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brbsoulnomming · 3 days ago

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Heart On Your Sleeve Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

“Freak's looking at you.”

There's a nudge to his shoulder that makes Steve jerk up, snapping out of the daze he'd been in.

“Huh?” he asks, looking at Aaron with his brow furrowed.

Aaron nods towards a spot halfway across the cafeteria, and Steve shifts his gaze over to see Munson standing on top of one of the tables, watching him expectantly.

Shit.

“Can you repeat that, if you're expecting a response?” Steve asks. “I drifted off somewhere around comparing the swimming pool to a goldfish bowl.”

He's being honest - it's still harder to concentrate, and he saves it for classes and practice and tends to zone out when he doesn't need to pay attention - but it makes the people who were clearly listening in laugh.

Steve catches Munson's gaze and rolls his eyes, giving him an apologetic little shrug.

He's not really sure how Munson takes it, because he just bemoans the attention span of the average jock and clomps down from the table, but no one's looking at either of them anymore, so he guesses it doesn't matter.

Steve's almost disappointed. Might be kind of nice to see what Munson's like when no one's watching them, he thinks.

—

Things are okay, with him and Nancy and Jonathan.

His gaze doesn't automatically seek Nancy out in a crowd or anything - mostly because he'd always been at her side, before, so it's not like it's even something he's used to - but he still catches her gaze sometimes, still smiles and nods and doesn't say anything.

They share study hall together.

He and Nancy shared it before, of course, and logically he knows that Jonathan had it at the same time they did, but now - now they all have it together.

After the first few times of him or Nancy awkwardly veering sharply away from their previously shared table when they'd seen the other one was already there - one day they just didn't.

They don't say much, but the three of them sit together, exchanging class notes and books. Sometimes Steve sees the pinch in Jonathan's eyes and gives him a bottle of water and some ibuprofen, and sometimes Jonathan sees him squinting too hard at something and copies the passage over in bigger handwriting, and Nancy checks over both of their notes, and it's -

The jagged black cut in his heart scabs, fades, scars. He'll always love her, he thinks, but sometimes he thinks if they can get over the hurt -

Sometimes he sits with the two of them and it's the closest he's ever felt to being understood. Sometimes he thinks it's what he wanted with Tommy and Carol, all those years ago.

It's a start.

—

He runs into Munson after school, sometimes.

They don't say anything either, but after practice gets out and after Munson is done with his theater club or whatever it is, they'll see each other.

Sometimes, if Munson's selling, Steve will linger.

He doesn't really think Billy's stupid enough to point fingers at Munson, and most people are too afraid of him to do anything, but it still makes him feel a little better to keep an eye on him.

It kind of feels like no one watches out for Eddie Munson, not the way he watches out for his fellow freaks.

“What?” Munson demands one day, sidling up to Steve and slamming his goodie box down on the bench. “What're you looking for here?”

Steve frowns at him. “I told you.”

Munson's brows furrow. “You were serious about that shit? You think you're protecting me?”

“Why not?” Steve challenges.

Munson's eyes go flat. “And what's this protection going to cost me?”

Steve thinks about being offended, for a moment, before he wonders if other people have tried to make deals before, keep the other assholes of Hawkins High away from him in exchange for free weed or something.

He softens. “I haven't asked you for anything.”

Munson scowls. “Yet,” he counters. “Whatever you're thinking, if you're trying to get me to owe you, it's not happening. Fuck off, man, I don't need protecting.”

His heart clenches as he hears an echo of Max saying the same thing, and before he knows it he's reached into his chest and pulled out his heart.

The scowl melts into confusion for a brief moment before it's back in full force. “I'm still not showing you mine,” Munson retorts.

“I still haven't asked,” Steve counters. “I don't want anything, man, all right? Just looking out in case Billy tries something.”

Or anyone else, now that Steve thinks of it, but even with his heart pumping in a steady truth, he's not sure Munson'll believe that.

“Just like that,” Munson says flatly, after a moment of watching Steve's heart. “And what do your knights of the round table think of this?”

Steve's nose scrunches. “What?”

“Your knights.” Munson waves his hand dismissively, but - his tone isn't mean, isn't condescending. “It's a King Arthur reference.”

It's nice, that he isn't being shitty about Steve not understanding something.

“Right. So that makes me King Arthur, and you're - what was it again, the court jester?” Steve asks, giving him a little smile to show he's teasing.

“If we're doing King Arthur, I'm going with Merlin,” Eddie says.

“The old guy with the beard and pointy hat?” Steve asks.

Eddie puts his hands on his hips, fluttering his eyelashes. “You think I couldn't pull it off?”

Steve plays along, making a show of looking him up and down. “You know what, sure, you've got the right look for gray haired old man.”

“Asshole,” Eddie tells him, but he doesn't sound pissed anymore. “You know you're cutting into my profits, right? People see you lingering and they're less likely to come buy.”

Steve's brows furrow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. Only the desperate want to make illicit purchases under the watchful eye of Hawkins High's once and future king.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. “I'll stand farther away, make myself look busy.”

Eddie glowers. “Seriously? You're not giving this up?”

Honestly - Steve probably should. But he's stubborn, and Eddie throwing a fit about it kind of just makes him want to do it more.

“Who looks out for you?” he asks instead of answering.

Eddie looks thrown. “What?”

“That's why you do it, right? Why you started walking on tables and making yourself a target. It takes attention off of the guys younger than you.” Steve's trying to make a point, so he slides right over the fact that they both know everyone's younger than Eddie - this is his second senior year, after all. “So everyone watches you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a little bit of an edge back in his voice. “You watch me, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve replies, blunt and honest. “Not really. Not before.”

“Not before Billy Hargrove tried to blame me for bashing your head in with his fists?” Eddie asks.

“He smashed a plate over it, actually,” Steve shoots back. “But yeah, something like that.”

Steve's heart gives an erratic beat. It wasn't a lie, but apparently it wasn't enough of the truth, either. Eddie gives him a pointed look.

“There's these kids I babysit,” Steve says, slow and careful. “They're into the same things you are. They're gonna be in high school next year, and I won't be here. Neither will you, but it just made me think - I'd want someone like you looking out for them.”

Eddie watches his heart for a moment.

“What are their names?” he asks. “Yeah, I won't be here, but Jeff will be. I can tell him to look out for them.”

Relief swoops through Steve, and he doesn't even care when Eddie gives him a funny look after he includes Mike and Will along with Dustin, Lucas, and Max.

He won't admit it, but it helps.

—

The next day, Eddie sits next to him at lunch.

He makes a big deal of it, hamming it up as he hops over the bench and plops down, pulling out a sandwich and some chips and flattening out his lunch bag to make a plate for them.

Steve's sitting with the swim team today, and he watches some of the guys side eye Eddie like they're not sure what the joke is and who the punchline is supposed to be. He watches some of them look at him with disgust, too, and those he carefully files away to keep an eye on later.

“My liege!” Eddie announces cheerfully. “How fair you and your knights of the round table on this fine afternoon?”

“Your king is doing just fine, as long as you keep your boots on the ground and away from the top of the lunch table,” Steve retorts.

“Is this like when Carol used to call her and Tommy Duke and Duchess?” Jacob asks.

“Are we doing that, are we knights now?” Dorian asks, his eyes lighting up a little.

Dorian gets straight A's, Steve remembers that. English is his best class.

“Sure, why not?” Steve says, shrugging carelessly, even as he shoots a smile at Dorian. “You can be Sir Galahad.”

Michael groans. “Don't encourage him, this is stupid.”

Tanner snorts. “From the guy who calls his girlfriend princess.”

Michael flushes. “Shut up! It's just so Ashley will stop whining.”

“Uh-huh.” Jacob elbows him. “We've all heard you at Tina's parties pledging to be her knight in shining armor.”

They have, apparently, completely forgotten Eddie's existence as they fall back to ribbing on each other.

Steve turns to him, finding him watching the table with a narrow, calculating gaze.

“Eat your lunch,” Steve says. “My knights don't give a shit.”

These ones, anyway, and as long as Steve's there, but he's not going to say that.

They both know it.

Still, Eddie keeps it up. It's not every day, or every other day, or in any kind of recognizable pattern, but he'll plop himself down next to Steve's side like he belongs there whenever he feels like it.

Steve largely treats it like he doesn't give a shit, and most of the people he tends to sit with follow suit, if a couple of them can't seem to resist making snide little comments.

It's always the ones who make snide comments to everyone, the kind of assholes that Steve can't wait to get away from, so he mostly ignores it.

The sixth or seventh time it happens, Steve drops his apple on Eddie's folded over lunch bag.

Eddie stares at him.

“What?” Steve asks. “You're going to get scurvy if you keep eating nothing but bologna and Doritos for lunch.”

Eddie snorts. “I look like an eighteenth century pirate captain?”

Steve makes a show of looking him up and down again. “You look like something,” he replies.

Completely unexpectedly, Eddie flushes a little, picking up the apple and taking a comically large bite out of it.

Steve grins.

—

Steve's at swimming practice after school when Nancy and Jonathan show up.

The second he sees them hovering near the back door, he hauls himself up out of the pool, barely pausing to grab a towel on the way.

“What's happened?” he asks immediately, low and quick.

Jonathan's expression is a mess of worry, like he's trying not to panic, as he says, “I can't find Will.”

“We're supposed to pick him and Mike up from the AV club,” Nancy cuts in. “But they're not there, and they're not at any of their usual places at school.”

“Or at home, or anyone else's place, or the arcade,” Jonathan adds.

Steve's chest tightens. It's stupid, kids go off to places they're not supposed to be all the time - especially these kids - but given their track record, that doesn't mean they're not in trouble. “Let me grab my stuff, I'll be right there.”

Practice is almost done, anyway.

He shrugs into his windbreaker and grabs his backpack, darting out the door to follow them. He's already digging around in the backpack to pull out the walkie talkie Dustin gave him by the time he gets to them.

“Little shit better answer,” Steve grumbles, thumbing it on. “Dustin, you there?”

There's a tense pause as they wait.

“Dustin?” Steve tries again.

Nothing.

Jonathan's face goes a little paler, and Nancy's jaw clenches.

“Hey asshole, you're the one who made me carry this around, the least you could do is respond,” Steve bitches.

This time, the walkie flares to life.

“You're supposed to say over when you're done talking, Steve!” Dustin bitches back. “Otherwise I won't know it's my turn! Over.”

“Are you serious right now? It wasn't obvious enough?” Steve asks - then, because he wouldn't put it past Dustin to be a little shit about it, and he knows Jonathan is beyond worried - “Is Will with you? Over.”

“Yeah, he's right here. Why?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

Jonathan sags with relief.

“Was he maybe supposed to meet his brother somewhere?” Steve prompts. “Over.”

Whatever Dustin had been going to say in response to that is drowned out by a chorus of “Oh shit!” and “You said you were keeping track of the time!” and “Don't tell Mom, we'll be right there!”

Nancy rolls her eyes, taking the walkie from him. “Five minutes,” she says into it. “Or we're leaving without you and you can bike home. Over and out.”

Steve's pretty sure he and Jonathan both know that she doesn't mean that, but the kids don't know it, so he's equally sure that'll light a fire under their asses.

“Hey, Dustin, do you and Lucas need a ride home?” he asks once he gets the walkie back.

“And Max?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

“And Max,” Steve agrees, assuming that's a yes. “I'll meet you out front of the high school. Over.”

He shoves the walkie back in his bag, looking up to exchange a relieved look with Nancy and Jonathan.

“See you tomorrow?” Nancy asks, though Steve gets the feeling it's more to fill the silence that's gone a little awkward, now that the potential danger's passed.

“Sure,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Jonathan tells him, eyes fixed somewhere at his left cheekbone like he's not entirely sure where to look.

“Any time.” It comes out too flippant, though, and Steve makes a face at himself as Jonathan turns to leave.

“Hey.” Steve reaches out, fingers curled loosely around Jonathan's wrist. “I mean it, okay? Any time.”

This time, Jonathan's eyes lock on his. After a moment, Jonathan's cheeks go a little pink, and then he nods before he follows Nancy down the hall.

Steve watches them for a moment or two, then drops his backpack down on a bench a little harder than he probably should, digging around for his sweatpants.

“I don't get it.”

Steve looks up as he's halfway through putting his pants on to see Eddie sidling up next to him in the hall.

“Don't get what?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods towards where Nancy and Jonathan just were. “The three of you.”

Steve shrugs. “We're friends, not a lot to get.”

He goes back to fighting with his sweatpants, wishing he'd dried off a little more before pulling them on over his speedo. They keep sticking to his thighs.

Eddie's gone quiet, though, and when Steve glances back up, he sees Eddie staring at him.

Steve cocks one eyebrow. “What?”

Eddie flushes, looking away. “Didn't figure you'd be so comfortable with the girl who broke your heart and the guy who stole her away, is all. Or hey, maybe she's putting out for both of you, maybe Byers is-”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in, tone sharp and firm in a way he hasn't had to do since he stopped hanging out with Tommy and didn't have to hold him back when he'd gone too far anymore.

But Eddie isn't like Tommy. Maybe he doesn't know Eddie all that well, but Steve gets the feeling he only lashes out when he's feeling cornered.

“Don't be a dick, man,” Steve says, voice softening a little. “They haven't done anything to you.”

Eddie looks back at him, a little surprised, before his expression goes contrite. “You're right,” he admits, easy as anything. “Sorry. It's good that you’re friends with your ex.”

Steve's sort of friends with most of his exes, but that's not the same. None of them were ever Nancy. “I do better as part of a trio,” he says instead of anything else, because it's kind of true.

Then, because he doesn't actually want to field any questions about that -

“Besides,” Steve adds. “If you've heard the rumors, you'd know that's not the kind of threesome I'm into.”

Eddie snorts inelegantly, like he's trying to cover up a laugh. “You telling me I should be putting stock in all the rumors I hear about you, Stevie?”

“Of course not. But the ones about my skills in the bedroom?” he shoots back. “Every word is truth.”

It's not, really. Or, well - not the one about the threesomes. Steve doesn't think sitting between two girls on the couch at a house party and going back and forth between kissing them counts as a threesome.

But it'd never been a hardship to combat that particular rumor, not when it meant he could take his time reassuring the girl he was with that no, he didn't want anyone else there, when he could spend a while making sure she felt important, felt good.

He thinks he'd kind of like spending some time making Eddie feel important.

Steve has no idea what the hell he's supposed to do with thoughts like that.

But he does know the way Eddie's eyes have lingered over his thighs and the line of his stomach and chest peeking out from his open windbreaker, and he-

“You want to find out which rumors are true, you just let me know,” he hears himself say.

Eddie doesn't bite, rolling his eyes and shoving him before he heads off, but Steve isn't deterred.

He hadn't missed the way Eddie's hand had lingered, either.

—

Steve and Eddie have free period together.

Well. Steve has a free period, at least. He's honestly not sure Eddie isn't just ditching, but it doesn't really matter.

They hang out together anyway.

They don't really say much, just - exist in the same space. Sometimes in the smoking area, sometimes at the track, sometimes at the picnic table, sometimes somewhere else in the woods.

They sit too close together when they're in the woods, shoulders or knees always touching.

A few times, Steve takes out his heart, lets himself breathe.

Eddie always glares at it, mutters, “I'm still not showing you mine, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs, tells him he still hasn't asked, and that's it.

Steve'll miss it once he graduates.

—

He graduates, and doesn't go to college, doesn't see Nancy or Jonathan or Eddie much anymore, and it's - it's fine.

He still hangs out with the kids, starts putting in job applications, and it's fine.

He's fine.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 5

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #background jancy

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dan-the-womans-blog · 1 day ago

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Title: Crack in Their Composure

Feeling a little better thought I'd post something funny

(Spencer Reid x fem!reader)

The first incident had been embarrassing enough. The team walking in to find Spencer shirtless, oiled up, and groaning under your care had provided them with enough ammunition for weeks of teasing. But even with all their jokes, Spencer was still Spencer—unflappable in most situations—and you both thought the worst was behind you.

You were wrong.

Spencer came home from another grueling case, this one involving multiple days on the road and more stress than usual. He walked into your shared home looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his slender shoulders, which you noticed were slumped with tension.

“Babe,” you said softly, crossing the room to meet him. You cupped his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. “You need another adjustment. You’re completely out of alignment again.”

He nodded without protest, too tired to argue. “You’re the best,” he murmured, letting you guide him to the office once more.

This time, you were determined to work out every knot, every misalignment. Spencer’s job might be to solve complex cases, but yours was to fix him afterward, both body and mind.

---

Meanwhile, the team, riding high after a case closed, decided once again to check in on their favorite genius. They’d teased him mercilessly last time, but Spencer’s reactions were half the fun.

“Think he’s going to yell at us this time?” Emily joked as they approached the house.

“Please,” Derek said with a grin. “Boy Wonder doesn’t yell. He pouts.”

Penelope giggled. “I just hope we get another peek at shirtless Spencer.”

“Oh my God, Garcia,” JJ muttered, laughing despite herself.

They knocked, but the door was unlocked. Derek pushed it open, calling out, “Reid! You home?”

No response.

The team wandered farther into the house, following the faint sound of conversation that led them to your office once again. As they reached the doorway, they were immediately greeted with Spencer’s voice—low, drawn-out, and laced with something suspiciously close to pleasure.

“Ohhh, God, Y/N… Right there… Do that again.”

The team froze.

“Spence, relax,” you said, your tone entirely professional. “I can’t get this spot if you keep tensing up.”

“Sorry, it just—ahhh! Oh, that’s the one,” Spencer groaned, his voice so borderline sinful that Derek and Emily exchanged wide-eyed looks.

“Is this… happening again?” JJ whispered, her hand covering her mouth.

“Guys,” Penelope hissed, fanning herself. “This is so much worse.”

But they couldn’t look away.

You were leaning over Spencer, your hands pressing into his back with practiced precision. This time, though, the team wasn’t met with just the sight of an oiled-up Spencer—they also heard the unmistakable, sharp crack of his spine realigning.

“Oh, wow,” Rossi muttered from the back of the group, clearly impressed despite himself.

“Holy… Did you hear that?” Emily whispered, her tone oddly fascinated.

“That sounded so satisfying,” Penelope admitted, biting her lip as another crack echoed through the room, followed by Spencer’s drawn-out groan of relief.

“Stop enjoying this so much,” JJ hissed, though her eyes remained glued to the scene.

Another series of cracks came, each one louder than the last, and the team collectively shuddered. It was oddly satisfying to hear, even as the situation screamed awkward.

Finally, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye and turned, your hands still on Spencer’s shoulder blades. “Oh, come on!” you exclaimed, glaring at the group.

Spencer lifted his head from the table, a blush already creeping up his neck. “Are you serious?”

“Listen,” Derek said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I came here to clown on you, but I gotta admit—that cracking sound is amazing.”

“You guys have to stop walking in on us,” you said, gesturing at the door.

“You have to stop making it sound like—like that!” Emily shot back, pointing at Spencer, who groaned in embarrassment and dropped his face back into the cradle.

“You all clearly need to leave,” you said firmly, stepping back from the table and crossing your arms.

But Penelope clasped her hands together. “Y/N, just one question before we go.”

“What?” you asked, exasperated.

“Do you take appointments?”

"OUT!"

Spencer groaned louder, and this time, they burst out laughing.

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syphirachaos · 2 days ago

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Goddamn I'm still not done talking about that dancing scene in Wicked!! (See my other post for additional thoughts lol)

Okay okay. SO.

This may be a hot take, but I'm basing this purely on how Cynthia Ervo acted out this scene. I think Elphaba knew as soon as Glinda gave her the hat that it was a prank, that Glinda was being intentionally cruel. I think there was something much deeper at play happening. I think Elphaba saw something in Glinda from the very beginning which is why she enjoyed their rivalry so much--she saw something in Glinda that Glinda herself didn't even see or understand about herself. That although she had an insanely oversized ego thanks to her upbringing, she did have a good heart. Her offering to "help" de-greenify Elphaba (in a very WHite girl princess coded sort of way lol) annoyed Elphaba because she saw Glinda's desire to be a good person, but Glinda's lack of perspective and massive ego were standing in her way.

Anyway I'm setting up context to talk about the dance scene. So. Elphaba sees the potential in Glinda. But then when Glinda gives her the hat, Elphaba realizes in that moment what she must do. She has to be the one to show Glinda there are CONSEQUENCES to her actions! Glinda didn't stop to think how hurtful that would really be, how awful it is to offer someone a hand of friendship only to PUBLICLY slap it away in a very Mean Girls sort of way.

I dare to believe Elphaba knew exactly what she was getting into when she went to the Ozdust. She was CONSCIOUSLY showing Glinda the consequences of her actions. This is what happens when you mock the marginalized and the outcast. You're the leader here, everyone is looking to you Glinda. Look what you sowed through your choice to be cruel. The entire school is now mocking and bullying me and you hold all the cards and yet you think what you did was "just for a laugh?" Your actions have CONSEQUENCES! CHECK YOUR PRIVILEGE. And she taught her all that without having to say a word. THAT'S real power. And it worked. I think Glinda fell in love with Elphaba in that moment because she saw what Elphaba was doing and she was grateful! She was grateful her mistake didn't stop Elphaba from still seeing her and wanting to befriend her anyway. I think Elphaba's tears were of relief that her insanely brave plan worked. She was relieved and grateful to be seen!

Whoever thinks Elphaba was a mere victim of circumstance doesn't see how incredibly brave and powerful and amazing and epic she really is, and that's a damn shame. She chose to challenge the most powerful student in the school to step up, to open her mind and SEE. And she gambled a lot on her belief that she could reach Glinda, but I like to think Elphaba just had that much faith in herself. And faith in Glinda too. She trusted her heart and oh boy did her heart deliver.

As I said before, that was the most beautifully intimate scene I've ever witnessed on film and it is a damn privilege to be alive during this time to get to see Wicked.

#wicked 2024 #wicked the movie #wicked #gelphie #elphaba x glinda #glinda x elphaba #glinda upland #elphaba thropp #elphaba is a total badass witch and I dare anyone to prove otherwise

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bloggerspam · 3 days ago

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I'm a dummy and have fucked up the reblogs.

So I'm going to fix that and delete the incorrect posts so that the chapters are all in one place in the correct order. Please bear with me and I'm sorry for any confusion....

===

Gotham is unusually sunny, which works in Steph's favor by providing ample lighting.

Steph adjusts herself, posing just a little against a streetlight behind her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She smooths down her skirt, her favorite black denim pencil skirt that makes her legs look long, for the millionth time. Her oversized jean jacket and fitted purple turtleneck keep her warm as she waits impatiently beside an equally posed Jason.

He's decided to cross his arms and casually lean back against Danny's bike, wearing a tight black thermal henley that really doesn't do anything to hide his muscles. His jeans look painted on, and his leather jacket is tucked safely in her car, parked a little ways away.

They're both pretending they're not acting like peacocks.

It's mostly working.

She's entirely grateful that Sam decided to bail the two troublemakers out, rather than Jason and Steph having to beg. Sibling solidarity can go a long, long way when cute boys and girls are involved, but it's better to err on the safe side when your main antagonist is your pesky nosy cop of a brother.

…Not that Steph's a Wayne by any means, but still. It counts.

The sound of bickering, familiar voices cause their nerves of waiting to turn into the nerves of anticipation.

"Fenton I swear to Clockwork I will end you if this happens again!!" Val's smooth baritone rasp is threatening, and even though it's playful, it still brings shivers down Steph's spine.

"What makes you think it'll happen again?" Danny challenges, Jason perking up beside her like a puppy.

"Because I know you, you dolt." Val growls, both of them coming into view now, "I bet you've already got plans on a better version knocking around in that empty head of yours!"

And fuck. Val's wearing a loose yellow crop top and low rider jeans, and with the way she jostles about with Danny, Steph can see a little peak of her abs every time she reaches up. Steph licks her lips at the flash of the other woman's dark skin, wants to bite at the pouch she's got going on that Steph knows means she's packing practical muscle.

Steph really, really wants to get her mouth on that woman ASAP.

If only Val would actually use said god damn muscles and pick up on the damn hints Steph's been leaving, that would be phenomenal.

"Just because you're right doesn't mean—oh!" Danny pauses, causing Val to stutter stop with him reflexively.

"Bossman?" Val squints, before her eyes widen, "Steph? Is that…Danny's bike?"

Jason puffs up his chest, proud, looking especially pleased when Danny beams and rushes towards them to check over his baby. It puts Danny all up in Jason's business, who refuses to step away probably for that purpose. Damn him, but he's smooth.

"Did you guys bail out the bike for him?" Val asks, smile soft as she comes to stand next to Steph, "You really didn't have to, Danny's not worth all that trouble."

"Oh, it was no big." Steph shrugs, peering down at Val through her eyelashes as best she can, "Between you and met? It didn't cost a penny." She winks. "We heard from a little birdy Danny quite likes bad boys."

"Yeah?" Val smirks, and gods is it hot, "And you totally didn't go along with it to, oh, I don't know, egg him on?"

Steph giggles, giggles like a schoolgirl! Ugh. She can't with herself sometimes. "Hey, who says he didn't need my expert help? I'm a beast with a lock pick you know."

Wait. That's not a normal thing to brag about. Abort! Abort!!

"Nice. I'm no slouch either, but I can't imagine it was easy." Val chuckles, shaking her head. "Which of you managed to crack Danny's security system? Your lockpicking skills extend to hacking too?"

…Apparently, it is a normal thing to brag about. Proceed as planned!

"We had a little help." Steph smiles her most winning smile, leaning a little into Val's space. The other girl's eyes widen, licking her lips, and Steph almost says fuck it, almost leans closer, if only—

"So I was thinkin' we could watch that new horror movie playin' at the threatre," Jason's voice is low, Steph almost misses it, if Val immediately swing her head towards him, "Carnage for Christmas, y'know, 'tis the season and all…"

Pouting at her missed opportunity, she looks over herself to see what the fuss is.

Danny is smiling helplessly up at Jason, who has a hand on the bike and is leaning over him close. They look snug, Danny fiddling nervously and looking besotted whilst Jason is eyeing Danny like he wants to eat him up.

Steph refuses to get jealous. Jason's got a head start, but that doesn't mean—

"Danny hates Christmas," To her credit, Val looks like she very much does not want to interrupt whatever is going on over there, "Plus, he's scared of ghosts."

Which. What?

Jason, mirroring her confusion, sputters. "But—I thought?" Jason's eye flick back and forth between a sheepishly embarrassed Danny and a reluctantly cockblocking Val. He settles on the safest thing to say. "Isn't Amity Park 'The Most Haunted Town in America'?"

Both Amity Parkers nod with a grimace.

"Aren't your parents ghost hunters?" Steph asks, though she regrets it when both of them stare at her with hard eyes.

"We never told you my last name." Danny's voice quavers, and he backs up just a tiny bit. "…Did you look into me?" Jason's expression crumbles, just that tiny bit, reaching over only to stop and bring his hand back when Danny flinches.

You mean his bully and his stalker? Sam had said. Fuck.

Steph and Jason both try to say no, only—only they did. Thankfully, Val steps in.

"Danny, they're Waynes." Her voice is forcefully calm. "It would be weirder if they didn't look into you."

That, thank all the fucking gods, does the trick. Steph bites her lip from refuting her Wayne status, watching tensely as Danny starts to cautiously relax, no longer looking like he's ready to bolt at any minute.

"Right." Danny breathes, relaxing enough to lean back into Jason's personal bubble, "Right, of course."

Steph and Jason silently resolve to give Val an expensive gift and a raise, respectively.

"Where did you find out about his parents?" Val asks, still in that forceful calm, silently urging them to…what, give a good excuse?

"From us, guard dog. Breathe a little." Sam's voice sounds out from the police station. "Not that I blame you, but we promise Danny is safe."

It's an odd thing to say, a concerning thing. She can tell Jason's already made a mental note to figure that shit out pronto. Boy's definitely gotten attached.

"Long time no see!" Tucker grins, waving at the four of them, "Sorry we took so long, that brother of yours had a lotta questions and Sam was not having it."

"ACAB." Sam deadpans, rolling her eyes and startling laughter out of Steph and Jason.

"He's not even supposed to be here," Steph rolls his eyes, "He usually works over in Bludhaven."

"He gave us some bull about police officer exchanges," Jason adds on, "which neither of us bought."

Danny relaxes all the way now, darting up a glance as a softly smiling Jason (gag) and even daringly leaning a shoulder against him. Jason preens.

"Wait go back," Val squints suspicious eyes at Tucker, "What do you mean long time no see?"

"It was a joke," Tucker's smile goes sly, "We met yesterday, committed our first crime in Gotham together and everything."

"Even got ice cream to celebrate" Sam smirks, "Swapped stories."

Danny looks up at Jason, wide eyes sad and mouth pouty, "You committed crime and got ice cream without us?"

Steph watches as Jason try to placate Danny, who is clearly joking and not having it, and feels all kinds of jealous and happy for him.

It just reminds her that she's gotta get going, so she leans just that little bit closer to Val, who is focused on Sam.

"What kind of stories?" Val crosses her arms, which. Delicious. Steph wants to bite them. Maybe Steph has an oral fixation.

She's okay with that. Hopefully Val is too.

"Oh…you know," Tucker drawls out, taking his sweet time, "Like how Danny's parents are ghost hunters turned ecto-biologists, a little bit about the ghosts and our town heroes…"

"…maybe a little bit about the Phan Club," Sam adds, not so innocently, "And how you were obsessed with Martina William's buck teeth in Junior Year because you thought they made her so cute, like Bugs Bunny—"

That seems to be the last straw. Val lunges.

Sam and Val chase each other, another, less monkey'd version of how Danny and Val brawled together.

It gave Steph more opportunity to observe their fighting styles, do a little more guesswork on the mystery that was Amity Park.

Danny liked to throw things, reliant on his apparent strength. Not for the first time, Steph wondered if Danny was a meta, if this was further proof that maybe Danny was Phantom, the blurry, hazmatted hero of Amity Park.

Val liked to flip and trip people up, even now, she was hooking her feet and flipping over objects on the street. She's been filmed on all sorts of security cameras, but her background doesn't discount her as Red Huntress, the newer hero that seemed antagonistic towards Phantom. Steph's not sure though, there isn't a lot of overlap beyond that in their fighting styles, and maybe it's the suit but Huntress' body type looked more svelte.

Sam, apparently, liked to use the other's momentum against them, stepping out and pushing against already moving limbs to twist them all around, topsy turvy. When Val went low to sweep a foot under, Sam stepped back and kicked it, turning Val all the way around and giving Sam a wide opening to the other girl's back, easy pickings

Steph squinted. Red Huntress liked to use weapons, so it was harder to really cement a fighting style, but she's seen Huntress use that move in one of the clips Babs sent over. And Sam was a little more on the petite side...

…Was Sam Red Huntress?

"You guys really like to brawl, huh." Steph said absently, trying to see if she could make any other connections.

"Everyone in Amity Park knows at least a little somethin' about brawling." Tucker shrugs, "It'd be hard not to, Most of the older generations were really into self-protection of any kind, even before the ghosts came around."

"Mom's a 9th degree black belt and Dad does judo," Danny agrees, "Jazz, my sister, took to Krav Maga like a duck to water, but got Dad's terrible aim."

"What about you?" Jason asks, peering at Danny's arms, no doubt remembering Danny's ease in tossing Val clear across a room and probably drooling about it. "Judo?"

Danny blushed, but it was Tucker that answered. "Danny's a whiz with weapons." He grinned a sharp little grin, "And yeah, he knows a lil' somethin' about judo. He's stronger than he looks."

Danny scratched the back of his neck, bashfully, "Mom was a little disappointed about the Krav Maga, I just don't have the head for it, but she perked right up when she found out I was good at handlin' guns."

Jason's eyes flared, and he leaned in a little closer with a gleam to his eye, voice so low Steph could scoop it up from the god damn floor. "Yeah?"

Ugh. Someone gag her. This does put the Phantom thing a little on the grayer side, since the 'ghost' hero relied more on their punches.

Steph shakes her head to clear her thought, looking hopefully over at where Sam and Val were still at it. She sighed, but turned back with a smile anyway. "And Val?"

"Val's dad works in Security," Danny's ears are so very red from Jason's attentions, "She's got some history in Hapkido, or was it Taekwondo?"

"Explains all the kicks," Jason whistles, "And all of Amity Park's like that?"

"Nobody realized how weird it was to have PE just be a karate class until Sam came around." Tucker continues, gesturing to the girls, "She came to town later, but she's also kind of good at most physical things."

"She's kicked my butt too many times to count," Danny grumbles, "Aikido is tricky to handle."

"At least you can keep up." Tucker rolls his eyes. "Leave some talent for the rest of us."

"Says the resident tech genius." Danny scoffs, but wisely keeps it at that when tucker rolls his eyes. "Besides, you're passable at guns."

"Passable," Tucker mocks, "Gee thanks."

The more she hears about Danny, the more she thinks he's too good for Jason. But then again, he also seemed perfect for him, so Steph called it a wash.

"So about that movie?" Jason decided to change the subject, probably impatient to get loverboy to himself. "We could watch something else, if Christmas or scary movies aren't your thing."

"The new Venom is out," Danny perked right up, turning towards Tucker for some reason, "We've been meaning to see that, right?"

"Uh," Tucker hesitates, gaze wide and frantic as it darts between Danny and Jason, "Y-yeah, buddy but I think—"

"The Marvel movies are one of the few movie franchises we can all agree on," Danny explains, turning back to Jason and looking up brightly, "We usually wait to watch on stream or something, but…" Danny bites his lip shyly, voice quieting, "…maybe we can watch it theatre just this once?"

Jason looks like he's trying his damnedest to not look disappointed, which—Steph feels for him, really. She and Tucker share a look, trying to figure out how to delicately navigate out of this disaster.

"Actually, I was thinking of—" Steph tries, only to be interrupted by a loud boom!

All six of them stiffen, bracing themselves and looking for the source. Those stories about Amity Park being a less Gothic version of Gotham is starting to hold water.

"Hello, Gotham!" A familiar grating voice echoes, "Welcome to my funtime jamboree!"

"Which one is this guy?" Val asks, still looking for the rogue.

"It's Riddler," Steph and Jason say at the same time.

Val groans, Sam rolling her eyes as the boys for some reason cheer.

"There are several bombs hidden throughout Gotham," Riddler continues over the police speaker system, "And each of them require some…shall be say creative problem solving!"

Steph gets tugged by the arm, pulled away before can even think about a way to separate naturally and disappear with Jason.

"Val?" Next to her, Jason has being herded by Sam, as Danny and Tucker conspire together over what looks like an old, beat up PDA.

"Danny and Tucker love escape rooms," Val explains, face scrunched up cutey in distaste, "I've been dragged to too many to count—"

"Wait—Riddler is too dangerous for citizens to—" Jason starts, trying to turn around to grab Danny, but is pushed forward by a surprisingly strong Sam.

"Yes, yes," Sam rolls her eyes, "We know, civilians etcetera and all that. Don't worry."

Steph and Jason try to argue, but are summarily stuffed into Steph's car—when did Val pick pocket her keys? Why is that so hot?

Before either of them can comprehend, Steph's been buckled into the driver's seat, Jason in the passenger, with the car somehow running.

The doors slam, and when both of them look through the passenger window, Sam has Tucker and Val in a rental car with her, Danny on his ecto-bike, already driving off.

Towards the commotion.

Steph and Jason share a look.

"What the fuck just happened?" Steph asks, stupefied.

"I didn't get Danny's number." Jason answers, equally confused but still buckling up and putting in a comm, "And you didn't even get to flirt."

"Hey!" Steph defends, putting in her own comm, "I'm not the one whose date thought they were asking the whole group to the movies!"

"Just drive," Jason growls, but it's lost in the sound of Steph revving her engine and their comms bursting into life with Babs' commanding voice and Duke's cheery timbre.

Riddler first, then dates.

Hopefully.

Mechanic!Val AU, but make it gay and sapphic.

ya'll can thank the HH discord for this one. Specifically the menace known as @clockwayswrites (and @impyssadobsessions for the art that inspired the damn thing)

Dead on Main and with some future Val/Steph >)

also @belfry-ghost did a doodle for this AU and everyone should go love on his art. Val's so unf.

===

Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord.

She’s pretty sure he’s The Crime Lord, actually. She’s like, 98% sure she works for Red Hood now, and she’s low key mad about it. She squints at the man now, with his white streak and almost imperceptible green sheen to his eyes.

The problem is that Val did perceive it. Because she used to date a guy whose baby blue eyes changed ever so slightly in the same way. Thinking about Danny makes her even madder.

To be clear, she’s not mad about Red Hood himself.

She’s just mad that, of all the mechanic shops in all of Crime Alley, she just had to work for her ex-boyfriend’s third place Hall Pass pick. It also makes her miss her friends way more, and Val is hardly what one would call a well-adjusted woman, so she’s mad about it.

She huffs as she lifts the hood of the second car she’s working on today. Being a mechanic wasn’t really on the docket for Val’s life goals, nor was being in Gotham, but she got a full ticket ride on Wayne Foundation scholarships, and honestly?

Gotham is Amity Park Lite: Gargoyles and Furries Edition.

Between a full ride to Gotham U and being stuck at Elmerton Community College? The choice was easy.

So here she is, working for the resident Crime Lord in his civvies.

Jay pays good, teaches her what she needs to know, and bonus: he sometimes helps with her English Literature class. He’s flexible on hours, and she’s even got rudimentary insurance.

All in All? It could be worse—she could still be working for Vlad, after all.

It's the little things.

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rineros · 2 days ago

Text

SHE WAS TOO GOOD TO ME

summary: he wants to heal

characters: miya atsumu, ex!reader

contains: 1.6k, self reflection post breakup

note: don’t judge ooc atsuwu i haven’t written hq fics in four years and he was the closest person to my ex bestie #fuckthatguy

sometimes, miya atsumu allows himself to wonder what could have happened if he wasn’t such an asshole.

he glances to his right. across the empty side of the bed where the scent of your shampoo was fading, his alarm clock reads 2:56 am. he groans loudly in frustration and drags his hands down his face, stretching out his tired features.

he stares at his ceiling that is illuminated by the glow in the dark stars you and he stuck up there once upon a time. a small smile strikes him when he remembers walking in on you hopping on the bed to get them up there.

he had watched you for a minute before you saw him. he’ll never forget that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest when you laughed joyously the moment you saw him and jumped from the bed to his arms. he held on to you tightly as he spun you around, relishing in the feeling of being truly loved.

you had kissed him so gently as you smiled when he set you down that he thought of himself as an adorable little puppy.

you excitedly showed him the progress you had made over the past hour, which honestly wasn’t much, but he knew you had probably gotten distracted by your phone.

“i got an idea,” he said, putting his hands on your shoulders. “turn around.”

“you’re one dirty dog, you know that?” you giggled as you followed his movements.

you had yelped as you felt yourself being hoisted up into the air, but he gripped your waist as you held on to his hair for dear life. you steadied yourself and praised him for being such an innovative and creative problem-solver, making his cheeks flush.

from there, he walked to wherever in the room you wanted to place the stars, bed be damned, and by the time you two had finished, the sun had set. he set you down as he had done earlier and the two of you had lain patiently in bed, talking to pass the time as you waited for the darkness to settle.

when the stars started glowing, both of you had squealed childishly, but he thought that all those rare, once-in-a-lifetime comets could never compare to the sparkle in your eyes. cheesy, he knows.

he checks his clock again. it’s a quarter past three.

osamu’s going to be pissed if he calls him.

fuck it.

atsumu grabs his phone from the nightstand and dials the person who will always listen to him. he cringes when he hears osamu’s ringtone across the hallway.

it rings… and rings… and rings. voicemail.

an eerie silence settles in the apartment. you always hated that. the air is still, his pillow is much too flat, and there’s a disturbing feeling bubbling in his throat.

atsumu jumps and drops his phone on his face as his ringtone blares in his ears. he pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing it to soothe the sharp pain as he accepts the call.

“the hell you want?” the raspy voice of his brother mutters. atsumu feels bad because he knows that osamu’s first class starts at 8:00, but he can’t deal with this anymore tonight.

“i just… i wanted to talk.” his foot starts to shake and bounce as the silence returns.

a second passes, then another.

“come over.”

with that, his restless body rises from bed and walks quickly and nimbly across the hall to osamu’s room with his blanket wrapped around him. he opens the door to a half-asleep osamu and climbs into his queen-sized bed, the perk he received since atsumu got the bigger room. he makes himself comfortable as he lays on his side to face osamu, bringing the blanket up to his chin, basking in the warmth that could never match your own.

“gimme a sec,” osamu says gruffly. his eyes are still closed as he lays on his back. atsumu watches as he takes a few more deep breaths, then slowly cracks his neck to wake himself up. “talk.”

atsumu moves to lay himself on his back after he sees his eyes open slightly. they both stare at osamu’s bare ceiling.

“i never told you this, but when she broke up with me,” he pauses. “she didn’t cry. she looked too exhausted.

“she told me even before we broke up that i stopped putting in as much effort and that she felt like she wasn’t even in a relationship anymore, just the ghost of it.

“she completely tore me to shreds without even raising her voice because that’s who she is. no matter how much you hurt her, she’ll never hurt you. she cares too much. she wasn’t even trying to rip into me, like, she was just explaining the type of person i am and how my actions affected her and everyone’s perception of me.

“she told me that every time i hurt her, it seemed like i didn’t take her seriously and i never took accountability for my actions; i was always trying to weasel my way out of trouble.

“but i just wanted to preserve everyone’s feelings, y’know? i wanted to keep the peace. i never meant to make her feel like that.”

atsumu stops talking for a second as he waits for osamu to say something. it’s all a blur, with bits and pieces flashing in his head, but he could never forget the blank look in your eyes as you pointed out his shortcomings as a person, not just as a boyfriend.

“we judge others based on their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intentions,” osamu says. his voice is still ragged with exhaustion and his eyes have closed yet again. “i heard mom say somethin’ like that to her friend once.

“i believe you when you say you think you didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s only from your perspective. you’re busy; i get that and so does she. there’s volleyball, classes, homework, clubs, work, your friends, and then you added her, but it seems like you had spread yourself too thin already—“

“and that’s exactly one of the points i told her,” atsumu interrupts. “i’m not gonna be able to give her 100% all the time because i already do so much.”

osamu side-eyes him. “will you shut up and let me finish?”

atsumu huffs but lets him continue anyway.

“what i’m trying to get at is that, yeah, you’re busy, but you’re not the only person that’s busy. this isn’t just your world that we’re living in, it’s everyone’s. to her, it must have seemed like all of the effort, time, and love she invested in you was losing its value every time you ignored her or prioritized something stupid when she needed you. it’s not difficult to detach yourself from something that treats you like you don’t matter if you know your worth.

“you also lie. a lot. and i know you think they’re harmless little white lies, but they’ve gotten too out of hand lately that you’ve probably become desensitized to them.

“she’s smart and she knows you. she knew whenever you lied and it destroyed any kind of trust or credibility that you had.

“and that bullshit about wanting to spare everyone’s feelings? you know you don’t care about all that. also, who cares? nobody made you play mediator besides yourself and it’s impossible to not hurt anyone. you’re already hurting people; you’ve done it before and you’re going to keep doing it because that’s what learning is about. making mistakes. and if you haven’t already realized that you’re hurting people more than you would if you’d just tell the damn truth, you’re screwed,” osamu finishes his monologue, leaving atsumu in his thoughts.

was it really that bad for you? was he?

when he was younger, his tongue was as sharp as a shard of glass and he was much more careless with his words. it didn’t matter to him if the true words, in his opinion, hurt those around him. his belief was that there was no improvement without criticism. as he grew up, however, he had to learn to filter himself because nobody would willingly choose to be around someone who solely focused on their flaws.

and somewhere between then and now, he had forgotten the importance of honesty, usually opting to twist and bend the truth to preserve his reputation. it started off with a fib of “too much hw, can’t hang tn :(“ to multiple complicated lies spanning months, in which he would tell others things to make himself seem better. the kinder person, the most reliable, the smartest. just better.

eventually, it became too difficult to manage all of these lies and his stories became mixed up. when he was questioned about it, he would lie even more and even harder.

even now, as osamu told atsumu what he thought of him and his situation with you, there wasn’t much good. though atsumu came to osamu for comfort tonight, he, like you, wasn’t trying to make him feel bad, but it seems that’s the way he is destined to feel about himself when his personality is brought into conversation.

osamu snores next to him and as atsumu snuggles up to his blanket further, he realizes that this is a path he no longer wants to walk down.

he’s going to be better.

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steddieasitgoes · 2 days ago

Text

you can call me boyfriend for the weekend

I posted this earlier as a link to ao3 but I know some people like to read things straight on tumblr so this is for you people lol As noted, this was supposed to be a short little ficlet inspired by unfortunate "Black Out Wednesday"/hook up with someone in your hometown pre-Thanksgiving ritual and then Steve got a backstory and Eddie wanted a POV and it spiraled out of control like most of my work lol Also I wrote this all in twelve hours and it's not beta read at all lol but enjoy! And please ignore the wonky timeline. It's canon-divergent/no Upside Down. But basically in my head, all the normal things that happened to Steve/Eddie still happened in this universe and they got close during the Autumn months of 1986. I think that's all you need to know! wc: 8.8k | rated: M Read on ao3

The Hideout is unusually packed.

In hindsight, Steve should have figured as much. It’s not like he’s the only former resident in town who needs a shot or two (okay, maybe three, but who’s really counting other than the barkeep logging everyone’s tabs) of liquid courage before heading home to spend a few days with family. The overflowing parking lot and illegally double and triple-parked cars on the street are still a sight to see when he steps out of the Yellow Taxi.

Maybe he should have taken the cute stewardess up on the alcohol offer on the plane. Would have saved him a couple of bucks that’s for damn sure. Still, every time he was about to, Robin’s nagging voice would pop into his head, spewing one of her nonsense rambles about the importance of being fully coherent on an airplane, lest they have to land the plane as if he’d have the skills to land a plane in the first place. And yet, he remained stone-cold sober on the couple-hour flight into Indianapolis from Boston just in case.

Sure, there’s liquor at his parent's house — at least, he hopes they haven’t packed up the dry bar if they did, he’s really fucked this weekend — but he needs something now to keep the anxiety bubbling in his chest at bay. And last time he checked The Hideout is the only place within a twenty-mile radius that can serve up a quick, cheap drink. Plus, there’s the fact that the Yellow Taxi he took here from the airport has already disappeared into the night, and he��s not about to go inside to call another cab without buying something; that would be rude.

In yet another surprising twist, that shouldn’t be surprising given the parking situation; there’s a small line of people waiting to get in. In the nineteen and a half years he spent in Hawkins, Steve’s never seen a line in front of The Hideaway. He knows for a fact that the place never had a bouncer, much less one who meticulously cards everyone who walks in.

Well, everyone but him it seems.

Steve doesn’t even get his wallet open, much less out of his pocket, before the man is wrapping a bright orange ’21 and over’ wristband on his wrist. Which, like, ouch. He knows he just got off a flight after working a half-day shift at the stupid office, but he can’t look that much like an adult. Can he?

Thankfully, there’s no time to dwell on his fleeting youth as he’s pushed into the crowded bar with the rest of the customers who patiently waited their turn in the frigid Indiana November evening.

The familiar scent hits him the second he’s more than three steps through the opened doors — stale beer, nicotine, the undeniable musk bodies emit when they’re dancing and, well, horny. But there’s also something new going on, too. Crisp leather, a piney scene that can only be associated with floor cleaner, and something minty, peppermint, he thinks, maybe for the upcoming holidays. Gone is the stench of piss that no amount of power washing the concrete floors could ever scrub up. Steve notices the concrete floor is gone, too, apparently, as his shoes squeak against the shiny black laminate.

There are a few new booths from the looks of things, and the stage has gotten a major upgrade since the last time he was here to see… He shakes the thought from his head and keeps walking until he finds an open spot in the corner of the bar.

A bartender materializes the second his ass makes contact with the new vinyl seat. She looks vaguely familiar, too young to be in his class, but maybe someone from Henderson’s year. He figures he’ll be downing glasses of expensive wine when he finally musters up the courage to go home, so he orders a shot of tequila and a rum and coke in the meantime. She pours the shot right there, excusing herself to grab the rum bottle from one of the other bartenders working tonight.

He grimaces as he shoots it back, tequila burning his throat as it goes down before he sucks the sliver of lime between his lips. It’s impossible for the effects to kick in this fast, but he already feels the tension easing from his shoulders. He uses the reprieve from his anxiety to really take everything in. The Hideout may have gotten some major upgrades, but he can’t say the same about its patrons.

It’s a real who’s who of Hawkins High has-beens. Andy and a couple of younger guys he remembers playing ball with his junior year of high school, all wearing their Greek letter crewnecks, downing beers and slapping each other on the back. Jason’s in the center with his arm around a stereotypical-looking blonde who is clearly not from around here. Heather Holloway is unmistakable, pressed into a booth arguing with some guy Steve thinks was on their swim team while their three kids jump around unchecked. And is that Chrissy Cunningham with… Gareth? That nerd from Dustin’s D&D group? Steve makes a mental note to bring it up with Dustin when the little shit calls him next because holy shit.

It takes him a minute to spot Tommy and Carol, but once he does, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see them sooner. They’re pressed up against each other, practically dry-humping in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Tommy’s got his tongue shoved down Carol’s throat, and her hand is fisted into his buttoned shirt that’s definitely a size too small.

Somethings never change, he thinks, rolling his eyes as the pair stumble their way towards the bathrooms at the opposite end of the bar.

Steve’s about to turn back around and disappear into the shadowy corner he’s found himself in when the static feedback of the seemingly brand-new speakers goes off, sending every patron in the bar covering their ears.

“Sorry! Sorry!” A man calls from the makeshift sound booth a few yards away from Steve. “Give it another go for me?”

“Check one, check one, two. Sounds great, Frank. We’re all set up here if you are,” a woman says from the stage. Steve figures she gets a non-verbal cue from Dave because then she’s talking again, her voice bright and way louder than it needs to be. The giggle that comes next is even worse. “Hi everyone! Lots of familiar faces in the crowd tonight.”

It takes his eyes a minute to adjust to the bright spotlight illuminating the stage, but when it does, he nearly falls out of his seat. Is that?

“Anyways, I’m Tammy, and these are the Townies, and we’re Tammy and the Townies!”

Holy shit! It’s Tammy Thompson. The Tammy Thompson. Robin is going to be so pissed when he calls and tells her about this tomorrow morning. She’ll probably say that he was just seeing things, blame it on the single shot of tequila he’s had since he’s still waiting for his drink, but he knows the truth. Especially when Tammy launches into the opening lines of “Santa Baby,” trying her best to be sultry but still sounding like a rejected Muppet.

Someone chuckles behind Steve, before an all too familiar voice says, “I haven’t heard that one before.”

His first thought is: Shit, did he say that out loud?

And then comes something even worse: Wait, I know that voice.

All the anxiety the shot of tequila chased off comes surging back to Steve, swirling in his gut, threatening to creep up his throat and out his mouth. No. He’s not going to throw up in The Hideout after one shot, not with the entirety of his high school class in attendance. And definitely not in front of Eddie Munson.

There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that it's anyone but Eddie Munson standing behind him and the bar. He would know that voice and chuckle anywhere, could pick it out in a line-up if he had to after the fall of 1985 when they— nope, not going there.

The way he sees it, he has two options. One, get the hell out of here without turning around. It’s dark in the corner, so there’s a chance Eddie hasn’t realized who he’s talking to yet; in fact, Steve’s pretty sure if Eddie knew who he just spoke to, he never would have opened his mouth to begin with. So, yeah, he could get the hell out of here, maybe leave a couple of bucks at the opposite end of the bar on the way out so he’s not drinking and ditching, and then hail a cab and head to his childhood house.

Or, he could woman the fuck up, as Robin would say, turn around and meet the gaze of a man he hasn’t seen since he was nineteen, confused and desperate to make something out of himself.

He weighs the cons: spend a few extra hours with his parents or face Eddie Munson, the only person other than Robin to ever see him. The real him.

The answer is easy.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, sizing Steve up with those big doe eyes of his the second Steve turns in his chair. “If it isn’t Steve Harrington in the flesh. What the hell are you doing around these parts? Thought you left to go make daddy dearest proud?”

Ouch.

Steve should have expected Eddie not to mince words, even if he is a paying customer and all. He doesn’t allow himself to get a good look at Eddie, meeting him with his own mean-spirited retort instead.

“Guess I should have known you’d still be around, Munson,” Steve snarks. Eddie wants to play? Steve’ll gladly participate. “Still flunking out of high school?”

“Now that one I have heard before.”

Eddie doesn’t stick around for a response. He slams Steve’s rum and coke on the bar counter and gives it a rough shove. The glass slides across the sleek countertop before crashing into Steve’s awaiting hand. The drink sloshes in the cup, a few droplets spilling out, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to wave Eddie down and demand a replacement, so he shuts up and brings the now half-empty glass to his lips. He takes a much-needed gulp and then another, alcohol going down better than the shot from earlier, dulling the regret from his mean-spirited retort with it. He sulks for a moment before letting his eyes drift behind the bar. Searching.

If The Hideout is crowded, the bar is just as congested. At least four bartenders shimmy around each other. Hands reaching for various bottles, glasses clinking as ice falls in. It’s the most people Steve’s ever seen behind the small bar top, and he’s willing to bet it’s more than they’re legally allowed.

Fire code and all that.

Not that he knows much about that.

Not yet, at least.

He will once he starts his Fire Academy classes in the new year.

That is, assuming his dad doesn’t kill him the minute he finds out about his career change.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, Steve thinks, shaking the thought away and chasing it further by draining the rest of his drink.

“Can I getcha’ another round?” The young bartender asks, reappearing like a damn bar fairy.

Steve’s not sure he’s fully thought his order out, too preoccupied stealing glances at Eddie, but his lips start moving anyway, words escaping before he has a chance to stop them, “Actually, can I get a Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice instead of pineapple.”

“Pickle juice? Are you sure?”

Shit.

No.

Yes.

Steve quietly contemplates changing his unusual order, tilting his empty rum and coke glass to his lips, desperate for another teaspoon of liquid courage. He’s met with the cool sensation of ice hitting his teeth instead. Another not-so-subtle sneak at Eddie, and Steve doubles down. “Yeah. Eddie should know how to make it.”

“Oh, uh, ” the bartender says, nervously glancing to her right.

Steve follows her line of vision, giving himself permission to do more than glance this time, and finds Eddie on the opposite end tossing around bottles and the shaker like he’s fucking Tom Cruise in Cocktails and not a super-senior who half the town was convinced was a Satanist.

“Let me see what I can do for you.”

Steve gives her his best customer service smile and a quick nod before watching her shuffle through the other bartenders on her quest to get to Eddie.

He lets his eyes linger as Eddie finally doles out the drink he’s been working on. Five years and some change has been good on him. His hair is still as unruly as ever, twisted back in a low bun at the base of his neck. Tending to the bar has clearly served his arms well judging by the tone biceps peaking out from under his black shirt. It’s done wonders for his entire body, if Steve’s honest, sizing up the way he finally fills out his jeans.

Eddie turns just so, new piercings catching in the reflection of the spotlight from the stage. Steve catalogs them, a few new ones to his ears, a hoop in his left nostril. There’s new ink, too, decorating his strong forearms and peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

Steve’s attraction to Eddie isn’t a surprise, especially after the Fall of ‘86. But it’s like a match has just ignited a new flame in the depths of his body. He looks good, is all. Really, really good.

Steve’s pulled from his not-so-subtle ogling when the young bartender finally gets Eddie’s attention. He can’t hear the conversation, but he spent enough time around Eddie to know what the man is saying without even looking at his lips. Her back is to him, but Steve knows the minute he brings up the drink because Eddie’s body goes stiff, his head jolting toward Steve, eyes growing wide as he glares at him from the opposite end of the bar.

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s truly fucked up. Well, more than he did five and a half years ago when he let his dad convince him to set him up with a job in Boston that forced him to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, least of all Eddie. But then he sees the moment Eddie’s stubbornness sets in, clouding his eyes and forcing his chunky boots to stomp through the hoard of sweaty bartenders.

“Did you come all the way home to fuck with me?” Eddie barks, still a foot and a half away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, Harrington,” Eddie snaps, hands smacking onto the countertop.

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie rages on. If it wasn’t for Tammy Thompson’s wailing in the background, Steve’s pretty sure they’d have everyone’s attention right now. Thank God for Tammy Thompson.

“Seriously? Pickle juice!”

Steve’s hit with the familiar woodsy, nicotine smell he spent months chasing around town as Eddie drops to his elbows, leaning in closer to Steve. For a second, he thinks Eddie is going to deck him, at the very least fist his hand into his shirt and yank him forward, but he doesn’t.

“I know damn well you’re not ordering Vodka Party Punch with fucking pickle juice at the fancy bars wherever you ended up. What makes you think you can order one here now?”

“You’re right, I don’t order them in Boston,” Steve says, answering the question Eddie really didn’t ask. “But I’m ordering it now because you’re the creator of the drink, and I know you’ll make it taste right.”

Steve watches Eddie’s jaw drop. The bar is dimly lit but it doesn’t take florescent lights to catch the red tinting the tips of Eddie’s ears, fully exposed with his hair pulled back in a bun. It’s been a minute since Steve attempted this game with anyone, but Eddie’s always been a fun participant — especially when he’s pretending he doesn’t like it.

“I’m charging you double,” Eddie concedes, twirling the giant skull ring still perched on his finger.

“Better make it worth my dime, Munson.”

“You know I always do, Harrington,” Eddie taunts, clearly finding his footing in this flirtatious sparing match they’ve started.

* * *

By the time Eddie returns with his drink, Tammy and the Townsies have wrapped up their set for the night — thank god — and The Hideout slowly starts to empty out. With a few less bodies occupying the actual bar, Eddie has no problem sticking around, tossing his dish rag over his shoulder as he slides the Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice over to Steve, much gentler this time.

The drink smells exactly like he remembers, but the presentation has improved since their days of mixing them in the Munson’s crowded kitchen. A mini pickle is skewered through a toothpick as garnish, and the glass is tall and clean, a rarity in the mug-infested kitchen of that autumn.

Steve makes a show of his first sip, slowly raising the glass to his mouth without breaking eye contact with Eddie as he licks his lips in anticipation. Eddie’s eyes dilate the second Steve’s tongue makes an appearance, and it takes everything in Steve not to jump across the bar and shove it down Eddie’s throat a la Carol and Tommy style. He knows the Eddie from five autumns ago wouldn’t mind, but this Eddie might.

He does the next best thing instead, taking a slow sip of the drink, exaggerating when he swallows before punctuating the first taste with a low moan of approval. Judging by the smattering of pink moving to Eddie’s cheeks, it works.

“Delicious, just like I remembered.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it the minute the words leave his lips, and the flush on Eddie’s cheeks drains to a ghostly white , eyes turning to fire.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that,” Eddie scoffs, snapping his dish towel off his shoulder to wipe the counter.

“I just, I—“ Steve groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. Leave it to him to be back in Hawkins for less than three hours and already fuck things up. “Thank you,” he finally says, eyes trained on his drink. “You didn’t have to make it, and you did, so thanks.”

“Whatever customers want, they get here at The Hideout.”

Steve can’t help but snort, “S’that a new motto?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

When Steve glances up, Eddie’s smiling at him. Not his toothy grin Steve loved to coax out of him, but his lips are definitely quirked into a grin which he’ll take as a win. Small victories and all that.

“That what they pay you the big bucks for? Slinging drinks like Tom Cruise and coming up with new slogans?”

“Something like that.” Eddie finishes wiping down the counter in front of Steve and moves half a step to his right, working on the next area that’s vacated.

Steve thinks that’s it. The beginning and end of their civil conversation, but then Eddie looks across the bar, no doubt taking in the empty state of things, before turning back to look at Steve. Really, look at him.

If it weren’t for the liquor coursing through Steve’s veins, he doesn’t think he’d be able to sit there under Eddie’s gaze. But he does have alcohol on his side, so he stays glued to his seat, his own cheeks heating up as Eddie’s brown eyes roam over his body, taking him in the same way he did with Eddie a while ago.

When he’s done, Eddie cocks his head to the side and tuts. “You’ve seen better days, Harrington. I think your eye bags have eye bags.”“Corporate life’ll do that to you,” Steve grumbles, taking another sour sip from his drink. When Eddie doesn’t throw a dig he knows is on the tip of his tongue, Steve breaks the silence. “You look good behind a bar.” Jesus, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. “I mean, uh, how long have you been working here.”

Eddie snorts, coming back over until he’s right in front of Steve. He drops to his elbows again, pillowing his chin in his hands as he makes direct eye contact. “About five-ish years ago. Right after I graduated.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I, uh, thought the plan was to get the hell out of here?”

Eddie hums. “It was. Took the job to save money so I could do just that.”

“And you ended up loving it?”

“Hated it at first, actually, but you know we’re not all lucky enough to be able to get the hell out of Hawkins just because people tell us we should,” Eddie says, eyes boring judgment into Steve’s own. “Figured if I have to stick around I might as well try and make it better for those of us still here.”

“That’s what you’re doing, then?” Steve asks, generally curious. He always knew Eddie had a savior complex, saw it firsthand when Dustin and the rest of the kids started high school, and immediately got swept up in Eddie’s inner circle of outcasts. “Making Hawkins better?”

“Trying to,” Eddie says, and Steve can feel the walls around him shrinking, only for them to harden in an instant. “Turns out it’s a lot easier when the assholes flee.”

Steve winces and downs the rest of his drink. When it’s drained, he sets it down and fumbles through his pockets for his wallet. He gets no more than three measly bucks out before Eddie is shooing him away.

“It’s on the house tonight.”

Steve shakes his head, digging back into his wallet “Don’t think your boss’ll be happy about that.

“Good thing m’the boss then.”

Steve gawks. He’s pretty sure his jaw is fully open, but it's worth it to see the pleased look on Eddie’s face. “Shit, seriously?”

“What, you think old Dave was the one to plan the renovation of this place? That cheapskate was slinging water tinted brown with food coloring to the regulars once they got drunk enough not to tell.”

Steve laughs, but doesn’t get distracted with the anecdote like he knows Eddie hopes he will. Eddie Munson might have his heart in his sleep, but if there’s one thing Steve knows about him, it’s that he hates being emotionally vulnerable. Steve can’t say he blames him, but still, he presses on.

“Eddie Munson, CEO of the Hideout. Who would have thought?”

“I don’t know about CEO,” Eddie says, fingers struggling with the elastic holding his hair back. It takes a second for him to get the strands untangled, and when it does, his hair cascades over his shoulder in those same unruly curls Steve tried to tame once or twice. Eddie’s hand immediately finds a strand, twirling it around his fingers and pulling it towards his lips. “Owner as of the first of the year, though.”

“Eds, that’s really fucking cool. Holy shit! Congrats! I feel like we should toast or something.”

If Eddie catches the nickname slip up, he doesn’t mention it. Maybe Robin’s patenting ramble so they can’t comprehend every embarrassing thing you’ve said method actually works.

Instead, he waves him off. “Sounds to me like you’re just trying to get another round of free liquor in you before heading home to the parents.”

“Damn,” Steve says, happy to play along. “Am I that obvious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes but ducks behind the counter for a moment, popping back up with two clean cups. He blindly reaches for a top-shelf whiskey and pours just a bit too much to be considered a shot, but not a full serving either. They clink the glasses together in a silent toast before throwing back the over-poured shot like they’re nineteen and twenty again.

“You know,” Eddie says, closing the distance between them as he leans against the countertop again. “We’re looking for some silent investor, partner types to help out with financing. If you, uh, know anyone who might be interested.”

“Oh,” Steve says, liquor making his brain slower than usual.

Eddie pushes off the bar, shaking his head. “Don’t look too excited, Steve. I was just joking.”

“No, shit, I mean, yeah, I would invest. Love to even,” Steve rambles, desperate to keep Eddie from joining the rest of the bartenders in tallying up their tips. “It’s just, uh, I’m actually getting out of the investment world.”

“You don’t have to lie, Harrington. A simple no will do.”

“I’m serious. Today was actually my last day. I’m enrolled in the Fire Academy come January.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, that toothy grin finally making an appearance. “Way to bury the lede, Stevie! We should be toasting to you! Finally getting out from under your dad’s thumb!”

Unlike Eddie, the nickname isn’t lost on Steve, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Not if he wants to keep Eddie smiling, and dammit he does. It’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I mean, I still have to break the news to my dad. But yeah, assuming he doesn’t kill me, it’s happening.”

“Hey, Munson,” a bartender he realizes is Jeff calls from the opposite end of the bar. “Get your ass over here and close out so we can go home. Some of us actually want to see our families.”

Eddie flips Jeff off but doesn’t budge from his spot in front of Steve.

“I should probably head out, too,” Steve says, slowly rising from the stool. His legs are full of pins and needles, asleep from sitting so long, but he manages to stay upright.

“Wait,” Eddie says, shouting even though all Steve’s done is duck behind the counter to grab his duffle from the floor. “Did you drive here?”

Steve shakes his head. “Took a cab from the airport, gonna use the payphone out back to call another.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says in a rush. “I mean, I can’t let you waste your money on a cab when you’re unemployed now.”

“I’m not unemployed, I’m going to—“

“Fire school, yeah, yeah, I got that,” Eddie says, waving him off. “Just give me two minutes, and I’ll drive you home, okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Steve makes a show of sounding inconvenienced, which earns a dramatic eye roll from Eddie and a victory for himself. His streak of pretending not to care actually working lives on another day.

* * *

Seven minutes later, thanks to a mathematical error and a hushed conversation between Jeff and Eddie, Steve finds himself in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.”

“How is it any different from you still driving the Beamer?”

“How do you know I still drive the Beamer?”

“Please, the only thing you love more than that car is Buckley. Speaking of, where is your platonic other half?”

“Still in Boston. She got asked to write an article for her grad department’s journal.”

“Ah, so she sent you to the lion’s den all on your own,” Eddie teases, slowing to a stop despite the light still being yellow.

“Figured this was one Harrington vs Harrington battle she didn’t need to bear witness to.”

Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart. “My, my, it seems like us lowly mortals are in the presence of the Great Sir Stevebert tonight.”

Steve can’t help but snort. He’s missed this. The easy teasing, the openness. Eddie and his silly voices and even sillier words. He can’t believe he’s gone almost six years without him.

“So,” Eddie says, drawing out the vowel. “Isn’t Dick going to be extra pissed off that you’re showing up on his doorstep at three in the morning?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably.”

“What time were they expecting you?”

“When are they ever really expecting me?” Steve laughs dryly. “I didn’t really give them a set date. Figured if I told my dad I was flying out today, he’d figure out the whole work thing so I told them I’d try to catch a late flight after I finished for the day and be there by Thanksgiving dinner at the latest.”

“So they don’t know you’re in town.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not unless someone at the unofficial Hawkins High reunion tonight ratted me out.”

“Jesus H. Christ you caught that too?” Eddie shouts, smacking his left hand against the dashboard. “I’ve worked plenty of Wednesdays before Thanksgiving, but none of them have pulled that many of our former classmates out. I don’t know why everyone is back in town this year.”

“Back in town or never left?”

“Hey,” Eddie scolds. “Watch it. Your life is in the hands of a Hawkins townie right now.”

Steve holds his hands up in surrender and is glad to see Eddie grinning at him when he musters the courage to steal a glance. He wishes he could offer a careless smile back, but the closer they get to Loch Nora, the more he feels the anxiety creeping in again. Eddie must sense it, too, because he slows to well below the speed limit.

“I wouldn’t mind having a roommate for the night,” he says nonchalantly. Like Eddie’s talking about the weather and not offering to spend the night in Steve’s presence. Steve, the guy who disappeared on him one day after months of fucking around — literally and figuratively. The same Steve who hasn’t been back to Hawkins because he’s been avoiding this exact situation like the chickenshit he is.

“Wayne probably will, though,” Steve says, trying his best to turn Eddie down without actually turning him down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend the night with him. Hell, he’d sell his left arm for the chance. The problem is it’ll just be one night, and Steve doesn’t think he has that in him. Not when he wants all the nights.

“Good thing he’s not home.”

“Wait,” Steve says, turning in the passenger seat to look at Eddie. “He left you on Thanksgiving? Isn’t that against your Munson Family Code or whatever?”

Eddie snorts, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t believe he remembered that’ under his breath. “I told him it was okay. He’s up in Chicago spending the holiday with Scott Clarke’s family.”

“Scott Clarke? The middle school science teacher?”

Eddie nods.

“I didn’t know they were friends.”

Eddie breaks in the middle of the street, leveling Steve with a look he finds himself receiving from Robin all the time. She says people like them are supposed to know when other people are like them, but so far, Steve has yet to inherit that superpower.

“Oh, shit,” he says, finally. “I didn’t know your uncle was into guys.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie laughs. “It was a real memorable day in the Munson’s house when I found out.”

A comfortable silence falls between them as Eddie eases the van back on the rode. They stay like that for a light or two before Eddie rolls to a stop at a familiar intersection.

“Great Sir Stevebert,” he says, switching into his deep, DM voice. “It seems you have a choice to make. Shall you continue on your travels, taking the golden brick road to the lone castle on the hill, or shall you take the road less traveled and embark on the twisting journey to the Moors?”

Once again, the decision is easy.

“If you really don’t mind,” Steve says instead of a definitive answer.

Eddie whoops and makes the sharp right turn that’ll take them to Forest Hills. “Onward, Sir Stevebert, to the Moors, we go!”

_ _ _

Eddie has no idea what he’s doing. One minute he’s fighting with himself, desperate to keep his attention on the out-of-town in-laws of some Hawkins High alumni in need of a blissful night out before the family shit starts and not on the sulking figure of Steve fucking Harrington on the opposite end of the bar. And the next second, he’s ushering that same Steve up the steps of the Munson trailer like he did so many times before.

Jesus H. Christ.

He should have listened to Jeff. He should have called Steve a cab and paid for it himself if it made him sleep better at night. Hell, he should have kicked Steve out the second he mouthed off to him. But he didn’t. And he couldn’t.

Despite all the bullshit, Steve put him through, despite five whole fucking years without so much as a call, Eddie still has a soft spot for the goddamn fallen King. Time heals many things, but the love he has for Steve isn’t one of them.

Love?

No. Strike that from the record.

Infatuation.

A crush, maybe.

Not love.

Not anymore.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, shaking the thought from his entire body, and moves to unlock the door. He gestures for Steve to enter, and Eddie trails behind, bending down at the entrance to untie his work boots and free his sore feet. He wasn’t lying when he told Steve this is the busiest pre-Thanksgiving shift he’s ever worked. He’s pretty sure his blisters have blisters at this point.

His knees ache at the position, so he lets himself fall back, ass on the worn welcome mat as he finishes the task at hand. It feels nice to get off his feet, and he lets himself linger there for a moment. A hand massaging the ache from the arch of his foot while his eyes drift up, watching Steve asses the trailer much like he did the very first time he found himself in the humble abode.

As nice as it is to get off his feet, the last thing Eddie needs is for Steve to turn around and catch him staring at him from a spot on the floor. With a quiet groan, he hoists himself back into a standing position and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

“Wayne getting rid of his mug collection?” Steve asks, breaking the silence. Eddie follows his pointed finger to the top, empty rack shelf the patterned couch.

“No, just relocated ‘m. He spends most nights at Scott’s house now. I basically own the place. Wayne refuses to let me pay the full rent, though, since it’s his name on the lease.”

Steve lets out a low whistle that doesn’t do anything, Eddie, nothing at all, and turns to face him with a look of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Now, who’s the one with a silver spoon.”

He can’t help but laugh at how absurd that sounds. As if inheriting the trailer is some kind of privilege, but in some ways it is, right?

“It’s no rent-free apartment in a big city, but it’ll do,” he says, trying his best to throw a dig back at Steve, but it doesn’t sting the way he wants it to. If anything, it makes Steve’s lips dip into a frown instead of stroking that familiar petty flame he knows stays lit in his gut.

“Come on,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “You think Dick Harrington pays for my place in Boston? The asshole got me a shit job and told me to figure the rest out. I was lucky Robin was already there when I showed up. Her RA wasn’t too pleased, but we made it work that first year.”

Great, now he’s the asshole.

It’s such a different picture than the one he’s spent the last five years painting in his head. That good ol’ Dick Harrington shipped his only son off, far enough away that the town freak couldn’t continue sinking his teeth (and dick) into him without him knowing about it. Set him up with a good job and a nice place to sleep at night that left Steve no choice but to stay even though he knew that’s not what Steve wanted. Never was.

But that’s not the story, is it?

The real story is that Dick Harrington is an even bigger prick than he thought, and Steve is a coward. Eddie can understand Steve staying away if his dad made his new life nice for him and kept him comfortable and just shy of miserable, but he didn’t. And yet, Steve stayed in a job he hated, in a dorm he had no business crashing in because Daddy Dearest told him to do it.

A part of Eddie wants to ask why. Wants to dig his grimy finger into the still-fresh wound in Steve’s chest, judging by the grimace on his face, and get to the bottom of what the hell his dad has over him to keep in line. But what good would it do, really?

Eddie opts for a different strategy instead.

“Why now?”

Steve cocks his head, brows knitting together in that cute confused face Eddie used to love coaxing out of him with a single nerdy phrase back in the day. “Why now what?”

Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He could change the subject, shrug off his question, and steer the conversation into calmer waters to get them through the night. But that wouldn’t be fair to him or Steve. Not in the long run.

“It’s been five years since you’ve been in town, Steve,” Eddie says blankly. “Why now?”

“My parents are selling the place,” he answers, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Said they wanted one last family Thanksgiving in the place before it’s not ours anymore. It’s bullshit if you ask me. I can’t remember the last time we spent the holiday together, even when I lived here, but here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve groans, collapsing on the couch behind him. “I don’t know what it is about my parents that has me running to them every time they ask, even though they don’t give a damn about me 99% of the time.”

Eddie follows Steve's lead, settling on the couch but leaving the middle cushion open. An unofficial barrier between them. “I’m no psychologist, but it sounds like textbook daddy issues to me.”

Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move, too stunned by the sudden contact to do anything else. Steve’s hand leaves his shoulder as fast as it finds it, but the effects are already in motion. Eddie’s entire body vibrates under the ghost of Steve’s touch, skin alive and hot in a way it hasn’t been in years.

Eddie turns, expecting to find Steve staring off in the distance, but instead, he’s staring at him with those open, honest hazel eyes. All it takes is one look, one single slip of his eyes to Steve’s lip and back again, and Steve’s surging forward, closing the distance between them.

Steve tastes like cheap liquor and pickle juice, and all it takes is one swipe of Steve’s tongue, and Eddie’s transported back to the Fall of 1986. Of experimenting with whatever ingredients they had on hand in the kitchen and throwing back drinks to nurse their respective education wounds — Eddie not graduating again, Steve failing to get into college. Memories of playful shoves turning into wrestling matches turning hot and heavy until lips met lips and skin, so much skin.

Five years may have passed, but it feels like no time at all as Eddie sinks further into Steve’s embrace, fingers tangling in the wisps of hair on Steve’s neck, and Steve’s own hands find themselves tangled in his curls.

It’s only when Steve moves to straddle Eddie’s hip that the reality of the situation hits him. Eddie jolts away; hands braced on Steve’s shoulders to keep a respectable amount of distance between them. He hates himself the moment he looks into Steve’s cloudy hazel eyes, but he’d hate himself more if he let this continue without checking in.

With Steve an arm's length away, Eddie studies him. Squinting as he stares into Steve’s eyes, checking for glassy, unfocused eyes, excessive sweating, and flushed face — all of which Steve has, but maybe not for the reasons Eddie is checking for.

“You’re drunk,” Eddie says plainly.

Steve shakes his head, words, not even the least bit slurred when he says, “No. Maybe a little buzzed, but that’s it. I promise.”

Something snaps inside of Eddie at those two words, releasing the anger his horniess has been holding at bay. In an instant, he feels the rage boiling inside of him, and he shoves at Steve hard enough to send him back to his end of the couch.

“With much offense, Steve,” Eddie says, venom dripping from his lips as he spits out Steve’s name. “Promises don’t mean shit coming from you.”

And just like that, they’re back where they started the evening off. Opposite sides of each other, scowling and hurt in their own ways.

Steve sighs and shifts on the couch, not-so-subtly adjusting himself in his pants. “Eds,” he whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up, okay. I know I did, but what was I supposed to? My dad was threatening you just as much as he was threatening me, and it was just easier to leave.”

“Easier for you, maybe.”

“I—“

“What are we doing here, Steve?” Eddie asks, cutting off whatever lame excuse is coming next.

“I thought I was trying to apologize but clearly I was wrong.”

Eddie can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes him. “So you apologize, and then what? We fuck, you get one last blowjob by the former freak of Hawkins, and then poof, you’re gone again?” Eddie rises from the couch in an instant, sock-covered feet pacing the length of the living room. He steals one glance down at Steve and shakes his head. “I should have listened to Jeff. Should have listened to everyone and stayed the fuck away. This is nothing but a pre-holiday fuck, and I’m so fucking stupid for falling for it.”

“No!” Steve shouts, standing up now too. “I’m not, I mean, I didn’t even know you’d be at the Hideout. I just stopped there because I couldn’t stomach the thought of showing up to my parents' place sober.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” Eddie snaps. “Tell me this: if I wasn’t at the bar tonight, would you have come to find me?”

Steve says silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t even know you were still in Hawkins until tonight!”

“Bullshit! I know for a fact Henderson has mentioned seeing me when he comes back for the holidays. Just stop lying!”

“You want me to stop lying?” Steve shouts, stalking over to where Eddie’s stopped pacing. He boxes him in against the new bookshelf he installed in the corner where Wayne’s roll-away mattress used to sit. With his shoes still on, Steve’s got half an inch on Eddie and it’s daunting staring up into those eyes when Steve’s jaw is set in a hardline. “I fucking love you, okay? I have for years! And yeah, I was a fucking coward for leaving, and I could have, should have called in the years since, but I was scared, okay? I was scared you figured out that I’m not worth it and found someone better, just almost everyone else in my stupid fucking life and—“

It’s Eddie’s lips that crash into Steve’s this time. The words die on Steve’s lip, and for a maddening moment, Eddie wonders if he’s broken him beyond repair. That maybe he sould have left him keep spiraling and hit rock button, but then Steve kisses him back and it’s perfect. Well, as close to perfect as they can get considering they’re both angry and exhausted and Jesus h. Christ when did Steve learn to do that with his tongue? It’s headier than the kiss on the couch, leagues better than their awkward teenage makeouts from that autumn. They’ve both grown up, practiced, and found what works, and god damn, does it work.

When they pull apart this time, it's only to catch their breaths before diving back in. Eddie gets his hands on Steve’s shirt, rucking it up and over his head in a tangle of limbs, his own shirt isn’t too far behind, flying through the air with reckless abandon. Steve’s lips find his throat and Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to scream or sink into him further so he does a mix of both, a wanton moan falling from his lips as he pulls Steve closer by his hips and ruts against him.

They’re really moving now, stumbling down the familiar hallway until they’re crashing into Eddie’s unmade bed. Eddie hovers over Steve, admiring his flushed torso and blissed-out face for all of two seconds before Steve pulls him close, whispering want you and need you, and who is Eddie to deny Steve anything, much less mutual pleasure?

They fumble with each other’s jeans, hands shoving and hips lifting and twisting until there’s nothing between them but the thick, musty air. Eddie’s hands trail up and down Steve’s body, his lips and teeth following leaving marks on his favorite moles. He licks a stripe from the dip of his waist to his belly button and back down, and Steve keens under him.

“Please,” Steve whines. “Stop teasing.”

“It’s call foreplay, sweetheart,” Eddie chirps, but ultimately gives in, taking all of Steve in his mouth in one go.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve swears, fisting a hand into the sheets.

Eddie pulls away, eyes wide and full of mischief. “First you say no teasing, then you get mad when I take you? What do you want from me, Stevie?” He cups Steve’s ball, rolling them with enough pleasure to coax another moan from Steve’s lips.

“Just play nice, Eds.”

Eddie hums, then dives back in, slower this time but still just as desperate. He’s missed this almost as much as he’s missed Steve in general. Maybe even more, if he’s honest. There are a lot of dicks in the sea, but none as beautiful and responsive as Steve’s.

Eddie laughs at the cheesy thought, and the vibrations do something to Steve to elicit the most beautiful sound Eddie’s ever heard. He almost laughs again just to hear it again, but before he has a chance, Steve’s shoving him off and flipping them over.

“Wh— what’s going on?”

“M’too close, and I don’t want cum without tasting you first.”

Despite his protests, Steve dives straight in with no preamble and Eddie feels the familiar coil of pressure building in an instant. He’s not going to last, not if Steve keeps doing that with his tongue and Jesus h. Christ he’s never going to live it down if he cums two seconds into getting Steve’s lips on him.

He tries to think of anything else. The disgusting bathrooms at the Hideout he’s going to have to clean tomorrow and the grocery list on the fridge he has to brave the last-minute holiday shoppers for, but nothing seems to work.

Eddie squirms, tries his best to get away from Steve but Steve hand settles on his hips, holding him to the mattress as he continues to move up and down. Eddie sees the stars building in his eyes without even closing his eyes and his hand moves on its own volution, finding Steve’s leaking cock and wrapping his hand around it.

If he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast, so is Steve.

He matches his strokes with Steve’s and they both fill the room with their moans and cries until finally they collapse on each other. Eddie’s hand and chest are sticky with Steve’s cum, and his own is spilling out Steve’s lips, but he doesn’t care. He pulls Steve closer, capturing his lips in a searing, sweaty kiss.

* * *

Another round and an hour-long make-out session later, they finally get up to clean themselves up. Eddie leaves Steve in his room and disappears into the bathroom. One look at His debauched self in the mirror and Eddie can’t help the smile that breaks out. If someone had told him this was how he’d be spending the early hours of his first Thanksgiving without Wayne, he would have laughed in their face.

When he returns to the room a few minutes later, Steve’s back on the bed, the thin sheet doing little to cover his lower half while his torso lays on full display, light by the warm light seeping through the cracks of Eddie’s blinds as the sun rises outside.

“Hi,” Eddie whispers, suddenly shy as he slips back into bed.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, shuffling across the bed and making himself comfortable on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around Steve’s bare middle before bending the other behind his own head. He looks down at Steve, slowly drinking in the look of peace on his face and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he starves off sleep they’re both desperate for.

“How long are you in town for?” Eddie asks and mentally curses himself. Fucking Munson, just enjoy the moment!

Steve shifts, chin digging into Eddie’s solar plexus as his sleepy eyes find Eddie’s. “The weekend, at least. Maybe a few extra days.”

“Yeah?”

“I could be persuaded,” he says, reaching up to wrap a lock Eddie’s hair around his finger. “I mean, I am unemployed until January, as you so kindly pointed out.”

A part of Eddie wants to laugh, maybe even apologize for the uninspired jab from hours ago, but there’s something more important he has to do. Even if it kills him. He tries to keep his smile intact when he opens his mouth next, whispering the words as close to Steve’s ear as he can so he can’t deny hearing them.

“I’m not asking you to stay. You have to make that choice on your own, Steve. Start living your life for you.”

Steve’s smile falters, lips twitching, threatening to turn into a pout, but they don’t. Instead, he nods, and Eddie feels the weight of his confession and the fear-strikes anticipation of Steve’s reaction evaporate from his own body.

Steve nods, turning to press a chaste kiss to the same demon that’s been etched there since before Steve became his all those years ago. “I know.”

Eddie hums noncommittally and drags his fingers through Steve’s damp hair, nails lightly stretching at his scalp in the way he knows Steve loves. “So then, what do you want?”

There’s a moment of silence and Eddie watches the seven stages of grief wash over Steve’s face before he opens his mouth again. “I can promise you the weekend to start.”

It’s not the answer Eddie wanted, but it’s the one he was bracing for. He knows better than to expect Steve to make a life-changing decision in their post-coital haze. Wouldn’t want him to even if he gave him the answer he wanted. All he really needs is the truth.

“Boyfriends for the weekend?” Eddie says. The word feels foreign on his tongue and yet just right. “Does that mean I get a front-row seat to watch you ruin your dad’s life when you tell him about the fire academy?”

Steve snorts, hot air tickling Eddie’s love-bite-ridden neck. “I mean, if you want. Might make things worse, though.”

Eddie hums in agreement. The last thing he wants is to make Steve’s day even harder than it’s going to be, no matter how much he’d love to get some face-to-face time with good ol’ Dick Harrington.

“How about this,” Eddie says, turning so they’re nose to nose in bed now. “I’ll be your getaway driver. Drive you over, and when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be waiting around the bend like old times sake. And then…” He trails off, nose bumping against Steve as he peppers his freckled face with kisses and nips. “I’ll bring you back here and we can make good use of this whole boyfriends for the weekend thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, breathy and more of a sigh than anything else but the sentiment is there. “That sounds perfect.”

Eddie hums and pulls Steve’s lips between his in a long, lingering kiss before separating. “The only condition is I get to be the one who leaves this time when you have to come back.”

“Not forever, though, right?”

“Well, that’s up to you, babe.”

Steve nods, swooping in to give Eddie his own version of a passionate kiss. “Okay, but then we’re even.”

“Yeah, we’ll be even.”

Eddie watches the smile slowly spread across Steve’s face before he hides in the crook of his neck. Eddie presses his own grin into the mop of sweaty hair on Steve’s head as they lay there, completely intertwined from their head to their toes.

“Boyfriends for the weekend,” Steve mumbles through a yawn before finally letting his eyes flutter shut.

“And then for life,” Eddie whispers, lips pressing into Steve’s forehead before his own eyes give in to the exhaustion coursing through his body.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fan fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #steddie smut #steddie angst #dani writes

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warblogs17282 · 3 days ago

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Do you have any answers to these Helluva Boss plot holes?

For the first one, the real and boring answer is probably simply plot convenience, as the episode would be over within like 5 minutes otherwise.

But if you want my best guess, you could make a case that it was because of stress, considering stress can reduce your rational thinking skills and such, and well, Stolas loves Octavia a lot, so there was definitely at minimum some stress inside Stolas' body for the whole episode until he found Octavia safe.

Plus, just look at how much Stolas is freaking out inside when they get shoved inside that van.

My other theory is the Sinstagram accounts (not the non-canon instagram accounts), as in Truth Seekers, we do see Blitz take a picture with this head, so it's very possible that Blitz also quickly uploaded that picture to Sinstagram at the same time (maybe the phones have a dedicated upload to Sinstagram button?), with that probably being how Stolas found where Blitz and the gang was in Truth Seekers.

Seeing Stars also shows us that Blitz and the gang can get cell service just fine in the human world, as shown by the fact he messages Millie here.

And in s2 e6, we see that Stolas comments on Blitz's photos, proving that they both have a Sinstagram account.

I already know what you're thinking, 'But Loona found Octavia via her Sinstagram pictures.', and my answer to that is simply that no one thought to check Octavia's sinstagram due to a combo of stress and everyone getting caught up in their respective happenings during the episode.

Like, Loona only got the lead of Octavia's sinstagram because Loona saw a cool poster and decided to upload it to her sinstagram account, proceeding to scroll a little after making that post, where she accidentally stumbled across one of Octavia's recent posts, and at this point Stolas and Blitz are entirely busy, so Loona messaging them about this lead wouldn't have done any good.

Plus, Octavia is constantly on the move in very public areas, while Blitz was stuck in the DHORKS building, so even if they thought to check her Sinstagram from the start, it'd still happen basically exactly the same as it did to Loona, since they can't exactly risk portalling to public areas to catch up to Octavia, as that runs the massive risk of humans seeing the portal, which is obviously something they cannot afford to have happen.

so tldr, my main theory on how Stolas found Blitz in s1 e6 is because of the Sinstagram pictures, and in s2 e2, no one thought to check Octavia's sinstagram account for potential leads, due to a combo of getting caught up in various happenings and stress.

As for the second one, Blitz only says that human fire can't kill them, he makes no comments in regards to electricity or electrocution, and that's how Ronaldo died, Blitz kicked the ghost-sucker device into the water, causing Ronaldo to die via electrocution, which is extremely different to burning to death.

What I'm getting at here is electric burns and such are different to fire burns, basically.

#helluva boss #blitzø #blitzo #stolas #helluva boss stolas #loona helluva boss #octavia goetia #helluva boss millie #moxxie helluva boss

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kingkat12 · 3 days ago

Text

so... this is the deleted original ending to the first chapter of seven minutes in heaven. made centuries ago. enjoy!!

(it sorta starts in the middle of the closet scene, so here goes nothing)

WARNINGS: SMUT! SMUT! ROMAN BEING AN ASSHOLE! mind control powers being used for BAD bad bad BAD things!! implied mind control during sex so is it dub-con?, dark!Roman, not-so-happy-ending

word count: 1,811

a/n: there was a reason this version was scrapped... it felt too dark and not fun and urgh i'm simply posting this as an ancient artifact lol. it might suck as i wrote this back in august, but oh well!!!

(Roman is NOT a feminist in this one, so... irony<333 generalizing cunt)

"And I reckon this is your first time playing?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, no longer meeting his gaze. I couldn't look at him, not right not, not when we were this close and alone.

"So..." Roman ran his fingers through his hair, the usual smirk returning. "You know what usually happens in here, or...?"

I rolled my eyes; "I'm not an idiot,"

"I know," Roman's voice got lower, breathier, and he took a step closer. There wasn't much room for more steps, actually— it was getting rather cramped up at this point. "But if there's anything you've wanted to try out, now's the time."

My breath hitched, hoping the thumping of my heart wasn't audible to him.

It was almost as though Roman could sense how nervous I was; he bent down a little, getting on my level before he whispered; "I won't tell Letha,"

Feeling his hot breath against my skin, how dangerously close he was, was almost too much for me. The way he said it made me even more conscious of what was happening; I hadn't even told Letha how crazy I was about Roman, and I knew she'd be against it.

However... I was being served my biggest dream on a platter. Maybe if I got this bit over with, my feelings would subside and go back to being purely hateful again?

I mustered up the courage, letting out a shaky breath before I opened my mouth to speak; "Could you maybe... kiss me?" My words came out barely louder than a whisper. "I've just had a really shitty night."

Roman's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"... No, you're not,"

"Okay, you might be right," He let out a soft laugh against my lips, and my eyes quickly darted down to his hands to check if he wasn't holding a needle or no. That was when I knew my anxiety was through the roof. "So... you want a kiss? That's all?"

This was too nerve-wracking. I kept imagining that he would say no, that he would reject me somehow and make me the only girl at school he wouldn't want to do anything with— that would definitely make me hate him even more. In a flash moment of weakness (which I later blamed the alcohol for), I sighed; "Just... could you? Or am I asking for too much?"

Something about Roman's expression changed— he seemed to realize what it was that I was actually asking of him. Not to make out, not to drown in one another, but the simplest of all things romance; affection. Something gentle, something sweet, just to check if he had a sliver of anything resembling that in his system.

"You like me, don't you?" Roman whispered, nudging his nose against mine, eyes rounding out as he heard my breath hitch at the simple gesture. "This is what all of this has been about?"

I closed my eyes, revelling in the feeling. It was the smallest thing, yet it was a comfort in the midst of the conversation. "All of what?"

"Your anger," Roman let out a sigh, connecting our foreheads, closing his eyes as well. "You can't stand that you like me, can you?"

For some reason, I felt the urge to cry overcome me— I spent a few seconds pressing down the stream of tears that threatened to surface. Having someone say it out loud felt like a desperately needed release. "It's been a nightmare,"

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

I shouldn't have been so shocked— I should've expected this. I should've known that Roman would spin this around on me. I definitely knew he wouldn't reciprocate, but this? What was it, revenge?

"I could make your every waking moment a living hell," he continued, his cold hands suddenly travelling up my body, gripping my waist with a grip I was afraid would bruise. "Letha would take my side, of course... Who else do you have but her, hm?"

I wanted to break out into tears, now grabbing at his hands. Almost panicked, I tried to get him off of me, but to no avail. "I'll leave you alone," I pleaded, finding his eyes.

"Nah, that's not what I want," I could see the sadistic satisfaction overcome him— I saw how he broke out into a wide grin at the sight of my glossy eyes. "How about we make a deal?"

Making a deal with the devil reincarnated? Very smart move, on my part. Fucking genius. "Okay?"

Roman hummed, his harsh grip around my waist releasing, allowing me to finally suck in a heave of air. Catching me off guard, he suddenly pressed his lips against my forehead with the softest touch I had ever felt— was he trying to throw me off course?

"Start being nice..." Roman murmured, his now hands drawing soothing circles onto my back. "And I will reward you."

I let out a shaky breath; I was thankful that the agreement didn't involve any needles. "... That's all?"

"That's all," Roman echoed, pulling away to watch my expression. "You and your mouth have been making my life hell, do you know that? So if you can calm the fuck down, we could both get what we want. How does that sounds?"

I wasn't completely sold. "And what is it that you think I want?"

Roman's eyes darkened; he knew he had won. "Me,"

Oh, how I hated him. I hated him, and I knew I always would. But as his lips ghosted over mine, seconds away from touching, I didn't stand a chance anymore when the following words sounded past his plush lips; "I have a feeling I might have to put you in your place a little, hm? Maybe you'd even want that? Because honestly, I know girls like you... You fight until your last breath, then you're completely in denial, and then you'll fall apart the minute you get what you've always wanted,"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was this... me?

"And you've always wanted to be one of my girls, haven't you?" Roman leaned down, pressing a deadly soft kiss against my cheek which nearly took my breath away; I could feel him smirk against my skin. "Or maybe... the only one?"

At this point, I felt so broken down that I gave in to a nod.

Roman's hand slowly ghosted up my body until his fingers gently wrapped around my neck, holding me in place, almost as though he feared I would run; "I can arrange that, y'know?"

This conversation had unlocked a deep, dark part of me that I didn't know I had— like this, completely at his mercy, I had a feeling I was made to be his. Brainwashed. That I was put on this earth to find him and be with him, and that we were destined to be together. It made me feel so weak and pathetic that my lower lip eventually gave in to a quiver, feeling a sob build.

Roman let go of my neck, stroking his fingers through my hair. "Shh, no need for that... You're fine, you're okay. It's just me."

Just me. Just Roman. He who that had haunted my dreams for months, the only one I could think of when I got myself off, and the one I had been longing for from afar for so long that it turned into burning hate.

Roman must've felt like he was done torturing me, finally meeting my lips with the most gentle kiss I had ever shared. This was all I had ever wanted— he was right. My heart beat hard in my chest as I let myself melt against his dangerously soft lips.

I wanted to be his, no matter the cost. No matter what happened or what I had to sacrifice.

I loved Roman Godfrey.

... and I was sure of it now.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Yes— This was right.

Of course.

I loved him.

I loved him, I loved him, God, how I loved him. With every fibre of my being, I loved him.

I loved the feeling of his body against mine, corrupting my mind until I was nothing but mindless. A small part of me also loved that it was our little secret, and ours only.

Letha didn't have a clue, of course— I had kept my act up quite well when I was around her. I had kept it up around everyone else as well, but the anger that was ravaging through my system, the hate that was burning me up from inside was currently being mended by one thing and one thing only;

"A-Aah—"

My fingers tangled into Roman's hair, feeling his bruising grip around my hips tighten as he fucked me into my mattress. I let out a small cry, feeling my legs starting to go numb after how long they had been thrown over his broad shoulders. Deep down, I didn't care— nothing could put out the angry fire in my soul like Roman did. Nothing was a better remedy than feeling his cock inside me, no matter what, when, or where.

I let out a gasp as Roman shifted, pulling me into his lap with ease. I couldn't feel my legs now, and I had a sense that he knew— he barely had to put any strength into moving me around, especially with how he was towering over me in general.

I let out a gasp as he sunk me down on his length, and I gripped his shoulders with a short squeak for support. Heavy breaths escaped my parted lips as I clung to him, whimpering at the feeling of his thick cock stroking my insides.

Roman seemed beyond content, gazing up at me with half-lidded eyes. He revelled in the sight of how ruined I was before he attached his soft lips to my collarbone to bring forth a hickey, humming. That was the one place we both knew Letha wouldn't see it, after all.

It was impossible not to submit to the devil reincarnated when sex could feel this good with him. It didn't matter that I had practically sold my soul for this, because every second, every stroke of his cock, was worth it.

"You're heaven," he murmured, lifting my hips and pushing himself further into me, taking more control. "You feel so... shit, this is heaven—"

Ironic.

And just as I felt my climax approaching, flashes of thoughts I had suppressed came crashing forward. No matter how nice all of this felt, I couldn't help but wonder how I had even agreed to any of this in the first place. But it wasn't like he had mind control powers, right? It wasn't like this was some sadistic ploy to seek revenge against all the times I had been a complete and utter bitch to him.

No— it couldn't be. Don't be ridiculous.

... Right?

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #roman godfrey x reader #bill skarsgard #fanfic #x reader #let's just say i'm happy i stuck w the original ending lol #i wrote this in the back of a car during a roadtrip and i felt angsty #that is so funny actually

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junovae · 1 day ago

Note

hi i know you got an ask really recently but can you maybe do the silly sashimi (seb) x a suicidal reader??? but also reader is really silly and the first thing reader says is “hear me out…” or something??? i love your writing :3

thank you so much reader, i greatly appreciate it (っᵔ◡ᵔ)っ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶). and don't worry, i got you.

expendable

sebastian solace x reader ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ sfw

artwork: artwork is NOT mine. art is by @miittchan on tumblr, youtube, and twitter. go check out their work and socials, promise it's worth your time.

PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT IF THIS TOPIC IS HEAVY FOR YOU. MAKE SURE TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF ALWAYS ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

summary: escaping the ghastly prison that was the hadal blacksite was probably the best thing to ever happen to you. so why, if that was the case, did you want to go back?

cw: sebastian x su!cidal!fem!reader, takes place after finishing the game, still in the pressure universe, same timeline as this, mentions of trauma and slight suicidal thoughts, reader is coping, angst and comfort too of course, reader wants to...go back to the hadal blacksite?, reader just misses a certain someone too much, trying to find peace amidst the chaos, no spicy scene for this one

wc: 1.4k

a.n: i think i would want to go back too ngl. also this was just my take on the prompt. BUT, if you were looking for something more like sad reader and sebastian comforting them, i got you too with that headcanon. just lmk!! :)

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

"and last but definitely not least. hear me out..."

you place a picture of him, post transformation and all, onto the cake.

"who's this? he kind of looks like the guy who uhm, you know," your friend stared at you intently, hoping you would get the gist. when you didn't answer, they continued. "back in 2013, remember? with the nine peo-"

"no, no, it's just someone i met at the blacksite," you quickly interjected, forgetting that urbanshade had unjustly faked his death and hid the true story of sebastian solace from the world. "and no, that guy didn't murder them. he was wrongly convicted. just like i was," whispering the last part, you grab forks from the kitchen drawer set the cake onto the dining table.

"right, i'm sorry," they whispered softly, guilt creeping into their voice. hoping to lighten the mood, your friend added, "but no, i’m actually hearing you out on this one. did you know this fish creature personally?"

the two of you take a seat and start munching on the delicious red velvet 'hear-me-out' cake presented in front of you. "you could say that," you smiled cheekily, causing the both of you to burst out into a fit of giggles.

just then, a sharp pain similar to tiny needle stabbings pulse through your upper abdomen and into your chest. a series of flashbacks creep their way into your mind.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

you’re escorted down the submarine ramp and shoved onto a platform. “just keep walking. if you hear anything strange, hide.”

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

an ear-piercing screech echoes in the distance. you rush to the nearest locker, slamming the door shut just as a pink aura sweeps past.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

you crawl through a vent and find a small storage room at the end. turning right, you stumble upon a strange fish creature, causing you to jump back. "ah, another expendable," he yawns, unamused. "come in, fishbait. welcome to the shop."

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

volus lunara's searchlights close in. nervous and trembling, you fail the skill-check, getting shocked by the generator. stunned, you lie there as the beam focuses on you. your eyes widen in horror as the monster's grapples pierce your body. this wouldn't be the first time you've experienced this. you'd die a hundred more deaths.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

hurt and wounded, you collapse in a corner. your head spins as the distinct sound of chains dragging on the ground fills the air. resigned to your fate, you limp toward a corner, exhausted. suddenly, someone grabs you and carries you to a seemingly safe room. “what are you doing, fishbait?” a voice hisses. only one person ever called you that. “why didn’t you move? you could’ve died,” sebastian snaps, his voice tinged with anger, but there's a hint of worry beneath it.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

you and sebastian are lying together in the room behind his shop, an unexpected moment of vulnerability. the two of you open up about your pasts. he shares the details of his tragic demise, a painful history that he’s never spoken of before. in the quiet of the room, no longer caring about the consequences, you lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek. sebastian tilts his head, confusion crossing his face, but there's something else there too—something unreadable.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

a document? "the saboteur," it reads at the top. as you continue reading, the details unfold—now you understand why he’s been given that name.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

after days of giving him the silent treatment, sebastian solace finally breaks. finding out that he was the cause of your repeated deaths weighs heavily on you. desperate to fix things, he starts a pillow fight, and through laughter, the tension melts away. eventually, the two of you make up, finding comfort in the shared moment of forgiveness.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

you try again and again, until one fateful day, you finally make it to the end. as you dry off from your underwater escapade and step into the submarine, a realization hits you. you’ve reached your freedom, but what about sebastian?

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

as you turn from the submarine to search for him, sebastian suddenly appears right behind you. confused, you stare at him. "sebastian, come with me. we can have our freedom and get revenge on urbanshade." he looks at you, his expression sad and melancholy. "i can't go, fishbait."

"yes, you can. come with me, please," you insist.

"look at me. what do i look like to you?" he asks, and you don't see anything wrong with him.

he explains that he has bigger plans, ones that will lead to him meeting you again someday—in human form. you refuse to leave, even as the submarine's hatch starts to close. but in the last moment, he pushes you in. the hatch slams shut, and you’re engulfed in complete darkness.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

your pulse rushes and eyesight narrows. the room is spinning and the fork in your hands falls onto the table, alarming your friend. your head drops into your hands and you start panting.

"hey, you okay?" they drop the piece of cake with jake sully's avatar on it that they're eating and rush towards you.

"i need space," you shoot at them, feeling their hands on your shoulder. yes, you do feel bad for pushing a friend away but the feeling was too overwhelming. "please, i need space," you repeated again, softly this time.

"yes, i understand." filled with worry, they pat your back one last time before taking one last bite of the cake and grabbing their jacket from the couch. "i'll be back tomorrow, okay? we can finish eating the cake then. just text me when you're feeling better. and please take care of yourself."

nodding your head in acknowledgement, the front door finally closes. you get up, massaging your temples, to lock the front door. your heart is still pounding and face is flushing. you rush to your room and close the door behind you before jumping on your bed. the white sheets engulf your frame as you finally allowed yourself to release the tension you've been feeling all this time.

you desperately scream into your pillow. "this isn't fair at all." you continue to cry, the sound of your soft sobs being the only thing filling the pitch-black room.

months of being trapped in the never-ending death loop in the limbo of the hadal blacksite changed you. now that you were free, nobody believed your testimony against urbanshade. after all, it was one escapee prisoner versus a well-known corporate company. sure, you had your freedom, but the guilt of knowing the company's darkest secrets—the horrid, inhumane experiments they conducted on their captives, the trauma of each death and reset—was consuming you. you had no one to confide in. the only person who truly understood you was still trapped in that very place you purely and vehemently loathed.

expendable. that's what you were. that's what urbanshade had labeled you.

dispensable, nonessential, and powerless.

"i don't want to do this anymore," you softly whisper into the void of darkness consuming you.

...

what the hell are you talking about?

you shot up. what the fuck. was that-

please tell me you're not giving up that easily, fishbait.

yeah, no, this was definitely your long-awaited delirium. you were going crazy. the physical and mental stress was driving you insane. but even so... even if it was you finally reaching your limit or even a suppressed memory of him, sebastian solace had promised you that he would see you again one day.

you took a deep breath, steadying yourself in the crushing darkness. maybe you were losing it, maybe that voice was just your fractured mind. but if there was even a sliver of truth, you couldn’t give up. not now. not ever.

"fine, sebastian," you whispered, standing to your feet and wiping your tears. "if you’re still out there, i'll find you. and if this is just my own madness, then i’ll survive long enough to make it back to you—human form or not."

giving up was a harsh reality. but so was fighting back. either way, you knew you couldn't stop. you wouldn’t stop. not until freedom was real for both of you.

you made up your mind. you were going back to the one place in the world you dreaded the most — urbanshade's hadal blacksite.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

#junovae #letters to juno #sebastian solace #sebastian x reader #sebastian pressure #pressure #pressure roblox #sebastian solace x reader

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persephone-writes · 3 days ago

Text

A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Eleven: The Hour Struck Nine

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Ten

Description: tensions run high when you, Marlene, and Peter return to the RoR with dreadful news.

Word Count: 5.3k

Notes: this is the last one that's all ready been posted on ao3, so I'm all caught up here on tumblr :)

Under the safety of the cloak, you, Marlene, and Peter paced outside of the RoR as fast as you could, rushing forward as soon as the door was revealed. You all threw yourself inside with three sighs of relief, Peter tugging off the cloak as Marlene slammed the door shut. You heard an influx of chatter from within the piles, the noise growing louder as footsteps soon followed. Dorcas and James were the first to appear before you, each rather frantic as they looked you over.

“Where the fuck were you?” Dorcas asked.

Lily, Remus, and Sirius emerged behind her, all wearing similar expressions of perplexity. You swallowed down a lump in the back of your throat, glancing at Marlene for a moment as you thought of what to say. Her complexion was still a little green, the hesitant look in her eyes one you’ve never seen before.

“Zephyr was in a broom closet with Wilkes,” she blurted out.

James’s brows furrowed, looking at Marlene as if she were mad. Sirius opened his mouth to speak, though you gave him no time.

“We saw Mulciber and Snape on the map,” you said, speaking in the same rushed manner. You could feel your heartbeat against your chest, your brief moment of respite ripped away as you recounted the strange event.

“Followed them under the cloak, they were having a meeting,” Marlene continued, stumbling over her words.

“Then Peeves showed up,” you said before she could get anything else out, as if the detail mattered.

Marlene took a step forward towards the others, her voice growing even more hurried, “They were talking about a potion, I think–”

“Stop!” Lily shouted. You both immediately went quiet, staring at Lily before glancing over to Peter, who held the cloak limply in his hands. Lily surveyed the three of you, going over to Marlene and placing her hands gently on her shoulders. “Start at the beginning.”

Marlene’s mouth hung half open, stuttering a bit as she began to speak, “When we were walking to the lavatory, Peter saw Zephyr and Wilkes in the broom closet by the Entrance Hall. I thought they were…y’know,” Marlene said with a cock of her head. “But when we came out, we checked the map again for Filch, and we saw Mulciber and Snape heading towards them.”

When Marlene finished, a dreary, dark feeling washed over the room, settling like a heavy weight in the spaces between you. James huffed, shaking his head as he shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans. Lily turned back to look at him, her mouth pressed in a disapproving line. You dug your fingernails into your palms, unable to tear your eyes off of James, who you could only assume was annoyed at your rashness.

“What happened next?” asked Lily, looking back at Marlene.

“Y/N said she was going down to see what they were doing—”

“What would you do that for?” James said, pulling his hand from his pocket to run it through his curls. He left behind a bit of frizz, pieces sticking up this way and that.

Pressure began to build behind your eyes, hot and burning, fed by James’s sharp stare. Lily dropped her hands from Marlene’s shoulders, taking a step away.

“C’mon, Prongs,” Sirius sighed. James’s gaze left yours, moving down to his feet, his jaw flexing.

“Zephyr is one of them,” Marlene said after a moment of silence. “He’s going to try and slip something in Y/N’s drink. It’s supposed to make her turn on us or something.”

The air grew thick, suffocating and not unlike the fog of your dream. James’s eyes darted suddenly to look at Peter, who had thus far said not a word. Across from you, Remus rubbed his jaw in thought, a stark contrast to the way James was buzzing beside him.

“What are they going to use?” Lily asked, her voice wary.

“I don’t know, something Snape is brewing,” Marlene answered.

Remus walked forward, staring between you, Marlene, and Peter. “All three of you, start from the very beginning. What exactly did they say?”

“Snape said what he was brewing was almost ready, then someone said something about Zephyr slipping it into my drink,” you said, pausing for a moment. “Well, I didn’t know they were talking about me then, but they were.”

Dorcas leaned a hand against a cabinet, her eyes darkening and lip curling with rage.

“How do you know?” Sirius asked.

“They talked about the duel,” Marlene answered. “Snape doesn’t think they should do anything to Y/N, since we’ll suspect them.”

James snorted, though there was no humor in it.

“Zephyr thinks he’s clear, though,” you said, trying to ignore James’s sour countenance. “I guess he was, until now.”

“That bloody—” Dorcas muttered, stopping herself before she could finish.

“Why you? Why not one of us?” Remus asked.

You and Marlene didn’t speak for a moment, both of you looking again towards Peter, who was clearly nervous under the scrutiny, his hands wringing within the cloak. His absence from the conversation became glaringly apparent, not only to you two.

“Wormtail,” James began, low and warning.

Something stirred deep within your stomach, an ugly feeling of anger that had not yet come to fruition. In the rush from the corridor up to the RoR, you had yet to consider that Mulciber had said something to James about you last Monday during Transfiguration. All this time, James was well aware that Mulciber thought you two were involved in some sort of romantic rendezvous, or that suggesting it was still enough to get James’s blood boiling. For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why James wouldn’t have told you about it. All four of them were well aware Mulciber had picked you out as a person of interest, though none thought to make you privy to this important piece of information. No pranks ensued, no retaliation, nothing to prevent what happened to you on Thursday.

“You know why,” you said to James, narrowing your eyes as he looked at you. Some of his annoyance with Peter dropped from his face, leaving only surprise at your sudden change in demeanor. “For five days you’ve known.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, seemingly completely unaware of your meaning.

“What Mulciber said to you in Transfiguration,” you said, your voice rising. “I could have been prepared, at least. I could have seen it coming.”

Remus stiffened, glancing back at Sirius in unease. They each looked like they were watching a train head towards a brick wall, or a quidditch player falling through the sky from their broom.

James’s shoulders rose as he took a breath, biting the inside of his cheek. “I thought it’d be better if you didn’t know,” he said quietly.

“Know what?” Lily asked, her and Dorcas looking between you in utter confusion.

A wave of sickness washed over you, your head growing light with the prospect of having to say it out loud. You wondered if James didn’t tell you because of the overwhelming embarrassment he felt over being mistakenly linked to you romantically. Your fingers twitched as Lily’s eyes continued to dart between you and James, trying to pull an answer out of thin air.

Sirius sighed, his hands coming to his hips as his head bent towards the floor. “It’s not important, Evans,” he said, shifting his weight on both feet. “We should talk about this in the morning.”

Lily took a step towards you, her face holding endless mercy, pleading for you to speak. You lifted your eyes, looking at Lily before glancing behind her at James, who was watching you with a nerve wracking intensity.

“Mulciber thinks we’re shagging. He thinks the best way to mess with James is to do something to me.” Lily turned to look at James, her brows furrowed. “Mulciber said something about it to him in Transfiguration on Thursday, though he didn’t think to tell me.”

Remus said your name, slow and tired, though it had no effect.

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” James said, throwing his hands up with an exacerbated huff. He no longer seemed upset with you, but rather desperate for you to believe him. Despite this, his answer did nothing to quench your frustration, only spurring it on further.

“Well, he said something similar when he used the banishing charm to throw me up against a wall,” you countered, overtaken by a burning embarrassment, most of which you were currently choosing to blame on James. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes, the feeling of betrayal overwhelming, mixing with the unbelievably confusing idea that someone, even Mulciber, could possibly think you two were an item. “I guess I should’ve put two and two together, but I never thought of it at the time. I figured if he had said the same to you, you would’ve told me, for Godric’s sake.”

“He said something to you?” James asked, his face crumbling.

You laughed bitterly, “Of course he did.”

“You two aren’t shagging?” Dorcas asked.

“Enough,” Lily said harshly.

You groaned, tipping your head back as your hands came to scrub down your cheeks. “No, of course we’re not,” you sighed, your face distorted into a mix of humiliation and indignation as you glanced at Dorcas.

“Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?” James asked, taking a few steps towards you.

You groaned, wishing you could scream at the top of your lungs. “It means we’re not shagging.”

“Well, you don’t have to act so disgusted by it,” he scoffed, his hands motioning around once more.

“What am I supposed to say? No, Dorcas, we’re not shagging, though I’d like to clarify that I don’t find James to be a repulsive troll,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

James was winding up for something, his cheeks as red as they had been dancing. Now, that seemed like forever ago, so far in the past you could barely recall what it felt like.

“Stop it, both of you,” Sirius said, halting James from continuing. Finally, the cloud of confusion and anger began to dissipate, Sirius’s dark eyes glancing between you and James in a stern, calculated manner. “Let’s take a fucking breath, all right?”

You covered your burning face with your hands, pressing into your eyes as a headache began to form behind them. You wiped away a stray tear, breathing in through your nose in an effort to calm yourself down. When you finally took your fingers away, James had his back turned to you, his head bent forward. Lily appeared more unsure of herself than you’d ever seen her before, her eyes wide and still rather bewildered as they ran across your face. You hated her gaze, feeling it crawling across your skin, filling you with even more embarrassment over what had just occurred. Marlene was crestfallen, Peter meek, Remus still clearly deep in contemplation. Dorcas was watching the side of James’s face, her expression unreadable.

“Okay,” Sirius began again, “I vote we all go to bed. We can deal with this in the morning.”

“Me too,” Marlene said, her voice small.

Peter nodded, his eyes darting around, never staying in one place long.

Sirius placed a gentle hand on James’s back, though he still did not lift his head. “C’mon, mate. Let’s go.”

“I can’t believe you lot! We can’t deal with this in the morning,” Dorcas said, appalled by the suggestion. “Zephyr’s gonna poison her!” She pointed towards you, making you feel even more like a freak than you all ready did.

“Who’s got the map?” asked Remus, ignoring the fiasco unfolding before him. Marlene lifted it up, handing it over to Remus.

“They won’t do it tonight. Didn’t Snivellus say it wasn’t even ready yet?” said Sirius. Lily seemed to recoil a bit at the nickname, though she didn’t say a word. Peter and Marlene nodded at Sirius’s question. “There, that settles it.”

“Still,” Dorcas began, still impassioned, “we’ve got to tell Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or somebody.”

James turned around, glancing at you for a brief moment before looking to Sirius and Dorcas. “I agree. I say we report them now.”

“They’ll know we were out after curfew if we go tonight,” Marlene said, finally piping up. “We’ll all get in trouble.”

Dorcas crossed her arms. “Well, they’ll know you were out either way once you tell them you overheard a midnight rendezvous.”

Lily said your name softly. “What do you want to do?”

You swallowed as everyone's eyes drifted towards yourself, studying your posture, the twitch of your lips, the minute changes of your brow. One fell on you most heavily.

“I—” you stuttered, far too overwhelmed to think clearly. “I don’t even know if I want to report them.”

“What?” Dorcas exclaimed.

“Well, there has to be more of them, right?” you began quickly. “It can’t just be Mulciber, Wilkes, Snape, and Zephyr.” The inclusion of Marlene’s ex-boyfriend was still enough to knock the breath out of you, the idea practically unbelievable save for the solid proof you’d acquired just minutes before.

“Is Zephyr even a pureblood?” Dorcas asked, looking to Marlene.

“No, not that I know of,” she said with wide eyes, turning to James and Sirius. “Is he?”

James shrugged. “I’m not on the list, remember?”

“It doesn’t even matter,” Sirius scoffed. “ Mulciber isn’t even a part of the twenty-eight, even though he tries to make everyone believe it. None of it fucking matters, as long as you curse enough muggle borns.”

“My point being,” you continued, “if we report them, it won’t be over. It might actually be worse . Who knows what the others will do. ”

“No,” James said, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t report him last time, and look what happened? If you don’t do it, I will.”

“I agree,” Dorcas added.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, gnawing at your bottom lip. Eventually you let out a deep sigh, shaking your head to yourself. “Fine. Marlene, Peter, and I will go to McGonagall in the morning. She’ll probably force us to go to Dumbledore, though.”

Lily offered you a sad smile, her gaze kind as always. “I think that's the right thing to do.”

You rubbed your eyes, dreading having to look at your friends again. Once you did, you found everyone to be a bit more placid, eased at your agreement to report the Slytherins, plus Zephyr.

“Filch is on the fourth floor,” Remus said, looking down at the map. “We should be fine.”

“Where’s the prince and his jesters?” Dorcas asked with a dry chuckle.

“Back in the Slytherin Common Room, but Zephyr’s hiding in the lavatory by Potions. It’ll probably be a little while until he’s back at the tower,” he answered.

“Let’s go,” Sirius said, taking long strides towards the door. “We can get our stuff tomorrow.”

With that, he swung open the door, glancing back briefly before he walked through. Lily and Marlene each looked at you as if they were expecting you to run in the opposite direction and hide amongst the piles. With a shuddering breath you moved with them out of the RoR and into the dark corridor, lit only by Sirius’s wand. Remus was still watching the map just in case, his countenance the easiest out of all of you.

The world around you suddenly felt like a distorted interpretation of what it once was only an hour ago. The place was the same, as were the people, but nothing else familiar remained. You avoided Lily’s eyes, which you could feel boring into the side of your face through the shadows, begging you to just look at her as if your expression could explain what you were thinking. You didn’t know if it were even possible to explain what you were thinking. A large part of you was frightened, now not only of Mulciber, but someone from your own house. The idea that Zephyr had been lurking around the Common Room, surrounded by muggle borns like Lily who he presumably hated, was chilling to say the least.

You looked ahead at James, his dark curls flopping a bit as he walked. It was something you usually found endearing, though now you didn’t know what to think of him. You were certainly angry with him, though it felt wildly uncomfortable, like wearing a pair of wet trousers. Half of you wanted the feeling to pass as quickly as possible, though the other half stubbornly held onto it for dear life. Your anger with him was the only proof you had that he didn’t wield some all-powerful force over you, that it was even possible for you to be cross with him in the first place. There was a lot to be upset about after all: his secrecy, his temper, his ego. On the other hand…well, the other hand was making some good points too;

“With those gits ditching me, you’re my new favorite.”

“No exceptions for me?”

“When I was thirteen? No. Now? Most definitely.”

“The hat would never put you where you don’t belong.”

“She’s the very best of us.”

No one spoke for the entire journey back to the Common Room, the silence tortuous like a slingshot pulled back and ready to be released. When you mercifully arrived at the entrance, The Fat Lady was asleep, awoken by Sirius’s voice, “Flobberworm.”

“Goodness!” said the Fat Lady, rubbing her tired eyes. “How late is it? Are you out past curfew, Mister Black?”

“It’s eight thirty,” you said, your voice falling flat.

The Fat Lady looked around at you all, frowning a bit when she saw the weary look on your faces. “All right,” she said, swinging open and muttering to herself, “Must’ve fallen asleep rather early tonight…”

The Common Room was deserted, the fire growing weak in the hearth. The scarlet tapestries on the wall were a deep shade of blood red in the dim light, their golden patterns dull and without their usual sparkle. Your feet felt heavy as they carried you further inside, as if you were walking through a shallow pool, trudging towards the stairs. Most of your fear had gone, requiring too much energy and focus for you to properly perceive. Now, you only longed for sleep, to hide inside the curtains of your four-poster, away from Lily’s prying eyes, Marlene and Dorcas’s pitiful gazes, and most of all James. You could no longer tell what he felt, if it was disappointment or anger, or something else altogether. Whatever it was, it was bruising and would have to wait until morning.

You and Lily were the first up the stairs, though you could not find the courage to acknowledge her just yet. When you finally made it into your room, you didn’t bother changing your clothes or brushing your teeth. You simply kicked off your shoes, throwing your wand onto your nightstand and falling into bed. Sleep came almost instantly, which was a pleasant change from your usual restlessness. The early hours of the morning brought nothing else strange, only a pleasant, dreamless slumber.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

You awoke to the sound of someone whispering your name rather aggressively, then the clatter of your curtains being pulled open with a clean swoosh. Thankfully, the sunlight that fell into your eyes was rather diluted by the clouds, which now poured a drizzle of rain over the gray landscape. As your hazy vision cleared, you saw Marlene standing above you, Lily not far behind.

Marlene said your name again, one corner of her mouth pulled tightly. “Peter and Remus are downstairs,” she said quietly. “They’re itching to go to McGonagall. I told them we should let you sleep–”

“No, it’s fine. I’m up,” you croaked, sitting up in bed.

“Don’t rush,” Lily said. “It’ll do them good to make them wait.”

You nodded, only partially processing her words as you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands. After you gathered your bearings, you threw the blanket off, realizing you were still wearing your clothes from the night before. You looked up at Marlene and Lily, who were both dressed for the day.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, getting up to go to the lavatory. Your point was undermined slightly when you knocked into the heater grate, sending a hat falling onto the floor. Marlene and Lily said nothing as you shut the lavatory door behind you, running the faucet to brush your teeth. When you came back out, Marlene was sitting on her bed, Lily leaning on the post beside her. “Where’s Dorcas?” you asked.

“Quidditch practice,” Lily said. “James wanted to cancel, but we thought it might be easier if he wasn't there when you went down.”

“Threw a fit, as usual,” Marlene added.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, going to dig in your trunk for your clothes. “What time is it?”

“Ten after eight,” Lily answered.

You pulled out your clothes with a groan, huffing as you went back into the lavatory to change. “They can’t wait until I’ve had some tea?”

“I think James might have threatened them,” Marlene called to you through the door. When you came back out again, she hopped up from her bed, staring at you with furrowed brows. “You don’t seem very concerned about this.”

You paused, dropping your dirty clothes into the hamper. “I’m still not convinced reporting them is the right thing to do. I don’t really have the energy to fight, though.”

“You heard what they said,” Marlene began, walking over to you. “We can’t deal with this on our own, not without help.”

“It’s dark magic,” Lily said sadly, her shoulders slumped. “We know Mulciber is capable of it after what happened with Mary. I just,” she faltered, her eyes drifting towards the old wooden floorboards. “I don’t know what Severus can do, but he is gifted in potions. Better than Sirius, even. I never thought he’d do something like this, but I suppose I was wrong.”

You remembered a muggle book Lily had given you over a year ago, one of her favorites. She had reminded you of a character in it then, though the resemblance was striking in this moment most of all. “You are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes.” You nearly said something to this effect, though the thought occurred to you that this not only applied to Snape, but yourself as well. Lily thought the world of you, though she had no idea of the secret that now two of her friends were privy to. Your behavior the previous evening was likely telling to anyone who had even the slightest inclination of your feelings for James, though you suspected Lily still had no clue whatsoever. She thought too highly of you to ever believe you could betray her so acutely. You were sure now that Dorcas was convinced, as was Remus, who although did not know you half as well as Dorcas, was rather good at reading people. Peter was likely made known by Remus, thus making everyone but Lily and James himself in on your predicament.

Marlene sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she made her way towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

You found Peter and Remus sitting in a pair of armchairs awaiting your arrival, each with bags under their eyes. Remus stood as you came over, his hair a bit messy and likely unbrushed.

“How’re you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

You shrugged, not knowing what to say. Peter looked up at you from his chair, offering you a weak smile.

“First things first,” Marlene whispered, glancing behind her at the rest of the Common Room, “we have to get our stories straight. We can’t tell her what we were really doing, or about, y’know…” She made a motion with her hands like a book opening.

You nodded in agreement, crossing your arms. “If we say we were in the Common Room, they might try and check us on it. People saw us leave earlier in the night.”

“I think confirming where you guys started out will be the least of their worries,” Remus said.

“I agree,” Lily whispered. “Either way, even if they do find out where we were, I think we can all handle a detention or two.”

“But you’re Head Girl,” you said. “They might take away your badge.”

“I don’t care.”

You knew she was entirely serious, though you could not think of a way out of it. Not only was she stubborn, but you were hard pressed to find another location that would suit your story better.

“Okay,” you said, still a bit unhappy with the idea. “At least this way we have a shot at not getting all of you in trouble.”

“We’ll say we were all hanging out in the Common Room and you, Peter, and I left to go somewhere and saw them heading into the broom closet,” Marlene said.

“What for? It’s not as if the three of us frequently take strolls after curfew,” you whispered.

“What about the Library?” Lily offered.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “Nobody’d believe Peter was sneaking out to go to the Library on a Saturday night.”

“Maybe I would!” said Peter, standing from his armchair.

“Come on Wormail, you’ve got two weeks detention on the line,” Remus said with a tilt of his head, his eyes serious.

“Fine,” Peter huffed. “Not the Library.”

“It can’t be anything too bad, like trying to break into a professor’s office or something,” Marlene said.

“Do you think that's what we normally do?” Remus chuckled, raising his brows.

Marlene rolled her eyes. “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

“How about the kitchens?” you said.

Remus nodded. “That’ll work.”

Marlene, seeming enthused by the prospect of conducting such a tall tale, smiled wickedly. “I say we saw that little piece of shite Zephyr on the Grand Staircase—”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

You, Peter, and Marlene stood in front of Professor McGonagall’s office, all of your hands sweating profusely. You swallowed down your nerves, knocking three times on the door and quickly moving back. After a few moments it opened, revealing McGonagall’s stern face beneath a tall, black hat. Her eyes darted between the three of you, her posture growing straighter as she stepped into the doorway.

“What brings you three so early this morning?” she asked with a great deal of suspicion.

“We have something to report, Professor,” you said, willing your voice not to waver. Beside you, Marlene remained silent, her former mischief having vanished at the sight of McGonagall’s rigid expression.

McGonagall tried to conceal her surprise, though it was plainly evident in the way her eyes widened a fraction before promptly returning to their usual steeliness. She soon stepped aside, opening her door wider. “Well, come in.”

You had never been inside her office before, though you knew Peter had more times than he’d like to admit. It was quite cozy and very neat, with a blazing hearth of intricately carved stone and rows of tall bookshelves. In front of her heavy wooden desk were two chairs, each of a dark leather. As she walked over to it, McGonagall pulled out her wand from her robes, wordlessly producing a third identical chair between the two others. She sat, her hands clasped on her desk as she waited for you to settle. Peter squirmed in his seat, still unused to her stifling gaze.

“Who shall begin?” she said plainly, her posture still severe.

You glanced at Marlene, who did not seem keen on speaking. You knew Peter was a lost cause as well.

“We overheard a conversation between Mulciber, Wilkes, Severus, and Zephyr,” you stated. “It happened at midnight last night.”

“Where did this occur?” she asked, making no mention of your clear violation of curfew.

“In a broom closet by the Entrance Hall,” you said quietly, shrinking a bit in your seat.

She hummed, her mouth pursing. Soon, her eyes fell on Peter and Marlene, seeming to pick apart their every movement. “And how did you come across this meeting?” You stiffened, opening your mouth to speak before McGonagall raised a hand. “I’d like Mister Pettigrew to answer.”

“We were going down to the kitchens,” he said sheepishly. “We saw Zephyr on the Grand Staircase and decided to follow him.”

“The kitchens,” she repeated, seeming not to believe a word of it. “And what was the topic of this conversation?”

“They’re planning on slipping something into my drink within the next few days,” you said, looking down at your lap.

“What substance?” McGonagall asked after a moment of silence.

“They never said,” you answered.

“It was only those four?”

You nodded, looking back up. “Yes, ma’am.”

McGonagall did not speak for a long while, her eyes still darting between you. “Are you quite sure this is what you heard?”

“Yes,” you said immediately.

She stared at Peter, not acknowledging your assertion. “Mister Pettigrew?”

He nodded quickly, his eyes wide. “Yes, Professor.”

“And you, Miss Mckinnon?”

“Yes, I’m certain of it,” Marlene answered, sitting up a bit in her chair. “Snape said he was brewing something that’d be ready soon, though he never said exactly what it was.”

McGonagall hummed again, something hurried in her eyes as she spoke, “Did they mention you by name, Miss L/N?”

“They did,” you said, hoping she wouldn’t see through your lie.

“Now, how can you all be so sure of the time?”

“The staircase moved as we followed Zephyr,” you answered.

McGonagall let out a breath, her gaze uncompromising. “Very well. I am going to take ten points from each of you for going out past curfew.” Peter sighed sadly, his shoulders slumping. “You should all be pleased there are no detentions in your future,” she said sharply.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said, still dejected from the loss of thirty points.

“I am going straight to the Headmaster with this information,” she said, standing to walk around her desk. “Stay exactly where you are until I return.” She narrowed her eyes, giving you all a pointed look before going to the hearth. She reached her hand into the small, conical bowl on the side, producing a handful of floo powder before stepping in. “The Headmaster’s Office.”

She disappeared in a plume of emerald flames, each of you letting out a long sigh of relief.

“Merlin’s beard, she’s frightening when she’s cross!” Marlene said, turning towards Peter. “How you four stayed so smug all these years is beyond me.”

“Have you guys ever spoken with Dumbledore?” you asked, growing more nervous in McGonagall’s absence.

Marlene shook her head.

“I have,” Peter said hesitantly. You and Marlene looked at him, urging him to explain. “Just after a few pranks. He’s not that bad. Talks in riddles, though.”

You all sat in silence, contemplating what would inevitably happen next. Marlene’s leg was bouncing, her head in her hand as she stared into McGonagall’s desk. You hadn’t the mind to think about anything other than what you would say to Dumbledore, who was a complete and utter mystery to you. You only hoped he could be fooled by your lies, or that he wouldn’t care given the severity of the situation.

After a few minutes filled with anxiety, McGonagall emerged from the fireplace with another green puff, quickly walking to her door. You all turned to watch as she moved to open it.

“Well, hurry up,” she began. “The Headmaster wishes to speak to you directly.”

The three of you stood, hurrying to follow McGonagall into the corridor. As you stepped out, far off in the clocktower on the other side of the castle, the hour struck nine.

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