxiety and understanding between the two of you, before a single tear escapes the confines of Steve’s pretty brown eyes and he panics.

His stare widens impossibly further and he’s too quick to turn away, to shut down anything that might follow afterward. His head shoots away, focus lingering on some wilting bushes that are to his left – any scene without you is suddenly of intense interest – and gradually his body shifts away as well, his knees no longer parallel to your own. A gap is left on the concrete stairs between you, and just the sight of it makes you feel colder than you did when the unrelenting wind previously froze you to the bone. The gap doesn’t just freeze your bones, it erodes them too.

Steve takes what you can only assume to be an attempted deep breath, but he seems to be too forceful and instead lets out a strained half-gasp, half-cough. Sniffles and the sound of poorly restrained tears ring throughout you like a church bell, and you snap out of your stupor as your protective nature kicks into overdrive. You want nothing more than to whisper your mantras of love and reassurance to him, a hand snaking up to groundingly, softly, curl the delicate hairs on the back of his neck around your fingertips, but you hesitate. Again.

“You can… uh, go back inside now,” Steve says, so quiet that a ladybug landing on a four leaf clover would have been an explosion in comparison. The only reason you hear him at all is because the breeze carries his voice over to you like one of the gruesomely thoughtful dead mice a beloved pet cat would leave on your doorstep at midnight.

In another situation, you may have laughed out loud at his suggestion, but you know the significance of this moment. You know that things are delicate, as is Steve’s relationship with emotions, so you settle for subtlety, a choice that you’re hoping lets him know that you aren’t trying to be pushy, you aren’t trying to push him to the point of driving him away. Truthfully, the very last thing that you wanted to do was leave him, and you hoped with everything in your soul that he felt the same.

“I could,” you say, voice soft and matching his from before, quiet enough to be spoken between the two of you only – not even the swaying oak tree nearby can hear the words exchanged among you like a sacred secret. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

Your carefully chosen words imply more, other things you wanted to tell him on the tip of your tongue – I know you need me, I want to be here now and always, I want to be the one you go to forever, please let me. You’re all too aware that his previous offer for you to go back inside was more – that it was his way of letting you know that you can go back, back to the way things were before, when he hadn’t been vulnerable like this – and you hope that your answer speaks the same riddles he does, only in reverse.

Steve says nothing, which might be alarming any other time, but he hasn’t made any other covert suggestions about how you should be reacting to this situation, so you take that as the small victory that it is. His shoulders quivering, he still keeps his back to you, clearly not quite ready for facing you head on, and you ever-so-gently bring one of your hands to his back, hoping and praying that it isn’t too much too soon. His walls fall one at a time, castle crumbling brick by brick, and you hope that he’s let his guard down enough to finally let you comfort him. You’ll dig him out of the rubble and debris every damn time; you’ll be his knight in shining armor if he’ll let you.

The muscles in his back tense a little, making you hold your breath for what feels like ages, already expecting him to turn to you, a teary smile on his face as he tells you that he’s fine, he was just being silly, and aren’t you ready to go back inside now? like he’s said in the past. Like when you accidentally stumbled into the bathroom that first night, when he was wiping tears from his eyes in front of his aged, rusting sink. You couldn’t help thinking he was like that sink then, looking broken down and far too old for his true age, and the thought of seeing him like that again is enough to send a cold chill through your chest. Everyone knows what too much rust does to something – it corrodes and eats away at the source until nothing’s left – and it was with cruel irony that the very image of that happening to your ever-loving boyfriend made you feel like something was eating away at you.

You’re so in your head with worry that you barely notice that Steve hasn’t shrugged your hand away. You shake yourself out of your spiraling thoughts, away from the shock that fights for you to freeze up in uncertainty, and decide to test the waters. Your fingers trace small shapes into the material of his yellow sweatshirt like you’ve imagined doing thousands of times before, their movements a bit stiff and awkward but neither of you seem to care. Steve seems to relax into your touch, feeling his body loosen right under your palm in such a way that makes your heart partially melt – both at being capable of being able to do that for him and also because it was you that was calming him down, not someone else.

Even if it was only miniscule, to be the one to provide him a sense of comfort was an honor. Still, though, you don’t plan on moving away until he’s either all cried out or he asks you to back off. While you’d prefer the former, just this moment in itself is proof that you’ve made progress, and you’ll accept any kind of growth at this point, even if it means you don’t get the chance to hold him in your arms like you know he deserves. One step forward may be twenty steps away from that – your perfect fairytale ending where you can finally share the burdens that Steve has been carrying solo for far too long – but you’ll take ninety more days like this as long as Steve’s finally letting himself feel something.

A choked up sob escapes his throat, a noise that simultaneously relieves you and takes a chunk of your heart from your chest and stomps on it. If you really focus on the sound of him crying, on the way his body uneasily shakes, you begin to feel your own eyes prickle with the potential of unshed grief. Your first instinct is to shove it away, to try and be a rock for the utterly drained man next to you, and maybe it’s the exhaustion eating away at you post interdimensional battle – or maybe it’s just the heat of the moment – but, regardless, you let down the barriers and allow teardrops to cascade down your cheeks.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice you’re crying with him until he hears you loudly sniffle, and in his haste to check in on you, he forgets about his emotional hesitancy. His body shifts back towards you, a small sense of warmth crossing over your legs as his knee gently knocks into yours. His eyes scan carefully over your face, his eyelashes wet and clumped together and his eyelids slightly swollen and tinted pink.

“You’re even pretty when you cry,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips before you can even think about having said them, and it takes a second for you to truly understand that you’ve spoken out loud rather than harmlessly thinking it to yourself.

You’re not sure how you expect Steve to react, but what you don’t anticipate is the soft and intrusive blush that begins to creep onto his cheeks. Gaze diverted to the ground, he takes in a long, deep inhale of air before quietly replying with a bashful, “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t have to explain that, you know he’s talking about his vulnerability with you, and you instantly shake your head at him, the shine of the sun showcasing the half-dried and abandoned trek his tears fell from. With the burning light directly behind him, casting his brown hair a few shades lighter and leaving behind a residual warm yellow glow, he looks like a fallen god.

“Don’t be.” Your hand slinks away from his back and down to where his hand rests upon the concrete, and when you take it into yours, you feel the indents of the rock and gravel below in his palm. “Remember what I said before?”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to scold me about it.” The sprinkle of playfulness in his tone takes you by surprise, and you’re relieved to spot the edge of his lips tilted up into the tiniest of smiles. Despite all the horrific events of the past few days, Steve Harrington can still have a smile on his face, and that makes you feel like maybe everything else is going to end up alright.

As abruptly as it was there, however, it’s gone, and your boyfriend’s voice is back to the quiet hoarseness of before.

“It’s just…” He trails off, features scrunched up as he appears to be struggling with words. Luckily for him, you know him better than the flavors of ice cream you had to painstakingly memorize when you were merely coworkers at Scoops Ahoy.

“Hard, I know,” you say, finishing his sentence for him. “But I’m happy you let me in. Even if it was only for a little while.”

Steve shifts to form eye contact with you, his own gaze softened as he drinks in your words, the gentleness of your hand, and everything about you. For the first time in his life, he finds true trust in another person. Your little smile holds a kind of affection that’s almost dizzying, the kind of dedication one only sees in those horribly cheesy romance movies he’ll never admit he likes watching with you, and he feels like being next to you, showing even the tiniest sliver of his pain to you, is like a baby being swaddled into a security blanket.

He stays silent, overwhelmed with his onslaught of adoration for you, and the two of you let the moment pass just like that. Hands entangled, gazes interlocked, and thoughts filled with nothing but one another, the comfortable silence filled with words unspoken but understood between you.

You know better than to bring up his guilty confessions from before. Your conversation has shifted and you’re afraid to backtrack, afraid that doing so might result in him hiding away from you again, so you decide to let it go. Even though the only thing you want to do is relieve his pain, reassure him by telling him that he’s taken on too much – that the best course of action anyone can take for Max is being patient, having hope, and kicking Vecna’s ass – but you let it go for now.

“Thank you.” Steve breaks though the quietude to beam at you, grin still small but never any dimmer, and practically offers his heart to you alongside it. He’s more than certain that you’ll be careful with it, especially after today. He thinks that maybe he can get used to this, to being vulnerable with you and to seeing your pretty smile afterward, and he’s almost looking forward to it. Almost, but not quite.

The way he looks at you, so full of love that it’s more obvious than the answer to some elementary math problem, is nearly enough to bring you to tears again. Never in your life had you imagined finding someone so soft, so genuine and caring for everyone around him, and your chest is beginning to ache as it longs to beat directly next to his.

Consumed by this feeling, you reach out with your free hand and grasp the sleeve of your sweater into fisted fingers before using the plush material to wipe away what’s left of his breakdown. Your motions linger as you shake your sleeve back into its proper place and scoot closer to him, index and middle fingers rising and tracing along his cheekbone. You can’t help but get lost for a moment, sidetracked and taken into another world as you closely examine the smoothness of his skin, the tiny little freckles that are sparsely scattered onto the side of his face. You already knew they were there, of course, but you never get tired of finding them. Sometimes you wish you could thank whoever it was that painted them there.

Steve’s breath is warm against your chin, causing your stare to automatically flicker to his. You’re not surprised when you find that he’s been looking at you all this time, absorbing this memory with you while he can make it, but it still makes your lips upturn nonetheless.

“You ready to head back in there yet?” he asks, voice low and a tad bit teasing as his ego undoubtedly takes a boost from how unintentionally hypnotized he’s made you. “Those shitheads are probably losing their minds right about now. Think we’ve left and they’ve lost their ride home or something.”

His joking tone is laced with worry; you both know that just talking about going in there means your minute of peace is over. You’ll be back into the throes of whatever new hell Hawkins endures next, back to living in uncertainty surrounding the safety of not only yourselves, but also your friends. It was true that people had been dying this whole time, the years being tainted with the blood of those like Barb who never really had a chance, but this was your first real taste of a different kind of loss. A kind of loss that’s more than just being sympathetic or upset for a few days; the kind of loss that’s felt in the absence of people at birthday parties, in the way that sometimes conversation seems normal until there’s a lull that should’ve been where someone else was cracking a joke. It’s the kind of loss that you can’t ignore because it’s felt everywhere, and just the minor glimpse of it that you’ve caught in the past few days has you feeling terrified.

You’d always naively thought that you and your friends were safe, untouchable, too relevant to the status of Hawkins and the world at large to be taken from this world. Eddie and Max had proven your beliefs wrong, and that meant that no one was really safe at all. Vecna could and would strike again, and it was only a matter of time before you’d be walking on eggshells and avoiding stepping on the vines of the Upside Down again.

A flash of yellow and a hand being offered out to you snaps you back into reality. You weren’t even aware Steve had gotten onto his feet and was no longer sitting next to you, no longer tracing his fingers on the delicate skin of the back of your palm, but you don’t get caught up in that.

Instead, you accept your boyfriend’s outstretched hold and let him help you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly, halfway numbed from lack of movement, but Steve’s right there by your side, iron grip on your hand like he’s seconds away from rushing forward to catch you, if necessary. You don’t need it this time – your body comes back to life quite quickly, leaving you with legs again in replacement of the jelly-like limbs you had prior – but something in the gleam of his eyes and the sureness of his hold tells you that he’ll be there to catch you next time and the time after that too.

You give his hand a small squeeze, noticeable enough to act as the okay to start heading back inside, and when he squeezes back, you know that you’ve got one another. Both physically and emotionally. The next move from Vecna is inevitable, but you feel a little more certain about things like this, fingers intertwined and with souls that you chose to be twisted together. When misfortune strikes again, Steve will be there to hold you close, and you’ll be more than willing to do the same for him. You know there’s years of trauma and pain that he hasn’t shown you, hasn’t yet informed you of, and you look forward to the days when he decides to open up. As long as he keeps letting you wipe the residue of his tears away with your sweater sleeves, of course.

#stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things four #stranger things 4 #st #st4 #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #lovely requests #dear anons

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theemmtropy · 1 year ago

Text

Beard Care, a Gale x Transmasc!Tav fanfiction

Rating: T, for implied sexual feelings. Nothing explicit!

Tags: Domestic, wholesome, transmasc/trans man Tav, second person POV, supportive Gale, facial hair shaving, shaving with straight razors

Summary: Gale shows you how to care for your new beard, reassuring you that he loves you for who you are. [This takes place after you return home with him.]

Yall know this meme:

In my head, this is that, but mlm and trans.

Read here, or on AO3. Hope you enjoy!

Adventuring has had its costs, but in the end, it has been worth it. Thanks to the generosity and gratitude of those you’ve helped, you’ve finally saved up enough money to begin transitioning with the magic potions available in Waterdeep. And the potions have been working wonders.

You wake up in the late morning, the bed cold beside you. Gale keeps odd hours, sometimes staying up late into the night- or waking up incredibly early- to work on a spell or ritual that has occurred to him. You don’t mind, as you often disappear into your own study to work on your own projects throughout the day. You two are alike in that regard: you’re secure enough in your relationship to know that even when you’re not spending time together, you’ll still be excited to share your work at the end of the day.

Getting up, you head to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed. To your delight, your scruff is starting to grow into a fuller beard, and you realize that you can ask Gale for advice on keeping it neat.

After getting dressed, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen to find your partner attempting to make pancakes- attempting being the key word.

“I don’t understand, what’s the difference between regular flour and bread flour?” You hear him mutter under his breath.

“Protein content, babe,” you answer, causing him to jump with surprise.

“Good morning love, didn’t hear you come in,” Gale says with a smile. “I’m afraid you’re out of flour…” He gestures to his apron and the floor, both of which are covered with all-purpose flour. An overturned mixing bowl rests on the floor as well, with little cat pawprints indented into the soft white dust.

“I take it Tara got a little antsy?” You ask, getting a broom and dustpan and sweeping up the majority of the mess.

“She thought she saw a mouse,” he responds, chuckling. “I intended to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but I suppose it’s too late for that now.”

You shrug. “It’s okay, I can just make us some Baldurian toast. But first,” you grab his hands and put them on either side of your face. “Feel.”

Gale looks confused at first, then a huge smile breaks across his face. “Tav! Your beard is coming in! Actually from the feel of it, it’s here! Oh how wonderful.”

He gives a kiss to both of your cheeks, and you feel your heart swell. Gale has always been supportive of your transition, had even helped you find a hospital that would sell you the potions needed. When you had first met, you’d been scared that he would find you weird, abnormal. But he’d never treated you any differently than he treated the rest of the party, had always given you respect- and once you’d started your relationship, more than respect. There is no doubt in your heart: Gale loves you for who you are.

“I have a favor to ask, before I get to breakfast,” you say. “Would you help me shave? I want it to look nice, groomed- like yours.”

“Well, I’m quite flattered- though not surprised- that my careful trimming has inspired you in your journey,” he responds, standing up straight and showing off his facial hair.

You laugh and roll your eyes, as he removes his dirty apron and sets it on the dining table. He then leads you back to the bathroom. There, he produces a straight-edge razor and shaving cream. “Now, do you want to do it yourself whilst I instruct you, or do you want me to shave you so you can see what it’s supposed to look like?”

You think about his hands on your face- his gentle, steady, lithe, practiced fingers. A thrill runs through you. “I want you to do it.”

He gives a mock bow. “Your wish is my command.”

You sit on the edge of the tub while Gale fetches a chair from another room. Then, once he’s sat opposite you, he lathers up the shaving cream and applies it to one side of your face. “I’m going to do one side at a time, so I can keep a grip on your face,” he explains, then brings the razor to your skin and gently- but firmly- begins his process.

“Now I will say,” he continues as he works, “I didn’t always know what I wanted to do with my beard. I tried a goatee, that was atrocious. I tried just a mustache, but it made me look too pretentious.”

You try not to laugh, worried about getting cut if you move too much. His free hand holds your head at an angle, his fingertips firm against your jaw and the base of your skull. He is so close, his eyes peering at every detail of your skin.

“I eventually found a balance and shape that followed the angle of my cheekbones, while not disrupting the balance of my facial features.” With this, he completes the one side, wipes any residue off, and then applies more cream to the other side.

You turn your head obediently, which prompts him to murmur, “Yes, good boy.” Your body heats up upon hearing this, but Gale doesn’t even seem to realize that he said it; his brow is furrowed in concentration, eyes never leaving your face.

After finishing the other side and wiping it off, he traces a finger under your chin, down your neck. “Shaving this part is optional, I often just leave it, but I can get it for you, if you want?”

In answer, you lift your chin, craning your neck back to stretch the skin out for him. Gently, he applies more cream, and then places a hand at the bottom of your neck, grasping ever so slightly to keep you still. The cold of the razor sends a shiver down your spine as you feel him draw the blade up your neck, stopping only when getting to the underside of your jaw. Then he repeats the process until your neck is clear of hair.

Wherever Gale’s hands touch, you feel your skin spark with life, with need. If he knows the effect he’s having on your body, he doesn’t indicate it. “There,” he says, pulling away once he’s finished. “Let me get you a damp cloth to rinse your face off, then you can have a proper look in the mirror.”

Your skin turns cold as he removes his hands, and you sigh, wishing the moment could have lasted longer. But when he returns with the washcloth, you quickly wipe your face, eager to see the results.

Standing up and looking in the mirror, you see yourself staring back, as always, but this time you feel more… you. Your eyes well up with tears of joy as you gaze at yourself, until you notice Gale staring at your reflection as well.

“You look quite dashing,” he says warmly. “Though, I’ve always thought so, of course. How else would you have been able to seduce me?” He adds playfully.

You crack a grin at him. “Why, I would have seduced you with all your favorite foods, naturally. Speaking of, I believe I promised you Baldurian toast?”

“Before we get to that,” he says, voice growing lower. “I can think of another intimate activity we should do first.”

You match his stare; there is a hunger in it, but not a hunger for food. “I believe I can think of one, as well.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 gale fanfiction #bg3 gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #trans #queer #queer fanfiction #my stuff

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ultimateluckystudent-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Tear You Apart (Piece You Together)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Your obsession with Komaeda Nagito is getting out of hand. The other inhabitants of Jabberwock Island are beginning to notice, you're stealing more and more obvious things, and one lie just leads to another. When the subject of your affection comes to visit your cottage while you're… busy, you struggle to keep yourself in check and hide the extremely incriminating evidence- a pair of his boxers.

Word Count: 8.5

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It wasn’t like you were trying to eavesdrop on Nagito and Kazuichi’s conversation.

“So like, er… are you hittin’ that?”

Really, you would have eavesdropped on any conversation Nagito was having.

“What?”

But of course, this was certainly of interest to you.

“Ugh, come on man, you can admit it to me. Are you like, getting some?”

“...I thought I knew what that meant, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Whatever! We all see you two hanging out like, all the time. Everybody else can barely even talk to you guys.” Kazuichi’s huff made your shoulders slump with relief. ‘Good, they are talking about me. I was almost worried for a second.’ Kazuichi’s voice got quieter, and you had to take a careful step further around the corner of the dining room to keep an ear out, shifting the stack of plates in your hands so they wouldn’t clatter together as you leaned forward. Despite his hushed tone, you could still detect a distinct note of giddiness. “So like… where have you guys done it?”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Nagito laughed. You could picture the look on his face clearly. You almost wanted to take a peek. The furrowed eyebrows and smile that placated any denial he needed to give. “(L/N)-san and I aren’t together in any sense.” ‘I wish that he’d let someone get the wrong idea even once! He denies it every single time… Is it because it’s me? Do I disgust him? Have I not noticed that I’ve been bothering him this whole time? Could he-’ “I couldn’t take advantage of her kindness anymore. I hope the rest of you don’t actually have that idea, I wouldn’t want to sully her reputation anymore.” ‘Oh. That’s all. What a sweetheart, even now he’s thinking about me. But… that’s kind of a shame. I wish he’d let himself have something one of these days.’

“Just shut up already! If you don’t wanna admit it that’s fine.” Kazuichi sounded distinctly like it wasn’t fun. “But dude, you know what they say. Don’t stick your dick in crazy.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“She just kind of seems like a psycho bi-”

You took one of the plates and dropped it on the floor. It shattered on the floor and startled the other two. You busied yourself trying to recover the pieces and look distressed. When the boys approached from around the corner, you let out a squeak. Nagito looked a bit guilty, but Kazuichi looked like he was going to die. Nagito moved quickly to your side, extending his hands to take the plates from you. You handed them over. While he was busy trying to balance the new weight, you made sure to send a glare over at Kazuichi, who paled.

“I’m, um, gonna go get a dustpan.” You said to Nagito quietly when he had a handle on them. “I was just gonna return those to the dining room… sorry…” You quickly scurried off, heading to the kitchen where the broom was stored. When you returned, they were back in conversation, though Nagito looked notably less pleased. He had set the plates down by now. You suppressed a grin as you came back to sweep up the glass quickly, making sure to keep your head down.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” Nagito said, “I can take it from here-”

“No, no, it’s- it’s alright.” You didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll just do it really quickly and, um, let you guys continue on with your conversation.” You felt the temperature on the tropical island drop about five degrees.

“...(L/N)-san-”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad!” Kazuichi insisted. “I just- uh- I was just telling Komaeda here that, er- well, that the others are- that I-”

“It’s alright!” You finished up as quickly as you could. “Alright, just gonna… go… toss these-” You felt Nagito’s eyes on you as you left. ‘Good.’ You hummed a tune as you left, but it quickly died in your throat as you tossed the shards into a bin. ‘Who the fuck does Soda think he is? ‘Psycho bitch’? I can’t believe he’s going around saying that shit to Nagito. I wonder if the others are talking about me like that… he didn’t seem too surprised by the conversation… does he know?’

You realized you were gripping the flimsy, plastic handle of the dustpan so hard it was starting to bend. You put it back in its place with a huge sigh. ‘Great. And now I need to go let off some steam. We’re probably almost done collecting and cleaning for the day anyway, by the way Nagito and Soda weren’t doing anything. What an idiot, distracting Nagito like that-’ You walked the short distance back to your cabin quickly.

You didn’t waste time when you got there. Your pulse was already starting to quicken just thinking about what awaited you in your room. You locked the door behind you. Nobody ever came in anyways, of course, but it was a force of habit by this point. You opened the bottom drawer of your bedside drawer, almost full now like your perfect treasure chest.

It was littered with different things you’d taken from or had been gifted by Nagito. His hair ties, gifts from the Monomono machine, trip tickets you’d collected over the weeks. It all sat in the drawer. At the top, however, was your crown jewel, your most treasured possession. You’d only acquired it yesterday, but there was no doubt it was your favorite of all.

You bit your grinning lip and pulled out Nagito’s grey and white checkered boxers. You let out a giggle as you settled into bed. The blinds were always drawn. Nobody would come get you until dinner in a couple of hours. You had all the time you needed with your indulgence. You got comfortable within your pillows and spread your legs. Your hand drifted down to your panties, stroking the length of your panties, teasing yourself as you finally pulled his underwear to your face and inhaled deeply.

You’d been planning your acquisition of this garment for days. Finally, after collecting at the beach, Nagito had gone to take a shower before dinner. When he came to the table, hair still a bit damp, you knew what to do. You ‘accidentally’ tipped a glass of water all over his lap, drenching his pants just enough for him to go need to go change. Once he came back, you traded out with him. You’d opened his door right up- he never bothered locking it, you knew that well- and pulled the underwear right off of the top of his laundry basket, still wet.

You had gotten lucky. His underwear was still sweet with the scent of his citrusy soap, but he’d been wearing them just long enough that his musk clung to the fabric. You moaned into the cloth. Heat flared at once deep in your stomach. ‘This is what he smells like. Oh God, he smells so fucking good.’ You buried your face within the fabric as you hurriedly tossed your panties somewhere off to the side. Your fingers slid down to circle your clit, not waiting long at all before setting a quick, furious motion. You couldn’t waste any more time. You didn’t want to. You knew it wouldn’t be long before you were soaking wet anyways.

Your mind wandered immediately to what you wished you had done yesterday. You wanted to follow him back to his cabin, to watch him strip as you had done before. To watch him tug off his clothes, to see the annoyed expression on his face you saw so rarely, the one you found immensely sexy, the one that made you want to knock on his door and beg him to face-fuck you. You pictured your mouth taking his cock as deep as it could go, your nose pressed against his skin, his hand in your hair pulling you as far as you could go. ‘Would it be like this?’ It felt almost overwhelming already. You dipped your fingers a bit into your entrance, slicking them up before continuing to rub at your clit. The electric jolts of pleasure made your breathing erratic. You almost wanted to slow down, to keep your gasping to a minimum, so you wouldn’t waste any breath through your mouth.

“Nagito…” You mumbled into the fabric. You had enough practice to keep it down. “Nagito, Nagito, Nagito,” You chanted, again and again. You had figured you could keep your obsession at bay with each item you collected, but instead, it only grew by the day. It didn’t help that Kazuichi had been right- you sunk your claws into any time Nagito had. You’d hoped, at first, that some side of him you wouldn’t like would reveal itself. The more time you spent with him, however, the more you liked him- including the bits that the others on the island, the others that had once been in his lonely life, had been uncomfortable with. Your hole was beginning to ache with a need to be filled. You slipped your fingers inside yourself, muffling your whimpers with his underwear.

You pictured his own bony hands filling you on the same stupid beanbags in the library where you’d gotten him to compare hands with you. His cold fingers extended way past where yours went. It had taken all of your willpower not to lace yours within his, not to beg to warm his up, not to press them against your chest and ask him to feel how hard your heart was beating-

There was a knock at the cabin door.

You groaned again, though now out of frustration. You didn’t even bother moving from the bed.

“Who is it?” You called out.

“Um, it’s Komaeda, I just-” He didn’t have time to finish before you were a flurry of clothes and excitement unlocking your door.

“Komaeda-kun,” You smiled, opening up to see him. He seemed surprised. You didn’t know why. “What’s up?”

“Oh. Hello.” He blinked blankly. He shook his head and recovered. “I just… I wanted to apologize for what you heard earlier…” He scrutinized your face. You felt self-concious all at once. ‘Do I have something on me? Should I be wearing more makeup?’ “...are you alright?”

“What?”

“You’re flushed.” He said. “You look rather warm. I haven’t really seen you all day, are you coming down with a fever?”

“Will you check?” You blurted, before you could stop yourself. Luckily, he didn’t seem to think much of it. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. His hand was a cool relief against your heated skin. You leaned into his touch. His hand moved from your forehead to your cheek, your neck-

“You feel warm.” He frowned. “Were you exercising by any chance?” His eyes glanced back around your room. You had gotten so caught up in his touch and worry you’d forgotten about the sight you’d left the place. It was too late by the time you watched his eyes do a double take on something. Fear clenched your gut all at once, sucking any happiness out immediately.

“I can explain!” You half-shouted, head whipping around. Though it was mostly obscured in a mess of blankets and pillows, you could see the pair of boxers peeking out from underneath it all. “I-”

“I don’t think you need to explain.” He laughed. Your head whipped just as fast back around, more than confused. “The state of your room is none of my business.” You blinked. ‘Did he… not see?’ You glanced back at your room, now sure that he hadn’t seen what you were worried about. Your gaze landed on your pair of panties, thrown haphazardly on the ground.

‘Crap.’

“...unless you need help?”

“What?” You blinked at him. ‘’Help’? Is he able to tell? Surely he’s not offering-’

“If you ever need help tidying your room while you’re sick, I would be more than happy to assist you.” He cocked his head. “You can tell me if you want me to leave while you don’t feel well, though. You seem to be spacing out.” You couldn’t for the life of you figure out if you were imagining the slight smile playing at the edges of his lips. You swallowed. It wasn’t a good idea to think about his lips too hard while he was right here.

Your rational thought was occupied thinking about Nagito’s soft looking lips. Your voice and impulses jumped at their chance.

“Actually, I could use your help with something. Do you wanna come in for a moment?”

The look on Nagito’s face made you more sure that he did know what you had been doing, and he really was teasing you. The thought alone made you clench your thighs as subtly as you could manage. It was clear he hadn’t actually expected to be invited inside.

“Um, of course.” He swallowed hard. You watched his prominent Adam’s apple bob. You pictured sinking your teeth into it, taking a bite. You stepped back into the room to let him in. You knew he wouldn’t deny you. You knew he wouldn’t ever deny you. He took a tentative step in the room. He’d been in here before, but they were quick visits, to pick up or drop off stuff for collections. Never as your company. You hoped he could feel the tension in the air, too, as you shut the door behind you. He toed off his shoes. You watched his long, gangly legs move ungracefully as he did so. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You resisted the urge to laugh at the sight of your deep infatuation in zipper shoes. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. You wanted him so badly.

“What is it that you need?” He asked. He seemed to have put away any illicit ideas. He looked completely innocent. Curious, even. Like a child seeing a butterfly for the first time. You stared at him for a long moment. His calm demeanor cracked and faltered. He picked at his cuticles absent-mindedly, a nervous tic you’d seen many, many times.

You broke the silence suddenly. “Could you help me change my fitted sheet?”

“Of course.” He fell back into ease at once. He had always been good at recovering from sudden changes. “I have trouble with mine as well. I don’t look forward to changing it. Where do you keep your-”

“Over there.” You pointed at your closet, behind him. “At the very top. Would you mind grabbing them for me? I can’t reach without standing on a chair.” He chuckled softly.

“Yes, I can picture that.” He turned and walked towards it. At once, you dove to scoop up the two pairs of underwear lying about your room, throwing them under the bed in a panic. You were just barely ready when Nagito turned back around with an unopened package of sheets.

“Thank you.” You beamed.

“It’s my pleasure.” He glanced at the bed. He was standing right next to where his underwear had been. “Should I take them off?”

“What?” ‘Yes. Whatever it is, yes.’

“Your sheets and pillows. What should I do with them?” He looked at you, that wide-eyed, patient look just like earlier. The absurdity of the situation hit you. You hadn’t expected that the activity you’d coerced Nagito into doing with you involving a bed was making it.

“You can just throw them on the floor.” You tossed some in suit. He followed along. A companiable silence followed. Your mouth felt dry. Doing something so comfortably with Nagito was more than nice, it was almost domestic. You worked easily together. Your mind swirled with fantasies of doing this every morning, of waking up next to him, of going to bed with him-

Nagito was looking at you expectantly again. You had missed what he was saying again.

“What?”

“I was just saying that I’m glad we’re making this comfortable for you- I think you should lie back down. I can bring you dinner and fluff your pillows if you’d like.” He smiled at you, a little too wide now. Another one of Nagito’s bad habits you adored- being subtle only when it could have made things more awkward.

“As long as you make sure to fan me with a palm leaf. I’d like my grapes peeled.”

He leaned across the bed towards you easily, tall as he was, propping himself up with a hand on the mattress. “And should I hand-feed them to you?”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek. His expression sparkled with humor. You wanted to feel those fingertips on your lips. You wanted that devotion he was just joking about. The moment lingered too long, even for him. He cleared his throat and backed up. It felt like a part of you had been ripped away.

You had finished pulling the comforter up. You started piling the pillows back onto the bed. Nagito seemed to be looking for something.

“Where’s the- ah, there it is.” Nagito dropped to his knees. Your attention was diverted at once. You were thankful it was when he began to peek under the bed. Fear spiked through your chest. You scrambled over the bed.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You cried. He popped up as you flew across, catching your foot in the sheets and then his shoulder in your hand- it was the last thing you saw before you were tumbling painfully forward and off the bed.

When you opened your eyes, you were on top of Nagito. You were so relieved he hadn’t looked for long you didn’t process this properly for a moment, but only for a moment. When you properly came to, you had to take in being pressed chest-to-chest on him on the floor. You pushed yourself up, slowly. One of your legs was between his. Your body hurt from the fall, but you paid that no mind.

He was more gorgeous underneath you than your blurry mental images could conjure. His hair splayed out playfully across your floor, intimately disheveled. His legs felt thin and bony against yours, but they were against yours. His mouth hung open, slightly agape, a pretty little o-shape. You watched him flush almost in real time.

“Is your head okay?” You finally managed. You could hear the waver in your voice, but couldn’t stop it. It was all too much. You wouldn’t be able to stop it.

“It- it will be-”

“Good, good,” You nodded, and then you were kissing him.

Maybe it was selfish, cupping his face like you did, trying to get a hold of everything you could in that moment. You were sure every ounce of desperation you felt went into that kiss. Your eyebrows furrowed and you tried your best to commit every detail to memory- the soft skin of his cheek underneath your hand, the smell of the soap that was familiar to you now, the sound of his jacket rustling underneath you- but instead, a bright, burning need took you over. One day, perhaps, you would stop underestimating the effect Nagito had on you, but today would not be that day.

So you continued kissing him, delighting in the fact that though clearly still confused, he was kissing you back. The most sadistic part of you (which often seemed to exist in perfect harmony with your undeniable obession) was particularly happy with the position. ‘He can’t pull away like this. He won’t push me back. If there’s any part of him that wants me- he can’t deny it now.’

You pressed another kiss- then another, and another- to Nagito’s lips. A small, creaky noise came from Nagito’s throat. Your heart lept. It seemed his hesitation wasn’t from disliking it. He simply didn’t know what to do. You moved your hand from his cheek and slid it down his arm, finding his hand. You grabbed it and pulled it to your waist at once. ‘You can touch me, you can do anything.’ His grip tightened on it at once. His own kisses came faster, less afraid. ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-’

You began to swipe your tongue gently across his lips. He opened his mouth tentatively. When you hummed a quiet noise of approval, the hesitation disappeared, replaced with marked eagerness. When your tongue met his, a shudder went through your body. He moved his against you, slipping it into your mouth in kind, excitedly and sloppily. His arms looped around the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Electricity buzzed along all of your nerves, your hair could have been standing on end and you wouldn’t have been surprised.

His deep, uneven breaths were a gorgeous tune. He was beginning to squirm a bit under you, a wiggle of his hips here, a move of the hand there. You, however, were sliding your hands all over his body quickly, groping and touching at anything you could reach. You dipped them just under the hem of his shirt, not wasting any time in tracing the prominent hip bone you found above his low rise jeans.

“Ah!” He gasped against your mouth. Your eyes flew open and met his. You scanned his face quickly, trying to assess the situation. But the heat, the desperation in his eyes- you knew that couldn’t have been born from a couple of stolen kisses.

The final dam broke.

“God, Nagito-kun,” You kissed quickly down his chin and to his throat. He bared such a vulnerable part of himself to you so easily, so deliciously, and shivered with each light peck. He was clearly sensitive to touch in general. “You- I want-” You fumbled with your words before deciding they would do you no good. With no warning, you ducked down and began to suck harshly at a spot on his neck.

You knew Nagito was a masochist. Even if you’d never heard his self-flagellation, the way he threw himself into situations that continuously upped the ante at times that would have otherwise been peaceful (you still refused to speak of the Watermelon Incident) made it clear that even subconciously, he was careless with himself. Hearing about his luck made him a ‘bit of pleasure with the pain’ type by trade.

But nothing prepared you for the noise he made as you marked him painfully.

“Mmnnah!” He cried out, limbs all clenching around whatever part of you they were nearest. “Ohh…” He pressed himself further against your mouth. How could you hope to deny him? You nuzzled deeper, sucked harder, anything to draw more of those beautiful sounds out of him. You moved down to the junction between his shoulder and neck and simply bit down, gently, then harder and harder-

“Yes, yes, oh!” He whined. “Mark me, use me as yours-”

“Does that feel good, baby?” You murmured against his skin. The vibrations of your own voice so closed against him tickled your lips. You skimmed your fingers across the skin of his stomach, up to his chest. His back arched into your touch. “You want more?”

“M- More?” He repeated, like the word was foreign to him. If you hadn’t been so intent on sucking another already deeply-colored, blossoming mark onto him, you might have backed up to see those wide eyes. You absent-mindedly had begun to buck your hips against his leg. You were getting so wet you could start to feel it between your thighs- of course, now it was also on Nagito’s thigh. Grinding against him, even like this, was heaven. The denim was rough against your sensitive skin but you couldn’t stop.

You moved your mouth around closer to the front of his throat, a spot that would have been completely visible. You teased him with a couple of light, feathery kisses before beginning to mark him once more. He hissed out his approval. “More,” You repeated, finally pushing yourseslf back off of him. You didn’t give him a moment to catch his breath before dragging and turning his skinny frame so you were both lying parallel to the bed. You didn’t have enough space for what you were planning before. He yelped out as you manhandled him into the right position, but he didn’t seem to mind- in fact, quite the opposite. He was looking at you a bit in awe. However, it really was no feat, Nagito was light putting it generously, and you were propelled by adrenaline.

You didn’t bother acknowledging this. Instead, you shoved the bottom of his shirt all te way up to his neck, completely exposing his torso. Despite having exposed it many times on the tropical island, Nagito squeaked and tried to curl up and hide hismelf a bit, and you still looked at him like it was the first time. His body was pallid and scrawny and littered with scars and burns here and there. Though, it was still rather unassuming. But the skin and the bones barely covered by it held the heart of the devoted, enthralling, blushing boy that you loved. You licked a stripe up right in the middle of his chest with a moan simply to taste his skin. You cherished the barely-there flavor of it, the warmth under your mouth.

You led a trail of open mouthed kisses down from just between the top of his ribs down to right above the top of his pants. You let out a shaky breath as you came face to face with the button on his fly. You could just barely see the bulge in his pants. ‘I guess I’ll have to help him along.’ You nuzzled your face against it lovingly, breathing in his musk. The smell was definitely more intense- and you loved it. Nagito’s hips jumped. He scrambled up a bit from the floor, sitting up and propping himself up with his elbows behind him. He looked at you with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“What are you doing?”

“You don’t want me to?” You palmed your hand against him. He whimpered at the touch.

“I- I do-”

“I know.” With that, you reached for his button and zipper and undid them, pulling his pants off as quickly as you could. Nagito squawked and fumbled clumsily to help you, but you had it. You tossed his jeans aside, his wallet chain clinking against your hardwood floor. Now he was laid before you in just his underwear and shirt. He looked innocent, delicate even.

“You’re so cute.” You giggled, settling yourself between his legs. “I could just devour you.”

“Wait, wait!” He covered himself with his hand. “I- I should be the one to- to do this to you- I can’t imagine an Ultimate-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” You huffed, rolling your eyes. ‘What, you’d let any of them do this to you? …I don’t wanna think about that. ’

“Alright… but, still, I, uh, I-” He stammered as you tugged at his underwear impatiently. “I should warn you-” His face was flaming red. He looked so mortified he was going to die. “I’m less than… impressive? I didn’t expect…” He didn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence.

You snorted. “Is that what you’re worried about?” You didn’t give him the opportunity to hesitate anymore. You pushed aside his hands and pulled off his boxers. You licked your lips in eagerness for the prize that awaited you underneath. “Aww, look at you!” You gushed, finally getting your awaited eyeful.

Nagito’s cock stood out just a few inches from his body. The small shaft was nestled in sparse, curly, white hair and atop a soft-looking sac. “Mmm, is this a part of your complexes?” You wondered aloud. He seemed too overwhelmed to speak. His creamy, white thighs were trembling around you. You pressed a gentle kiss to one, which only made the shaking worse. He was panting just looking at you between his thighs. You grinned up at him. “I haven’t even done anything yet. Are you this excited? You’re just a cute, little virgin aren’t you?” Your laughter was tinged with cruelty, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was so vulnerable and pathetic, spread out on your floor, looking like he was going to blow his load from just the way you were talking to him. You’d lick his wounds if need be.

When you wrapped your hand around him (the pink head of his cock barely poking out from above your fist), he breathed a whiny little keen. He didn’t stop making noises as you worked him slowly, stretching his foreskin back and forth over the head, which you watched, enraptured.

“Ultimate Lucky Student, huh?” You murmured. “Did they not take this into consideration?”

“I-“

With one swift motion, you opened your mouth and took him in completely. With an obscene moan, Nagito melted back into the floorboards. You could fit the entirety of his length down your throat comfortably, which you did for a long moment, savoring his taste and scent. You’d imagined it for what felt like so long, but the real experience was unimaginable. His hair tickled your nose and he filled you just the perfect amount and any thought except for sucking Nagito’s dick and having him lose himself in the pleasure.

“Oh… yes… God, yes…” Nagito cried out. It snapped you out of your daze enough for you to begin bobbing your head. You moved quickly, and with no extra length left ignored by your mouth, your other hands were free to rub along his thighs and grope his ass. Your legs rubbed together continuously, but even the burning feeling of want inside of you was left ignored.

You sucked your cheeks together so he would rub along them. You laved your tongue around him, trying to swallow up what was leaking from his dripping cock. You were quite literally drooling around him. When you lifted your head to catch your breath, strings of saliva remained attached between the two of you. The rapid pace and sloppiness of it all made the telling, indecent noises that came from a blowjob. But you didn’t care who might have heard. In fact, you wanted them to hear- you hoped everybody would hear what you were doing to Nagito, how he was reacting to it all. You hummed in your own pleasure and moaned around him. You wondered if he could feel how much you enjoyed it. He certainly would later.

“So good, so-” Nagito’s head tossed to and fro as he attempted to keep up with the sensations. “Ahh, ohh,” His legs squirmed and his hands gripped hard onto your shoulders. He seemed to avoid your hair, and the jerks of his hips that you knew were involuntary were halted midway through. ‘Still denying yourself, Nagito-kun?’ You decided to give him a bit of help. You reached and pulled his hands into your hair, one by one. When he finally gave a tug- experimental or accidental, you couldn’t tell- you hummed in approval. Slowly but surely, he became comfortable with the position. Or at least, lost enough control to stop himself.

“Mmnnhhhplease,” He was beginning to slur his words. You could tell he was about to finish. You were surprised he’d lasted the few minutes he had. You moved even faster. His moans got higher and higher, louder and louder. Finally, one of his hands left your hair. You peeked up curiously, doing your best not to stop or slow. He had placed his forearm over his eyes, a giant grin on his face. ‘He’s beautiful.’ You thought dreamily. You pushed through the soreness in your neck and back and continued on.

The hand still in your hand tensed, his hips stiffened, and there was a certain alarm in his jumbled words- but only for a moment before his cum flooded your mouth. You swallowed it down gratefully, reveling in the slightly-there salty flavor. As he finished, his moans became breathy laughter, and he was a vision that couldn’t even open or uncover his eyes, or do anything other than laugh.

You didn’t release him from your mouth until you could feel him getting softer and Nagito had begun to quiet down. Finally, you raised your head, making sure to suck any remaining cum up off his cock. He squeaked at the extra suction.

Nagito was huffing out tired breaths, his chest still heaving. He’d finally moved his arm. He was looking down at you, but he still seemed bewildered.

“You… could have spit it out. I wouldn’t have been offended. In fact, this was much more than I could-”

“Get on the bed.” You ordered, standing up. He blinked up at you. You offered him your hand. He took it and you pulled him up, only to push him back down onto the bed and climb back on top of him to straddle him. His eyes widened. One thing was clear: you weren’t done with him.

One hand reached down to stroke his cock again. You watched his expression carefully. His eyes rolled up and he bit his lip to hold back a squeak.

“I- I can’t- I’m sorry- it won’t- ah, ah, ohhhh-” His body was shaking. His cock twitched pathetically, but didn’t seem to be filling. Still, you beamed.

“That’s alright, I’ll help you out with that later. We can have fun other ways.” You let go of him and got up on your knees to pull up your skirt. Underneath was your pantiless pussy, which had slickened your inner thighs with a visible, shiny sheen. You bared yourself for his viewing pleasure. Nagito swallowed hard at the sight.

“Did I… am I… did I make you that w- wet?” His mouth stammered on the last word, unused to saying it or speaking like that.

You smiled lovingly at him and cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb along it. “Mhm. Do you like it?” He nodded quickly, frantically.

“Yes. Yes, yes, you’re incredibly beautiful.” He breathed, trying to sit up and get nearer. Despite it all, you felt yourself begin to blush. You scooted forward a bit, so your knees were on either side of his chest. Nagito was enraptured, not taking his eyes off of your bottom half. The look on his face was greedy, but it was clear he couldn’t name what for.

“Do you wanna kiss it?” You murmured. He looked up at you, as if to ask ‘really?’. “Go on.” Nagito sat up as much as he could, lids lowered and singularly focused. You pulled his head forward. You angled your hips so his expectant, open lips and slightly extended tongue made contact with your inner lips.

All your muscles relaxed. You sighed out in contentment, carding your fingers through his messy locks. His tongue was soft and hot against your sensitive flesh. He moved his mouth slowly as he really did press a long, lingering kiss to it, dragging the pad of his tongue along your clit. The electric feeling that went through you felt hot enough to burn. You realized he was looking up at you for guidance, mouth still pressed against you. The sight alone made you shudder with delight.

“Keep going.” You whispered. He obliged at once, dipping his tongue once more between your folds, licking up the length of them. You groaned, head falling back and hips rolling gently against his face. Nagito kept going, the sound of his sloppy, almost-kisses echoing through the room. Your mind began to blank once more as he explored you, repeating motions that made you moan particularly loudly until your legs felt wobbly. You propped yourself up with a hand on your headboard, bowing your back to watch him.

He tentatively rested his hand on your thigh, steadying himself so he could press his mouth closer and deeper. You realized that he must have been straining himself. You moved forward so that you were right above his face. You found that he looked quite at home underneath you with the pleading expression he was giving you. However, you remembered something as you took the sight of him in.

“Oh, that’s right! Lemme just-” You got off the bed and Nagito’s face, turning around off of him so you wouldn’t potentially hurt a hair on his head. You straddled him once more, but now you were facing towards his cock. Before you began to stroke his half-hard cock, you pressed yourself down onto his mouth, muffling his cries. His noises vibrated through you, a feeling that made you squeal and clench your thighs around him. Incidentally, your grip tightened around Nagito. His back bowed in front of you, and there was a steady vibration at his continuous whines.

“Good boy,” You panted, rocking your hips against his open mouth. “Good boy, good boy-” The excitement of the day was quickly catching up to you. After all this time waiting, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop from grinding quickly against Nagito’s tongue, his cock still in your unmoving hand. He was still doing his best to be obedient, laying it flat for you to use when it was clear he couldn’t keep up. Your free hand tore at your shirt, popping a button off or two in your haste to clumsily remove it alongside your bra. Your voice quickly grew louder and louder, and the ramshackle bed shook with your movements.

“Nagito, Nagito, Nagito,” You chanted his name like a prayer. Your eyes rolled back. You alternated between pinching and pulling at your nipples and running your hands down his stomach and hips, giving his cock the occasional stroke to coax it up once more. “Nagito!” Your hips didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, as you came. You dug your fingers into his sides, where your nails would surely leave marks. Your legs hugged either side of his face and body, and you ground down against his tongue through it. When you stopped moving, he licked at you slowly, ending at your entrance and circling around it.

“You keep that up and you’re gonna end up distracting me from the main event!” You palmed his cock, your hand easily enveloping it. You teased the head of it with your fingertips, making him mewl underneath you. You finally lifted yourself off of his face. His chest rose and fell harshly. You could feel his gasps, hot against your skin. You didn’t think you could ever get tired of watching his reaction. You moved to a spot next to him on the bed so you could see all of him once more.

“And here I thought you couldn’t go again.” You teased, running one fingertip from underside of tip to base. He looked alarmed. Or, as alarmed a clearly exhausted man could look.

He sat up slowly, like an old man with aging bones, but it was only his muscles that were weak. “I- I’m sorry- but I don’t think my pathetic body can-”

“You’re right, you look like you can barely stand.” You hummed pensively. Your hand did not stop its movement. Nagito’s sweaty forehead came to rest on your bare shoulder with a defeated, weak sort of noise. You were afraid he’d be able to hear the butterflies in your stomach swarming about. “So I’ll do all the work for you!” You beamed. You pushed him back into the bed, making sure to be gentle. It hadn’t taken much force at all.

“You’ll- huh? Uh-”

You ignored him as you slid off the bed onto the floor by the foot. ‘His neck is bruising beautifully.’ You thought cheerily. “Come closer, honey. I promise you won’t have to move any more after that.” You beckoned him. His blush reached the tips of his ears. He nodded wordlessly, his mouth pressed into a tight, abashed line.

He didn’t meet your eye as he slid himself down towards you. He didn’t seem to understand what you were about to do- but you didn’t blame him. If you had found out at breakfast what you were planning, and more importantly, about to actually do, you would have likely collapsed. “A little more- good boy.” As his legs came down over the edge of the bed, he began to move his knees to one side so as not to hit you. You chuckled. “No, no, not like that.” You grabbed his legs and spread them open. He yelped. “That’s better.”

Your mouth watered at the sight. You knew you were just moments away from something you had wanted for so long. You wanted to savor it, to mark his thighs with your mouth, to praise him until he couldn’t take it, to draw another orgasm from him- but you just couldn’t. Despite also having just cum, your insides burned and ached to be filled worse than you had ever experienced. Your mind felt hazy. Any conscious thought left concerned just how badly you wanted Nagito inside you.

With his legs open and inviting, it was easy to get close enough to slide his cock between your lips, even while standing. Nagito choked on his spit as he accidentally attempted to speak and gasp at once. You gave him a moment to recover, but it did nothing to deter your lust.

“Are you alright?”

“Mm- mhm!” He managed through coughs. You laughed fondly at him, just a bit.

When he’d finally stopped, you asked him another question, beginning to move your hips again. Your pussy and thighs slid around him, back and forth. “Does it- Does it feel good?” It was your turn to be embarrassed. Instead of coming out sultry and commanding, your own worry leaked into your stammered words. However, if Nagito noticed, he did an incredibly impressive job at pretending he didn’t.

He nodded frantically. His eyes were shut tight. “Uh-huh, yes, yes, it feels- you feel-” As he spoke, you continued to move your hips forward, and forward until- “Oh! Oh-” His cock slipped into your eager body. You didn’t stop, pushing yourself forward until you had taken all of him, and the front of both of your hips were pressed together. You watched him disappear inside of you.

You laid your hand down on his stomach delicately, half-afraid he would disappear beneath your fingertips. Your eyes finally flickered up his body and to his face. He looked up at you through lowered lids. It startled you a bit when you realized there was something in there you didn’t recognize, something that made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.

Then he laid his hand on top of yours. Behind you, his legs wrapped around your waist.

Oh. The look in his eyes. You did know it. Something he’d kept guarded and hidden from you this whole trip- despite how often you looked, despite how much you thought you knew him- desire.

The last bit of your restraint snapped.

You gripped him by the waist hard and ground yourself against him in frantic, long strokes, rubbing your swollen clit against him as best as you could. You squeezed unconsciously around him with each motion. “Hah… haha…” You laughed breathlessly. “Do you want me to fuck you, Nagito-kun?”

“Yes- yes!” He moaned, back arching against the bed at the thought alone. “P- please-”

“Shh… I told you already, you don’t have to move a muscle.” You purred before rolling your hips back and forth against him. His legs and ass felt silky soft around you. You grabbed one of his thighs to help anchor your movement. You adjusted once more, and then-

He cried out as you slammed against him. You might have made a noise just like that, but you didn’t notice. Your mind focused singularly on his, it screamed at you to make him make it again, to make him scream. You slammed against him again, and again, and again- his legs tightened around you as he filled you. His noises bounced with your eager, unrelenting pace.

“God, I love this cute little cock of yours.” You gushed. Nagito made a sort of moan that was half-embarassment, half-pleasure, and half-exhausted. “Is that mean to say? To call it cute? And little? Well, that’s alright, I love it either way.” You babbled. “You feel so good inside of me, so good, so good- What was that?” You leaned down a bit to listen to the words he was trying to slur together, not bothering to stop however.

“Faster… please…” He managed. Your face lit up.

“Even faster?” You didn’t wait another second before pushing his legs up and clambering back onto the bed with him. His legs tightened close, seemingly reflexively. You giggled at the cute display. You got on you knees, one on either side of his legs. He grabbed onto his legs, keeping them up and spread for you. You smirked down at him. “There you go, baby. Just like that.”

“Aha… I didn’t even realize what I was doing…” He deflected, as always.

“Then it must come naturally.” You continued to lay the praises on him, as always. Now you could lean over to kiss him easily, and you took full advantage of it. Nagito’s mouth was cold from lying open-mouthed, panting. You reveled in it, knowing it was the payoff of your work. You reached blindly for his cock, stroking it, feeling how wet you’d made it. Nagito’s approval was muffled in your mouth as you played with the tip of his dick. You wanted to drown in his noises. Finally, when it got to be too much, you pulled away from his lips. He sought you out, trying to lean up for you until you pushed him back down. “It’s alright. I told you, I’ve got this.”

“Okay, okay, oh, God, just… please, fuck me-” His mouth, now uncovered, continued to plead. You gave him what he wanted. You pulled his cock back into you and picked back up at once. “Yesss…” A smile melted onto his face once more. His eyebrows furrowed together and he gripped onto the sheets on either side of him.

You moved faster, the bed’s headboard hitting the wall. This was certainly audible to those that happened to walk past your cabin, much like your name, which Nagito cried out freely. Maybe it was the position, but you had never heard someone inside of you make more noise than you. He was adorable, lost and confused in the pleasurable haze. You shivered, clenched around his cock.

Soon, you realized his hips had begun to buck up, trying to speed up the pace, trying to take any bit of control- that wouldn’t do. “I told you.” You grabbed his hip on one side and used all of your weight to push it back into the mattress, fingers digging into his skin cruelly. “I’ve got this.”

“Yes, yes,” Nagito nodded frantically, and you couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with you, or just expressing how good it felt. “I- I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna cum?” You pounced on the possibility at once. “Oh God, do you wanna cum inside me, Nagito-kun?” The sloppy, lewd sounds of your skin meeting echoed through the room. “Cum inside me- oh, get me pregnant-” A laugh escaped you. It poured out like the rest of your words. Your thighs burned but you barely felt it. “Don’t you dare fucking finish yet- I’m not, ah, I’m not nearly done with you yet-” He looked up at you with furrowed brows. You could practically see the gears spinning in his head as he tried to keep up with it all. “Fuck, your cock is so cute, you’re so cute, Nagito-kun-”

“P- please, please, please,” He sobbed. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it- anything, anything-”

“If you keep talking like that,” You leaned down to talk into his ear. “I’m going to milk every last drop from you.” You punctuated your sentence with another bite on his neck. His legs tightened around your waist. His arms came to hold you tight. His voice, right by your ear whimpered, then gave out. You bounced once, twice, thrice, before sinking all the way down and burying his cock as deep as you could get it. Your orgasm rushed through you fast and violent as you felt him cum pressed against your womb. You practically screamed your release against his neck.

You committed to memory the feeling of his spent cock twitching inside of you. You held each other as your minds finally began to clear and the last spasms ran through your bodies. Eventually, Nagito stifled a yawn.

“Poor thing. All sapped of his strength.” You pecked his cheek. A tiny, sleepy smile graced his features. You finally pulled off of him with a small sigh. You slid your fingers through your slit, bringing up a mixture of his cum and your slick. The sight of it in your hands made your heart jump all over again. “C’mere.” You moved back onto the pillows. He followed shakily. You pulled the covers down and over him. “You look like you need a nap.”

“I- I suppose so-” You curled up to him eagerly, tucking yourself neatly under his chin and wrapping your arms around him. He was silent for a moment. “I… I have to be honest with you about this.” He struggled with the words. “I’ve thought about it this whole time, but uh, I don’t understand the joke.”

“...what?”

“I mean, you seemed to be enjoying yourself, so- ah, this isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy myself- in fact, it was better than I ever imagined, or ever could have imagined- I just… still don’t exactly understand… the whole… joke.” He gestured vaguely with his hands. You slowly looked up at him, not saying anything. It made him uncomfortable, as you’d intended.

“What joke-”

“I just figured that, well, after what Soda-kun had said, I figured that you two had maybe planned something? Or, er, is this your way of punishing me for the conversation earlier? I don’t know why you’d decide on this method, however-”

“Nagito, I’m in love with you.”

His eyes darted around the room, like he was expecting someone to jump out of the woodwork.

“I don’t- I don’t… get it-”

You let go of him and opened up your bedside drawer. “I don’t know if I could get you to believe me any other way.” With no warning, you pulled out his underwear and handed it to him. He stared at them for a long moment. “You, uh. You can have them back.”

Finally, with wide eyes, he whispered, “...I knew they went missing.”

#nagito komaeda #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #dr2 #komaeda nagito #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #bunnywrites #tear you apart #tear you apart (piece you together)

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banshee1013 · 1 year ago

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Suptober / Flufftober Day 4 - The Flames and the Light

Waaaaay behind but still plugging away at this thing and this thing.

Prompts: Suptober: Nimbus Flufftober: Cinderella Moment

Today's installment is below and on AO3, and also added to the series October Days (and Nights).

Title: The Flames and the Light Rating: Teen Warnings: No Warnings Apply Tags: Men of Letters Bunker, Winchester House Fire, Dean Winchester in Hell, Dean Winchester is Saved, Righteous Man Dean Winchester, Visions, Memories Summary: Hester had said, “When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!” She claimed the touch of Dean’s soul had corrupted him.

She was partly correct: touching Dean’s soul, bright and warm in a place that was so sullen and cold, changed him; but it wasn’t corruption.

It was love. Words: 603 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50938690

==============================

“Hey, Sunshine, there you are.” Dean’s voice projects over his shoulder, his back to Castiel as he crouches by the hearth of the fireplace in the Bunker’s library. Castiel can hear the soft swish of the brush as Dean sweeps the spent ashes of a previous fire into a dustpan.

The back of Dean’s head inclines toward the two plushy upholstered chairs opposite the fireplace, lit by a small hurricane lamp on the small table between them. The flickering flame within sparkles on the crystal decanter filled with what Castiel knows is Dean’s favorite whiskey, accompanied by two matching glasses.

“Just need to clean this up before laying a new fire. Don’t want to burn the place down or anything.”

Castiel begins to take a seat as requested when Dean rises from his crouch and turns to beam a smile at him. He wipes the back of his hand across his cheek, leaving a trail of soot…

And Castiel is struck still as an image arises in his mind…

A dark street, lit only by flashing red and blue lights and a dim yellow glow. A small boy sitting on the hood of a large black car, his arms overfilled with a small, wimpering bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. The lights flicker across cheeks ashen with shock and residue from the flames that consumed his family home and set him on his path.

Castiel blinks, reality returning with a metallic clatter as Dean empties the ashes into the bin by the hearth and turns, his arms filled with firewood. He sets the wood on the metal grate inside the firebox, reaches for the box of fireplace matches on the mantle and strikes one. The bright yellow-blue flash as the match catches turning to red-gold and sparking off the highlights in Dean’s hair as he applies it to the kindling. Yellow orange flames flick as the kindling catches and licks the dark wood bark, turning it gold and then red as the flames climb.

Dean rises and rubs his hands over the flames, cinders rising around him before being swept up into the flue like dying stars.

Another image arises in Castiel’s mind, unbidden…

He and his brethren, their armor shining sullen red and burnt gold from the fires of Hell even through the smoke and haze — but their goal was something which shone brighter still. The Righteous Man, the nimbus of his glowing soul cutting through the smoke like a beacon. Castiel both curses the necessity of their rescue, but relishes being the first to reach him, the first to touch that shining soul with his Grace, the one to grip him and raise him from Perdition.

Hester had said, “When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!” She claimed the touch of Dean’s soul had corrupted him.

She was partly correct: touching Dean’s soul, bright and warm in a place that was so sullen and cold, changed him; but it wasn’t corruption.

It was love.

He’s pulled from the vision by Dean’s solid, firm grip on his shoulders, his warmth flowing onto Castiel’s skin like sun-warmed honey.

“Hey, Cas.” Castiel blinks and finds himself staring into green eyes sparking gold from the firelight. “Everything okay?”

Castiel’s hand rises to touch Dean’s cheek, brushes against the solid, warm skin there.

He had to make sure — the light of Dean’s soul still so bright, so warm, Castiel couldn’t be sure he wasn’t still locked in his vision.

“Perfect.”

Dean huffs a soft chuckle as he pulls Castiel to his chest, wrapping him in light and love.

“Yeah, you are.”

#suptober23 #flufftober 2023 #destiel #supernatural #fanfic

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curlygrant44 · 2 months ago

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That's...not really what he expected to hear, but it's a comfort nonetheless.

"Even if I didn't pull rank outright, there was still a possibility of my position influencing your feelings on the matter...especially with your age, no offense. 20 is pretty young, you know...but..."

Oh, he feels guilty as hell for what he's about to say. He'd love to be able to hide the words somewhere they'd never see the light of day, and if he could, he would do that right now -- but he can't, Curly is only so capable of avoiding what he's feeling, and lying to June would be worse, in his estimation.

"...anything. Anything you want," he promises, soft and reverent when he takes her hand and clasps it in his, drawing it slowly to his lips to kiss the back of it, and then along each finger to the tip before moving on to the next; soft little brushes of his lips against her smooth skin, a sweet gesture that he hopes conveys just how much he means what he says, "I'll give you whatever you'd like, June. Whatever would make you feel good...you deserve to be spoiled."

Curly gives a playful little smile, peeking up through the hair that's fallen into his face a little. On his softer, more elfin features, the expression seems twice as mischievous as it might normally. Ordinarily it may seem roguish or sultry, but right now it reads as fond and playful and full of wicked promise...

You two need to work out some of this tension or I swear *locks Jon and @curlygrant44 in a bedroom*

*her mouth opens to say something as the door locks but she stops, running a hand through her hair*

Tension..? *she frowned softly, glancing up at Curly in a mix of confusion and worry* I didn’t do something wrong did I..?

#blatantly nsft #the man with the dustpan #sex-swap #mod: oop I forgot what other tags we were using! oh well #mod: they're finally there!!!!!!!!

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forensicated · 8 months ago

Text

02x09 - Loan Shark

TW: Unauthorised money lending, stereotypical talk about travelers and suicide discussion/depiction circa mid 1980's time of writing/filming.

A large amount of rubble has been dumped in the street by a fly-tipper. The lady demands that Taffy deal with it - now! - Taffy snarkily suggests she hand him a dustpan and brush. One of the council road sweepers has spotted the fly sweeper but he's now in the hospital after being hit by the truck involved.

A woman, Mrs Taylor, reports that her neighbour has been moving heavy furniture at all hours, playing loud music and 'has been sick on my windows'. She reports that the lady "is not 'riff-raff', her husband was a hospital administrator after all", but she's now taken to drink.

A shoplifter, Sharon, played by Michelle 'Cindy Beale' Collins. was stopped by a security guard after slipping a few bits of shopping in her bag without paying before leaving. Jim tries to encourage the security guard to let it slide because the loss is less than £2 and food for her children but she won't hear of it. Sharon protests she hasn't got any money and Jim tells her to say that to the Sergeant when she's being processed.

An adorable little dog has been brought into the front office after the teens who found him couldn't read his name tag. It appears that it's in either Russian or Polish as far as Pete can work out.

Ted asks Bob to to get his relief to keep an eye out for some car thieves and reports CID is so quiet, Roy is looking through holiday brochures. "I'm afraid he's going to ask me to go with him!"

Jim tries to help Sharon calm her toddler who has been screaming for the entire journey. "It's just like home." She sighs, looking around the room. "No sodding furniture."

Charles reports to Bob that there has been a report of an epidemic of commercial flytipping south of the river which has started to spread to Sun Hill. He's had a report from the resident that Taffy dealt with that she didn't see the funny side of his dustpan comment. He isn't taking it further but wants him to remind the troops to remain courteous. He then asks if Bob has any ideas about bringing some colour to the station. Bob is utterly lost so Charles hands him a copy of his 'Swedish report' memo. Flummoxed, Bob suggests that June is a dab hand at flower arranging. Unfortunately when asked it turns out that June knows nothing about flowers.

Bob processes Sharon and asks if she's getting the relevant benefits and if her ex is involved. She says all he did was send a Boots voucher at Christmas. Bob asks where her child allowance book is and she confesses - eventually - that she borrowed £100 and that 'a man' has taken her child allowance book away incase she tried to cheat him. Bob thinks it through and realises, given where Sharon lives, it must be Peg 'Aunty Peg' Miller and her son Bob, the not-so-friendly local loan shark. Sharon insists she's not a waster and that she'll support her kids no matter what, clamming up. Bob asks if a caution can be authorised for Sharon as it's all down to reduced circumstances and a loan shark having taken her benefits. Thankfully it's allowed.

Mrs Taylor, who reported her neighbour earlier has returned with a mirror she says she found hanging in the hallway of their flats with a message written on it in lipstick saying. 'I can't John, I can't." the named man is her husband who, Taylor tells Bob, has passed away.

In the pub, Bob and Roy discuss Peg Miller and her son. Roy is surprised to hear of the son because he sent him down for a long stretch but he's out again and is causing trouble on the estates. He tells him about Sharon and Roy says to nick him but Sharon won't press charges. He says he's passed it on to the DHSS (DWP now) but Roy says they're more interested in the easy win of OAP's earning beer money than loan sharks and won't do anything. Bob thinks about it, especially knowing that Auntie Peg will have been playing on all the vulnerable residents on the estate. He agrees to work with Roy to stop her and her son. He says he'll put Jim on it and they laugh that he'll probably lecture them on philosophy and the meaning of life whilst Miller is kicking his head in.

In the briefing, Bob tells Uniform that the fly typing has escalated and that they've not only had one man run over but another who confronted them had a spade wrapped round his head. Then, to eyerolls, he reminds them about deportment when dealing with members of the public. "That is manners in Welsh, Edwards."

Jim speaks to Bob about the loan shark business. Bob recommends that he doesn't actually mention the words 'loan shark' and to speak to the caretaker on the estate to see if he's heard anything about what's been going on.

Roy has sent down a gift for Bob. "Apparently they're very popular in Sweden."

The relief are very confused by it...

Jim approaches the Hardie Estate, the first I've heard mentioned in the first couple of series that remains in the later ones!

The caretaker isn't available but the Community Center's manager turns up with her toddler daughter moments later. "I just wanted to know if everything's OK..." Jim starts. "On here? You've got to be joking." she drawls, seeing right through him. "What's up?" Jim admits he needs some information and immediately brings up illegal money lending despite Bob telling him not to. It works out however as the manager tells him that most of the people on the estate are in poverty and they can't get credit elsewhere so they have to use illegal money lenders. The local one is Peg Miller who pretends to be on their side and tells them she knows how hard it is at the start of their 'relationship'. They borrow £100 and pay it back £10 a week over 13 weeks. It doesn't seem hard or problematic at the start - even with £30 interest being paid. However, the trick is that Peg doesn't the loan paid off so suggests that she keeps topping it up and loaning more and more for various reasons until it's completely unaffordable. For every thousand pound she lays out, she has £100 coming back in every single week just in interest. She takes their benefit books as insurance and uses intimidation by her son and humiliation if people don't pay. The manager has heard all sorts from the simple being shouted at in shops by Peggy through to being branded, pushed down concrete stairs, their windows broken and furniture stolen. The manager doesn't know of anyone who would speak out against them though.

Mrs Taylor is back to report that her neighbour had a man over who was "not her class at all, when her husband was alive anyway" and that they'd been banging around upstairs and shouting all night. At the same time, a caller reports another illegal fly tipping blocking their culdesac with a dog run over and residents threatened.

Taffy has left his radio in the car whilst he visits a demolition site. The foreman insists his boys would not drop illegally and that they use a legal site that is 5 miles away to unload their wagons.

Jim goes to speak to Sharon at her part-time job in the laundrette. He asks if she's had any trouble or if there have been any signs of breaks in. Sharon is defensive and upset at the interference and tells him that she doesn't know what he's talking about. Jim tells her the agreement Peggy made is unenforceable and she doesn't have to pay it back. If she attended the station he promises that he would help her know her rights. Sharon points out that she has to still live on the estate with her children and that people are already talking about her after seeing the police around her. She's never been in trouble before and she has to protect her children and wants him to get off her back and - if he really wants to help - to go see her husband who is refusing to pay maintenance for their children.

Jim and Bob speak to Roy about the money lending on the estate. Jim thinks it's horrific that the sick, disabled, elderly and poor are forced to go to money lenders to get cash because no one else will help. Some estates have started credit unions in Scotland to fight back. "Socially minded.." Bob smiles at Roy after dismissing Jim. "He's right this time though...." Roy sighs. "For a change..." Roy thinks it's about time he has a word with Auntie Peg.

Bob radios June to request her to visit Mrs Taylor who has rung in sounding hysterical. When June gets there, Taylor's neighbours are comforting her and promising her her husband will arrive soon. Another neighbour takes June inside and shows her that blood is dripping from Mrs Taylor's ceiling from the flat above. June hurries upstairs with the woman as a witness to her breaking in to find that the woman has seemingly committed suicide on the living room floor.

Roy and Ted enter a posh wine bar with Roy looking very uncomfortable. After ordering their drinks - scotch of course - they make their way over to the owner... Peggy 'Auntie Peg' Miller. Peg claims she's just an old fashioned tally girl who lives to look after people and, if she'd moved away when things took an upturn for her club, "who would have got the kiddies their clothes for going back to school, ey?" She doesn't want to let people down. Roy tells her that he's heard she's holding on to benefit books as security. She looks to Ted. "I thought this was friendly?". "As long as it's friendly there's some young tarts on the estate spreading rumours." She says, claiming that she only does good and can't stop people mouthing off but she holds no rumours. She says her son Bob doesn't want any more trouble after being in prison and that it really is a deterrent. Roy tells her he's going to ask the DHSS to run some inquiries about some of the people receiving benefits on the Hardie estate to make sure that it really is going to them "Don't make me laugh, Mr Galloway!" She smirks before, unmoved, Roy walks out. She shouts after him that it's her who has to look after "the poor devils that the DHSS can't be bothered with!"

Pete and Taffy sit in a panda opposite the demolition site. Pete says he reckons that it will be gypsies that are fly-tipping after being paid to get rid of it by the foremen of building/demolition sites.

Mike and June have a look around the flat to see if there's any cvlue why Mrs Taylor's neighbour would have committed suicide, other than the obvious. Dashers holds up a coronation cup and asks where June was. June calls him a cheeky bugger and says she was barely a gleam in her mother's eye. (Trudie would have been almost exactly 18m if it helps you work out June's canon age.) They've found an exercise book of 'Dear John' type stuff and that it's creepy. He says that getting married is a waste of time. June says that it works for some people. "... Didn't work for [the victim]." Dashers says crassly.

Viv reports that Peg's son, 'Freezer Bob' (Played by Duncan Preston) is removing furniture forcibly from the home of an elderly man. Freezer Bob insists everything is under control and it's a personal matter. The man insists that it's his property and he has no right to take it. Freezer Bob says it's an ongoing longstanding agreement between "me and Pop Curtis." A woman on the estate - the manager of the community center - tells Curtis to tell the police what is really going on. Freezer Bob ignores her at first before threatening her and telling her to keep her nose out of it. He insists the property belongs to him. "You got an order?" Pete asks. "A possession order." Without it he has no proof of what he's saying. Curtis snaps at him to put his property back in his kitchen. Pete's not taking any messing so Freezer Bob tells his mate to put it all back and that he'll 'Get his money, Pop!' "When I've got it, cock!" Curtis growls back. Freezer Bob stalks off to go place bets at the races.

Another uncredited extra appearance by Graham Cole as Tony Stamp

The community center manager comes into the station to speak to CID. She, Mrs Hall, tells Roy that she's not scared of the Millers as she has a husband, a father and 2 big brothers on standby to have her back. God love her, she's 5ft nothing with a mouth bigger than she is tall. Everyone needs someone like her! She asks Roy to check up with Sharon because she's really not managing. Roy gets Mike to take her statement and arranges to go with Ted to deal with not-so-sweet-Aunt Peg. Roy is adorable when he says goodbye to Mrs Hall's daughter after thanking her for her help.

Mrs Taylor asks June if she really does have to attend the inquest for her neighbour's suicide. June tells her that she does and then she asks about how she gets her ceiling and carpet cleaned.

Bob's report into the fly-tipping does not make good reading for Charles. There have been 5 more drops, the road sweeper in hospital, the dog that died and a garden wall has been demolished by the truck. It seems to come down to 2 Welsh men who had a dodgy registration. Charles wonders if they're disillusioned miners up to 'get their own back' and suggests Bob check the Merthyr computer with their descriptions. The foremen of the sites won't help because they're still getting rid of their rubbish for cheaper than the official places without the effort of transporting it.

A driver is stopped with a broken tail light and poor tread. He offers to give the police information about the Welsh fly-tippers if they let them go. Given that it's Pete... they do! The driver tells them the pubs that they frequent.

Harriet Thorpe guest starts as 'Tarty Woman' who complains about Roy and Ted seeming to jump the queue when going to see Peggy.

The officers ignore her and ring the doorbell. 'Tarty Woman' tells them there's no one home and they'll tell her that the police called. A neighbour has Sharon in her flat with her when Mike arrives. He identifies himself to the neighbour as police and says they've heard about threats made against Sharon. The neighbour says he's too late and Sharon shouts, from inside, for her to shut up and not tell him. Sharon appears holding her toddler and tells him she's got her child allowance book returned, but her arm is scalded red and she has a tea towel wrapped round it. Freezer Bob has made a visit... Mike apologises and takes her down to casualty to have it checked out. He reports it to Roy and Ted and tells them that he's already asked - she won't inform on them.

The boys watch Peggy make her house to house calls. "All that cash and no one touches her..." "They wouldn't dare. Would you?" Peggy stands outside 'Irene's' house and shouts and makes a scene in front of the neighbours before threatening to send her son around. Ted and Roy have seen enough and they march over to the house, asking Peggy where her son is and what he's done to Sharon. "He's gone too far this time." "Don't believe her, she's a lying little whore." They're adding conspiracy to her charges but Ted promises he'll pretend not to have heard it if she tells them where Freezer Bob is. Threatened with a spell in prison, Peggy tells them that he's at the races and where to find him. "I'll see you later." Ted growls.

The barman of a local pub calls the station, he has a lorry in his car park threatening to drop 20 tonnes of rubble. Pete and Taffy are sent over in the car and Yorkie attends on foot. The truck starts to drop the load as the landlord offers the two men £20 not to. Taffy and Pete make it in time. Taffy goes for the driver who tries to kick him in the face and then rip his head off whilst Pete tackles the oppo who tries to twat him with a spade repeatedly. Taffy clings on as both fall out of the cab but Yorkie makes it in time to grab the man and drag him off Taffy. The landlord then snaps that the boys have made a right mess of it (!!!!) That's thanks for you! "I've got a complaint winging its way in son, your feet won't touch the ground!" he threatens Bob who arrived to see what happened.

Roy and Ted enter the pub and spot Freezer Bob indulging in some illegal gambling. They approach him and arrest him for what he's done to Sharon. None of the men he's shouting to for alibi's step up for him. Not very popular is he!

Pop Curtis tells Jim that Freezer Bob is not very bright and keeps messing up hence getting arrested. He claims that Peggy is twice the man that her son is. She once pulled his false teeth straight out of his mouth once he missed a payment. He won't give a statement because if he does it won't solve anything. There's "Pal Joey" and "Lily Friend." who are nearby who are also illegal money lenders. "Debt doesn't go away, son." he tells Jim.

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sevengraces · 1 year ago

Text

someday I'm gonna be somebody people want

ch1, You, Title Card

AO3 Link

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Hello and back again, I have the patience of a toddler when I'm invested so here we go besties. I could not bear to leave you on that cliff hanger for long so y'know you're welcome ig. Warnings are the same as the previous chapter so y'know feel free to go back and reread 'em lol. This chapter title is also from Dodie "All My Daughters" figured I should keep with a theme of some sort. Blanket notice for all my works btw, if the dialogue seems weird or off kilter it's because I am both of those things and have yet to figure out a single social interaction. If it's real bad you can just believe that they're both autistic, cause I am and that's why they're written like that lol. (I do feel in my heart of hearts that Tim Drake is autistic, but that's prolly cause he's my lad for projection so what can ya do. I didn't tag him as autistic in this fic b/c I didn't intentionally write him that way but again (!) I am autistic so there is a nonzero chance all my characters come across like that) c'est la vie tho so enjoy

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Chapter 2- Everyone but me knows how to let go

Tim sat up so fast he had to brace himself against the couch so that he didn’t face plant into a puddle of regurgitated coffee. Once he steadied himself he realized he had no idea where to go from here.

“What’s happening kid? I sent you a message but you didn’t even read it, and I knocked for like ten minutes once I got here.” Jason asked, closing the door behind himself and glancing around the empty penthouse.

The younger boy took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, when Jason evidently spotted the vomit. “What the fuck? D’ya have a concussion? Did you even go out last night? Don’t you know better than to try and do your concussion watch by yourself?” He shot out rapid-fire.

Tim stood shakily and rolled his eyes, heading into the kitchen and pulling out a towel and cleaner from the cabinet under the sink. “I don’t have a concussion, no I didn’t go out last night, and obviously I know you can’t concussion-watch yourself Jason- despite what you might think, I’m not an idiot.”

Jason blocked his way towards the mess and looked him up and down.

Tim was shaking and pale. His lips were chapped and he had deep bags under his eyes, which were only broken up by the puffy red rings that displayed a decent representative of how long he’d cried for. His face was coated in those tacky tears and his hair looked like he’d been pulling on it for a long time. The boy was staring determinedly at the window behind Jason and he had the towel and spray bottle clutched so hard his knuckles had gone white.

The man softened a little, “You get yourself sick?”

Of course, Tim just stepped around the man and bared his teeth in a bitter facsimile of a smile. “Not in anyway that matters Todd.” He crouched down and held his breath as he cleaned up the vomit, spraying the floor and scrubbing some more with a second towel.

“What’s that supposed to mean Timbo? You’re either sick or not kid.” Jason sent another, sharper, glance around the apartment. His vision stuttered over the shattered mug, it was red and had writing on it at some point, but it was illegible now.

“No, I’m not sick Jason. Did you need something- I’m sorry to have ignored you I was a little preoccupied.” Tim steadfastly ignored any tension in the room and walked back to the kitchen. He deposited the spray bottle under the counter once more and dumped the used towels in a hall hamper. Then he opened a nearby door revealing a closet full of blankets and larger cleaning supplies. He pulled out a broom and dustpan then turned back towards the shattered coffee mug.

Once more the man stepped into the younger’s path. “Sure seems like it kiddo- listen is everything alright?”

Tim tensed even further then sighed loud and long. “Listen to me Jason, we don’t have to do this okay? You’re gonna ask what’s wrong with me, I’m going to avoid the question- then we’ll do that until you’ve felt like you did your due diligence. After that you’ll accept what I said the first time and ask for whatever favor you came here for.” The boy glared up at Jason and gestured that he should move, he did not. “It doesn’t matter and I promise, I’m not going to go whine to Dick or Bruce that you ignored my duress or something- hell if they ask I’ll lie and tell them we had a real heart to heart and fleshed out our entire sordid, bloody history to a nice storybook resolution.”

Jason took a step back and grabbed the boy by the shoulders carefully, “So you’re under duress then?”

He yanked himself backwards and let out a wordless shriek, before muttering to himself as he pushed around the older man and began to sweep. “Fuck why not, of course this is gonna happen- goddamnit, it might as well.”

Jason watched him warily, like someone watches a loose lion or a person a little too close to the edge of a building. “Look Pre- Tim, I’m obviously not someone you wanna be talkin’ to- and no one gets that more than me! But I can’t leave you alone like this, is there someone I can call? Dickiebird? Maybe Blondie? Hell, I’ll get the clone on the line if it’ll help ya, just tell me what I can do ta’ help right now, okay?”

Tim laughed bitterly, leaning down to pick up the dustpan then walking and dumping it in the trash. He dropped both items on the floor in the kitchen before storming into the living room and gesturing towards the leather chair across from the couch that he collapsed on in a pile of disjointed limbs. “Whatever Jason, you’re already here and this can’t get much worse honestly- so y’know take a seat! You need a drink or anything, or can I lay here and stare at the ceiling as I rerun my top ten worst mistakes and do the math to figure out how all of that ended up with us here in my shitty apartment on a fucking Saturday morning?”

The man in question edged around the kitchen counter and tentatively sat on the leather chair, “What’s up then? You said you didn’ go out last night, right?”

Tim muttered angrily, “I’m never going to live this down fuck- should just send a fucking group email and get it over with,” before rolling his head to stare at Jason, who had his boots toed off onto the ground next to the chair and a leg propped up on the coffee table between them.

Jason sat and waited through the grumbling, maintaining a faintly concerned expression the entire time.

“You really want to do this?” Tim finally sighed like it had been forced out of him.

The other merely shrugged and leaned back into the chair, “What else would I be doin’ huh?”

“Anything?” The boy laughed out before rolling his eyes and taking in a deep breath. “Fine, I’d tell you not to laugh but it isn’t like it matters, so here goes nothing I guess.”

Tim stared up at the ceiling and ignored how tense his entire body was, he stared up at the ceiling and ignored how obvious that tension probably was to Jason. “I’m lonely.”

The boy liked to imagine the silence hung like a gunshot in the air, but it didn’t- he knew what those sounded like.

“You’re lonely.” Jason repeated with no intonation whatsoever.

Tim shrugged and resolutely stared at the ceiling some more, “Yup, go ahead then let's get this over with sooner rather than later.”

Jason frowned and dropped his leg from the table, leaning forward; “Get what over with kid? D’ya want a hug? No offense but that didn’t seem like something you were interested in earlier.”

He sat up on the couch, “Jason don’t be an idiot,” he gestured widely with his hands between the two of them, “the laughter, the jokes, the- I don’t know Todd, texting everyone we both know and a few people we don’t for good measure! Whatever it is you’re gonna do with this!”

Jason stared for a long moment, “Listen- I know I’ve been an ass, especially to you, but this isn’t funny. You fuckin’ threw up because of it, you’ve obviously been crying, none of that is funny Tim.” The older boy pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why didn’t you call someone- actually how do you get so lonely you puke? Is this something Bruce knows about?

Tim gaped for a long moment before letting out a sharp, angry sounding laugh. “This isn’t funny? That’s the line for you Todd? If I actually cry about it then it isn’t funny anymore, shit if I’d known it was this easy to get you to act like a person around me I’d’ve dealt with this ages ago!”

The older boy flinched back like he’d been hit, “Tim I-“

He was interrupted, “No don’t act like you give a shit Jason! Not even twenty fucking minutes ago you were calling me Pretender, this is the most you’ve said my actual goddamn name in the entire time we’ve known each other. You asked asshole, I told you- knowing full well the consequences.” He breathed heavily for a minute before continuing slightly softer, “I get that you don’t give a shit about me, not in any way that matters. I know you think I’m a naive idiot Jason, but don’t pretend you want to know for any reason other than having a leg up on this weird one-sided pissing match- remember I’m the Pretender, only one of us steals titles.”

Jason curled in on himself, breathing deeply before staring off to the left of the boy across from him. “Alright, I think I fucked this up- um Tim listen I sorta thought you’d just know since I guess there hadn’t been any fights to the death for awhile and we uh- coexisted when necessary.” He shored his shoulders and turned to look the younger in the eyes, “I don’t hate you, okay? You’re not stupid or naive, I uh- I thought we were uh bein’ friendly- which yeah I shoulda known better it’s not like I ever actually apologized ta’ you. Fuck.”

Tim blinked, standing up and backing towards the window side of the living room. “Jason Peter Todd this is not funny, you- you got your fucking blackmail I- what the fuck do you want from me? Fuck off, did Dick tell you? Was it Bruce? Surely you’ve got better things to do with your time?” His voice broke halfway through, “Who thought this was a funny fucking joke?”

Jason went pale, “Shit- no kid this isn’t a fucking joke! I- who would? Why would that be fucking funny? Holy shit kid,” the man stood up just as quickly, shooting forward and pulling Tim into a hug. “Shit, I’m sorry- I don’t, I don’ know what to do here kid, please.”

Tim bit back a sob, tensing his whole body away from the hug. He desperately forced out; “If this is a joke I need you to leave right now- please Jason, you win okay? G-good one alright? You can go and uh, and tell ev- everyone how I fell for it al- alright?”

He leaned back, holding the boy steady in his arms. “Tim, Tim I’m not kiddin’ please- I just, whaddya need ta’ know I’m serious?” Jason begged frantically, “D’ya want an apology? Cause I’m sorry kid, I’m so fucking sorry for all of it alright? You didn’t deserve a goddamn bit of it and it never shoulda happened, not at all and not to you.”

Tim shook in his hold, just barely whispering “You don’t mean that, Jason you don’t mean that okay? I was- I was a shitty replacement an- and a useless Robin that was- wasn’t even a decent placeholder for the next one okay? Do- don’t say shit like that to me Jason, if it was ever funny it definitely isn’t now, okay? I don’t know what you want me t- to say!” He whined out anxiously.

If possible, Jasons’ face crumpled further. “No kid, I don’t- I’m not makin’ fun of ya. Don’t say shit like that Tim, you were a great Robin an’ I was lucky ta’ have you as a successor, okay?”

The boy collapsed, leaning fully against Jason as his sobs returned with a vengeance and his breathing rocketed up in speed.

Jason pulled the boy into his arms and lowered them both onto the floor, “Shit uhm- shh, you’re okay Tim- deep breathes C’mon. It’ll be okay, c’mere kid I’ve got ya.”

Tim whined and leaned into the hold so hard his head ached, and Jason began to run a hand through his hair. “You’ll be okay, s’all fine. I know Tim, I know- it’s a lot right now. Just breathe with me c’mon in and out you’ve got it.”

Tim struggled and shook and cried for a long time, he tried to pull back from the older man but Jason just kept holding him and talking through the panic.

Eventually he began to follow Jason’s voice, managing a choked inhale through his sobs every now and then until slowly, painfully, the panic began to ease.

Jason just continued to mutter reassurances like it was nothing, “There you go, there he is, you’re doing so good. Here we are, you’re right here with me and nobodies gonna hurt you, I’ve got ya kid- just take it easy.”

Tim slowly stiffened as he came back into himself. He was curled up in Jasons lap, with his head shoved under the older mans’ chin and his face buried in his neck. His hands were gripping the back of Jasons’ jacket like he belonged there and there were half dried tears all over the both of them. Jason had his arm wrapped around him and his other hand was running though his hair. Casually, he pressed a kiss onto the top of Tims’ hair, still speaking softly throughout it all.

He forced his hands free and yanked himself out of the elder's arms, nearly falling backwards, except Jason caught him easily. “Hey, hey you’re okay Tim- it's fine I’ll let you up just be careful.”

Tim scrambled backwards until he was pressed against the window like he’d been sitting earlier this morning. He scrubbed a hand up and down his face, refusing to look at the older man he’d just been crying on for who knows how long.

Jason let him, hands held up in acquiesce. “D’ya need a drink? Some food?”

Tim kept his hands in place and firmly did not look at Jason. Reluctantly he muttered, “Water’s fine, there are bottles in the pantry.”

He stood slowly then turned around and headed towards the kitchen. Jason opened the pantry door next to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. He gave the younger a moment to collect himself before heading back into the living room and dropping to the floor across from him.

“Here, drink the first one slowly.”

Tim didn’t look up but he took the bottle and cracked the seal. He took small sips in silence for a heavy few moments before finally glancing through his bangs at the other boy.

Jason was sitting on the ground with his legs sprawled out in front of him, he had a second water bottle on his left and was leaned back on his right hand. He wasn’t watching Tim drink head on, instead staring out the window behind the boy with only the occasional glance to check his progress through the water. Stretched out across Tims’ floor, Jason looked so much like Robin that it hurt to breathe.

Eventually Tim finished the first water bottle, and Jason handed him the second without hesitation. “Drink as fast as ya like, just finish it.”

And so he did, he drank in silence for a few more minutes and pretended that he had any idea what was going to happen next.

After he got a solid amount of water in him, Jason cleared his throat.

Tim tensed in a way that was unfortunately quite visible to Bats, but Jason soldiered on anyways. “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you when it was clear somethin’ was up, and I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done that’d make you think I’d make such a shitty joke. I get it if you don’t believe me or want ta’ see me again, I just- Tim you’ve gotta know that right now I’m serious, yeah?”

He shuddered, and Tim winced. “I- fuck Jason you don’t need to- m’sorry.” He exhaled sharply, “None of this was your problem and I didn’t mean to make such a scene but you know me. I uh- I overreacted okay? That’s not your fault. You uh- you just caught me at a bad time and had to deal with my fits, but its no big deal okay?” Tim chewed his lip and shoved his face into his knees muttering to himself; “Fuck this is embarrassing.”

The older of the two flinched like he’d been shot this time, “Tim can you look at me a minute?”

The boy reluctantly looked up and Jason let out a wobbly smile before continuing, “Ya don’t need ta’ be embarrassed okay kid? You had a panic attack, probably two judging by the vomit from earlier- and that shit just happens sometimes okay? Especially in our line of work.”

Tim shook his head and smiled tightly, “Not really Jason, I’ve kinda always been like this. But thank you anyways.”

“Tim, listen to me okay? Just to the words I’m saying.” Jason responded through grit teeth, “That shit happens sometimes and it isn’t your fault. You got that? People have panic attacks, especially kids in high stress situations 24/7 so this isn’t some sparing your feelings bullshit- when have you even known me to do that anyways?”

The younger laughed ruefully, “Apparently right after I have a breakdown in your lap.”

Jason snorted but shook his head, “I’m bein’ dead serious Tim okay? And-“ he hesitated but powered through, “I’m bein’ serious when I tell you I’m sorry.”

Tims' face went red and he looked off to the side, “Yeah alright Jason, I get it. I’m sorry I had a fucking episode all over you about it or whatever.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, “I’m not sure you do get it kid, but I can explain.” He bit the inside of his cheek and started, “I’m sorry I attacked you- each time Tim. You didn’t deserve any o’ that and I shoulda known better. I said and did a lot of shit to you, and I blamed you for a lot of shit that wasn’t your fault. I was running high and fast on the Pit, and I’m not sayin’ that as an excuse cause it isn’t one. I’m telling you that so you know I was dead fuckin’ wrong when I said that shit to you.”

He continued, “You’re not a pretender or a replacement or a fuckin’ placeholder. You were a damn good Robin and I meant it when I told you I was lucky to have you as a successor. I mean shit kid, even beat seven ways to hell on the Pit I still wanted you as my Robin.”

Tim hesitated and glared at the floor near his feet. “You- you don’t have to say all this Jason. I know you don’t want to kill me and I get that in your right mind you wouldn’t’ve attacked me. But-“ he trailed off before looking up helplessly and whispering, “you don’t like me Jason.”

He grimaced, “To be honest Tim, I don’t really know you. The only things I know about you are what Talia told me and what I’ve heard from everyone else in this shitty family.” Jason smiled crookedly, “But from what everyone who’s actually met you says about you? I’d be stupid not to like you kid.”

Tim curled up and grit his teeth, “I know that isn’t true, I mean c’mon man- who the fuck are you talking to? I don’t know if you know this Jason,” he began bitterly, “but I’m an asshole. I’m a petty, manipulative, cold-hearted little shit and the only reason Bruce has kept me on retainer at this point is because I’d be too hard to beat as a rogue.”

Jason blinked for a moment “Kid, how’d you become Robin? Why’d ya’ do it?”

The boy in question hesitated over the non-sequitur. “… I blackmailed B with proof of his identity and stole the suit?”

“Okay, and why’d you even do it? What was the point? If you’d known for years why then?”

“Jason what are you going on about? You know why, because I had to!” Tim snapped bitterly.

Jason snorts through his nose, “No you didn’t, Tim you didn’t have to do shit- you coulda gone on your merry way with your parents and your pictures.”

He glares belligerently, “No I couldn’t’ve! Bruce was going insane, he woulda killed somebody or himself- whichever came first.” Tim sighs, losing steam. “I had to because he would’ve proven the Joker right, he would’ve destroyed your legacy until it was nothing more than the last straw that ruined Batman.”

He smiles sadly and shrugs, “But why did that matter to you kid? Why not make it someone else’s problem?”

Tim sighs loudly and knocks his head against the glass behind him. “It mattered to me because my pictures of Batman and Robin were all I had- is that what you want to hear? That I forced my way in, not for any noble reason like /Batman needs a Robin/, but because I was a clingy kid who didn’t want to see his happiest memories ruined like everything else.”

“You’re selling yourself short with that summary kiddo,” Jason leaned forward braced on his legs, “I think the reason you took up the R was because you believed in what we stood for and you didn’t want it ruined for good. I think you knew that your pictures got you as far as they could and Robin got sad kids farther than they thought they’d ever make it, and that shouldn’t be taken away from them just because shitty people exist.”

The younger boy stared at his feet sullenly, “Who cares Jason? I was a lonely, naive kid sticking my nose in a grieving fathers’ business because I never learned boundaries- does it matter why I did it?”

Jason let out a sudden laugh, “Of course it matters Tim! You’re the only one of us who took up Robin because you thought other people needed you to do it. Dickie wanted his parents murderer gone and was willing to keep on doing that for others only after he got justice, I wanted to feel helpful and important even though I had shitty parents and a shitty past and then I decided I needed to prove what kids like me could do, Steph wanted it so she could prove to herself that she was more than what B an’ everyone else told her, hell even the brat wanted the R just ‘cause o’ blood ties and he’s only just now starting to do it to help people.” Jason ran a hand through his hair, “Kid you looked at a hero from legend who was goin’ off the deep end publicly and decided that it couldn’t go any further- and then you made it happen even when it was fucking terrible. You don’t do that shit because you’re a fucking optimist- you do it ‘cause you know what’s right and you aren’t willing to let shit slide.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth silently, staring at his predecessor with wide, glassy eyes. Eventually he mumbled out, “That sounds a lil’ different than cuckoo bird.”

He sighs sadly, letting his head hang. “Yeah, yeah it does kid. I was fucking wrong, okay? I was angry and scared, an’ I didn’t wanna admit that life went on without me just ‘cause that’s how life works. I saw this determined little wisp of a thing that looked at every fracture line my greek tragedy left and decided to do damage control and it scared me.”

“I didn’t ever wanna replace you, I wasn’t even s’possed to stay Robin forever- I was gonna give it to the next kid once Bruce found someone better or he got a little better” Tim forced out slowly, like he was tasting the words. “I guess Bruce or Dick didn’t tell you, huh?”

Jason cocked his head at the boy, “What’re you- oh. Kid I don’t know what they coulda told me that would make lying about an apology funny.”

He shrugged and mumbled something too quiet to be heard.

Jason stared at the boy, watching as his face slowly went red and his shoulders hunched. He forced out “Didn’t catch that kiddo” through some uncomfortable mixture of bemusement and trepidation.

Tim squared his shoulders but stared at his feet. “I took pictures of everyone, obviously. I started ‘round the end of Dicks’ run- got all the greatest hits of Batgirl and Boy Wonder, caught a few good shots of Batman figuring out he had a child that he’d die for in real time- but uh, well.” He hesitated but pushed through like a man to the gallows, “Well I’ve got the most shots of you. All my best work, all my favorites, just most of my pictures- were you.”

The older boy nodded slowly, “Sure, I mean you musta’ been tiny when Dickiebird started out. It only makes sense that you’d get better as you got older so it woulda been odd if they weren’t Tim- what’s that got to do with anything?”

He shook his head, “No- I mean yeah I was like nine when I started with Dicks’ Robin, and I followed you from like ten to twelve but that’s not what I mean.” Tim shuddered and mumbled to himself, “I can’t believe you’re making me say it out loud, oh god.” He took a deep breath and finally looked at Jason. “I went out maybe once every two weeks with Dick, not because I couldn’t do it more, just ‘cause. When you started on Robin though? I started going out every other night. I mean fuck Jay, I used to only go out when there was nobody to notice I was gone and I was really careful about covering my tracks and doing well in school and shit- but when you started? I even went out the few times when my parents were home, I was so excited just to see you out there doing good.”

Jason let out a low wounded sound, “Tim…”

“Jason, your Robin was why any of that shit mattered to me. Of course I cared before, but not like when it was you.” Tim laughed self-consciously and ducked his head “I hacked my school records, convinced my parents I should go to school in town, I mean- Jason I thought of you as my Robin. I think I have an encoded notebook that I used when I was like eleven where I write, verbatim, /my Robin is the best hero in the world, Batman sure is lucky to have him/, so yeah you can see how hearing that you actually thought we could be friends might seem like a cruel joke.”

He blinked tears back rapidly, rocking forward onto his knees to stop right in front of Tim, “Can I- baby bird can I hug you?”

“You want to?” Tim asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes, absolutely”

And the boy barely got a chance to nod before Jason had him yanked forward against him, arms clasped so tightly around him that Tim could feel his bones creak. Jason held him desperately with his face hidden in the younger mans’ hair and his whole body folded over him. “I’m sorry Tim, fuck- you were a good kid and a great Robin alright?”

Tim pressed his face into the mans’ shirt and took deep breaths. Ever so slowly he relaxed into the hold until eventually; he didn’t notice the awkward angle, or the way his sweatpants were bunched around his legs because of how he’d been yanked, or even how his tears were leaking into the shirt below him. Tim pressed his face into Jason and gripped the man equally as hard.

They sat like that for a long time, Jason held Tim until their legs were numb and the floor was uncomfortable. At which point the older boy just barely loosened his hold, politely ignoring how Tim only burrowed further, and leaned backwards. He pulled the boy with him, until Jason was sitting in the middle of the floor with Tim tugged into his lap and his arms encircling the boy with only slightly less desperation.

Tim croaked out cautiously from his place within the hold but didn’t look up, “Hey Jason?”

“Hmm?”

“If I’d’ve called you today, and asked if we could just uh- just talk, would you have come?”

Jason pressed a kiss to the top of his head, “Yeah baby bird, I think I woulda.”

And from the safety of his Robins’ hold Tim let loose a wobbly, genuine smile.

#fanfic #dc universe #Tim drake #Jason todd #batman #red robin #hurt/comfort #mentioned batfamily #grace is writing

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 2 years ago

Text

“I have lov-liked you since eighth grade”

pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Byers!Reader

WC: 16.6K (a biggie, happy early Christmas / Hanukkah / Kwanza / or whatever you celebrate)

warnings: cursing, the billy/steve fight (reader gets involved), my terrible writing at times. should be it.

summary: The day is saved! But what happens when you tell the one you lov-like something at the wrong time?

A/N: ALL PARTS UNDER THE TAG -The Byers Harrington Story-

lets say the snowball dance takes place the day before winter break cause they don’t give a specific date, but i always thought that. AND THIS IS MY FIC!! oh baby, NOW I CAN FULLY DO BOYFRIEND STEVE FUCK YEAH!!!!

gonna go on a little hiatus after this chapter. wanna try and stock up my inbetweens for season 2-3. hopefully i’ll be back sometime during the last week on december

series masterlist

@alecmores thank you for all the input when proof reading this season!

previous chapter next chapter

Once again, everyone was split into groups.

Hopper and Eleven drove back to the lab to close the gate. Jonathan, Nancy, and Joyce drove to Hopper’s cabin to hopefully drive the mind flayer out of Will. While those two groups drove off into the unsettling night, your group stayed in your home, the kids were fully against their part of the plan. Dustin headed inside, calling Steve behind him for something. Just as you were following behind, Mike’s exasperated tone stopped you short.

“This is bullshit.”

“Language.”

“(Y/n), you know this is bullshit. We should be helping them!” Mike’s arms were thrown to the empty driveway, Bob’s car stationed.

“Mike, they don’t need us. Right now the best we can do is just not get into unwanted trouble, which I’m sure is already a challenge for you.” You left the boy behind on the porch, too tired to fully fight back.

Instead of being greeted by silence or hushed whispers when you reentered your home, you heard the sound of things falling and crashing into the ground. The crashing stopped and was followed up with talking, all of this coming from your kitchen. Muted footsteps carried you to the entrance of the kitchen, your side leaning against the opening as you watched the scene before you.

Dustin stood in front of the open refrigerator with all the contents spilled onto the floor at his feet. Steve stood across from him, a wrapped dead demo dog secured in a blanket resting in a bridal hold. No words came to mind at the scene, only a brow raised to the boys.

“You’re explaining this to Ms. Byers, all right?” Was the first thing you heard from Steve’s mouth.

He walked to the fridge and tried throwing the dead creature inside, its head and limbs too long and big to automatically fit the small box. You hold a hand over your mouth to muffle any chuckles.

“Christ. Help me out.” Steve demanded from Dustin.

“What am I supposed to do?” “Get the door, man,” Steve huffed at the kid.

Dustin sauntered over to the fridge door, Steve finally finding his way around the fridge and the demo dog.

“Ew. Jesus-”

“God-” Both of them voiced their disgust.

Steve leaned away from the fridge, Dustin pushing the door in. The two of them shut the door closed with a loud thud, panting at all the effort needed for the task. Steve rested a hand atop Dustin’s hat, a brotherly gesture that warmed your heart at the mindless action.

The moment was over when you heard the front door open and saw Lucas, Max, and Mike finally come back inside. You left your hidden spot and walked into the kitchen. Grabbing your broom and dustpan, you walked back to the living room and held the broom to Lucas and the dustpan to Max, “clean,” you pointed to the broken glass on the floor. They sighed but didn’t argue.

You turned back towards the kitchen, Dustin leaving first with a guilty smile thrown your way. You knew the reason but didn’t acknowledge it right away, not until you met Steve in the kitchen. He was squatting near the floor, resting his body on the toes of his feet, heels resting in the open air. A dish towel rested over his shoulder as he threw items into a grocery bag.

You walked forward two steps before you spoke, “why is my fridge on the kitchen floor, Harrington?”

He got startled at the sound of your voice, almost falling to the ground.

“Jesus,” a hand over his heart, “could ya’ warn a guy first?”

“I could, but you and Dustin put a dead demo dog inside my fridge.”

He cringed at your words, “you saw that?”

“Yeah, I did. That boy already has you wrapped around his finger,” you cheekily reply.

He stood to his full height, warming food forgotten at his feet, “Woah, woah. No, that- that’s not-“

“Oh, just say you like being an older brother.” You twisted your upper half to glance towards the living room then turned back to Steve, “besides…it’s a good look. This whole…” your hands waved around Steve, “paternal instinct. Didn’t know you had this side.”

You leaned your body against the side of your fridge, arms crossed over your chest, one hand toying with your right earlobe. Steve stood directly in front of you, blocking most of your view of everything but him. His hands rested on his hips, a hand quickly sweeping through his thick brown hair. His eyes couldn’t stay put, moving from your face towards the living room where you could hear the kids bickering, and landing back on you. He took a step closer, the space between the two of you closing, just a touch away from the other.

“Hey, um…I just…I just wanted…” Steve was fumbling trying to find his words, his hand that ran through his hair was held in the open space between your bodies.

“I just wanted to apologize, again. For the millionth time.”

Your brows creased, “are you apologizing for the food?” A finger pointed at the floor.

“No, yes, yes it’s one of the things I’m apologizing about. I’ll pay your mom for new food when she gets back or I can go grocery shopping with her or- or you if you wanted-“

“Steve!” You raised your voice to stop his rambling.

Your hands gripped his biceps, the space now gone, only an inch or two between your chest. Your head tilts back, enough to make eye contact with Steve, whose head is tilted forward, chin almost touching his clavicle.

“Steve,” a whisper for the two of you, “what’s going on? Why are you apologizing?”

He worried his teeth into his bottom lip, eyes at your feet. He then grasped your forearms, pulling your hands off his body, but sliding his fingers down until his hands connected with yours. He squeezed your clasped hands, a replacement for slotting your hands together.

“I…I heard some of your conversation…with Jonathan.” He trailed off quietly, nervousness in his tone.

“Oh. Um, I- I’m sorry you had to-“

“No, no. It’s- It’s okay, (Y/n). He’s right…you know, to be hesitant about me. He's a good older brother.” Steve released the hold on your hands, you had to restrain yourself from pulling him back.

Instead, you scratched your head with one hand, “Steve, Jonathan may be right…about things from the past, but he’s not trying to hear your side. He’s being a dick right now.”

Steve took a step back, a crack in your space, “yeah, well, I was a dumbass for all of high school. Friends with Carol and Tommy, feeding into their stupid games, constantly sleeping with girls, then finally settling that down when Nancy came along until that turned into flames.”

“Nancy wasn’t your fault-“

“But it kinda was. I wanted things to be normal, to pretend the past year didn’t happen.”

You wanted to reach a hand out, to touch him, console him, but you held back, choosing to nudge your shoe against his instead. “The past year has been hard on all of us. You can’t blame yourself ‘cause Nancy couldn’t voice her thoughts without liquor. And it’s not her fault either, she lost her friend. She wants justice for Barbara, and that’s understandable.”

“Maybe that’s why she couldn’t love me,” his voice was wet, choking back any tears.

You were quick to quiet those doubts, “no, no. Steve, I’m sure-“

You were cut off from your sentence when a loud commotion from the living room needed your attention, the kids were bickering loudly at each other. Steve left right away, not giving you a chance to give any final statement for your conversation, that’s gonna have to wait for another time.

You walked behind Steve as he pulled the dish towel off his shoulder and held it in his grasp, toying with it. From what you heard as you joined their group, Mike was arguing a bit with Lucas and Max about El and Hopper going back to the lab, worried for their safety- well, El’s safety. Dustin stood off to the side, not butting in with his opinion for once.

“Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?” Steve tried to use his basketball logic in this situation.

It wasn’t the best metaphor. Mike immediately bites back, “Okay, first of all, this isn’t some stupid sports game. And second, we’re not even in the game. We’re on the bench.”

“Right. So- so my point is…” Steve stammered then trailed off, all of you waiting for the point, “right, yeah, we’re on the bench. So, uh, there’s nothing we can do.” He threw the towel back over his shoulder in defeat.

“That’s not entirely true.” Dustin rebutted. “I mean, these demo-dogs, they have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away.”

Lucas started to understand Dustin’s thinking, “so if we can get their attention…”

“Maybe we can draw them from the lab,” Max finished the train of thought.

“Clear a path to the gate,” Mike muttered.

“Yeah, and we all die,” Steve threw his hands out, not liking the idea. You were also a bit against their little plan.

“Look, I know you guys want to help, but I think it’ll be best if we stay here.” You stepped from behind Steve, standing in the clear space between him and Mike.

Lucas and Max looked at each other, Dustin and Steve bickered for a moment, and Mike in his own world stomped off to the kitchen, clearly not hearing you.

“This is where Hopper dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel. So…” he walked off, even one falling a step behind. “Here, right here. This is like a hub. So you got all the tunnel feeding in here.” He stood over a giant spot in the middle of the hallway then fell to his knees on top, “maybe if we set this on fire…”

“Oh, yeah? That’s a no,” Steve immediately cuts Mike off.

Dustin added to Mike’s idea, “the mind flayer would call away his army.”

“They’d all come to stop us,” Lucas finished.

“Guys-“ You were cut off by Mike.

“We circle back to the exit.”

“Guys.” Steve tried his hand, but no dice.

“By the time they realized we’re gone-“

“El would be at the gate.” Max and Mike conspired.

Just as you were about to step in and put an end to this whole plan, Steve clapped loudly and shouted to be heard over their lack of hearing, “Hey. Hey! Hey! This is not happening,” he wagged a finger at the four kids.

“But-“

“No, no, no, no. No buts. I promised I’d- we” a finger between the both of you, “keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what we plan on doing. We’re staying here. On the bench.” The kids rolled their eyes or crossed their arms as Steve continued, “And we’re waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand?”

A bite of your bottom lip held back a smile, a grin wanting to stretch like a feline. ‘Steve was really attractive when he was authoritative’ but now wasn’t the time to let your horny thoughts roam free. You cleared your throat and shook your head free of any inappropriate ideas creeping into your mind.

“This isn’t some stupid sports game.” Mike fought back.

Steve pointed a finger then grabbed the towel off his shoulder, using it to get his point across, “I said does everybody understand that? I need a yes.”

The kids didn’t reply and before they could give a verbal yes to Steve, a loud engine outside stole the show. Everyone’s heads turned at the noise, Max ran away from the group and jumped onto the couch, peering out the living room window with Lucas at her side. You rushed behind the two, leaning down to get a peek at this new development, all you saw were headlights and the faint tune of a rock song presumably blasting through the car speakers. A chill snaked up your spine.

“It’s my brother,” Max whispered. “He can’t know I’m here,” She turned to look at you, fear swimming in her eyes, “He’ll kill me,” a glance at Lucas, “he��ll kill us.”

“Ah, okay. Well, first, get away from the window,” you grabbed their shoulders and shoved them away from the open window, hoping Billy didn’t spot them.

You ushered them away, along with Dustin and Mike, and ordered them to stay near the hallway close to the kitchen. Wanting all the kids to be hidden from any wrath Billy would rain down upon them, especially on Max and Lucas. You looked at Steve who was staring at the front door, and you could already hear the gears turning in his brain, a bad idea was about to be born. You rushed to stand before him, blocking the view of the door and having his eyes drawn to you instead.

“Steve,” you whispered as you crept closer, “whatever you’re thinking of doing, please don’t.”

He kept his eyes on you as he rubbed his lips together, mulling your words over, then looked at the door again, “just keep the kids safe.”

He started to walk away and you boldly reached out and held his left wrist in your clammy grasp, heart racing while your eyes glued to the floor, watching the two pairs of shoes. You licked your lips, not sure what you were going to say or why you outright jumped over your boundaries.

“Steve…” your fingers rubbed over the bone and skin, “just- just…”

“Hey,” you watched as his feet turned towards you, an inch of space between the tips. The gentle press of a finger crooked under your chin lifted your head from the floor before making hesitant eye contact with Steve. His brows pinched in the middle, he stared with empathy dripping from the warm brown of his eyes. “It’s gonna be fine. I promise,” hushed whispers only for the two of you to hear and remember.

You weren’t brave enough to say anything back so you only nodded your head in reply before releasing Steve’s wrist and letting him free, heading into the night to hopefully scare off this beast.

The front door closing sounded almost like a gong, a noise reverberating and ringing within your eardrums.

“What…What was that?” Dustin inquired.

You kept your focus on the door, “nothing. Just a friend worried for a friend.”

“Really, cause it looked like-” Whatever Dustin was gonna say next, it was cut off by an abrupt oof, someone shutting him up.

You were fixed to your spot, hands flexing into fists then expanding, a repeated motion to try and calm your heart. You wanted to be beside Steve, wanting to keep him safe from Billy and his fucked up brain. Billy was crazy, you’ve been fortunate to only encounter the gross teen twice, once at the community pool on the last day of summer, a forgotten face, and a second time at school when he tried asking you out. You saw how he was aggressive when he didn’t get his way, how he would start spitting venom into your face, and with just a few mentions of Billy to Max, you knew how she felt about him.

“What are they talking about?” A mutter spread through the living room.

You snapped your attention away from the closed door and turned to the kids who were peering out the living room window, not even trying to keep hidden from curious eyes.

You rushed over and yanked the back of their shirts, dragging them away, “what the hell is wrong with y’all? Do you want to be seen?” “You think they saw?” Lucas asked, a touch of worry seeping his words.

His question was answered by the front door swinging open, Billy making himself present. You stood in front of the four kids, arms stretched across them, a weak cage to protect them from a wild animal. Billy’s wild eyes and crazy smirk made you want to shed your skin, a ghost feeling of his hands wandering over your body, fingers pressing deep into your flesh and leaving bruises in the shape of his hands.

“Well, if it isn’t bitch Byers.” he stepped further into the house, footsteps bouncing off the walls.

“Where’s Steve?”

“Oh, your pussy of a boyfriend…he’s taking a nap. But I’ll happily show you a great time.” He stepped forward, you stepped back.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Billy.”

“Ah, well, I can’t do that, Byers. See, I’ve got to have a conversation with Lucas Sinclair.” His deadly stare slid over your shoulder, presumably where Lucas stood behind you.

“I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max.” His eyes went from Lucas to Max, his voice low.

“Billy, go away,” Max uttered, no waiver to her words

“You disobeyed me. And you know what happens when you disobey me.” He started to get closer with each word, “I break things.”

Billy started to rush forward, a bull in a china shop, and you knew you couldn’t hold him off at this moment. So you tried to push the kids away from him for just a moment, Billy’s hands shoving you off to the side, the force sliding you onto the kitchen floor, shoulder ramming into the legs of one of the chairs.

Only the yells of the kids told you Billy got Lucas, then you saw the hurried steps of Billy’s boots in your field of vision. He shoved Lucas into a cabinet in the corner, his face blocking Lucas, his scuffed shoes an inch from the ground. The low mutters of Billy spitting words directly into Lucas’ stock face, he uselessly shoved at his shoulders to try and free himself.

Quietly, you started to push yourself up, your body twisting so your knees dug into the wood flooring as you were preparing to run into Billy, but you were stopped when arms wrapped around your waist and yanked you away. You were stunned, but it also told you Steve was okay, which was one less thing to worry about tonight. He dragged you away from Billy and set you on your feet in front of the kids, his arms leaving your waist and his hands flying to caress your cheeks, fingers tucking hair behind your ears.

“Watch the kids,” his quiet command.

You didn’t have time to process Steve’s gentle touch, Lucas freed himself from Billy’s grimey grasp and ran back to your group, and you pushed him behind you. Billy was bent at the waist, hands resting on his thighs or over his crotch, you smirked at the karma Lucas handed Billy.

“You are so dead, Sinclair!” Billy roared.

Steve stomped up behind Billy, turning him by the shoulder, “No. You are!”

And he punched Billy square in the jaw.

Billy’s head flew with the force of the swing, his torso twisting and a hand flying to the red spot. Steve stayed in his spot, fanning out his right hand, and watching as Billy crazily cackled before you all. A crazed smile was stretched over his face and a trickle of blood stained a nostril. He was whooping and hollering like this was some stupid, fratboy game to him.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh?” Steve ran a quick hand through his hair, “I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about!”

You kept watch of the boys, eyes trained mostly on Billy, waiting to see his next move. He walked closer to Steve, getting close to his face trying to intimate him or some shit, you wanted to move closer but held back. Steve stood his ground, not saying a word. It was like a western showdown, the three of you waiting with bated breath to see who would make the first shot.

You would, “get the fuck out of here, Billy,” with a stern voice. You shocked yourself with how stable it came out, you knew your body was giving a light tremble, and one of the kids' hands settled on your forearm.

Billy’s blue eyes slid off Steve and wormed themselves onto you, his tongue darted out and licked over his bottom lip, you wanted to cut it off.

“You should teach your bitch when to keep her mouth shut. Learn to speak when spoken to.” His eyes never leave yours for a second.

Steve didn’t turn to face you, but you notice the slight turn of his head, knowing he paid attention. His focus was still on Billy, the hand he punched with pushing into the blonde's chest making him lean back an inch, “get out,” you heard the low hiss of Steve’s command.

The air was now charged, you knew the feeling very well, it was charged with anticipation. Everyone waiting for the incoming bomb to explode and destroy everything in its path. You held your breath, hoping it could help in some way even though you knew it never changed the charging bull’s path. In the blink of an eye, everything happened.

Billy swung with his right arm, but Steve ducked in time to save his face and threw a solid hit with his left fist. Billy’s body swung with the force brought to his head, his body falling onto the kitchen table, paper and dishes falling to the floor.

“Yes! Kick his ass, Steve!” “Get him!” The kids were chanting behind you.

You couldn’t speak, only watch the sight before you. Billy started laughing again, but Steve cut him off with another punch to his face, body twisting and slamming into the kitchen counter. “Murder the son of a bitch!” Someone, probably Dustin shouted. Steve landed another blow, and Billy flew into the sink. “Now! Now!” “Get that shithead!” More chanting seemed to only be from Dustin and Mike, Max and Lucas haven’t said a word yet.

There was a pause in the punches, Steve only watching Billy who was grinning like a maniac, Dustin once again yelling in your ear, “Kill the son of a bitch!”

And within those quick seconds, Billy got the upper hand. Grabbing a plate next to the sink and smashing it over Steve’s head, throwing him off balance.

“Steve!” You and Lucas screamed just as Max shouted, “Billy!”

Steve started to stumble away, his back to Billy who was rearing up behind him, “Steve!” You cried out just as Billy grabbed his shoulder and landed a hard punch to his cheek. The force sent Steve stumbling into the living room, Billy throwing things off shelves in his anger field rampage. Billy gripped Steve’s jacket in a tight hold as Steve pushed against his shoulders, trying to create a bit of space between them, but it was useless. Billy pulled Steve a bit closer and growled into his face, “No one tells me what to do!” And he rammed his head into Steve’s, his body sliding on the floor, sending the papers askew. The only noises within the house were the loud and harsh breathing of everyone and the animalistic cries and grunts Billy released, “Woo! Get up!”

He stormed over to Steve, and the sounds of his steps echoed loudly within your ears. All you could do was watch Billy as he twisted Steve to lie on his back as Billy knelt and started throwing punch after punch. Not giving Steve a second to breathe, both fists were flying into his cheeks and jaw, Steve not even making a move to push Billy off. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion, Billy’s fist not stopping at any moment, the kids’ shouts and screams telling Steve to get up or yelling at Billy to stop or leave Steve alone, until you couldn’t stand seeing Billy beat Steve for a second longer, even your feet moved sluggishly.

You didn’t fully think it through, but you’ve been in certain situations like this before, with your dad beating Jonathan or stopping him before he could lay a finger on Will or Joyce, your first instinct was to stop the fists. So, when your mind caught up to speed, your feet moved into action and you rushed forward and jumped into Billy’s back, arms tight around his throat. You even used a hand to scratch at his face or pull his tangled knots so he would focus on you instead of Steve, who was laying still as a corpse on the floor, blood and broken skin littering his face.

You tighten your legs around his waist, acting like a koala. Billy stood up and away from Steve, his body twisting and thrashing to throw you off like a mechanical bull, but you’ve done this enough times that you know how to stay on. His claws would grip at your hands or legs, trying to pull you apart, but you would fight back, you even bit his ear hard and yanked at his hair forcing his body to lean back.

“You bitch!” He cried.

“Takes one to know one,” you taunted.

He sneered then suddenly slammed you into a wall, your breath left your lungs at the force. You could hear the kids' yells, but they were silenced with the force of the wall slamming against your spine, your head making hard contact causing stars and dots to spot your vision. Your grip loosened and Billy took that opportunity to flip you off his back and slam you into the flooring, only a foot away from Steve. You gasped, trying to collect any air into your lungs, but nothing was entering.

Billy, doing the same thing he did to Steve earlier, walked over to you and knelt, almost straddling you. A hand was fisted into the cotton material of your shirt, half your body off the floor and leaning towards Billy’s twisted face.

“Should leave the fighting to the men, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face,” a finger caresses your cheek and you flinch away.

“Didn’t know…you were such…a gentleman.” Your words came in breathless increments. “But…you see…I’ve already had… a man put his hands on me. And I… know how… to fight back.”

The feeling came back in one hand so you took the opportunity to fist it into his hair and tug, hard. You pushed yourself up and with both hands on Billy’s head, you slammed your skulls together, knocking Billy to the floor and giving you the upper hand. You scurried over his lap and quickly landed punch after punch, giving him the same treatment he handed to Steve.

The cheers of the kids were white noise, you couldn’t take your eyes off Billy, knowing he’ll get back at you any second. And once his face started to bleed, his cheeks and jaw redding, and your knuckles aching you had to let up a little. Your breathing came in pants and seeing that Billy wasn’t moving at the moment, you looked to the kids. Their eyes were wide, mouths gaped open. Dustin even threw a thumbs-up at you, but the peace didn’t last long.

Billy’s hands shot up and squeezed themselves around your throat. You tried to dig your nails under his fingers, and wiggle your way out, but he had a death grip on you and you’re pretty sure he was gonna kill you. Billy flipped the two of you around, you on the floor and his looming figure crowded around you. A hand reached out around you, trying to find something to knock over his head, but there wasn’t anything and you were terrified.

You could feel the tears welling up along your lash line, scared this is how you die. At the hands of some creep, Billy is probably gonna pounce on Lucas once life drains from your eyes. Your legs were kicking and thrashing, hands once again trying to pry him off.

“Should have let me take you out,” he got closer to your face, “I would have shown you an amazing night, make you forget all about Harrington.” And he stuck his tongue out and licked a stripe on the side of your face, you wanted to throw up.

“Fuck…you,” you choked out while you smushed your hands against his face.

That only spurred him to squeeze harder, your vision going fuzzy with the lack of oxygen reaching your brain. Your legs stopped kicking, hands slipping from Billy’s face, your knuckles thud against the wood. And just as you feel ready to pass out, an angel peeks over Billy’s shoulder, green jacket, fiery red hair swaying with the motions, and something small held in a hand diving sharp into Billy’s neck.

His hands left your neck to touch the syringe sticking out his neck and relief floods you. Your mind was dizzy, but at least you weren’t passed out, although you were probably a second away. You turned on your side, one forearm holding your upper body off the floor and a hand was lightly touching your throat, a bruise sure to last about a month, your throat felt like sandpaper, the saliva alleviating a bit of the burn.

You dragged yourself to Steve, he was still lying unconscious on the floor, but his chest was moving up and down, very slowly. You could hear Billy talking to Max, but knew it was safe now, the morphine was dragging him down, and then the loud thud of Billy’s limp body crashed to the floor two steps away from you. Everyone just watched, not saying a word, only Billy laughing again for the fifth time tonight. You watched as Max grabbed Steve’s bat and held it before Billy.

“Max…”

“From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?”

“Screw you,” was Billy’s response.

Max didn’t like the answer, so she swung the bat between Billy’s legs, and you honestly wish it hit a different target. Billy’s head looked at the bat then Max held it back over her shoulder, yelling at him, “Say you understand! Say it! Say it!”

“I understand,” Billy spoke quietly.

“What?” “I understand,” much louder this time. Then he passed out.

You could finally breathe properly, both mentally and physically. With Billy down, you allowed all your focus to be on Steve, your knees rested beside his shoulder, and you gently caressed his face, tilting it to see all the bruises and cuts displayed on it. “Oh, Stevie,” you cooed to no one but yourself. Thumbs and index fingers smoothing over the bumps and dried blood, a finger sliding down his nose trying to find any broken cartilage. You felt brave at this moment, so you leaned forward until your lips met his forehead, it wasn’t anything crazy, just a phantom touch for you to remember.

When you pulled back and away from Steve, you switched your attention to the kids as they were in a group huddle, whispers, and hushed voices scheming together. You walked to the group and that’s when they stopped talking, forced smiles, and bugged-eyed looks.

“What’s going on?” You huffed out, hands flying to your hips.

No one answered, only glanced at each other, “guys, just tell me. I’m not in the mood for games.”

Dustin stepped forward, “We’re going to the tunnels.” A statement.

“No.”

“(Y/n), either you come with us, or we’re going without you and comatose.” Max held a pair of keys between her fingers.

“Where’d you get those?”

“Billy.”

You thought it over. You knew they were going to do their plan no matter what you chose and if you were there you could keep them safe, but you didn’t want to leave Steve behind. Also, you weren’t sure about Billy, but you would rather be gone when he eventually wakes up.

“Fine, we’ll go,” you relented, “but, we’re taking Steve. So help me carry him to the car.”

…

“Max, for the love of god, please drive straight!”

“Well if Lucas could give me the directions a few minutes earlier that would be great!”

“I’m trying here, okay!”

For the last fifteen minutes, Max had been swerving and going probably thirty over the speed limit, rushing to get to the tunnels, but also giving you a heart attack in the process. You could have driven, you should have driven, but you couldn’t make yourself. Not when Steve had still been unconscious the entire car ride so far, you were starting to become heavily worried for him, especially since he should have been rushed to a hospital, but you didn’t want to split up. So you slipped into the cramped backseat of the Camaro with Dustin and Mike squished to one side with Steve’s feet resting in their laps and you were on the other side with his head resting in yours, hands keeping a firm hold to stop him from getting whiplash. Your eyes switch from frazzled at the state of Max driving to glancing at your lap and being frazzled with Steve’s eye’s not opening for almost an hour. Hands nonstop running through his wind-swept hair to delicate touches over the colorful band-aids Dustin grabbed from his backpack and taped over a cut on his brow and one near his chin. The ice pack you grabbed from the freezer on the way out was slowly defrosting, water droplets trailing down Steve’s forehead and running down the side of his face, landing with a quiet splat on his jacket shoulder.

You turned away from Steve and back to Lucas and Max in the front, Max looking ahead of her, only turning to Lucas for a couple of seconds when he was quiet. Lucas had his head buried in the giant map that was splayed across his lap, a finger trailed along a marked path, hopefully, the one leading to the tunnel. Your attention was dragged away when you felt movement against your thighs and it made your heart race.

Looking down at the head on your thighs, Steve was barely turning his head to the sides. You moved the ice pack to the floor and placed your hands on both sides of his face, not wanting him to hurt his neck or worsen the state he was already in. As you peered down you took notice of Steve’s eyes opened slowly, his lashes sticking together before peeling enough for him to see Mike, or at least someone else with the name that leaves his chapped lips.

“Nancy?”

Mike turned his head at Steve and pulled a face, one you would have chuckled at if your heart didn’t give a squeeze. Choosing to ignore the pang, you cleared your throat and leaned your head into Steve’s field of vision. Loose strands hung free and tickled his face, he tried to reach out but grunted in pain at the small stretch. You pushed his arm to rest on his stomach, hands staying on his face, wanting to soothe any pain he might have.

“Stevie, how are you feeling?” You let the old nickname slip, but he didn’t comment.

“Hurt,” was his only response.

“You put up a good fight.” Dustin stealing the attention, “He kicked your ass, but you put up a fight. (Y/n) made sure he didn’t kill you, pretty badass of her.”

“Jumped on his back, threw punches, and kicked him in the dick. She’s my new role model,” Max piped up from the front, turning to look back at you for a second.

“Eyes on the road, please,” you pleaded.

“What?” Steve moaned. He tried moving his arms again, a new target in mind.

His clammy touch reached your knuckles, pads on fingers tracing over the broken and red skin.

“(Y/n)...” He trailed off, another voice stepping in before he formed his thoughts.

“Okay, you’re gonna keep straight for a half mile, then make a left on Mount Sinai.” Lucas directed Max, a steady grip on the wheel and going at a slower speed.

Steve became more conscious, he directed his attention to the front seat, probably noting the two tweens then looking back at you, “what’s going on?” He was confused, understandably confused.

He tried sitting up, but you kept a firm pressure on his shoulders holding him down. Dustin tried calming him down, “Steve, it’s alright. She’s driven before,” but that was followed by Mike’s sarcastic, “yeah, in a parking lot. (Y/n)‘s the one who insisted on her.”

“I can’t see things at night. I need glasses,” you defended yourself.

Steve started to panic, he was mumbling to himself, cries of “oh god” repeated over and over. His hands trying to grasp at something, trying to pull his body forward, but you could see the flicker of pain over his face at the actions. You took it upon yourself to hold him down or against you, both giving the same result in this predicament.

“Stevie…”

“They wanted to leave you behind, but (Y/n) and I were insistent.”

“Oh my god.”

“Dude, you have to calm down,” Dustin was of no help.

“Dustin, how about you stop talking!” You quipped back.

Your back and forth with Dustin didn’t help calm Steve down, and when Max decided to get a lead foot with the gas causing the car to shoot up in speed, it only caused him to freak out even more.

“Oh god! Oh god! Stop the car! Stop the car!” He repeated.

“Max! Slow down!” You cried to the redhead, still keeping a firm grip on Steve’s thrashing body.

“I told you he’d freak out,” Mike’s annoying voice piped up.

“Everybody shut up!” Max yelled, “I’m trying to focus!” Everyone but Steve shut their mouths, he continued his cry of “oh god”.

“Oh, wait, that’s Mount Sinai. Make a left!” Lucas stated.

“What?”

“Make a left!” He repeated.

His late directions caused Max to swerve into a mailbox before she hit the gas and hit a hard left, everyone shifting in their seats and screaming bloody murder. You would have laughed at the high pitch scream from Lucas, but you were too focused on Steve who was grasping at your knees while you kept a hand to the window for support.

“Max, if we want to save Will, you have to drive straight and slower!”

…

Max’s driving only got worse once she hit the giant pumpkin sign home to Mr. Merrill's farm, stopping hard before swan-diving directly into the giant hole where the tunnels lead beneath. You swear you almost slid off the leather bench and face-planted into the headrest of the passenger's seat at the harsh braking.

Once she turned the engine off, all the kids tumbled their way out of the car, leaving you and Steve alone.

“You okay?” You whispered, even if it was just the two of you.

Steve started to sit up away from your body, the grunts and quiet whimpers giving you the real answer before Steve lied and said, “I’m fine,” and then he toppled out the side door. You huffed at his stubbornness before following behind. You took notice of the kids collecting all the items they stuffed into the trunk, goggles, scarves, rope, gasoline, it was like they were military men who’d been through this before.

“Guys,” Steve called to them.

You just watched as they continued with their task, ignoring Steve as he called for their attention.

“Steve,” you stood in front of him, his back against the car holding him up.

Your hands rested against his cheeks, fingers once again tracing over his battle scars. Someone within you tonight chose to fully run from the lines you drew in the sand, maybe it was seeing how close Jonathan was acting with Nancy, maybe because you and Steve seemed a bit closer, or maybe because you saw Billy beat the crap out of Steve and you were scared out of your mind. Or you just wanted to make sure he was safe and comforted, who knows really?

“He did a number on you, Stevie,” the nickname slipped again.

Steve huffed, you stopped your motions, thumbs pressing into the clean skin of his cheeks while your pinkies sat under his ears.

“What?”

“I just…I haven’t heard that name for so long.” The kids were long forgotten between the both of you.

“Oh, uh, sorry. It- It just slipped.” You dropped your hands.

Steve caught your wrist, pulling your hands to his face, thumbs grazing over the dried blood, “you shouldn’t have fought Billy, he’s a psycho.”

He dropped your hands between your bodies, eyes focusing on you and only you. You wanted to tell him, wanted to get it through his thick skull that you would do anything to make sure he was safe. That you would go through hell and back if it kept him from getting bruises on his face or a broken nose. You wished you could show him what you want to say, wish you could smother his bruised face in delicate kisses, hoping every press of your lips could soothe any of the aches bothering him at this moment.

But you couldn’t do any of those, so you chose a simpler option, “Steve, I’ve dealt with worse before. I know how to handle shitty people.” Your voice tapered off, and a flash of your dad hitting you crossed your eyes.

“Hey,” a pull of your hands.

Steve was staring at you with deep intensity, it made you release a quiet gasp and it caused your heart to pick up speed, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever again. Not if I can help it.”

You tried to keep your face calm, not wanting to show him how much that statement, that promise, meant to you, “And I promise to keep you from harm and to always clean your wounds.”

“Are you two saying your vows? Kinda early, isn’t it?” A high-pitched voice broke the bubble.

You immediately stepped away from Steve, missing the warmth on your wrist already. You cleared your throat and looked at the tween before you, snorkeling goggles snug over his eyes and nose, a thanksgiving table napkin tied around his throat, and finally, a pair of old garden gloves covering his hands and his backpack straps sat on his shoulders.

“We are not going down there right now. I made myself clear.” Steve turned away from you and faced the boy, with a stern tone of voice.

Dustin just rolled his eyes, “yeah that was before you passed out, then (Y/n) was in charge and she’s fine with it.”

“Okay, I didn’t say I was fine with it. I just know you four idiots were gonna do this either way and it would be safer if I came with you.”

“(Y/n), we’re doing this for Will.” Dustin reminded you.

Your harsh demeanor slipped when he reminded you, “yeah, I know. I just don’t like heading directly into danger. I did that last year and it wasn’t fun.”

“I also did that last year and I kicked ass with a bat,” Steve reminded the two of you.

“Yeah, but you didn’t know beforehand. I made the concise choice days in advance, which means I’m an idiot.”

“That doesn’t make you-”

“Guys!” Dustin shouted, “I don’t care about whatever you’re talking about. Right now we are about to jump into an underground tunnel to save Will. And the both of you promised to keep us safe,” he shoved the backpack out to Steve, the bat’s handle sticking out, “so keep up safe.”

…

It’s like you fell down Alice’s rabbit hole into Wonderland, but a darker, much more twisted version.

All the kids headed down before you and Steve, Dustin the last of them to join. You and Steve shared a look, both of you having goggles protecting your eyes and a bandana tied around your neck. You hated this, you wish you were back home right now, but you tried to push the anxiety away. Right now Will needs you, and you need to burn this out of him so El could permanently close the gate.

“I’ll head down first,” Steve decided for the both of you.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” He tugged the red bandana to cover his nose and mouth before heading down below.

‘It’ll be fine’ ‘Everything is going to work out’ You had to repeat to yourself like a mantra.

“(Y/n)!” You peered below and saw Steve looking up at you, his arms stretched up.

With a few quick shakes to your hands and head, you slipped your scarf over your nose and gripped the rope tightly. When it was only your head above the tunnel, you felt hands gripping your waist, your shirt lifting a bit at the touch. You loosened your death grip on the rope when you knew Steve had a secure grasp on you, your back slightly sliding down his front.

‘Of course, when some shit goes down Steve and I manage to get more touchy’ ‘It’s not fair’

“You okay?” A breathy whisper in your ear.

You hope the shiver that ran through your body wasn’t visible, “yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” You looked around at the environment surrounding you, it’s like you were inside the digestive system, which didn’t help with your thinking much, “holy shit.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s this way.” Mike was on the right side of the tunnel.

“You’re pretty sure, or certain?” Dustin argued.

“I’m one hundred percent sure. Just follow me and you’ll know.”

Steve stopped him before he could leave, “whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, hey, I don’t think so.”

Mike turned to him, “what?”

Steve stood in front of him, a flashlight shining in his eyes, “any of you shits die down here, I’m getting the blame. Got it, dipshit?”

“Well, what about (Y/n)?”

“She’s more responsible than me, so all blame is going to be pointed my way. From here on out, I’m leading the way, and (Y/n) will be at the back.” You didn’t want to be at the back but didn’t protest. “Come on, let’s go.” Steve took the makeshift map and led the way.

…

‘I hate this I hate this I hate this I’

“(Y/n)?”

You almost tripped over one of the many roots that were sticking out of the ground, Dustin’s hands helping keep you upright. You allowed yourself a second to stop and just breathe, even though that wasn’t the best option with the spores floating through the air.

“Are you okay?” Dustin stuck to your side.

You wanted to lie, say you were fine and hoped it comforted the boy in any way, but you couldn’t. “Not really, but once we’re out of here, I’ll be better.” You continued your speed walking.

Steve kept a quick stride, his longer legs helping while you and the kids struggled a bit, your legs got tired quickly but you just pushed through. The sooner this is done, you can all haul ass out of here and be free from demo dogs. Soon you were brought to a new area, a giant open area where multiple tunnels snaked out from and a light fog settled at the floor.

“What is this place?” You could hear Max's question.

“Guys, come on. Keep moving,” Steve commanded.

The other three followed behind like baby ducks following their mother. You stepped around Dustin as he was looking around the place and you didn’t want to fall behind and get lost, but when he stopped completely you turned around and took notice that he was looking at something above him.

“Dustin!”

Then something sprayed directly into his face causing him to scream and wave his arms about, “Shit! Shit!” He fell to the ground before you rushed over to him to assess any damage done to him.

“Dustin! Dustin!” You could hear the others making their way back toward the two of you.

“Dustin, tell me if you’re hurt,” but he was just spasming on the ground.

“What happened?” Steve knelt beside you, looking between you and Dustin.

“I don’t-”

“It’s in my mouth! Some got in my mouth! Shit!” He pulled the napkin away and was coughing.

Five pairs of torches were pointed at Dustin, his heaving slowing down before he stopped and looked at your group, “I’m okay.”

“Are you serious?” “Very funny, man” “Nice. Very nice.” “Jesus, what an idiot.” They all grumbled before leaving you and Dustin.

“Dustin, you sure you’re okay?” A hand rubbed over his shoulder.

He huffed a few times, “yeah, yeah. I’m okay.”

You nodded your head, stood up, and held a hand out for him to take.

“Byers, Henderson, let’s go!” Steve shouted from ahead.

…

“All right, Wheeler. I think we found your hub.”

“Drench it.”

The kids got to work on soaking as many square inches of the space, top to bottom, every side, and tunnel opening. Lucas had an old weed sprayer, filled with gasoline and covered the walls and ceiling. Max, Mike, and Dustin spread their containers of fluid on the ground and the nest that was resting in the middle of the space. You and Steve stood back and kept watch for any movement that could be a demo dog.

Once they were out of fluid and the room smelled like twenty gas stations, the kids ran behind you and Steve. Steve held the lighter in his hand and looked over his shoulder at the four of you.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” “Ready.” “Ready.” “Let’s get this over with,” you muttered.

“Light her up,” Dustin confirmed to Steve.

“I’m in such deep shit.” Steve panted before flicking the lighter and throwing it.

Roots and vines started to thrash in the flames. You threw your arms over your face to ward off any heat, but it was no use. You started to push the kids to start running back to the rope, Steve grasping your hand in turn as he pulled the both of you away.

“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” You muttered, or Dustin, or Steve, or everyone was thinking the same thing at this moment.

Steve had to release his hold on you to look back at the map to guide everyone, you stayed near the back as he went to the front, light slicing through the muddy dark. In everyone’s hast to leave, you almost didn’t register the noise of Mike tripping or screaming for help. You turned back to him and tried to use your hands, hoping it might loosen enough for him to slip free.

“Steve! Help!” You cried for the boy.

“Hold on!”

“Steve, pull him out!” Dustin demanded as he grabbed Mike’s arms.

“Move! Move!” You heard him shouting as he rushed over.

You jumped away from the root wrapped around Mike’s ankle and watched as Steve threw the bat down, hard. Then again, and one more time before it slithered away and Mike scrambled away. Steve held the bat low, his chest huffing with the energy he just used, a hand running through the wild strands.

‘I think I’m in love’ You stared with your mouth agape.

“(Y/n), come on.” Steve pulled you up with your hands intertwined.

When you turned around to continue your hasty leave, a low growling stopped everyone, and blocking your trail, a demo dog snarled at your group. Steve pushed you behind him and held the bat high, ready to swing at any moment. You grasp the back of Steve’s jacket lightly, both in fear and not wanting him to walk toward it.

But it was Dustin who started forward, a hand reached out for him but missed, “Dustin!” You hissed at the boy.

Everyone else joined in low mutters and hisses, trying to stop Dustin in his tracks. He just shushed everyone and continued his slow steps, the demo dog copying his movements and getting closer to him.

You could hear the quiet words he spoke to the creature, “Hey. It’s me, it’s me. It’s just your friend, it’s Dustin.” He knelt to level with it, like an adult talking with a child. He continued to talk to it with hushed whispers, then it flared its mouth, its floured head and rows of teeth on display. Everyone jumped, and you clutched Steve’s jacket a bit tighter.

“Dustin! Please!” You once again try to reason with him.

He just held a hand out, a stopping gesture. He resumed talking, then took his backpack off and pulled something out, holding it up. It might have been a candy bar, he always carried some type of food in his backpack. He dropped it to the floor then he waved behind him at your group to walk through the tunnel. One by one everyone tiptoed past the demo dog, it seemed consumed with the candy which you were thankful for. As you were the last one past, Dustin gathered his bag and then joined your group, saying goodbye to the beast.

…

An earthquake threw everyone off their feet.

“What was that?”

“Just go! Go!” Pushing the kids forward, then you hear it.

The loud thundering of growling and feet of a stamped.

“Run! Run!” Mike cried.

One more tunnel straight then a final left turn brought you back to the hanging rope, ready to bring you to safety above ground. Steve stood under the rope and helped Max up first. Then, once she was above ground, it was Lucas’ turn. Once Lucas was free, Mike was next and you could hear the growls getting louder, closer.

“Dustin, come on,” you made a hand basket for a foot to boost him higher.

With your extra boost along with Steve’s help, Dustin was safely above the tunnels when you heard the thundering paws heading in your direction.

“(Y/n)! Come on, go!”

“Steve, I barely passed gym, I can’t do pull-ups!”

You ignored the exasperated huff that escaped Steve’s throat, instead mentally preparing yourself for death. But the tugging of Steve’s arm wrapping around your waist and pushing you behind him as he raised the bat, took over instead. The roars and growls were getting louder by the second, almost drowning out the kid's cries for the two of you, but you could still hear their desperate pleas.

“Steve…” you pressed your front directly against his toned back, arms looping tight around his waist.

You felt him stiffen, but held your position, “Steve…if we don’t-”

“We’re gonna be alright, (Y/n),” one hand dropped to caress your forearms.

You absorbed his words, deciding to not continue your mindless ramble. You just held him tight and shoved your face just below his shoulder blades, the sounds of the demo dogs running towards you sounded like a waterfall directly in your ears. You waited for the screams, the blinding hot white pain, the trickles of blood seeping from your wounds, or having your bones bend and snap, but none of that happened.

You didn’t dare move your face or open your eyes until the noise died down, and all you could hear and feel was you and Steve, your chests heaving and gasping in loud pants. Your tight grasp slipped, Steve twisting to face you, his free hands jumping to your cheek.

“You okay?” You could almost feel his breath on your face from how close he stood before you.

You couldn’t speak, so you just nodded your head as confirmation.

“Love birds!” You jerked your head up, the kids all staring down, “let’s go!”

…

“Steve, I don’t think you should be driving.”

“I’m not letting Max behind the wheel of a car until she has a permit.”

“We were in a rush!”

Once you and Steve were out of the tunnels, finally a moment of peace for the day, the headlights of Billy’s Camaro blazed to life, blinding everyone. You thought nothing of it at the moment, but once when dimmed back to normal, you realized it was Eleven. She had closed the gate, Will was freed from the mind flayer, and you could use a nap right now. So everyone tumbled into the small car, you and Steve now in the front with the kids in the back, their grumbles falling on deaf ears.

“Do y’all want to stay at my house? Honestly, it would be so much easier.” You twisted to face the four tired kids.

They just nodded and mumbled their acceptance of the invitation before dozing off. Max leaning on Lucas’ shoulder, Dustin and Mike knocked their heads against each other, neither making a move to change to a more comfortable position.

“You think Billy’s still there?” Steve whispered.

“For his sake, I hope not,” you grumbled as you slumped in the passenger seat.

…

The house was quiet, but the lights were still on. You and Steve gently shook the kids awake, the heels of their palms digging into their eyes or running the back of their hands against their mouths to wipe away drool from the thirty-minute ride back. You didn’t lock the door on your way out, so Dustin was the first to enter with kids in tow, then you, then Steve.

“Where’s Billy?” Max muttered, hands rubbing at her eyes.

“I don’t know, nor do I care right now,” was your answer, which she took perfectly fine. “Boys why don’t you sleep in Will’s room, you can maybe all fit on his bed. Max, you can sleep in my room with me, if you want.”

Everyone accepted the sleeping arrangements, the boys decided to get the sleeping bags that they keep when they stay over. Their feet drag on the floor, high-pitched noises following until the two doors close, leaving you and Steve in the living room.

“Is it…Can I-”

“Steve, I will tie you to a bed so you can get some rest. But first, I have to clean you up.” You tugged him behind you with a grasp on his wrist.

The harsh yellow lighting of the small bathroom caused your eyes to squint, needing a moment for the light throbbing against your temple to dim. You dragged Steve to sit on the toilet, hands dropping to his lap as you moved to the sink storage, pulling out the dusting first-aid kit. There hasn’t been a need to use it in serious emergencies for about three years, it was still well stocked from the last time Joyce refilled it.

You grabbed some cotton balls and the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, saturating them enough before standing before him, “this is gonna sting, so…you can hold me if you need to.” You leaned in, left hand sitting at the juncture of his jaw and neck while your right hand with the cotton balls dapped quickly and gently at a wound on his brow.

Steve’s hands shot up and gripped your hips, tight. His hissing filled the quiet night along with your soft mumbled apologies, one right after another, he would hiss and you would apologize. You made quick work of the many bruises, the one on his eyebrow, his forehead, and a bit of his cheek. And you’ve already gone through four cotton balls that have dyed red.

“Steve…can you- can you open your legs?” You flushed at the sentence. Even Steve threw an arched eyebrow at you, “I- I need to get closer.”

He chuckled at your stutters, spread his legs wider, and with the help of the hands at your hips, he tugged you closer. Stomach close to his face, he could press himself into you, or dig his chin into the doughy flesh and stare up at you, which would cause the butterflies to erupt. You had to ignore the thunder of your heartbeats, hand moving to hold his cheek as you started on his nose bridge.

His eyes were closed tight, brows creasing in the middle from the pain the liquid was causing him. His fingers dug into your jeans, but his pointer and thumb found their way under your shirt and pressed into your flesh. As you changed out the dirty cotton ball for a new one, Steve’s eyes opened and peered up at you, while your hands moved from his cheek to a firm grip on his chin.

“I’m pretty sure Billy was a boxer in a past life.” Thumb tugging his bottom lip.

“Eh well-” you pulled away for Steve to speak, “I haven’t been brushing up my fighting skills.”

You scuffed, “you should cause no offense, but Jonathan whooped your ass last time,” you chuckled a bit at the distant memory.

“Hey, come on!” His hands kneaded at your hips.

The bathroom was filled with your gentle laughs, a moment in time when everything is good. You finished cleaning Steve’s wounds and placing bandaids over them. The trash was filled with dirty cotton balls and the plastic paper from the bandaids. You didn’t step away from Steve’s hold, hands continued to caress his scraped face, thumbs running over the beige coverings. Fingers ran through the sides of his hair, his eyes closing at the scraping of your short nails over his scalp, he looked like he could purr at any moment.

“Our knight is Levi jeans,” you muttered.

The moment broke a minute later, having to pull yourself away from Steve before you allowed yourself to be consumed by him. You shuffled around the space, doing some quick cleaning before you headed to bed, also wanting to distance yourself from Steve. He felt like a magnet to you, something that you couldn’t help but be drawn towards.

“(Y/n)...” the air shifted.

You kept your eyes on the first-aid kit, fingers toying with the bandaids. It wasn’t until Steve’s hand grasped your chin and turned your head to face him you forced yourself to make eye contact, even for a second. His hands changed positions, and his palms cradled your cheeks, holding you as if you were a piece of priceless china in his mother’s cabinet. You saw his eyes glance to your neck, you couldn’t see it, but your throat did feel tight and sore. A dark bruise in the shape of Billy’s hands, something to last for almost a month, a constant reminder.

But you didn’t want Steve to focus on that right now, it was over anyway. With your pointer finger on his chin you tilted his head up, eyes moving away from your scarred throat to now gaze into your piercing eyes. And it was like you almost saw something click in his mind, eyes lighting up.

“(Y/n)...I-” Steve licked his lips, eyes darting over your face, “I- You are…fuck it.”

His hands pulled your face in, lips crashing into each other. It wasn’t anything crazy, just the hard pressing of your lips against the others, maybe one of you waiting to see who would make the next move. Steve took the leap, but would you continue this bliss or pull away before it could go further? You had this split-second choice to make and you made the selfish one.

Arms moving on their own accord, they copied Steve’s position, hands caressing his cheeks with rings and pinkie fingers resting along his jaw. A tilt of your head allows for the kiss to move further, lips moving into a rhyme. It was intoxicating, the feel of Steve’s lips, the strong smell of him mixed with his fading cologne, the strands of hair parting through the fingers that sneaked their way up, the nose that left Steve’s mouth at the firm tug on his hair. He drove you crazy, his tongue snaking into your mouth fully caused your mind to shut down, all your thoughts were of Steve.

‘Steve Steve Steve Ste-’

The abrupt shove of your hands against his shoulders cut the mood. Steve stumbled back with a step or two, your own body moving to the door, needing as much space between your bodies. A hand danced to your lips, tingling with the sensation of Steve, your cheeks aflame with his lingering touch.

“(Y/n), I’m sorry,” Steve took a step closer, but you put a hand out to stop him, “I thought…I just thought that-” “Steve, I’m gonna say this once, so please don’t talk.”

You waited for a confirmation he understood, a quick nod of his head and you shakily released a breath, “Steve. I have lov-liked you since eighth grade.” You caught yourself before you actually said it.

You paused, wanting to see if he’ll react to this statement. The only visible sign was his eyes widening.

You looked at your twisting hands, not brave for this conversation, “Well, actually I liked you in fifth grade, but I didn’t understand what I was feeling at the time. Not until I noticed kids our age kissing, holding hands, and sharing smiles did I realize. I wanted to do all that with you, I wanted to make you laugh so I could see you smile, and not one of those fake smiles you threw to your friend group or the teachers. The one that pulled your lips wide, laugh lines creasing in ecstasy. And when I was able to do that one time during Mrs. Smith’s English class, I knew for sure.”

You glanced at Steve, he sat on the toilet lid, face in his hands with his elbows digging into his thighs. You wished to walk over to him, but both of you need the space to breathe and think clearly in this situation.

Steve lifted his head, eyes boring into yours. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” His voice was a whisper.

A scuff escaped, “Steve, we weren’t even in the same orbit until last year. And mind you, you and Nancy were dating. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself just so you could reject me.” Arms crossed over your chest.

Steve immediately stood up, “Nancy and I broke up.”

“Yeah, official, like today. I don’t see where you’re getting at.”

A step forward, “I had a crush on you,” another step, “But I never did anything ‘cause I knew my parents would reprimand me if they found out I was hanging out with you and the other kids were being dicks when they noticed I looked your way for too long.”

You just stared, “when I got to high school I tried to get those feelings to go away. I would go out with girls, sleep with them, or dance with them at parties. Anything to get you off my mind, the glimpses of you in the hall, your tired face wanting to fall asleep during one of Mr. Jones’ lectures, or the quick turning of your head before I looked your way. You lived inside my brain for the longest time and I thought it was gonna stay that way forever until Nancy came along.”

“Okay, ouch.”

His hands stretched out, “just- just listen, please.” You stayed quiet.

“Nancy and I had this thing going for a while after she started to tutor me. Notes in lockers, meetups from prying eyes, sly looks, and comments in the halls. She was the first girl who started to pull my attention away from you, and fuck, it made me a bit happy.”

That quick exhale stabbed your heart, but you tried to show no reaction, you probably failed.

“When I saw you in the halls, my heart didn’t race as much, my gaze wouldn’t stray your way as often. I thought I was finally moving on, leaving my childhood crush behind and going for a girl who was within reach and reciprocating the feelings I was showing, but then Will disappeared. When Will disappeared you reappeared in my mind, and the dull thudding of my heart sped up when you were around, my eyes wandered to you if you were in the same room. But I was still happy with Nancy, I liked being with Nancy.”

He got closer during his ramble, the wide gap was now only a few steps separating the both of you.

“Steve…”

“But as the year went on, she was distancing herself. Got lost in her head, upset when I suggested being dumb teenagers for Halloween night. And Halloween, that night in itself is a mess.”

“Steve, please, just stop.”

He got closer, “(Y/n) I’m trying to tell you I’ve always had feelings for you, it’s just now that I’m acting on them.”

“Steve, you're being mean. Stop it.” “What?” “Stop it.”

The sting in your eyes alerted you of the incoming tears, “Steve, I’ve been seen as some type of freak almost my whole life, by some of the town folk, fellow students, and my dad. I knew I could never have you and it hurt every time I reminded myself, but I accepted it. But you telling me that Nancy, Nancy Wheeler, one of the most perfect girls in this town, helped you move on from me, it’s the worst pain imaginable. I didn’t want to know that, I’m already criticizing myself against Nancy in my mind. You’re making me feel like a replacement for her.” “But I do want you, I’ve always wanted you.” He pleaded, hands reaching for your hands.

“Steve-” you let him take your hands, hoping they’ll help him understand the words coming from your mouth, “Steve, I want to be with you, I’ve been dreaming, waiting for this moment. But if you’re choosing to finally do this just ‘cause you’re free from Nancy, I don’t want it.” You slipped your hands-free.

“I know you’re still in love with Nancy, who wouldn’t be, she’s the girl next door. And I heard you the day after Halloween, I heard you begging her to say it back. Just cause you officially broke up today doesn’t mean shit. The both of you need proper closure, she left with Jonathan for two days and comes back close with him. And we’ve been crossing lines as well, and I hold myself accountable for some of it. But what I’m trying to say is,” hands grasping his cheeks to hold his attention, “I will not be your second choice.”

“But you’ve always been my first,” his hands circled your wrist.

“Not in my eyes.” You slipped free, “When you have your shit together, Steve, we’ll see.”

You rushed out of the bathroom when the final word slipped from your lips, not wanting Steve to see you crying over him.

…

November was once again, shitty. Well, it was peaceful with the Upside Down sealed off for good, but it was personally shitty for you.

Work felt suffocating, knowing Bob won’t be coming anytime soon. The lab faked Bob’s death, some bullshit about a car accident just outside the city limits. It made your blood boil, you wanted to scream and point your finger directly at them, yell at the top of your lungs and tell all of Hawkins, “Bob died because of this stupid fucking lab! He saved my family and friends from being eaten alive! He didn’t die in some fucking accident!” But you couldn't, no one outside your circle would believe you and you knew the lab could make you disappear one day, gone off the face of the earth.

There was a small funeral for him, not many people showed up, and you were a bit disappointed at the turnout. You and Joyce were at the front, both of you stone-faced and flushed from the cold wind biting your cheeks and noses. Jonathan didn’t join and neither did Will. You understood with Will, he was still recovering from the scare Nancy gave him to push the mind flayer out of him, but Jonathan…you were just peeved at his absence. Hopper was there, giving comfort to the both of you, squeezing your shoulders or pulling you into hugs when your body shook with tears.

You hated funerals.

…

You couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving break.

School days felt like they lasted a decade, moving too slowly for your liking. You kept your head down in the halls and during class, not wanting to meet Steve’s eyes or even Nancy’s. Running the other way if you saw even a glimpse of Billy or his ratty hair walking through the halls. He knew you could handle yourself, but you didn’t want to be around him either way, wanting to be as distant as humanly possible.

Eddie and Robin were worried about you, your behavior was a bit more abnormal than usual, but you couldn’t tell them everything so you picked certain details, including…

“Steve told you what?!”

You flinched at the loud cries of Robin and Eddie, both of them sharing baffled expressions. You peeked around the library, catching the turning of heads at the noise, and cringing inward at the look Mrs. Gray was throwing at you. Eddie and Robin didn’t seem to care that they broke the one rule of the library, too busy exchanging looks with each other.

“Can you please not draw attention our way?” You pleaded.

Robin shook her head with her hands hovering in front of her, “whatever. Steve told you-” “That he’s always liked you?” Eddie cut her off, a furrow on his brow.

Just a shrug was your reply. You changed the story a bit when you recounted your weekend.

“Steve came to my house Saturday night, bruised to hell, telling me he wanted to talk. So I let him in and helped clean his face since it seemed he wasn’t in a rush to see a doctor, insistent on whatever he had to tell me. As I cleaned his cuts, I got closer, standing between his legs and holding his face and in turn, he held my hips and squeezed when the pain hit.”

“Hot,” Eddie voiced, all you gave was a deadpan glare.

“Anyway, when I was done, we just stood there. Barely space between us, hands touching each other and just gazing into the other's eyes, and then…it happened. Steve pulled me forward and we kissed, and it lasted for maybe two minutes before I pushed him away.”

“Why? Aren’t you happy he kissed you?” Robin interrogated.

“I’m getting to that.” You just wanted to get this over with, “He started on this ramble, well, actually I told him I liked him, but then he went on his ramble. How he liked me in middle school as well, but he held back because of his parents and the kids making fun of him. Said he started hooking up with girls just to get me off his mind, and then he said Nancy was the first girl to get me off his mind.” A crack broke the sentence.

“Oh, (Y/n),” Robin rubbed a hand along your upper arm.

“Uh, and then it just got a bit messy with our conversation from there, but that’s pretty much the gist of it. But at the end he said…”

You haven’t spoken to Steve for about two weeks now. Anytime you saw him in the halls, either walking your way or you leaning against the lockers near yours, you would turn on your heel and run the other way. If you were in his presence for even a second, you would break. You so badly wanted to hear him out, finally get the boy you’ve always dreamed about, but you needed more time. You told him to get his shit together and get closure between him and Nancy before he made a proper decision, but honestly, you need to talk with Nancy as well. Seeing her with Jonathan, the two being happy, it messed with you a bit.

“I hate people in love,” you grumbled.

“Me too,” Robin and Eddie spoke, voices intertwining

…

“What are you doing here?”

“Here to talk with Nancy, dingbat.”

You ignored the eye roll from Mike and made your way to Nancy’s room, stopping to say hello to Mrs. Wheeler and Holly. You were nervous but knew this was closure you also needed. Needed to hear the words directly from Nancy’s mouth, and see the sincerity on her face, it would make you feel better about the idea of being with Steve.

With gentle knuckles knocking on her door, you heard her faint voice call for you. You peeked your head in before stepping all the way in and closing the door behind you, slow steps towards her bed. You haven’t been up here since last year, after the woods incident, and you felt a bit uneasy.

Nancy looked up from the homework that was spread around her, tangled curls pinned back by clips and her shining face was on full display. The pang was back in your heart, “She was the first girl who started to pull my attention away from you, and fuck, it made me a bit happy” the sting hit your eyes and you could feel the clog forming in your throat.

“You okay?” Nancy’s sweet voice stopped the sentence from repeating.

You wrung your hands together, eyes falling to the floor and watching your sneakers toe into the carpet, “uh, not really,” you spoke honestly.

You heard the shuffling of the bed, “what’s wrong?” Then you heard her backtrack a bit, “did- did you have Bob’s funeral yet?”

“Yeah, a week and a half ago.”

“Oh.”

A beat of silence, “when’s Barb’s?”

“First Saturday of December.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. You knew you were the one to ask Nancy if you could talk, but you fully want to run back home at this moment.

“(Y/n)...why are you really here?” Her voice was gentle.

You chewed at your bottom lip for a moment, “I…I wanted to talk…about Steve.” You whispered his name like a curse.

“Ah.” That was all she said in response, you snapped your head up.

“Ah? Why ah?”

The smirk toying at her lips nerved you a bit, it suddenly felt like a setup, “Steve wanted to talk a few days ago.”

Your eyes widen, “he did?”

She nodded her head with a closed-lipped smile, you eyed her with curiosity as she patted the space beside her, an invitation to you. The mattress sunk with your added weight, one leg bent in front of you while the other rested on the floor. You and Nancy faced each other, homework and textbooks being the only border.

“Steve likes you, you know that, right?”

A simple nod, “He told me. And I told him I liked him.”

You saw the shrug of her shoulders, “okay, that’s good. But why do both of you seem so mopey?”

You just gave her a look, hoping you didn’t have to say it aloud verbally. You knew she was smart enough to get the reason why both you and Steve wanted to talk with her. You just stared at her a little harder, and you saw the moment it clicked in her mind, a lightbulb going off.

“Oh. Well…what- what do I have-” “Nancy, Steve loved you. He cared for you, and you…” you trailed off, not wanting to accuse Nancy of anything from their relationship.

“I wasn’t very fair in our relationship, I understand that now. And I did like Steve, so much, but I don’t think I ever loved him, or at least not the way he loved me. For a while it was fine, but slowly, I- I just… something changed. And I wanted to get justice for Barb and her parents, Steve wanted to pretend last year didn’t exist and I just couldn’t do that.” You could see the hurt within her eyes, “And when Jonathan was helping me, it felt right. It felt like that missing piece was finally found and completed the picture I was looking for.” A smile.

“Don’t you feel a little… I don’t know, guilty? Or something? You just fled Hawkins, gone for two days then came back, you and Jonathan seemingly closer. Were you and Steve even broken up when you left?” You hated to burst her bubble, but you had to know.

“No, I don’t. Cause I did something to stop the lab, but yes, I do feel a bit guilty about Steve. We got into that fight before I left, I should have at least talked with him or something. But, (Y/n)-” Nancy reached for your hands and held them, “I saw the passing glances, some from you and some from Steve. I saw the wanting in your eyes, the longing for him. And I’m telling you as a friend, Steve is a good guy, he’s grown since last year.”

“I know.” And you do, you’ve seen it first hand, the personal growth Steve’s gone through in the past year.

“So I hope you think about it when I tell you to go for it. When Steve goes to you, hear him out, process his words, and if you want, accept him with open arms and a giant smile. I want to see you happy, you deserve it, both of you.”

…

The Snowball dance didn’t start until eight, so by five is when everyone started to get ready. Will hopped into the shower while Jonathan and Joyce made a quick dinner for everyone since there was only gonna be punch and snacks at the dance. When Will was out of the shower and Jonathan ate half his meal, he took his turn in the bathroom and cleaned up.

Around six-thirty, there was a loud knocking on the front door and you already knew who it was. With sock-covered feet, you shuffled across the wood flooring and opened the door with a welcoming smile.

“You excited?” You questioned the young girl.

She had a beaming smile, cheeks pushing into her eyes. Curly hair waiting to be tamed by water and gel, her dress and shoes in her hands.

“She’s been bouncing ‘round the cabin for the past hour,” Hopper sounded both happy for her and exhausted for himself.

You ushered them in, Hopper heading to the kitchen as you walked Eleven to your room. The both of you passed the boy's rooms, both wearing their pants for the night and a simple tank over their chest. Each gave a wave in greeting to El, her returning the gesture before you pulled her along.

“Okay, just place your dress on the bed and shoes on the floor. I’m gonna do your hair first so we gotta head to the bathroom.”

“Okay.”

She giggled every time water would splash back on her or you, in awe at the change caused to her hair, “I’m going for that slicked-back look you had when you came back.”

“Bitchin’.” It’s her new favorite word to show excitement.

With her new hairstyle, and only an hour until everyone needs to leave, you started on the simple makeup she wanted. You knew Hopper might have a fit if he saw her wearing heavy makeup and also you knew she didn’t need full coverage, just some eyeshadow and blush.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” you murmured as you swept the light purple shadow over El’s closed lids.

Her eyes opened and they were shining, filled with joy and love. You wanted to wrap her up and keep her away from all the bad in the world, already having been through so much at a young age. But she was safe now, everyone was safe now, no need to worry about the worst anymore.

Eleven reached her smaller hand for your larger one, pinkie wrapping around yours. You were a bit confused but she flashed a smile and said in her quiet voice, “sisters.”

…

Eleven and Hopper left about thirty minutes ago, wanting to have their own time with each other and giving your family private time as well. Hopper hugged you and whispered a thank you into your messy hair, and you dropped a kiss on El’s forehead. You and Joyce sat in the living room waiting for Jonathan and Will, giving the boys their brother time.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Joyce asked for the third time that night.

“Mom, you’re just gonna drop them off then come home. I’m fine with staying behind.” A hand rested on her knee.

It looked like she was preparing to say something, maybe convince you to just go on the short ride, but was stopped and looked over your shoulder. You followed her eye line and saw Jonathan and Will, both dressed nicely and standing awkwardly.

“Well, don’t you both look handsome.” Joyce beamed at her boys.

“Didn’t know you could clean up,” you teased them, Jonathan just rolled his eyes.

Joyce fused with Will’s sweater vest a bit, pinching and lightly tugging. Making sure his tie was neat and straight, fingers toying with his bowl cut.

“Oh! (Y/n), can you get the camera thing, the one that records.”

“It’s called a video camera, mom. It’s right in the name,” you reminded her as you left the living room.

You kept Bob’s video camera that he gave you to use on Halloween. He trusted you with it and it felt wrong to just bring it to the store or give it away, so this small piece of him is kept in your room on your desk. You made sure it was charged and there was a tape then trudged back to the living room, Joyce and Jonathan swaying to an invisible tune. You immediately started to record, wanting to get evidence of this blissful moment between your family. Once Jonathan got tired, Will stepped in, his arms stretched to reach Joyce’s shoulders, which wasn’t far; there were only a few inches between their heights.

Jonathan started to tug the giant camera from your grasp, “what are yo-”

“Go dance with Will. He could use some practice.” And he rested the viewfinder against his right eye.

You just rolled your eyes but stepped up to the dancing pair. With a quick tap to Will’s shoulder, he turned his head towards you. And wanting to add more to this little display, you rested an arm behind your back with the other stretched before you, waist bent at a small angle.

“William Byers, may I have this dance?”

…

It had been about two hours since everyone left for the dance, you staying behind in your fuzzy pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. A Charlie Brown Christmas was playing on the TV, the volume faint as you threw some cookie dough into the oven and heated some hot chocolate on the stove. You were planning to stay up until everyone came home, school dances usually end around ten or eleven.

There was a sudden knocking against the front door just as you shut the stove off. You tensed at the abrupt noise, not expecting anyone to show up, but also worried it might be someone who’s been on your mind for the past week. You tip-toed to the door, wanting to be as quiet as possible to see if there will be another knock or if the person would just leave.

Another round of knocks made you jump a bit and as you trekked closer you heard the person speak, very faint, “(Y/n)! It’s Steve!”

Your eyes widen involuntarily, feet stopping you just behind the door. Your fingers twisted the sleeves of your hoodie into their tight grasp, you were holding back from opening the door. You knew Steve was gonna eventually talk to you again, you just didn’t expect it to be so soon. Maybe another month or two before this confrontation.

“(Y/n), please! I need to talk to you…also, I think I’m getting frostbite.”

Not even a second later you swing the door open, eyes staring him down before ushering him inside the warm home. He was only wearing a red sweater and his Levi’s, ‘he looks so handsome, so cozy’, but you could see the shake of his shoulders, his hands furiously rubbing together as if he was twisting a stick to start a campfire.

“I thought you ran hot, Steve.” You stayed near the door.

He huffed, “I do, but I was out there for five minutes before I knocked.”

You ignored the quick thump of your heart, “why are you here, Steve?”

“You know why.” He took two steps closer.

“Steve…”

“Please,” he reached for your hands, “please, just hear me out. You can throw me out when I’m done, okay? Just…please.” He sounded like a little kid, it broke your heart.

Your fingers squeezed his hand as a physical ‘okay’ before you said the actual word aloud. You pulled Steve with you as you headed back to the kitchen, cookies smelling like they were done and your hot chocolate was slowly cooling already. A turn of the oven knob allowed for the cookies to rest in the dying heat.

“I made some hot chocolate, you want some?” You were stalling.

“Uh, sure, that sounds good.” Steve stood by the small kitchen table.

You had to push up on your toes to reach further into the cupboard, a hand pushed to the counter for extra leverage. As you were getting nowhere and ready to just climb for your mugs, a hand pressed against your lower back, a leg lightly nudging into yours.

“I got it,” his voice was low, and a shiver ran across your body.

You moved out of the way so he could use both hands when he dragged two matching mugs from the back, both covered in a floral print. You made quick work of filling the cups, dropping some marshmallows into yours, none for Steve and topping them with some whipped cream.

“(Y/n)-”

“I heard you drove Dustin to the dance tonight.”

“Yeah- yeah, he’s a… he’s a good kid.” He let a smile peek. You indulged in the sight.

“Okay, I’m ready.” You sounded like you just told Steve to slap you. And by the look on his face, showed how confused he became.

“What?” “Tell me why you’re here.”

He sat straighter when you clarified the topic change, hand pushing his mug away before twining them together and resting on the table. His fingers rubbed together, specifically his thumbs. His eyes weren’t on you, focused on the table or his hands, anything that wasn’t you it seemed. You understood the need to look away when talking about something like this. He licked his lips and then spoke, just one sentence.

“I like you.”

You wanted to state the obvious, ‘you already told me’ but you settled with a simple, “I- I like you too.” Well, not simple to you, but you felt that Steve needed to hear you say it again after this past month.

He instantly lifted his head, puppy dog eyes pulling you in along with the dazzled smile showing off his dimples. The urge to lunge forward and pull him into your arms grew in strength, so you sipped your drink, eyes away from Steve.

“I know the last time we talked wasn't great. Well, it was great for about two minutes before it went to hell.”

“Steve…” You did also enjoy those two minutes.

“And for good reason, I fully know that. So, I’ve been getting my shit together, your words. I’ve talked with Nancy and told her how I felt about our relationship and how she hurt me as well as how I hurt her. I even talked with Jonathan.”

You raised your brows at that, he didn’t mention anything to you about Steve. Tomorrow you’ll have to question him about it. You nodded for Steve to continue, choosing to leave your input until he was done talking.

“I told him I liked you, wanted to be in a relationship with you. He was against it, completely understanding him, but I made sure to tell him how much you meant to me. I wasn’t- I’m not trying to use you as a rebound or replacement for Nancy.” He moved to the seat beside you, hands reaching for you across the table, but you didn’t take them, not yet.

“Nancy and I had a good time in our relationship, it might’ve been short-lived, but it was nice. She helped me mature and leave King Steve behind, realizing I could be more than a high school douchebag. And when you slowly became a part of my life, I wanted to be the best version of myself. You deserve the best, (Y/n), and I showed you my affections at a low point.” You had to interrupt him, “Steve, just from the past year alone, I’ve seen you grow so much. And every day, I so badly wanted to tell you how much I liked you, wishing I could be with you. But I would see you smiling with Nancy, the two of you whispering in each other's ears, giggling at whatever. Your arm draped over her shoulder, her hand holding yours. It killed me, piece by piece, every time I saw the two of you together. I wanted to walk into the shadows and disappear. But the two of you were my friends, so I stuck it out, and sometimes when it was too much I would cry. And I hated that I was crying over you, I should never cry over a stupid boy.”

“Ouch,” you sent a glare, “sorry, continue.”

“But I wasn’t just crying over you, I was crying cause of the way you looked at Nancy when she wasn’t paying attention, the way you were constantly touching her in some way, the smiles she pulled from you. I was crying 'cause I knew I could never be Nancy Wheeler.”

You were getting a bit choked up, telling Steve these personal things that no one else has heard, only the loud voices screaming in your mind. The voices telling you no one wants you, the yells of your dad screaming at you as a child, spitting in your face about how worthless you are. The snarky comments heard from the hall and during class from students who gossip because they want to make others feel bad to uplift their self-esteem.

“Hey, hey,” Steve’s warm hands cupped your cheeks, fingers cradling your jaw.

He moved his chair closer, knees almost touching, “I don’t want you to be Nancy, I like you 'cause you’re (Y/n) Byers. I like how tough you are, how you stick up for your family and don’t take shit from people.” His fingers swiped along your cheeks, “I love how you treat those kids as if they were your own family, how smart you are whether it’s school smart or comic smart, even if I don’t get half the references you make.” A wet chuckle slipped through, “you are the most beautiful girl I’ve had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.”

“I bet you say that to every girl,” you teased, but he didn’t exactly deny it, only countered with, “but I mean it, every syllable.”

You moved your hands off your lap to circle his wrist, not wanting him to move away. Thumbs rubbing against skin, yours against his wrist and his along your cheeks, wiping any fallen tears. The air felt thick, a tension growing, waiting for the time to come before it snapped. Both of you aired things out, not everything, but it at least helped both of you see where the other was coming from. But you knew that if you were to get in a relationship, there was gonna be more talks like this in the future, and that was something you were okay with.

“I really like you, and I want to show you the love you deserve every single day that we’re together. I want to see the good and the ugly, the beautiful and monstrous sides of you, and I’ll show you mine. I want to kiss your face at every chance I get, I want to wake up next to you when we spend the night together. I want all of you, (Y/n) Byers.”

Your lips were twitching at the corners the whole time Steve was talking, letting each word seep into your skin and brain, wanting to remember this moment. The crease between his brows to the intense look that’s peering into your heart, the feeling of his palm, how the pads of his fingers rub against your skin and peach fuzz. Counting every freckle dotting his face and neck, holding back from kissing every single one in your line of sight. How he’s rubbing his pink lips together, tongue darting out and wetting them like he’s preparing for a kiss.

“Steve,” your hands left his wrist and held his jaw, pulling him in closer to you, “I just wanna be yours. And I want you to be mine.”

You saw the smile, “I’ve been yours since you pushed Sharon Halloway, baby.”

You crushed your lips together, not wanting to wait for another second. It was just a pressing of your lips, finally satisfying the craving you’ve been having for weeks. When Steve tilted his head, it allowed for the kiss to become more, what started as a ruff push became a slow dance between waiting lovers. Your lips getting used to the feeling of each other, learning a new dance that will become muscle memory in due time, tongues toying together. Hands holding the others face close, tight, scared they might vanish into thin air, a dream so realistic that the very scent of Steve’s cologne will linger. Fingers move to thick strands of hair, nails scraping at the scalp pulling a purr from Steve’s throat that you happily drink up.

When you started to feel dizzy, your head going fuzzy, you pulled again. You stayed close, noses touching, breathing mingling, eyelashes kissing. When you leaned further back, wanting to fully take in Steve, he chased you, lips seeking for more, needing more.

“Baby,” the word made your stomach flip.

“Oh, I’m baby now.” You squealed when Steve wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap, both of you sharing one chair.

He nuzzled his face into your neck, sloppy kisses lining from where your ear meets your jaw to the edge of your hoodie. With just a tilt you gave him all the access he wanted, hands happily playing in his hair, giving light tugs, ones you’ve been dreaming of.

“Stevie,” you all but sighed, his kisses leaving you even dizzier.

“Oh, I’m Stevie now,” he pulled away to tilt his chin up at you.

A hand tucked some hair behind his ear, the ends curling in, “you can call me all the pet names you want, and I’ll call you Stevie all I want.”

“Might need to negotiate that one.” His eyes squinted.

“Steven.”

“Nope, Stevie is fine. Love Stevie, especially from you.”

You just rolled your eyes at him before going in for seconds, thirds, and fourths. Steve Harrington was finally yours, and you can kiss him freely until the day you die. Now that’s not a bad way to go out.

You were so wrapped up in kissing Steve you didn’t check the time, or even hear the car pulling up outside, not even the front door opening. None of that registered in your lavender-hazed brain, not until a very loud voice caused you to jump away from Steve.

“Mom! (Y/n)’s making out with Steve!”

Will faced you and Steve, both of you flushed and lips kiss bitten. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“I need to bleach my eyes.” Will groaned.

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

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#The Byers Harrington Story #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x byers!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington reader insert #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things #stranger things series #stranger things self insert #steve harrington fluff #steve harringon angst

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loeyparker · 3 years ago

Text

right where you left me - p.p. 2/?

summary: trust issues surface and you spend the day bonding. Peter should probably tell you about Gwen, right?

pairing: andrew!peter parker x f!reader

word count: 7k

tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, angst, set before, during & after nwh, good ol’ mutual pining, mentions of violence, nwh spoilers

a/n: seeing you guys enjoying the first part of the story made me truly happier than anything and I can't even begin to thank you enough !! so here's some pals being pals who build trust and show a little too much affection for a couple of friends. nwh spoilers close to the end!!

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Glass shattering outside your bedroom woke you up.

Instinctively, you opened the drawer of your nightstand and took out your gun. With swift, silent steps, you approached the door. A soft creak came through as you opened it, but the noise was muffled by loud sounds coming from your living room.

Within seconds, you jumped out of the bedroom to face the danger, gun drawn.

Peter was on the ground, trying to untangle his right leg from the wire of a chord. The framed picture you kept forgetting to hang on the wall now laid on the floor, lost amongst shards of glass. The window was wide open, allowing a gust of cold wind to creep up your bare legs.

Peter froze, then looked up, feeling your presence.

His eyebrows shot up. “Gun, again?”

You sighed and unloaded your weapon, placing it on the coffee table. “You expect me to sing a song when I think someone broke into my house?”

“I’m …” Peter moved his leg quickly, detangling it. Then he shot up to his feet. “I don't know the layout yet, I tripped coming in.” He spoke quickly, fairly embarrassed.

You glanced at the open window again. “Where did you go at 8 in the morning?” You folded your arms to your chest.

Peter bent down to pick a paper bag off the floor, which he then held up triumphally. “I got breakfast – croissants.” A proud smile bloomed on his face.

You shook your head but smiled nonetheless. “You can put them in the kitchen” you walked towards another door close to the entrance that Peter had somehow missed. Out of a small room, you took out a broom and dustpan. “I’ll be right with you.”

“No, no, no” Peter spoke quickly, placing the bag of croissants on the coffee table next to the gun, then rushing in front of you. “I broke it, I’ll clean it.”

“Peter, it’s fine – “

“No, I insist.” He slowly grabbed the cleaning tools out of your hands. Normally you wouldn’t give up this easy but truth be told, you were still sleepy. “You go make some coffee.” He spoke looking down at you with a lazy smile.

You bowed your head jokingly, then saluted. “Yes, sir.” Turning on your heels, you grabbed the food and tip-toed into the kitchen to avoid any stray shards of glass.

Peter swept the living room fighting back a smile the whole time.

You placed the croissants on a plate, then set up a pot of coffee to brew. Meanwhile, you took Peter’s suit out of the watching machine and draped it over a radiator for it to dry.

The faint sound of your ringtone coming from the bedroom made you sigh loudly. Peter looked up from his cleaning task when he heard your rushed steps hitting the hardwood floors. He watched you dash into your room, then smelled the fresh coffee being brewed.

“Yes?” Peter heard your quiet voice, muffled by the walls and distance between you two. “Are you serious? It’s my day off.”

A pause.

Peter really didn’t mean to eavesdrop - but he was curious.

“My job is Spider-Man, not Peter Parker. I don’t think an investigation should be launched into the reason why he’s visiting his aunt.”

Peter straightened his back. The smile on his face quickly went away, replaced by a stoic expression. His jaw clenched as he glanced at your gun on the coffee table. He looked back down at the shards of glass as you walked out of the bedroom.

“Fine, I’ll look into it.” You ended the call in the kitchen before pouring fresh, hot coffee into two mugs.

Peter walked in right as you sat on one of the two seats at your small, round kitchen table. Looking up you noticed he stayed in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against it. His arms were folded to his chest, his face hardened.

You frowned.

Your fingers stopped stirring the teaspoon into your coffee.

“What?” You asked.

His eyes were fixed on you, no trace of softness in them. His forehead was riddled with creases as he frowned. His lips were glued in a straight line.

“Are you some sort of Spider-Man hunter or something?” He asked.

“A what?”

“It would make sense.” Traces of anger seeped through Peter’s veins as he thought about it, as he doubted his trust in you. “Why you have a gun, why you lied about being a cop, why you shot me, why you “know Spider-Man” “ he quoted you at the end.

His tone was accusatory.

Truthfully, he felt kind of stupid in that very moment. Because last night he dropped into another world and put his trust into the very first person he met, just because she was pretty and quick witted. He allowed his heart to fall into a trap just because you touched his face so tenderly that he woke up feeling the ghost of your fingers still on his skin.

He even went out to get you croissants when he didn’t even know who you were.

“What’s gotten into you?” You still hadn’t gotten up from your seat.

“Your job is Spider-Man? The hell does that mean?” He took a large step into the room, hands rising to his sides, questionably.

You frowned. “I work for S.H.I.E.L.D in the superhero division and I’m the agent responsible for Spider-Man.” You explained, calmly. “I don’t hunt him, I … track him. But he signed the Sokovia Accords and gave consent for it. And he’s an Avenger so technically, he works with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

You didn’t blame Peter for being doubtful and suspicious of you. He’d known you for less than 24h in which you shot and threatened him – lack of trust was to be expected.

“I don’t know what any of that means.” Peter deadpanned.

You got up and grabbed something off the counter, handing it to him.

Peter held the grey and blue lanyard, inspecting it. On the front was the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo and a personal code. Turning the metallic lanyard over, Peter was met by an official-looking photo of you. Against a dark grey background, you stood with a small smile on your face. Curtain bangs framed your face, long waves hung over your shoulders. Your name was written in bold letters by the picture, along with a LEVEL 6 by its side. Underneath, a special section categorized you as an agent.

“What’s S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Peter didn’t look up from your picture. There wasn't a drastic difference between the picture and the woman standing in front of him. They both still looked the same age - but in the picture your hair was longer, there were no traces of tiredness on your face and your eyes seemed brighter.

The girl in the picture seemed happier, more excited for a future that would end up breaking her spirit.

“Stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

“Damn.” Peter finally looked back at you. He preferred the acronym, he decided.

You smiled. “We’re basically the line between the world and … a weirder world – whether that’s enhanced individuals, sorcerers or aliens. We try to protect people.” You spoke as you sat down and grabbed one of Peter’s croissants. “It was S.H.I.E.L.D. who created the Avengers – it was an Avenger who helped Peter, my Peter become Spider-Man.”

Peter’s eyes softened. He fought back the urge to ask about sorcerers and aliens, instead waiting for you to finish.

“I don’t hunt Spider-Man. I just keep track of him – that’s my job, I do it so civilians feel safe.” You continued. “And I actually try to protect Peter as best as I can. I’ve been keeping his identity on the down low until he got exposed – “

“Peter got exposed?” Peter asked, eyes wide. He pulled out a chair and sat down next to you.

“Yeah, a guy he fought framed him for murder by naming him as his killer on national TV.”

Peter leaned back into his chair, shocked. He could even feel a headache forming. Then, he frowned. “So everyone knows Spider-Man is Peter Parker in this world?”

You nodded, lips pursed.

“That must be horrible for him – do you know him personally?” He spoke quickly.

“Yeah.” You smiled softly, gaze lowering to your coffee cup. “I actually used to babysit him when I was in high school.”

Peter laughed. “No way.” And just like that, his traces of doubt had vanished. It was strange, how easy it was for him to believe you, to eat up every word you said. But the more he looked at you, at your messy bed hair, bare face and sincere eyes, the more he felt at ease.

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder if S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited me because of my skills or because I knew Spider-Man.” You spoke with a strained laugh, one that made Peter want to reach out for you. “Or because my dad died in action and Fury felt bad.”

Peter just assumed Fury was your boss. “Your dad was an agent too?” He asked quietly.

You nodded, picking at the croissant. “He was killed by Hydra ten years ago, which is crazy to say in 2024, by the way.” Frustration seeped through your words. Looking back up at Peter, you grimaced. “Sorry, I keep mentioning confusing things.”

“I’ll just assume Hydra is bad, you don’t have to go into detail.”

“Yeah, they’re Nazis.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Okay so, definitely bad guys. Horrible people.”

“You have Nazis in your world?” You asked, surprised.

“Hitler is very much a person in my world, yeah.” Peter nodded.

“I can’t believe the thing our worlds have in common are Nazis.”

Peter puffed, then apologized for laughing because that was not funny. You finally took a bite out of the croissant, hunger getting the best of you. Peter grabbed his coffee mug and took a sip.

You watched his every move.

“So, I’m curious now.” Peter began, changing his seating position. He now sat sideways on his chair, arm draped the backrest. He was fully facing you, his knees almost touching the side of your right bare thigh. Your eyes kept stealing glances at his arm resting over the chair because his bicep pushed against the backrest, making his muscles stand out even more. “Did Hitler fund Hydra?” Peter asked.

“Pretty much. And S.H.I.E.L.D was formed as a reaction to Hydra.” You replied.

Peter whistled. “During World War II?”

You nodded, mouth full.

“That was a long time ago.” Peter stated, fidgeting with the coffee cup. “Your world has lore.”

At that, you laughed.

And Peter suddenly wanted to spend his entire life making you laugh again. Because the chime of your laugh danced around the room, harmonizing with Peter’s heartbeats, and the corners of his mouth broke into a tight-lipped smile.

“What? Your world doesn’t have history?” You asked, still grinning.

“Not like this!” Peter said in a half-defensive, half-joking manner. You laughed again, him joining you - because it was funny how complicated your world was, its history taken straight out of a comic book. But it was charming, nonetheless, and Peter wanted to hear you explain your world's history for as long as possible.

There was a pause, a momentary silence after your laughs subsided. You were finishing your croissant; Peter was enjoying his coffee. The black liquid swirled around his Christmas themed mug as he swayed it gently, lost in thoughts.

And then he spoke up again. “I’m sorry about your dad.” His voice was soft, softer than you’d ever heard it. You looked down, biting your lower lip – it was a sore subject, still. “I lost my uncle, who was pretty much like my dad, so I …” Peter continued when you remained silent. His words made you finally look back at him. “I have an idea of what it feels like to lose a dad and I know it’s painful.”

“I’m sorry, Peter.” Instinctively, you placed a hand on his knee. His arm came off the backrest as he laid a hand over yours.

His mind flashed to Gwen, and he wondered if he should tell you about her as well. He quickly decided this wasn’t a trauma competition – plus, part of him worried that you’d look at him differently after he’d mention a tragic love story. So, he decided the moment wasn’t right.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” He spoke instead, eyes never leaving yours. At his words, your glossy gaze softened. Your pinkie rose slightly, tangling with one of Peter’s fingers.

“It’s okay, I understand. I’d be reluctant too.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just inclined to trust Peter Parker, whether he’s a dorky high school student or a tall, goofy, handsome skater boy.” For a second, you glanced at his lips. The wound you treated had begun to heal, and you watched as a teasing smirk made its way onto his features.

“Can’t believe you think I’m goofy.”

And again, you laughed.

Usually when you laugh, you low away – or down. It was a reflex, a habit you had picked up along the years. And because habits are hard to break, you looked down when laughing with Peter as well.

But Peter didn’t laugh. Instead, he was stuck watching strands of hair fall over your face, strands which remained stuck by your cheeks when you looked back at him. His lips were closed in a smile, his honey eyes twinkled and you felt last night’s tension again.

You both did.

His arm ached to reach out and push a strand of hair behind your ear, but he hesitated.

There was pressure in your chest, the kind that made it hard to breathe, the kind that made your head spin. You swore you could feel your heart beating in your throat but you remember that you met this man last night. And he was your friend.

You could also read the hesitation in Peter, so you pulled your arm back from him. Then, in a heartbeat, you were up on your feet. Peter’s eyes followed you.

“Are you okay with staying here by yourself for a bit?” You asked, your back to him. You were washing your coffee mug in the sink.

And just like that, the tension vanished out of the room, the air felt breathable again.

Peter frowned. “Why, you going somewhere?” He licked his lips, as they felt dry. The wound on his bottom lip stung.

“I was thinking of getting you some normal clothes, then we could go meet my Peter.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

You faced him, eyebrows quirked. “The clothes you have on belong to a high school kid and they’re two sizes too small for you.” You glanced at his exposed calves, the t-shirt sleeves tightening around his biceps.

“I’ve seen people wear worse things in New York.” He sipped the last bit of coffee, then got up and placed the mug in the sink, an apologetic look on his face. Then, he leaned on the counter right by you.

You turned the sink back on to wash his mug. “Fine, but that means no geeky surprise for you before seeing Peter.”

“What surprise?” Peter coked his head.

You shrugged. “No surprise if you’re dressed like a Shameless character.”

Peter paused, fighting the urge to laugh, instead choosing to comically put up an annoyed front. His arms folded to his chest and he didn’t want to admit that the t-shirt was, indeed, too tight on him. “Fine but,” he raised a finger “I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t think I can handle buying some pants and a shirt?” One of your hands rested on your hip.

“I have an obscure fashion sense.”

“Let me guess, early 2000’s edgy skater boy style?”

Peter looked at you expression-less. You smiled triumphally, he huffed. “I still want to come with you. I saw a thrift store a block away, we can go there.” When you pursed your lips, he pouted. “Please?”

“Can you not be left alone for like 15 minutes?”

“No, who knows what I’ll do – actually,” he quipped “I was thinking of hanging up your TV using web – “

“Fine, you’re coming with me.” You quickly spoke, walking away. “Just wait for me to get dressed.”

“My web is very resistant,”

“Don’t touch my TV, Parker.” You shouted from the bedroom, behind a half-closed door.

Peter just laughed and sat back at the kitchen table to eat a croissant. Your phone was on the table, and he picked it up mindlessly. Your lock screen was a picture of a teenaged you, standing next to a younger boy whom he assumed was your Peter. The two of you were sat in a booth – your arm draped over Peter, who had a red and yellow mask resting on top of his head. You wore a small, blue ‘40s cap with a star on it. Behind the two of you, amongst high tops of familiar buildings, Peter saw the Avengers building – only in this photo, a bright STARK sign shone on it instead. He didn’t want to try and guess your passcode, nor to ask you about it. Instead, he just opened the camera and took a couple of selfies – then, he placed the phone back down.

Walking through the streets of Manhattan felt strange for Peter now. It was as if he walked through the uncanny valley because the city looked the same - until it didn't. He counted at least six damaged buildings during the walk to the thrift store, which were either burned or standing with giant holes in them. He saw tents in alleys and unkept sidewalks.

But there was also something else that made him feel uneasy.

Whether that something was the graffiti on the walls labeling Spider-Man as a murderer, the stickers on trash cans and lampposts with the image of Spider-Man behind bars or the newspaper stands selling headlines revealing Spider-Man’s identity, Peter didn’t know. Maybe it was everything combined.

Walking by your side, he could see those things bothered you as well.

You refused to look at the murderer graffiti and peeled off a prisoner sticker off a post as you waited to cross the street.

“What about this?” You held up a dark brown leather jacket for Peter to see, inside a rather small thrift-store.

Peter scrunched his nose. “I’m looking for something less indie biker and more indie skater” He spoke from behind a row of hanged pants.

You shook your head, rolled your eyes and kept looking for shirts and jackets. Peter would steal glances your way every few minutes as he browsed through a selection of black pants. You looked very focused and deep in thought and – pretty. You wore a lengthy black leather coat, with a pastel blue cardigan underneath. Flared black pants covered a good portion of your black boots, and the material flew around each time you took a step. Your bangs fell in your face as usual while the rest of your hair was pinned back.

You caught him staring at one point, and his ears turned bright red.

Eyebrows up, you held up two shirts for Peter to see, ignoring his flustered state. The corners of his mouth turned down, eyebrows raised slightly – he didn’t hate the shirts. You pointed to the changing room, and Peter followed your direction without questioning it.

A couple of minutes later, he walked out.

Your lips parted at his sight.

He grimaced, “Do I look weird?”

“No, no,” you took a few timid steps towards him. Even though you wore boots, he still towered over you.

He wore his own black converse and a pair of slightly baggy black pants. A navy long sleeved shirt hung loosely over his upper body and traces of a white t-shirt could be seen underneath, its collar peaking.

Your hands went up to fix his shirt, tugging slightly at the fabric on his shoulders. Peter watched you in silence, your faces inches away from each other. You avoided his eyes, despite him searching for your gaze. Then your hands slowly moved to his upper chest, brushing away unseen dust and insignificant creases in his shirt. “You look great.” You whispered only for him to hear.

You stepped back a moment later when you were satisfied with how both shirts looked.

Peter sighed in relief when your hands left his chest, afraid that if you kept them there one second longer, you could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

"I still need to wash the clothes, though." You spoke, giving him another look-over and he shook his head.

"When we get back to your apartment tonight, I give you permission to do anything you want with my clothes." He spoke, not realizing his words caused the apples of your cheeks to turn rosy.

Peter couldn’t stop staring at the giant Public Enemy #1 picture plastered on a building. It had a boy on it, half his face smiling, the other half covered by the much too familiar Spider-Man mask. He immediately recognized the boy as an aged-up version of the kid on your lock screen.

Upon seeing that, Peter decided maybe this world wasn’t as cool as he originally thought.

“Peter, you coming?” Your voice called out from behind him.

Peter had been frozen looking at the billboard, forgetting to step away from your car, forgetting to follow you to the surprise you had for him.

He spun around quickly. “Yeah, coming!” He jogged until he reached your side again.

That’s when he finally looked at the building in front of him.

It was tall, typical for Manhattan. Massive windows covered its façade, reflecting the streets and buildings around it. Two massive, dark grey pillars held the front structure, as the entrance to the building was pushed further in. By said entrance, groups of men in suits hung out, smoking. Peter looked for a sigil, a symbol, a name plate which would indicate what the building was but couldn’t find anything. He walked slightly behind you, busy taking in the structure.

His world had this exact same building as well, but he was sure for him this building belonged to some publishing company.

The suited men nodded their heads in a salute when you passed by, then sent Peter questioning looks. The double doors slid open, letting you both pass through.

And then Peter found himself in a massive, open space hall.

You stood by a pillar, watching him grasp the interior.

Hands in his pockets, Peter strained his neck trying to look up at the tall ceiling, at the glass elevators going up and down with ease. There was no color on the inside – everything was either a deep or a light shade of grey. People in suits, holding briefcases or files walked past without sparing him a second glance.

“Peter Parker, welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.” You spoke quietly, joining his side.

His eyes were glued to a holographic map of the Hub which showed every floor, hovering in the air. “This is S.H.I.E.L.D.?” He was aching to study the map but, as he did a quick spin to look at everything properly, his eyes landed on armed men in tactical gear stationed by the entrance doors.

And suddenly he remembered he was in a secret, super serious facility. “What are we doing here?” He asked you, voice above a whisper. In that moment he understood why you were so tough the night you met.

You shrugged. “Thought I’d give you a tour.” You spoke, beginning to walk to a front desk. The wall behind it displayed the large version of the emblem Peter had seen on your lanyard – a six feathered eagle. “We have a pretty sweet lab, you’ll love it.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat because you remembered him telling you he was a science geek.

“Hi, can I get a visitor’s badge for my friend here?” You leaned over the tall, rounded front desk. A girl behind the computer glanced at Peter, who gave her a goofy smile and a short wave.

“Can I see your badge, first?” The receptionist’s tone was official. Bored. Uninterested.

“Sure.” You grabbed the lanyard and badge from your bag, giving them to her. Peter rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets. “Thank you, Agent Y/L/N.” The girl spoke after a short pause. “A day pass for him?” She spared Peter a quick, pointing look.

“Yeah.” You replied, placing the lanyard around your neck and the badge back into your purse.

“Name?”

Neither of you spoke, sharing a look instead.

“Tom.” Peter spoke quickly. “Tom, uh” He couldn’t think of a last name fast enough and you were about to jump in when he said “Peters. Tom Peters.” He replied with a satisfied nod.

You pursed your lips.

“Can I see an ID?”

Peter immediately thought of an escape route because he could already picture the special forces guys stationed by the entrance coming for him for identity theft. He mentally cursed for not taking his suit, but decided he could manage without it if he was fast enough.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m a level 6, I vouch for him.” You spoke calmly.

“I can’t make a pass without seeing an ID.”

“But you do have to listen to your superiors, and your superior is telling you Tom can get a pass. I can get Director Mackenzie to sign off on it, if you want.” Your voice was stern, never wavering. Peter’s made-up name rolled off your lips with ease, and Peter was struck by the realization that damn, you really were a secret, highly-trained agent.

“Here’s Mr. Peters’ pass.” The girl pushed a lanyard towards you with annoyance, a few minutes of silence later. You smiled, thanked her and walked towards the glass elevators, Peter hot on your trail. He didn’t want to admit it, but as he watched you boss someone around (for him), the fire within him grew stronger.

The glass doors opened after you scanned your lanyard, and the two of you entered the big elevator. When the doors closed you stepped closer to Peter, standing face to face. He slightly lowered himself upon noticing you planned on putting Tom Peters’ lanyard around his neck.

“Hope this didn’t cause trouble for you.” He whispered, despite nobody else being in the elevator.

“No way.” Your knuckles brushed against his chest as you gently placed the lanyard over his blouse. “Besides, I’m already in trouble.” You glanced up at him, doe-eyed.

Your hands played with his lanyard, the silk string being gently pulled. Peter felt the slight pressure on the back of his neck.

“Spider-Man?” Peter simply asked.

“The things I do for him.” Your tone was riddled with traces of humor, but it was as if both of you had forgotten about the existence of another Peter, another Spider-Man. Peter’s heartbeat increased again.

In that moment, he was the only Spider-Man you knew of.

The elevator doors dinged upon opening, and you didn’t look away from Peter – you wanted to see the look on his face when he noticed what was outside the glass doors.

When his eyes glanced up, his entire face changed. Surprise bloomed on his features with traces of risen eyebrows, slightly widened eyes, mouth agape. You smiled and hooked your arm around his, pulling him outside.

The walls around you were made out of heavy metal, parts of it displaying the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on a grand scale. Cold light illuminated planes everywhere Peter could look. Some were small aircrafts, made only for single pilots, others were larger battle crafts. But right in the center of the space stood the biggest plane Peter had ever seen.

He approached it with careful steps and parted, surprised lips.

“That’s the Zephyr.” You spoke from behind him.

“Holy shit.” Was all Peter could muster. “You been on this?” He asked, amazed. He’d never seen anything like this and he was sure not even the government on his world had planes like these.

“Yeah, back when I was a field agent.”

“You’re incredible.”

You just laughed.

Peter touched the jet with reluctance, sliding his fingers against the cold metal. He wondered if the thing had an invisibility cloaking system, like he'd seen in movies – this jet looked like the type to have something like that. You allowed him to look at anything he wanted, to touch and knock on every plane in that hangar. He even got chatting with a couple of mechanics there who showed him plane engines and explained how everything worked, and Peter absorbed every word.

You followed him aboard a Jump Ship at one point, watching him run over to the cockpit. He leaned over the instrument panel, his long fingers gliding over buttons in wonder. You leaned against the co-pilot’s chair.

“When I was little,” Peter spoke, glancing back at you for a moment. “I was obsessed with planes. And uncle Ben was a mechanic, so I hit the jackpot. He used to teach me about aircrafts and we’d make little,” he did a hand motion, separating his thumb from pointer, signaling a small length “little planes out of cardboard.”

You smiled.

Peter didn’t face you, and he nodded absentmindedly. “It’s crazy that I had an obsession with planes because turns out, my parents died in a plane crash.”

Your lips parted, eyebrows creased, head tilted. You suddenly felt horrible for bringing him to the Hangar. Peter puffed. “I’m so sorry, Peter.” He turned then, guided by the sound of your soft voice. A sad smile resided on his lips as he inched closed to you. It was an involuntary action, as he always sought comfort when upset. He hadn’t received that comfort in years, however, and he didn’t look for it either.

Not until now.

“It’s okay, it happened a long time ago – I’ve made peace with it.” And it was true, he had made peace with his tragedy. He, surprisingly to him, was able to navigate through the darkness caused by losing Ben and his parents.

And now he was starting to see through the darkness of Gwen’s loss as well.

***

By the time you reached the science floor, Peter was ecstatic.

He walked into the lab first and you were about to follow, when a man in a suit stopped you. You looked at him confused and recognized him as Dean, your department co-worker. “Y/N, you’re needed.” He spoke sternly. The doors to the lab closed. Peter hadn’t noticed your absence yet, being too enthralled by the lab equipment to be aware of anything else.

“It’s my day off.” You frowned.

“Yet you’re here.”

“I’m giving a tour to a friend.” You spoke, annoyed. Dean glanced at Peter, then behind you at something else. “Simmons is coming, tell her to entertain your friend for a while.” He nodded towards a scientist heading your way. Turning around, you spotted Jemma Simmons – your friend.

“Why am I needed so bad? There’s thousands of other agents – “

“It’s about Spider-Man.”

At his words, the words got caught in your throat. Your Peter swarmed your thoughts and your protective instincts kicked in. You gave Dean one simple nod. “I’ll be right there.”

Peter walked aimlessly around the lab, amazed. Not even Oscorp had the things S.H.I.E.L.D did and his first thought was that God, Gwen would’ve loved this. And then he sighed, expecting a much too familiar wave of guilt and sorrow to hit him. He expected his stomach to drop, his throat to ache, his eyes to burn.

But neither of that happened.

The pang of guilt was still there, yes, but the sorrow, the despair - those didn’t come.

His eyes immediately searched for you instead, thinking that maybe he should tell you about Gwen because the moment felt right and maybe, just maybe, you could make sense of his feelings.

But he couldn’t find you – and that’s when his stomach finally dropped.

He ran down a row of computers, turned the corner around a centrifuge, then finally spotted you outside of the lab. You were talking to another woman, and Peter slowed his pace walking up to you.

“Oh, there he is.” You smiled when Peter joined you. “Jemma, this is Tom – my friend.” You spoke. A slither of annoyance crawled up Peter’s neck, but he couldn’t tell why. “Tom, this is Jemma Simmons, brilliant scientist.” He hated how easy his fake name rolled off your tongue – he wanted you to speak out his name, proudly.

He shook Jemma’s hand.

“Jemma’s gonna show you around the lab for a bit.”

Peter turned to you so quick he could’ve gotten whiplash. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving.” He frowned, still annoyed.

You smiled. “Something came up, but it won’t take long.” You assured him. “You can come to me when you’re done.”

“I’ll come right now.”

“No, Tom.” You placed a hand on his bicep, and he felt himself relaxing slightly. “Check the lab out, who knows when you’ll get another chance. I’ll be right upstairs, okay? Come when you’re done.”

Peter nodded, reluctantly.

"Watch out for this one, he's a menace." You jokingly told Jemma.

And with a last reassuring squeeze of Peter's arm, you walked away. It felt strange for Peter to watch you go, to watch you disappear behind double metal doors. Last time he remembered feeling this way was years ago, when Gwen would disappear from his sight in the school’s hallways. It was as if a string of his heart was being pulled in the direction you had gone into.

“Are you guys together?” Jemma spoke, a British accent evident in her speech.

Peter tore his gaze away from the door, then looked at Jemma with slightly widened eyes, shaking his head. “No, we’re just friends.”

Jemma just smiled. “That’s exactly what Fitz and I used to say when people asked us that question – years later, we got married.” She chuckled then led Peter into the lab, who walked in after sparing another glance towards the door.

****

Something was wrong, Peter could sense it.

Jemma had been showing him a piece of Space tech, when Peter felt the hair on his back standing up. The room around him blurred, his palms began sweating and he felt unable to breathe all of a sudden. He could see Jemma asking if he was alright, but he couldn’t hear her. A high-pitched noise rang through his ears as he asked where the offices were.

He took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, skipping three steps at once as he climbed through floors.

And Peter didn’t know if air struggled to reach his lungs because of the effort, the spider sense or because he didn’t know if you were okay or not.

By the time Peter busted into the office, there was chaos.

People rushed around him – some in suits, some in tactical gear. A large screen covered the entirety of a wall, displaying a satellite view over a certain zone of Manhattan, with different colored dots surrounding a single area. A man stood in front of the map while other agents were on computers.

His eyes scanned through rows of bright screens until he finally spotted you, and his breath slowed.

You were sat on a black desk chair, knees brought up to your chest. Your hair was down and pushed behind your ears, which had comms in them. There were small creases on your forehead as your eyebrows dented in a frown. Your eyes were slightly squinted and you were talking – or arguing with someone.

But you were fine.

Peter leaned against your desk upon reaching you – and you were too busy watching the screen to notice that he looked absolutely frantic. He tried his best to seem calm, nonchalant but it didn’t work because his eyes were still slightly wider than normal, his teeth were clenched and his chest rose up and down quickly.

“I don’t know who he’s with, do I look like his keeper? All I know is that there are seven people inside that apartment and the DODC are about to go in guns blazing.” You spoke, tone rising rapidly.

A pause.

“What you need to do is stop them, slow them down at least – no, not for – Jesus, are you serious? We didn’t swear an oath to the US Government, Davis.”

Another pause, in which you looked at Peter finally, taking in his panicked state. He gave you a wave; you sat up straighter, legs going down. Silently, you asked what was wrong through a head motion and raised shoulders. You were quick to dismiss the agent on the other end of the call, taking the comms out of your ears before the call even dropped.

“What’s wrong?” You asked Peter.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just – “

“The spider sense?” You lowered your voice, rising from your chair to get closer to Peter.

He nodded, slowly. “Is something going on?” Anxiety still swam in his chest.

You glanced at the big screen on the wall. “I don’t know, Peter is inside and I,” you glanced around, then whispered only for Peter to hear “I think he’s with your villains.”

Peter’s back straightened and he turned his head to the screen. Seven red dots inside a building, about four yellow dots outside with one single green dot close-by and a multitude of blue ones which surrounded the area.

“And he’s getting arrested?” Peter didn’t take his eyes away from the screen. That couldn’t have been what he sensed.

“The DODC is gonna walk in on Peter and 5 supervillains, and it’s all gonna be live on the Daily Bugle.” You sighed with exasperation. “S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t allowed to intervene, either.”

And right on cue, blasts were heard from the speakers across the room, making you flinch. Rapidly, you bent forward to see your screen, Peter joining you. Your shoulders touched as he leaned in closer to see the live feed on your computer. Rubble fell right in front of the camera, as the agent filming angled it up. Immediately, you saw Doctor Octavius by the side of the building, with Electro hovering in a blast of blue electricity. As more blasts came from inside, you gripped the mouse tighter.

And instantly, you and Peter looked at each other, sharing the same thought, the same idea. Your faces were mere inches from one another and in the light of your screen you could see tiny freckles mapping out on Peter’s skin.

“I’m gonna go help him.” Peter said, looking straight into your eyes.

“I have your suit.” You spoke, hushed. A grin broke on his features, and he looked at you with nothing but wonder in his eyes. You grabbed his arm and took rapid synced steps towards the nearest bathroom, ignoring the looks some Agents were giving you. Peter walked inside the bathroom, your purse in hand. You stood by the door to make sure nobody would walk in.

Your smartwatch vibrated a minute later and you were about to check it when Peter walked out of the bathroom, fully suited. It was the first time you saw his entire suit, mask on, no hoodie covering him.

It was a beautiful suit, different from your Peter’s. His eyes were bigger and you could see your own reflection into them. The web details were coated in silver instead of black, standing out more. The spider on his chest was also different – bigger, longer.

You couldn’t help but reach out to touch it, gently.

The shiny texture of it gave you the impression that you’d feel metal – or coldness upon the touch. Instead, your fingertips brushed against Peter’s chest muscles, and you pulled your hand back.

Peter grabbed your hand as it pulled away from him. “I’ll get Peter to your apartment.” His voice was now muffled by the mask, and you still felt a bit starstruck as you looked up at him.

“We’ll get him there together.” You spoke after finding your voice again.

Peter shook his head quickly.

You frowned.

“You’re staying here.” Peter ordered and you pulled your hand away from his, once again. Then, you jabbed him in the chest with your pointer finger.

“You’re dreaming if you think I’m gonna – “ You began, angrily.

“I’m not letting you come with me to the most dangerous place ever.” He argued further, his words falling on deaf ears.

“It’s not your decision!”

“Yes, it is!” His arms flailed around in frustration. “You’re staying here, safe. End of story.” He began backing away, towards a window and you followed. “I can’t fight five men and worry for you at the same time!” He exclaimed. His arms extended in front of him, trying to keep you away.

“I’m not–“ before you could finish, your hand was pinned to the nearest wall by dense web and you looked at it then at Peter in disbelief.

For a moment, Peter froze. His eyes stuck to the web, to your hand struggling against it and he was glad you couldn't see his sorrowful face because of the mask.

“Peter!” You screamed, anger in your tone. At he sound, Peter flinched, the present moment finally catching up to him again. And then he quickly threw another web over the last one, making sure your hand remained stuck on that wall for as long as possible.

"What the hell, Peter!?" Your throat hurt as you screamed, riddled with anger and annoyance.

“I’m sorry!” He shouted before rushing out the window, leaving you behind, feeling nothing but cold wind reaching you and web texture against your palm. You let out a loud, frustrated groan that echoed through the empty hallway, then you started pulling the web apart. Explosions could be heard coming from the speakers in the office, and you wanted to cry – not out of sadness, nor despair.

Out of anger.

Loud noises were still being heard by the time you freed yourself minutes later, and you burst into the office with force. “What’s going on?” You asked the nearest agent, who was just staring at the screen. The video being displayed was of a nearly collapsed building being approached by DODC officers in tactical gear. Ruble was everywhere, things were on fire. Your hands were shaking.

“We don’t know, just…lots of explosions, a lizard, a flying man … I don’t know.” The agent replied to you.

“Spider-Man. What about Spider-Man?”

“Haven’t seen him.”

The noise in the room faded, your mind numbed.

And then you ran. You ran out the office, down the tiled stairs, past the guards at the entrance and directly across the street to where you had parked your car.

You could hear cars honking as you crossed, you could feel the wind stinging your eyes. It was dark outside by then and small drizzles of rain fell against your skin. A pit of guilt formed into your stomach each time the sole of your feet hit the pavement – because when you asked about Spider-Man, it wasn’t the image of high school kid Peter Parker running through your brain.

It was skater boy Peter.

You were worried about someone you had met yesterday, over someone you’d known half your life and you felt guilty.

So, you ran with the image of kid Peter in your brain, praying and hoping that he was safe. Your lungs burned and it felt hard to breathe, but you didn’t stop running until your fingers pulled at your car’s door handle.

Your phone rang right as you were about to start the engine. MJ’s name lit up the screen, and you picked up with no hesitation.

“Y/N, is Peter with you?” MJ asked, worry evident in her tone.

“No.” You breathed out. “What’s going on? Where are you?” You asked in-between short, quick breaths.

“I’m with Ned at his grandmother’s house.” She spoke, quietly.

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes tops.” You spoke, already pulling out of the parking lot with speed. Buildings and people zoomed past as you drove, not really paying attention to much. Rain fell against the windshield, frustrating you even more.

“Y/N,” MJ whispered “I think his aunt died.”

You’d never been struck by lightning in your life – you hadn’t even been shot with the I.C.E.R. gun. You’d been tased before, during training, during missions, but it never hurt that much.

Not the way it hurt when you heard MJ’s words.

And suddenly, the world went quiet.

You hit the brake at a stop light, and covered your mouth. Your stomach tensed as you bent forward, fighting a sob. Your vision blurred as your eyes started burning, and your chest felt heavy. The light turned green and you kept driving but it felt like you were floating instead.

When Tony died, Peter completely shut off. You spent countless nights holding the boy as he cried, your own tears melting into his hair. It was hard for him to make progress in his grief – and you understood him, having experienced loss yourself. But he did make progress and you were sure that happened thanks to May, who was, truly, a beacon of light in Peter’s life.

Tremendous pain made home into your soul at the thought of Peter having lost that beacon.

15 minutes later, you were standing in front of Ned’s lola’s house. Tears streamed down your face the whole drive there, and they didn’t stop as you knocked on the door. Ned opened the door swiftly, a hard look on his face – which softened upon recognizing you.

And as your eyes met, his face twisted in pain as tears sneaked into his eyes as well, and you knew. You just knew it was true. Ned stepped back, allowing you to enter and you were immediately embraced after walking in.

MJ held you tightly, her arms linking over your shoulders. You held her back, head burying into her neck, and the both of you cried. Your shoulders shook, she couldn’t stifle her sniffle. Although in different ways, both of you loved Peter deeply – so you felt his pain as if it was your own. And then you felt another pair of arms sneak past your waist as Ned joined the hug, unable to hold back his own tears. And so, the tears flowed even harder, a muffled sob escaping your lips. Your shoulder felt damp under MJ’s tears and your arms tightened around both kids.

When you pulled away, your face was still fighting back sobs.

MJ wiped her face with her sleeve, Ned with the back of his hands.

And then you turned, wanting to look away from the kids who were breaking your heart even more.

Other world Peter stood in the center of the dining room, his eyes glued on you. At the sight of your reddened nose and bloodshot eyes, he felt his heart drop. His lips were pursed, eyes glossy. You stared at him in disbelief.

And your face twisted in pain and within three long strides, you reached him. Your fingers curled into fists, hands hitting his chest. He didn’t stop you, instead allowing you to let out your pain and frustration onto him. Neither of your hits hurt him – what hurt was seeing the tears stream down your face with each hit.

It was such a difference in the way you looked and acted that morning, and how he was seeing you now.

“You didn’t let me come!” You cried. “You stopped me from helping Peter!” Your voice was strained, broken.

Peter finally grabbed your arms, gently. You tried to get out of his grip, failing in doing so. Ned and MJ stared in confusion at the scene but neither of them moved or said anything.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” Peter’s voice was soft, gentle.

You shook your head. “You don’t know that!”

“You would’ve died.”

Again, you disagreed even though the rational part of your mind knew he was right. You stopped struggling against him, allowing yourself to relax instead. “Did you help him?” Your voice became small, almost inaudible. But Peter caught your words.

“I got there too late – after Peter left, when everyone but the DODC was gone.” He lowered his head to get a better look at your face, to search for your gaze. You fought back more tears from falling and avoided Peter’s eyes, looking down instead. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, tugging slowly at your arm.

And you allowed him to guide you straight into his chest. His strong arms wrapped around you, one palm going up to cup the back of your head. Your arms slowly went around his torso, holding him as well. You leaned your head against his shoulder, smelling your own ginger scented shampoo on him. His chin rested on top of your head, and you felt your tears subsiding.

Your tensed muscles relaxed, your heart felt a little bit lighter.

And Ned stood by the entrance with his hands raised in confusion, watching the other Peter comforting you. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” He asked nobody in particular.

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