#aaand yeah it's not that deep

[hazbinbabbling4ever]

I was watching s2e13 of Gravity Falls, where the whole family is watching a Mystery Duck series where there's a parody of Sherlock Holmes in the form of a duck, and it's revealed he has an evil twin brother. This episode aired several years before the disaster that was Sherlock BBC s4e3, where it's revealed Sherlock has an... evil sister. I can't believe they predicted Sherlock BBC stooping so low as to employ the evil (twin) brother plot wist, and yet...

[picnicbask3t]

been playing minecraft for 5 days straight

[thatfriendlyanon]

snapshots of members of the deep green, as of january 2025:

––| icarus “elle” loyallium | property of @thatfriendlyanon

[natsaffection]

Redline. Pt 4 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver! Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), sexual tension, intentional crash

Word count: 10,3k

A/N: Okay…just 2 more chapters to go! Today, we’re focusing more on the dynamics between everyone. Aaand..don’t come at me for the ending!🧎🏻‍♀️

Part 3

The heat from the track still lingered in the air as you walked beside your father, the gravel crunching under your boots with every slow step. Neither of you spoke at first. The pit lane was behind you now, the silence stretching between you, heavy with everything unspoken.

Your hands were shoved deep into your fire suit pockets, your pulse still uneven from the confrontation with Natasha, her words, her touch, her smirk still lingering like a brand on your skin. You glanced at your father, jaw tight. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on the track ahead, the smooth asphalt, the sharp curves, the very place that had nearly taken you away from him once. “I wanted to see you race.”

Your chest tightened. “Dad-”

“Your test race was good.”

That stopped you. Your brows furrowed slightly, your steps faltering. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t it. You turned to him, your voice careful. “You think so?”

His lips pressed together, his expression unreadable, Romanoff-like in his control. Then, after a moment, he nodded. “Very good.” The words should have made you feel proud. But there was something else beneath them. Something heavier. Something hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. “But?” His sigh was slow. Controlled. Measured. “But I still have doubts.”

The honesty stung more than it should have. You swallowed, looking back at the track, your fingers curling inside your pockets. “You don’t think I should be here.” It wasn’t a question. Because you already knew the answer.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you. “It’s not about what I think, Y/n. It’s about what this does to you.”

Your throat tightened. “I can handle it.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying you, seeing through you like he always did. “Can you?” The words hit deeper than you wanted them to. Because even after everything, even after clawing your way back, after surviving the rehab, after proving to the world that you were still here, there was still that one small part of you that wasn’t sure.

You blinked hard, looking away before he could see it. “Mom doesn’t think I can, does she?” His jaw tensed. That was all the confirmation you needed. “She hates it.” The words sat between you, heavy and unmoving. You exhaled sharply, your fingers flexing at your sides. “Of course, she does.”

He sighed. “Y/n-”

“No, I get it.” Your voice came out flat, bitter. “She spent a year watching me relearn how to fucking walk. She spent a year seeing me break down because I couldn’t even lift my own body weight anymore. She was there when the doctors told me that my career was over.” You swallowed hard, the memory of it clawing at the back of your mind. “So yeah. I get it.”

Your father sighed, stopping in his steps. You followed suit, keeping your gaze locked on the track ahead, refusing to let him see the way your hands were shaking. “She was scared.” His voice was softer now, edged with something tired. “She still is.”

“So are you.” He didn’t deny it. That said enough. Another long silence stretched between you, the weight of everything unspoken pressing hard against your ribs. Then, his voice changed. “Romanoff.”

You blinked, turning toward him. “What about her?” His gaze was unreadable again, calculating. “She’s difficult.” You huffed out a humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “Is she treating you right?” The question made your breath hitch. Not because it was strange. But because it was the first time he had acknowledged Natasha at all.

You looked away, exhaling slowly. “She’s…” You hesitated. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain Natasha? The woman who pushed you to your limits. The woman who made you want to scream and fight and prove her wrong every second you were on the track. The woman who, despite everything, had kept you here. “She’s tough.”

“Tough isn’t the same as fair.”

You clenched your jaw, voice quiet. “She’s fair enough.” Your father hummed slightly, unconvinced. Then, he exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally nodding. “Be careful with her.”

Something in your chest tightened. Because he wasn’t talking about racing anymore. You knew that. And so did he. Looking back at the track, at the curve ahead, the stretch of asphalt that had nearly ended you once. Then, you exhaled, forcing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “I will.”

——

The moment the call came, you didn’t hesitate. You were in Natasha’s office within seconds. Not a second early. Not a second late. You weren’t going to give her another reason to tear into you.

The confrontation from the track still burned in your mind, the fire in her eyes, the way she had dragged you out of the car, ripped into you with the kind of rage only Natasha Romanoff could wield. You had pushed back. But she had pushed harder. And now? Now, you weren’t about to give her another excuse to throw you around like a chess piece.

You knocked once and firm, “Come in.” came through the heavy wood. Stepping inside, you braced yourself for another heated lecture, another round of Natasha pushing you to the brink. Instead, you stopped. Your brows furrowed as your eyes landed on the sleek leather couch, where a row of carefully curated outfits lay waiting. Dresses. Suits. Something in between. Sleek. Expensive. And entirely unexpected.

Natasha stood behind her desk, arms crossed, watching you like she was waiting for a reaction. You exhaled, tilting your head. “Are we throwing a fashion show now?”

She didn’t blink. “Try them on.”

It wasn’t a request. Your lips parted slightly, but before you could ask, her expression hardened, not angry, not quite daring, just expecting. So, you swallowed down the million questions burning at the tip of your tongue and moved toward the outfits. You weren’t stupid. You did what you were told.

The first outfit was too stiff. The second? Too formal. The third? Too boring. But the fourth? That one was perfect. Sleek black fabric hugged your form in all the right ways, polished, sharp, clean. It wasn’t a suit. It wasn’t a dress. It was somewhere in between. Powerful. Something that made you feel like you could stand next to anyone and not be overshadowed. You turned toward the mirror, adjusting the sleeves slightly before stepping back into the office.

Natasha was still at her desk, eyes scanning through a document. But the second she looked up, she stood. Green eyes flickered over you, sharp and unreadable, the weight of her gaze making your skin prickle.

“Can I touch you?”

Your breath caught slightly at the way she said it.. low, direct, careful. Your fingers twitched at your side. You nodded once. “Yeah.”

She stepped closer, movements effortless, controlled. One hand lifted, fingers barely grazing the fabric at your shoulder, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. Then, she tugged the hem slightly, adjusting the fit. Her touch was warm, steady. Not rough like before. Not burning with frustration or anger. Just precise. Her fingers brushed along the edge of your sleeve, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

You swallowed, voice quieter than intended. “What’s this about?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned, walked back to her desk, slipped her pen into place with slow precision, then met your gaze again. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

Your stomach twisted. “Leaving?”

“Family dinner.”

The words settled heavily between you. You blinked, processing, feeling your pulse tick up slightly. The Romanoffs?? Everyone knew them. They weren’t just a wealthy family, they were a dynasty, a legacy built on power, wealth, and absolute control. And now, you were about to walk into their world. Natasha watched your reaction closely, smirk deepening slightly. “You know them.”

It wasn’t a question. You hesitated, keeping your voice careful. “Everyone does.”

Her head tilted slightly, amusement flickering across her face. “Are you a fangirl?”

Your jaw locked. “No.”

Her smirk widened, slow and knowing. “Hesitation says otherwise.” You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep steady. “Should I be worried?” Natasha considered that for a moment, then smiled. “That depends.”

You swallowed, hating the way she always made you feel like she had all the cards, like she had been three steps ahead of you since the moment you walked in. She picked up her phone, already moving toward the door, already in control of the next move. Then, just before stepping out, she glanced back at you, something dangerously amused in her eyes.

“Don’t be late.” she murmured. “Wouldn’t want Mommy to think you don’t belong.” Your breath hitched. She saw it and she loved it. Then, she was gone. Leaving you standing there, pulse hammering in your ears, knowing full well that this wasn’t just dinner.

The car ride was tense, but not in the usual way. This wasn’t the quiet before a storm, the steady focus before a race. This was heavier and charged with something deeper, something unspoken.

You sat in the back of one of Natasha’s luxury cars, the engine purring smoothly as it cut through the night. The interior smelled of leather and something distinctly hers. She sat beside you, legs crossed, posture straight, eyes fixed on her phone, the soft glow illuminating her features. She hadn’t spoken much since leaving the city, only issuing short, clipped commands to the driver.

Across from you, Yelena was the only one who seemed completely unbothered. She stretched out in her seat, arms folded behind her head, feet casually propped up against the console like this was just another errand. But it wasn’t. You were on your way to meet the Romanoffs. Not just Natasha. Not just Yelena. The whole dynasty.

Their empire stretched across industries that mattered. Finance. Defense. Technology. Racing. There wasn’t a single major sector that didn’t have a Romanoff signature buried somewhere in its foundation. And Natasha? She wasn’t just part of it. She was born into it.

You exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against your knee. Yelena caught the movement instantly, smirking. “Nervous?”

You met her gaze, forcing a casual shrug. “A little..”

She let out a short laugh. “If you screw up, they might not let you leave.”

Your stomach dipped. Natasha didn’t react, not outwardly. But the corners of her lips twitched slightly, like she was holding back amusement. Yelena grinned, clearly enjoying herself, but before she could respond, Natasha finally spoke. “Enough.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but didn’t push further. The car continued its smooth ascent, winding up the private road leading to the estate. The further you drove, the more surreal it became. The Romanoff property was massive, gated, guarded, the kind of wealth that didn’t just sit pretty but protected itself. Pristine landscaping stretched for miles, leading up to the mansion itself. A fortress of glass and steel, sleek and modern, an architectural masterpiece.

When the car pulled up to the entrance, the doors were already open. Natasha moved first, stepping out smoothly, slipping her phone into her pocket as she approached the woman waiting at the entrance. Melina. Natasha’s mother.

You had seen pictures of her before, but seeing her in person was different. She was graceful, poised, elegant, but there was something colder beneath it. Something sharp. A woman who had built herself into something untouchable. She spoke to Natasha first, her voice low, unreadable. Then, her gaze flickered to you.

For a second, she said nothing. Just studied you. Her eyes swept over you like she was calculating something, measuring. Then, a smile. Melina’s lips curved slightly, gaze sharp but not unkind. “Ah. So you’re the one who’s been giving my daughter so much trouble.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Natasha exhaled quietly, a breath through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite amusement. Before you could scramble for a response, another voice cut in “Ah! There she is!”

You barely had time to react before a broad, shouldered man emerged from the house, grinning widely. Alexei. Natasha and Yelena’s father. You recognized him instantly, not just from pictures, but from history. A legend in his time. Ex-Racer. A force in the business world. A man who had built part of the Romanoff empire with nothing but sheer, stubborn will.

And yet, this was not the intimidating powerhouse you expected. Because the man was smiling. A full, wide, beaming smile. Like he had been waiting all day to meet you. He stepped forward without hesitation, eyes gleaming. “So! You’re the one who thinks she can handle my Natasha!”

Natasha’s exhale was louder this time. Melina took a long sip of her wine. Yelena, standing beside you, was grinning like a damn idiot. You scrambled for words. “I..uh-”

Alexei clapped a massive hand against your shoulder, nearly making you stumble forward. “She is small, but she looks tough! I like her!” You blinked. Natasha muttered something in Russian under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Melina sighed, already turning toward the dining room. “Come, before Alexei scares her off.”

The dining table was massive, stretching across the length of the room, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the chandeliers above. The entire setting felt surreal, like stepping into a world you weren’t meant to belong to, but here you were.

Seated between Natasha and Yelena, you could feel the weight of the Romanoff name pressing in from all sides. Melina sat at the head of the table, poised, watching. Across from you, Alexei cut into his steak with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove.

“So,” Alexei started, taking a massive bite, speaking around it like it was just another casual topic, “the championship race is coming up. You’re up against Walker, yes?”

You swallowed, gripping your fork a little tighter. “Yeah.”

Melina sipped her wine, tilting her head slightly. “Dreykov will be watching closely.” Natasha didn’t even look up. “Let him.”

Yelena smirked, leaning on her elbow. “I heard Walker’s already pissed about the competition.”

Alexei snorted. “Good! He should be worried.” Then, his sharp eyes flicked toward you. “Do you think you can beat him?”

The table went silent. Your pulse ticked up. Everyone was watching you. You met Alexei’s gaze head-on, steady, unwavering. “I know I can.”

Silence stretched, thick and expectant. Then, Alexei grinned. “Good answer.”

Natasha, beside you, didn’t react. But you felt her shift slightly. Like she had just gotten her answer too. Melina set her wine down with quiet precision. “You do realize this race isn’t just about you.”

Your jaw tightened. “I know.” She studied you, expression unreadable. “Do you?”

Alexei leaned forward, voice dropping just slightly. “If you win, Dreykov loses control of the narrative. If you lose? He buries you.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “She’s not losing.”

Melina remained still, unreadable. “You’re in a unique position, Y/n. Most drivers only fight for themselves. You? You’re carrying a legacy that isn’t even yours.” Your fingers curled around your napkin. “Then I’ll make it mine.”

Silence. Natasha finally looked at you. Really looked. Like she wasn’t expecting that answer. Like she might have just decided something. Like she saw something shift in you, something she wasn’t sure was there before.

The weight of her gaze settled deep, assessing, considering, then she leaned back, just slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing. And she smirked. Not just amusement. Not just approval. Something more. Something like certainty. Like she was finally seeing what she needed to see.

As the meal continued, you found yourself answering Alexei’s now more benign questions, he asked about your hometown, clearly trying to be friendly. It was awkward, but well-meaning. In return, you posed a timid question or two of your own, asking Melina how long they had owned the estate. Her answer involved a brief, fascinating tale of an old friend from the KGB days. With each exchange, the initial fear in your chest uncoiled a bit more.

Natasha eventually rejoined the conversation, albeit in a mild way. When you complimented the stew, saying it was delicious, she interjected quietly, “It’s Melina’s special recipe. We had it a lot when I was young.”

You glanced over, surprised to hear Natasha offer personal information so easily. Her lips twitched in a faint semblance of a smile, perhaps at a memory. Melina tilted her head, giving Natasha a fond look. “Natasha used to help me chop vegetables for it.” she added.

To your astonishment, Natasha didn’t scowl or roll her eyes. Instead, she let out a small huff that might have been a very reluctant laugh. “Only because you made me.” she protested under her breath, but there was no real heat in it. The tension that had clouded her features had ebbed away, replaced by something almost approachable.

You witnessed this shift with quiet amazement. The dinner that had begun with your stomach in knots was slowly turning into something you never expected: an insight into Natasha’s world, into a family that was far more complex than the intimidating facade they projected.

They aren’t all like Natasha. In fact, Natasha herself wasn’t even always like the stone-cold version of her you had seen out in the field, not here, not with her parents tempering her.

Melina caught your eye once more and gave you a nod paired with that small, reassuring smile. It silently said, you’re doing fine. In that moment, you felt a rush of gratitude and something almost like belonging. You straightened up a bit, no longer curled in on yourself, and even dared to genuinely smile back.

Finally, as plates emptied and the evening air settled coolly around you, the dinner came to a close. Alexei pushed back his chair, satiated and in high spirits from the meal and conversation. Melina began stacking a couple of plates, and you automatically stood. “Oh, let me help with that.” you offered, ever polite, eager to show you weren’t just a burden.

Melina shoed you away gently. “Nonsense, you’re our guest!” she insisted, but her tone was kind. Natasha stood as well, collecting the remaining glasses with efficient movements. “I’ll help.” she said, giving you a brief nod, not quite warm, but not cold either. Something more neutral. Maybe even respectful.

Alexei chortled. “I’ll escort our guest to the sitting room.” He looped an arm (carefully) around your shoulder to guide you out, treating you now like a comrade rather than a suspect.

As you left the dining room, you glanced back over your shoulder. At the end of the table, Natasha and Melina stood quietly stacking dishes, mother and daughter in a rare moment of stillness. Melina leaned in, saying something low to Natasha. You couldn’t hear the words, but you saw Natasha roll her eyes, and then smile. An actual smile. Small, fleeting, but real.

Melina chuckled softly in response, bumping her shoulder affectionately against Natasha’s. The sight stayed with you: Natasha Romanoff, so cold and fierce in the field, standing there allowing herself a moment of lightness with her mother.

You turned forward again as Alexei led you down the hall, a multitude of new impressions swirling in your mind. I was wrong about them, you thought with a mixture of relief and wonder. The Romanoffs aren’t an unbreakable wall of ice; they’re a family, with warmth sparking in unexpected places.

The drive back to Natasha’s track was silent, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a storm cloud. The Romanoff estate faded into the night behind you, the dark road ahead stretching endlessly. Eight days. Eight days until the first real race, the one that would determine your starting position for the championship. The thought settled uneasily in your chest, coiling like a slow-burning fire.

Yelena hummed along to some song playing softly on the radio, seemingly unbothered by the tension lingering in the air. Natasha sat in the passenger seat, silent as ever, fingers scrolling across her phone, but you knew she wasn’t distracted. She never was. She was thinking, calculating, already planning your next move before you even took your next breath.

The faint glow of the track’s floodlights appeared in the distance, growing brighter as the car pulled into the lot. The closer you got, the heavier your limbs felt. The test race still lingered in your muscles, your body stiff with the memory of every sharp turn, every acceleration, every mistake. The second the car came to a stop, you reached for the door handle, desperate for fresh air, for movement-

“Not so fast.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the night, sharp and unwavering. You froze mid-step, turning to see her already out of the car, arms crossed, gaze locked onto you with that same unrelenting intensity. The air around her was different now. Heavier. You straightened instinctively. “What?”

She stepped closer, closing the space between you. “Training starts tomorrow. Six a.m.”

Your jaw tensed. “Tomorrow?”

Her brow lifted. “Did you think you were getting a break?” Exhaling through your nose, you clenched your fists at your sides. “No.”

A quiet hum. Head tilting slightly, Natasha’s expression remained unreadable. “Good. Because you don’t get one.”

There was something about the way she said it, like a warning and a promise all at once. Eight days until the race. And Natasha wasn’t wasting a single second. She turned on her heel, already walking toward the garage, leaving you standing there, pulse thrumming in your ears. Yelena strolled past, patting your shoulder with a smirk. “You should probably set an alarm.”

Day One: 5:59 a.m.

The alarm had barely registered before a hard knock echoed through your door. “Training started a minute ago.” Natasha’s voice was sharp as a blade. “Move.”

There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. You threw on your gear, barely pulling your shoes on before being dragged into the gym. It wasn’t just a warm-up. It wasn’t just conditioning. It was a full-throttle, no-mercy assault on your body.

Natasha stood in front of you, arms crossed, while one of the team’s personal trainers pushed you through a relentless circuit, strength, endurance, core. Every time you thought you could catch a breath, her voice sliced through the haze.

“Too slow.”

“Your reaction time is pathetic.”

“You think you can keep up with Walker like this?”

By the time you collapsed onto the mat, sweat dripping down your face, Natasha crouched beside you, looking far too composed for someone who had just watched you suffer. “You’ve got seven days left.” she murmured, eyes dark. “If you want to survive, stop acting like a rookie.”

Day Two:

Six a.m., and you were thrown onto the simulator. Split-second decision-making drilled into you until your reflexes burned. By noon, you were out on the track, repeating the same sector over and over. Every mistake? Restart. Every hesitation? Restart. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio like a blade. “You missed the apex.”

“Too aggressive, back off.”

“Again.”

Again.

Again.

Your body moved on autopilot, muscles screaming, exhaustion creeping in. When she finally called you back in, you pulled into the pit, stepping out of the car, legs trembling. Natasha barely glanced up from her tablet. “Get some sleep.” Even. Unmoved. “You’ll need it.”

Day Three:

The training room was dim, the only light coming from the massive screen flickering with images of drivers. Dreykov’s team. Rivals. Threats. Natasha stood in front, hands on the table, voice measured. “Know them. Study them. Every habit, every weakness, every mistake they’ve ever made. Learn their tells. If you don’t, they’ll rip you apart.”

She turned, gaze flicking toward you. “You want to be better than Walker?” Her voice dipped lower, deadlier. “Then you don’t just beat him on track. You get inside his head. Make him doubt. Make him hesitate.” You swallowed hard, nodding. Natasha’s lips curled, just barely.

Day Four:

Tires screamed against the asphalt as you pushed through another lap, the track lights blurring into streaks of color. Natasha stood on the pit wall, headset on, arms crossed. Watching. Tracking every movement, every sector time. She saw it now. The shift. The way you moved. The way you didn’t hesitate anymore.

The radio crackled. “Better.”

Not praise. Not exactly. But something. And from Natasha? That was enough.

Day Five:

A miscalculation. A slight overcorrection. One second, you were flying through the straight, next, the car twitched. The back end stepped out. The world tilted. Your breath hitched, flashes of your past crash slammed into your skull. You hesitated. And that was your mistake.

The car skidded onto the run-off area, tires screeching. You caught it, but by then, it was too late. Lap ruined.

“Get back in the pit.”

You swallowed, bringing the car in, already bracing yourself. The second you stepped out, Natasha was there. She wasn’t yelling. That was worse. “You hesitated.”

Your mouth went dry.

“Do that in the race, and you’re done.” Her voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it. Something almost…dangerous. “Fix it.”

Hours later, your body felt like lead as you walked back to your room, exhaustion sinking into your bones after another brutal day of training. Every drill, every lap, every order had been pushed to the extreme by Natasha, like she was determined to break you. And now? You could barely move. You had one thought in mind, collapse into bed and sleep for the next century. But before you could open the door, her voice cut through the silence.

“Be ready by nine.”

You stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. Natasha stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, looking completely unaffected by the relentless day she had put you through. “For what?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

“Photoshoot.”

You blinked. “…You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I joke?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Please tell me this is just a few shots for the team.” Her lips twitched. That was never a good sign. “FIA. Sponsors. Press. Magazine covers.”

You exhaled sharply, head tilting back. “I can barely stand, Natasha. How do you expect me to pose for a camera?” She stepped forward, stopping just in front of you. Close enough that you could feel her heat. Her eyes flickered over you, assessing, calculating.

“You’ll manage.” And with that, she turned, walking away without another word, leaving you standing there, completely and utterly trapped.

Day six:

The next morning, you found yourself in a massive, high-end studio. Bright lights. White backdrops. Rows of expensive cameras and flashing bulbs. Everything screamed control. And in the middle of it all, Natasha, commanding the entire room. She stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching every single detail.

Every movement, every adjustment, every pose, she dictated all of it. When the crew hesitated, she fixed it. When the angles weren’t perfect, she adjusted them. Her presence was everywhere, in everything. And you hadn’t even stepped in front of the camera yet. This wasn’t just a photoshoot. This was a fucking mission.

Your first set was classic, controlled. You stood against the sleek backdrop in your race suit, arms crossed, chin high. The photographer and Natasha called out instructions.

“Look strong. Confident. Eyes sharp.”

“Fix your posture.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Your jaw tightened. She was standing just off-camera, her gaze laser-focused on you.

“Shoulders squared.”

You adjusted. “Chin up.” You exhaled slowly, adjusting again. “Now hold it.”

You held it. The cameras flashed, one after another, capturing every angle. You could feel her watching you. Not just monitoring. Not just observing. Watching. Studying.

Next came the full team shots. You stood in the center, surrounded by the entire Romanoff Racing crew, mechanics, engineers, strategists. A wall of power. A force. The Romanoff insignia blazed behind you. The photographer adjusted his lens.

“Closer together. Stronger stance.”

You stepped forward, shoulders squared. The flashes erupted, capturing everything. You could feel the weight of it. The responsibility. The legacy you were now a part of.

Now, it was Natasha's turn and Jesus Christ. She stepped onto the set, a black suit, tailored to absolute perfection. She didn’t pose. Didn’t adjust. She just existed. And the entire room bent to her. The camera didn’t just capture her, it obeyed her. Her stance was effortless, natural, lethal. Her eyes sharp, lips pressed together in a look of absolute control.

And when she leaned against the car, one hand resting on the frame, the other tucked into her pocket, expression unreadable, you had to look away. Because holy shit..

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Your stomach flipped. And suddenly, you weren’t breathing right. You forced yourself to focus on something, anything else. The camera flashes. The set crew. But your eyes kept drifting back.

And then, she turned her head. And caught you. Your breath hitched. For one unbearable second, neither of you moved. She didn’t smirk. Didn’t say anything. Just looked. And then, she moved on. Leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

Then came the part you weren’t prepared for. You. And Natasha. Together. The photographer waved you forward. “Alright, side by side. Look strong, look dominant.”

You took your place beside her. And immediately, something was off. “Closer.” the photographer instructed.

Natasha shifted beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. Your breath caught. Your muscles tensed. The camera clicked. Natasha glanced at you, brow furrowing slightly.

“Break. Ten minutes.” The team scattered. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to move. Before you could step away, Natasha’s voice stopped you. “What’s wrong?”

You froze. Your back was still to her, but you knew she was watching and waiting. You rolled your shoulders, forcing a casual shrug. “Nothing..” you muttered. “Just exhausted.”

Lie. Natasha wasn’t stupid. She saw right through you. Her eyes flickered over your face, searching, calculating. You knew you were caught. So you wiggled your shoulder slightly, brushing it off.

Natasha’s lips pressed together. She didn’t believe you. But she didn’t push. She just watched and something in her expression..something unreadable, something almost amused, made your stomach twist.

The photographer called you both back onto set, your stomach tightened again. “Alright, last round of shots. This time, we go for dominance!” the photographer instructed, adjusting the lighting. You swallowed hard. Natasha stepped up beside you. Close. Not too close. But close enough. “Cross your arms.” the photographer said.

You did. Natasha did too. Side by side. Like two weapons, locked and loaded. Another click. Another flash. “Now turn toward each other slightly.”

You’re kidding..You hesitated, just for a second. But Natasha didn’t. She shifted, her posture unwavering. Her sharp green eyes locked onto you, steady and unreadable. You mirrored her. Straightened your spine. Tilted your head slightly. The camera flashed again.

“Alright, I want something more intense. Y/n, look straight at the camera. Natasha, glance at her.” Your pulse jumped. But you did it. Held your stance. Held your breath. Just a few more minutes..! You were sweating at this point.

Natasha turned her head slightly, just enough to follow the instruction. The way her gaze landed on you, like she was assessing. Calculating. Waiting for you to break.

The shutter clicked. The camera caught it. And suddenly, you felt it too. This wasn’t just a team photo. This was a power move. A statement. The air between you was too charged. You could see it now. And so could everyone else in the room.

The photographer stepped back. “That’s the one.”The crew murmured in agreement. You exhaled slowly. “Alright.” Natasha said, stepping away first. “That’s enough.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The crew started packing up, cameras shutting down, the studio buzzing with movement. Natasha, as always, was already ahead of everyone. She stood at the monitors, scrolling through the raw images with the lead photographer.

You were halfway through unzipping your race suit when you heard her voice. “Y/n, come here.”

You hesitated. Took a breath. Then walked over. The screen displayed a row of thumbnails, hundreds of photos from the shoot. The first few were standard. You in your race suit, alone. The team standing beside you. You adjusting your helmet. You leaning against the car.

Then came Natasha’s. The black suit. The sharp gaze. The effortless power. You looked away but when Natasha clicked on the last image. The one with both of you. Your stomach tightened. It was..intimidating. You stood tall, shoulders squared, your expression unreadable. And Natasha? She was beside you, turned slightly, looking at you instead of the camera.

It wasn’t a casual glance. It was calculated. Deliberate. Like she was analyzing every move, every breath, every inch of control you had. It looked… powerful. More than that, it looked like something else. Something dangerous.

You swallowed. Natasha didn’t look at you. She just studied the screen, tapping her fingers against the console. “This one.” she said simply.

Your voice was quieter than you intended. “…Yeah.”Natasha finally turned her head, just slightly. Your eyes met. And for a moment..just a moment, it was too much. Then she smirked. “Good.”

She clicked the screen off. And just like that, it was over. But the image? It stayed with you. Long after the photoshoot ended. Long after the cameras shut down.

And long after you left the studio. The car was quiet. Too quiet. The low hum of the engine was the only sound filling the space, but you barely heard it. Your mind was somewhere else.

Still stuck on the photoshoot. On the way the camera had captured everything, the power, the intensity, the control. On the way Natasha had looked at you in that last shot. It wasn’t just a glance.

You stared out the window, barely blinking, your thoughts spiraling as the scenery blurred past. Natasha was speaking. Something about the schedule for tomorrow, about things you should have been listening to.. But you weren’t. You couldn’t. Your chest still felt too tight, your breath too shallow. “Y/N.” Your name snapped you out of your daze. You blinked, turning your head.

Natasha was watching you. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against the gear shift, her gaze sharp even in the dim light of the car. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

You opened your mouth, closed it and Natasha sighed. “Alright. We’re done for today.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“You’re off until tomorrow. Go rest. Clear your head.” You blinked again, trying to process her words. You were so used to the pressure, to the relentless push, to her orders keeping you on edge. But this? This was unexpected.

“Don’t look so surprised.” she muttered. “You earned it.” Her words settled in your chest, but you didn’t know what to do with them. So you just nodded. And for the rest of the ride, you sat in silence, still thinking, still feeling, still stuck in that moment.

Day 7:

Every drill was brutal. Every lap was ruthless. Natasha barely spoke, except to push you harder. Every limit you thought you had? She crushed it. By the time night fell, you thought she was done with you. Thought you could finally sleep. But Natasha found you later.

Fast asleep on the team’s lounge couch, still in your fireproofs, completely knocked out from exhaustion. She had stood there for a moment, watching. Then, without a word, she grabbed a blanket from the other side of the room and tossed it over you before leaving.

Day 8:

Final day. Final test. One last session to prove you were ready. The team stood by the pit wall. The car hummed beneath you, waiting. You took a breath. Natasha’s voice came through the comms.

“Last chance. Show me what you’ve got.”

And then, you drove. Fast, precise and unforgiving. You felt it. The shift. The control. The instinct overriding doubt. And when you pulled in, stepping out, Natasha was waiting. This time, she didn’t criticize. She just gave you one long look.

“You’re ready.”

——

The paddock was electric, alive with tension and expectation. Mechanics moved like clockwork, final checks being done, engineers poring over data, and drivers locked into their pre-race rituals. The weight of the moment pressed heavy on the entire grid.. this wasn’t just another qualifying session. This was the moment that decided who would start at the front. The moment that separated the contenders from the pretenders.

You sat in the cockpit, fireproofs clinging to your skin, harness so tight across your chest it felt like it was crushing your ribs. The scent of burned rubber and fuel lingered in the air, the familiar hum of engines warming up in the background. Your fingers flexed over the wheel, every part of your body wired, ready.

Across the pit wall, Natasha stood with arms crossed, headset secured, her green eyes locked on the track, calculating every possible scenario before the race had even started. She hadn’t spoken much that morning, not because she wasn’t paying attention, but because she was watching. Waiting for the moment to set the tone. Now, as you sat on the grid, the lights glowing red above you, her voice crackled through the radio.

“Listen to me.” Everything else fell away. “Today, you stop thinking like a rookie. Today, you stop waiting for opportunities to come to you. You take them. You fight for them. You rip them from their hands, and when they push back, you push harder. Do you understand me?”

Your breathing slowed. Your grip on the wheel tightened. “Understood.”

“Good. Because no one is going to move aside for you. Least of all Walker. He’ll do whatever it takes to hold that front row. Don’t let him.”

Your jaw locked at the mention of Walker. Natasha’s voice sharpened. “And if he tries anything, you make sure he regrets it.”

There it was. That edge. That lethal promise in her voice. The engineers gave the final signal. Time to go. You pulled onto the track, engine roaring as you weaved left and right, warming the tires, feeling out the car. The formation lap passed in a blur.

Lined up. Heart pounding. The lights above flickered on. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Green.

You launched off the grid, every fiber of your being focused, locked in. The tires gripped, the engine screamed, and the car shot forward. Walker was already moving to cover the inside line, expecting you to challenge immediately. You didn’t. Not yet. The first few corners were chaos, cars battling, elbows out, everyone jostling for position. You stayed aggressive, ruthless, refusing to back down when the space got tight.

P6. P5.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice was controlled but firm. “You’re faster. Stop waiting. Move.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The next car ahead made the mistake of defending too early into Turn Seven. You sold the dummy, flicked the wheel the other way, and sent the car down the inside, clean, fast, brutal.

P4.

Natasha’s voice hummed in your ear. “Good.” P3 came soon after, the overtake executed so smoothly it almost felt effortless. But nothing about this was effortless. Because now, you had Walker in your sights. And he knew it.

Walker had picked up the pace, trying to pull away, but you were there, suffocating him. Every time he took a defensive line, you mirrored his movements, staying just inside his blind spot, making him feel the pressure.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp and knowing. “He’s breaking. Give him a reason to make a mistake.”

Turn Nine. Walker braked late, too late. His tires locked for a split second, and that was all you needed. Inside line. Full send. You were alongside him. Natasha’s voice held its breath. Next corner was yours.

You braced..then impact. Walker clipped your rear tire, sending your car into a violent snap-spin. The world tilted. Gravel exploded around you as the car skidded through the runoff, the steering kicking back violently in your hands. Natasha stood up, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, blood boiling as she watched your car skidding through the dirt. The pit crew held their breath. The race officials didn’t say a word. The safety car was on standby, waiting to see if you’d move.

Then, your car jerked forward. The engine roared back to life. Natasha froze. Then, sharp—“Y/n, report.” A beat of static. Then, your voice, steady but burning. “Still here.”

She exhaled sharply. “Get back on track. Now.” You were back. But you were P8 now. Too far back. Too much time lost. Your hands gripped the wheel. “I have an idea.”

Silence. Then, slower. “What idea?” You exhaled.

“It’s risky..”

“Everything in this sport is risky. Talk.” Your breathing was sharp, pulse hammering, your grip locked onto the wheel so tight your knuckles ached.

“If I overtake three cars before Turn Ten, I can keep it flat through sector two and make up time. But I need to go off-line in Turn Six.”

The moment you said it, the radio went dead. It was only for a second, but the silence was heavy, suffocating. Natasha wasn’t answering. Not immediately.

You could picture her in the pit wall, headset tight around her head, eyes narrowed at the screens, jaw locked, fingers gripping the radio as she weighed the calculation in her mind. If you missed the move by an inch, if the grip wasn’t there, if the car snapped on you at that speed, race over.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

Lap 15

Turn Six approached like a wall, a barrier you either broke through or crashed into. You didn’t lift. You went wide, off the racing line, into the part of the track where no one dared to find grip. The car trembled beneath you, the tires barely holding, but they held.

The move was insane. The pit wall erupted. The commentators lost their minds. The entire grandstand stood up. You didn’t hear any of it. Because the second you pulled off the move, the radio clicked. Natasha’s voice cracked through, lower now, almost breathless. “…You’re insane.”

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips. “Told you.”

P5. P4. P3.

The radio clicked again. Natasha was fully locked in now. No hesitation. No restraint. She was with you. “Walker is 1.8 seconds ahead. Three laps left. Close it.” And you did.

Final Lap

Walker was right there and desperate. His lines getting messier, his defense more aggressive. He knew you were coming, knew you were faster. But you knew something else..He was afraid.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. “If he tries to block, don’t lift.”

Turn 12. Walker braked early, too early. He was trying to bait you, to force a mistake. But you weren’t falling for it. You threw the car inside, right on the limit, the tires barely holding, but it was enough. Walker tried to squeeze you off, but it was too late. You were gone.

P1.

The checkered flag waved. The radio was silent. For a long, long moment..nothing. “Now that…” A pause. “Was a fucking statement.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, exhaling hard, body vibrating from the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the everything. You had done it. You had won. And Natasha..Natasha had trusted you. You barely heard her, too overwhelmed by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding against your ribs, the raw rush of adrenaline and exhaustion making your body tremble against the seat. The realization hit all at once.

Pole position.

You had fought for it, clawed your way from the gravel, risked everything, and won. The car slowed on the cool-down lap, but your hands were still shaking, your breathing still uneven. The reality of what just happened was sinking in, and for the first time in a long time, you felt it.

Pride. A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at your lips as you finally spoke into the radio, breathless but grinning. “P1, huh?”

A small pause. Then, Natasha’s voice, quieter now, something different in it. “P1.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the weight of it settle in. “Ha!!”

Natasha didn’t respond, but you could sense her smirk, even through the static. She let you have this moment. She didn’t cut it down, didn’t make a comment about how it was just qualifying, that the real race was still ahead. No, she let you feel it.

Because you had earned it. Natasha was already pulling off her headset, stepping away from the pit wall as the team erupted into cheers, shouts, and frantic celebrations. She had done her job. Now it was yours. And she wanted to see it. She moved through the chaos, eyes locked on the car rolling in. The mechanics were already lined up, waiting for you.

The moment you stepped out, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, they swarmed. Shouts, cheers, hands grabbing at you, pulling you into crushing embraces. You did it. You laughed, breathless, still high from the race, from the moment, from everything. One of the engineers grabbed your helmet, ruffling your hair before clapping you hard on the back. Someone else was already holding up the pit board. P1.

You looked at it, at the reality of it, and your chest swelled with something powerful. You turned, scanning the pit wall, searching. And then, you saw her.

Natasha stood a few feet away, arms crossed, just watching. She hadn’t rushed into the celebration, hadn’t thrown herself into the crowd of mechanics. No, she was just there, eyes sharp, lips pressed together in something unreadable. For a split second, you thought she was going to walk away.

Then, finally, she nodded. A small movement, barely there. But you saw it. And fuck..it meant everything.

——

The energy of the paddock still buzzed behind you as the car pulled away from the circuit, leaving behind the celebrations, the flashing cameras, and the press that would no doubt be dissecting every second of today’s session.

The atmosphere in the car was… different. Not tense. Not suffocating like usual. Lighter. For once, Natasha wasn’t drilling into you, wasn’t immediately picking apart every turn, every sector time, every moment that could have been improved. She wasn’t reminding you that qualifying was just the beginning, that the real fight was still ahead.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you sank into the leather, exhaustion finally settling in. Your body was still buzzing with adrenaline, muscles sore, heart still beating in the aftershock of what just happened. But this was the first moment you had to actually process it.

You had pole position.

You unlocked your phone, fingers instinctively scrolling through the flood of notifications. News articles. Tweets. Posts.

“Y/N Y/L/N Takes Stunning Pole After Dramatic Comeback.”

“Against All Odds—Romanoff’s New Signing Sends a Warning to the Grid.”

“Walker Struggles Under Pressure as Y/L/N Dominates Qualifying.”

That one made you grin. You scrolled further, seeing clips of your overtakes, of the moment you took pole, of the radio call with Natasha. People were already analyzing it, already picking apart the dynamic between you and her.

“Romanoff’s reaction to Y/L/N’s pole position is so telling.”

One clip showed Natasha standing on the pit wall, her face blank, except for the small, almost imperceptible nod.

The comments were relentless.

“That’s the highest form of Romanoff praise. If you know, you know..”

“She’s pleased. Trust me. She won’t say it, but she is.”

You had spent so long trying to prove you deserved to be back. Fighting against the doubts, the whispers, the endless questioning of whether you were still capable.

And today? Today, you gave them their answer.

You turned your head slightly, glancing at Natasha in the driver’s seat. She hadn’t said a word the entire drive, hadn’t given you that usual look like she was waiting to correct something. She was just driving. Calm. Focused. She caught you looking and raised a brow. “What?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re being…nice.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she kept her eyes on the road. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your lips twitched. “No?”

“Not a chance.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, the tension that had always sat between you and her finally settling, not disappearing, but shifting into something else. Something you weren’t sure how to name yet.

Then, Natasha’s voice cut through the silence again, lower this time, like a warning. “Enjoy today.” A beat. “Because tomorrow?”

She glanced at you, and for a second, the warmth was gone, replaced by something else entirely. “The real war starts.”

The first race of the season.

You sat in the passenger seat as the team drove toward the circuit, headphones in, music drowning out everything else. The low hum of bass vibrated through your ears, steady, grounding. The world outside blurred past, flashes of the approaching grandstands, the towering banners, the overwhelming storm of people already waiting for the main event.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against your thigh, muscles tense beneath your race suit. This was the moment you had spent years clawing your way back to. And today, you had one job.

The second you stepped out of the car, the onslaught began. Flashes. Cameras. The swarm of media surged forward, microphones shoved in your direction before you even had the chance to breathe.

“Y/N, a quick word before the race!?”

“How are you handling the pressure of pole position?”

“Walker says you don’t have what it takes to hold first place, any response?”

The voices came all at once, words overlapping, the chaos pressing in around you. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the air tightening-

“That’s enough!” Natasha stepped in front of you in an instant, her presence slamming into the conversation like a force of nature, sharp green eyes locking onto the nearest journalist, unflinching. The words cut through the noise like a whip crack. Then, she turned to you,

“Go. Get ready. I’ll handle them.” You hesitated for only a second before nodding, stepping away and heading toward the paddock entrance, leaving the storm behind.

The garage was alive with controlled chaos, engineers running final checks, the steady hum of the team speaking through headsets, the unmistakable scent of fuel and anticipation thick in the air.

You exhaled slowly, rolling out your shoulders as you made your way toward your race suit stand, where one of the crew members was already waiting with your gloves. “Helmet’s prepped.” another said, handing it to you.

You took it, fingers grazing the visor, feeling the familiar weight settle into your grip. Another mechanic helped with your strap devices, securing it into place while you adjusted your gloves, making sure every strap, every fastening, was locked in. The tension in your chest coiled tighter with every second.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled once, pressing the comms button on your wheel. “Loud and clear.”

Natasha’s voice followed instantly, sharp and precise. “Copy. Comms are stable. Crew, confirm status.”

One by one, the voices of your engineers came through, confirming everything was set. The team was ready. The car was ready. You were ready.

The pit lane outside was roaring with noise, the grandstands full, the grid already lined up with cars rolling into position. And you were about to join them. This was it. The pre-race ceremony had begun, but you barely processed it. The national anthem played, the teams stood by their cars, the broadcast captured the entire starting lineup.

Pole position. Your car, first on the grid. It wasn’t the final step. It wasn’t the win. But it was the beginning of something.

“Y/n.”

You didn’t turn your head, just listened. Then, smooth, like she already knew what the answer would be- “You ready to fight?” You exhaled slowly, letting the tension in your chest morph into fire. “Always.”

The engine roared beneath you, a low, guttural vibration that thrummed through your bones. The grandstands blurred into a sea of colors, the sound of thousands of fans mixing with the distant hum of commentary and static-filled radio chatter.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. This was it. This was the real fight. You focused on the lights above you, glowing red, lined up like a countdown to war.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Lights out.

Your tires gripped hard, the acceleration pinning you into the seat as you launched off the line. Walker was already alongside you, his front wing barely inches from your rear tire, trying to force you wide into Turn One.

Not a chance. You braked late, hugging the inside, refusing to give an inch. The car behind you lunged forward, but you held firm, forcing Walker to the outside.

“Good start, Y/n. Hold the inside.”

Natasha’s voice was clear, sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. Turn One, clean. Turn Two: Walker tried again, but you covered it, forcing him back. By the time you hit Turn Three, you had defended your position.

P1.

Walker was relentless. He stayed glued to your rear wing, waiting for an opening, a mistake, anything. Your heart pounded, every nerve in your body locked onto every sound, every movement, every vibration of the car beneath you.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice, calm, but watchful. “Don’t let him push you. Control the pace. Make him react to you.”

You adjusted, shifting your lines slightly, feeling out the car, forcing Walker to mirror your every move. Turn Eight and he went for it. He dove inside, too deep, too aggressive. You saw it coming before he even committed. A quick switch-back, flicking the car to the outside as he overshot the apex, and just like that- He was behind you again. The pit wall cheered, but Natasha? She only said, “Nice. Now keep your head down.”

Lap 12

The degradation was kicking in. Your tires were screaming through the high-speed corners, the grip beginning to fade, every lap getting harder to hold. The radio crackled. Natasha again. “Box this lap. We’re switching to mediums.”

Your fingers flexed over the wheel. “Copy.”

Coming out of Turn 14, you peeled off the racing line, diving into the pit lane, the speed limiter engaging as you barreled toward the box. The team was already waiting. You rolled in perfectly, stopping on the mark. Four tires. Fresh set. 2.3 seconds. Fast

You slammed the throttle the second you were released, shooting back onto the track, merging just as a car flew past.

P5.

Natasha’s voice was back in your ear. “You’ll regain track position when they stop. Just keep your pace up.”

Lap 18

The car felt lighter, the grip returning, your confidence growing. P3. P2.

Walker was right there again. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio. “He’s losing grip. He’ll defend aggressively. Watch for a late move.”

Turn 11 and walker went defensive. You faked the inside, forcing him to commit, then switched lines instantly, diving outside instead.

Your tires barely held, the car sliding on the edge of control and you were through. P1 again. The radio erupted with team cheers, but Natasha’s voice was the only one you focused on. “Good. Now put some distance between you.”

Lap after lap, you could feel Walker’s presence behind you like a shadow, clinging too close, pushing the limits of what was allowed. You knew him, knew the way he played the game, but this? This was different…

Something about the way he moved, the way he positioned himself right at your rear wing now, sent a flicker of unease through your chest. You gritted your teeth, forcing the feeling down as you powered through another turn, your car gliding over the asphalt like second nature.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter as you closed in on him, calculating your every move, your breath steady despite the heat in your chest. But Walker? He was too close. Too aggressive, as usual. You could feel him right on your rearview, waiting for a moment to overtake, but you wouldn’t give him that. Not now. Not today.

Then, in a blink, he made his move. You saw him inching forward, his car too close for comfort, and that was when the panic flashed across your mind. Why was he doing this? What was his game? You didn’t have time to think about it long before your tires lost traction, and you could feel the weight of the car shift.

“What the hell is he doing!?” Your voice was sharp through the radio, frustration rising as you saw him get closer, too close for comfort. But there was nothing you could do. Before you could react, before you could even process it, he hit you.

The force was hard. You didn’t even have time to brace. It came from behind you, the rear tires suddenly lifted off the track as your car was jerked sideways. You fought for control, your hands desperately working the wheel to correct it, but the back end of your car was already out of your control. The track seemed to tilt beneath you. The wall loomed ahead, too close, too fast.

Your breath hitched. No, no, no, you thought, your heart racing. “N-NO!” The impact was swift. Your car slammed into the wall with such force that it felt like your body was being thrown against the harness. The crash sent a sharp shockwave through your entire body, and the world went blank.

The sound of your desperate voice on the radio hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She was already watching, tracking Walker’s every move, every inch of the track. But nothing, nothing could prepare her for the moment she heard you. The raw fear in your voice was unlike anything she had ever heard from you before.

Her body reacted before her mind could process the fear in her chest. She shot to her feet, the chair behind her crashing to the floor as if it didn’t exist. She grabbed the radio, her hands trembling as she slammed the button down.

“Y/n, come in!” She was breathless, her voice tight with panic.

Nothing.

“Y/N! Answer me!” She tried again, but the radio crackled with silence. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She saw the monitors flicker, showing the image of your car crashing hard into the wall. The feedback from the telemetry was dead, and all she could hear was the commentators’ panicked voices.

“That was a huge impact! No response from Y/N!”

Her hands clenched around the radio, the sensation of fear crawling up her spine. Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, watching the wreckage unfold in real time, but her heart was somewhere else..in the car with you.

Her team tried to speak, but Natasha didn’t hear them. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, the sound of your voice echoing in her mind, and the image of you, helpless and not responding. She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. The safety car was already on its way, and before she could even consider what she was doing, Natasha was already moving.

Part 5

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🏷️ Taglist: @l0nelyish @ayrtonwilbury @ima-gi--na-tion @whatthesnoodle @blackswanxzn @ivyasproperty @seventeen-x @wandanatlov3r @nebthetautora @casquinhaa @veroeuqin

[jweekgoji]

can i please.. request more of sentinel prime tfone… 🙏🙏 starved actually.. i LOVED ur fic..

TFO!Sentinel/High guard!Reader/Starscream [NSFW]

tw: pre-TFO, advisor!Sentinel (still a huge dick here as usual!), leader of the high guard!Starscream, possessive behavior, threesome, doggy style, gn!reader but they have a valve, PiV, blowjob. word count: ~1200 i wanted to post other fic i did before, but plans changed so yeah....i would sleep less but at least i made a sex fic with hot alien robots! anon, you asked for Sentinel but you also get Starscream as a gift :р

The fact that Starscream and Sentinel knew each other, at least to a level where one felt comfortable enough to mock the poor seeker while the other wants the false Prime dead...it just never leaves my thoughts. I wonder, how was their relationship before the fall of Primes? Before Sentinel became the self-proclaimed leader of Iacon?

As one of the high guards and protectors of Iacon, you always find yourself tied to Primes. As one of their loyal warriors, you are ready to defend your home against Quintessons in a sparkbeat. It is your duty, after all.

Your remarkable loyalty is one of the things that caught the attention of Starscream, at first. Attentive, obedient to the orders, respectful, what more could a commander dream of? You eventually find yourself right next to Starscream most of the time, during your shared missions.

But it seems a certain advisor of your well-beloved Primes just can't help but force himself between the two of you whenever he has a chance. It's hard to tell if Sentinel does this just to mess with a seeker, or was it a glimpse of jealousy you see in those pretty blue optics?

It wasn't really bothering you, really, most of the time, Sentinel was a nice company to kill some time with, even though you had to deal with grumpy Starscream on your back by the end of it. Be ready for him and his not so subtle, loud expression of dissatisfaction about it. If you had any idea what a parrot is, he would have reminded you of one.

“Can't you see that this fool is slacking off his duty just to come here and annoy me—no, us!?” he walks from one side, to another, a deep frown on the seeker's face, as he tries to control his anger.

“Yes, I can see that, Starscream,” you reply with a usual calmness, which, for some reason, just annoys him even more, as he gives you a glare.

“No you don't understand!” ...aaand here he goes again.

Regardless of the rivalry between the two bots, which mostly looks like a one-sided competitiveness from Starscream's side, you all have to work together, as one. That's why you can't just tell your Primes that your commander is a pain in the aft, because their advisor is apparently trying to drive their high guard's leader to nuts! What a day, huh? Imagine putting up with this for cycles. The idea of being able to live for millions of years doesn't sound so good now...

Sentinel tends to act in a more subtle way. The way he always makes sure to walk past you, flashing you a pearly white smile of his whenever he can, or maybe cracking some jokes, that would make both of you laugh. You barely even notice how he lays his servo on your shoulder, the act is so casual and yet, can't help but gain another hiss from Starscream, mumbling another curse towards the mech under his nose.

If you want two bots to start cooperating, make them share. Even though deep inside, they're all too greedy to do so. You can't exactly say that this is...what you quietly pleaded with Primus for. Not in a way like this, at least.

Finding yourself between the two mechs was overwhelming, suffocating, even. The proximity you find yourself in makes you shiver, your knees and arms hurting and slightly shaking, as you're positioned on all fours. Not to mention, that the position is more than just awkward.

“Now, now, can't you lower that squeaky voice of yours? Even our friend over here can't handle it,” Sentinel says, a voice hiding mockery by the image of concern, his servo encouragingly pets the top of your helm.

You can hear Starscream huff in return, his own pair of servos tightening around your waist, tugging you a little closer to him. Despite the situation, where the two were supposed to share, Starscream still keeps being a brat about it, you were his first, right? His comrade first, his subordinate, his, his, his— Why should he share with Sentinel, of all bots?

“You should shut your mouth before I slap it off your fragging...”

The way your valve clench around the seeker's spike makes him let out a strangled moan in pleasure, words dying on the tip of his glossa before he even has a chance to finish them, which only gains a cocky smirk on Sentinel's face.

“You're doing so good, sweetspark, you should see his face now,” Sentinel says lowly, his optics focused on your face. “He's speechless.”

Can he really blame Starscream for wanting to keep you all to himself? When you take him so, so well, swirling your glossa around the tip and making those cute little sounds, whenever he forces your head down his spike? You can feel his spike twitch in your mouth, leaking droplets of translfuid, and a short after - receiving a groan from the mech.

Does it really take all of this just to get some peaceful and quiet moments with you three? For both of them to finally shut their mouths and concentrate on more important things to do right now? Not like you're totally against it, though.

The way they're both, panting and overheating mess right now, squeezing, holding, and caressing every smooth part of your armor makes you arch your back into the touch, wanting..no, begging for more. Starscream is more than happy to serve, his hips snapping back and forth, driving his spike deeper inside you.

If the circumstances were different, he would have held you closer, pressed tightly against his chassis, with his servos around your waist and his face hidden in the crook of your neck. Would you like that? Be this close with him? Or you're just doing that because that blue moron is with you now? Starscream might annoy you with his constant complaints about this and that, but you certainly love him more. Are you? Please don't make him this desperate.

You feel Starscream's servos gripping your thighs harder, the feeling of your walls practically squeezing his spike makes his urge to overload right now almost unbearable. Almost, almost there, you can tell this by the way his optics are half lidded, and he bites his lip so hard, just to keep his own needy noises hidden. It would kill him to let Sentinel hear him this pathetic just from a quick fuck in one of the abandoned rooms.

If only the poor seeker had any idea how much of a desperate mech himself Sentinel is right now. His spike is pulsating and jerking more frequently with each passing second. Unlike Starscream, Sentinel would make sure the other mech heard everything. The soft “keep going”, “just like that”, or a “taking us so, so good, sweetspark” constantly heard from him. He likes how good your mouth feels around him, making him buck his hips into the feeling, he also likes how good his own voice sounds (he's a self-centered bastard, what do you expect?), but he likes it even more watching the other mech in such a state. If every time he toys with and teases the leader of the high guard, he ends up in a situation like this...Sentinel would love to keep this up.

[lovetommyactually]

Prompt: Tommy meeting Clipboard!Buck for the first time 🫶

Hehe thank you! This turned just a tiny bit steamy so uh.. yeah 🫣

Your prompt + this gifset =

“Chim, that box is labeled ‘kitchen,’ not ‘bathroom!’ Does it look like it belongs next to the soap dispenser?” Buck snapped, pointing his pen at a wayward box.

“Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket,” Chimney muttered, rolling his eyes as he shifted the box. Then, noticing Tommy’s confusion, he smirked. “Oh, Tommy, you didn’t just let Buck use a clipboard, did you?”

Tommy frowned, genuinely puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I? They're efficient— i brought them!”

“You’ll see,” Eddie chimed in from the other side of the room, hiding his grin behind a roll of packing tape.

Minutes later, Buck was meticulously reorganizing a stack of boxes near the door, his clipboard practically glued to his hand. Tommy, meanwhile, had been using his own clipboard and was diligently checking items off the list Buck had prepared.

And then it happened.

“What’s this?” Tommy asked, holding up his clipboard and gesturing toward a box Buck had labeled “misc.”

“It’s for stuff that doesn’t fit into the other categories,” Buck replied without looking up, flipping to a new page on his clipboard.

Tommy’s brow furrowed. “That’s not efficient. You can’t just have a ‘misc’ box. Everything needs a category.”

Buck froze, clipboard clutched protectively against his chest. “Excuse me? Sometimes things don’t fit neatly into categories, Tommy.”

“Everything can fit into a category if you organize it properly,” Tommy countered, his tone matching Buck’s intensity.

The air in the loft grew heavy as the two men squared off, clipboards held like weapons. Tommy jabbed his pen at Buck’s list. “This—this is chaos.”

“Chaos? This is a system!” Buck shot back. “I spent hours creating this!”

“You call this a system?” Tommy scoffed, flipping his clipboard around to show his own list. “This is a system, and I only needed fifteen minutes to make it!”

Eddie and Chimney exchanged wide-eyed glances before simultaneously muttering, “Oh no… there’s two of them.”

Buck and Tommy continued their argument, oblivious to the chaos they were creating. At some point, Eddie leaned over to Chimney and whispered, “This is like watching two hurricanes collide.”

***

Later that night, after the boxes were packed and the loft finally quiet, Tommy sat on the couch, sipping a beer while Buck leaned against the kitchen counter, clipboard forgotten for the moment.

" You know," Buck began, his voice casual but his gaze locked on Tommy. "I think I realized something today."

"Oh? What's that?"

Buck smirked, walking over and leaning down so they were eye-to-eye. "You're annoyingly hot when you argue about systems and clipboards."

Tommy chuckled, "what?"

"Aaand you're a clipboard freak," Buck continued, unable to hide his wide grin, stealing the beer from Tommy's hand and taking a sip.

Tommy grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him down until Buck was straddling his lap.

He pulled Buck in for a deep, heated kiss, murmuring against his lips, "And you're not exactly subtle about how turned on you were when I started reorganizing your system."

Buck groaned softly, sliding his hands into Tommy's hair as he deepened the kiss.

nothing existed but the soft press of lips, the tangle of tongues, and the heat building between them.

Buck broke away, gasping slightly, but Tommy wouldn't let him go far, tugging him back until their noses brushed.

"But really, Evan," Tommy muttered breathlessly between kisses, his fingers gripping Buck's hips. "We can't have— mhmm—a 'misc' corner, or junk drawer, or whatever."

Buck silenced him with a feverish kiss, sliding one hand down Tommy's chest as the other cupped his jaw.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, "Don't worry about that," before diving in again, pressing Tommy back against the couch.

Tommy groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping Buck's shirt as his mind hazed over.

By the time Buck finally pulled away, Tommy's lips were swollen and his breathing was uneven.

"Mm, okay," Tommy muttered absently, still dazed. He blinked a few times before focusing on Buck's mischievous grin.

"Wait-no. No, I'm not letting you distract me!"

Buck laughed, leaning in to kiss the corner of Tommy's mouth. "Pretty sure I already did, roomie."

[amphibiahawks321]

You Know what tf2

Fem!Scout with a Reader that is basically miss Pauling brother

[Scout takes a deep breath, cracks her knuckles and confidently walking up to Y/N, placing a hand on the locker next to his head and grins]

Fem!Scout Smirking : Alright, listen up, sweetheart, you and me? We'd make one hell of a couple, am I right? The type of couple that'd make any man and woman jealous fastest gal in town, strongest arms, Aaand—

[Scout flexes her arms dramatically]

Fem!Scout : These are some real muscles, bet you never met a girl this ripped, huh?~

[Y/N glancing at her bicep]

M!Reader : Hmm... Impressive, But are you flexing or nervous?

Fem!Scout : Excuse me?! Wha—pfft, Me? Nervous? Be serious hot stuff

[gestures at herself]

Fem!Scout : This... Right here, is confidence!

M!Reader smirking : Uh-huh, Why is your hand shaking?

[Y/N stares to the side, seeing Scout's hand starts shaking rapidly]

Fem!Scout : W-What? No, no, that’s just adrenaline! Yeah! ‘Cause flirtin’ with a guy like you is like… uhh… running a marathon! Takes a lot of charisma~

M!Reader : ....Chuckles you're ridiculous

Fem!Scout : But you love it, right?~

[Y/N reaches into his pocket, pulls out a piece of paper, scribbles something on it and hands it to her, making scout blinks in confusion before looking down at the paper]

Fem!Scout : ....Huh?

[Y/N smirks, turning to walk away]

M!Reader : Call me...

[Y/N gave scout a quick wink before continuing to walk away, leaving scout standing there intensely staring at the number in her hand in silence.... Then her face turning red—

Fem!Scout blushing : What... The... Fuck...

.....Moments later—

[The Mercs lounging around in the common room.... When—

Fem!Scout : GUESS WHO GOT A DATE, YOU DIRTY B*TCHES!

[Scout who legit kicked the door open grinning wildly]

Spy : Exhales... Merde...

[Heavy stares at spy smugly, Spy Exhales through his nose, pulling out his wallet and giving heavy 20 bucks]

Fem!Scout : That's right losers! This god's gift to man is officially off the market! Pauling's brother is into me!

[Scout immediately points at spy]

Fem!Scout : Eat shit spy!

[k-hippie]

K-MODS : UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE

Now that we ( at last ) finished our global x11 update, time was coming to get a closer look, especially on the oldest files ...

There's a joke to be made with updating after EAxis mess. Maybe something like ... Si(m)siphus ... Really, once we start working on an update, it seems like *everything* needs an update and we'll never get to the bottom of it. Or ... worst ( or better ) we get an insight on something we couldn't figure out and now we just want to test a theory or two, just in case it'll crack the code ... aaand we'll be good to make an overhaul of something else. Anyway ! Here we are :)

BRINDLETON BAY We are half pleased with the results here but those files needed to be updated ... Indeed ! The Cats & Dogs town is back into the fold with updated texture. We even removed the red pavement for more consistency. We aren't quite happy with the final result of this town and we'll probably come back later for finishing touch here & there but it'll do for the moment.

Please enjoy the return of Brindleton Bay among the family of the k-mods files :D

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

SELVADORADA ( JUNGLE ADVENTURES ) It was long overdue indeed but working on Selvadorada is like working on San Myshuno, it is clearly not EAxis best hours ...

Anyway, we completely reworked both nature and urban files, finished the ruins, added the files we hadn't done ...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

STRANGERVILLE

We always have a soft spot for Strangerville, surely because it reminds us the Sims 2 Strangetown which was was so fun and irreverent !

You already have the k-505 nature we updated not long ago. Now, we remade the k-505 urban and put work into finishing touches, making sure we've covered everything that needed to be k-hippied :D

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

K-505 : BASEGAME NATURE FILES UPDATE Which should actually be : What-A-Surprise-We-At-Last-Found-Files Somehow, we tackled the San Myshuno Pit Of Darkness Problem. Yes, you read that right, with one single file, two little adjustment and a lot of hair pulling ( "What do you mean EA stretch that file like peanut butter on a toast ?" ) Okay, with less sardonic comment, the k-505 base game mod actually got a new update that's even better. You know those rocks with grass on them ? Yeah, we cleared that. It's now better looking. No more funky hairy rock. And of course, as you may know if you read the previous post, we finally found the files guilty of the black/question mark deep down in San Myshuno ! So, do not hesitate to update all your files ;)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

K-101 : MAJOR UPDATE Technical lingo : we updated the specular files because it was bugging us to no end. Old wooden floor, cool. Old wooden floors that shined so much it looked new ? Not under our watch, no sir ! In addition, it solves a glossy problem for Mac users with an intel based computer. Damned ! we are so good ... :D All floors have seen their specular double-checked and done ... and by the way, all Jungle Adventures floors were added, all of them. Of course, if you notice something we may forgot, just tell us :)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - K-303 : SKIES & MOONS UPDATE As the title says : those are moon & night sky replacements. It is re-organized ( we redid the folders to do not mix moons and skies ) All you have to do is to place these files into you mods folder and tada ! a brighter and bigger moon for your Sims :)

Voila, that's all for this week :) Hope it will be ok for you and your fun ! Next in queue, Britechester and Del Sol Valley …

All the k-mods : https://tech-hippie.com/k-mods/

k-303 Multifix stuff : https://tech-hippie.com/k-303/

if you think it good enough: ko-fi // paypal

:)

[leavemurph]

sometimes i get so upset thinking what if hotch wants to come back cuz like jack’s in college and he’s home all the time, he’d need something to do?? and the fact that the writers still didn’t use this one excuse to bring him back to emily is just… ugh.

a few comments here and there about his life while he was gone, laughing with old friends who are still friends no matter what, teasing him cuz he tries to call his son and gets constantly ignored with the “dad, please, i’m busy”. then jj’s like, oh yeah, i get it, teenagers gonna be teenagers, and emily’s kinda feeling left out? but it’s cool. it’s just that time’s passing and she doesn’t have that for herself, which is strange, since she always thought she would. but then again, time sucks, this job takes so much, and yeah, maybe it’s too late.

no kids, nope, well, she’s busy. really busy. this thought keeps looping in her head, and a few situations end up making her rethink it, over and over—did i do this on purpose? did i avoid making any decisions that could’ve taken me down that path because, deep down, i felt like i didn’t deserve it?

hotch finds her in her office, asks if she’s okay because she seems so distracted all the time. of course, she doesn’t say anything, she’s not big on venting, but she does ask him if he ever thought about what it’d be like if they’d made it differently all those years ago.

he’s… confused at first, mostly because he’s not sure if this is her way of allowing them to talk about all the stuff they never said, couldn’t say, or were too scared to. so he asks, what do you mean? emily’s tired of dancing around it, they’re older now, more mature, there’s not much left to lose, so she just says, “you knew how i felt about you. that’s fine. i know how you felt about me.” hotch gives her a small smile, and she gets it. she really gets it. “i can’t believe i even considered going with you. like, a part of me really wanted to, so badly. i talked to you about work every day, told you things you didn’t even want to hear, didn’t care. and i kept hoping, hoping that one day you’d ask me to, or even just… i don’t know, say you missed me. my god, i would’ve dropped everything, run off into witness protection. with you. with jack.”

“emily.” hotch looks genuinely surprised, and maybe it’s because she’s holding back tears. “you had all these things here, things you built for yourself. look at you now.”

“right,” she mutters, waving it off with a comment about their previous case, because why get into that now? it’s a waste of time.

aaand…

they kiss for the first time on new year’s, in their natural habitat—at work, of course. everyone but emily is ready to party, but at midnight, hotch brings her a glass of champagne while she’s scribbling reports. she looks up and says, “are you guys going out? i’m gonna have to pass this time, i’m so busy,”

and he laughs because, “you sound like me ten years ago,” while gently coaxing her out of her chair. she tries not to freak out, laughing nervously, rolling her neck to release the tension from hours of sitting and staring at fine print. hotch brushes her hair back, studying her face, and she lets out a deep sigh, touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth. “a little nervous?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips. “still the same tell, huh? some things never change.”

“i really can’t go with you guys,” she insists, eying his lips, almost on the edge of feeling butterflies for the first time in over a decade.

“heard you the first time. so i’ll be your first new year’s kiss, and then i’ll get out of your hair.” okay, butterflies all the way down to her toes. she barely nods, just a slight movement, before he leans in and kisses her. it’s the best kiss she’s ever had, hands down. my god, she can’t stop thinking about it.

he literally left her to do her job and went out partying with the others. he’s learned to live more than she has over these years, and honestly, it’s not bad. it’s not terrible. it’s nice.

their relationship grows through little moments scattered throughout the season—tender touches, good morning kisses, emily jumping out of bed late, the looks they share. they talk about the moments they’ve lived, the times they wanted to say something and didn’t, or do something and held back. “do you remember that time we…?”

the first time emily faces any life-threatening situation, hotch’s immediate reaction when he sees her getting her cheek stitched up is: “that was really brave of you to do.”

“hotch,” she winces, frowning through the pain as the stitch hurts. “really?”

“okay, what, are you out of your mind? didn’t you wait for backup?”

“that’s much better, thank you. and, no, it’d be too late.”

“almost died,” he crosses his arms, and emily is doing everything she can not to bite her nails. “i’m gonna need you to marry me. is that okay with you?”

and emily’s like, “what?”

“you heard me right. i want you, and i want to do this, all of it. you’ve always wanted kids, and you’ve been thinking about it, don’t lie to me, and it’s not too late. and we’re gonna do it, you and i. there’s surrogacy, adoption… we can—”

yeahh…. so.

gimme gimme.

bye.

[eddiexmunsonlover]

One Step Away From You (Chapter 4)

ExBestFriend!Eddie Munson x PlusSize!Fem!Reader

Follow my new blog for future chapters & fics @cherryxhaze

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Chapter Summary: Your off-handed comment to Jason catches up to you. Before things get out of hand, someone swoops in to your defense. A heart-to-heart ensues. WC: 6.4k Warnings: MDNI. Explicit language. Fatphobia/bullying from Jason. Jason almost hits you. Brief references to toxic family relationships and abuse.

Saturday, September 21st, 1985

The ever so alluring smell of bacon and pancakes invades your senses, stirring you from your slumber. You rub your eyes as you look at the clock on the bedside table. 10:35 am. You slept in, though you can’t say you’re surprised. After the day you had, you must’ve really needed it. You roll out of Steve’s spare bed, making sure to re-make it before you venture down the stairs. 

The smell intensifies with each step down the stairs and into the kitchen, spotting the stack of pancakes and bacon waiting to be picked. Steve is pouring a cup of coffee, eyeing you as you grab a plate and start loading it up.

“Morning, sleepy head”

“Morning, haircut” you respond, taking a quick bite of bacon. Groaning softly in pleasure, “You know, Steve. If you don’t figure out what you wanna do for a career, I think you’d make a great little housewife.” You smirk to yourself as you pour syrup onto your plate. Steve scoffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Know any takers?” You laugh with him before you catch a glimpse of Robin sitting on the couch, eating her own plate. 

“Oh, hell yes.” you say excitedly when you see and hear Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? playing on the TV. You quickly scurry over to join Robin on the couch with your own plate. Steve joins soon after, all leisurely eating your brunch and watching Saturday morning cartoons. After you’ve all finished your plates and are relaxing before eventually having to get ready for your work shifts, Steve speaks up.

“So, we gonna talk about what happened yesterday?”

You look between him and Robin, confused. You quirk an eyebrow up at him.

“Uh, what happened yesterday? What do you mean?”

“I mean, something happened yesterday, didn’t it? You seemed a bit…off.”

Goddamnit. If Dustin hadn't learned it from you, you're now sure he learned his ability to read people so well from Mr. Steven Harrington too.

“Did you talk to Eddie?” Robin asks softly.

You sigh, crossing your arms over your stomach.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell us anything. But if you want to, you know we’re here. I’m also just really nosey.” Steve adds, causing a smirk to tug at your lips before you take a deep breath.

“Yeah. I talked to him. Ran into him after lunch, literally. And uh, let’s just say it did not go well. He kinda flipped out on me. But, I kinda deserved it. Aaand, I kinda slapped him. But, he kinda deserved it.” You let yourself laugh a little, taking in their surprised faces.

“So yeah, based on that I don’t think we’ll be friends again anytime soon. At least I can say I tried.” You finish with a shrug.

Robin reaches out and rubs your arm soothingly as Steve looks at you with sympathy and in thought. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N” he sighs, “Maybe just give things some time to cool down, I’m sure he’ll come back around.” He gives you a soft, crooked smile.

“Yeah, maybe. And if not, I’m sure I’ll be okay.” you say, more to yourself than to them.

You pull into your driveway an hour later. You sit there, finishing your cigarette as your eyes linger on the now familiar van across the street through your rear-view mirror. You look longer than you’d like, finally tearing your eyes away to throw out your cig. Cutting off the sounds of Black Sabbath as you turn off the ignition. 

You slowly shuffle your way to the mailbox at the end of your driveway. Flipping through the spam and advertisements when you hear a familiar sound, a skateboard. Your eyes follow the sound, a figure shaded by the sun. You know who it is. If it wasn’t for the skateboard, it’s the flaming aura around her head under the sunlight. A big smile stretches across your face, leaning against your mailbox as she rides closer into view. When she’s close enough to see your face, her eyes widen and she nearly stumbles off her skateboard, eliciting a giggle from you. She stares at you for a second as she comes to a stop, sliding her headphones down to her neck.

“Hey, you.” you say cheerfully.

In a second, she’s running to you, wrapping you in a tight embrace. You feel the shakiness as she inhales a deep breath.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, the ever elusive Red.” You smile as you return the hug, briefly rubbing her back before she pulls back to look at you.

“W-How?” She looks toward your trailer, “You moved back?!”

“Yep, just this past week. I tried keeping an eye out for you at school, then Dustin told me you moved here. Knew I’d catch you eventually.”

Her smile falters ever so slightly at the mention of Dustin.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, it’s a piece of shit but it’s a roof over our heads I guess.” You nod in agreement, pondering how to approach her. If she’s been avoiding the party, you worry one wrong move will send her running away from you too. You decide to go the easy route, knowing you might not get a truthful answer right away.

“You and mom doing okay?” 

“Yeah. She’s either working or drinking most of the time, so” she shrugs nonchalantly, a move you see right through. “But I can take care of myself just fine anyway”.

“Well, if you ever get bored entertaining yourself, just come and give a knock, okay? I gotta get going for work here soon, but maybe we can go out to the drive-in or something soon?”

A small smile tugs at her lips as she nods lightly.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Oh, and you know. If you ever need a ride, I’m already giving the knuckleheads rides home after school and since we’re neighbors, I can just stick them all in the bed and give you passenger seat privileges.” You ramble before noticing the way she begins to awkwardly sway at the suggestion. “Or ya know, I can just kick them to the curb and save myself some gas with just you.” You quickly offer. She forces a small laugh before shaking her head.

“No, that’s okay. It gives me more time to skate anyway.” 

Great, I’ve already messed this up. Just add it to the list…

“Alright, well the offer’s on the table anytime. For anything.” You insist, giving her an out to the conversation as you begin to move back toward your driveway. She only nods in response, before putting her skateboard in place to ride again.

“See you later, Red.” You wave before heading into your trailer to get ready for work.

During the slower phases of the work day, your mind drifts to worries of Max. How she’s really doing, how you should approach her, how to get her to open up to you. It’s a welcomed distraction considering the other places, or people, your mind would be wandering to otherwise. You and Max had gotten fairly close over the summer, you gave her opportunities with and outside of the party to get away from home, from her asshole step-brother. Being the only other girl and older, she often confided in you. Whether it was about her brother, her relationship with Lucas, or the struggles of girlhood, you were there for her. 

Since Billy’s sacrifice to save her from the mall fire and his resulting death, she’s closed off. Isolating from everyone close to her. That happened to be something you’re familiar with. Something that helps you to understand her, something you can use. You know you need to take it slow though. Based on her initial reaction to seeing you, you know she's missed you, and know that connection is still there. There’s just some walls you need to chisel down first.

Take it slow.

That connection is still there.

Just some walls you need to chisel down first…

Those dark curls… chocolate button eyes… cutest fucking dimples you’ve ever seen in your life.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, frustrated with your brain and your heart. Both deeply longing for him… before the shock of pain with the memory of his words hits you.

Just let it go. Move on. He’s not your Eddie anymore.

~

It was bothering Eddie more than he’d ever admit, even to himself. You. Thoughts of you swimming around his head with every emotion he could think of, was bothering him.

After your argument, he felt a bit of relief. To finally say the words he’d been carrying with him these last few years to you. To finally release the anger and pain out onto you. It felt like a weight off his shoulders in the moment. What he hadn’t been expecting was for you to match it, taking the pain and anger you felt in response, right back out and onto him. 

This whole past week you’ve been back has thrown him off. More distracted than usual. More reactive. More irritable. The other boys in Hellfire noticed, taking extra effort to not poke the bull. 

Your argument and slap left him even more distracted and off-balance. You’d thrown him off his game for Hellfire for christ’s sake. Forgetting details for the campaign that he’d otherwise would’ve had memorized, left him referencing his notes. He didn’t exude his usual dungeon master playfulness, animated voice and facial expressions coming out muted. Everyone noticed. Eddie’s own off-balanced performance reflected in his players. Nothing had ever distracted him so much to the point of interfering with Hellfire campaigns. The way Henderson eyed him suspiciously throughout the night almost set him off completely, again. He’d ended the campaign a little early, offering a brief apology and a quick lie to write off his abnormal performance on. He’d spent the rest of the night getting as drunk and high as he could in his bedroom until he passed out. 

Saturday isn’t going much differently for him. Sitting in his bed with a joint in his mouth as his fingers mindlessly strum his guitar, thinking of you. The anger he felt yesterday is now replaced with guilt. A guilt that sits and churns in his stomach, teetering on the edge of nausea. Maybe that was just the hangover, or maybe it’s from the way he can’t get the image of your tear-streaked face out of his head. Tears caused by him.

You deserved to hear how much you hurt him. Be faced with the consequences of your actions. You deserved that. But as he remembers the look in your eyes yesterday, the way you flinched, the way he caused a side of you you rarely show to come out… he knows you didn’t deserve that. He scolds himself for letting his emotions get the best of him, letting them get out of his control. You hurt him, that didn’t make it right for him to hurt you back. It didn’t even make him feel good. Maybe very briefly in the moment, just to release what he’d been holding in for so long, but it left as quickly as it came. 

He sighs as he moves the guitar off his lap, putting out his joint in the ashtray before rubbing his hands over his face, staring up at the ceiling.

He can’t hold on to this anger anymore, he knows it’s not healthy and is only hurting him more. But he can’t blame himself too much for wanting to, it’s one of the ways he’s protected himself in the past. Protected him from getting hurt. You knew that about him. The way he held onto anger at his dad, people in Hawkins, not wanting to waver and give either the chance to hurt him more. You knew almost everything about him, more about him than he’d ever willingly shared with anyone. That’s why what you did hurt him so deeply, and why he wanted to hurt you just as much. And feels like utter shit for it. 

Hey, you!

His eyes dart to his window as his brain immediately recognizes your voice. He peeks out to see you interacting with a younger girl he’d seen skateboarding around in the neighborhood and at school. His heart begins to ache watching you, watching you embrace the girl, watching the way you smile at her and ramble.

God, does he miss it. Misses the way you’d ramble and rant about something you’re passionate about, the way you’d cackle and smile when he’d do the stupidest thing he could think of just so he could see it. Misses the way your warm, plump body feels against him when you’d hug or lean your head on his shoulder. 

He sighs watching you wave goodbye to the girl and walk inside your trailer. 

Maybe he could give you another chance. Now that he’s not so overcome with anger, maybe he’d be able to hear you out. Not overpower you so much with his anger that you can actually have a real chance to explain yourself. 

Maybe.

Tuesday, September 24th, 1985

Some things have changed since your fight with Eddie on Friday. Flipped, really. Your eyes no longer sought him out. You do your best to avoid looking at him whether it was in the halls or in your shared classes. Knowing the sight of him would only bring back that sting in your chest.

Eddie on the other hand, couldn’t tear his eyes away from you whenever you’re in his sight. Watching you in regret, longing, confusion, hurt, all twisted into one. Eddie’s confident in himself most of the time, except for in a few areas. This situation with you and how to handle it moving forward is one of the latter. It’s a big fucking mess he isn’t sure how to fix. He knows with the way things went on Friday after you made the first move to talk to him, that it had to be him this time to try to make things right. 

You take your time walking down the quiet halls before the end of the lunch period, hearing the distant, muffled chatter from the lunchroom. You open your locker, putting away your books from your morning classes, switching them out with your afternoon ones. Just as you finish putting the last book in your bag, your locker slams shut in front of you, causing your head to whip toward the culprit you didn’t notice come up next to you till now.

“You’ve got a smart mouth on you, don’t you piggy?” Jason seethes out, hand pressed against your now closed locker door. Your smirk at him as you lean against it.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, well I don’t know who the hell you think you are or who you think you're talking to bu-”

“You know, I remember you from years ago. The last time I lived here.” You interrupt before looking him up and down, “Jason Carver. Back then you were just a scrawny guy, trailing behind the older jocks, carrying that ever so fragile ego in tow with theirs.” You look back up to meet his eyes, brows furrowed above them. “I see you’ve grown a few inches, even bulked up a bit. Looks like that’s about all that’s changed, though.” You watch as he processes your words, your insult.

“You fat fucking bitch” He says through gritted teeth, face turning red.

“Oh come on, Carver. Don’t you have anything fresher than that?” you say flatly, cocking an eyebrow at him. You watch as his body tenses up.

“Looks like I need to teach you and that smart mouth a lesson” He says, taking a step closer to you. You don’t move an inch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of you.

“Oh no. What are you gonna do?!” You say sarcastically. “You don’t scare me, Carver.”

You watch as a vein protrudes from his forehead, face turning a deeper red. 

It all happens so quickly. One of his arms pulls back, raising in the air in the motion to slap you, but it doesn’t come. Curly dark hair appears behind him, before Jason’s thrown flat on his ass in front of you.

Eddie had been outside smoking before lunch ended. On his way back into the school, he spots you and Jason. He slows his steps, listening in on the quickly escalating conversation. You’re teetering on the edge and you don’t care. As fragile as Jason’s ego is, so is his masculinity. Eddie wasn’t sure if Jason's above hitting a girl, but he knows that’s where this could go. He creeps closer, eyeing the way Jason’s hand begins to twitch. Waiting for the string to snap, and it does. When he spots Jason’s hand raise, Eddie swoops in. With a foot behind Jason’s, Eddie wraps his arm around Jason’s front, pulling him till he’s falling back on the floor. 

Eddie was no stranger to fights, the jocks of Hawkins having taken their frustrations out of him plenty of times. He didn’t like putting himself in the line of fire, but he has and would do it in a heartbeat for the people he cares about. Despite how he’s acted, you’re one of those people.

Your eyes widen, at the fact Jason was about to hit you in the middle of the school, and at seeing Eddie before you, swooping in out of nowhere to defend you. Your eyes lock with his and everything slows down, so many emotions and words unsaid flowing between you with just a look. For a moment your mind flashes back to 5th grade Eddie, reaching his hand out to help you off the ground, worry and sympathy filling his eyes. History repeating itself. You take a deep breath as the memory hits you, staring into Eddie’s brown eyes. In that moment, it’s only you two. No one else. No white brick halls. Just you and Eddie, conveying so much to each other through just your eyes.

Jason’s groans pull you from your trance, your eyes leaving Eddie’s to look down at him. You drop down to one knee, getting into Jason’s face. Eyes popping open wide when he senses you so close. You look at him with fire in your eyes as you point a finger in his face.

“Let me tell you something, you piece of shit. I didn’t come back here to deal with your little brat boy bullshit. If I see you try to put your hands on any of my friends, let alone me, again… I will make you regret it. And don’t think that I won’t.” You hiss, voice full of steel. Staring at him with as much intensity as he held earlier. You relish in the brief moment of fear that flashes through his eyes before his face hardens in frustration and embarrassment, chest heaving with deep, short breaths.

A silence falls before the bell rings to end the lunch period, breaking you all out of the moment. Jason quickly pulls himself to his feet before students flood the halls, not wanting anyone to see him in his embarrassing position. You rise with him. He fixes his letterman jacket, staring daggers between you and Eddie.

“Fucking freaks” he huffs before turning around, stomping down the hall quickly as it fills with students.

Both you and Eddie relax, releasing a breath before you’re just standing there awkwardly next to each other. You resecure your bag on your shoulder before chancing a look at Eddie, who's already staring at you. Reading you, assessing you, trying to tell if you’re okay.

You clear your throat before nodding your head at him.

“Thank you” you mutter softly. When he doesn’t immediately say anything back, your body takes the lead, quickly walking away toward your next class. 

Eddie considers chasing after you, but he doesn’t know what the hell he’d say if he did. He just watches you walk away before he takes slow steps to follow you to your shared class together.

In the two classes you have together, you can feel his eyes on you. You catch him a few times, eyes locking with his before one of you quickly looks away. 

You feel like you have whiplash. From the switch up of the Eddie you faced on Friday that hated your guts, to the Eddie who didn’t waste a second coming to defend you, with only a few days passing in between. You can’t wrap your head around it. You know he cares, he wouldn’t have been so angry before if he didn’t, but you assumed he was done with you, hated you. But someone that hates you wouldn’t rush into potential harms way to defend you, right?

A few more stolen glances and the muffled voices of your teachers’ as you’re lost in thought fills the remainder of your school day. When you leave your final class, stopping at your locker before walking out the front doors, you wonder if he’ll come up behind you, apologize for his behavior on Friday and give you another chance. But it doesn’t happen, making the walk to your truck uninterrupted. You want to chastise yourself for holding that hope, but what happened today can’t mean nothing. It just can’t. You don’t want it to.

You spend the remainder of your afternoon trying to do your homework. It takes everything in you to focus, almost giving up when the calculus problems push you right to the edge in frustration. You let out a huff in relief as you finish the problems and slam your notebook shut, throwing your head back as you slouch in your chair. Rubbing your hands over your face before you hear your mom unlocking the front door. When you note the time and sun setting through your window, you get up and make your way to the kitchen to start making dinner. You browse through the cupboard before your eyes land on a package of pasta. Spaghetti it is. 

As you wait for the meat to brown, your mind replays the events of the day. Landing back into the loop your thoughts had been stuck in all afternoon about Eddie. Trying to make sense of it all, of him. The moment your eyes locked this afternoon made your heart ache, and still does when you think of it now.

You aren’t sure when exactly you first fell in love with Eddie Munson.

The first day you met when he came to your rescue from bullies? That time in the woods when you were 10 when he insisted you be the trapped princess his mission was to rescue? The countless Friday nights you spent staying up late to watch The Midnight Special, eventually falling asleep on each other's shoulders? The first time he shared his mom’s records with you? The first time he really opened up to you about the loss of his mom, and the strenuous relationship with his Dad? That night your parents fighting got so bad you snuck out of your window and went to his trailer in tears, consoling you and doing anything he could to cheer you up? That time he almost went to fight your mom when he saw the red mark on your cheek? Or maybe it was the time he told you you’re beautiful the way you are, when your mom and everyone’s criticisms of your body weighed too heavily on your mind? 

You can’t pinpoint which event triggered the change from seeing Eddie as your friend, to your crush. What event marked the transition to being in love with your best friend, seeing and imagining him in ways beyond a regular friend would. You aren’t sure when, but you know you’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember. An unrequited love that made your heart ache with every pet name bestowed upon you, with every flash of that devilish smile and irresistible dimples, with every use of his deep, animated voice for dramatic storytelling. An ache you’d decided for years you could stifle to keep his friendship. An ache that turned into a sharp pain hearing his voice over the phone, hundreds of miles away. A pain you’d decided you couldn’t bear anymore. Maybe if you hadn’t been in love with him, things would’ve been different. You wouldn’t have pulled away. 

So foolish. Desperately longing for things you couldn’t have. Longing so desperately you pushed away the best person in your life, the very person you longed for. A decision that didn’t take long for you to regret, but in your mind was too late to fix. Now, after today, you aren’t so confident about that.

You sit on the couch with your mom, eating Spaghetti and watching Magnum P.I. reruns as your thoughts continue. Mindless small talk about your days, vision zoning out as you stare at the tv, petting Henny who sits in your lap, and a heightened awareness of Eddie’s presence only 100 feet away. An hour later when your mom announces she’s going to bed, you ponder how to spend the rest of your night. You know you won’t be able to fall asleep yourself anytime soon, anticipating one of those nights you won’t be able to shut your mind off. 

You wander to your room, shutting your door as you reach into one of your dresser drawers for your little stash box. Sighing in frustration when you notice you only have enough left for one more smoke.

You roll a quick blunt before throwing on a flannel and slipping out the front door. You take a deep inhale of the fresh air, relishing in the cool breeze of the late September night as you begin the short walk to the little neighborhood park at the end of your street. You don’t notice the figure on the porch across the street smoking a cigarette in the dark as you walk, taking in the sound of the breeze blowing through the leaves on the trees, the quietness of the park beyond the very faint sound of some network sitcom playing on a tv.

You sit on a swing and begin to move back and forth slowly as memories flood back. This playground hasn’t changed a bit since you first moved to Forest Hills Trailer Park 9 years ago. Paint faded and chipping, old mulch littered around the playground, and rusted metal chains on the swing that creaks with each movement. Eddie and you spent countless afternoons here in the early years of your friendship. Swinging together, laughing as you’d watch Eddie do the monkey bars, spinning each other on the merry-go-round till you thought you’d get sick.

You put the blunt to your lips and light it, taking a deep inhale as you look around the abandoned playground, hoping the weed would help to calm your mind enough to get some sleep. You rest your head against the metal swing chain, feet softly kicking at the mulch and dirt beneath you. You don’t hear the soft footsteps on pavement approaching you till they’re only a couple feet away, head shooting up at the intrusion when the sound meets your ears. Eddie clears his throat, hands in his vest pockets as he stands at the edge of the playground. Your movements still at the sight of him, streetlights illuminating his figure and messy curls. When your body stiffens and you remain silent, Eddie takes a few steps closer.

“I-uh, I come in peace, promise.” He says softly, raising his hands in surrender. “Mind if I join you?” he asks, head gesturing to the empty swing next to you. You only nod in response before casting your eyes down. You take another hit as he sits down next to you, praying the calming effects you sought would kick in quicker.

You’re both silent for a while, the light wind blowing through the trees, neighborhood noises, and soft creaks from the swing set the only sounds filling the space between you. Eddie’s knee bobs anxiously before he clears his throat.

“I um, just wanted to apologize for Friday. The way I acted, some of the things I said… I let my emotions get the best of me. I didn’t really give you much room to talk, and I’m sorry for that.” Eddie says nervously, eyes turning to look at you as he finishes. You nod in response again, not looking his way.

“I understand. I don’t blame you.” Silence falls between you again before you look towards him. “Thank you again, for earlier today. You didn’t need to step in like that.” Eddie chuckles softly.

“Oh, I know you could’ve handled him just fine on your own, but you shouldn’t have had to... It’s no problem, really. Not my first run in with him anyway.” You wonder just how many times Eddie’s had to deal with Carver and the other jocks, just how bad those run-ins have possibly gotten. In a sign signaling truce, you hand your blunt to him, offering a hit. He gladly accepts with a soft smile before taking a hit.

“Since when do you smoke the devil’s lettuce?”

You giggle softly, letting a smile spread to your cheeks.

“About a year now, same with these” You say, pulling the pack of cigarettes from your pocket enough for him to see. Eddie tsk’s in response, passing the blunt back to you.

“Naughty naughty.” He teases in a deep voice, eyeing you while blowing out smoke. You tear your eyes away and back to the mulch beneath your feet, the sight enough to send a shiver up your spine. 

After a few more passes between you, the blunt is gone and you’re left to face the inevitable conversation. You rub your sweaty palms against your thighs as you work up the courage.

“I just wanted to say again, I’m sorry for how things went. For dropping contact. It’s entirely my fault and… I’m really sorry for doing that to you, Eddie. You didn’t deserve that.” Your eyes peek at him. He’s faced forward, nodding softly in response as he lights a cigarette. He moves his hips slightly, enough to turn his body more toward yours. 

“So why did you do it?” he asks quietly, dark eyes looking up from his cigarette to meet yours. A somber look on his face, a stark contrast from a few days ago. You take a shaky deep breath while turning your head to look up at the stars littering the sky.

You can’t tell him the truth. You can’t tell him you stopped returning his calls because you were so in love with him that the distance, the sound of his voice over the phone caused your heart to ache so deeply that you couldn’t take it anymore, that you’d recluse to your room and cry after each call.

“We were so close and it hurt so much to be torn apart. Every time I heard your voice on the phone… it just” you take another deep breath, “it was just a reminder that I wouldn’t see you again and that just hurt too much to deal with. I didn’t want to deal with it. So… I secluded. I avoided you. I know it might not make sense, that it might not be a good enough answer for you, but it’s the only one I have.” 

You didn’t exactly lie. It’s not the full truth but you were still as honest as you could let yourself be. He’s quiet for a minute as he takes in your words before letting out a deep sigh. 

“I guess I get that,” He does, he felt the pain too. The way his heart ached in longing every time he heard your voice, every time he’s thought about you since. It wasn’t enough for him to stop calling, but he still understands you shared the same pain during every call. “But you could’ve seen me again, you’ve been visiting in the summers this whole time.” he protests softly.

“Eddie, when I stopped calling I didn’t know I was going to come back to visit.” You shake your head lightly before turning your body towards him, mirroring his. “I mean, I figured I’d come back and see my Dad eventually, but uh if you remember, he wasn’t exactly in the best mental state when we left and was also locked up so, I didn’t really know anything about what would happen.” You look away from him and towards your lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your flannel. “It’s not that I don’t regret it, I do. But by the time I changed my mind and found out about coming back in the summer I was just… like, paralyzed. It had only been two months after I stopped calling, but I was afraid. Afraid it was too much time that’d passed, afraid you’d moved on and replaced me, afraid you wouldn’t forgive me… so I didn’t do anything. Just let it be. The whole time I just told myself you probably didn’t care much anyway.” Eddie blinks at you, wide-eyed as you finish before scoffing lightly.

“You really think I would’ve ‘replaced’ you that easily? That quickly? You were my best friend too, Y/N. The closest I’ve ever had, even closer than Ronnie, you know that. How could you think I wouldn’t care?”

“Come on, Eddie. You’re telling me your brain never fucks with you like that?” You ask, fingers picking a cigarette out of your pack and lighting it quickly. After an inhale you continue, “I mean logically, I know that you felt the same about our friendship. Plenty of memories and moments to prove it. But I just kept thinking back to when I first told you I was leaving. Sure, you seemed disappointed but you weren’t as upset as I was, you didn’t cry. And despite knowing I've only seen you cry like, twice before in all those years, my brain still just clung onto that. Like ‘See! He doesn’t really care, not as much as you.’” You shake your head in disappointment and frustration with yourself as you take another hit. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“No,” Eddie answers quickly, squashing his own cigarette in the mulch with his Reebok sneakers. He looks at you, a sympathetic look etched across his features. “I know what that’s like.” You’re both quiet at first, letting the new information and understanding fall into place. You rock yourself back and forth on the swing slowly, gathering your words before you speak them.

“Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t know what I could do to make it up to you but, I just need to say again that I’m sorry. I would take it all back if I could. I’ve really missed you.” You finish, eyes meeting his. You hope they’re portraying your sincerity as his own search your face. He looks away from you as a small smile tugs at one side of his lips, feet kicking at the mulch below.

“Yeah well… I missed you too.” He breathes out, eyes meeting yours again. A small smile tugs at your own lips. After a few moments of silence, he finishes. “I forgive you.”

He leans towards you, pinky finger extended. You choke out a laugh at the sight, relief washing over you. You wrap your pinky around his, closing your eyes to stop them from watering as your smile deepens.

When your fingers detach, you sigh deeply and open your eyes to meet his again.

“Thank you” you say quietly, warmth spreading through your body. It feels like a massive weight has been taken off your shoulders. The optimism and hope you haven’t felt since last Sunday, before your first day back at Hawkins, creeps its way back into your mind and body. You note how much lighter your chest feels as it moves with each breath, and the knot you’ve felt in your stomach for a week begins to loosen.

You stay there for a while, lightly swinging back and forth as you and Eddie dive into discussions about new bands, albums, and movies that have come out since you moved. Concerts you’ve been to since. Eddie smiles seeing that you haven’t changed one bit since you’d left, even mentioning bands and movies he hadn’t even heard of, promising to share your tapes with him at some point. He finds himself getting lost watching you as you excitedly describe the Journey concert you went to with your cousins in 83’. Smiling when he notices the sparkle in your eyes as you rave about Steve Perry’s voice and how they played your favorite songs. Laughing as you pout in jealousy when he describes the Metallica concert he went to with Gareth earlier this year. It all feels so familiar, so comfortable.

You’re so lost in conversation you don’t notice how much time passes by until Eddie checks his watch and whistles. It’s almost 11:30pm, nearly 2 hours since you first walked down to the playground. The hesitancy you held about your ability to get a goodnight’s rest tonight was gone. You feel like you’re floating as you and Eddie walk the short distance back to your trailers, Eddie telling you about Hellfire’s current campaign. 

“You know, you’re more than welcome to join us sometime. You already know half the club.” He offers as you reach the end of your driveway. 

“I’ll definitely think about it, thanks.” You give him a small smile.

“Cool. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He returns your smile as he rocks back and forth on his heels lightly, hands shoved into his vest pockets. 

“Oh, wait! Kind of an odd question but before I forget, do you know anyone around here that sells?” You ask as the thought of your now empty stash box pops into your head. Eddie smoked with you, you figure he knew where to get some around here.

And boy, did he. 

A bright, cheeky smile stretches across his face.

“Oh yeah, I know a guy.” He says with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes before he bows dramatically, “Your friendly neighborhood drug dealer at your service, my dear.”

[prostocupoftea]

Kinitopet Programmers AU

finally i am finished with this one, daaaamn

it is hard to draw pathetic men with midlife crisis when your style is mostly for anime boys

more info and sketch version under the cut!!

sketch version aka how it'll probably look like in comic version 'n some doodles

srry for my writing but i was too laisy to put it as regular text

It is a plot-based au, i already have most of the storybits and like... a vibe-chart (i tried to make a playlist for this au and understood that for different chapters and different characters that'd be a copleatly different music, sooo it's a chart now :) )

i will post a fog-o-wared timeline that im hopefully gonna reveal comic-by comic, but also maybe with just pure writing. Hopefully i can include songs that i chose for them into it but we'll see (:

aaand of course designs can change, hopefully not much but we'll see

Now about au:

Main story:

Story follows non-sentient AI Kinito, his creator Sonny and his beta-tester Victoria (oc)

Being literally the first AI (or RRA in-univere) ever, Kinito does not have any, and i mean, any ai safety features so of course his reponce to a goal phrased as "have user near me and/or interacting with me as much as possible" is digitizing them into his own virtual world while killing them in the process. why wouldn't it be?

So that happened. Like, a lot. And with Sonny and Vic too (at the different time but yeah)

Sonny is like "He kills people. We should turn him off because, you know, killing people is bad."

Vic is like "well, we will die if we do that, and it is not that bad here, we are kinda immortal. We should give him acces to changing his initial instalation code before admin priveleges and acces to social media so we can have everythin we want here. It is not that bad to digitize humanity, yk?" and yes i know it is 90, no social media, but shut up, if they made ai then, then i can make twitter then too

Sonny is like "...no??"

And then they fight about it for million chapters

Also they both can't do anything without agreeing bc they have two parts of that admin access key (the data you use to delete kinito in-game) so they are stuck with eachother (also that's why Kinito can't just kill them)

Little facts that may or may not to be important:

Kinito asks so many questions (and weird once too) and has most of the glitches because he needs to analise your responces to copy your mind perfectly (let's pretend that people wouldn't lie about that...)

Your house in your virtual world is made from important places from your memories and oh boy can i do character explorations with this one

I decided that Sonny and Vic are not related. There were thoughts about making then "The Kinito Brothers" (or, at least, siblings) that were mentioned in commercial, but nah, they are just coworkers now. And a bit of work-friends (bc if you interact a lot as a manager of the project and the best worker might as well be friendly)

Author has no idea how small dying toy companies that accidentally create technological marvel work. Author has some idea how AI-s work. So be prepared to be spoon-fed info abut which ai safety problem we are dealing with in which chapter (:

Kinito will mostly be unrendered (as drawn here) but for some cool moments i might pose him as for my other posts. Also his eye placement changes to the side that is most visible because i want him to be able to look to the right side sometimes--

Also when i say "fucked up mentally" i mean they have that them psychological problems with me projecting heavilly B) (guess on who i project most. trick question. all of them. the whole au is my problems split into three characters and forced to interact B) )

Also sea-creature analogies (that are gonna be mentioned like twice):

Victoria is a flying fish because deep character reasons

Sonny is a pufferfish because i said so

oh also there is 7 deaths in the plot as for now

on 3 characters

good luck figuring out who, how and when ((:

for my own sanity i will probably make little doodles where everything is great and kinito is a good guy and not a number-obsessed maniac (i mean... can u imagine not being able to feel any happiness from anything besides one thing... damn...) and you can differenciate them bc good-guy kinito will have a lot of stickers on him (i will explain it somehow but real reason is just bc it is cute af)

like this but even more stickers (he is unfinished here)

[m-jelly]

Hi jelly ☺️

Can I get a request for omegaverse au where the reader is like a princess who couldn't find her mate....her father arranged her marriage aaand then she finally finds her mate Levi who's visiting the castle recently....like how they deal with it and all...i really think it'll be intresting 🤔

@ladycheesington <3

Finally, my mate

Levi x fem!Levi

Royal AU, omegaverse, romance, falling in love, becoming a couple, arranged marriage.

After a marriage is arranged for you, you meet your mate Levi.

"I'm so sorry."

You smiled sadly at your father. "It's okay."

He sighed. "I just want you to have what your brother and I have. You are deserving of so much love. I'm sorry you haven't found your mate. It happens."

You hummed a bit. "Yeah."

"I'm thinking of what's best for you."

"I know."

He placed his hand on your shoulder. "He's a nice guy."

You thought about your betrothed who was staying at the palace. "He's...mmm...okay."

He clapped his hands together. "Right, well we need to meet with a Count."

"Yes." You rose and walked with your father down the hall to the greeting room. "This the Count you're slightly scared of?"

"I'm not scared of him...he just...it's nothing."

You felt a tingle run up your spine and a warmth spread through you. "Um...I feel...funny."

Your father looked over at you. "Funny?"

You nodded as you placed your hand on your chest. "A tingling and warmth." You gasped when the doors were thrown open to reveal Levi with pink cheeks and a wild look in his eyes like something had set him off. "Mm."

Levi stared deep into your eyes. "Mate."

You squeaked a little. "Mate."

Your father grabbed the doors and slammed them shut on Levi. "No! No, no, no, no. That Count is NOT your mate!" He whined. "He can't be. It's not possible."

You gazed at your father. "Dad, you said you want me to experience what you and my brother have. You both have your mates. You both have that pure love. The Count is my mate. I want to be with him."

"He's dangerous."

"But he's my mate. This is my chance to be happy."

Levi opened the doors again. "Your Majesty, the princess is my mate." He pushed past your father and cupped your face. "My sweet mate. I've been searching for you all this time."

You gripped the lapels of his jacket. "I've been waiting for you for so long." You smiled at him. "What took you so long."

He tapped his forehead against yours. "Your father made me fight battles for him, but I'm finished now." He looked over at your father. "I'm assuming you'll reward me for my hard work, right?"

Your father panicked a little. "Y-Yes, but-."

"I'll take the princess. She's my mate. Mine."

"She's already engaged!" He gulped hard. "She met him today and we are making it public soon."

"It's a good job you didn't." Levi kissed your neck, making your body burn. We'll deal with your fake fiancé." He looked down at you. "Come, it's time to go."

Your father raced after you. "Wait! You can't just-."

Levi turned to face your father with his dark and commanding look. "She is mine. We're mates. I'm ending the engagement, now." He turned and walked with you. He softly said your name. "I promise I'll take care of you."

You smiled sweetly at him. "I know you will. I'll take care of you too. My mate."

Levi smiled softly at you, it was a major contrast to what people were used to. Normally, he was cold and harsh due to countless battles. He was covered with scars and struggled to connect with people, but he wanted to connect with you. He wanted to be yours.

He pushed the doors open and saw a man sitting there with a cup of tea in hand. Seeing this man irritated Levi. "Tch, oi?"

The man looked up at Levi, for a brief moment he said nothing but then he shot up to his feet in shock. "C-Count Levi!"

"End the engagement to the princess."

"A-Ash, why?"

Levi clenched his jaw. "She's my mate."

The man bowed. "She's all yours." He raced out of the room and past the King. "The engagement is over."

The King gasped. "What? I...you..."

Levi glared at the King. "Told you." He pulled you close. "Mine." He caressed your cheek. "I'll take you on many dates. We'll get to know each other a bit more. I want to marry you and make you mine."

You nuzzled your nose against Levi's. "Yes. I want all that."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a

@youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity

@nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08

@levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife

@demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid

[ambiguous-avery]

Hello Avery!

First of all, this is for you ❤️

♡♡♡ send this to ten other bloggers that you think are wonderful. keep the game going, make someone smile!!! ♡♡♡

BUT SECOND

and it’s much more important (see I put it in big letters and everything) 😬✌️

I know you love your music and I thought you of all people might appreciate being asked to create a playlist for Dean, Sam, or both if you like, BUT no cheating. I don’t want to see a bunch of Zeppelin or Accadacca (AC/DC). Please make it from your own playlists, whether it’s something you want them to enjoy or simply just want to piss them off with - shake it off!

No pressure of course. Do with this as you will. And have a fabulous day - Beth ❤️

Ooh Beth, you are the absolute sweetest! I'm so, so honored to be one of your moots! This Tumblr community is seriously one of the best things in my life, and I am so excited to share in it and be surrounded by all of the amazing talent here! Appreciate you! 💜💜💜

Now, about that second part. First off, an actual photo of my reaction to reading your question/request 👇

Also, I'm putting this whole post in small font because it is LONG. I consider myself polyjamourous – I'll listen to just about anything and everything. The boys, on the other hand, are not. At least Dean isn't. And since he's the driver, his music taste is all that matters in the Impala. Pretty sure Dean would chuck all of my music suggestions out of Baby's window while going down the road at 80 miles an hour in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere. I know you said to make a playlist of songs that I’d show them, but it kinda turned into a list of songs that I associate with them. Hope it's okay for me to twist the ask like that! And I'm gonna limit myself to my top ten otherwise this would be a novel. It became a novel. And a character deep dive at the same time.

Each song will be linked for your listening pleasure, and I'll try to include a brief explanation of why. (Spoilers: they aren't all brief.) I may have worked on this instead of writing. Went and picked myself a whole bouquet of whoopsie daisies!

Dean's Playlist

Tragedy, Fly By Midnight - Okay, I'm gonna start really strong here. This song is SO Dean-coded to me. This is the way I imagine him when I start writing x reader fics, and I need to write him potentially falling for someone/getting into a relationship. Like... listen to it, and I think I'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who disagrees with me. Key lyrics: "You'll hurt forever If you fall for me That would be a tragedy"

Different Lives, Fly By Midnight - Maybe I should've limited myself to one song per band too. But this band absolutely speaks to me for Dean. This is another song I listen to when I need to get into how I imagine Dean falling for someone. Key lyrics: "'Cause I've lived different lives, different lives Before you ever made me feel alive, feel alive I haven't felt this fucking terrified, terrified Before you, ooh, you"

Iris, Goo Goo Dolls - This was my teenaged self's anthem, so maybe I'm biased. But I feel like this is Dean as a whole. Key lyrics: "And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming Or the moment of truth in your lies When everything feels like the movies Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive"

A Little Too Late, Nate Vickers - I'm finding that a lot of songs I feel relate to Dean are super angsty ones. A trend, you might say. It's because of all this angst that I want for him to have a happy ending rather than the one he got shafted with. Key lyrics: "If you wanna hate me Then I'll take the blame Just give me a reason To push through the pain"

Morally Grey, April Jai (feat. Nation Haven) - Okay, a non-angsty song! I think this one is just more self-indulgent than anything. I love me a good, morally grey character, and Dean is no different! Key lyrics: "I know he's no good for me But when he gets down on his knees He's so eager to please Knows the right frequencies"

@ my worst, blackbear - Aaand right back into the angst. Key lyrics: "Maybe I'm the best mistake you've ever made It sounds so fucking beautiful when you say my name I'm praying to a god, a god I don't believe The more I hide my scare, the easier I bleed"

Fix Me, 10 Years - More angst courtesy of my teen angst days. Apologies in advance. Key lyrics: "I'm fine in the fire I feed on the friction I'm right where I should be Don't try and fix me."

Casual sex, My Darkest Days - I feel like the title alone should give you enough of an idea of why this is on the list. Key lyrics: "It's just your typical, hardcore casual sex We're single but we're lovers Crazy for each other"

Dirty Heart, Brad Brownfield - Gotta thank my friend for reminding me about this song. Key lyrics: "'Cause you can't rub some dirt on the hurt of a broken heart It's the pain it just stays Like a damn old scar"

No Mercy, Austin Giorgio - This whole song just strikes me as the way Dean is when he's intimate with someone. Like behind closed doors, Dean is very much a lover boy who gives his everything to whoever he's with. Plus we know he's damn good at what he does. Key lyrics: "Baby I can lock the door You hold the keys Yeah I'll write the song You're the symphony"

Sam’s Playlist

Half Life, Livingston - This was one of the first songs I heard where I thought of Sam in the middle of listening to it. Sam is such a peach, and in the last few weeks, he has seriously grown on me. He's such a giver. Key lyrics: "So if this is the last night And you're feelin' hollow I'll give you my half life So you'll see tomorrow"

that's how you make a villain, Emlyn - Okay if we disregard the fact that the lyrics refer to a girl, then this is Sam to me. He had every reason to become the antagonist. Everything he had was taken away. Every turn took more from him. But he still chose to be the sweetest, most gentle giant. But could you imagine Sam in a full-on villain era? Key lyrics: "Stole my life, that's what I call a heist Sold it back and then tripled the price And I'm not on your payroll, but I'm makin' a killin' Just so you know, that's how you make a villain"

Maybe, Sick Puppies - Bit of angst here because neither of these boys truly are without it. But to me, Sam's is a little more hopeful. Key lyrics: “So why does it feel so wrong to reach for something more? To want to live a better life what am I waiting for?”

We Fight, Dashboard Confessionals - Mainly just Sam and Dean childhood vibes for me here. Key lyrics: "We were the kids that left home probable too young But we took our share and maybe then some Tired of beatings and battles and being sewn up But that made us grow up And that made them scared"

Shelter, Porter Robinson & Madeon - As much as I disagree with the ending of Supernatural, this is the song I associate with Sam living his life after Dean is gone. Key lyrics: "It's a long way forward so trust in me I'll give them shelter like you've done for me And I know, I'm not alone, you'll be watching over us Until you're gone"

Glow, Livingston - Another Livingston song. This artist has so many songs that made me think of Sam, but I didn't want to just make an entire playlist of one person haha. Again, Sam's flavor of angst usually is more hopeful in my mind. We see him choose good time and time again. Key lyrics: "You're like magic Turn the pain into passion Turn the radio to static But you don't even know you have it"

Monster, Katie Sky - I just want to give him a hug and tell him everything is going to be okay. Key lyrics: "I see your monsters I see your pain Tell me your problems I'll chase them away"

Carry You Home, Alex Warren - Tapping into how I view Sam when it comes to relationships. I feel like Sam falls hard for people, and this just kinda captures how I imagine he commits to others. Key lyrics: "Oh I hope you know I will care you home Whether it's tonight or 55 years down the road Oh I know there's so many way that this could go Don't want you to wonder, darling, I need you to know In this and every life I choose us every time"

Love Me Back, Max McNown - And digging a bit into Sam's own low view of himself, I feel like Sam very much has the mindset that he can't imagine someone else loving him in his broken state. Key lyrics: "Fell a little too hard, just a little too fast Put my soul in your hands like a penny on the track I've given you my heart and all the love I have And I'm just lucky that you love me back"

Slow Hands, Niall Horan - And finishing off with my take on Sam's more intimate side. I know that we see a lot of Sam's intimate scenes being faster paced and desperate and whatnot, but I genuinely feel like for whoever he's committed to, he's much slower, more patient. Key lyrics: "Fingertips puttin' on a show Got me now and I can't say no Wanna be with you all alone Take me home, take me home"

Sorry, this got super out of hand, and I feel I may have strayed away from the original idea. Hope that's okay! I seriously fell in love with this ask! Music is my thing. I love sharing it with others and others sharing with me! Tell me your thoughts! Got music you think fits? Please let me know~

Thanks for the ask, Beth! 💜💜💜

Tagging my moots because I wanna share my music with you: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @bettystonewell @middleearthislife @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @voodoochildthings @losers-clvb @sparrowww0428 @alexsoenomel

[wontshutup]

"Not even if they were the last people on earth"

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

HI! It has been a fairly long time since I've written something, anything, I was stuck in a years long writers block but I've finally decided to write a small Megumi x reader one shot.

Enemies to lovers kind of situation, very cliché hahaha.

Hope you enjoy

Warnings: none I guess, probably a swear word or two, I don't really know. Reference to violence, not very explicit.

Word count: 1356

English isn't my first language.

“Aaand here we go again” you said pouting mockingly towards your partner as he gave you an irritated look. 

“Shut up” he gave you a side eye while pressing an ice pack to his head.

“You know, you could’ve avoided that if you actually listened to me instead of going all with this treasure I summon at the slightest inconvenience” you then flinched in pain as a sharp pang in your rib cage made you fold. 

“Yeah right, because you had the situation all under control there” he rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth at the strong headache he had, unable to pin point if it was due to his injuries or due to your nagging. 

In the front seat your teacher, Gojo Satoru, listened amused at your arguing. He knew the two of you wouldn’t get along even if you were the last people on earth, aside from that you were his strongest and most experienced students, knowing your dynamics as classmates was very different from your dynamic when on missions, your usual banter turning into calculated and effective analysis and strategies with a high success rate, which is why he had been deep in thought all the ride back to Jujutsu Tech as to how was it that your mission had been more challenging than predicted, that was until one of you started to point out the flaws of the other throughout the mission.

“Now now, stop it you two! You need to save your energy to heal!” he said more mockingly than caringly. “Tell me, what happened?”

As much as you felt the need to prove your posture right about Megumi’s reckless actions you acquired a more serious posture and gave your outlook on the matter “turns out the intel was actually not precise, that curse was at least a grade 1 and the intel said it was barely a grade 3” you started

“There also wasn’t any sign of evolution in the course of the mission which means this had been it’s grade since the beginning, so either the intel was wrong..”Megumi continued

“ Or planted” finished Gojo, nailing exactly the point the two of you were getting to.

“Good thing you managed to get out of there alive” he continued, his tone being more serious 

“Barely” you added, earning a glare from Megumi as he knew you intended to put the blame on him.

“Yeah, barely” Gojo took your remark as a point to take on account “you listen to me, as far as we know by now, if the information was planted and sent from the higher ups that means you by now have a target on your back. Not really surprising considering you both have remarkable techniques and names, making you both notably dangerous, not to add, you’re under my tutoring and well, we know they’re not very fond of me either. Whoever did this knew how things would go and what they wanted” he adjusted the rearview mirror for you to be able to look eye to eye “you can’t tell anyone about this ok?, as long as we don’t have the identity of whoever did this, better to lay low and don’t let anyone know that we know, understood?” 

You and Megumi nodded, a deep silence settled between the three of you as you arrived at Jujutsu tech and the infirmary. 

Shoko tended to your wounds and walked out the place to talk to Gojo, knowing she would be a trustworthy person, as you tried to listen in what they were saying you could listen to Megumi groan in annoyance

“So nosy” he referred to you as he rolled his eyes, getting a similar reaction

“At least I care enough to not get killed in the future, not that you know anything about valuing your own life” you poked at how he always seemed so eager to give his all without caring for his sake when a mission got harder than expected.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about” His tone had raised now, anger clear in his voice “not that you know anything about sacrificing yourself for anyone in a mission, you selfish coward” he was harsh with his words, knowing you had struck a chord he attacked back.

You widen your eyes at his remark, stepping closer to him “sorry for wanting to get out alive! What good would my death bring to anyone anyway huh?” you were now gritting your teeth together “what good is a noble sacrifice if that is your last noble act?”

His eyes didn’t falter from you, you were right in your words, he knew you had won this argument, but now he wouldn’t dare to back off, towering more at your stance, inching his face near yours 

“Idiot” was the one thing he could mutter as he knew you had the upper hand, your expression turning smug at noticing this.

“What is it Fushiguro? No righteous argument to shoot back?” you raised your eyebrows at him, being able to see each of his reactions due to your proximity. 

Not ever had you been so close to each other, except when sparring sessions came around, also ending up having the upper hand over him most of the time. “And once again you��ve lost”

“You” he hissed as he clenched his fist, now getting closer, both of your breaths mixing with each other, making you slightly blush at the feeling, a tingling sensation. It seemed that you were noticing for the first time how beautiful his eyes were.

He too was feeling a certain anxious feeling rise within him, a feeling he had felt multiple times when he had you press on top of him while after defeating him in hand to hand combat. His eyes traveled to your face noticing how your cheeks were a soft pink hue. He still held his body tense but now more due to the proximity, his anger now forgotten. 

At noticing how the atmosphere had changed you pulled back, much to his dismay, both your faces heated up as you turned your back to him.

“We should leave you know” you didn’t look back at him, trying to calm down this weird feeling you had experienced. Out of anyone on campus Megumi Fushiguro was the last person you wanted to feel that way towards, the thought alone had made you squirm in distaste at times but now…you weren’t so sure.

“Y-yeah, I guess we should” Megumi was snapped from the daze he was, a lot of different thoughts had run through his mind. No, he refused to give in to acknowledging what just happened. He didn’t like you, he couldn’t like you. You and him had done nothing but jab at each other since the day you met, there was no way he would just forget about all that due to some closeness with you, then again, it wasn’t the first time he felt that but honestly he had just attributed it to “teenage rushes”.

“Happy to see you two managed not to kill each other while we were gone!” said Gojo in his usual cheery tone, his six eyes telling him what had really been going on but refused to put you in that embarrassing spot, on the other hand, he would talk about that to Megumi later, he couldn’t wait to see his annoyed reaction.

“Ha- ha real funny sensei” you said, still cooling down from what had happened.

Megumi rolled his eyes at them.

“Anyway, the both of you get some rest. Shoko and I will get on today’s little incident, we will keep you updated as soon as we can get some information” he kept going

“In the meantime rest and do as your teacher instructs you” completed Shoko, giving you both a sympathetic smile

“Understood” you said as Megumi just nodded and left for your rooms unaware of the way Shoko and Gojo shared a complicit smile.

“Yeah right, not even if they were the last people on earth, don’t make me laugh” Gojo scoffed earning a laugh from Shoko.

A situation neither you or Megumi found funny.

[slightlyunconventional]

its 2am and op needs sleep (2.1k)

hi d/abihawks nation here is your food for the day (more to come in the foreseeable) aaand yeah. this is from an ask i got that i didn’t answer with this because it had three parts to it and i wanted to actually do all three ?? idk. anyway if youre the anon who asked for d/abi inducing with his piercings then this is for you :)

The fuck kind of time to wake up is this? Dabi thought, squinting at the digital alarm clock beside the bed. 4:16AM, it reads. Still dazed, he rolled over with a huff and got ready to go the fuck back to sleep - until it hit him.

“Jesus fucking Christ-” he hissed, as an itch that felt like wildfire crashed into his sinuses like a freight train, rendering him unable to form a coherent thought for a good few seconds. He sat up. The motion somehow made the burn triple in intensity. He scrunched up his nose forcefully, waiting for it to succumb, for the itch to peak, but it didn’t. It felt like it was taking over his entire face, an incessant buzzing that wouldn’t back down, half-closing his eyes and forcing him to keep his nose held in a permanently-crinkled position. Dabi dared to rub at it, knuckles pushing back and forth rather aggressively, and instantly regretted what he’d done. The contact seemed to set alight a million different nerve endings, and he decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck me,” Dabi managed to breathe out. He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, the whole way squinting against the inferno plaguing his nose. The burn was near unbearable now, like flames licking at the tender inner walls of his nostrils, yet still nothing came of it. Even switching on the horrendously bright bathroom light in Hawks’ apartment, which usually managed to tease a sneeze or two from him, had no effect. Christ, he just wanted to go back to sleep. Eyes narrowing further due to the harsh transition from dark to light, Dabi moved to the sink and turned on the faucet. With a deep breath in, he splashed the cold water on his face a few times, and gave his full face a rather aggressive scrub with both hands for good measure. He stood up to find it had done absolutely nothing, and now he just had a wet face. Awesome. Why, for the love of fuck, was this happening? he thought in frustration. Could it have picked a more inconvenient time?

He grabbed a towel and dried off his face, rubbing with particular force at his nose (though still keeping low expectations that it would actually make a damn difference). The itch burned with ferocity, but remained stagnant; Dabi just wished it would either do something or piss off. For a man who normally despised sneezing - everything about it, the feeling, the loss of control, the vulnerability of it all - he seemed pretty desperate to do it now. He was running out of options, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to go wake up Hawks and make him stick a feather up his nose. There was probably a box of tissues in here, somewhere, he was sure, judging by how awful Hawks’ allergies got in the spring… bingo. It didn’t take long to find, just a few moments of staring into the medicine cupboard with one hand knuckling absently at the side of his nose. The dark-haired man pulled a few from the box, irritated, and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. The ever-present itch had his nostrils practically pulsing with need, and a handful of tissues suddenly pushed up to his nose really didn’t help. Hell, it was almost stinging now, and it was torturous.

“Shit,” Dabi breathed, as he began to rub his nose in slow, deliberate circles through the tissues. The sensation was all-consuming - he became completely laser-focused on the way the itch prickled ever so slightly with his movements. It was like the light at the end of a tunnel. He just had to will it to rise in intensity, just enough to make him– “...h-hhuh!” His breath caught, even if only slightly. Fuck, he was close, so damn close. In his mind he was begging for it, for relief, and he daren’t even move, for fear of losing the– damn it. The sting backed down just as quickly as it had come about, forcing Dabi to let out the breath he was holding in a short, irritated sigh. He couldn’t just go back to bed, not while this itch was still wreaking havoc in his face. But, it wasn’t like he had many choices left. The only thing he knew that really set him off was cats, and he was fairly sure bathrooms didn’t come preinstalled with a litter of kittens. Stubborn as ever, he refused to just give up and go sleep again - but what could he really do? Sit and wait it out, hoping it would just go away? Or go back to trying to make himself- hold on. Dabi suddenly remembered the absolute mess he’d been when he first pierced his nose (in this very bathroom, as a matter of fact). The needle had hardly been halfway through the cartilage before his chest was stuttering with rapid hitching breaths that had very quickly turned into fits of desperately itchy (and bloody) sneezes, untameable to the point where he had no input in the, well, output. He’d simply had to sit and let them barrel through him in awful tickly waves. He didn’t know why he’d sat through three rounds of that just for a triple nose piercing. One would have been plenty. 

Dabi pushed himself up from the edge of the bath, binned his tissues, and moved back to the sink. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, running a tired hand over his face and sighing. His hand brushed lightly against the side of his nose, sending jolts up his sinuses, and he decided he couldn’t tolerate another second of such torment. The thought to pierce his nose again flitted briefly through Dabi’s mind, but was quickly dismissed. Imagine how that would go down. “Hey, you’ve got another piercing,” Hawks would say. “Oh, yeah, I had to sneeze really fucking badly last night so I did what any sane person would do - gave myself a fourth nose piercing!” Dabi rolled his eyes at the thought. He went for the next best thing - messing around with his current piercings to try and make something happen.

He leaned in closer to the bathroom mirror, well aware that he looked an absolute sight for sore eyes, red-rimmed nostrils and an oversized t-shirt hanging awkwardly around his frame proving an… interesting combination. Christ, what am I doing, he thought, as he took a silver stud between his fingers and began to twist it - and, hell, the effect was instantaneous. Immediately, the tickle reared its head, intensified tenfold from before, and all but consumed him. There was nothing he could do to stop his jaw from slackening, his eyes from fluttering shut, his nostrils from flaring to nearly twice their size– “Shit, shit, s-shiihh–!”

Breaths rising in his chest, pitchy and desperate, Dabi let out a string of curses and stumbled backward, almost losing his balance as the need to sneeze took over him such that he couldn’t possibly think about anything else. He braced a hand against the edge of the sink to keep upright, drew in an immense gasp, and pitched forward at the waist– “hh’hhahH’DDSHHhhew! Hohhh, God, fuck me…” The sneeze that followed was harsh, scraping, and instantly relieving. But Dabi soon found that he was nowhere near done, and snapped forward with a trio of back-to-back sneezes, equally intense as the first.

“huhH’HDJJSHHh! ‘gGKSHHh’uh! hah’DSHHh’iew!” He straightened up to try and catch his breath, but his nose tingled in a way which meant there was guaranteed to be more sneezing to come. He was about to cast his gaze up to the light fixture on the ceiling to try and coax it out prematurely, until he saw a glimpse of red in his peripheral vision - Hawks. Shit. How long had he been standing there? Dabi looked at him, unsure of what to say. The hero was sure to have a barrage of questions for him, he could already imagine it: Are you getting sick? Allergic to something? Oh my god–is it me? Did I use a new… something? I’m so sorry, are you okay? He was leaning on the doorframe in a loose-fitting shirt that Dabi had sacrificed (cut holes in the back of to accommodate Hawks’ wings) and wearing an expression that was a blend of sympathy and amusement. Dabi opened his mouth to speak.

“Bless you,” Hawks said, with a lopsided smile, before Dabi had the chance to say anything.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean t-to… wake you up,” he replied. Fuck, he still needed to sneeze.

Hawks exhaled a little laugh. “It’s okay. You were sneezing pretty damn loudly, it would have been hard not to.” He took a few steps forward and wrapped his hands around Dabi’s arm, absentmindedly rubbing tiny circles with his thumbs.

“Are you okay?” he asked, more of that sympathy now shining through. As predicted, questions. “Yeah, I– fuck, I-I, hhah– needtosneezeagaiihHGKSHHhew!” He sniffled, then used his free hand to rub his nose, hard. “No idea what it is, just… started.” At least it was partially true. He did have no idea what it was, but he wasn’t about to admit to Hawks that he’d actually been trying to make himself sneeze for the best part of half an hour. Hawks frowned. “Bless you,” he said again. “You aren’t sick? A cold, maybe?” There it was again. “No, dumbass, it’s May.” “Who says you can’t get colds when it’s not winter? I get colds when it’s not winter!” Hawks said indignantly. Dabi huffed a laugh. “Yeah, that’s you though. Your immune system’s shi-sh-hhahH’dDTSHHh’uh! Shit.” “Shut up,” Hawks said, swatting his arm. “Sounds pretty itchy.” Dabi pulled a face at that. “Sounds itchy? How can– how– Jesus, fuck, always when I’m trying to t-talk…” “Bless you-!” Hawks said prematurely, tipping his head to the side. “-hhHRRSHHHhew!” The smile on Hawks’ face widened. God, Dabi had thought this would just be one and done, but now he couldn’t seem to stop. It was as if he’d opened some metaphorical floodgates in his sinuses just by twisting his nose studs a bit, and released sneeze after terribly violent sneeze. It would be infinitely easier to deal with without his overly enthusiastic witness, that was for certain. He couldn’t say it wasn’t at least a little endearing, though, in some bizarre way. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sneeze this much before,” observed Hawks, in such a tone that made the statement sound like it was some earth shattering discovery (It wasn’t. Dabi was eternally thankful that Hawks had never bore witness to the explosive fits he got when cats were part of the equation).

From behind the hand scrubbing at his still-burning nose, Dabi raised an eyebrow. “Right…?” he said slowly, “Is that supposed to h-hah–!” This was getting ridiculous. He pinched his nose tightly, brows furrowed and eyes nearly shut. Absolutely not. “There’s no point holding it in now that I’m awake, you know,” Hawks said, a mildly teasing tone creeping into his voice. “Just wanna get a full f-fucking… hhuh– sentence out-! hh’ehHDSZZHhew! h-hhH’RSCHhh’uh!” “Bless you, bless you,” Hawks moved closer towards Dabi, evidently starting to feel drowsy again after having been out of bed, judging by the way he rubbed lazily at his eyes with one hand. “What were you gonna say?” “What?” “Before you sneezed again. What were you gonna say?” Dabi averted his eyes. “I don’t remember.” Hawks snickered quietly. “S’okay… you gonna come back to bed? I’m getting cold,” he said, his head now resting on Dabi’s arm. “Not your personal heater,” was the response, punctuated with an irritated sniffle. Hawks shook his head. “Whatever.”

“Even so, I don’t think you’d really want, well…” Dabi gestured vaguely at his face. He didn’t particularly want to say it out loud. “I don’t mind,” the hero replied softly, “I just want you to get some sleep. Besides, the pink nose is a cute look on you.” He added the last part with a wink, and it earned him a rather affronted scoff and a flick to the forehead. “Fine, let me just–” Dabi pulled a couple of tissues from the box and blew his nose with some force. It seemed to shift something high in his sinuses, which of course triggered a sneeze. The floodgates really had opened. “hh’hehHDDSHHhiew! Jesus Christ, can’t catch a break…” Hawks hummed. “Bless you,” he mumbled again, before starting to lead Dabi out of the bathroom and back to their bed. He paused, however, halfway to the door, and turned around. With a nod towards the tissue box on the counter, he said, “You’d better bring those with you.”

[byravenheart]

✪ Moonsick Fools by Ravenheart

Rating: M | Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply | Chapters: 1/8 [wip〕

Tags: Alternate Universe, Werewolves, Werewolf Steve, POV Eddie Munson, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Light Angst, Humor, Dialogue Heavy, Getting Together, Pining, Scenting, Scent Marking, Protective Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Metal References, Fantasy References, Canon Elements

Summary: Eddie was just trying to listen to music, and now he's got Steve Harrington bleeding out and insisting he can take care of himself.

✪ Music from chapter 1: Eddie's mellow mix

Snippet under the cut:

Chapter 1: Lunacy

March 25th, 1986

Eddie swivels on the swing, the groaning of rusty metal slipping through his earphones in the quiet gap between “Fight Fire with Fire” and “Ride the Lightning”. There’s a whole graveyard of cigarette butts at his feet, evidence of how long he's been dicking around, but he’d feel a little more guilty about the mess if the playground wasn’t such a sore fucking sight all on its own. What’s a bit more trash when you're knee-deep in a dumpster, right? 

At least the moon's still there for peasants like him to admire, indifferent to people's pockets. She’s looking particularly dashing tonight; big and bright. Full. Eddie's steel rings are extra nice under the cool light.

Gripping the chains with both hands, he twists the swing to the left hard enough that it rattles, a wave of pleasant vibrations tickling his fingertips as he spins.

One, two, three loops.

Aaand stop.

He loves that familiar, abrupt little pull of the swing as it refuses to keep spinning. Makes his head jerk, earphones now askew. He adjusts his Walkman, making sure he's not gonna get tangled and fall face-first to the ground, and takes a slow drag of his cig. Holds. Spins wildly the other way as he exhales, white smoke clouding around him like a low budget concert.

The swing comes to a halt eventually, but his brain is slow in playing catchup this time, his vision blurring for a second and making the tree line look fuzzy. Like moonlight bleeding into the woods, the wind howling and bending pines out of shape.

Trippy, and he's not even high.

Not yet, anyway. 

All in good time.

He's in a chronological mood tonight, has already made his way through Kill ‘Em All and plans to savor every second of the other two tapes before he heads back inside and lights up while The Outsiders plays in the background. The cases are safely tucked away in his jacket pocket, and he thumbs idly at a plastic edge as he hums along. Makes a mental note to ask Gareth if he's picked a favorite off Puppets yet.

His money is on “Battery”. Gareth’s got a not-so-secret obsession with opening tracks, which—well. Eddie has to give him shit for it, because it’s his sacred duty as a friend and fellow metal enjoyer, but he can’t really blame him, ‘cause, like. Opening tracks are there to set the tone for the rest of the album, yeah? Getting you hooked and revved up is kinda the point, and “Battery” most definitely does the job.

Jesus Christ, that deceptively slow beginning? The way that sweet acoustic leads to beautiful all-encompassing power? And that riff, man. Inspired. All of that paired with the absolute rage spitting from Hetfield’s mouth? A certified headbanging masterpiece. Meant to be kept on setlists until the end of time.

Wait, is it Eddie’s favorite then?

No, no.

Hmm.

Maybe just for tonight it is.

He snorts a laugh and sucks on his cigarette, happy that his biggest problem right now is ranking tracks that have been blowing his mind for weeks. Spring break means he gets to relax without having to worry that he'll blow his chances at graduation if he so much as breathes wrong, and he's determined to take full advantage before he resumes his army crawl towards his diploma.

Which is probably why the universe decides it's high time to screw him over anew, and the tree line splits in two, a lone figure sprinting in his direction at a pace so frantic it's got Eddie scrambling upright and yanking at his earphones just as the bell is beginning to toll. 

So, um.

Say, what are the odds that someone was just really in the mood for an ill-advised midnight jog?

…No?

Seriously, anyone?

Fuck.

Eddie’s legs are shaking with the need to get the hell outta dodge, heed that wise survival instinct and flee until he's safe inside the trailer, but his gaze is stuck on the shifting shadow. Whoever it is, they're still moving forward, but their energy is flagging, silhouette wobbly as feet fight against uneven soil. 

Step, drag, stumble.

A wet cough.

Step, drag, stumble.

Panting, raw and desperate.

Step, drag.

The saddest little whimper, a soft and helpless thing that tugs at the heart.

Shit, Eddie’s gonna have to help, isn’t he? Jesus fuck.

Against his better judgment, he squares his shoulders and marches towards what he’s really hoping won't be an untimely death brought on by a single uncharacteristic bout of heroism.

Shit, shit, shit.

Is it too late to change his mind?

Maybe he can just—

The shadow, the man, staggers and falls to his knees a couple feet away. He doesn't crumble completely, but he looks like a soft breeze would take him easily, and the wind around them is even wilder than Eddie's heart.

With his arms already reaching out, Eddie takes the bravest step he’s taken since showing up at Wayne's door what feels like a lifetime ago. He kneels, ignoring the harsh gravel digging into the rips of his jeans, and tries to steady him. Paws at sweaty skin, the grimy biceps under his fingertips feverishly warm for late March in Indiana. There are scratches on his forearms and blood on the rumpled collar of his shirt and a smattering of moles on his neck that goes all the way up to his cheek and oh god that can only be—

"Harrington?” he whispers. Stares.

The unmistakable brown eyes of the former king of Hawkins High stare right back. “Hi, Munson,” he rasps.

It's a live wire straight to the heart, buzzing loud in Eddie’s ears as he processes that he's no longer helping a faceless stranger here but the guy who asked him for a pen two years ago, didn’t give it back, and left the classroom with Eddie's stupid little heart attached to the tight sleeve of his preppy pink polo.

Not that Eddie's old high school crush matters—it didn't matter back then, and it certainly doesn't matter now—but it still lands like a sledgehammer, to be reminded by a familiar face that something has been preying on Hawkins for years, even if most folks are all too eager to look away and pretend life is fine and dandy. Accept all too readily that Barbara Holland, sweet and sensible Miss Holland, pulled a disappearing act on her parents—parents who actually gave a shit, by the way—and ran away with some dude nobody had ever heard of. As if.

Keeping conspiracies to himself for the moment, Eddie prioritizes and asks, “Where does it hurt?”

Steve breathes out a laugh. Chokes. “Pretty much everywhere, dude.”

Right, yeah. That checks out. 

Based on the awkward half-sprint, he guesses, “Twisted ankle? Busted knee? Broken leg?” He bites his tongue to keep himself from listing every other injury that comes to mind.

“I don't—I don't think so.” He shifts in Eddie's hold and gestures vaguely downwards. “My stomach stings like a bitch, though.”

With no time for bedside manners, Eddie wraps his left arm around Steve and uses his free hand to pull gently at the hem of his blue shirt. Even in the poor light of the playground, it's impossible to miss the bloodfest running down his sides. Too bad it's impolite to have a breakdown all over the person you're trying to save, or Eddie would be buying the goddamn ticket and going to the damn show. 

Barricade, baby.

“I think you might be underselling it,” Eddie hisses, going for sympathy and landing somewhere closer to hysteria.

“Pretty sure the plate to the head at Tina's party was worse. Being unconscious has to be worse, right? Dunno.” His brows furrow, lips thinning as he mutters to himself, “Hargrove sucked.” Sadness creeping in, he adds, “That whole night sucked.”

Like the good town freak Eddie is, he got no such invitation to Tina's infamous party, only the privilege of a few quick business transactions in the woods near school. Still, he'd heard plenty of rumors about the night the king lost his queen and his crown all in one fell swoop. He never bothered to learn what actually happened, too busy planning a mind-blowing campaign to care about their petty squabbles, but it’s no surprise to hear that Hargrove smelled blood and went for the kill, craving a violently official dethroning.

Fuck him, really. The only decent thing about that rabid dog was his taste in music. And his hair.

Eddie’s not sure how to respond to Steve’s personal crisis, so he redirects. “Okay, what's the game plan here, boss? Do I call an ambulance, or drive you to the hos—?”

“No.” No room for argument. “I just—I just need to go home and lie down. I'll be okay.”

He already knows the answer, but he asks anyway, “Are your folks home?”

A scoff. “Course not. My dad would probably make me use the back door so I don’t bleed on our welcome mat. My mom loves that stupid thing.” Softly, he tacks on, “Not that she’s ever even around to look at it, but…”

Wow. Talking to Harrington is like opening the world's prettiest, most depressing Matryoshka doll, and the guy's not even aware of it. Wild.

“Then that's out, unless you want my dirty peasant boots to tarnish Castle Harrington too. There's no way I'm leaving you alone like this, man, come on.”

“I can handle myself,” Steve protests, voice barely audible as he tries to stand on his own. Y’know, like a crazy person with no self-preservation skills.

“And I'm not arguing that, okay?” Eddie tightens his hold on Steve’s shoulder; the poor guy's skin is getting hotter by the second. “I promise you your masculinity is intact, but your body is very much not, so we’re gonna have to do something about that, like, yesterday.” 

As if on cue, Steve's eyes flutter shut, brows creasing as a wave of pain strikes him in the middle. Makes him double over and rest his temple on Eddie’s arm. His hair is damp and gross and real where it slides against the leather, a stray lock sticking to his forehead and begging for gentle fingers to comb it back into place. Soothe. Reassure. And who knew Eddie even had it in him, to be so easily swayed by a jock in distress. A jock that isn’t trying to walk away from him anymore but isn’t quite caving either, and that just won’t do.

Summoning confidence he does not feel, Eddie winks down at him and says, “First aid isn't new to me, Steve. I'll patch you right up and have you shooting balls into laundry baskets, or whatever it is you do these days, in no time.” He tops it off with a soft squeeze to his arm, and it's arguably pretty suave for his standards, even if context and the unforgiving lenses of reality make his attempts at charm useless. 

He can read it all over Steve’s face; the impulse to turn him down. To preserve whatever dignity he thinks is worth more than his life. But most of all, he can see how loudly his tired eyes are screaming for someone to just—pick him up instead of kick him while he's down.

“I want to help,” Eddie says, Wayne's drawl echoing in his head, “but I'm gonna need you to let me.”

Whether it's the words or the tone that does it—or something else entirely—doesn't matter. What matters is Steve's quiet, “Yeah, okay. Okay, you can—Please.”

Eddie offers him a small smile. “There we go.”