#actually gonna print this out and hang it up in my room not kidding

[longmaxsilvarg]

[niki-phoria]

Hi hi hi !! Can you do a scenario where chishiya's gn! s/o (who's normally sweet and sunshiney) finally snaps and cusses someone out or smth? I thought it would be p funny lmaosjsks (also unrelated but like who's ur txt bias)

i'm so obsessed with doctor chishiya you don't understand

pairing: chishiya x gn!reader (they/them pronouns used once) genre: fluff word count: 1.3k

warnings: not canon compliant, pretend this is before chishiya also starts sacrificing people ig ??, canon typical violence, death, cussing, i can't actually remember how arisu arisued his way out of this game so this could've actually gotten all of them killed lmao, i am incapable of writing fics if they don't end in a confession idk

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i couldn't really figure out how to make reader sweet so i just made them super cooperative (if that makes sense lmao) i hope you like it !!

also i am a beomgyu stan at heart but kai has had a GRIP on me since cysm something in that studio choom fancam changed me idk

requests open !! read my rules first

a group of people are already awkwardly standing around when you approach the building. a ‘ding’ chimes as soon as you enter the doorway, confirming your participation. you grab one of the phones on the table and sign in before moving to lean against the wall. chishiya stands next to you, subtly judging the people around you. 

“registration closed. game: dead or alive. difficulty: three of clubs,” the announcement begins. “rules: players must choose between two doors to exit the building. game clear: players exit the building safely within the time limit. game over: players enter the wrong room or run out of time.”

a clock hanging on the wall lights up with a timer counting down from two minutes. the people around you begin to panic. 

“life or death?” a woman reads. she’s wearing an apron covered in flour, nervously looking around the room. “how do we know which one to choose?” 

“just pick one,” a man argues. he’s in jeans and a stained shirt that reeks of alcohol, even in the borderlands. his words slur together a little. “we’re all gonna die anyways.” 

“nobody has to die,” you interrupt. “we can work together to win this one. we still have one minute and forty seconds left.” you glance between the two doors. they both look the same- artwork printed on the top half of a door labeled either “life” or “death.” 

“it’s life,” a man wearing a business suit says. his voice is deep and confident. there are no wrinkles or imperfections in his clothes though he looks tired. he peers at you through thick glasses perched on his nose. 

a high school girl nervously runs towards the door, swinging it open and stepping inside. less than a second later, a laser shoots through the ceiling and her body falls to the ground. your body stiffens next to chishiya. you stare at her corpse in shock until he starts pulling your arm, shoving you through the death door and slamming it shut behind himself. the room sets alight as soon as he does. 

“why would you do that?” the woman wearing an apron yells. “she was just a kid!” 

“these are death games,” the businessman apathetically responds. crooked fingers raise to push his glasses up, staring at you. “sacrifice is always necessary.” 

“we’re running out of time,” a teenager mumbles. he still has a bike helmet strapped on. “we need to choose another door.” 

time continues to tick down. panic engulfs the room. the woman nervously glances between the two doors before she closes her eyes, placing her hand on the handle of the life door and swinging it open. after a few seconds she lets out a relieved gasp. you’re quick to follow her out of the room, shutting the door behind you. 

the next room looks exactly the same as the others. a gray room with two doors, one labeled ‘life’ and the other ‘death.’ the timer is becoming faster now. 

“we should take turns choosing doors,” the woman suggests. “i picked the last one, it’s someone else’s turn.” 

“that sounds fair, right?” the high school boy anxiously fiddles with the clasp of his helmet. he glances at the time before turning to you. “i think they should go.” 

you flinch a little from the sudden suggestion but nod. “okay.” before you can leave to open a door chishiya pulls you back by your arm, leaning in to whisper in your ear. 

“pick death.” he has no expression when you look at him but gives you a small nod towards the door. your hand shakes a little when you set it on the handle, swinging the door open and stepping into the room. after a few seconds of nothing happening, you let out a small sigh of relief. 

“who goes next?” you ask, looking between the teenager and the businessman. 

“your friend should go,” the businessman says. “he said something to you before you picked the door. what was it?” 

“why does that matter?” 

“he hasn’t said a word since we got here. for all we know, he could be a part of the games.” the woman shrinks back away from you at his words. you scoff. 

“you really think whoever is running these games is sending in spies?”

“he’s right,” the teenager says, moving to the other side of the room next to the woman. “how do we know who you are?” 

“we’re running out of time,” chishiya says. only thirty seconds remain on the timer. he grabs your hand, moving to the ‘life’ door and opening it. after a few uneventful seconds, the others rush into the room behind you. 

“he’s gotten every single answer right,” the businessman argues. “how?” 

chishiya sighs. “the building is shaped like a square. there’s one room in the middle and eight rooms surrounding it. the girl who opened the first door led to the room in the middle. if we stick to the edges of the building we’ll be able to complete the game.” 

“how long have you known how to win?” the woman yells. “why did you let that girl die? how can we trust you?” 

“i wasn’t sure until the second room.” 

“if you’re so sure, then open the wrong door.” the businessman says. “if you’re right, then the middle room will have more than one door and we’ll be able to see inside.” 

“are you a fucking idiot?” the words leave your mouth before you realize what they are, only spurred on by the anger coursing through you. “seriously, who do you think you are? you’ve done nothing but guess your way through the game and now that we have a strategy you’re complaining about the plan working? shut up and listen for once. he’s saving your lives!” 

you take a breath to calm yourself, almost shrinking back to chishiya’s side. he glances over his shoulder at you, silently reaching over to take your hand into his. the group stares between you, chishiya, and the businessman but you ignore them. the warmth of chishiya’s hand in yours calms you. 

“it has to be death,” he says, turning back to the group. “open the door.” nobody moves until you drag him with you to the door, swinging it open and entering the next room. 

you follow chishiya through the rest of the rooms until you end up at the final room. “wait,” he pulls you back, next to his side. there are only ten seconds on the timer. “the ‘life’ door leads to the middle room but the ‘death’ one goes back to the original room.” 

“the entrance and exit must be the same.” you rush to the door, quickly throwing it open and running out of the room. the fire barely misses you as it scorches the room, setting it alight in flames. you pant, leaning back against the wall of the original room. 

your phone chimes in your pocket. “game cleared. congratulations.” 

chishiya’s hand remains in yours, leading you out of the building. the cool night air feels good against your skin. he squeezes your hand, letting himself slightly relax. “thank you,” he whispers. “for standing up for me. for trusting me.” 

you nod, pulling him into a hug. chishiya stiffens a little, awkwardly standing in front of you before hesitantly wrapping his arms around you. “of course i trust you. i love you.” 

chishiya presses a kiss against your forehead, pulling you a little closer. “i love you too.” 

[alchemistc]

goon | bucktommy

THE HOCKEY AU HAS A PROLOGUE

read on ao3

Tommy Kinard is hanging up his skates at the end of the season. It's time. He's ready to move on with his life. He's ready to give his knees a fucking break. The trade to the odds on favorite to win the damn thing this year is just another in a series of trades throughout his career that makes sense - he's there to allow a winning team to unload cap space, he'll get a couple minutes a night in the ramp up to playoffs, he'll retire without fanfare once the season is over. Coach Nash has other plans for him, and the team he's been traded to think he's the bees fucking knees. He's just trying to get through the rest of this season without dragging Evan Buckley into a closet and kissing him breathless.

Tommy’s a little out of breath. That’s to be expected, really — he’s been in town for a day and a half and there’s nothing quite like a practice at elevation with the fastest team in the league to cut his teeth on.

Hen eyes him up as he skates over to the bench to grab at a water bottle. She’s trying to her damndest to hide an amused grin, and failing miserably. “We keep oxygen tanks in medical,” she observes, a little sing-songy, and Tommy doesn’t bother to hide his rolling eyes or the tic in his jaw.

“I’m fine.”

Her face tells him everything he needs to know about how breathless that had sounded.

It’d been nice, finding a familiar face in the crowd after spending twenty minutes getting a tour of the practice facilities from the kid most of the league viewed with a kind of hushed reverence, save for the few who'd lived with the star power long enough to get used to it.

Tommy rarely got star-struck, anymore, but he hadn’t actually expected this years likely Hart recipient to be the first teammate to make contact; to swing by the hotel room to pick him up for practice when Tommy admitted he didn’t even have a rental yet, and he’d likely have to Uber; to walk him through and introduce him as teammates trickled in; to warn him ahead of time that eagle-eyed fans in the stands would definitely notice if his tape didn’t match the white socks still in their packaging laid out on the bottom shelf of the locker where they’d already printed off a name-card for him (”Here, I have an extra roll.”); to grin and shake his head a little when Tommy questioned exactly how many fans were likely to come to a weekday practice at the tail end of January.

Eight years out from the last time he’d seen Henrietta Wilson, calling out a red-faced AHL coach for throwing a kid back out on the ice with clear signs of a concussion, and she’s still not entertaining bullshit. “Okay, my conditioning could use some work.”

Eyebrow up over the rim of her glasses, she grabs for the water bottle and replaces it with a juicebox. Easiest ad placement since Gatorade made a name for themselves in dugouts and on sidelines, but Tommy’s got to admit it’s nice to have this shit so readily available. When he’d first been starting out, drinking anything but water (and maybe a beer between periods) had been considered pansy ass shit. “You’ll get used to the altitude. Not sure you’ll ever catch up to the pace.”

Tommy has no doubt. He hasn’t played against this specific configuration of this team, but they’ve been well known for their breakneck speed for years. He’s not an ungraceful man, but today he’s felt a bit like a baby giraffe trying to keep up with a pack of antelope, lumbering around with limbs that just won’t cooperate (and are probably gonna fucking cramp up the moment he stops moving) and lungs that aren’t taking in enough air to manage the bursts of speed these guys are executing like a light jog on a breezy spring day.

Tommy downs the electrolyte drink and takes a deep breath through his nose. “Why the fuck am I here, Hen?”

She purses her lips, tips her chin out in the general direction of where a few guys are still taking drills even as practice winds down. “Because these idiots are convinced they’re invincible, and no one has the heart to tell them talking shit to Trouba again is gonna end with one of them on a stretcher.”

Which — he’d known, in the abstract. Having an enforcer riding the bench for fifty plus minutes a night was an old school way of handling a small-light-fast team with just enough shit-talkers and star players to draw attention. Unexpected, in the current layout of the league, but not completely unbelievable. The GM had been a little shifty, yesterday, essentially reciting the same line as Hen but dressing it up in a whole lot of fancy front-office speak Tommy’s never really had the time for. He’s barely had a chance to talk to Nash, yet, but he’s sure he’ll hear echoes of it from his new head coach, too.

Tommy watches Diaz and Buckley taking turns blocking whiffle balls in front of the net; Chimney still taking drills at the net with their EBUG — McKinley had introduced him and wandered off to lace up his skates (”You can call me Nozzle,” the guy had told him, torso looking tiny in just his leg pads without his shell, too-long hair and that manic gleam in his eye that only goalies ever truly had, while Tommy listened to him talk about his plumbing apprenticeship and his daughter who loved hockey as much as her dad but wanted to be, of all things, a defenseman.); Greenway and Kinnunen taking shots from the circle getting increasingly more frustrated the longer Chim and Nozzle swapping in and out changes nothing about their ability to sneak the puck in five-hole.

There’s a palpable energy to this group. Something stirring in the air — between the single-minded focus of their stars, and the attentive way their third and fourth lines are still all out here after Nash had gathered them all in for an end-of-practice huddle, Tommy can feel the anticipation of more. More wins, more lessons, more conditioning, anything that will get this team past the second round with an eye toward the Cup. It’s been years since he’s been on a team with this much fucking focus.

Tommy eyes the fans still slowly trickling out from the bleachers — knows through word of mouth they’re likely gonna be sitting outside the parking lot waiting to see who’s gonna shift into park and lean out a window to sign some shit, talk to people for a minute or two. Kinda hopes McKinley’s still down to drive him back to his hotel so that he can watch some kid go feral when McKinley rolls down his window to greet him.

Well shit. If he’s gonna buy in, he might as well get a head start.

He turns back to Hen.

“Bunting never even got fined for that boarding call against Pannikar last year, did he?”

Hen grins. “No headshots, please.”

[after-the-end-times]

Dracula Wasn't a Euphemism

October Prompt: Suck🦇 WC: 480🦇 Rated: T For @steddiemicrofic

"Eddie! There you are! Finally."

Steve turned from the sink as Eddie came through the sliding glass door, dirt streaked across his face, hair sticking all over, and was that a twig? Didn't matter. Steve pointed his sudsy mixing spoon at him with a stern look and one hand on his hip.

"Thanks for finally showing up, but you can't get out of helping with this party by dropping off the face of the earth for two days just because you're writing the next great song"

"Steve, I- I wasn't writing, I-" he takes a deep breath, "I think- Steve, I'm a vampire."

Steve turned back to the sink.

"Uh yeah, I know what our costumes are? But we need to get the food table set up and the rest of the decorations up before getting dressed. The kids are gonna be here in just a couple hours so get out there and spider web the living room til you can't see the walls."

"No Steve, I- "

"Eddie, I swear if I have to listen to Dustin complain all night 'cause he got here and everything wasn't ready, I will make him your problem for the next month. He's bringing Susie and apparently this is 'our one chance to make a good impression'," He says with an eye roll, "So go! Spider web!"

Eddie stood there for a moment, mouth open and hand hanging in the air like he was going to argue. Steve banged the oven door shut, putting down the cupcakes and pointed at him again, this time with his bat printed oven mitted finger.

"And make them scary. Web everything. And stick in the little spiders"

Eddie glances toward the living room where Robin was standing on a chair hanging paper bats from the ceiling and then back to Steve.

"Steve, I wanna drink your blood." Eddie rushes out in one breath.

"Yes yes, after the party," Steve says getting out the cans of frosting and sprinkle shakers from the cupboard, "And that really only works with the Dracula accent. I vant to suck your blood. See? Much more realistic. I actually sound like a vampire."

A sound punches out of Eddie and he shakes his head like he's clearing out his own cobwebs.

"Ok," He sighs and huffs out a laugh, "So where are these spider webs?"

Later, so much later, after the kids had destroyed the house, the food table, and several bags of candy, Eddie finally got him to focus. Well, sorta.

Steve fell back into the tangled sheets, face flushed, blood smeared on his neck, and his own hair now all over the place.

"Oh. Wow," Steve breathed out with a giggle, "And here I thought sucking my blood was a euphemism."

Eddie looked over at him with a blood drunk smile.

"Oh, don't worry. Round two is definitely gonna be a euphemism."

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

The Usual Suspects

Masterlist

*3rd Person POV*

Baltimore, Maryland

"Under what name? Oh, yeah, that's my favorite so far. Possible ID's in three states that we know of." Sheridan asked as he was on his cellphone. Then he pulls a paper from the fax machine and stares at it. "I gotta call you back." He said as he hangs up.

Meanwhile, a SWAT team approaches a motel room from the outside. 

Back at the station, Sherdian enters an interrogation room then sits down across from Dean Winchester. "Well, first I thought you were just stepping up your game. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, and this one...puzzled me. Grave desecration. But still these are a long way from murder. Then we get a fax from St. Louis. Where you're suspected of torturing and murdering a young woman. However, no one could prove anything, of course, because supposedly you died there." He said.

Back at the motel, The SWAT team breaks open a 2nd-floor door with a battering ram. Inside, Sam stops, holding his hands up. Diana Ballard advances on Sam, her gun forward. "Going somewhere, Sam?" She asked him as Sam looks at her, nervously. "Now...where's (y/n)?" She asked and Sam shrugs.

"But I gotta tell you something. You look pretty healthy to me." Sheridan said as he looks at Dean. "So now we know Karen Giles wasn't the first person you murdered. But I guarantee you she's the last." He said as he stands for a moment then he walks out.

Early the next morning, Ballard enters another interrogation room, where Sam is pacing by the window. She places a coffee cup on the table. "Thought you might be thirsty." She said and Sam looks at her. "Okay, so you're the good cop. Where's the bad cop?" He asked. "Oh, he's with your brother." Ballard said.

"Okay. And you're holding us why?" Sam asked her. "Well, he's being held on suspicion of murder. And you, we'll see." She said and Sam leans forward, shocked. "Murder?!" He exclaims, shocked. "You sound genuinely surprised. Or are you that good of an actor?" Ballard asked.

"Who was he supposed to have murdered?!" Sam asked her. "We'll get around to that." She said and Sam scoffs. "Well, you can't just hold us here without formal charges!" He shouts. "Well actually, we can, for forty eight hours, but you being a pre-law student, would know that. I know all about you, Sam." She said then she reads from a file.

"You're twenty three years old, no job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby, your father's whereabouts are unknown. And then there's the case of your brother Dean. Whose demise was, well, just a little bit exaggerated. Feel free to jump in whenever you like." She said and Sam leans against the wall, folding his arms.

"Shy? No problem. I'll keep going. Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight-A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride. Then about a year ago there was a fire in your apartment. One fatality. Jessica Moore, your girlfriend. After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything." She said as she closes the file.

"I needed some time off. To deal. So I'm taking a road trip with my brother and an old family friend." Sam said. "How's that going for you?" Ballard asked. "Great. I mean...we saw the second largest ball of twine in the continental US. Awesome." Sam said and he pulls a chair up to the table and straddles it. 

"We ran Dean's fingerprints through AFIS." Ballard said. "Okay." Sam said. "Got over a dozen possible hits." She said. "Possible hits. Which makes them worthless." Sam points out. "But it makes you wonder. What are we gonna find when we run your prints?" She asked him. "And once we find (y/n), we'll run her prints as well."

"Yeah, well." Sam said and he pounds his fist on the table sarcastically. "You be sure to let me know, all right." He said then he points at the cup. "May I?" He asked her. "Please." She said. "Great." He said and he sniffs the cup and sips it as she leans over him, intently.

"Sam, you seem like a good kid. It's not your fault Dean's your brother. We can't pick our family. Right now detectives in St. Louis are exhuming a corpse. They're trying to figure out how your brother faked his own death. After torturing all those young women. Dean's a bad guy. His life is over. Yours doesn't have to be." She said as Sam looks at her, incredulous.

"You want me to turn against my own brother?" Sam asked her. "No. We already caught him cold. Red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene. We just need you to fill in some missing pieces. And maybe tell us where (y/n) is." Ballard said.

"Why would I do that?" Sam asked her. "Because I can talk to the DA. Make a deal for you. You can get on with your life. Dean's as good as gone. (Y/n)'s, I'm not too sure about her but that's why we need to find her." Ballard said. SM thinks for a moment, looking distraught, then begins speaking quietly.

"My dad, (y/n)'s dad and Tony Giles were old friends. They were in the service together. We've known him since we were kids, you know? So we came as soon as we heard about his death." Sam starts to explain.

Flashback

*(y/n)'s POV*

Dean and I were sitting at a cafe table, he was reading a newspaper and I just look out at the streets. Sam then approaches with a drink carrier, holding three cups of coffee and sets it down.

As he sits, Dean hands over the paper. "There you go." Sam said as he hands us our dinks then takes a chair from another table and pulls it up to our table. "Anthony Giles." Dean said.

"Who's Anthony Giles?" Sam asked him. "He's a Baltimore lawyer. Working late in his office, check it out." Dean said and Sam takes the paper and I lean over to read it as well. "Uh...throat was slit, room was clean. Huh. No DNA, no prints." I read and Dean nods.

"Keep reading, it gets better." He said, encouraging. "Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant." Sam said. "So I'm thinking either somebody tampered with the tapes --" Dean said and I talk over him. "Or it's an invisible killer." I said and Dean nods. "My favorite kind. What do you think, guys? You wanna check it out?" He asked us and we nodded.

*3rd Person POV*

Present Day

"Woulda been kinda hard for Dean to kill Tony, considering we weren't in town at the time." Sam said to Ballard. "So tell me what happened next." She said, questionable. "Okay, uh, that's when we went to see Karen. She was barely holding it together. We just wanted to be there for her. You know?" He explains.

Flashback

*(y/n)'s POV*

Karen, a young woman with dark hair and dark-framed glasses, is sitting in her home, on the verge of tears. She's looks at us, as we were dressed as insurance company employees. "Insurance. I totally forgot about the insurance." She said. "We're very sorry to bother you right now, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation. You understand." Sam said to her. "Sure." She said.

"Okay. Um. If you could just tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died." I said to her. "Uh, Tony and I were just supposed to have dinner. He called and said he was having computer troubles and that, that he had to work late. That was it." Karen said.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this to him?" Sam asked her. "No. No, it's like I told the police, I, I have no idea." She said. "Did Tony mention anything, you know, unusual to you? In the days before his death?" Dean asked her.

"Unusual..." she said, confused. "Yeah, like strange?" Dean asked and she shakes her head. "Strange?" She said. "You know, Karen, weird? Weird noises, uh, visions, anything like that?" He asked her and Sam clears his throat and gives Dean a look. Karen turns to Sam, who turns on his concerned-face again, as I shoot Dean a look as Karen glances down.

"He had a nightmare the day before he died." She said. "What kind of a nightmare?" Sam asked her. "Uh, he said that he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed, he blinked and she was gone, I mean, it was just a nightmare." Karen said, shrugging.

"Did he say what she looked like?" Dean asked her. "What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?" She asked, annoyed. "Uh, it's just, our, our company's very thorough." Dean said. "He said she was pale, and she had dark red eyes." She replied.

*3rd Person POV*

Present Day

"So I gave Karen a hug, told her to call me if she needed anything...and that was it. End of story." Sam explained to Ballard, who lowers her head and sighs. "Sam, I am trying to help you here. But you have got to be honest with me. Now we have an eyewitness. Someone who saw two men and a woman fitting you, your brother and (y/n)'s description breaking into Giles' office." She said.

"Okay, look, Karen called us later, said that there was some stuff that she wanted from Tony's office, but the police weren't letting her in -- like, a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff. Look, it was wrong to enter a crime scene, but she gave us the key!" Sam explained.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Flashback

I pick the lock on Giles office and the three of us enter, ducking under the police tape. Sam shines his flashlight on a pool of blood on the floor. "Hey. Anthony Giles' body was found right about here." Sam said as I read a file. "Throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord was visible." I said and Dean whistles.

"What do you think? Vengeful spirit? Underlining vengeful?" Dean asked us. "Yeah, maybe. I mean he did see that woman at the foot of his bed." I said as Dean picks up a sheet of paper lying on the desk. "Take a look at this." He said amd Sam takes the paper, which contained small-font printing of the word "danashulps" repeated over and over to fill the page.

"Dana Shulps. A name?" Sam asked as I find another paper.  "I dunno, but it's everywhere." I said and Dean grins. "Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." He said and I roll my eyes.

Sam shines his flashlight down on the glass table in front of him, pausing. He breathes on the glass, revealing the same letters "DANASHULPS" impressed in the surface. "Wow. I'd say we've officially crossed over into weird." Sam said. "Maybe Giles knew her." Dean said, shrugging. "Or maybe it's the name of our pale red-eyed mystery girl." I said to him. "Well. Let's see what we can see." Dean said.

Later, we become frustrated, having found nothing after searching through all accessible paper and computer files in the office. Sam and I are on our desktop computers. "There's not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere. There's not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of friggin' Shulps." Dean said, frustrated.

"Great." Sam mutters as I shake my head. "What have you guys got?" Dean asked. "Nothing." I said, raising my hands up then dropping them. "Same here. No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years at least." Sam said. "So what now?" Dean asked.

"Well, I think I'm pretty close to cracking Giles' password. Maybe there's something in his personal files, you know?" said Sam. "By close you mean..." Dean said. "Thirty minutes, maybe?" Sam said, shrugging, and Dean glances at his watch. "Awesome. So I guess I just get to, uh, hang out." He said then he goes to sit on the bed while Sam and I work on the computer.

Then Dean starts making clicking and mouth-fart noises, which annoyed me and Sam as well. "Dude, seriously." Sam exclaims as I look over at him. "All right, I'm gonna go talk to Karen again, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?" Dean said. "Great." I said as Dean gets up.

"Keep going, Sparky." Dean said and he leaves while I shake my head.

*3rd Person POV*

Present Day

"Then Dean went back to Karen's place to check up on her. I mean, you know, she had been pretty upset earlier." Sam explained. "So why didn't you or (y/n) go with him?" Ballard asked him. "I just went back to the motel. And then (y/n) went to go pick hs ho something to eat." Sam said then he thinks for a moment.

"How'd you know we were there, by the way?" He asked. "We found the motel matchbook on your brother when we arrested him. Let's quit fooling around. Now you were with your brother the whole time you were in Baltimore. Why separate now? Because your brother left you and (y/n). To go murder Karen." Ballard said and Sam shakes his head.

"He didn't kill anyone." Sam said, firmly, then Ballard hits the table. "I heard the 9-1-1 call! Karen was terrified. She said someone was in the house." She yells at Sam.

Flashback

Dean arrives at Karen's and knocks on the door. "Karen, you in there?" He called out but no response he looks around, then picks the lock and enters. He tries the light by the door, but it doesn't work.

He goes further into the house, up the stairs and into the bedroom. He pushes open the door and sees Karen lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood, her throat is slit deeply. He sees the pages from the printer and frowns. 

"Seriously, what the hell?" He asked as he kneels down by Karen's body, noticing bruises on her wrists. He takes one wrist in his hand.

"Freeze." A voice ordered. 

Behind Dean, two cops have their guns trained on him. "Stay on your knees. Hands where I can see them. Now!" The officer said and he complies. "Cuff him." The officer said and her partner goes and cuffs Dean.

Present Day

Sherdian is sitting in an observation room from which he can see Dean, handcuffed to a table. Ballard enters. "You getting anywhere with him?" She asked him. "No. Just a lot of wise-ass remarks. You?" He asked. "Sam's story matches Dean's to the last detail." Ballard said.

"Hmm. Yeah, well, these guys are good. I'll give 'em that. We just need to find that (y/n) girl. She's the missing piece. Have you heard if they found her?" Sheridan asked her and she shakes her head. "If we don't get Sam to flip we have nothing but a lot of circumstantial evidence. Or if we don't find (y/n)...." Ballard said.

"Hey. We've got Dean at the crime scene with blood on his hands. Juries have convicted for less." Sheridan said to her. "Yeah, but, I mean, where's the murder weapon? What's the motive? You talk about reasonable doubt." Ballard said, doubtful. "Diana." Sheridan said and he touches her face after he turns to her. "Do you have reasonable doubt? We keep leaning on these guys, one of them will tumble. And don't forget about St. Louis. I'm telling you. This Dean guy is our guy." He said, firmly.

"I know Tony Giles was a friend of yours." Ballard said and Sheridan's jaw sets. "Yeah. He was, he was a good friend." He said, firmly. "Look, and I know you want to clean this mess up quick. But come on, Tony knew a lot of criminal types, I mean, maybe we're just..." she said, shrugging, but he shakes his head.

"Criminal types? He was a defense lawyer, for godsakes, of course he knew criminal types." He said and Ballard sighs. "All right, let's get back at 'em." She said. "No, you know what? Let 'em stew in their juices for a bit. Come here." He said and he leans in and kisses her. 

Dean, still handcuffed to the table, is muttering to himself, thinking. "Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps Dana, Dana Shulps..." he mutters while in Sam's interrogation room, he pulls a pad of paper and a pen to him and writes "DANA SHULPS" in block letters, frowning in thought. 

"Maybe it's not a name. Maybe it's not a name." Dean mutters to himself. "Anagram, maybe?" Sam whispers and he writes "ANDA SH..." underneath the first line, then continues. 

Head down, Dean continues to mutter to himself until there's a knock on the door; he looks up. A smiling middle-aged man pokes his head in. "Mr. Winchester?" He said. "Yeah." Dean said. "I'm Jeffrey Kraus. I'm with the public defender's office. I'm your lawyer." Krause introduced. "Oh. Thank God. I'm saved." Dean said, deadpanned, as Kraus sits down.

"Hey, could I, uh, steal a pen from you? Some paper?" He asked. "Sure." Jesus said and he hands over the items and Dean starts scribbling. "Uh, well, the police haven't found a weapon yet. So that's good. But, uh, they got your prints. And literally blood on your hands. And with your police record, uh..." Kraus said but he sees that Dean is ignoring him.

"Mr. Winchester? What are you doing?" He asked. "I think it's an anagram." Dean replies and Kraus looks at him, confused. "A what?" He asked. "An anagram. Same letters, different words." Dean said as the pad of paper now reads:

DNA SHULPS

DAN SHULPAS

LAND PUSHAS

SUPASH LAND

PUSH LANDAS

PLUSH DANAS

"Uh, do me a favor? See if you recognize any of these words, you know, local names, places, anything like that?" Dean asked Kraus as he pushes the paper to him. "Do you understand how serious these charges are?" Kraus asked. "I'm handcuffed to a table. Yeah, I get it. Humor me. Take a quick look." Dean said to him.

Kraus pulls the pad over to him and looks it over. "Well, S-U-P, I don't know about that, but Ashland is a street name. Not far from here." He said. "A street." Dean said then he takes the pad back, tears off a sheet of paper and starts writing again.

"Let's start with where you were the night Anthony Giles died." Kraus said then Dean turns to him. "Can you get in to see my brother?" He asked. "Mr. Winchester, you could be facing the death penalty here." Kraus said, warningly. "Hey, thanks for the law review, Matlock. But. If you want to help me..." Dean said then he holds up the folded note he's just finished. "I need you to see my brother." He said.

Sam looks at the note Dean sent him, which reads:

HILTS —

IT'S A STREET

ASHLAND.

-MCQUEEN

"I hope that's meaningful. But I'd like to discuss your case now." Kraus said and Sam gestures to the chair. "Sure thing, Matlock." He said and Kraus rolls his eyes. "You two really are brothers, aren't you?" He mutters as he sits down. "Now. As you know, the DA might be interested in..." he said when there was a knock on the door, which was quickly followed by Ballard, who addresses Kraus.

"We need you. With the other one." She said to him, firmly.

Several others have crowded into the observation room outside where Dean is being held; across from his seat a digital camera has been set up. Ballard and Kraus enter.  "Counselor? Your boy decided to confess." Sheridan said and Kraus turns to Dean.

"Mr. Winchester? I'd advise against that strongly." He said but Dean ignores him. "Talk directly into the camera, first stating your name for the record." Sheridan said to Dean, who clears his throat and leans forward, looking into the camera.

"My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone. But I know who did. Or rather what did. Of course it can't be for sure, because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory was that we're looking for some kind of vengeful spirit." He said and Ballard looks at him, confused.

"Excuse me?" She said as Dean continues. "You know, Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?" He asked while in the observation room, the spectators start laughing. "Tony Giles saw it. I'll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain't easy. You know, sometimes the spirits, they, they get things jumbled. You remember REDRUM. Same concept. You know, it's, uh, maybe word fragments... other times, it's anagrams. See, at first we thought this was a name, Dana Shulps. But now we think it's a street. Ashland. Whatever's going on, I'll bet you it started there." Dean said then he spreads his hands and smiles.

"You arrogant bastard. Tony and Karen were good people, and you're making jokes." Sheridan said, angrily. "I'm not joking, Ponch." Dean said. "You murdered them in cold blood just like that girl in St. Louis." Sheridan growled. "Oh, yeah. That wasn't me either. That was a shape-shifter creature that only looked like me." Dean replied as he smiles at the camera.

Sherdian loses his temper and hauls Dean up by the collar, slamming him against the wall. "Pete, that is enough!" Ballard yells.

"You asked for the truth." Dean said as Sheridan glares at him then let's him go. "Lock his ass up." He orders as another cop takes over, shoving Dean face-first against the wall and handcuffing him.

Sherdian and Ballard return to the other room only to find Sam gone; the coffee and the note are still on the table. "What the hell? Where is he?" Sheridan asked as he goes to the window, which is open, and looks out. 

Ballard sees the note on the table and picks it up. "What'd he do? The fire escape's way over there. I bet that (y/n) girl came in and...what?" Sheridan said as he looks at Ballard.

"These two guys." She said and she hands him the note. "Hilts and McQueen?" He said, confused. "Hilts is Steve McQueen's character in the Great Escape." Ballard explains and Sheridan growls as he crumbles the paper in his hand.

Ballard enters the bathroom and the lights flicker. She sighs. As she approaches the sink, it turns on by itself. She recoils then all the faucets start pouring out hot water, steam rising.

In the fogging mirror the letters DANASHULPS are formed; Ballard scrubs them away to reveal a ghost. Her throat is slit deeply, her eyes deep red. She struggles to talk while Ballard is too shocked to speak.

Dean was handcuffed to another table as Ballard enters, nervous. Then she shuts the door. "Can we make this quick? I'm a little tired, it's been a long day, you know, with your partner assaulting me and all." Dean grumbles as Ballard looks over at him. "I want to know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier." She said and Dean looks up at her.

"Time Life. Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up." He said. "Let's pretend for the moment you're not entirely insane." She said and Dean hums at this. "What would one of these things be doing here?" She asked. "A vengeful spirit? Well, they're created by violent deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one. Like revenge on the people that hurt 'em." Dean explains.

"And uh, these, they're capable of killing people?" She asked as she rubs her neck. Dean then notices something on her wrist. "Where did you get that?" He asked her. She pulls up her sleeves to reveal deep bruises. "I don't know. It, it wasn't there before." She said, scared and confused.

"You've seen it, haven't you? The spirit?" Dean asked and she looks back at him. "How did you know?" She asked. "Because Karen had the same bruises on her wrists. And I'm willing to bet that if you look at Giles' autopsy photos he's got 'em too, it's got something to do with this spirit, I...I don't know what." Dean said and Ballard turns away, looking into the mirror. "I know. You think you're going crazy. But let's skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing? Died, pretty soon after. You hear me?" He said to her.

"You think I'm going to die." She said. "You need to go to Sam and (y/n). They'll help." Dean said and Ballard turns to him. "You're giving your brother and your friend up." She said. "Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Look for Jim Rockford or Olivia Benson- it's how we find each other when we're separated. Now you can arrest them if you want. Or you can let them save your life." Dean said as the two stare at each other.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Sam and I were sitting at a motel desk, going through the files of the case. Ever since the cops came and arrested Sam and Dean, I had been hiding among the town which I can tell you it was really hard. I had even went into the impound lot and found the Impala and snuck it out of the lot.

At one point, I saw Sam running along the street and I stopped him and told him to hop in. He got in and we went into a different hotel and tried to figure this case out.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. I looked over at Sam then I get up, slowly, and open it to find a woman, wearing a formal suit, standing there, looking scared but also surprised. "(Y/n), I presume." She said to me. "And you must be Officer Ballard." I said and she nods. "You here to arrest us?" I asked her as Sam comes up next to me. She shakes her head and shrugs and I nod and let her in.

After she explained herself, she shows us her wrists. "These showed up after you saw it?" Sam asked her. "Yeah, I guess." She said. "All right. You're going to have to tell us exactly what you saw." I said to her, firmly. "You know, I must be losing my mind. You're a fugitive." She said as she points at Sam then she turns to me. "You're a person of interest. I should be arresting you two." She said.

"All right. Well, you know what? You can arrest us later, all right? After you live through this. But right now you've gotta talk to us. Okay?" Sam said and she nods. "Okay, great. Now, this spirit. What did it look like?" I asked her. "She was, um, really pale, and her throat was cut, and her eyes, they were like, this deep dark red? It appeared like she was trying to talk to me. But she couldn't. It was just...a lot of blood." She explains.

"You know what? Here. We've been researching every girl that's ever died or gone missing from Ashland Street." Sam said as we lead her over to a table, where Sam gathers up a stack of crime scene photos. "How'd you get those? Those are from crime scenes, and booking photos." Ballard said, shocked.

"You have your job, we have ours. Here. I need you to look through these, tell us if you recognize anyone." Sam said and Ballard sits and flips through the stack. On the third photo, a young woman's booking photo, she stops. "This is her. I'm sure of it." She said and I look at the photo.

"Claire Becker? Twenty eight years old, disappeared about eight or nine months ago." I told her and she looks at us, confused. "But I don't even know her. I mean, why would she come after me?" She asked. "Well, before her death, she was arrested twice. For dealing heroin." I explain as Sam and I look at her.

"You ever work narcotics?" Sam asked her. "Yeah, Pete and I did. Before Homicide." She said and I hold up Claire's picture. "You ever bust her?" Sam asked her and she shakes her head. "Not that I remember." She said. "It says that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn't find anything. Guess we gotta check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body." I said and she shakes her head.

"What?" She asked. "Well, we gotta salt and burn her bones. It's the only way to put her spirit to rest." Sam said and Ballard looks at us, disbelief. "Of course it is." She said and I chuckled as we start to head out.

We make it to Ashland Street and lead Ballard into a dark and creepy Warehouse. "So what exactly are we looking for?" Ballard asked us. "We'll let you know when we find it." Sam said and we split up. I checked up a flight of stairs for a few moments when I heard Ballard shout. "Sam? (Y/n)? Guys!"

I run down the stairs and meet up with Sam as we go over to Ballard. "Hey! Hey, we're here." Sam said to her as we come up to her as she looks ahead of herself in fear. "What is it? What happened?" I asked her. "Claire..." she said.

"Where?" Sam asked her. "She, she was here." Ballard said as she points in front of her. "Did she attack you?" I asked her. "No. No, she was just like, reaching out to me. She was over there by the window." She said and she points at the window, which is blocked by a shelving unit.

"Here, help me move this, Sam." I said to Sam and he nods and we shove the shelves aside, revealing the window. It is labeled from the outside: Ashland Supplies.

"Our little mystery word." Ballard said as we turn to see a shadow on the opposite wall, casting the words into clear reflection. "Now the extra letters make sense." Sam said and he pulls out his EMF reader and approaches the opposite wall.

"What is that?" Ballard asked. "Spirits and certain remains give off electromagnetic frequencies." I explained to her. "So if Claire's body was here, that would indicate that?" She asked. "Yeah. Well, that's the theory." Sam said and the EMF reader purrs as he waves it over the brick wall. He turns to us.

Sam and I start breaking through the wall with a couple of sledgehammers while Ballard stood back out of harm's way. When we knock out a sizable hole, I poke my flashlight inside and look. "Yeah. Yeah, there's definitely something in there." I said and we start breaking through the wall with our elbows and fists.

"You know? This is bothering me." Sam said. "Well, you two are digging up a corpse." Ballard said and I chuckled. "No, not that. That's, uh, that's pretty par for the course, actually." Sam said, smiling. "Then what?" Ballard asked. "It's just, I mean, no vengeful spirit we've ever tussled with wanted to be wasted, so why the hell would Claire lead us to her remains? It doesn't make any sense." Sam said as we break open most of the wall.

Together, we pulled out a shroud-wrapped body and place it on the ground. I pull out a pocket knife and cut the ropes holding the shroud together, uncovering Claire's body. Ballard holds out her wrists to see that they matched the way the ties were around Claire's wrist. "Her wrists. Yeah, they'd be bruised just like yours?" Sam said when Ballard kneels down and notices a necklace on the corpse and touches it cautiously.

"That necklace mean something to you?" I asked her. "I've seen it before. It's rare. It was custom made over on Carson street." She said as she reaches into her neckline and pulls out the same necklace. "I have one just like it. Pete gave it to me." She said and my jaw drops a bit.

"Now this all makes perfect sense." I said as Sam nods. "I'm sorry?" She asked. "Yeah. You see, Claire is not a vengeful spirit, she's a death omen." Sam said to her.

"Excuse me?" Ballard said, confused. "Claire's not killing anyone. She's trying to warn them. You see, sometimes spirits, they don't want vengeance, they want justice. Which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is." I explain then Sam stares at her.

"Detective, how much do you know about your partner?" He asked. She thinks for a moment before a look of realization comes over her face. "Oh my God." She whispers.

"What?" Sam and I asked her. "About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously it was a cop. We never found out who did it. But whoever did it would need someone to fence their product." She said. "Someone like a heroin dealer. Somebody like Claire." I said and she looks at us shocked.

I drive the Impala as I follow Sam and Ballard to this forest area. Sam had called me and told me they were looking for Pete as he had taken Dean and was gonna transfer him to a different prison, by himself. Which means he was planning something.

We get out of the cars and run into the woods to see Pete had Dean down on the ground, his gun aimed at him. "Or maybe you do." He said once he cocks his gun.

"Pete! Put the gun down." Ballard ordered as she holds her gun up at him and Sam and I come up to her. "Diana? How'd you find me?" Pete asked her, shocked. "I know about Claire." Ballard said. "I don't know what you're talking about." He said, acting dumb.

"Put the gun down!" Ballard ordered.  Oh, I don't think so. You're fast. I'm pretty sure I'm faster." Pete said as he continues to aim the gun at Dean, who looks over at me and Sam.

"Why are you doing this?" Ballard asked him. "I didn't do anything, Diana." Pete said. "It's a little late for that." Ballard said and Pete stares at her before he let's out a sigh.  It wasn't my fault. Claire was trying to turn me in, I had no choice." He said.

"And Tony? Karen?" Ballard asked him. "Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I'm sure he told Karen everything." Pete exclaims as Dean glances at us, as I give him how do we get out of this look. Dean shakes his head and I rolled my eyes at this.

"It was a mess; I had to clean it up. I just panicked." Pete said. "How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?" Ballard asked. "There's a way out. This Dean kid's a friggin' gift. We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just, just one more dead scumbag." Pete said and Dean looks up at him. "Hey!" He said, offended, as he starts to stand up but Pete raises the gun and Dean backs off.

"No one will question it. Diana, please. I still love you." Pete said to Ballard, who starts to lower her gun. "Thank you. Thank you." He said, appreciatevly. As he turns back to Dean, Ballard brings her gun up and fires, hitting Pete in the stomach. He goes down and Dean rolls out of the way. 

"Then why don't you buy me another necklace, you ass?" Ballard asked, angrily. Pete tackles her legs, knocking her down and she loses her gun. Sam and I try to go for it, but Pete gets there first. "Don't do it! Don't do it!" He warns us but then a gunshot goes off. Pete falls down, revealing Ballard shot him in the back.

After uncuffing Dean, Ballard was kneeling by the body of her late partner. She gets up and approaches us as we were standing nearby. "You doin' all right?" I asked her. "Not really. The death omen Claire. What happens to her now?" She asked her. "Should be over. She should be at rest." Sam said to her.

"So, uh. What now, officer?" Dean asked her. "Pete did confess to me. He screwed up your cases royally. I'd say that there's a good chance that we could get your cases dismissed." She said to us. "You'd take care of that for us?" Sam asked, shocked. "I hope so. But the St. Louis murder charges? That's another story. I can't help you. Unless...I just happened to turn my back, and you walked away. I could just tell them that the suspects escaped." She said.

"Wait, are you sure?" I asked her. "Yeah, she's sure, (y/n)." Dean said. "No, it's just, I mean, you could lose your job over something like that." I said to Ballard as she looks down. "Look, I just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I'll sleep better at night." She said and she turns to go. "Listen, you need to watch your back. They're gonna be looking for both of you right now. Get out of here. I gotta radio this in." She said and the boys and I share a look.

"Oh, uh, do you know where my car is?" Dean asked but I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I got her, the car is just down the road." I said to him and he smiles at me. "How did you manage to get it out of the impound?" Ballard asked as she turns to me, curiously.

I smiled at her. "I've got my ways." I said and I look at the boys and gestures for us to leave and we walk off down the road. "Nice lady." Sam said. "Yeah, for a cop. Did she look familiar to you?" Dean asked us. "No, why?" Sam and I said as Sam shoves Dean, playfully.

"I don't know. Anyway, are you guys hungry?" Dean asked us. "No." Sam said as I shake my head. "For some reason I could really go for some pea soup." Dean said and I laugh as we get into the car and I hand the keys to Dean and we take off.

[whumble-beeee]

Tortured? I Was Tortured Once.

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 5

Content: disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references, torture, threats, begging, blood

* * * * * * * *

Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[{When hero-keeping in the short term}... it's imperative to do everything in your power to keep your identity a secret; wear a mask to hide your face, cover as much of your body as possible to minimize the amount of prints, hair, or other forms of DNA/evidence you could leave behind at the scene. Use a voice modulator, and if you can help it, don’t even be in the same room with the hero when they are conscious. Most importantly, do not tell the hero any identifying details about yourself, your loved ones, or your past.

This is solely to protect you, the dastardly villain! Should the hero ever escape or decide to take revenge (not that a hero would ever dare, as long as you follow the instructions in this guide!), you want to make it nigh impossible to find you and hurt you, lest they turn you into their captured villain!]

* * * * * * * *

“Alright!” Deeby clapped his hands together, chipper than ever. “So, back when I was in the early days of my job, I sometimes made some… questionable choices. Dangerous ones. Not that what I do isn’t dangerous, I can handle the dangers of the job. I mean I fucked with the wrong people. Powerful people. Not in the sense of… y’know, what you have. Super-powers. I mean like they were like a crime lord or CEO, lotta money, lotta power… God, I was a fucking idiot. But hey, live and learn, right?”

He brushed at Stan’s cheek to ease his attention up and away from the floor, where it had been firmly located since the start of the monologue. Stan just leaned away slightly and tried not to let his burning eyes brim over into tears. “I’m still here, right? Still kicking, so I must have done something right.”

“Unfortunately…” Stan mumbled.

“Repite?”

“Nothing.”

Deeby tilted his head matter-of-factly. “Look, if you’re gonna be defiant, at least do it loud and proud, bud.” He ruffled Stan’s hair much too aggressively for Stan’s liking.

“Might actually respect you if you did that. Anyway, I’m sure you can figure out what basically happened after that; I got hired to rough up some asshole’s waste-of-space trust fund kid, gave him back with a couple bones broken and a couple extra bullet holes, but he was fine, then daddy got mad and managed to find me somehow, and here’s where it gets really interesting, bud. You wanna know what this chain’s for?”

He reached up and jangled the metal loops reaching down from the ceiling, and the chain shifted just enough to barely nudge into Stan and nearly send him careening backward again from fear.

“Uh…” He’d been doing his damndest to ignore the mercenary and retreat into himself, and was actually half succeeding right up until the required audience participation. The question just served to jarringly rip him back headfirst into the painful and hopeless despair of the present situation. “Not–... Not really…”

“Sucks to be you then, I guess. So I get knocked out and kidnapped, and I wake up in this, like, fucked up white-tiled torture room with like a drain in the floor and suspicious cabinets and all that, and then I'm strung up in the center of the room–...”

He grabbed Stan's arms and wrenched them up all the way above his head, so his wrists were together in Deeby's hands and held flush with the chain. Then he pulled up even more. Stan squeaked and briefly struggled to tug away, but quickly fell into pliable stiffness under the mercenary’s warning stare. So instead, he stretched as tall as he could, shoulders pressing the sides of the collar into his neck to try and relieve the tension. It didn't really work.

“...–Like this. So I was literally hanging from the ceiling from my wrists, feet barely even touching the ground, cuffs grinding into my wrists so bad they were already bleeding when I woke up, it hurt like shit. Hold your arms up there, would ya bud?”

Deeby let go of Stan's wrists and he immediately pulled them back into his sides. No way he was holding himself in a torture position. No way.

That was until the mercenary regrabbed his wrists and slammed them back up into the chain, leaning down slightly and getting way too close to Stan’s face. He could feel the body heat radiating off the man.

Stan leaned away as much as he physically could, which wasn’t much with his arms holding him excruciatingly erect.

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves,” Deeby growled, not a trace of his usual smile highlighting his fiery eyes. “Hold the position or I’ll lock your handcuffs up there just like they did to me and we can roleplay it exactly as it played out. You wanna do that instead?”

Stan managed a minuscule shake of the head. He was sure he’d be able to feel the bounty hunter’s breath on his face if it weren’t for the mask.

“Speak up, runt.”

“G-got it,” Stan breathed.

Deeby more tentatively let go of Stan's wrists this time, an unnecessary precaution, since Stan grasped the chain and held onto it for dear life so as not to anger him further.

This isn't so bad. He lied to himself, Deeby mercifully backing up to more than inches away from his face. At least there aren't any flashbacks now. Just have to hold the chain.

“Yeah, just like that. Perfect.”

He held up his fingers to create a fake camera frame around Stan. As if he knew exactly what picture he wanted to paint with Stan's body.

“So I woke up like that, hanging by the wrists, and of course I recognized the guy because I do my research, y'know? So I woke up and I already knew exactly what was happening. He tried to monologue at me, I bantered back, the guy was getting all pissy because I guess I was too smug or whatever. And… well, I forgot to say, when I woke up, they'd taken off my shirt–”

Deeby started to twiddle at the top button on Stan's button-down and, with an amount of force that surprised the both of them, Stan slapped his hand away and nearly toppled to the ground jumping backward.

“Don't touch my shirt!” he yelped. He tripped over the chain that anchored him to the corner sending spirals of agony out from his knee again before he stabilized himself and stared at the mercenary in abject terror.

Deeby stared back in disbelief. Then a flash of danger, a slight tilt of the chin, furrowing of the eyebrows, a tensing of the shoulders.

“You… really don't know when to quit. Do you?” he growled.

Stan took another small limp back. “I–”

“I'm not gonna take your shirt off.” Stan barely withheld the primal urge to fully turn around and run when the mercenary surged forward, grabbed Stan by the chain of the handcuffs, and yanked him forward. The southern twang rang so hopelessly clear through his wrathful voice. “I am many unsavory things, but a perv ain't fuckin’ one of 'em. Get back over here and stay before I kick your ass again.”

Then once again, Stan found himself with his arms pinned above his head and flush against the chain. Though this time, the mercenary clamped his hand over Stan's own, pressed them in so hard that Stan's fingers smushed painfully between the chain links. He didn’t even try to struggle. Just tried to shrink away from his towering presence and keep his eyes on the floor. Not let Deeby see the redness of his eyes that threatened tears.

“So, Stan, whaddya think they did to me next?” Deeby questioned, humor all but gone from his voice. “Strung up, shirt off, completely helpless and at their mercy. What would you do if you were a sick sonofabitch getting revenge on the person who tortured your son?”

Stan stared off to the side. “I… I don't…–”

“Oh come on, bud, you must have some sort of idea. Can't think of a single way you'd hurt–”

“No, no, no no nononoNO!” Stan mutter bordered on shouting as he started trying to yank his hands out of the mercenary’s grasp and only succeeded in yanking them hard enough that he was being held up solely and much more painfully by the cuffs themselves.

He couldn't take this anymore, was Deeby gonna torture him or not?

“I can't think of a single way I'd wanna torture someone! I'm not some– some freak sadist kidnapper-torturer like that guy! Or like you!!”

Deeby hummed lightly, unfazed by yet another one of Stan's outbursts, holding the cuffs firm. “You'll learn.”

Stan growled and yanked again, hard enough that when they didn't give it all, he actually lifted into the air slightly. He cried out from the bite of the metal digging into his wrists and scraping into the top layers of skin. A few drips of blood started to pool on the surface.

If Deeby noticed the scarlet now smeared across Stan's wrists, he didn't show it. He just pulled the chain of the cuffs up further. Stan's elbows locked straight up, pressing into the side of his head. He almost had to go up on his tiptoes.

“Besides,” the hunter continued nonchalantly. “What he did to me isn't what I would do to you, if I were to torture you.”

“IF!?” Stan groaned, trying another weak yank against the cuffs and sending small lightning bolts of pain down his arms. “What do you mean ‘if’?! What–… What do you call this?”

Deeby shrugged. “Foreplay?”

Stan froze dead in his tracks. He could physically feel all the blood leaving his head and rushing down straight to his feet. Foreplay? As in… There was… Ge wouldn't, right? There was no way.

“Y-you–...” He could barely even get words to form properly, barely able to suck in enough air to even speak. “You–... Wait, you–”

“Cálmate, Stan, Christ, it was a joke. Loosen up. Wanna know what I would do, though?”

“Ah…”

His head felt like it had just been dunked underwater. Or maybe that was the concussion coming back haunt this waking nightmare once more. Who’s to say? Why not both, make it a party.

And yet, Deeby still leaned down to whisper in Stan's ear; “There's a reason I put the leash chain on your good leg.”

Before Stan could react, Deeby leaned back on his heels and pulled the chain hanging from the ceiling with him, unbalancing Stan just enough that he had to try to take a step forward to readjust, except the fetter on his ankle caught on the very end of the leash. He couldn't get his good leg under himself for support. Which left–

Stan let out a yelp as his full weight fell onto his injured knee, shooting rivulets of pain all the way up to his spine. And couldn't shift his weight off of it with how to chain dragged him out, so when his knee immediately buckled to save himself from the screeching pain, he had the new problem of the cuffs knawing into his already bloody wrists, which made him scream again and claw desperately at the chain and the hand holding him up until he was death gripping the chain in a half pullup. His arms were already shaking from the strain of it.

“DEEBY!!” He choked out. “Deeby! Deeby please stop, stop, I can't AUAGH–” He slipped and spent agonizing moments flailing before he got another hold again, moments in which Deeby didn't let up at all, despite Stan's amiable requests.

“Deeby you said–!” he could barely squeak out a phrase through the tear-blurred vision and gasping breaths and the sheer amount of concentration it took to focus through the already horrible aches and agony the clench onto the chain and hold himself up and not make it worse. “You said no torture! You– you said–! Let go! You said you wouldn't–”

“I said I wouldn't hurt you if you did what I told you to.” Deeby retorted nonchalantly, pulling back on the chain just a bit more and wrenching Stan even more off balance. “Which you didn't.”

“Let go–!” Stan tugged as hard as he could. No give.

“Repeatedly.”

“I can't–” Stan's voice cracked. His hands were on fire clutching onto the cold metal links. “I can't hold this, I can't, I can't, please let go-o, it– it hurts! Please!”

“That's the point, bud, it's a stress position. It stresses you. You’re doing great, chiquito, taking it like a champ.”

Little droplets of blood left bright red tracks down Stan's forearms as whines squeaked out from behind his gritted teeth in place of the full blown screams he refused to let out.

“I hate you.”

“Tell you what, bud. If you can shut up for just 30 seconds, no whines, no cries, no begging or grand sweeping declarations of feelings, I'll let you down. Deal?”

“That’s–!”

“Take it or leave it. Deal?”

“Deal–! Deal!”

“Great, now mouth-shut.”

Stan immediately squeezed his lips together as violently as possible and focused every single fiber of his being into holding himself up, keeping off his bad knee and not letting the cuffs scrape his arms to bone while also not squeaking in pain or cursing Deeby out. That may have been the hardest part of the entire balancing act. His muscles burned with the strain. His hands started to slip on the chain from the sweat, so he gripped harder, hard enough that his hands started to go numb. That was fine. Less pain, right? Was thirty seconds over yet? Stan just had to pray that Deeby would keep his word this time and actually only do thirty seconds. God he would give anything to just go home. See his family again. Be out of this hell.

Then a new, perfunctory voice shattered his fragile concentration. He'd been so laser focused hadn't even noticed someone else enter the room.

“Oh, did I interrupt an intimate moment? I can come back in ten minutes if you two wanna finish up.”

Stan’s grip slipped on the chain and he cried out, catching himself after an agonizing centimeter fall and praying to anyone that would listen that Deeby wouldn’t get mad at him for it. Though Deeby didn't seem to care too much anymore as his own grip holding Stan's cuffs loosened and a small growl ementated from the bottom of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Then Stan was suddenly freed, cuffs no longer held in the iron grip of a bounty hunter, and he collapsed to the floor in a graceless heap.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid

[datamodel-of-disaster]

Life update!

So, my birthday passed (the new front door is installed -my 20s are truly over), and the anniversary of the disastrous friend breakup from last year has passed (somehow, I ended up going to the nude spa and having sushi after, *exactly* as I did the year before, and only when I was already halfway my sashimi I realised the bizarre parallel), and…

Let’s just say, if I had a dollar for every weird friendship that came to a confrontation/confession/breakup near the end of November and resulted in me adding a new piece of art to my dining room, I’d have 2 dollars. Which isn’t a lot, yadda yadda, BUT IT IS WEIRD THAT IT HAPPENED TWICE.

(If this becomes an annual thing I’m gonna run out of wall space.)

Cryptobro gifted me a Damien Hirst lithography for my birthday. The “Pharmacy” wallpaper print on metallic silver backing. (I’d post a picture of the actual piece but it is still at the framer’s.)

(It’s a panel just like this one)

I’m not gonna lie, king move. I had mentioned just once that I bid on it at auction but didn’t win it, and he went and tracked a version of it down for me. This is the kind of gift giving swag I thought only I myself possessed.

It is gorgeous (Hirst is problematic AF but I love stuff with pills on it sue me) and it wasn’t cheap, and… Yeah.

I thought I had sidestepped the whole math-themed confession from Cryptobro (see this post) but… no. There was a letter, and later on, after I cautiously addressed that letter over dinner and “reinforced the friendzone” so to say, a voice note.

Oh man.

Cryptobro is a man who doesn’t know how to have intimate friends. And more importantly, he is a man who fits the archetype, “wants a woman who is free because he wants to cage her”.

You see, I am who I am around him. Even tho I kept certain things private (my mental health conditions, my nonbinary identity) I’ve never hidden that I am married, I don’t want children, I love my husband who takes care of the household for me (and I find capacity to do laundry very important in a potential partner -learning that Cryptobro for the longest time DID NOT WASH HIS SHIRTS and instead just BOUGHT NEW ONES when he ran out of clothes would have been a monumental turnoff even if I *was* interested in him, which I’m not.) And yet… Cryptobro has this idea of a future me as a good little housewife with a nest of children and it is horrifying to me.

I just…

Aside from the fact that I’m still convinced he’s gay and repressing it like his life depends on it, I just… don’t know how to get through to him that he’s in love with an illusion and not the real me.

He’s starved for affection and has never had a friend who is understanding and kind rather than a posturing bro-type who’d pounce on him if he showed vulnerability, and his only model for intimacy is romance, and I’m just… BRO. BRO I AM BASICALLY YOUR THERAPIST. WAKE THE FUCK UP.

He could have everything he wants of me as a friend. Companionship, advice, fun dinner dates, hanging out, emotional vulnerability, therapy sessions, long philosophical debates, the lot! HE IS NOT EVEN SEXUALLY INTO WOMEN FFS. But no.

Sigh.

Anyway, I think whatever this bizarre relationship was may just be properly over now. Which…

I don’t know.

My emotional investment was decidedly tempered by how incredibly unhinged a man he is. (I wish I was kidding about the not washing his shirts thing, but that’s not even half of it. I didn’t make a post about it at the time because it felt cruel to put him on blast when I’m hardly Martha Stewart myself, but… 🤷🏻‍♀️ IT BAD.)

But I still mourn it. I mourn that this man cannot see how much fun we were having as a thing with value in itself, without any romantic label. I mourn that so much of the good thing we had going was him angling for something else. I don’t know. I got girlfriend-zoned and it feels shit.

I feel like life is making me catch up on all the flavours of weirdbad relationships I didn’t experience before I got into my current relationships with my husband and my QPP.

It kinda sucks.

[lanaactuallyabanana]

Okayyy, so I decided since the last matchup I asked for ended up being *cough* The name we do not speak *cough*, I decided Imma ask for a redo on this cause... Yeah, I think you can tell why lol. I've changed since last year and that's gonna be noticeable in the updated matchup!

5'6 with semi-long, wavy, brunette hair and amber eyes. I have lots of freckles and glasses that have a black, square frame. In Summer, I usually wear pants and a tshirt, or shorts and a sweater. If I'm not wearing that, I'm probably wearing a dress. (Outfit reference is at the bottom). I have received a lot of support when it comes to my anxiety and while I have my moments, I am more comfortable being loud and energetic out in public. I'm a cat person and my love language is physical touch/affection, that hasn't changed in the slightest. I'm super big of PDA, I love hand holding, kissing, etc. Obviously nothing too much. No making out in public, just like pecks on the cheek.

To narrow down some other stuff, I'm straight, but no hate goes to the LGBTQ+ community, they super chill. I love nicknames, love stuffed animals, and love love love band. I'm a flute, as you know, and while I do suck at practicing, I'm not bad at it. I've met all my super duper close friends through band (including Jackie, she's a retired Saxophonist). I have a music stand in my room.

Or

Just for reference, I do like brighter colors like blues and oranges and reds and purples or violets.

Also, just to give a vibe check for the matchup:

Spotify ✅

YouTube ✅

Books ✅

Pinterest ✅✅✅✅✅

Take your time getting to this, I know I'm kinda flooding your inbox!

Eat, drink lots of water, take time to rest, take your time getting to this!!!!

-Kenzzzz :))))

i literally love hearing about you guys and your personalities, matchups are so funsies for me teehee (some of yall might think im a lil crazy for this matchup but trust the process)

, streamer matchups !

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

LOADING....

you have been matched with ... dream!

okay the first thing i thought about was height, i know some ppl dont rly care about it BUT

if you're 5'6...

and he's 6'2...

do we see the vision????

okay but srsly the height difference would actually drive people insane (including me.)

also yalls eyes would be so contrasting yet so complimenting towards each other (your hazel eyes + his green eyes)

y'all doing sorta matching outfits

like not completely the same print/pattern or that kinda thing

but like similar colors or formal/casual wear if that makes sense

just outfits that compliment each other cause its cutesy

hes the type of person to also comfort you in times when ur anxious or nervous in any situation

he could literally be on a meeting call but if he sees you needing him for something, he'll hang up instantly

you're the most important thing in the world to him out of everything

he loves holding your hands like holy shit

you have to pull this mans fingers off you so you can grab something or go somewhere else

the hand size difference omg im screaming

hugs omg

either hug you from behind from your waist or normal hugs but he'll lean down and place his head on your head

he loves to help you practice (former band kid writing this 🙋‍♀️)

page flipping on your stand

if you ever need a tuning he'll have it tuned asap for you

he has a metronome and tuner app on his phone for you

you helping him with music stuff

he loves getting your opinion on everything he does cause he trusts u sm

hes also constantly giving you stuffed animals

OMG YOU KNOW HOW PPL USED TO COLLECT SQUISHMALLOWS AND HAD THAT LITTLE ROPE THING ON THEIR WALLS HJDHASHSSD

he prob built something like that for you cause he kept giving you so many

no complaints here tho 🤷‍♀️

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

i loved writing this tehehehehehehehehhehehe !!! i hoped u guys enjoyed!

thank you to @catswithroses for the lovely ask <3

please support me and my writing by liking, replying, commenting, reblogging and following me! it means the world

love u guys xoxoxo

[charlesjosephwrites]

Get To Know My OC Tag

Thanks for the tag @gummybugg! Check out Bug's post here.

This one looks like a lot of fun! I'll do this for April from The Magician and Ms. Psychic.

When the news cuts back from commercial, the regular news anchor is nowhere to be seen. In his place, a woman in a neatly pressed black suit and a white domino mask sits with her feet propped up on the desk and her gaze trained down on the phone in her hand.

Someone clears their throat from off screen. Her attention snaps up towards them.

"We're live already?" She tucks her phone inside her suit jacket and jumps to her feet. "Why didn't you fuckwads warn me?" She brushes a rogue strand of red hair away from her face, shooting dirty looks all around the room.

A faint pop echoes through the room as she teleports to the other side of the desk to grin into the camera.

"Heyya everyone!" She punctuates her greeting with a double finger-guns gesture. "It's the Magician here! Um... obviously."

She pauses to straighten her bowtie.

"Listen, if I'm gonna be taking over this city soon, it's only fair that you know a little bit about me, so I've got some-" a piece of paper appears in her hand with a flick of her wrist - "questions printed out right here. You guys better be paying attention, or I'm gonna replace all of your bones with glowsticks."

She hums thoughtfully, casting her gaze down towards the paper for the first question.

1. Are you named after anyone?

"Not as far as I know."

2. When was the last time you cried?

"Don't be ridiculous. Supervillains don't cry." She stares down at the paper for a few seconds before looking back up to the camera. "Okay, apparently last week I was crying because my girlfriend is too pretty. In my defense, my brain was all scrambled with a concussion, and she is ridiculously pretty."

3. Do you have kids?

"It feels a little too early for me to be thinking about kids just yet. Maybe someday, though."

4. Do you use sarcasm?

"Doesn't everybody?"

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

"The way they're dressed. Maybe that's low hanging fruit or whatever, but some people around here have no idea how to dress themselves. Seriously, the next person I see in horribly clashing colors is getting their feet chopped off and tossed in a blender."

6. What's your eye color?

"Why don't you see for yourself?" She leans forward to give the camera a close up of her bright green eyes.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

"I love those stupid cheesy rom-coms, especially when I watch them with my girlfriend." Her gaze flickers down back to the paper for a brief moment before snapping back up to the camera. "Wait. Shit. I'm supposed to sound intimidating, aren't I?" She clears her throat. "Scary movies are the best. I like the... violence."

8. Any special talents?

"I mean, obviously." A knife appears in her hand with a flick of her wrist. "I'm the Magician. Magic is my whole thing." She makes the knife disappear and reappear a couple more times for emphasis.

9. Where were you born?

"I was born right here in the city of Metrovale. It's the super capital of the world! At least, it will be once I'm through with it."

10. What are your hobbies?

"Oh you know. Kidnapping. Bank robbery. Magic. All that fun stuff."

11. Have you any pets?

"Nah. I don't really have time to take care of a pet right now. I think it might be cool to have a little rabbit buddy someday, though."

12. What sports do you play/have played?

"I don't like running in general. Do you really think that's gonna change when there's a ball involved?"

13. How tall are you?

"I'm five foot ten, but these boots get me up to about six two." She lifts her foot to show off her black platform boots.

14. Favorite subject in school?

"Uh... does lunch count? I'm counting lunch. School was shit, but at least I got some food while I was there."

15. Dream job?

"Supreme empress of the world." She pauses. "Actually, the whole world seems like way too much responsibility. Just ruling Metrovale would be enough. And maybe after that-"

"Magician." A voice interrupts from off screen.

All at once, the Magician's grin fades. "Ms. Psychic." She doesn't even turn around to address her. "What the fu-"

The camera clicks off.

I'll tag (softly) @oh-no-another-idea, @winterandwords, @ahordeofwasps, @enchanted-lightning-aes, @acertainmoshke, and anyone else who sees this and wants to jump in on the tag! Seriously, I love hearing about people's characters, so don't be shy. As always, no pressure though! (Also, feel free to tag me right back. I've got a lot of other characters I could do this for.)

[farfromstrange]

Hello everyone,

Putting a read more for those who are not interested and just want to stop scrolling. This is a life update from me to you.

But I’d be happy if you read it because you’ve been a part of my life and this journey into becoming an adult in my early twenties with me and I just want you to know what’s been going on. Don’t worry, it’s not a goodbye.

I’m so sorry for being MIA. Life’s been a mess. But I got the apartment I took a look at last week and I’m about to sign the lease, which means I’m going to move out of my childhood home in the next six weeks. It’s three hours away in a different State, and I’m starting college in October too, so now I have to figure out how to actually be an adult. I need to organize the move, get all the paperwork done and find a job while also figuring out how college is gonna work. I’m a bit stressed and slightly emotional, but I’m hanging in there.

I haven’t had the time to properly write, but I have some drafts I finished before the stress started and I will take some time to reread and maybe post before I disappear from view completely.

I saw how active you all were, interacting with my posts and stories even though I was gone for almost two weeks there and didn’t put anything new out, so thank you all for that. It makes me feel so appreciated, you have no idea. And those who checked up on me, I love you more than I can express.

I just came home from watching Barbie and decided to take some time to go through Tumblr now because I’m a writer Barbie and I can do anything I set my mind to. I’m powerful. I feel like what’s about to come for me is going to change everything, but in a good way, and I can’t wait to finally set a foot out into the real world and just be me. Live life by my own rules, you know. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long. And I can finally do what I want and study what I want. I can do what I’m good at. And I’ll find a way to give writing a bigger role in my life as soon as I’ve moved out because I’ve also dreamed of this day for a long time now, even though it’s still a little scary, but as Taylor Swift once said “You’re on your own, kid. You can face this.” And I strongly believe I can, even while doubting myself sometimes.

Honestly, Barbie was so inspiring to me, someone who’s been told I can’t live my dreams because they’re stupid dreams and I have to be like everyone else, make money without being happy, please my family and everyone around me, and fit into the shoe box, which isn’t true.

This movie healed my inner child and it gave me a good smack over the head. I’m going to struggle before fully realizing that my independent Barbie girl era starts now, but I think I’m ready and I think I can do it well. I hope so. And I can live my dreams. I don’t have to be what everyone else wants me to be. Playing it safe is so boring.

Thank you all!

I love you 🩷

(Also, I’ve packed a few boxes already, and three of them are just books and Funkos. That’s so funny to me. But it’s also kind of hard to say goodbye to this room, you know?)

Next on the list is my wall, and it’s gonna be painful to take it all off and transport it without destroying any of the pictures.

(Thank you to everyone who gave me ideas for prints I can hang in my new apartment, I’ve found a few already.)

Now this is all. Thank you! Sending hugs and kisses your way. I’m gonna try to post something (probably Mikey content because that’s what I’ve got stashed away) tonight or tomorrow, and then I’m gonna get back into writing as soon as I’ve got my life organized.

Yours,

Lizzi 🩷

[amiscreations]

Seeing Def Leppard and Motley Crue at the Stadium Tour in Bramall Lane, Sheffield - 22/05/2023✨

Ok I’ll try and keep this as brief as possible, but I also want to include as many fun details as possible! also how has it been eXACTLY ONE WEEK since this happened aAAAH??? (from when I'm posting this at least)

Before the Show

So we started queuing at 8:30am, and we weren’t even the first people there! There was a group who had been queuing since 4am!

We immediately clicked with this group and we ended up becoming great friends, and they made the experience much more enjoyable!

I also had a few issues with my ticket, as I needed to print it but never got the chance (story for another day)  so I had to go down to the ticket office like three times😅

Just before we went in the nerves suddenly hit me: I HAD to get my spot that I’d queued 7 hours for.

As soon as I was let in I got the biggest adrenaline rush of my entire life, and although the staff were telling me not to run, I ran, and they didn’t stop me.

And I got a spot at the barrier with my friends! 

it was at this point that reality started to set in...

after 7 months of waiting for this very moment I was HERE 

Vivas came on after about 45 mins and they were AMAZING???

I was just looking at Tyler the entire time tbh bc he looks sO MUCH LIKE SAV ITS AAAAAA

also the lead singer was absolutely losing his mind at how big of a gig this was for them and I felt so happy! His joy was honestly infectious and I think they’re gonna do great things!

Mötley Crüe

After Vivas it was about a 30 min wait until Crüe, and every time we thought they had finished setting up the stage they added one more thing lmao

also Ryan was hanging around in the photo pit and he took our photo AWWW

I saw him the next day and he actually sent it to me, so now I have the very photo that Ryan Sebastyan himself took!

anyways the stage set up for Crue was just a little over the top imo perhaps to compensate whaaaat

they also had this extremely long opera(?) intro which just went on for way too long

and then they had that fuckin aLARM THING WHICH WAS SO LOUD

when the guys eventually did come on I will admit it was incredibly surreal... like tHAT is Nikki Sixx RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME??

Nikki was wearing the coolest jacket at first I want 23 of my own

Vince was uuuh Vince

like he wasn't terrible in person but listening back it is... not great

aNYWAY John 5 was actually so cool and fits in with them really well but he’s just not Mick Mars soz John

he also did this thing where he just drooled over the side of the podium?? like bro that was just so unnecessary JHGFGJK

also the music was just sO LOUD I found it hard to tell which some was which at first aND I WAS WEARING HEARING PROTECTION

at one point Nikki threw a bottle of Fiji Water and it landed right behind the security guard in front of me... I didn't want it😂

about midway through the set Nikki addressed the crowd and actually brought a kid up on stage and took a selfie with him which I thought was really cool!

Aaaand then Tommy addressed the crowd and asked women to show their tits🙃 and of course some did. oh Tommy 

then they played Home Sweet Home and let me tell you Tommy can sHRED on a piano

tbh the strippers (yes for those that dont know they have *female dancers* dancing on stage to some of the songs) were probably putting in the most effort out of anyone up there 

I think my favourite part was when they did the medley of covers, so Smokin’ in the Boy’s Room, Blitzkrieg Bop and Anarchy in the UK

they ended with Kickstart my Heart which was a lot of fun!

Def Leppard

it is TIMEEEE

there wasn't a long wait at all until leppard bc I think the show was a little behind schedule

but then when the countdown came on the screen it was the longest 6 mins of my life

and then Joe’s cover of Heroes came on and AAAAAAAH

THEN IT WAS THE INTRO TO TAKE WHAT YOU WANT

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

THERE THEY ARE DOING WHAT THEY DO BEST

it wasn't so much of a shock seeing them in person as I had seen them at the signing two days ago, BUT STILLL THATS THEMMMM

And Joe was wearing this soon to be ICONIC Union Jack blazer

Sav was wearing a polka-dot gradient suit (you know the one)

Phil and Viv were wearing THEE most gorgeous suits

Tho I'm kinda disappointed that Phil wasn't shirtless😪(jk)

And Rick in his sparkly tie dye shirt which I another thing I want 245 of

honestly the rest was a bit of a blur but in a good way!

I started losing my mind whenever they would come out onto the catwalk bc tHEY WERE SO CLOSE AND LOOKED ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL

aLSO they're recording the performance for a DVD (I think) so hopefully we will be able to watch back the pro shot version at some point!

also I hope I'm in it bc at one point they were in the photo pit pointing a camera directly at me BBFJKBFJK

oh also Ross Halfin was there I forgot to mention that LMAO

I think during Armageddon It something happened in the crowd behind me bc the security guards were standing on the barrier basically leaning tf on me as if to get a closer look at what was happening 

so yeah I missed the majority of that song LOL and I never did find out exactly what happened, although I did hear that someone got escorted out 

also just before Love Bites my phone died so I spent the first half of that song faffing about with my portable charger which thankfully charged your phone super fast

they also played Promises which for some reason caught me right off guard? it was so good tho and I didn't realise how hard it went until I heard it live!

and then it was the acoustic section which I was looking forward to the most (tho I honestly think it got cut short bc they only played like two songs and the show was behind schedule) bUT IT WAS STILL ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL

This Guitar is my fave off of DSH and hearing it live was just incredible

I love how you can just hear all their voices so well

aLSO IT WAS DEDICATED TO STEVE😭

Joe also said that Steve’s mum was in the audience and I think everyone in the stadium started to cry

and then it was Joe and Sav’s lil duet in When Love and Hate Collide which was so awwww

I can’t believe I actually got to hear Sav sing irl sOMEONE RESUSCITATE ME

anyways moving on, hearing a stadium sing “ROCKET, YEAHH!” is a religious experience I stg and its just something that cannot be replicated in a video

OMG HEARTBREAK AND SWITCH WENT SO HARD

the power that Phil and Viv held while walking out together onto the catwalk playing mf Switch 625

and then they started playing Hysteria and everyone started crying again

also they did the new alternate ending and if you weren't crying before you were then sorry I dont make the rules

The last song was Photograph ofc and thy put a bunch of photos from the leppard archives onto the screens🥺

they also put a bunch of photos that Ryan took of the crowd and tHE ONE WITH ME AND MY FRIENDS WAS UP THERE AAAAH

and just like that, Kings of the World started to play

I felt like my entire life had been leading up to those 90 mins 

it broke my heart to walk away from the spot I had queued 7+ hours for, but my head was now full of incredible memories

bring on Wembley!

[angelmichelangelo]

hopping onto this post to say i second what op said! i love the design of the lair. it’s one of my favourites out of all the turtles homes, it feels the most homely

the pit feels so warm (for an sewer) but i always loved how put together it felt. like all the little bits and pieces i imagine either splinter or the boys found over the years and added to their home. the turnstiles being the entryway is such a neat detail too! idk how the hole in the ceiling ever worked (like, what’s up there?) it made for a pretty cool setting and i like to imagine the turts head up there and do some basking when it’s sunny out :)

out of all the bedrooms we see mikey’s the most. and it’s messy and chaotic but i love that it encapsulates his personality so much. the shark bitten surfboard (which has CIPES on it and is a cool lil reference to the fact that mikey’s va was/is a surfer!) the action figures, the posters on the wall. and you can’t see it in this screenshot but his bed is pirate themed, with a big ship wheel and a pirate flag which makes me wonder: did mikey go through a pirate phase as a kid? anywho, his room is cool and it makes sense they hung out in here the most out of the other rooms

raph’s room is the only other turtle bedroom we got to see (we were robbed!) but again, it totally frames his personality perfectly. i like his tiger bedsheets and the posters on the wall. as one drum player to another, i like that raph has a decent looking set in his room. i wonder if splinter got it all together or managed to collect it piece by piece to give to him? raph’s room is cool and i love the design :-) im thinking that stack above his bed is perhaps comics? as he seems to have a good collection he’s always reading through? also! paint supplies! raph 100% spray paints the sewers in his free time. the cinder block shelf is also another nice touch - such a scrappy room but it works! they make do and i love it :)

THE KITCHEN IS MY FAVOURITE !! not sure why it’s actually here and how it’s functioning but i imagine donnie hooked it all up and got it working. you can’t see it here but they have a big DINER OPEN sign over the oven which is cute. i just imagine splinter searching dumps and alleyways for things for their home aside the essentials. him seeing that and bringing it home for their little kitchen is a nice thought. i like the gumball machines - i don’t think they ever use them but it’s just a cool background touch. obviously their home isn’t gonna be filled with a lot of stuff, so their kitchen is somewhat bare but seeing them hang around the makeshift table is such a family thing to do, i like that it translates to mutant families too :)

and the lab !!! they probably spend the most time in here :) this is donnie’s space and you can see that so clearly. i always enjoyed the human, rat and turtle posters on the wall - i imagine donnie either printed them out somehow or ripped them out of a book or magazine and poured over them for hours just studying them all. he also has been shown to have a bunch of framed photos of him and his brothers and splinter and their friends. it’s just really cute. the algae pool is also really cool and i wish they used that more. all of his inventions being scraped together bits and bobs that somehow work is so cool. donnie is clearly always the smart one in each iteration, but in 2012 he literally made everything from trash and old kraang parts (remember he doubted himself because of that? in the space arc? like, boy, that makes you even MORE smarter cos that’s impressive as hell!)

ANYWAY! i could ramble on about the design for the lair forever and ever (and complain about the lack of donnie and leo’s room) but i won’t hijack this post any longer than i already have so i’ll just leave it at that :) thanks to the 2012 design team that made their little underground home feel so alive !!

This might've been said before, but I just gotta say:

I love the vibe Tmnt 2012 is giving off.

Especially when it comes to the lair and Donnies inventions/gadgets. Everything looks makeshift, but it has its own beautiful charme. Since they cannot show their faces to the city of New York, they have to grab old thrown-out devices and use trash and old spare material to make furniture and gadgets and it's just so realistic, while looking amazing all the same. Like, what do you expect from them, in such a situation?

The lair is easily one of my favorite fictional headquarters ever. Like yes, it's an abandoned subway station, but it still looks homey in my opinion. Not gonna lie, I would instantly feel at home if I visited. The family tried to make it cozy to the best of their abilities and I think they truly succeeded.

Whatever that kitchen table was in its former life, it now serves its purpose as a table and it looks amazing as it does so.

And the bedrooms?? I love them so much?? So makeshift, so beautiful. And don't get me started on Donnies lab, because I am obsessed with the way it looks. Like yeah, maybe the lair is lacking some color, but what do you expect from a family with limited abilities in interior design? It's truly realistic looking in the coolest way and I cannot stop talking about it.

Although I probably should.

Also Donnies inventions. The Shellraiser has to be my favorite fictional vehicle ever.

The cool graffiti on the outer shell?? Its ability to drive on train tracks and the street?? THE DAMN TRASH CANNON?? THE MANHOLE COVER CANNON???? They literally grabbed trash, compressed it and used it as a weapon. Donnie came up with this. Donnie drew blueprints for this thing and then built it. This man can build functioning vehicles and devices from trash.

The most impressive thing? He taught all of this himself. All of his knowledge probably comes from books and experience and later on certainly also from the internet. He's too powerful and he deserves credit for this.

Sorry, I just wanted to ramble about the 2012 gadgets and lair for a bit. I love the makeshift-ness of it all. I love how you can truly see, that the furniture is old and used. It gives the show the true Tmnt charme. It's the type of lair you'd expect some mutant turtles and their rat father to live in.

I'm not the best at explaining things, so I hope you get the point, lmao.

[devildomditzy]

With an MC who thinks they’re not good enough for them

Made this as a personal vent/comfort piece for my self

If you start thinking bad thought about yourself, you just gotta think “the brothers would be so hurt if they caught me thinking this way”

Tags/Warnings: Self-Deprecating Thoughts

Lucifer

Takes it very personal

As pride incarnate, he values himself on making his guests feel comfortable

Even if it’s not him causing the thought, he’ll still see it upon himself to try and fix it

You don’t even have to say it, he just knows (okay, maybe you vented to Beel and Beel told Lucifer cause he was worried about you but that’s beside the point)

“MC, I was unaware I was doing you the disservice of not imploring your importance to us. Let me make that up to you.”

You don’t know how he knows, but you don’t question it.

He prepares tea for the both of you, ready to have a full conversation about self reflection.

Every negative comment you make about yourself he’s quick to counter

“You’ve truly become the gem of the Devildom, MC. I cannot be dissuaded from believing the same goes for the human realm. You’re very dear to me.”

Mammon

Oh hell no

He will not stand for it

He had asked you to attend one of his shoots earlier this week but you had never responded to his invitation, changing the subject every time he brought it up

At first he thinks you just don’t want to go, which hurts him. You catch onto this, and not wanting him to think that the real reason comes out

“It’s just… you’re a model. Not to mention you were a literal angel sculpted by the Gods, and you make an even hotter demon. You’re on the cover of every magazine in the Devildom. Wherever we go you get recognized and fawned over. Hell, you’ve even got a fan club here at school. You’re also one of the most powerful demons and leaders of this realm. Why the hell would you wanna be seen with some pathetic, average looking human like me.”

His heart breaks

He blames himself for not catching on quicker

“Oi! I’m not gonna let anyone talk about my human like that, even if you are that human!”

In the middle of his rant about how everything about you is perfect to him, from your gorgeous appearance to your terrible humor, to your radiant personality, he gets an idea.

Its like you can see a lightbulb flash over his head, he gets giddy like a child, taking out his phone and quickly dialing a number

As it rings it rings, he proudly says, “If ya got a problem with me bein’ a model, I guess we’ll have to make you one too!”

His agency is actually thrilled to have a chance to shoot Diavolo’s esteemed human exchange student. It’s like a once in a millennia chance.

And he’s holding your hand proudly through it. Now he can show you off to the whole Devildom.

You were nervous about it all week until you saw the photos printed on every magazine in town

You stood next to Mammon, both in your Rad uniforms posing in front of the school. You breath hitches in your throat when you see just how adoringly he is staring at you in each and every photo

He may be a professional, but no amount of training could have stopped his love for you from shining through his expressions

He rips these pictures out of his copy, hanging them both all over his and your rooms

“Now the whole Devildom knows we’re a match made in heaven! Well….shit…uh…ya know what I meant.”

Levi

All that stuff about you being a normie, you know he was just kidding right!?

You open up to him against your will, as you both engaged in another weird card game he bought off of Akuzon, and were bound by the rules to confess a burden or be stuck in the games limbo forever

How could anyone (let alone you) think that about his Henry? His player two?

“H-hey! You’re not giving yourself enough credit! You’re super cool, MC! Like, boss level status!!!”

By the shine and sincerity in his eyes, you know this boy is telling the truth

When you flash him a smile and let out a gorgeous laugh, let’s just say the boy melts

Scoop him off the floor and into your arms, he’ll appreciate it.

Asmo

You have to realize there is only one thing in this world that Asmo thinks can even come close to comparing to him and it’s you

If he is Adonis, then you are Aphrodite (and vice versa)

When he sees you staring in the mirror for a beat too long and learns it’s NOT because you’re admiring your own beauty

oh honey

you’ve got a big storm comin’

We’re talking a self care whirlwind here

He’s got face creams, he’s got body scrubs, he’s got lotions, he’s got makeup, he’s bringing out the big guns

And he’s doing all the work too. Asmo is making sure you feel pampered and radiant by the end of the night

If self care doesn’t work, then he’s got other ways of convincing you *ahem hem*

Satan

You’re preaching to the choir hun

He can’t help himself, he compares his every move with Lucifer’s, worrying he’s not as good as him; worrying he’ll never best him

He knows how much that feeling sucks though, and he never ever wants you to even have an inkling of those thoughts

It happens during a study session in the library, he notices just how out of it you are today

“And what exactly is the correct terminology for hypnotizing someone with cursed speech, MC?…….MC?”

When you finally snap out of your haze and meet his eyes, he knows something in wrong

He’ll softly but steadfast question you, even if you don’t tell him the complete truth, he knows exactly what’s wrong, he can see it in your eyes. The same look he sees when he looks in the mirror.

“I’m just not as smart as you, Satan. I’m just a human. Let’s face it, I’m never gonna pass these exams. Diavolo’s gonna send me home because I’m just not good enough. I’m not as great as you all make me out to be.”

At those words, panic sets into his eyes temporarily before they soften

“MC, you’re the most remarkable being I’ve ever met. Quite frankly, I never thought a human could survive down here- well, there’s Solomon, but I wouldn’t quantify him as human. You’re certainly more clever than you think. Honestly, you’re not as great as we all think. You’re even better than that.

After his little pep talk, he’ll take you back to his room for a little study break. He’ll make you tea, read to you, nap with you, whatever makes you feel better.

You enchant him <3

Beel

This has Beel utterly baffled because the poor boy cannot wrap his head around why you or anyone else would ever have a negative thought about you

He may not speak it all the time because he just assumes you know but you are his everything

If even an inkling of a negative thought comes out of your mouth, Beel will stare at you straight faced for a beat before completely enveloping you into his strong arms

He’s not the best with words (usually, he leaves the poetics for his twin) but he will really make an attempt to chase these doubtful emotions from your mind

“MC, I don’t know what made you feel this way but I promise it’s far from the truth. Now, how can I help you feel better?”

Belphie

omg bestie him too, small world!!!

I mean, how could he be enough for you? He tried to kill you!!!

Mutual and constant assurance common between the two of you

And ever since the events of that day, a giant question has been gnawing at the back of your mind. You can’t help but let it slip one day

“Belphie, are you sure you love ME? That i’m not just a replacement in your mind for Lilith? You hated me until you found out I was her descendant…I-I mean, how could you change your mind that fast?”

He’s stunned to say the least, but shakes his head and softly smiles at you before stating

“Yes, I did hold a grudge against humans, but not particularly you. I would have attacked any human who found their way in front of me back then. Lilith is my sister, of course I love and miss her. But you MC? You are the light of my life. I could only see red until I saw through your human nature and finally saw the beautiful soul that is you. I realized I was wrong that day, wrong for a very long time. Now, I don’t want to waste anymore time, I want to spend it all with you.”

[demogordon]

How Soon Is Now?

Pairing: Steve Harrington/GN Reader

Wordcount: 8.2k

Summary: Over the course of eight months, Steve finds himself falling in love.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: language, implied AFAB!Reader, lightly implied nudity, some hurt/comfort, reader gets kissed on a date and isn’t entirely thrilled about it, light Stancy mentions, implied Neurodivergent!Reader

Notes: I’ve been writing this for three weeks now, it’s become much longer than I anticipated. Happy Volume 2 Eve, everyone. 

  ----

Dustin Henderson’s instructions had been very specific. On December 15th, the night of the Snow Ball, Steve was to pick him up at eight-thirty. Not eight-twenty-nine, not eight-thirty-one, eight-thirty. Dustin wanted to arrive fashionably early to a party which started at nine, for which he had nothing in particular to be excited about. 

Steve was to take him to the dance. Not like, take him-take him, like drop him there and then buzz off and make himself scarce until eleven-thirty, when the dance would be over. Then he had to pick Dustin up and deliver him back home in one piece.

It was a bit contrived and over complicated, but Steve knew his scheduled dates and his times all too well, even double checking that this would all take place during the p.m. and not the a.m. Dustin had stared incredulously at him for a full and very silent thirty seconds before blinking once and nodding. 

When he gets Dustin’s frantic call on December 8th and can’t get Dustin to relax for the life of him, Steve nearly descends into cardiac arrest, especially when he can’t get the kid on the other end to calm the fuck down enough to explain a single word. After a solid two minutes of the both of them near hyperventilating, Dustin finally spits out, “I don’t have anything to wear.” 

“What?”

“I said I don’t have anything to wear.”

“No. No, I heard you. I just don’t follow.” 

“I need you to take me to Maureen’s. In downtown. It’s on South Main Street.” Steve knows Maureen’s. It’s practically the only place in Hawkins for formal attire, a tiny boutique run by Maureen Angelos, a shrunken and ancient woman who was, despite a sour appearance, extremely kind and just a hair shy of too helpful. 

Steve had gone there for every single nice article of clothing he ever needed, including his suit for junior prom. He really didn’t want to think about junior prom because he went with Nancy and when he saw her standing there, in a satiny pink dress, huge eyes reflecting the tiny glass lights around the room, he’d decided he was going to marry her. That was all bullshit now. But he doesn’t tell any of that to Dustin. 

Instead he says, “I know Maureen’s. Why do you need me to take you?”

“You’re gonna know what looks cool! If you don’t go, then it’s gonna be my mom and you know what she’s like!” Claudia Henderson, despite being one of the nicest women in town, was also one of the most dowdy and frilly. She would likely force Dustin into some awful but very fluffy sweater, printed all over with piss-yellow argyles and little pink cats. Steve can actually picture the sweater and he’s pretty sure it’s because he’s seen her wear it around town.

“Yeah, okay. What time?”

“Now’s good.” With an eye roll, Steve affirms, and then hangs up as he rolls off of his bed onto his feet. He’s mostly spent these past few weeks lounging around feeling bad for himself, drinking more alcohol than usual with melancholy fervor, and being harassed by Dustin. He doesn’t actually mind the last one. He really likes Henderson and all of his friends. Most of his friends. 

He can’t look at Mike, he looks so damn much like Nancy that it hurts his chest and then he gets convinced that he’s having dysrhythmia and lays down to die only to discover that what hurts isn’t actually physical enough to kill him. And the bowl cut kid, the one who went missing a year ago, is so gentle that Steve’s hurt when he thinks about Jonathan Byers swallows itself by the tail, so while he does like Will, he doesn’t want to spend much time with him. Steve feels selfish for it but he wants to cling onto his pain. It’s really all he has right now. 

Steve sort of zones out as he drives, passing places he used to haunt when he was really just a vapor of a person, held together by loutish ego and hairspray. Tommy Hagan’s worn down front door, surrounded by overgrown hedge, where the pair of them snuck beers and cigarettes back in the sixth grade. Carol Perkins’s front yard where the trio of them (Steve, Tommy, and Carol) used to practice using their best swear words. The parking lot of the local church, where he and Tommy used to do doughnuts every winter, which somehow never killed them. The park, where he and Tommy and Carol and whoever Steve was having sex with at the time and maybe Tina or Nicole or somebody used to loiter for hours until Chief Hopper would show up, half drunk and half wild and all delirious and yell at them to, “Go the fuck home!”

Dustin is waiting for him on his doorstep, practically vibrating from anticipation. Steve tries to bring himself to be annoyed that he’s been demanded out of his house on a Saturday afternoon when he’s actually maybe still a little hungover from his one-too-many pity beers last night, but he couldn’t possibly. Weirdly enough, Dustin Henderson is the closest thing Steve has to a real friend right now and it makes him happy to see him bounce his way into the car with the fervor of a puppy that’s been let off of its leash. He shuts the door a little too loudly for Steve’s beer-headache and if he notices Steve’s wince, he doesn’t say anything. 

The drive to Maureen’s is chatty. Dustin likes to talk. Steve also likes to talk but when he’s with Dustin, he mostly listens, which he likes. He didn’t ever know he was a good listener until about a month ago, when he started hanging out with Dustin. Steve parallel parks just out front of Maureen’s, which Dustin is excited about, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel a little more like his old self. Not the bad one, but the good one, the confident one. 

In the store, Maureen hobbles over and borderline clings to Steve’s arm and rests her whole body weight against him as she hoarsely asks what they need help finding. Steve tells her truthfully that they don’t need any help and pulls Dustin along to look at the dress shirts, of which there are a surprising amount in a whole array of colors. Dustin’s first pick is brown and patterned with abstract purple paisley. When Steve grimaces, Dustin shoves it back. 

Green and yellow is a no. So is the fuschia one. So is the plaid one. And the carmine and cornflower one. Steve eventually starts shifting through the shirts in Dustin’s size himself, finally settling on a turquoise blue one. He produces it and holds it up in front of the kid, who looks at him skeptically. 

“You have blue eyes, yeah? This one will look good.” 

After a few minutes, Dustin steps out of the tiny changing booth to show him. After Steve gives his approval, Dustin averts his eyes sheepishly and asks, “Can you tell me how to tie a tie?” 

Steve pulls two ties off of a nearby rack, to which Dustin starts. “A bow tie.” 

So Steve grabs two bow ties and drapes one over the back of his neck and hands the other to Dustin. Steve shows him, once slowly: cross over, wrap up and over, wrap down and under, loop around, pull out the sides to present a bow. Then he watches Dustin try it several times. He gets it right and then unties it to do it again. 

The bells tied to the door jingle as it opens. Steve can hear Maureen slowly ambling over and in a harsh whisper, asking how she can help. And then, clear as day, the sound of you, laughing and your voice. 

Steve’s stomach drops to his toes. His blood gets cold but his face is unbearably hot and suddenly he’s sweating all over, probably through his shirt, even though it’s December in goddamn Indiana. He glances over at the full length mirror, suddenly wishing he could check up on how he looks, but Dustin is in front of the mirror, retying his tie for the fifth time now. Steve remembers that he has a bow tie tied around his own neck and goes to take it off as fast as he can, but before he can even start—“Hey, Steve!” 

“Hey,” Steve says, trying and failing to act cool. You beam at him and yeah, he gets why they call it that now, because your smile is so bright and warm it makes him want to melt. It actually makes his knees liquefy just a tad, so he shifts a little so you don’t notice how weak his legs have suddenly become. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, and he wishes it hadn’t come out sounding so accusatory and he semi winces, but you only smile wider, which he didn’t think was even possible. 

“I’m getting shoes for the Winter Concert.” At his clear confusion, you add, “For choir. At school. I’m in the show choir.” 

“Oh.” He laughs and it comes out more like letting out a heavy exhale. You look at him expectantly for a second and it doesn’t click until it does. “Oh! Yeah, I’m here with Dustin. Getting stuff for the Snow Ball.” 

“I like your tie,” you say. He glows and he’s sure you can see it on his face, that he’s lit up like a glow worm. 

He’s known you for a while. During that winter of ‘83, you were a force to be reckoned with, fierce and fiery. Only seventeen and a half hours after he watched you beat the shit out of whatever in God’s name that thing was, you showed up on his doorstep with an approximate fuckton of homemade chocolate chip cookies for him and Nance along with a promise that you were always ready to lend an ear and slash or be a friend. Steve hadn’t taken you up on it much and sometimes he regretted that. 

This past month, he’s had his ass handed to him in front of you by Billy goddamn Hargrove, for whom you had many choice words (“He’s so fucking, he’s just, fuck!” So mad you were borderline shaking even hours later as the group bundled up after the gate’s closure). You also smashed several of the gross, weird dog creature things, pinning them down after whacking them with the biggest kitchen knife he had ever seen and stomping on their skulls with your chunky Doc Marten boots. He questioned your method of using a knife as a bludgeon but he couldn’t deny that it had worked. You’d beaten a dog thing half to death after kicking it off of him and then helped him up off his ass with a surprising amount of strength. And to cap it all off, you’d comforted him a bit about Nancy, providing solace for his bruised and beaten heart. 

Because of your far from standard badassery, you know his biggest and worst secret: Steve is not cool. He’s so uncool that it hurts and you’re so fucking cool that he can’t stand it. 

“Uh, when is this Winter Concert?” 

“It’s on the fifteenth at 8:30. It goes until about 9:30 ish.” Your eyes are full of something that Steve can’t quite read. Excitement, maybe? Apprehension? He’s about to confirm that he will absolutely be there, front row, wielding a giant sign with your name and maybe whatever your jersey number is on it, when Dustin pipes up from the mirror. 

“That’s when the Snow Ball is! It starts at 9:00. Steve’s my ride,” he says, almost absently, like he’s just been reminded of the upcoming event. It’s almost imperceptible, but Steve swears he sees your face fall before you remember not to let it. 

“Well, you guys have fun, I’ve got to, uh, shoes. I’ll see you around!” You say, very hurriedly dashing off. Steve lifts his hand in a tiny wave that you don’t see but someone else does. 

“So that’s what acting like you don’t care looks like.” Steve shoots Dustin a sharp look before ruffling the kid’s hair. 

“Come on, smart guy, let’s get your shit and go home.” 

A week later, Steve is exactly punctual. Dustin is not. Steve knocks on the Henderson’s door and is ushered inside where he waits for him next to the front door, with Claudia ambling around just generally trying to make herself seem busy. When Dustin dashes to the door, his hair is Farrah-Fawcett-fluffy and his bow tie is tied neatly at his throat. 

Steve offers parting words of advice to his small child friend and waits to make sure he makes it into the building and catches a glimpse of Nancy. She’s as beautiful as she’s always been, as most people are. Seeing her makes his stomach hurt and that feeling doubles down when he glances at his dashboard clock. 9:01. On a sudden impulse, Steve puts it in reverse and floors it across the way towards Hawkins High. 

9:12. Every goddamn person in town must be at this thing because Steve is struggling to find any open space. When he finally gets himself nestled into a spot that’s probably a hair too small, Steve shuts off his car and leaps out, almost slipping on the tar of the parking lot. He sees the gym doors, glowing light peeking out and races toward them. He opens the door and tiptoes into the building, somehow managing to avoid causing a distraction as the guy who must be the choir teacher yammers into the microphone. Steve isn’t really listening to him as he stands to the side of the bleachers, tucked out of the way. 

You have a dress on. It’s deep green, school colors, and hangs past your knees but he can see the pair of black flats you must have gotten that day at Maureen’s. They're the pretty kind that have ties around your ankles. You fidget your feet uncomfortably like you’re still not used to them. As soon as the director stops speaking, your head snaps up like you’re worried someone caught you not paying attention. Probably nobody even noticed except for Steve. 

When your group’s last song starts, Steve doesn’t recognize it even faintly. But it's pretty. He can’t even hear anybody but you.

----

If you’re under the age of sixteen, you have to be accompanied by someone over the age of sixteen to be allowed to rent roller skates, Max explains to him. That’s why Steve has to come with her and why she can’t just come by herself. Even if her friends were coming, which they’re not, since Fridays are their D&D night (whatever that means), they couldn’t get skates by themselves anyway. Besides, it wasn’t like he really had anything better to do, something that Max made a point to remind him of. 

The new roller rink in Hawkins blares neon at all hours of the day, even after its 11:30 p.m. closing time, but now, at 8:45 on a Friday night in mid April, it’s crowded to its limits. Max bounces ahead of Steve, not waiting up for him as he wobbles his way clumsily towards the floor. He’d thought since he’d always been so athletic—assigned the prestigious role of co-captain of the Hawkins High swim team for two years running and captain of the basketball team, and though they didn’t win their championship, he was their star player—he would never have any trouble with any sort of athletic feat. He has since been proven wrong. 

Steve feels like a confused baby deer, knees buckling and thighs wobbling and he clings to the railing as soon as he reaches it. Max finally spares him a backwards glance and does an obligatory and very Maxish eye roll before she skates back over to him seamlessly. She holds out her hand and the moment Steve takes it, she yanks him along at top speed. He flails wildly, off balance immediately, but she is completely unfazed. Max is not very big. Steve should be far more difficult for her to tow without even really breaking much of a sweat, but she is nonchalant while flinging him around like a ragdoll. . 

With no warning, his left knee crumbles inward and Steve lets go of her hand to catch himself on his palms and his right knee, which jarrs his limbs incredibly painfully. He scrambles up to his feet, slipping and very nearly falling again before hoisting himself up to anchor to the rail. Max pauses. 

“You need to balance your weight fully on the balls of your feet and bend your knees. You push off with your foot and then bring it back to the ground and glide.” She demonstrates, like it’s the easiest thing in the entire world. Steve lets go of the railing and immediately pitches forward again and in his attempt to not smash his face into the ground, he twists and lands harshly on his ass. 

“Fuck!” Steve yelps, barely noticing the word coming out of his mouth as Max is overcome with sudden impish glee. 

“Hey!” She shouts at someone behind him, behind the railing. She waves wildly, before poking Steve with her toe brake. He isn’t really all that enthused to look like an embarrassing doofus in front of one of Max’s kid friends, most of whom he actually knows pretty well. He’ll never hear the end of it from any of those kids, except maybe the little one with the bowlcut. Steve sulks a bit, not wanting to be noticed by whoever it is that Max is so excited to see. Max turns her attention back to him and snaps, “Are you gonna get up, Steve?” 

Steve grabs back onto the safety rail and hauls himself upward and leans back cooly against the rail. Then and only then does he turn to see whoever Max’s friend is. When he realizes it’s you, Steve wants to retreat into himself as hard as he can, like a very embarrassed turtle. He hopes that you didn’t just see him fall and maybe you didn’t because you’re grinning like you're excited to see him and not like you just watched him make a complete and utter fool of himself. He’s about to let out a deep breath he’s been holding when Max pipes up right as you arrive next to him through garish yellow railing. 

“Did you see Steve just eat absolute shit?” 

You laugh as Steve kicks at her with no real force behind it. 

“I did not. Maybe I’ll get an encore performance.” Your eyes are squinty and happy. You’re teasing him and Steve feels fire swallow him up from the pit of his belly to the tips of his ears. Max looks at him very pointedly, as if she’s trying to communicate something extra with just her eyes. 

“Can you promise not to break any bones while I go race with those guys over there?” Steve gives her a thumbs up after assessing Max’s acquaintances and deciding she’ll be perfectly safe. She takes off immediately. Zoomer. 

When he turns, you’re gone and he thinks for a horrible moment that you’ve left and now he’s going to huddle in the corner until he has to peel Max away at closing time. Then he sees you looping through one of the openings in the railing to head over to him and all is right again. Then he realizes you’re probably here with someone and his heart seizes up again. Steve tries to say something to you, but when he opens his mouth, absolutely nothing comes out. He probably looks like a gobsmacked goldfish. He closes his mouth. 

“So you’re here with Max?” He’s glad that you can act like a person when he can’t. 

“Yeah. What about you?” In his mind he crosses his fingers that it isn’t a date, please don’t let it be a date, please, seriously, he won’t ask for anything else if you aren’t on a date. 

“Oh, I’m here with Kevin. You know Kevin, right?” Steve knows Kevin. Steve has known Kevin since the eighth grade, when he watched Kevin cut his gums while biting his toenail on a dare. Steve does not like Kevin and it is actually mostly unrelated to the whole toenail thing. 

Almost as if on cue, Kevin comes hurtling over with one large paper cup full of something and a bag of popcorn. He flings the cup into your hands over the railing. From this angle, Steve can see it’s full of blue Slurpee, but also from his very close proximity, he can smell that there is a lot of alcohol mixed into it, which he assumes Kevin brought from home. You delicately hand it back to him, pointing at the “NO FOOD OR DRINKS PERMITTED ON SKATING FLOOR” sign. He accepts it back fairly graciously, which Steve finds a little surprising. The silence between you, the three of you, is incredibly tense and awkward until a voice booms over the loudspeaker, announcing the hourly couple’s skate. Steve’s eyes meet yours but he looks away before you say anything at all. Instead, Kevin shoves both the popcorn and the drink into Steve’s arms before leaping over the rail and somehow not killing himself in the process. As Kevin takes you to the center of the rink and Foreigner’s gentle love ballad (I Want to Know What Love Is) begins to play, you look back at him and give him the softest smile he’s ever seen. 

Through the entirety of the song, which is maybe the longest four minutes and fifty-one seconds of Steve’s entire life, you keep glancing over at him. Every single time, he knows you find him already looking at you, but he can’t take his eyes off of you, not when he wants to catch your gaze every time. And it’s because he’s looking so insistently that he catches the end of the song, when Kevin pulls you into his chest tightly, caging you in his arms, and kisses you. You push away after only a few seconds and look a bit frazzled, and you skate off of the rink pretty frantically, not looking at him. Steve’s stomach drops like he’s on a roller coaster but in a bad way. Kevin very nonchalantly comes over to take back his contraband.

“What’s their problem?” He punctuates his sentence with a very loud slurp of his cocktail. Steve shakes his head and starts taking slow, careful roller skate steps in your direction, guiding himself with the rail. He can feel Kevin watching him the entire time, a look of incredulousness on his face. Steve doesn’t actually really care all. He’s focused on getting to where you are, now alone at a little table near the west side wall, which is one giant window. He almost makes it. 

Letting go of the railing, he continues slow, small steps, but starts getting anxious to go faster, to get over to you and check on you. Steve hopes you aren’t crying. He doesn’t want you to cry. He’s so focused on hoping that you’re not crying that he missteps. He knows you see this time, as he careens directly into the ground. He hits his forearm pretty hard and his jaw knocks against something, causing his teeth to all clash together. For a second, he’s decided to just stay there forever so he never has to face you again, when he sees your feet, your roller skates, come into his field of vision. You kneel down next to him.

“Are you okay?” You’re genuinely concerned until he nods, and then you start laughing so hard that you’re shaking and then you do his favorite thing in the whole world, which is when you lose control of your giggle fits and you snort, which always makes you giggle even harder. He can’t help but laugh too as you help him shift into a sitting position. You’re laughing and it’s so not mean and you didn't even laugh at all until you made sure he wasn’t really hurt and that makes him laugh, because he’s fine and you’re not even put off by his extreme lack of grace. 

“We have got to get these death traps off of you, Steve,” you say, pinching the toe of his skate and wiggling it. The intimacy of you untying his shoe and sliding it off is not lost on him. As soon as his skates are off, you take yours off too, swatting his hand when he tries to unlace them for you. Your date with Kevin is all but forgotten, but Steve has never been known for his tact, so he immediately brings it up. 

“Are you okay?” You look almost confused for a second.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sort of flew over here, you know, after…” Steve trails off, looking at you expectantly. You shift into a sitting position on the floor next to him, wiggle your feet to get them to wake back up, God, your circulation is awful, and then you scrunch your nose. 

“It wasn’t like, terrible or anything, you know. He just didn’t ask first. And he was holding me too tight, which I really,” you sigh. “You know how I feel about that.” Steve does. You told him one time that when you get hugged too tight, you feel like a teeny tiny little mouse getting suffocated by a boa constrictor, except inside your chest and lungs and around your heart. 

“Plus, he really didn’t smell very good,” you say, frowning, which makes Steve bark out a laugh. You elbow him gently but pointedly in his side, reminding him to Be Nice. 

“Sorry, sorry! I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he says, grinning. It drops a little when he asks, “But seriously. Are you okay? Did that, you know, hurt you?” He wants to kick himself. He knows it didn’t physically hurt you, obviously. But-

“No. I’m okay. I mostly just felt stuck, and that’s why I ran off so fast. Thanks for checking on me, though.” 

“Any time.” Steve really wants to tell you that he thinks you look really pretty and that he thinks that Kevin is an idiot, especially for not listening to you, but he’s cut off by someone else plunking down on his other side. Thankfully, it’s just Max. 

“What’s up?” 

“It’s all just couples making out now. Can we go home?” Steve smiles and gets up on his sock feet. When he holds out his hand to help you up, he sees that you’re gazing off into space. Oh, actually you’re not though, you’ve just noticed that goddamn Kevin has found some other girl to skate with and is not at all bothered by your absence. You look a little bit hurt and he can’t stand seeing that look on your face so Steve nudges your cheek gently with his knuckles and you jump a little before grabbing hold of his hand and letting him help you up.

“Do you need a ride home?” Max asks you. “Steve can take you.” 

And Steve takes you home. And then he takes Max home. If she’d noticed anything about you or your date or about Steve in the past few hours, she doesn’t let on. Once Max is safely inside her front door, Steve drives back through the other side of town, ready to collapse face first into his pillow.

And when he drives past the roller rink again, still neon and bright, he sees Kevin, now outside with that other girl. The two of them are sitting on the curb, sharing his popcorn and looking up at the stars and they’re smiling and some of Steve’s dislike of Kevin fades away a little, but he’s not entirely sure why. He just keeps driving home. 

 ----

The pool has been under construction for months. Steve had been working there over summers since his freshman year of high school but a combination of reasons kept him from coming back for the upcoming months. For one, Hargrove got a job there and he can’t imagine trying to converse with him civilly after he tried to kill Steve and at least two of his young charges. For two, his father wanted him to work in the food service industry, something Richard Harrington considered to be far more demeaning than almost any other job. Steve didn’t particularly agree, but he’s really only one fight with his dad away from an eviction notice so he doesn’t point that out. 

It’s the first Friday after the end of the 1985 school year. Steve’s young friends want him to take them to the pool now that it’s open again. It was the day before Henderson was supposed to go off to summer camp in the middle of nowhere. So Steve has agreed to take them, although he did make sure to mention it more than once to you so that he could make sure that you ended up there at the same time. 

Steve ushers in the whole group, Mike and Will and Max and Lucas and Dustin and is immediately disappointed that the pool is A) incredibly crowded and B) there is absolutely no sign of you anywhere. He’s instantly huffy and mopes all the way over to a miraculously unoccupied pool chair, which he flings himself into with a dramatic sigh. At least from here he can keep an eye on his kids. Steve uncaps his sunscreen and covers his whole torso, his arms and his legs before realizing that he won’t be able to cover his own back. He pouts harder before pulling his t-shirt back on. 

After about a half an hour, Dustin comes over to his chair, dripping with water and the smell of chlorine, and pokes Steve in his belly.

“Why are you so sulky? Is it ‘cause your lady friend isn’t here yet?” Steve shoots up from his theatrical recline (in case you walk in at any minute so you can see him from his best angle) to glare daggers at him. 

“First off, I’m not sulking.” He absolutely is. “And even if I was sulking, which I am not, it wouldn’t be because my lady friend isn’t here.” It absolutely is. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about.” He absolutely does.  

“Whatever, you don’t have to be such a weirdo about it,” Dustin scolds. 

“I’m not,” Steve insists, punctuated with an eye roll. He stretches out, arms overhead, groaning quietly as his spine cracks in several spots. Dustin crinkles his nose at him with a frown. 

“Staring isn’t gonna just make them appear out of nowhere.” 

“You don’t know that,” Steve says, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to know who Dustin was talking about. Dustin mimes jamming his index finger hard down his throat and exaggerated vomiting. The message is clear. Henderson finds his gooeyness utterly nauseating. Steve does too actually. 

He watches the gate for hours, waiting for you to walk in, lower belly tied in knots and palms sweating profusely. Every passing minute makes it clearer that you aren’t coming this time but he keeps hoping and hoping and hoping. He gets dragged in the water for a bit and tries to turn his mind off and just enjoy himself. It doesn’t entirely work but he does manage to have some fun, even when Mike pushes him over in the deep end in a very clear assassination attempt that sends a fuckton of water up his nose. 

Even as he’s ushering his crowd of kids who are still too wet to get in the car, he’s on his tiptoes craning his neck to search around the parking lot for any trace of you. The kids clamor as he shoves them unceremoniously back into the car, Dustin and Lucas spending a full minute arguing over who gets to ride shotgun until Max gives Lucas a dirty look that sends him scrambling to the backseat with her. 

Steve is moodily quiet as he drives home and drops all of his kids off. He saves Dustin for last. The kid scowls at him as they pull up to his house. 

“Do me a favor, Steve, and get this shit figured out before I come back. You have a month.” He doesn’t have to clarify what shit he’s referring to. Steve swats his friend on his shoulder affectionately, punctuated with an eye roll. Dustin takes the swat with grace, using it to propel himself out of the car door.

“Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Steve calls out through his unrolled window as Dustin walks toward his front door. Dustin responds with a thumbs up and his typical sugary toothless grin. Steve is really going to miss him, even if he is annoying sometimes and thinks he knows everything despite being fourteen. He’s still thinking about it as he pulls into his driveway which is how he misses you at first. 

You’re sitting on Steve’s front step. Your knees are all tucked up into your chest and you’re picking at your fingernails. As much as Steve had spent the day looking for you everywhere, he had to do a double take to make sure it was really you and not his brain inventing visions of you where you weren’t.

When you hear the car you jolt and look up and when you realize that it is in fact, Steve, and not his parents, you shoot to your feet, fidgeting nervously. Steve rushes to park his car and unclip his seat belt and open the door, tripping over his feet on his way over to meet you. You launch at him, screeching to a halt before making contact sort of like you aren’t sure if you should touch him.

“I’m so sorry, Steve! I wanted to go, I promise I had a good reason not to!” It’s like Steve’s stomach melts all the way onto the sidewalk like bubblegum ice cream and he can’t help but smile at you as he lights up inside like the fourth of July. 

“That’s cool,” Steve says, his voice cracking in the middle of it. “Um, I’m feeling pretty worn out after all the sun today. Did you wanna come grab a bite with me?”

He stumbles over his words, but it doesn't seem to matter because you bounce on your toes excitedly, scrunching your nose as you smile. He opens the passenger side door for you, letting you duck under his arm. When he hops in on his side, he glances at you. He expects to find you staring absently out the window, zoned out in that way you get but he finds you already looking at him. The sunset is practically assaulting your eyes, giving their color an almost orange hue, and you squint a little before pulling down the visor on your side. 

“Where were you thinking?” Steve asks, forgetting briefly that he asked you to get food with him. You chew the inside of your cheek thoughtfully as you consider your options. Hawkins doesn’t have a lot of choices, especially now that Benny’s old place has been forcibly reformed into a party house. Steve’s already making his way toward the only other diner in town when you relax back into your seat. 

“I dunno, probably Hawkins Roadside.” Hawkins Roadside is a reformed train car open 24/7 that offers a menu of the greasiest food in existence with the added bonus of minimal seating. It’s usually decently busy, but it usually gets crowded later in the evening when the party kid’s munchies catch up with them and the high schoolers head out on cheap first dates. It’s 8:00 p.m. or so on May 31 so the sun is descending, which means that the two of you would have at least two hours or so before Roadside gets busy but Steve has a heavy suspicion that their business is about to tank because of the new mall downtown. When he parks, he hops out quickly and does a dorky little half jog around to your side to open the door for you. 

It’s empty except for the two of you. The girl behind the counter, probably just a couple years older than Steve, aggressively chews on her gum while she sizes you up, probably deciding how much trouble the two of you will cause for her. She decides the answer is none. Steve is too focused on reminding himself that this is not a date and this is just a casual friend thing. And you, for your part, are usually pretty disarming. 

You aren’t exactly a picky eater but fatty food really isn’t your thing. You get a cobb salad and turn down Steve’s offer of fries or splitting a milkshake. He does keep sneaking fries onto your plate when you aren’t looking at him, though. He gets that opportunity a lot. You don’t like making eye contact very much and you zone out pretty frequently. During the middle of one of his covert operations, you turn your head back from the window that’s captured your attention and catch him red handed, hand over your plate, french fry in his fingers. At your raised eyebrow, Steve chuckles awkwardly. 

“I didn’t want you to be hungry.” 

“Thank you,” you say, eyes teasing as you duck your head a little to take the fry from him with your teeth. Steve leaves his hand outstretched for way too long afterwards, staring at you owlishly. That was totally normal of you so why does he feel so weird about the way your lips semi grazed his fingers? When he realizes he’s still holding his arm out like an idiot, he jerks it back like he’s been burned. You don’t seem to notice. 

“So what kept you today?” Steve asks, trying to be nonchalant about his disappointment. You immediately make a face that reminds him of a guilty puppy. 

“Sorry. I wanted to go, really. I just didn’t feel all that comfortable going to a public pool. I, uh, I can’t swim.” Steve perks up. 

“I can swim!” You tilt your head to one side. “I mean, I can swim, so I could teach you.” 

“Maybe.” You’re a little bit coy about it. “I don’t know how I feel about going to the public pool, to be completely honest with you.”

“I have a pool. We-we wouldn’t have to go to the public pool.” Steve hasn’t gotten in his pool since November of 1983. The night with Nancy and with Barbara. He hasn’t been able to stomach it, thinking about how selfish he had been at that time and how a girl had fucking died in his backyard while he was busy getting his rocks off with a pretty girl. He’s always blamed himself for what happened to Barbara and it didn’t ever help that Nancy started building a resentment for him over it, truly believing him to be responsible. He’s never said any of this to you. 

Your eyes narrow at him like you know there’s something that he isn’t telling you and you reach out and take his hand in both of yours. You don’t push it though, just hold onto his hand. Steve’s palm starts to sweat and he hopes that you don’t notice. You run your thumbs over the back of his hand.

“Maybe we can do that sometime.” Sometime. 

Sometime doesn’t actually come. Only about a month later, Dustin is bursting into Scoops Ahoy with a secret Russian transmission and a dictionary and then, well, the rest is pretty hazy. Something about getting trapped in an elevator for several hours and truth serum and Alex P. Keaton trying to bang his mom. Shit’s complicated. 

Dustin talks about Steve finding his Suzie and Steve thought that maybe he did, but Robin is not that girl even if he wishes she was, if only because she isn’t as scary as you are. 

Ambulances wail in the parking lot and Steve is half deaf for the sound of car alarms. As the pair of them sit side by side, finally losing the end of their truth serum highs, wrapped in thick shock blankets, Robin smiles softly. Its to herself, sort of like a secret.

“Harrington, you know what you were saying in the bathroom earlier?”

“Yeah.” 

“You don’t need me to be your Suzie. You already have yours.” Robin bumps his shoulder with her own.

You’re across the way in his field of vision, hair plastered with blood and Upside Down critter goop, cuts along your face and arms, bruises swelling the side of your face. You’re still smiling as you talk to Officer Callahan, who seems to be exhausted by the evening. When you catch him staring at you, you wave at him. He waves back and then winces because his entire body feels like it went through a trash compactor. 

“No,” Steve sighs, forgetting not to let his daydreams seep out of his head and into his voice. “I have better.” 

----

Mid August has no right to be as hot as it is. Sweat crawls down Steve’s back even as the sun begins its slow descent over the West. Lucas stands on the opposite end of the outdoor basketball court, hunched over with his hands on his thighs trying to catch his breath. They’ve been playing for hours and the kid is good, absolutely good enough to make the team in a few weeks. Sinclair makes him feel old, like his back is ancient. It doesn’t help that his left eye has only just completely stopped hurting constantly. It woke him up pretty much every night, throbbing violently, for weeks after the Battle of Starcourt, long after the bruise had faded and the hyphema had healed. The concussion had been harder to shake. 

 When Steve tried to shower and scrub the caked-on dry blood a few hours after he got home, he’d had a repeat movie theater bathroom incident, where looking up at the ceiling had made him immediately nauseous and he’d slipped down to his knees as his stomach tried to evacuate its contents. It made him feel pathetic and stupid, having to call you and say, “I can’t take a shower.” He hadn’t even entertained the idea of asking anyone else to help him, even if it felt more embarrassing. 

Steve hadn’t had to explain or ask for your help. You were over less than fifteen minutes later, dimming his bathroom lights and running the faucet, asking him how hot he likes the water. You’d tilted his chin up just enough to help him rinse his hair, creating a barrier between his hairline and his face with your hand to keep soap out of his eyes. And for weeks when he was up all night with violent headaches, you stayed up with him until the pain diminished enough for him to slip out of consciousness. He’d lay across your lap and you’d stroke his hair which would eventually relax him just enough to feel a dull ache. 

Steve actually really hates that because it has to come to an end eventually. He’s kind of been able to trick his brain up until this point into thinking that this was enough for him and that he didn’t endlessly wish for more. That he didn’t endlessly wish that he could curl up asleep in your arms in a non platonic type of way that was because you really wanted to hold him and not because he was sick with pain. 

Steve’s head is starting to hurt and his stomach is starting to swim up into his chest. He hopes that Sinclair calls this shit soon because he can’t admit that he suffers from as much pain as he does. He’s still supposed to be the protector. 

They play a bit longer. Lucas is so excited about tryouts but so nervous that he’s practically vibrating over it. He keeps mentioning Max, like that maybe Max will come see his games and maybe she’ll let him back in. Steve has a suspicion that the second part has nothing to do with the basketball team at all. 

“She’ll come around. She’s been through a hell of a lot. I mean, we all have, but she’s never fully understood the way that people are there for each other,” Sinclair says, dribbling the ball around Steve, heading up for a layup. Max will come around. She just needs to relearn trust and emotional intimacy. 

When Steve gets home, he’s so exhausted that he falls asleep with his jeans still on, collapsing into his bed, ready for an intensive dreamless sleep. He’s wrong though, instead haunted by the fear of what happens the second he stops being alert enough to watch out for the others. His kids, his friends, his you, everyone in danger and nothing he can even do about it. As much as he wishes he could, Steve can’t make the Upside Down go away. 

Steve jolts awake. His head starts throbbing the second he sits up, and he ends up just sort of sliding off of his bed and curling into a sad little ball on his bedroom floor, tucking his head underneath his bed because it's darker there. He’s sweating and hot but also clammy and shaky and he needs someone to come help him or to come and care about him. When he was little, he used to crawl into his mom’s bed and bury himself into the covers, regardless of if she was there but he’s grown out of that habit. Now he wiggles enough to reach the landline next to his bed and dial a number that has become endlessly familiar to him. 

“Hello?” Just the sound of your voice makes him feel better, like he can breathe a little easier and like he has something to focus on other than his now spotty vision. . 

“Hey.” 

“What’s up, Steve? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he says and there’s a pause at the other end of the line. He pictures you twirling the cord around your finger

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Seven and a half.” 

“I’ll be right there.” It’s only at the disconnected click that Steve checks the clock on the wall and finds that it's 1:34 in the morning. Twelve minutes later, there’s a soft tap on the front door. It's a formality. You know where the spare key is.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you say as you tiptoe into his room. Steve knows he looks a mess, still on the floor, rumpled and sad and scared. You help him off the floor and back into his bed and then reach out and stroke his hair. If it were anyone else, he’d tell them that hair is off limits, but you’re you and that makes you special. You tug on his arms and he lifts them up, allowing you to help him tug his shirt off and then his jeans. And then you go to his drawer and shift through his soft clothes, bringing him a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. After you help him put them on, you pause to look at his face, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“Big or little?”

“Little,” Steve says, a little sheepishly, but you tuck him into your arms without complaint or hesitation. He hadn’t known that being the little spoon was an option for him until about a month ago and he now steadfastly refuses to give it up. You’re usually colder than he is but tonight you’re extra warm. His hand finds the back of your arm where it wraps across his waist and he grabs onto it with the tender resolve of a bulldog. 

“What’s up?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Steve.”

“I don’t know, I just wish you wanted me, I guess.” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Steve backtracks. 

“Who said I don’t want you?” His heart stops. 

“What?”

“I said-”

“I heard what you said,” Steve says as he rolls over. You look apprehensive, incredibly nervous, like you’re worried that he’s pulling your leg.

“I’m sorry, I think I misinterpreted. Or you were thinking about someone different-”

“No. You didn’t.” Steve is staring at you now, headache fading with something else to focus on. 

“Oh.”

“Can you tell me?”

“What?”

“That you want me?”

“Steve, I do want you. I have pretty much since the day I met you. I’m just not very good at showing it, I guess.” Steve wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you in closer to him, crushing you as he squeezes you like a boa constrictor. You squeak and he lets go. 

“Sorry, I forgot-” You put your hand on his cheek, running your thumb along his cheekbone. Steve stares into your eyes as you stare at him, unblinking. 

“I really want to kiss you,” Steve says, mouth dry. 

“Kiss me in the morning,” you say.

“It’s morning now,” Steve says, before closing the gap between you. 

[dontfeeltoohot]

Have 4.6k of soft, sick paramedic!Eddie and nurse!Steve. 

This should all be pretty accurate when it comes to medical jargon/paramedic+emt stuff. 

Let me know what you think! :3 

X X X He’s tired, which isn’t unusual, but this isn’t his normal kind of tired that’s helped by coffee and stealing some of Henderson’s breakfast. No, this is a bone deep tired that’s making him want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over his head. As he pulls into the station’s parking lot, the twenty eight year old yawns for what feels like the tenth time in so many minutes, rubs his eyes, and then gets out, fixing his pullover. 

He’s worked hard for the navy quarter zip; not the actual sweatshirt itself, but for the title embroidered on it. On the left, a few inches below the collar; which has a ‘five years of service’ pin, reads ‘E.Munson’. On the opposite side, ‘Hawkins Fire and Rescue’. It’s the back that matters most- in big, white letters, is the word ‘PARAMEDIC’. It allows everyone on scene to know he’s the most knowledgeable, the highest in charge when it comes to any medical situation.

Making his way inside the large brick building, Eddie says hi to a few of the guys from A shift, throwing his black tactical backpack in one of the five, small rooms at the back of the station. It pays to be early, especially when private quarters are hard to come by. He’s sure in the end he’ll let Chrissy have the bed, and he’ll probably fall asleep in one of the large recliners they’ve got in the common room. 

Walking back out, he goes to the cupboard above the stove and grabs his black mug that has ‘Eddie’s, Touch and Be Ketamine-d’ printed on it, a gift from an old chief. Thankful that A shift’s already started coffee, the long haired man pours himself a cup, splashes some creamer in it, then leans against the wall, waiting for more of his coworkers to file in. 

Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair come in first, all talking far too loudly, the youngest four at the station. Fucking fire fighters and their disregard for anyone but themselves. Swallowing and wincing as the hot coffee burns his throat, Eddie nods at them, unable to help the smile that falls on his face when Henderson races up to him.

“Eddie! Dude! Did you see the new Game of Thr-“ 

“I’m gonna stop you right there Dustybun. If you so much as say a word about anything that’s happened, I will kick your balls so hard-“ 

“Okay, okay. Got it. No talking about it,” Dustin gives a thumbs up and heads back to the other three. 

That kid needs some downers or something, he’s far too energetic at six am to be considered normal. Shaking his head to himself, Eddie takes another sip of coffee and turns the tv on that’s hanging on the wall, turning it to the news station. Chief Hopper comes in, Captain Powell and Lieutenant Callahan right behind him. The paramedic salutes them in greeting. Finally, Chrissy, Joyce and Murray walk in, making Eddie stand a little straighter. 

“Morning,” Joyce smiles, her own cup of coffee in her usual to-go cup held tight in her hands. 

“Morning Joyce,” Eddie smiles genuinely. He’s ridden with the other paramedic a few times, and he always enjoys her company around the station. She’s the mom of B shift, and it’s no secret she likes to mother hen Eddie the most. 

“You ready for another day in paradise, my friends?” 

“Paradise must have a different meaning in your mind, Murray,” Chrissy jokes. Eddie puts a hand on her arm and smirks. 

“I’m going to go check how much shit A shift moved,” Eddie informs his partner, going and grabbing an iPad from the office. He knows she’ll want to get some coffee first. “Oh! I got a room for you, by the way,” he adds, earning a large smile from the petite girl. 

“If only he weren’t gay, you two would be a power couple” Murray chimes in, Eddie already half way out the door. 

The bays are warm from the heat being blown in, so the curly haired man pushes his sleeves up, revealing numerous tattoos covering his arms and even one on the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Pulling his hair up and out of his face as well, he opens the back of Ambulance 12, sniffling from the sudden temperature change. 

As always, a few things have been switched around from where they should go, making Eddie grumble to himself as he right’s A shifts wrongs. More specifically, he’s cleaning up Jason fucking Carver’s attempt at getting under his skin, and he refuses to admit it’s working. All the guy cares about is getting recognition, Eddie’s sure he doesn’t actually care about helping save lives. 

As he continues, he feels his nose getting stuffy, making him cough when he sniffles. Ugh. If he’s getting sick he’s going to riot. Halfway through the checklist, Chrissy hops in, sitting on the stretcher. She’s eating a nutrigrain bar and Eddie wants to tell her he’s proud of her but also doesn’t want to draw attention to it. 

“How much damage did Carver do?” 

“That man’s going to see me at our next station meeting and I’m going to go off on him I swear to god Chrissy,” Eddie growls, which only makes him cough. Fuck. 

“Easy tiger, I hate him just as much as you do, but I don’t need to have a floater for two weeks because someone can’t control their anger, yeah?” 

He knows she’s right. 

“Fine.” 

The EMT peeks at the checklist and goes to grab what they need, while Eddie counts how many collars they have. Sniffling, he rubs his eyes and reaches for his coffee, hoping to chase away the ache slowly starting to appear in his throat. A minute later, Chrissy reappears with the supplies, as well as a few extra boxes of gloves, tossing them in the cab.

“So, how’s everything going at the garage?” 

A loud bang interrupts Eddie before he can reply. 

“God DAMN it I’m going to smash Ballard’s head against a wall if he doesn’t replace the oxygen tank next time. Does he think my and my physical prowess can lift this shit?” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be able to lift at least 159, Murray?” Chrissy calls out, laughing. 

“Yeah but not completely dead weight that’s metal!” 

Eddie sighs and stands, jumping out of the truck to help the older man. 

“Quit complaining man, at least you’re not the one who had the bariatric guy on the seventh floor last shift,” he glares, making Murray snap his mouth shut. 

As he and Murray start moving the tank to the side of the truck, a tickle blooms in the back of his head. Clenching his jaw, the paramedic gets six feet away from their destination before he freezes 

“Hh! Hold ohhn-“ he sets his side of the air supply down, pulling the collar of his sweater up against his face. 

“hih’GHNgKtuhew! ihhKhTshh’EW! hihEhIKtsch’UHEW!” 

“If you’re sick, I don’t want your germs,” Murray scrunches his nose. 

“I’m not sick, Jesus, can’t a guy just sneeze?” 

“Yes, he can. But you- you don’t sneeze unless you’re around cats, dust, or you’re sick. And since there aren’t any cats and we dust pretty well here thanks to how anal Brenner can be on his damn visits, there’s only one explanation, rockstar.” 

Huffing, Eddie picks the entire tank up by himself, then drops it into the space it’s supposed to go. 

“You’re welcome,” he turns back to his own truck, rolling his eyes. 

“Bless you,” Chrissy gives him a smile when he gets in the truck. 

“Thanks,” he nods, sniffling. 

The paramedic can feel congestion starting to really accumulate in his head, more than just a stuffy head now. It’s as if the sneezes knocked something loose, opening up the floodgates. Clearing his throat, he leans back, sitting in the captain's chair. 

“Robin should be working today,” he gives her a smirk. 

“So should Steve,” she retorts smugly. 

“Base 1- we’ve got a code 2, 10 year old female, possible broken bone, alert and conscious. Address is 4928 Seller Lane, Hawkins Elementary. No posing threats.” 

Eddie grabs the walkie hanging from the holster around him. 

“We got it!” Eddie calls out to the two. “Ambulance 12 copies,” he says into the walkie. 

Chrissy closes the doors, and Eddie hops into the passenger seat, letting the woman drive. He’s tired and needs to wake up more before driving a metal death trap on wheels. Adrenaline is already starting to buzz through him, just like any other call. As soon as they pull out, he grabs the walkie again. 

“Ambulance 12 in route, 6:38 am.” 

“Copy that Ambulance 12.” 

***

“-shhew! snfsnf! Jesus Christ….ihHhNGkTschuhEW!” 

“Bless you,” Chrissy says, keeping her hands on the stretcher as Eddie takes one off to cover his face with his collar.

“You got her?” 

“Yeah,” the star berry blonde tosses him the iPad, info sheet already pulled up. 

Eddie looks up and feels his heart beat a little faster at the sight of Steve Harrington. He’s got navy scrubs on today, ones that fit him well, showing off his arms and ass perfectly. Swallowing and grimacing at the feeling, the paramedic slides up to the nurses station, a smile on his lips. 

“Harrington, missed seeing you around on Monday. Not that I don’t love Nancy,” he throws a smile towards the woman sitting next to him, who merely laughs. “But…I missed seeing your pretty face.” 

“Was getting over a wicked cold, you wouldn’t have wanted to see me, trust me,” Steve laughs. 

Raking his eyes over the nurse, he watches a blush fall faintly over Steve’s cheeks. Beautiful, Eddie thinks. He’s so damn beautiful. 

“On contraire, mon petit prince, I am a sucker for sick, germy boys. Why do you think I took this job?” 

Nancy laughs and Robin, who’s just walking up, gives him a confused look. 

“Right,” Steve shakes his head, getting flustered. “Who’s the patient?” 

“Damn, yeah, that’s a thing. Addison Myers, 10 years old. Was walking into school and fell over the curb. I’d bet a date with you she has a greenstick ankle fracture. Didn’t feel any complete abnormalities but it’s swollen and tender,” he rattles off. “BP is 112/68, heart rate is-snf! uhh..74, respirations we’re 13.”

“Actually 13 or bullshit 13?” Nancy chimes in, always in resident nurse mode. Eddie flips her off discreetly. 

“Actually 13, thank you. I take my job as a medical professional v-snf! very seriously,” he rubs his nose with his wrist, clearing his throat. Steve looks at him curiously, but Eddie ignores it. 

Turning his iPad, he hands it to Steve, who starts signing off on the paperwork. As the nurse does, Eddie sniffles and leans against the counter, yawning. Chrissy comes out from room 3 with a now empty stretcher, laughing uncomfortably at something someone is saying. He can hear it in her tone, so he pushes off the counter and looks at the other three. 

“Be right back.” As he gets closer, he knows the culprit immediately, and his fists clench. 

“Hargrove, how ya doin’ man?” Eddie comes up and throws an arm around the nurse who smells vaguely of cigarettes. 

“Munson,” Billy smiles, the leering smile he gives to all the girls. 

“Yeah yeah, I know I’m hot. However, I don’t appreciate you flirting with my partner, so if you could back off,” he stares at the other with an easy, light smile.

Everyone around them is staring, and Chrissy comes to stand next to him. 

“I’m just being friendly,” Billy laughs, almost condescendingly. 

“Right, and I’m the queen of England. Just lay off and we can forget this ever happened.” 

Suddenly, Hargrove is in his face, their noses almost touching. The scent of smoke makes his nose itch, but other than clenching his jaw, he can’t do much, not when the man is this up in his space. 

“You’re pathetic,” Billy whispers, spoken as if the words are venom.

“And why’s that? Because I’m not fawning all over you and your outdated handlebar mustache? Look, I’ve got people to actually save. So why don’t you go back to wiping asses and getting drinks for old ladies, and let us big boys do our jobs.” 

“You little-“ 

“What’s going on here?“ 

The two men step away as if they’ve been burned. Doctor Owens is standing there with confusion written all over his face. Billy gives the man his most innocent look. 

“We were  just discussing how to properly insert an airway.” 

“Actually, Hargrove here was making my partner uncomfortable, so I told him to leave her alone. Everyone here can attest to that,” Eddie shrugs, smirking when Billy’s eyes go wide. 

Owens looks at Billy and frowns. 

“Hargrove, I’d like to speak to you alone.” 

“Alright handsome, mind if I get that iPad back?” Eddie turns to Steve, who does as he’s asked. 

“God he’s going to be insufferable the rest of the day,” Robin groans. “But I’m glad you put him in his place.” 

“Just looking out for Chris. Jackass had it coming sooner or later,” the curly haired man assures, rubbing at his nose again. 

The scent of smoke is still lingering. When the tickle doesn’t want to recede, Eddie sniffles, which seems to do the trick. Pulling his collar up, the paramedic turns away from everyone. 

“huhINGkTschhew! iiGkSHhew! ahiiGShew! Snf!! SnfSNF!“ 

Both Robin and Nancy bless him as he sniffles and drops his collar down. Steve is staring at him again, making him squirm slightly. The look is intense and makes Eddie feel as though he’s staring into his soul. Nancy grabs a tissue box and the man snags a couple, wiping his nose and shoving them into his tac-pants. As he follows Chrissy out the door to grab a new blanket for their stretcher, he misses the way Nancy and Robin start teasing Steve, who’s blushing and glaring. 

Opening the back doors, Eddie watches Chrissy move the stretcher back into position and then raise the wheels up off the ground. 

“I’ll push it,” Eddie steps in, chuckling when his partner huffs and goes to get into the driver's side of the truck. When he hears the click and lock of the stretcher, he shuts the back doors and moves to the passenger seat, taking one of the tissues out from his pants, wiping his nose again, feeling it start to get runny. 

“Steve is so smitten with you,” Chrissy smirks, plugging her phone back up. 

“Nah, he’s jus-snf! just being friendly. I’m pretty sure he and Robin are a thing.” 

“She’s told me before they’re strictly platonic,” the girl shakes her head, driving back onto the main road. 

“Still don’t think Harrington is gay,” the long haired man sniffles into the tissue, rubbing his nose. 

“Are you okay? You sound kind of stuffy. I know that awful cold is going around, a few people on c-shift had it last week.” 

“Peachy keen, jellybean. Don’t worry so much,” he waves off, even though her words hold some truth. His throat’s starting to truly hurt, more than just a low ache. His head somehow feels even stuffier, now that his adrenaline is coming down, and exhaustion is hitting him hard. 

They get back to the station, where both firetrucks are out. At least it means some quiet, which also means a nap. Joyce and Murray are sitting at the long table by the windows talking when they walk inside. Chrissy puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, looking at him. 

“I’ll do the paperwork,” she informs and Jesus, he knows it’s a running joke of them being perfect for each other but he thinks if he wasn’t gay he really would kiss Chrissy Cunningham right now. 

“You don’t have t-“ 

“Least I can do for you after you saved me from Billy.” 

“Hargrove?” Murray butts into the conversation. 

“Yep. He was coming onto me. Eddie got him in trouble with Owens,” she grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“Good for you Eddie. That guy always gives me the creeps. He’s probably just overcompensating because he has a small dick, at least that’s what a few nurses say,” Joyce nods, sipping on her bottle of coke.

All three other first responders react simultaneously. Murray chokes on his redbull, Chrissy snorts and Eddie’s mouth drops open. Joyce Byers is an enigma, and the long haired paramedic loves her for it. He thinks about his own mother, and all the shit they went through together before she died. She hadn’t been as bold as Joyce, but she had been just as kind. Heart aching just a little, Eddie shakes his head and rubs his face. 

“Well, he was being a dick, and I told him to back off. Owens just happened to be passing by. Honestly if he hadn’t been I’m pretty sure Billy was about to try and deck me,” he shrugged, sniffling quietly. 

“Good for you, he needs a good ego check, or maybe a good write up,” Murray says thoughtfully. 

“You okay Eddie?” Joyce’s kind voice rings out, and he turns to look at her, their hair practically identical aside from his curls. 

“Yeah, just a little tired, didn’t sleep well last night, is all.” 

Before Joyce can reply, her radio crackles to life, informing Ambulance 13 of a middle aged woman suffering from chest pains. Murray hops up and salutes him, Eddie smirking. 

“Have fun you two!” 

Heading to the back of the station, Eddie sniffles harder, now that no one is around to think it’s gross or worry over him. It makes his nose itch, but try as he may, the paramedic can’t quite get at the tickle that’s growing. Pausing right outside the door, the man lifts his collar up, nostrils twitching teasingly. 

“hh! Ugh…snfSNF! hhh! hih’iiGKtSCH! ehIKSHHuhEW!” A few moments pass as he goes into the small room where a single bed occupies most of the space. 

“IHKISHEW! Guh,” Eddie yanks a tissue from his pocket and blows his nose, grimacing at the soupy, thick sound. Maybe he’s getting a cold. 

Laying on top of the bed and the blanket, moving the pillow so Chrissy can still use it, the man drops his head onto the uncomfortable mattress and shuts his eyes, sleep pulling him under.

Thirty seven minutes later, he’s pulled from his dream about a certain nurse and his navy scrubs when his radio sounds. Vaguely disoriented from the sudden interruption, Eddie gets up and stretches, only half listening to the crackly dispatcher’s voice. He feels worse, he realizes as he walks down the hallway to the common room where Chrissy is waiting for him. Scrubbing at his face, they head out and into the ambulance. No rest for the wicked. 

Of course it’s a CPR call. They’ve got no Lucas machine like ambo 13 does, and as Eddie does his seventh set of compressions, he’s starting to wonder if he can steal it off the truck. Chrissy’s talking to dispatch about needing Med Air, they’re not going to get the guy to the hospital when they have to stop every time the AED needs to reanalyze a rhythm. Ten minutes and 8 more sets of compressions, 4 shocks later, they’re transferring care to the helicopter team, and Eddie’s arms feel like jello. 

“Ambulance 12, we’ve got a GSW around the corner from you, are you able to take it? Police on scene, scene has been deemed safe.” 

“Copy that, ambulance 12 in route,” Eddie coughs to his side after clicking the button to mute. 

From there, it feels like they get back to back to back calls, no resting in between. Eddie’s driving as Chrissy sits in the back with an elderly woman who’s fallen and requested to be transported due to hip pain. They go over a particularly large bump and Chrissy huffs, making Eddie look in the rearview mirror and laugh. 

“Sorry Jean, Eddie’s driving skills are about as good as his people skills,” the EMT jokes, making the woman laugh. 

“Hey! I’ll have you know I get shout outs all the time from patients,” he calls back in a playful voice. “The ladies love me!” 

Eddie thinks he can hear the woman say ‘I’m sure they do’, but he’s suddenly preoccupied with an itch in the back of his nose, traveling through his sinuses. Sniffling does more harm than good, and as he rolls to a stop at a red light, he aims to the side, into his shoulder. 

“iiHKSHHhuew! snfsnf! hihGKTshhUHEW! hah’ITSCHhh’ew!” 

Chrissy blesses him, and he throws a thanks back towards her, yanking a tissue from the box they’ve got in the middle compartment, rubbing at his nose and then wiping it, still sniffling afterwards. Coughing into his fist a couple of times, Eddie pulls into the Ambulance bay at the hospital, still rubbing at his nose. His head’s started hurting, and with how he still can’t shake this chill, the paramedic briefly wonders if he’s running a fever. 

Steve had been on his lunch break during their last transfer, and when Eddie sees the man’s signature styled hair, he feels himself smile, despite how shitty he’s starting to feel. Nancy tells them to put the woman in room eleven, and Eddie nods, keeping his hands on the stretcher. 

“Now Ms. Jean, no more falls alright? As much as I love seeing your pretty face, I want you safe more than anything,” the twenty eight year old smiles warmly, chuckling as the elderly woman blushes. 

“Thank you sweetheart, I’ll try not to.” 

“Good. Chrissy’s going to get you to sign a couple things on this iPad, all you have to do is use your finger,” he explains, making sure the woman understands before sliding out of the room. 

Heading to the nurses station, Steve, who’s working on typing something, looks up and grins, eyes crinkling slightly. Eddie feels warmth spread through his body. A second later, he’s turning away, snatching a few thin tissues from the box on the counter. 

“ihGNktchUHEW hah’IKshhh’EW! S-Sorry, snf!” 

“Bless y-“ 

“iHGKktshew!” 

“Bless you,” Steve frowns. “You sound like I did last week. You feeling alright?” 

Eddie turns back, wiping his nose as he shrugs. Head heavy with congestion, every blink feels sluggish. He can feel mess accumulating under his nose again already, so he swipes at it then finally lowers the tissues. 

“I was gonna make fun of you for taking a sick day for a silly cold, but maybe you were the smart one,” Eddie’s voice is nasally, consonants rounded. It’s an easy way for anyone to pick up on the fact he’s unwell. 

“You should grab some meds on the way back to the station. You’ve still got, what, another 11hours?” 

They both grimace. 

“Don’t remind me,” the paramedic groans, rubbing his face. “God, I feel like a fucking biohazard,” he adds, pumping hand sanitizer onto his palms and rubbing them together. 

“Good thing you get another three days off,” Steve says optimistically, and Eddie’s never been more grateful for his 24 on 72 off schedule.

Glancing at the clock, Eddie frowns even harder. “All of you are off in fifteen minutes,” he deflates. He’d rather not have to do intake with anyone else. The paramedic enjoys Nancy, Robin and Steve and their constant banter and want to include he and Chrissy. 

“Yep, and I’ve got a hot date with a bath,” Nancy sighs dreamily. 

“Ugh, I have to study for the stupid final in pharmacology,” Robin growls, throwing her pen down. 

Eddie remembers having to do pharmacology. Half the shit they don’t even use, though it’s probably different for nurses. Steve looks like he’s in thought, so the curly haired man sniffles and then looks to see where his partner’s at. 

“I’ll see you guys around.” 

“Feel better,” Nancy looks at him with sympathy. 

“Thanks Nance. See ya Birdie, see ya Stevie,” he smiles at them. 

Steve nods, but then stands, walking around the counter.

“Here, follow me for a sec.” 

Curious, Eddie tells Chrissy he’ll be right back, then follows the brown eyed man. They arrive at a door, the plaque reading ‘nurses lounge’. Steve leads him inside, and his eyes dart around. There’s a few couches and chairs, tables, a coffee machine and television. Steve grabs a black backpack from the corner, rummaging around. A second later, he produces a little blister pack of pills and an unopened water bottle.

“It’s just DayQuil, thought you might benefit from one,” he explains, twisting the cap off of the water bottle and handing it to Eddie, who takes it, eyes wide with surprise. A pill is popped from the blister pack into his hand, and then put back into Steve’s backpack. 

“Thank you,” Eddie swallows the pill, grimacing at how it stings. He doesn’t realize Steve has more until something soft, wrapped in plastic is put into his free hand. 

“These are probably softer than whatever shit you have at the station.” 

A travel pack of tissues. Eddie kind of wants to surge forward and kiss the man, but then he remembers how germy he is. Right. 

“Don’t you need them?” 

“Nah, I’m all better now, just have them in my backpack for emergencies. And I think this counts as an emergency. Your nose is like, bright red man.” 

“Thanks Steve, this means a lot, making sure I don’t die a terrible death from the plague.” 

“No problem. Just doing my civic duty, wouldn’t want a death on my conscience,” he teases, and Eddie wonders if Steve feels the sudden intimacy that’s washed over the air around them. 

The paramedics about to turn to walk back out when he decides to cowboy up and do something about this damn crush he’s had for over a year. Maybe it’s this cold, maybe it’s how soft Steve looks, or maybe it’s just the need to be closer. 

“Hey Steve? Would you want to get some dinner with me? When I’m not a giant germ factory, I mean.” 

Steve’s eyes widen a little, and Eddie braces himself for rejection that never comes. Instead, the nurse steps closer and nods, taking one of Eddie’s hands.

“Yeah, I’d love that. Kind of was hoping for it, if I’m honest.” 

They exchange numbers and by the time he’s back out and sliding into the truck, Chrissy is looking at him expectantly. 

“Please tell me you two kissed.” 

“I’m germy as hell Chrissy.” 

“Ugh, he’s had it anyway, who cares?” 

“…we’re going on a date, once I’m not a biohazard,” Eddie admits, smiling so much it makes his cheeks hurt. 

“No way! Oh my god!” The pitch of her squeal makes him wince and she looks guilty. “Sorry, sorry. You and Steve Harrington. What a couple.” 

“It’s a date.” 

“It’s a stepping stone to boyfriends, Eddie.”  

The rest of his shift goes by in a haze. He may feel like shit, but he also feels oddly light and giddy. Joyce is just as excited as Chrissy is when the news gets to her, hugging him tightly. He tries to pull back immediately. 

“I’m sick, I don’t want to get you-“ 

“I have kids, Eddie. Sometimes, you just have to give a hug, no matter the circumstances. Now, go lay down. We can take the next few calls for you. You kind of look like shit.” 

[quartzelaii]

Perfectly Aligned

CHAPTER II

— L/N Y/N, best friend to Kageyama Tobio since age 6. L/N Y/N, the object of all Tsukishima Kei's desires since age 15.

Masterlist

CHAPTER I ➛ CHAPTER II ➛ CHAPTER III

word count: 11k

"How's that poster design coming along? Good, I'm hoping?" Nakano Miyaka, the Arts Club president, hovers over the table like a bespectacled hawk. Her thick glasses almost make her eyes look comically huge with the way she surveys the club room like some sort of cliché cranky supervisor from an office sitcom.

The Arts Club room is small and dingy, probably the smallest and dingiest room in prestigious Shiratorizawa. The four walls perpetually smell of acrylic paint and marker ink from paintings and other artwork that take too long to dry. The desks and chairs are stained with various pigments, courtesy of those hard-headed club members who always forget to put down newspaper before working on their projects.

Upon enrolling in high school, you had trouble finding a new club to pledge yourself to since you've said good bye to volleyball. When you were a kid, one of your favorite way to pass the time aside from playing volleyball is messing around with whatever coloring materials you could find in your pencil case— crayons, watercolors, those small pots of poster color that smell like expired medicine. You'd take your time creating your own masterpiece. More often than not, it would actually turn out good and your Dad would display it by the fridge or frame it to hang in the living room. You enjoyed making art for him, that was until he and your mother divorced. Suddenly, it didn't make sense to continue doing art anymore.

However, on your first day of school at Shiratorizawa, you were handed a flyer for the Arts Club by Miyaka herself who was scouting new recruits at the time. Perhaps it was her overly-enthusiastic persona, or maybe it was because the prospect of making art again made you feel nostalgic— either way, it only took three minutes of convincing before you were signing up.

Miyaka instantly took a liking to you. You're an efficient and productive member of the club, adamant on creating a good first impression on your clubmates. Not long after that, Miyaka has appointed you as the club's Secretary even though you're still a first year. You accepted the honor with much eagerness.

"Just tweaking a few things and then it's ready to be printed." Came the monotonous reply of the club's vice president, currently hunched back over his laptop.

"A few things, huh?" Miyaka gives a pointed look at him then at the laptop's screen. "Seems to me like you still have a lot to tweak considering the page is still freakin' blank."

Aoki Raiden groans and leans back against his chair, pulling the strings on his hoodie so the fabric engulfs his face. 

"Please get off my back, Miyaka-san. I literally can't work with you watching me all the damn time."

Miyaka yanks the hood off his head. "I gave you a week to finish the poster design, Rai. We're already behind schedule as it is."

"You do know the festival isn't until October, right? It's still the middle of August, not to mention it's summer break. Stop being such a worrywart. We have plenty of time." Raiden drawls as his fingers clack on his laptop's keyboard. From where you're sitting, you can see the interface of Twitter on the screen, the poster design's editing page has been minimized and is now completely abandoned.

"I dedicated the whole summer break to work on our booth so we don't have to worry about it once school starts." Miyaka puts her hand on her hips in an attempt to assert authority. "Us third years are gonna be super busy by September and I won't have time to supervise this club by then. You really have to be more considerate, you know."

"Ugh, fine. Give me three days and I'll send you the final design."

"No, are you kidding me? You have until tomorrow to finish that."

Raiden glares at the club president but doesn't complain any more. Reluctantly, he pulls out the editing software again and begins working, but not without complaining all the way.

Miyaka then turns to you who are currently writing on your notepad at the corner of the room, a calculator sitting on your lap. "How about our budget plan, Y/N-chan? Has it been taken care of yet?"

"Yep, I've added both what we've spent so far and the estimation of how much we'll be spending once we build the booth itself." You say, tapping your pen on the notepad. "I made a table for it, too, Miyaka-san, so there won't be any confusion. I'll give the printed copy to you tomorrow."

You rummage through your notepad, checking your various notes from the days before. "I've also checked in with Ryo-san and the other second-years earlier. They're about 50% done with the mural but they ran out of paint so they had to order more. Their expenses are already accounted for, by the way."

"See? That's what a responsible club member looks like. You should really learn a thing or two from your kouhai. Seriously, I should have fired you as vice president and appointed her instead." 

Raiden can only sneer in response, both at you and Miyaka. His typing becomes more aggravated by the second.

"And what about the piece you'll be showcasing at the silent auction?" The bespectacled third-year asks you again.

"Also done but it's still drying. I used oil paint."

"Great! I'm thinking of making that our centerpiece."

"What?" Raiden almost jumps from his seat. "How about my clay sculpture of Bourgeois' Spider? You told me it's gonna be the centerpiece!"

"Well, we can't actually showcase something you haven't even started on yet, can we? Tell you what, show me the finished product and I might actually change my mind."

"I'm getting on it! Just stop pestering me about it! God!"

Miyaka says something snarky in retaliation but you don't hear it. You're busy looking at the clock mounted on the wall to hear about the bickering of your two upperclassmen. The clock reads 2:28 PM. Tobio texted you an hour ago saying that they've defeated their first opponent and were currently waiting for their next match. You're almost buzzing in your seat in worry that you won't be able to catch it.

"Miyaka-san, I was wondering if I could leave early today? I'm supposed to watch the boys volleyball at the Sendai City Gymnasium."

"Eh? But I was told Shiratorizawa isn't playing today. Something about them being too good?"

"Oh, yeah, they won the Inter High so they're already seeded in the Qualifiers." You nod. "I'm actually gonna watch Karasuno."

"Why? Is your boyfriend in there?" Miyaka wiggles her eyebrows. You know it's just a playful teasing but you can't help getting flustered. Your cheeks heat up almost immediately. You hate how you always have this reaction.

"No, just my best friend."

"Yeah, right." Miyaka rolls her eyes with a sly smirk on her lips. "Everybody knows best friend is, like, code for boyfriend"

You reiterate rather defensively that Tobio is just a friend despite Miyaka clearly not believing you. It always entertains you whenever she teases and badgers Raiden but when you're on the receiving end of it, you don't think it's amusing anymore. Only when your face is about the shade of a ripe tomato did Miyaka stop her teasing, but not without giggling about how agitated you look about the whole thing.

Eventually, she grows tired of joking around and agrees to your request.

"No fair! How come she gets to go?" Raiden whines. The way he pouts and crosses his arms like that reminds you of one of those spoiled kids who throw temper tantrums in malls. He's a few months older than you but you forget that with how childish he acts sometimes.

"For one, she's actually been very productive today and she deserves an early out."

"What, just because she's the Darling Setter of Miyagi, she's free to watch volleyball anytime?"

Miyaka cocks her head to the side. "Darling what of Miyagi?"

"Setter. It's just a nickname I got when I used to play volleyball back in middle school." You wave it off as if it's no big deal— though you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the warm swell of pride in your chest upon hearing that nickname again after so long.

"Which is cringe and tacky, by the way." Raiden rolls his eyes, something you're now accustomed to seeing. You stick your tongue to him which he responds by sticking his tongue back to you. You don't take offense whenever Raiden eggs on you like that because you know he doesn't really mean it— it's just the way he is. To be honest, you have grown quite fond of his salty remarks, and sometimes, you even participate whenever he initiates a lighthearted squabble.

"I knew you used to play volleyball but I didn't know you were famous. Should I ask for your autograph?" Miyaka leans against your desk with an impressed look on her face.

"As much as I want to sign stuff for you, Miyaka-san, I don't think my autograph is worth anything anymore." You hope your response is buoyant enough to hide the fact this is a sore topic for you. You still haven't fully come into terms that you're not a volleyball player anymore.

"You really sure it's okay that I leave early?" You hastily add as an attempt to steer the conversation.

The bespectacled third-year taps her chin in thought as she looks at Raiden who is brooding in the corner. "You know what? I'm actually in the mood to watch some volleyball, too. Can I go with you, Y/N?"

"Of course, you can. I never pegged you as a volleyball fan, though."

"Oh, I'm not." She chuckles as she tidies up her desk. "But my boyfriend is such a nerd for it so I figured I should try to appreciate it more."

"Oh? You have a boyfriend?." Your brows shot up in surprise at this fact.

"You don't have to look so surprised about it, but yes. We made it official two weeks ago. We're keeping it lowkey. Not many people know yet."

"Oh my god," You hear Raiden's trademark exasperated sigh before he closes his laptop with a muddled thud. "A lot of people know you're dating Tendou-san. You can't say it's lowkey if it's all over your Twitter. Also, that whole will-you-be-my-girlfriend shenaniganhe did by the congregating area? Yeah, thatwasn't as cute as you think it was. He littered so much confetti that day, it looked like a unicorn threw up all over the place. Our class had to clean that up while you and your boyfriend made out behind the gym. You thought we didn't see that, huh? Well, we did!"

"Jesus, Raiden, that's not your story to tell!" shrieks Miyaka. The sound of it has you flinching.

Miyaka and Raiden commence yet another wrangle with the former chastising the latter for exposing her love life like that. Whenever something like this happens, you always give the two of them a couple of minutes before both of them cool down and continue on normally as if nothing happened. On your first few weeks with this club, you did think that this constant spat between the president and vice president was a bit too much for your liking— but then you learned soon enough that Miyaka and Raiden have been friends since middle school, and them fighting is a common occurrence, almost always not personal. They are actually really solid friends when both of them are in a good mood.

Your two upperclassmen finally reach an impasse. You haven't been listening to their argument so you don't exactly know how they went from Miyaka getting mad at Raiden for disclosing info about her love life, to Miyaka inviting Raiden to watch volleyball with you. You were busy putting away the papers and stationaries into their respective drawers when you heard Miyaka ask if Raiden wanted to come to the Sendai Gymnasium instead of being a whiny little bitch (the exact phrase she used). The way she worded the invite was a bit unorthodox but you know well enough that she just invited him so Raiden wouldn't feel left out when the two of you leave. She really cares for him in that way.

Their friendship is weird, you think to yourself as Raiden sassily agrees to go. You didn't plan on having company at Tobio's game, but your two senpai are alright companions— there are worse people to be stuck with.

"Maybe after the game, the three of us could go for some yakiniku." Miyaka has locked the club room and is now bouncing on the balls of her feet at her suggestion.

"As long as you're paying, then it's fine by me." Raiden lags behind you and Miyaka as the three of you set off.

"If you had given me the poster design today, maybe I'd have considered treating you— but you didn't, so no yakiniku for you."

"I have money. I can pay for my own yakiniku, thank you very much."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Tobio's name pops up on the screen with a text that has you widening your eyes.

"Guys, the game is starting in fifteen minutes! We have to hurry!"

You clutch your bag tight as you begin to sprint towards the gates. Miyaka and Raiden follow suit staggeringly. The former is shouting for you to slow down while the latter grumbled annoyedly to himself about regretting his decision to come.

The bus ride from Shiratorizawa to the Sendai City Gymnasium was fortunately quick. Though the game has probably already started, you still drag Miyaka and Raiden into a convenience store so you can get some snacks to give to Tobio after the game. Miyaka doesn't miss this opportunity to tease you further about being head-over-heels in love with your best friend, which you tried to ignore but couldn't help getting defensive over. 

After paying for your stuff, you practically yank the two of them by their shirts into the stadium.

By the time you've arrived at the stands, the whole place is already buzzing with cheers from the crowd. There aren't many supporters because it's only the preliminaries but the air is still thick with excitement and anticipation.

It takes you three seconds to locate Karasuno's black and orange uniform in the court. The first set of their game against Kakugawa has already started. The scoreboard tells you that Kakugawa is leading at 2-0, though years of playing volleyball has taught you that it's still too early to gauge the trajectory of the game.

"That's Karasuno." You tell your companions, pointing at the court in front of you.

"Uh-huh, and which one's your boyfriend?" Miyaka cranes her neck and squints her near-sighted eyes to see the players better.

"Not a boyfriend." You remind her. "He's. No. 9."

"So tall!" You hear Miyaka emit a yelp. You follow her gaze and realize she's not looking at Tobio— she's looking at the opposing team's No. 9, who is probably the tallest high schooler you've ever laid your eyes on. He could be about two-meters tall, maybe even more. For a moment, you wonder what this would mean for Karasuno— a two-meter giant like that is surely a pain to play against. You'd hate to see Tobio's team lose just because of the overwhelming advantage Kakugawa has.

"I meant the black team's No. 9." You nudge her by the shoulder and point at Tobio in the other side of the court who is currently conversing with his teammates about what to do during the next rally. During his years at Kitagawa Daichi, he used to despise communicating with his team, but now you can see that he has changed so drastically. He looks more confident now, more open. You smile at this realization.

Miyaka nods approvingly upon seeing Tobio, commenting that he's tall and cute. She even goes as far as to say that he suits you perfectly and that you look good together, which elicits a flustered squeak from you.

You remain silent after that. You follow Tobio's form as he expertly maneuvers the ball across the court. You cheer whenever Karasuno scores and gasps in dejection whenever the other team does. You don't think Tobio knows you're here yet— not once has he looked at your direction since you arrived, not that you're expecting him to look for you. You understand completely well that the only thing that has his undistracted attention during the game is the ball itself.

Raiden grumbles about you being too loud, but you beg to differ— you're just getting fired up. Little does he know that your loudest cheer is yet to come.

The first time you see Tobio and Hinata's new quick attack is when you lose your mind, screaming and applauding until both your throat and palms felt sore. It's just so thrilling to see it firsthand, especially as a former setter yourself. Normal people may see it and think it's just a flashy move, but you know how much precision and concentration a setter has to master before executing such a technique. 

Your best friend really is a genius.

"Nice toss, Tobio!" You shout. You doubt he heard you among the collective astonishment of the crowd. You're so fired up that Raiden has to poke you on your ribs to bring you to reality.

After that first quick attack, your focus is now entirely on the game, occasionally turning to Miyaka whenever she has some technical questions about what's going on in the court. Even though you learned that she's dating Tendou Satori, she doesn't seem to be all that informed about volleyball yet. Raiden remains quiet as he leans against the hand rail, observing the game with a bored countenance— though there's this one instance when he groans disappointedly when Karasuno's ace botched his jump serve. You find it amusing that this Shiratorizawa student has started rooting for Karasuno as well.

You're here to support Karasuno as a whole but you still can't help being biased. You can't seem to tear your gaze away from Tobio— so much so that the other members of the team seem like faceless characters in the background. You see them all moving and you're aware of each member's efforts but you're bewitched by Tobio. You can't not look at him.

All that changed, however, when he steals the crowd's attention with a monster kill block.

For the first time that day, your focus settles on Tsukishima. 

Honestly speaking, you kind of forgot he was even in the team. If it weren't for that superb kill block he did, you would have went along the entire game not acknowledging his existence. All of a sudden, though, the attention you're giving Tobio isn't undivided anymore— Tsukishima has half of it now.

"Whoa, he stopped that ball all by himself like what Satori does." You hear Miyaka observe beside you in awe.

Tsukishima doesn't seem unfazed nor thrilled after winning that mid-air battle. He maintains his cool mien even as his team surround him joyously. He goes back to position, adjusts his glasses, and prepares for the next rally as if he didn't just effectively shut down the opponent's spiker all on his own. If you were playing against him, you'd be extremely annoyed at how calm he is.

Still, despite alternating your focus on Tobio and Tsukishima, the former still has your unrelenting support. When he and Hinata ended the first set with yet another freak quick, you didn't know your scream was the loudest. Only when Miyaka laughed at you about it did you mellow down and opted for clapping your hands instead.

The second set is just as gripping as the first, maybe even more. You got to see for the first time Karasuno do a synchronous attack and whenever they do, your eyes unknowingly follow Tsukishima run up to the net and jump with the intent of spiking. The blonde is a great blocker but he's also an effective spiker with his height and ball control. You find yourself cheering and clapping whenever he scores.

Miyaka notices by the second set that your loudest applause are reserved for Tobio and Tsukishima, and sometimes the occasional gasp of astonishment for Hinata's amazing reflexes. The other Karasuno members are amazing players in their own right but you seem more ardently supporting the aforementioned two.

After Tsukishima scores with a block-out, you bring your hands to your mouth and shout a rather impressed "nice kill". By this, Miyaka taps your shoulder to get your attention, and she wastes no time asking forthrightly if you know the blonde. You respond by saying that you have met him before but choose not to elaborate further. Fortunately for you, Miyaka doesn't press any more. You can only imagine how excruciating her teasing would be if she knew the nature of how you met Tsukishima.

After Hinata scores the final point in favor of Karasuno, you and Miyaka find yourselves hugging each other in glee. You have probably rubbed off your enthusiasm on her because she asks if you'd accompany her to watch Shiratorizawa's game at the qualifiers to which you happily agree. Even Raiden who looked disinterested throughout the whole game is joining in on the applause, evidently enjoying the match more than what he expected.

"We still on for barbecue?" 

"I am kinda hungry so I guess I'll go with you." Raiden shrugs. The three of you make your way down the stairs as the crowd starts dispersing.

"I'm coming, too. I'll just congratulate Tobio and give him the snacks I bought. I won't be long." 

"You're hopeless." You see Raiden shake his head mockingly.

"I think it's cute." Miyaka simpers. "You don't understand these things yet because you're single since birth, Rai."

You almost remind her that you are also single since birth and Tobio is not your boyfriend, but you feel like you've reiterated that fact enough that it's getting annoyingly redundant.

"You go on ahead, Y/N. We're gonna go to the rest rooms because I'm gonna freshen up and Rai has to splash cold water to his face to wipe off that hideous scowl. Just meet us there?"

"Okay! Be back in a jiffy!" With this, you're off speed walking to the direction of the corridor where you remember players keep their baggage in. You've been in this stadium a lot when you were in middle school that you still have the whole place memorized.

It takes you two minutes to see Tobio. He's still in his uniform so you locate him right away among the other players that are coming and going. He has his back turned on you, head downcast as he adjusts his bag that is slung over his shoulder.

You tiptoe to where he is. The surrounding chatter of other boys in the vicinity makes your arrival all the more unnoticeable.

"So, that's your new quick attack, huh?"

Tobio wheels around upon hearing your voice. His default scowl is replaced by a smirk once he sees that it's you who has spoken.

"Impressed?" You can see his ego radiating off of him like an aura.

"It's alright." You shrug in faux nonchalance.

"Liar. I heard you screaming louder than everyone earlier."

You blush profusely at that. You knew you were loud (Raiden wasted no opportunity calling you out on it), but you didn't know Tobio heard you all the way down the court. His other teammates must have heard you too and thought you were crazy. The mere thought of it is enough to make you cringe in embarrassment. 

"Okay, fine. It was pretty neat." You finally admit, rolling your eyes. "Congrats on getting through the preliminaries. You guys deserved it."

Tobio grins, the kind that is laced with a dangerous amount of smugness. If you didn't know him at all, you would be offended rather than pleased when he says his thanks. 

"Here, I got you this." You rummage through your bag and give him a paper bag from the convenience store you went into earlier. Inside are a bottle of sports drink and three protein bars— all his favorite brand and flavor, you made sure of that.

Tobio thanks you as he rips open a protein bar with his teeth before biting into it. He demolishes the bar in two enormous bites which prompts you to berate him for eating too quickly lest he wants to choke to death. You threaten to take back the remaining two protein bars if he doesn't slow down. He argues with you with his mouth full, spewing unintelligible protests and half-chewed oats alike as he raises the paper bag out of your reach.

That scene may have been a little too loud because from behind Tobio, a mop of orange hair pops out to investigate the small commotion.

"What's happening here— Kageyama! You went to buy snacks without me?" Hinata seems to be more offended upon seeing Kageyama's stuffed face. 

Tobio shakes his head and juts his thumb at your direction, trying to say without words that it's you who gave the snacks to him. Hinata blinks as he registers your presence for the first time.

"Shiratorizawa?" His gaze lingers for a second on the shirt you're wearing which is purple with the academy's emblem printed on the front— the same shirt Miyaka and Raiden are wearing today. Since it's summer break, you don't have to wear your school uniform while doing club work inside campus but every once in a while, Miyaka still orders the club to wear the purple shirt, probably only for aesthetic reasons.

"Hey, is she your girlfriend?" Hinata tiptoes so he can whisper to Tobio's ear. It's not really a whisper because you can still hear it, and probably other people in the vicinity heard it too. 

"She's just a friend, dumbass." Tobio barks at the small middle blocker.

"Hi. I'm Y/N." You take it upon you to introduce yourself with a bow.

The middle blocker visibly stiffens when you speak, his entire face erupting into a shade of scarlet that has you worrying if he's okay.

"Hinata Shoyo! N-n-nice to meet you, too!" He squeaks.

"What's that I hear? Kageyama has a girlfriend?" Tobio's other teammate with the No. 2 jersey enters the scene from the benches you didn't realize he was sitting on, almost hopping to where you are to take a closer look at you. Either Hinata's voice was too loud or No. 2 just has superhuman hearing.

"She's not my girlfriend, Sugawara-san." Tobio says a-matter-of-factly.

It kind of annoys you how Tobio never shows emotion whenever he denies being your girlfriend— something he does more often than you would have realized. It's always robotic, as if he's reciting from a user manual for a build-your-own furniture. It's annoying to you because you're the exact opposite— when someone insinuates that you and Tobio are a couple, you're always reduced to a blushing mess. It's just so unfair, you think. How come he's not bothered by it at all?

"Y/N, is it? I'm Sugawara, Kageyama's senpai." He grins proudly as he puts his arm over Tobio's shoulder, making the latter stiffen uncomfortably.

"Nice to meet you." You bow to the silver-haired boy.

"Oh? You're from Shiratorizawa." He parrots the observation Hinata had earlier.

"Yes, I'm a first year student there."

"I bet you guys are bummed out that your volleyball team didn't get Kageyama-kun here." Sugawara looks smug in a way that is lighthearted.

"I don't think they're bummed out, Sugawara-san. They're the ones who rejected me." Tobio's reply has you snorting. How did he manage to say that as seriously as he did?

"And they're definitely regretting that now, no?" Sugawara gave Tobio's back a rather loud smack which is supposed to be an encouraging pat.

"Where are the rest of your team?" You ask out of curiosity. It seems like Tobio, Hinata, and Sugawara are the only Karasuno players around. The absence of a certain blonde doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"Rest room, probably, or watching the remaining games.", came Tobio's curt reply.

"I think Asahi and Daichi are getting drinks from the vending machines." Sugawara quips in, looking at his wristwatch. "Now that I think of it, I've been waiting for my soda for twenty minutes now. Where the hell are those guys?"

Suddenly, as if on cue, a boisterous and rather obnoxious laughter rings from the other side of the hallway. Karasuno's No. 5 and No. 4 are loudly joshing around with the rest of Karasuno in tow. 

It's hard not to spot him among his teammates. He stands out with his towering height and striking blonde hair. Tsukishima currently has his headphones on, scrolling on his phone with his hand tucked inside his pants pocket. He has already changed out of his uniform and into a plain white shirt and black trousers.

You're having a hard time registering the fact that the two of you are gonna see each other again— not that you're entirely opposed to it. The boy has definitely earned a considerable percentage of your trust after he had walked you home last night. Maybe you could thank him again for that. You just don't know how you're gonna open up that conversation. Even thinking about how awkward it would be already has you cringing already.

You debate with yourself whether or not you should get away now. You are not necessarily avoiding Tsukishima. It's just that after the events of last night, you feel like meeting him again would be a painful kind of awkward. You'd hoped that the interaction you two had wouldn't have a sequel. You're grateful for what he did for you but you were already so embarrassed about it, and having to interact with him again would just relive that in your memory.

By the time you've made your decision to scram, the incoming group is already a few feet away. Tsukishima peels his gaze away from his phone once the group has stopped in front of Sugawara who is giddy to get his soda he's been waiting on for twenty minutes. You instinctively let Tobio's body cover your own, not wanting to let your presence known just yet. Meeting new people, especially a lot of them, is particularly overwhelming for you.

At first, Tsukishima doesn't see you as he takes his headphones off and let it hang on his neck. A tall freckled boy is currently talking to him, stealing his attention. You don't realize you've been staring at Tsukishima. It is only when he felt the ghost prickle of a pair of eyes trained on him did he look at your direction. When he meets your gaze, it is you who is the more shocked. Hazel eyes fix on yours. If he is the least bit surprised to see you, he doesn't let it show. His expression doesn't change as his gaze lingers on you for a second before turning back to the boy whom we was conversing with.

Immediately, you cower even further behind Tobio.

"I should probably go now." You say, careful not to let your presence more known than it already is. 

Your voice is soft, barely above whisper. By the looks of things, it is only Kageyama, Sugawara, Hinata, and Tsukishima who know that you're there. You're hiding behind Tobio (Sugawara and Hinata are stood beside him so their figures unknowingly conceal you too). The rest of the boys are oblivious of you— you're thankful for the loud No. 4 and No. 5 duo for diverting the team's attention with a most likely exaggerated story about a heated altercation with a rival team they bumped into at the rest rooms.

"Where are you going?" It's Kageyama's voice that catches the attention of the group. You could have slipped quietly without anyone noticing if he hasn't spoken. Curse him and his megaphone voice.

You're suddenly aware of a dozen or so pairs of eyes trained on you.

"Who's this?" It is No. 4, the libero, who pops the question. He's elbowing No. 5 whose eyes look like they've seen stars once they lay on you. 

"Uh, sorry... I'm L/N Y/N. It's nice to meet you all." You really should have gotten away while you had the chance

"L/N? As in L/N Hotaru's daughter?" No. 5 has his eyes widened, his finger pointing at you. "You're the Darling Setter! I knew you looked familiar!"

"Right! L/N Y/N, I remember now. You were on Volleyball Monthly!", points out Sugawara. "Your hair was so much shorter back then. I almost didn't recognize you."

A part of you wished that they didn't. You're not at all accustomed anymore to people recognizing you as the Darling Setter. All you can do is smile awkwardly as the boys seem to renew their interest on you. You can see Tobio silently laughing, amused at how you looked uncomfortable at the spotlight.

Hinata is probably the most impressed. He's practically jumping up and down in front of you, his eyes twinkling as if he is star struck. 

"You're the L/N Y/N? My sister saw you on the television last year. She thought you were very pretty and wanted to be like you!"

"R-really?" You stammer out, both flattered and disbelieving.

"Yeah! Her name's Natsu. She's only 9 years old but she's already interested in volleyball, and she wants to—"

"Oi, can't you see she's uncomfortable?" Tobio butts in, glaring at Hinata's enthusiasm.

You're not really uncomfortable, per se. You're just not used to the attention anymore. Back when you were in middle school, you absolutely adored being in the center of it, not so much now that you're in high school.

"It's fine." You assure your best friend.

"I appreciate that, Hinata. Please tell Natsu I say hi." Hinata beams at your response.

No. 4 and No. 5 are nudging each other on the ribs, wordlessly working out which of them gets to talk to you first. You watch, amused, how they try to muster the courage to step forward and talk to you. They must really have no experience talking with girls, judging by how they're struggling right now.

"Don't you two try anything funny. She's Kageyama's girlfriend." Sugawara wags a finger at the two of them and they exclaim both their surprise and what could only be disappointment. 

"She's not." Tobio denies as nonchalantly as ever before tipping his head back to drink from the sports drink you gave him.

"Kageyama, you lucky bastard!" 

"Way to go, Kageyama!"

The two have apparently ignored his denial.

Your eyes are casted down to your shoes so you don't see the way Tsukishima raises his eyebrow a millimeter upon hearing what Sugawara said. Not only that— he narrows his eyes ever so slightly when he sees your dejected reaction at Tobio's response.

"Wait, so are you or are you not his girlfriend?" It's No. 4 who speaks this time.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, two fists smack on top of No. 4 and No.5's heads. The fists belong to whom you recognize is the team's captain.

"Nishinoya, Tanaka," He growls warningly. "Stop harassing her or else I'll have the two of you run laps on our next training."

Nishinoya and Tanaka mutter their apology with a bow and you wave them off, saying that it's really no problem. For some reason, they also turn to apologize to Tobio who just stared at them in utter confusion, biting on his protein bar without saying a word.

Some of Tobio's teammates start conversing with you, too— nothing much, just questions that are more for the sake of either being polite or genuine curiosity than anything else. 

"H-hello. You've mastered the jump floater serve, right? What's the technique so it doesn't end up doing a topspin, if you don't mind me asking?" The tall boy Tsukishima was talking to earlier approaches you. You'll soon learn that his name is Yamaguchi. He still seems shy. You can very clearly see his cheeks dusted in pink and he stutters out the majority of words in his sentences, but he makes an effort to talk to you nevertheless. Ironically enough, seeing that he's more nervous than you melts away your own uneasiness.

By this time, all your nerves and apprehension about meeting Tobio's team has dissipated. It's easy to talk with them because they're nice people, treating you with respect and friendliness. You're thankful for them for not asking too many questions about your ex-Olympian father— you're proud of him but talking about him is taxing and quite repetitive sometimes.

Yamaguchi and Hinata are specifically the two who kept the conversation going. You've built a rapport with them maybe because they're first-years such as yourself. Yamaguchi is now asking you if the entrance exam to Shiratorizawa was really as hard as everyone said it was. He visibly blanched when you said that the exam gave you a  headache that lasted for days. Hinata, however, is more curious about your volleyball career. When you told the orange-haired middle blocker that you're not part of any volleyball club right now, his eyes widened to the size of saucers. He voices out that it's such a waste of talent. He has a way with wording out his compliments that you feel yourself blushing pathetically. Tobio just stands beside you through it all, munching on his protein bar as he listens to you talk with his teammates and occasionally adding to the conversation if his input is needed.

It doesn't take long before you're laughing quite freely with them.

Through the whole ordeal, Tsukishima has backed away from the group unnoticed. He is currently leaning against the wall a few feet away, his headphones fit snuggly on his ears but the music is turned off. Scrolling aimlessly on his phone has lost its appeal by now and he wishes he'd brought his PSP with him to pass time.

Every couple of minutes or so, you steal a glance at Tsukishima. He's the only one from the team who hasn't said a word to you, not even a polite greeting. You were a bit anxious at the prospect of talking to him again, but now that he clearly has no plan to even spare you a minute of his time, you feel quite annoyed. The two of you are not friends, probably not even acquaintances— but still, after the events of last night, you expect him to at least not treat you like a stranger.

It's not like you want him to approach you and be all chummy. You just want him to acknowledge you, maybe with a nod of recognition or even a small wave of his hand wouldn't hurt. Heck, you even cheered for him at their game earlier. You weren't being subtle with it, too. You were screaming until your throat was raw— he definitely heard you supporting him. The only explanation is he just doesn't care and he just doesn't know how to behave like a decent human being.

Maybe you were wrong when you thought he wasn't half as bad last night. Maybe you were too lenient on your judgment when he is utterly and very clearly just a jerk. 

You look away from him with a huff. If he doesn't want to be your friend (or at the very least, an acquaintance), then it's most definitely his loss and not yours.

From the corner of your eyes, you see two purple figures standing at the hall's entrance. The Shiratorizawa shirt that Miyaka and Raiden are wearing are hard to miss. Miyaka waves at you once you make eye contact with her. They must have been waiting by the rest rooms for quite some time for them to come looking for you. This is as good a cue as any to say leave.

"I really have to go, Tobio. Some club officers and I made plans to get barbecue."

"You won't come over for dinner?" He asks, his head tilted to the side. You're vaguely aware of Hinata and Sugawara suddenly whispering among themselves upon hearing that.

"No, sorry. They're already waiting for me. It'd be rude if I cancelled now." You nod at the direction of your two senpai standing a few feet away, emphasizing your point.

"Mom is expecting you for tonight. " He shrugs but you don't miss the small pout he makes. "But whatever, it's your call."

"I suppose I could swing by later if we finish at the yakiniku place early?" It came off more like a bargain than a suggestion.

"But you'd be full by then."

"I'll save room, don't worry." You cheekily respond with a light chuckle. "I guess I'll see you later?"

Tobio ends the conversation with a nod and a short "okay".

With this, you turn to the rest of the group. They're not looking at either you or Tobio but you know that they heard your conversation. They must feel like they've being privy to something intimate, which you can assure them that they're not. Hinata is biting his bottom lip, clearly stopping himself from commenting anything. Sugawara is whistling as his eyes flit to the toe cap of his shoes. Nishinoya and Tanaka are having a hard time closing their mouths as they continue to gape at Tobio. All of them a clearly still under the impression that you are his girlfriend.

"It's nice meeting you all." You say to the group and you're met with a chorus of pleasantries.

"Bye, Hinata, Yamaguchi!" You wave specifically at the two freshmen whom you've bonded with the most.

You bow at the rest before turning on your heels and walking away. You don't see the way Tsukishima's eyes follow your retreating figure.

You're at least twenty feet away when Sugawara's hand finds the crown of Tobio's head, ruffling his hair roughly. "You dog! She's definitely your girlfriend. You're inviting her over for dinner!"

"I really envy you right now, Kageyama!"

"I wish I had a girlfriend too."

"Teach us your ways!"

The pandemonium that ensues after you left could be something out of a comedy skit. They're simply refusing to believe Tobio when he says over and over, almost pleadingly, that you are just his best friend. Tobio isn't the type to raise his voice at his upperclassmen so Hinata took the brunt of his fury when the setter reached his breaking point. 

You would have found it hilarious how your best friend chased Hinata around, kicking the poor boy on the shin when he finally caught up to him. 

You would also definitely appreciate the way Tobio blushed uncontrollably as his teammates continued to jeer and tease, if only you had seen it.

You apologize profusely to your two upperclassmen when you finally reach them, saying that you lost track of time talking to the Karasuno players. However, they don't seem at all angry about your tardiness. In contrary, they have a glint in their eyes that tell you they're amused about something.

"For a non-girlfriend, you sure looked a lot like a girlfriend back there." Raiden says with a roll of his eyes . You didn't realize they've been watching the whole ordeal all this time.

"Huh?"

"He's right, Y/N. I mean, think about it— not only did you watch his game, you also bought him after-game snacks. Not to mention he introduced you to his teammates." Miyaka links her arm to yours as the three of you start making your way to the stadium's exit. "It's like this unspoken rule among athletes' girlfriends, and you should trust me on this because I'm an athlete's girlfriend."

You manage to let out an incredulous scoff. "You guys are being ridiculous. It's no big deal, really. I've been doing it for him since we were in middle school."

"Woof, that's rough." Raiden whistles. "So, you've been doing girlfriend duties since middle school but he hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend yet?"

"It's not that simple." You groan, both exasperatedly and bashfully.

"How is that not simple? You like him and by the looks of things, he likes you, too." It's Miyaka who speaks this time.

"He likes me?" It's really cringe and embarrassing that that's what you took away from her statement.

"It's really obvious," She says without hesitation. "I have a good eye on this kind of stuff. Trust me, he likes you."

You stay silent for a few seconds to ponder on her words. You'd be lying if you said that you haven't been fantasizing about Tobio liking you back. The idea just seems farfetched, especially since it's Tobio of all people. He has the emotional capacity of a grain of rice.

You try your best to think nothing of it. You will just end up getting hurt if you believe what they're saying. You don't want to feed yourself blind hope, especially if there's nothing to back up their claim.

"He doesn't." You mumble, feeling your heart sink. It is with a painful acceptance do you realize that you believe that sentence wholeheartedly.

Miyaka and Raiden look at each other, communicating silently. They're one of the closest friends you have in school. All those times you spent in the club room slaving away projects upon projects really strengthened your bond with them. They are probably the next people who know you best after Tobio.

"Why do you seem so sure? You haven't even confessed yet." Raiden says with a scoff.

"I'm not gonna confess because I know he'll just reject me. It'll ruin everything and I don't want that to happen. It's too risky."  You're now past denying that you do like Tobio. It's actually quite refreshing for you to talk about your feelings for him this openly. You feel as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders after years of hopeless pining.

"Wow. You really are stupid."

"Rai-san!" You cry out, clearly offended.

"You have a mirror, don't you? You're fully aware that you're pretty and if you disagree with that, either you have brain damage or just really dense. You're smart, you're hella good at volleyball— you're also, like, his number one fan. Tell me, what more could he want?" Raiden taps his finger on your temple. "Think, Y/N. If he had any ideal girl, it would be you."

You're always so surprised whenever Raiden shows his supportive side, albeit the way he delivered it could have been nicer and less abrasive. He always seems so negative and snarky, but when he does say something nice, you know it's genuine. Miyaka can only nod her head vigorously in agreement.

"Aw, Rai-san!" You throw yourself at him and engulf him in an embrace. You hear him grumble in protest but he allows you to hug him nevertheless.

"Rai has never said anything nice like that to me. I'm actually really jealous" Miyaka says with a soft pout. "What he said is true, though. You're the perfect girl for Tobio and I'm sure he already knows that. You should confess and see how it goes."

"I-I don't know." You bite your bottom lip. "I need time to think about it."

"You'll have plenty of time to think about it while we eat barbecue. I'm absolutely starving. How about you two slowpokes hurry up before all the good tables are taken, yeah?" With this, Miyaka tugs you by the arm as she speed walks. You don't protest because the grumbling in your stomach tells you that you're getting quite hungry too.

Your trio reach the exit of the stadium and you're fortunate enough to catch a bus immediately. The topic of Tobio is momentarily set aside as Raiden shows you a video he took of Miyaka napping in the club room, a steady stream of drool coming out of her open mouth. Raiden even threatens that he'd send the video to Tendou, which obviously rattles Miyaka. Her face turns into a bright shade of red, demanding Raiden to delete that video or she would make sure he regretted it.

You and Raiden laugh hysterically, so much so that the other passengers on the bus give you the side-eye. Miyaka looks like she's gonna exolode with embarrassment as she tries to pry Raiden's phone from his hands. 

It's moments like these that allow you to breathe without anxiety. You don't even realize that today, you have completely forgotten about the fact that you're gonna move to Tokyo soon. You're glad that you have Miyaka and Raiden to distract you from that.

Dinner with your two upperclassmen was great. You talked about various stuff, though you notice that they didn't bring up Tobio anymore— they must have sensed that you weren't comfortable talking about him so they let it be. However, Miyaka did say that if ever you need help confessing to your best friend, she'd be glad to help. You thank her for her offer but you're not quite sure if you're even gonna go about doing it. You still have to be sure about what to do next before making a move.

You didn't fill up on yakiniku despite your stomach protesting because you promised Tobio you'd still come over for dinner at his house. Miyaka and Raiden didn't hold back, though. They ordered so many meat and side dishes that you had to try your best not to look so envious.

Once the three of you are done, you take a bus home. You plan on showering first before going to Tobio's house so you don't look so haggard, at least.

You see your Mom's car in the driveway once you arrive home. She's home early, you think to yourself. She usually goes home at 8 PM or later.

Your Mom pops out of the kitchen once she hears you're back home. She's bobbing a tea bag up and down her steaming cup while her face is covered in a seaweed mask that's part of her weekly skincare routine.

"How's that yakiniku place? Is it any good?"

You texted her a few hours ago that you'd get yakiniku with your club mates so she doesn't have to wait for you at dinner.

"A bit pricey but worth it, I guess. We should go there sometime, Mom."

"How about lunch on Sunday? We could go shopping at the mall after. What do you think?"

"Sounds good." You smile. There's a voice in your head that says she's only trying to compensate for the whole moving to Tokyo thing. Quite frankly, you're still mad at her about that, but you also know she only has your best interest at heart. You try to understand her position.

"I'm gonna go shower and go to Tobio's. He invited me for dinner." You say as you make your way to your room.

"Do you really have to go? You've already eaten and you were just at his house last night." She follows you until she's leaning against your room's doorframe.

"I could still eat. Besides, I think it's a special dinner since Tobio's team got through the preliminaries. He told me his mother was expecting me. I couldn't say no, could I?"

Your mother takes a sip from her tea. "Well, as long as he invited you and you're not imposing."

You don't respond after that. You're rummaging through your closet in search for specific articles of clothing you want to be wearing tonight.

"Hey, Mom? Have you seen my beige shirt? The long-sleeved one? Oh, no, wait— I forgot I haven't washed it yet."

You hear your Mom click her tongue. "It's in the laundry room. I added everything in your hamper to the load when I washed my coats last night. If I didn't, you wouldn't have anything to wear for this week. Sometimes I wonder what you would do without me."

The relief that courses through you is overwhelming. "Thanks, Mom! You're the best!"

You practically sprint to the laundry room to retrieve your shirt. Your Mom yells after you to take all your folded laundry to your room so you wouldn't have to return for them later. You come back to your room with a basket of your now clean laundry, the smell of vanilla fabric conditioner wafting through the room.

"Who's Kei?"

You cock your head to the side in confusion. "Kei?"

"There was a handkerchief in your hamper with the name Kei embroidered on it. It should be in there somewhere." She motions to the laundry basket. "Why do you have it in the first place?"

It takes you a couple of seconds to find said handkerchief. When Tsukishima gave it to you last night, you didn't know it was embroidered with his name— you can only assume that Kei is his first name from context. You're just realizing that you didn't ask him for his first name. You just knew him as Tsukishima.

"So, who's Kei and why do you have his handkerchief?" Your Mom repeats the question.

You tell her with a shrug that it's the boy who walked you home last night. You also tell her what happened in the café but deliberately omit the part about him giving you the handkerchief because you'd been crying, replacing it with a lie that you'd spilled water on yourself instead. 

You examine the handkerchief for the first time since it was given to you. You didn't get to take a good look at it last night. The word Kei is embroidered in forest green thread at the bottom right corner. You wonder how you managed to miss it.

"I thought it was Tobio-kun who walked you home?"

"No, Mom. It was this other boy. He's Tobio's teammate, actually."

"I see. It was very dark. I just thought Tobio-kun grew a lot taller since I last saw him." She muses. "So, is this Kei boy a suitor?"

You bite back an incredulous laugh. "No way."

"A special friend, then?" You don't even know what she means by that.

"Definitely not."

You see your mother shrug from where she is leaning on your doorway. "Still, seems like he likes you enough to let you keep something that expensive."

You frown, confused. "Huh?"

"That's CLASSICS the Small Luxury." She points at the square fabric you're holding. "That's, what, ¥2000 a piece, give or take? The embroidery definitely cost extra, too. He probably paid around ¥3000 for that one."

"Who would pay ¥3000 for one friggin' handkerchief?" You almost shriek in disbelief.

"It's really good quality, you know. It's probably 100% cotton, too. Back when I was in med school, these handkerchiefs were all the hype. All my girl friends had one. I didn't. I was broke and could only afford those 6-in-1 packs you could buy at convenience stores." She laughed at the memory, her hand covering her mouth ever so daintily.

Tsukishima's voice rings inside your head.

"A single slice of cake is nowhere near the value of that handkerchief." 

You just thought he was either lying or exaggerating.

Your phone buzzes on your bedside table, taking your attention away from the conversation. You catch a glimpse of Tobio's consecutive texts on the notification bar.

tobio: you still coming?

tobio: mom made tiramisu for dessert

You fold the handkerchief neatly and set it inside your drawer. The brand name CLASSICS The Small Luxury is printed right below the embroidery, another detail you've missed. You're definitely gonna be returning it to Tsukishima. As much as you appreciate him letting you keep it, you can't, not when it's worth ¥3000 with his own name embroidered on it.

How you're gonna return it to him, you still have no idea. You'll have to think of ways to get in contact with him again. You could very easily ask Tobio to give Tsukishima the handkerchief the  next time they see each other, but it would be quite rude and offending to the owner if you didn't return the handkerchief personally. It's the least you can do after he let you use it when you needed it last night.

You make a mental note to ask Tobio for Tsukishima's number or home address. You'll worry about it later. For now, you really must hurry up if you still want to catch dinner at the Kageyama's.

You shower and get changed. Before leaving the house, you inform your mother that you'd be home before 9 PM— you're feeling quite guilty for storming out last night and getting home late so you give yourself an early curfew tonight as compensation. Your mother is still a little worried that you're taking advantage of the Kageyamas' hospitality, but you reassure her that it's fine and Tobio's family won't call child services on her.

You leave the house after Tobio sends you another text saying that his mother asks what time you'll be arriving.  There's extra spring in your steps as you take the familiar route to his house— probably because you're excited to eat Mrs. Kageyama's cooking, or perhaps it's because you're giddy at the prospect of having dinner again with the boy you have a hopeless crush on. It's probably one or the other. It also could be both.

Tobio's Mom is preparing a feast, judging by the mingling scents of various dishes wafting throughout the whole house. She went overboard this time that you kind of regret having yakiniku earlier.

You offer to help Tobio's Mom and Miwa in the kitchen but the two women just wave you off, telling you to go relax and have some refreshments that they've prepared in the living room. Tobio's Dad is sitting on the couch, watching a baseball game on the television. He's so captivated by the game, shouting at the screen whenever his favorite team scores, that you feel like it would be rude if you sat down beside him and ruined the moment.

Tobio opens and closes his mouth, thinking of how to tell his father to scoot on the sofa. Even Tobio himself is scared of his father, it seems, because he remains quiet and accepts defeat instead.

"Let's go to my room?" He says beside you once he sees that his father won't be making room in the sofa for the two of you any time soon.

You follow him up the stairs and into his room which you've been in countless times before. Unlike those other times, however, you're now feeling a bit queasy as you enter. You hate the fact that going into your best friend's room is putting non-innocent thoughts inside your head now, something that you didn't worry about a year ago.

 Tobio plops down on his swivel chair as you make your way to his bed. The door is left wide open— you don't have to be told to do that, it's just courtesy and muscle memory from all the times Tobio has invited you to his room.

You unceremoniously collapse onto his bed, taking last month's issue of Shonen Jump from his bedside table with you. You don't particularly enjoy the way your stomach does a back flip when you smell a faint trace of his cologne on his bed sheets. You try to ignore it by flipping through the Jump's pages, trying to find any new manga to distract yourself with.

Tobio must have seen you so engrossed in reading that he felt like reading too. You hear the rustling of paper as he takes out an issue of Volleyball Monthly from his bookshelf. You immediately recognize it as the issue where you were featured in.

A sly smirk appears on your lips. "Turn to page 17. You'll see a very pretty girl there."

Kageyama already knows what you're talking about before he even turned to said page. "What girl? I only see a hobgoblin holding a volleyball."

"Jerk." You chuck a throw pillow at him which would have landed square on his face had he not ducked to avoid it.

There was a couple of minutes of silence disturbed only by you turning pages and Tobio playing on his Nintendo DSi— he quickly grew bored of looking at Volleyball Monthly and fished the console from his drawer. His attention span is comparable to that of a chicken, you think to yourself as you watch him play with the handheld device. Compared to when he was reading the magazine, Tobio looks a lot more entertained playing Bomberman Blitz.

"We've improved, haven't we? My team, I mean." Tobio suddenly says while his brows are furrowed in concentration at his game.

You look up from what you're reading. "Yep, it's scary how much you guys evolved. I should probably warn our volleyball team about you. I'm sure Ushijima-san would want to know what kind of techniques you have under your sleeves."

He gives you a glare that could have killed a weak-willed soul.

"I'm kidding! They'll just have to find out how much stronger you've gotten when they face you in the finals."

Tobio snorts. "We'll beat them for sure."

"You always say that but what's your plan, though? Do you have any tactics to beat Ushijima-san?" You inquire curiously.

Tobio presses pause on his Nintendo, cradling his chin in thought. "Well, none of us can beat him one-on-one so we'll have to work on our three-man block more, but aside from that, our floor defense is pretty solid. Nishinoya-san and Daichi-san could definitely receive some of his spikes, so I'm not too worried about that."

"You really don't think anyone on your team could block him?" You ask and he just shakes his head. "Don't you have faith in your middle blockers?"

He stares at you as if you've just asked a very stupid question. "Have you seen our middle blockers?"

"Hinata does good when it comes to offense but he's absolutely worthless when it comes to blocking and receiving. He's fast and jumps high but that's about all he can do.

And then there's Tsukishima"

Your attention is snatched when you hear the blonde's name. "What about him?"

"He just... doesn't try." Tobio simply says. "He has the height for it, he has good game sense too, but he gives up way too easily. If only he's pushing himself a little harder, we could strengthen our defense a lot more."

"I see."

"Don't even get me started on his rotten attitude. He's a sarcastic dick, thinking he's smarter than everyone. You would hate him too if you'd met him."

You almost tell Tobio that you have indeed met him, but judging by the way his face contorts in disgust when talking about the blonde, it won't be such a good idea.

You've seen Tsukishima play today. You're not saying that Tobio is wrong, but you definitely do not see the blonde 'giving up way too easily'. On their match against Kakugawa, Tsukishima looked focused and motivated— granted, he didn't look as enthusiastic as Tobio or Hinata, but he still seemed like he was enjoying the game. Though, you can't disagree about what Tobio said about Tsukishima being a sarcastic dick— that one was definitely correct.

But maybe, Tobio is not entirely wrong. He obviously knows Tsukishima better than you. The only instance you ever see him play is during official matches. You have no idea how he is like during practice.

"Hey, Tobio? When's your training gonna start again?"

"We have one on Saturday. Why do you ask?"

"Can I come and watch?" You try to make your shrug look as casually as it can when in reality, you're starting to get nervous about your bold request.

Tobio thinks about it for a second before nodding. "Sure."

You have no idea what your end game is when you asked to come to their practice. 

You do know one thing, though— you're gonna see Tsukishima again and it's gonna be the best opportunity to give him back his handkerchief.

The Nintendo DSi narrowly misses your thigh as Tobio chucks it on the bed. A second later, the impact of his body weight hitting the mattress causes you to almost fall off. He's spread-eagled on the bed with his face turned up to the ceiling. He's so close that you can feel the warmth of his body on your own skin.

"Wanna have a go?" He jabs the Nintendo blindingly at you, his eyes still fixated upward. 

You take the console out of his hand and starts a new game. It's harder than you remember it being, or maybe you just haven't played it in a while. This old Nintendo model's buttons are difficult to press, you tell yourself as the character dies yet again— not your fault but the console's. You restart only to die at the same spot.

"You're horrible at this." Tobio snickers. You've been glued to the game for the past minute that you didn't notice that he has wiggled closer to you so he could watch you play. 

You turn your head to look at him with the most hateful glare you could muster. You hope that he doesn't detect the look of yearning in your eyes because God knows there is. His dark blue eyes are just so beautiful, you could drown in them. The shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the soft dusting of color on his cheeks— they all make him unbelievably gorgeous that it's a miracle you haven't melted on the spot considering his face is only a few inches away from yours.

 You feel like you've mastered by now the look of indifference whenever he's around, and yet you wonder if Tobio would have guessed by now that you have a crush on him if only he has the perception of an average teenage boy. Surely, you're not hiding it that well. Miyaka and Raiden did say it was very obvious.

"You died again." He points out as the DSi emits the telltale sound that signals the gruesome death of the pixelated bomber. 

You all but shove the device to his chest in frustration. You feel the vibration of his laughter as your hand makes contact with him as you feel your heart quicken instantaneously.

"Why do you want to watch our practice?" He asks after he has turned off the Nintendo and tossed it haphazardly somewhere on the mattress.

You shrug. "I wanna see you train."

Not exactly a lie but not the full truth either. The real reason you're going to their training is to give Tsukishima the handkerchief. Watching your crush practice volleyball is just a bonus.

"Why? Do you miss me that much when I'm not around?"

It's meant to be a joke. You're not meant to take it seriously. He's smirking in a way that tells you he's just having a laugh... but you're only human, and humans can only hide their feelings so much before some of it leaks.

"Yes, I do."

Tobio laughs.

You frown at this reaction.

"Stop it. That's gross." His shoulders shake as he tries to suppress his laughter. You blink back stupidly, both in surprise and mind-numbing hurt. No way he just said 'that's gross'.

He turns on the Nintendo again, unaware of your ragged breathing and how clammy your hands have gotten. You force out a laugh that you hope mirrors his.

For the rest of the night, none of your smiles or laughter seem to be genuine. Not even during dinner which is exquisite with all of Tobio's favorite food crammed in the too-small dining table. Not even as you say your good night to them by the front door as you prepare for your leave. Not even as you refuse Tobio when he offered to walk you home, right after his mother has chastised him into being a 'proper gentleman'.

This must be what a heartbreak feels like, you muse as you lay awake on your bed.

It hurts, and what's worse — it's because of Tobio.

I haven't updated in so long and felt guilty that's why this chapter has 11k words omg sorry not sorry

tag list: @sktvienna @thechaosoflonging @kenryug