#arguments could be made for all of them of course but

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / A03

Turns out being a mall rat was a lot more fun than it looked.

Or at least it was when Eddie wasn’t dragging them all into his new favorite hobby: salivating over Sailor Steve.

“This feels a little…” Gareth started, sitting at a table behind a massive, planted bush.

“Adventurous? James Bond-like?”

“Creepy.” He finished, as they all watched Steve do some kind of sarcastic looking dance at Robin.

“It’s the binoculars, man.” Jeff added, watching Eddie lean over the bush. “It’s too much.”

“He’s trying so hard to win her over.” Eddie raged on. “He’s like one of those birds looking for a mate, doing all these fancy moves and--and spins!”

He sniffed loudly, offended both at Steve and on his behalf. “We’re getting her fired.”

Jeff gave a long suffering look to the ceiling. “We’re not getting her fired.”

“If we get her fired,” Grant said, in that ‘thinking aloud’ tone he had, “Would Steve be the new manager?”

“We could get so much free ice cream.” Eddie wheedled at Jeff, who frowned back at him.

“Once again I find myself asking how I became your conscience.”

“If the shoe fits, Jiminy Cricket.”

Gareth and Grant cackled, as he returned to staring at his beloved ex-jock’s attempt to befriend (or flirt with, if one asked Eddie) what had to be the first woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

Sans Tiff, of course.

“As much fun as watching Steve work is, can we please go back to what we were actually supposed to be doing?” Jeff tapped on the spiral bound notebook he’d brought with him.

It held the words “potential song lyrics” and absolutely nothing else.

“Aww Jeffrey,” Gareth cooed, leaning forward on his elbows. “Did you really think that Eddie wanted to work on band stuff at the mall?”

“We’ve got to work on your gullibility.” Grant piled on, as Jeff made disgusted noises in response.

“No, I saw this coming. But we do need at least two more original songs to make an EP.” It was a goal they’d chased all year and spectacularly failed to achieve.

Frustrated, Jeff added; “I don’t care if Eddie’s not on board—you two are helping me write lyrics or I will derail every D&D campaign hereafter with petty arguments."

The unspoken truth was that Eddie, much like with D&D, was a control freak when it came to Corroded Coffin. It was his band, no matter who else was a founding member (Jeff), and the moment actual work began on anything, he’d be drawn in like a moth to a flame.

As expected, Eddie took the bait.

“You’re not choosing anything without me!” He barked, finally abandoning his Steve-stalking. He spun to face Jeff, eyes alight with challenge. “And for the record, I do have an idea.”

“Is it a real one?” Jeff asked, not bothering to look up from the notebook. “Or another round of dick-and-balls limericks?”

“How very dare you make fun of my genius, that was a legitimate song!”

“You rhymed balls with walls, and dicks with bricks--”

Eddie didn’t wait for him to finish. He snatched the notebook out of Jeff’s hands, earning a glare sharp enough to kill a lesser man. “No, this one’s serious! It’s a proper track, I swear, I-- I need a pen. Jeff.” He turned to his bandmate, desperation in his eyes. “Give me your pen.”

“No.”

“Je-eeeff--” Eddie began in a whine before Grant, rolling his eyes, decided to end the nonsense by tossing one his way.

“See? Grant loves me.” He muttered indignantly as he snatched the pen and hunched over the notebook, scribbling furiously.

Words—actual, coherent words—began appearing on the page, and Jeff wisely kept any retaliatory retorts to himself. There was always the slim chance that Eddie was actually taking this seriously.

The others followed suit, falling into a hopeful silence.

Corroded Coffin prided itself on being a collaborative effort, but there was no denying Eddie was the strongest songwriter in the group. When he got inspired—or decided to stop screwing around—he could churn out stuff that felt electric. Like it had a real future and the band with it.

That was what they lived for.

“There!” Eddie declared, triumphantly shoving the notebook back at Jeff, grin practically screaming creative genius at work. “It’s rough—just a few lines and a chorus—but it’s solid. A starting point.”

Jeff snatched it eagerly, scanning the page as Gareth and Grant leaned in, eyes locked on his face.

Would this be something raw and heavy, in the vein of the few solid tracks they’d hammered out before? Something loud, fast, and undeniably metal? Or had Eddie finally given into all his threats and written them a love song?

(Gareth honestly didn’t care if it was a love song. He’d been expecting one for a while, given Eddie’s increasingly ridiculous heart-eyes at Steve.)

Except Jeff’s expression was rapidly imploding. His brow furrowed, lips flattening, until he finally slapped the notebook down on the table and leveled Eddie with an incredulous stare.

“So?” Eddie asked, practically vibrating with excitement. “Thoughts?”

“We’re not writing a song about the You-Suck Board.” Jeff deadpanned.

Oh, for the love of—

“Absolutely not!” Gareth cut in, throwing up his hands. “We already hear enough about that stupid thing. I’m not singing about it!”

The infamous You-Suck Board had been a sore spot since its inception, mostly because it involved Robin gleefully encouraging Steve to flirt with every single eligible woman who walked into Scoops Ahoy.

That he was, for what had to be the first time in his life, bombing out, appeared to only be suspicious to everyone but Robin--and, somehow, Eddie.

(“Why did it have to be flirting!” He’d snarled on the day of its creation, as Gareth had struggled to keep himself from jumping ship and hurling himself away from Van Halen. “Why couldn’t they have taken bets on anything else!?”

“I think it’s more that Steve flirts a lot given how many chicks come in to get ice cream--” Jeff had not so helpfully added.

The turn Eddie took in retaliation nearly cracked his head against the window.

“She doesn’t need to be encouraging him!”

“You realize if you just talked to him like we told you too, he probably wouldn’t be flirting with every single women that--”

Eddie took another wild turn, tires squealing in protest. Gareth abandoned any pretense of being cool and latched onto the handlebar, cursing loudly.

“And ruin our fucking friendship?” Eddie spat, knuckles white on the wheel. “Yeah I don’t think so.”

If Gareth hadn’t been busy actively praying for his life, he might’ve exchanged a long-suffering look with Jeff.

Who, unfortunately for everyone involved, was far braver—or stupider—than anyone gave him credit for.

“You know,” Jeff began, his voice surprisingly even despite the chaos, “you can’t be mad at him for flirting if you’re not willing to make a move.”

The van screeched through another corner, tilting so sharply that Gareth was convinced two wheels had left the ground. He yelped, adding another string of curses to the air.

“You can’t be mad at me either!” Jeff’s voice climbed an octave as Eddie took his frustrations out on the accelerator.

I’m not mad. Do I look mad!?” Eddie said, rather madly.

“Yes!” Jeff and Gareth both chanted, before Jeff finally smacked hard at their eldest friend's shoulder.

“That is it, you have lost driving privileges, pull the fuck over--!”)

“I’m just saying--” Jeff was trying to argue in the present, only for Eddie promptly flung himself away from the table, before dramatically stepping atop it.

He cleared his throat as they all groaned at him, Gareth scrambling to get his shit out of the way before it got stepped on.

“I declare a mutiny!” Eddie declared, voice ringing out and startling several nearby shoppers. “Mutiny from my own beloved crew! My brothers in flesh and blood!”

“Oh God, here we go.” Gareth muttered as Grant swatted ineffectively at Eddie’s pant leg.

“Have I not led you into battle? Given you victory after victory in the realms of--” He stopped abruptly, a deer in headlights, before the dorkiest smile Gareth had ever seen overtook his face.

Now the groans were for different reasons--because clearly, Eddie had been spotted by Steve.

Sure enough, when Gareth peeked over the hedge, Steve was staring straight at them.

His face lit up as he gave a small wave, and Eddie, ever the hopeless fool, couldn’t help but wave back.

Witnessing this, Grant turned and leveled Gareth with a flat look. “This is pathetic. I am officially requesting that you do something.”

“What?" Gareth sputtered in response. "Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Why not Jeff!?”

“Because I’m his assigned conscience. Grant,” Jeff jerked a thumb in his direction. “got the right’s to his creative side and you," The finger flicked back to Gareth,  "get to tackle romance.”

“When did we all agree to this shit?!”

“Suck it up Emerson, the fates have decided.  Now sort this out before one of them pushes the other over the edge and we end up caught in the crossfire.” Jeff gestured upwards at Eddie, who had tuned this entire conversation out in favor of trading faces with Steve.

Presently his tongue was out, hands up in his classic “horned” pose.

“This is just sad.” Jeff finished, knowing damn well Eddie wasn’t listening.

“How am I supposed to fix it!?” Gareth protested but it was weak. He had a feeling it was going to come down to this--Eddie, for all his supposed edges, sure as shit wouldn’t make a move and Steve…

Honestly, Gareth couldn’t quite get a read on Steve—or whether Steve even realized he occasionally flirted back with Eddie. The guy had a crush, there was no doubt in Gareth’s mind, but having one and acknowledging you had one were two very different ball games.

And Gareth sucked ass at sports.

“Figure it out.” Grant said helpfully, and got the finger in response.

He could handle this.

He just...

Needed a plan.

Things were easier with plans--right?

(Wrong.)

xXx

“There’s something seriously wrong with this mall’s security.” Eddie announced as he barged into Scoop’s the next day, Gareth on his heels.

Steve, who’d just finished slinging ice cream to a troop of Girl Scouts, didn’t even look up.

“What makes you say that?” He asked.

“Because there’s an insane number of them, but they only seem to guard the loading dock?” Gareth answered truthfully.

it was weird that there was tons of dudes with shifty eyes and bad hairdo’s running around outside the mall--and never inside of it. Like yes sure, product shipment and shit, he got that but…

Wasn’t loss prevention focused on preventing loss in the stores? Where people like say, himself and Eddie, could pocket it?

“It’s like they’re not even trying!” Eddie scoffed, as he proceeded to empty his pockets, lining up the day’s treasure on the counter. "The one guy we saw spent the whole time talking in Russian to a delivery driver." 

That had been notable because Eddie had stolen something right in front of the guy, who had just turned away to avoid the obnoxious teenagers.

(And, of course,  gone on to speak in a terrible Russian accent for several minutes afterward.) 

They’d both stuck to small items--stickers, jewelry, and in Eddie’s case, an entire case of bouncy balls, but judging by the complete lack of reaction, Gareth had a feeling they could clear out the store and no one would even bat an eye.

It was odd, to say the least.

So was the fact that the construction company kept showing up to “fix” things. Massive semi trucks towing in materials with ‘Anodyne’ printed out in big ass letters along the side. Gareth and Eddie had spent a lunch watching one of the trucks load in, a literal swarm of people pulling out crates and sheets of metal down the largest service elevator Gareth had ever seen.

It didn’t make a lick of sense, but then, when did anything in Hawkins?

With a flourish, Eddie revealed his final treasure of the day. A button, with the words ‘Not a Prince, but I am Charming’ blazed across it in bright yellow lettering.

For you, Sailor." With an exaggerated bow and open palms, he presented it to Steve, his tone dripping with theatrical flair.

“Maybe securities just no match for you two.” Steve teased back, picking up the button and proudly pinning it to his shirt.

This caused Robin to snort loudly behind him.

She was given two different middle fingers in response.

Unfortunately, her normally sneering expression began to look dangerously contemplative the third or so time Eddie “adjusted” the button on Steve’s shirt, the two of them half slapping at each other over it and Gareth shot into damage control mode before the idiots outed themselves to her.

“Anyone else here yet?” Gareth asked, shoving at Eddie as he pretended to fight for countertop elbow space.

He was shoved back, but at least everyone seemed to get a clue, Eddie abandoning Steve’s button to slump on the counter in a way he knew Robin hated.

Steve made an obvious show of checking his watch. “Nope, but none of you freeloaders tend to show up for another hour anyway. You two are early.”

Eddie gasped, hand leaping to clutch at his chest, above his heart. ‘Steven! I know you didn’t just call me, one of your closest, bestest, friends, a freeloader!”

“You’re one of the worst offenders." Steve deadpanned. "Frankly you’d be number one if the dipshits weren’t constantly in here harassing me to let them sneak into the movies.”

Another loud gasp. “You’ve been letting the children sneak into movies and not us?”

He got a smirked at for his efforts. “You’d get caught.”

Playfully offended, Eddie’s mouth dropped open.

“And the loud shrieky one won’t!?”

“The loud shrieky one is controlled by Lucas and Max.”

“Such disrespect! After I bring you a present and everything!” Eddie sniffed. Robin was still watching them, Gareth noted, though this time it looked less confused and more like the expression on his parents face when they watched something weird happen on a nature documentary.

It was still too close for comfort.

Thankfully a proper distraction arrived, in the form of the rest of Hellfire. 

“Guess who's working that new cookie kiosk?” Stewart announced as the group breezed in, saving Gareth from having to stomp on Eddie’s foot (or start a sprinkle war or any of the other ridiculous shit he’d had to pull the last few days.)

“James Heartfiend.“ Steve said flatly. 

"It's Hetfield, which I know you know, just like I know you're mispronouncing D&D names on purpose."  Eddie told him. “Which is a sin, I’ll have you know.”

“Would this be the same kind of sin as washing dishes or--”

“No--shut up Eds--Steve!” Stewart yelled over Eddie. “Guess again! Steve!”

"I know you didn't just tell me to shut up, Stewart--" 

“Whatever you’re doing, Gary,” Jeff whispered as two different arguments broke out on top of each other, “do it faster.”

He didn’t have to specify what he meant, given how Eddie was blatantly competing for Steve’s attention.

“I’m trying.” Gareth hissed back, annoyed. “I don’t see you helping any!”

“He,"  Jeff pointed his head in Eddie’s direction, making it clear who he meant, "called me at 10pm last night because Steve finally got a You Rule point. He ranted me to sleep.”

“Well that’s not helping, is it?”

“It’s torture. I am being tortured.”

“That isn’t torture, Jeff. Torture is waking up to go on a jog with Steve only to have him derail every attempt at discussing relationships because you’re running wrong--”

“It’s Alex Copeland.” Tiff announced loudly, cutting off the increasingly loud conversation happening around them.

Silence abounded as everyone took the name in.

“I don’t know who that is.” Robin said cautiously, peering at Hellfire as if waiting for some grand reveal.

(She startled about three different people in doing so, Gareth included. They had got to get better at remembering when she was there.) 

“Neither do we.” Jeff said as he abandoned Gareth to shoulder his way to the counter, throwing a handful of bills down on it as Grant groaned in the background. 

Steve apparently, had been making ice cream while everyone was arguing, because Jeff’s usual order was handed right over in return.

The fucking overachiever.

“Honestly we don’t either.” Jeff admitted, as he began shoveling ice cream in his mouth. “Grant won’t let us see her.” 

“He’s so embarrassed about it, it’s hilarious.” Gareth added, snatching up one of the free sample spoons and stealing a bite as payment for all the comments. 

He was doing the best he could here, and given he had somehow been assigned the Herculean task of trying to get two of their closest friends to realize they liked each other, he figured Hellfire as a whole owed him.

Turns out it was pretty fucking hard to sit your good friend down for a “I know we kinda talked about it, but you do know you’re not straight, right?” conversation, and spinning it further into “also I think you have a crush on Eddie” downright impossible.

He made another go at Jeff’s ice cream.

Jeff turned, sticking up an elbow to block as he made a face. “Get your own!”

“Why bother when I can have yours?” Gareth countered, ducking around the offending elbow and moving to get back at the bowl.

The older teen turned again, resulting in a sort of dog-chasing-its-tail effect as Gareth continued to turn with him, the both of them spinning faster.

“We’re convinced it’s a fake name.” Tiffany added, completely ignoring her friend's shenanigans.

“It isn’t!” Grant protested far too loudly, blushing fire engine red. 

“So who do we think it actually is?” Steve asked, catching onto the gag immediately.

“All we know is that it’s an older woman, who “is super sweet”,” Tiff made quotation marks with her fingers, “calls him hun, and has the photobooth gig as a part time job.”

“Okay…?”

“Joyce Byers.” Jeff said loudly, before snapping his teeth at Gareth's hands in a threat to bite.

Steve broke into laughter immediately.

“What.” He wheezed, nearly dropping the scooper he was playing with.

Grant moaned like a dying thing. 

“See, our dear friend here had a small crush when he was a wee child…” Eddie started, with his usual flair.

“Which he denies to this day but he still gets all anxious if she’s around--” Gareth continued, undeterred by Jeff’s threats.

“Jonathan’s mom!?” Steve continued to wheeze, as if there was a different Joyce Byers running around.

"Lies!" Grant himself snapped. "Lies and--and slander!" 

“Grant is a sucker for cougars.” Jeff said over his protests, still spinning.

“Oh, screw you  Jeff!”

“Sorry but I can’t, Grant.” Jeff turned the other way, trying to trick Gareth out. “What would Miss Byers think?

“Gary,” Steve called out as Grant bit out more protests. “Stop pestering Jeff and come get your own.” He pulled out a bowl and shook it, just like you would to call a pet.

“I don’t have ice cream money!”

“I’m giving it to you, idiot.”

"Oh. Thanks!" 

“You guys are so weird,” Robin interrupted, standing off to the side with her arms crossed, giving the same look teenagers on TV give when asked to do something gross. 

Eddie beamed at her, to her clear disgust. “Damn right we are.”

She rolled her eyes. “Could you please go be weird elsewhere?” 

Which was not the first time Robin had made that particular plea. It wouldn't be the last, either. 

“Sorry Buckles,” Eddie said, leaning on the counter once again. “But Hellfire sticks together. You have one of us, you get all of us.”

Robin pondered that longer than Gareth thought was necessary, tilting her head in thought.

“So, if I fire Steve, does that mean I get rid of all of you?” she asked, challenging them.

Eddie tapped his finger to his chin. “Well…”

“No, no.” Steve directed the first to Eddie before spinning and stressing the second at Robin. “I need this job. No firing!”

“Pretty sure that's the manager's decision, Steve.” Grant teased, happy to throw him under the bus if it meant people stopped talking about Joyce Byers.

“She’s the assistant manager!”

“To a guy we have never met! And,” Eddie turned to Robin, as though expecting her to back him up, “as Lady Buckley just pointed out, we are here all the time. Therefore,”

He smacked the back of one hand into his palm, “I declare that there isn’t actually a manager and Robin can hire and fire as she likes!”

Steve was starting to look desperate, as though Robin might actually buy any of this nonsense. 

“Eddie.”

“No firing.” Gareth cut in, as if he had any authority on the matter, digging happily into his ice cream. 

"Fi-iine." Eddie grumbled, collapsing onto the counter with all the grace of a fallen deer. "Say, Stevie, could I possibly get some of that sweet, sweet free ice cream in mint flavor?"

Under his breath, Jeff told Gareth; "You don't deserve yours." 

Gareth didn’t respond right away, his attention caught by Eddie poking at the ridiculous button he’d given Steve—and how Steve just... let him.

It made him think about how Steve used to be—and how, in many ways, he still was when it came to anyone in his space. How different he was now.

Steve wasn’t the kind of person to seek out touch, but the Steve they saw now was much closer to the one they had grown up with—without all the “King Steve” nonsense.

He was loud. Playfully rude. Just the other day, he slapped Grant on the shoulder in excitement about some basketball game and didn’t even seem to notice he'd done it.

Eddie had done that. Hellfire had helped, absolutely, but Steve wasn’t haunting Jeff’s house or Gareth’s garage, or Grant's basement bedroom. Off-shift, the guy could usually be found with Eddie, and if not, Eddie would always know where he was.

It was why Gareth had taken the approach of talking to Steve first, instead of pushing Eddie to confess.

If they messed this up...

It could blow up not just their friendship, but all of Hellfire’s with Steve.

And that wasn’t fair.

"No, I do." Gareth muttered, trying to push away the weight of all the ways this could go wrong. "I definitely do."

When it was all said and done, he deserved far more than free ice cream, and he fully intended to collect on that.

...If he could just get Steve and Eddie to make some progress first.

xXx

On a random Sunday (or if you were Gareth, on Attempt 15 of The Dating Talk) Dustin Henderson returned from camp, greatly annoyed about his friends but looking forward to seeing Steve.

Gareth would stare, with a look on his face that could only be described as “delighted” as the two of them proceeded to perform the dorkiest handshake on Earth, complete with lightsaber noises and Steve tragically dying at the end.

“Do not tell Eddie about that.” Steve would hiss, finger pointing threateningly in Gareth’s direction.

“Swear it on my life.” Gareth would reply--only after making eye contact with Robin.

She might be Eddie’s enemy at the moment, but he figured this was a solid way to win her over—especially with Steve so hell-bent on becoming her friend.

After all, he was here for yet another round of their never-ending “feelings” talk—not that he planned on having it in front of Robin, but rather to steal Steve away during his break (and maybe score a free lunch in the process).  Getting on Robin's good side would mean fewer complaints from her about Gareth haunting Scoops—and about Gareth constantly pulling Steve away.

Too bad he’d failed once more, his frustration mounting as he made no absolutely zero progress. 

(Steve, as it turned out, had an almost supernatural ability to detonate entire conversations, and he was presently using it for evil.

A carefully placed question here, a scoffing remark about elves there, and before Gareth knew it, the bastard had sidestepped every trap and sent them careening into uncharted territory. By the time Gareth noticed, Steve was long gone.

Pinning him down at work was becoming his only option, given the older teen couldn’t just up and vanish, but even that hadn’t exactly worked out today.

Thus, Dustin’s interruption had been appreciated.

Stewart's, on the other hand, wasn’t.) 

“Steve!”

Robin glanced up, before making a face. “Oh look, here comes one of your little fanclub.”

“It’s not a fanclub, Robin."

“Yeah? Then why is he screaming your name?”

“She’s got you there.” Dustin told Steve, the traitor.

“Ste-eeve!”

Stewart was breathing hard, eyes shining as he slid to a stop in front of Scoop’s counter. With the excited air of someone who’d just scored the winning goal, he slammed a cylinder down on the counter.

One that glowed a familiar, sickening green color.

“Who sucks now!?” He bellowed, as if that part of the board had ever in any way shape or form applied to him.

“Motherfucker.” Steve cursed instead, staring at the thing in horror.

“Why Steven,” Dustin clucked his tongue with a grin. “Such uncouth language!”

“And in front of children too.” Robin added dryly.

Steve dropped his head to the counter while simultaneously raising his middle finger.

“I hate my life.” He moaned.

“No you don’t.” Eddie declared, announcing his presence by flinging Scoop’s window open with a bang! “Not when you’re a grand adventurer, setting sail on the ocean of flavor!”

Without picking up his head, Steve blindly grabbed a spoon and hurled it at him, striking the center of Eddie's forehead with perfect aim.

Gareth and Dustin both applauded. 

“Munson we talked about this, you cannot be behind the counter let alone in the backroom!” Robin shrieked, hands going to support the You Suck board as it wobbled dangerously.

(It had been modified at some point the day prior, and was now split into thirds, reading “You Rule” “You Suck” and ‘Fountain”

Underneath ‘Fountain’ was three Xs and a poorly drawn skull.

“We really need to put a leash on him.” Tiff said when she first saw it, with the air of someone whose puppy had chewed through another shoe.

“We need to burn it.” Eddie had responded darkly, and then the topic of conversation was quickly changed before he could get another rant going.)

“Hate life later. Where did you find this?” Dustin asked, reaching out as if to grab the goo, and immediately getting his hand slapped down by Steve.

“Tell me it wasn’t in the water fountain.” He added, as Eddie walked himself to the front, Robin glaring daggers at him the entire time.

“What--no!” Offended, Stewart shrieked, as Steve batted Dustin’s away a second time and promptly ended up in a slap fight.

“How did you even know about the fountain you little shit, you haven’t even been here!” He continued, clutching at his home made plaid vest like a string of pearls.

“Legendary tales travel, Stuck Stewart.” Dustin told him, eyes narrowed in concentration as he ducked and dodged. 

“Your betrayal is noted, Harrington.” Stewart snarled, correctly guessing exactly how that tale had traveled.

“Oh my God.” Dustin said suddenly, reaching out to snatch at Steve’s arm, halting him mid slap. He shook it wildly, a grin overtaking his face. “Oh my God!”

“What?” Gareth asked, because he wasn’t yet aware of what Dustin’s “I figured something out” song and dance meant yet.

“The weird code I was talking about! Steve, Steve-- I bet this is related!”

“No.” Steve said, hand ripping away from Dustin’s to slash wildly in the air. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes!” Dustin countered gleefully.

“You guys realize it’s not code, right?” Robin cut in. “The shitty noise you’ve been playing, super loudly by the way, in our breakroom for like two hours? Yeah, that's Russian.”

At their blank stares she deadpanned; “It’s a language.”

Like she thought the lot of them were stupid.

(Because she did.)

“And how do you know that?” Steve asked, and the same time Dustin spun to look at her and demanded;

“Do you speak Russian!?”

“No, but,” Robin gave them a slow, calculating smile, “I could.”

“She could.” Dustin repeated to Steve, practically beaming.

‘She could.’ Eddie mouthed sarcastically at Gareth, turning so only he and Stewart could see him do it.

Following Steve’s footsteps, Gareth threw a spoon at him.

(He missed but it was the thought that counts.) 

“What we should do is give that,” Steve pointed a single, accusatory finger at the goo vial, “to Hopper and let him know we found it at the mall. Which is a super weird place for it to be.”

Which was true. Gareth honestly hoped this was another case of some kid or teenager finding and abandoning it, and not an indication that Starcourt was involved in the supposed clean up Hopper had swore was coming.

“If this is at the mall,” Stewart said hesitantly, “Then do you think that uh, other things, might have followed it?”

“Unlikely, the mall’s too busy.” Dustin dismissed easily.

Too easily, for Gareth—he’d watched that damn Manticore disappear into the wall. If it could move like that, it could just as easily hide itself, crowded mall or not.

“What other things?” Robin asked, before making a move like she was about to grab the goo. “What even is this, anyway?”

“Drugs.” Steve said, at the exact same time Dustin answered; “Nothing!”

They turned and glared at each other while Stewart carefully pulled the vial out of Robin’s reach.

(And then Eddie’s, when he looked like he might try and grab it too.)

“We’re not really sure what it is,” Gareth told Robin. Thinking quickly, he tacked on; “but we found some earlier and the cops were interested in it. They said they’re being careful after the whole thing last year.”

“Thing? Like the Hawkins lab thing? Where people died?” Robin was looking more alarmed by the minute. “This is an ice cream shop, we can't have that in here! ”

“Well no ones going to eat it.” Steve scoffed.

“Is that a challenge?” Eddie said with a grin, making grabby hands at the vial.

“One of those Girl Scouts was licking the table the other day, someone absolutely will!" Robin's voice grew in pitch and volume, eyes wide as she stared a the goo. "What if it melts things or blows up, or--”

“Hey--hey, calm down.” Steve soothed, turning on the Harrington charm full force. He reached out, putting a hand on Robin's shoulder. “If it was going to melt don’t you think it’d have gone through the container?”

Gareth watched it happen with a raised eyebrow--he more than anyone knew Steve didn’t often casually reach out to people like that. Logic said he was doing it because Buckley looked actually panicked and Steve was a fucking softie at heart but--

Logic also said that Eddie wouldn’t read it that way.

Sure enough, Gareth cut a glance towards his best friend and found him watching Steve soothe Robin’s fears with a stiff back, hands clenched at his sides.

(Ruh-roh.)

“Not if that's a special container, Dingus!”

“Maybe she’s right.” Eddie said, voice a touch off and oh, fuck, the jealous bastard was going to make things worse.

Gareth turned to him to give him a warning look, only for Eddie to lean around him entirely.

“Maybe this container is made from a rare metal and if we open it, it’ll chew right through the floor--or a hand, even.” He grinned, a nasty looking thing, before reaching towards the vial. “Only one way to find out…”

“Eds.” Steve admonished, sending him his own warning look as Robin shrieked out a curse and Stewart danced backwards, away from the group, goo vial in hand. 

“We never did play with it.” Dustin said thoughtfully. “We should experiment, see if we can figure out what it is.”

Which was a far more terrifying sentence than anything Eddie could whip up, because unlike the older teen, Henderson meant it.

“Absolutely not!” Steve and Robin yelled at the same time, before casting surprised looks at each other.

Steve’s face broke into a smile, and for two entire seconds Robin’s looked like it might as well before she caught herself.

Eddie’s own smile sharpened in return, and Gareth groaned inwardly.

If Robin got into a relationship with Steve before he could properly intervene about all things Eddie, Hellfire was going to be in for a rough ride.

(He could already picture it.

Steve, lovestruck and oversharing in front of Eddie, leading to inevitable chaos for everyone else. The man could rival a PTA mom whose cookies were branded “fattening” when he got tangled up in a snit, and Steve dating anyone right now would cause problems--but Robin?

Who spent most of her time insulting him and Hellfire both?

Yeah.

Gareth would gladly suffer another character death in D&D than go through that.)

“Stewart, give it to Hopper.” Steve all but ordered, while Gareth and Eddie both catastrophized in different directions. “Dustin, let Robin listen to the stupid code. See if her oversized brain can figure it out.”

“Oversized?” Robin asked, though they could all tell she was still distracted by the way her eyes were glued to the glue. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” Steve's hand went to his hips, cocking them sideways the way a gangster cocked his gun. “I thought you said you could translate Russian, but if you can’t…”

Robin went from fearful to offended in an instant.

“Shut up Dingus, of course I can!”

Which was the second time she’d used that nickname in as many minutes. Eddie’s expression darkened, a storm cloud of repressed rage encircling his head, and Gareth resisted the urge to duck for cover. 

“I’ll take it to Hopper but only if someone comes.” Stewart said, seemingly oblivious to the cliff they were all hurtling towards. “That man is terrifying.”

Robin ignored him, sticking a hand out, palm facing upwards. “Give me the code." 

Steve ignored him too, in favor of egging on his coworker. “Show her the recording, Dustin, let’s see the great Robin Buckley in action.” He taunted as Dustin dutifully handed over the tape recorder. 

“Anyone...?” Stewart asked hesitantly, and Gareth made sure not to meet his gaze.

(He already had his hands full with the whole Steve-and-Eddie situation—he was not taking on Hopper too!)

“Guess I’ll go with Stewart then.” Eddie sniped, shoving himself off the counter. “Since you guys would rather play spy with the radio.”

His tone was cutting enough that Steve took notice, a frown flicking into life. 

“What's got into him?” He asked Gareth, puzzled, as Eddie stormed off, loudly commanding Stewart to follow.

“No idea.” He lied. “Now about that code…”

If he kept them all focused on it, he figured, Dustin would hang around. That would in turn, successfully derail the majority of Steve’s stupid charms--to at least delay things enough that Gareth could pin him down to finally have a talk. 

You know, if Steve finally let him do it.

(Steve did not let him do it.)

xXx

Gareth hadn’t believed it was humanly possible to learn a language that fast.

Robin Buckley, apparently, wasn’t anyone. After witnessing her rattle off full sentences with unnerving confidence, he decided he’d never question her abilities again—not for the rest of his natural life.

“I can’t speak it.” Robin corrected when she finally decoded the word they’d all been struggling over. “This is just a basic translation.”

“Yeah, but you actually understand it.” Steve said, clearly impressed. “You had most of the code translated in like, one shift.”

“It still doesn’t sound right though.” Dustin complained, staring at the white board they'd confiscated. “The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China sounds nice if you tread lightly?” 

“You’re forgetting the music.” Steve pointed out and was met by a chorus of groans.

“Yes, the one you’re convinced belongs to the toy horsie ride near the movie theater.” Dustin rolled his eyes, and Gareth rolled his own right along with him.

'Horsie.' Gareth mouthed at Steve, who mouthed it back with a grin. 

Steve was this close to pulling them all towards the damn toy horse, Scoop’s be damned, but that would mean the stupid recording had been done at the mall--and what were the chances of that?

(“Honestly they’re pretty decent, Cerebro can pick up far away signals.” Henderson had started, when Steve first mentioned it, kicking off an entirely separate argument with Robin regarding radio wavelengths and other terms that flew over Gareth’s head.)

“It sounds exactly the same!” Steve protested, with all the conviction of a teenage boy who’d been wronged.

"The point I'm making," Dustin sassed back, "is that your translation sounds like nonsense." He turned to Robin accusingly.  "Ergo, you probably translated it wrong." 

Which almost sent them right back around to the start of the argument they’d been having all morning, but fortunately for Gareth's incoming headache, fate had other ideas. 

“Does anyone else think Billy Hargrove has a screw loose?” The elder teen interrupted with his usual flair, popping up in Scoop’s like a Jack in the Box after sneaking through the door.

No one jumped this time, which appeared to disappoint him greatly.

“The entire high school I suspect. Maybe some teachers. Why?” Robin asked, because she’d grown comfortable with their fast changing screwball conversations.

Gareth thought she might even secretly enjoy some of them, not that he was going to call anyone's attention to that.

Regardless, he watched Eddie warily—this was the first time Eddie had come back to Scoop’s since storming off to take Stewart and the goo to Hopper.

Which he knew they had done, because Eddie had called him afterwards, frantic for a second opinion on whether Hopper had been threatening him, apologizing, or some odd mix of the two.

(“It sounded like he was reading from a script he couldn’t remember,” Eddie had whined. “And he kept insisting he wasn’t trying to growl at me, for some reason?”

“That’s fucking weird man.” Gareth said. “You think someone put him up to it?”

Eddie hesitated, then blurted out, "You don’t think Steve said something, do you?"

"I don’t think he and Steve are that close."

"God, I hope not." Gareth could almost hear the shiver in Eddie’s voice. "Can you imagine?"

He could, actually, but he wasn’t about to share that with Eddie.

Though, the thought of Steve in Scooby Doo pajamas was kind of hilarious…

“He's lifeguarding at the pool and he seems a bit more…” Eddie trailed off, clearly fishing for the right word. “Unhinged, than usual.”

“What does that even look like?” Dustin said with a snort. “Is he spitting fire? Did he finally grow horns?”

“Maybe he ate a child.” Gareth added, with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Eddie was frowning though, instead of piling on. “He’s weird for sure.” He said, which was about as vague as he always got when it came to Billy Hargrove.

Gareth knew why. Hellfire’s fearless leader saw something of himself, or something he could have been, in Hargrove. It was that dumb little empathetic part of him that led him to being who he was--defender of nerds, king of the freaks.

A core part of him, that Gareth, and frankly all of Hellfire loved but…

Well.

Gareth had locked eyes with Hargrove once. Just passing by, in the hallways.

It felt like locking eyes with a crocodile. Power and violence wrapped up together in a way that felt instinctive--reactionary.

Not exactly something you could reason with.

Eddie saw him differently (saw everyone differently, by his very nature) but this felt an awful lot like playing with a wild animal. The only thing that determined whether you or someone else became dinner was who said animal noticed first.

“You can always ask Max, though Hargrove’s a sore spot for her.” Steve said. He too, Gareth realized, was eyeing Eddie. He had assumed their jock had brushed off the strange behavior from the other day, but maybe he was more perceptive than Gareth had given him credit for—at least when it came to Eddie.

Dustin looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“I wouldn’t ask Max about Billy.” He said, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. Very much a first for him, given his usual “charge in anyway” attitude, and thus very noticeable.

“He’s a dick, and he’s working.” Steve dismissed with a shrug.  “Dude’s unhinged, yeah, but he has calmed down a bit.”

Gareth couldn’t have disagreed more. He’d finally gotten the real story behind the Hargrove-Harrington fight—none of the wild rumors like “Harrington tried to date Hargrove’s little sister” or “Hargrove and Harrington started a fight club." 

Now he understood why Billy kept his distance from Steve, but even that uneasy not-quite-truce felt like it could snap at any moment.

(Eddie’s uncanny ability to sense when someone was dealing with something wasn’t exactly helpful in situations like this either.

His strange little internal radar for People In Distress was sharp enough that Gareth was sure Hargrove was grappling with some sort of issue—meaning Eddie, true to form, wouldn’t just leave it alone.

Eddie had always managed to wriggle free from whatever trouble he stumbled into, but this time? This time Gareth was uneasy—probably because Steve had once shown them the too-shiny scar along his hairline, a souvenir from his own run-in with Billy.

Steve was a fighter. A tank. A goddamn paladin. He could weather hits like that and somehow keep going, battered but alive.

Eddie…

Eddie wasn’t built the same. And Gareth had no desire to see just how far luck would stretch.)

“He still buys from me.” The man himself was saying, stubborn conviction coming to life. “I’ll talk to him.”

Steve was alarmed immediately.

“Could you at least take someone with you?” He asked, and Gareth gave it to him--the guy had learned fast that was better than attempting to ask Eddie to not go at all.

“To what? Help protect me against the scary mean jock? I’ll be fine.” Eddie stuck his tongue out to blow a raspberry. “Besides, bringing someone else means I couldn’t just cut and run if he gets uppity.”

Despite all clear and present stressors, the teasing had Steve visibly relaxing.

Apparently Eddie's snits were more obvious than even Gareth had realized.

“I’d love to see you, who I am pretty sure skipped all of PE class but definitely anything involving running, manage that.”

Eddie winked at him. “Trust me big boy, when it comes to my life, I can run.”

“I trust you.” Steve said, painfully earnest. “Just…be careful, yeah? Hargrove’s not…”

He trailed off and Gareth mentally filled in the rest.

(Not sane was a strong contender, though “Not all there” was equally likely.)

“Just be careful.” Steve finished.

Eddie grinned, before reaching out and booping him on the nose.

“Always am!”

“He’s not.” Gareth said truthfully, as Eddie wiggled his way out of the store. “But I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Steve touched the tip of his nose where Eddie booped it, looking both annoyed and slightly red about it.

“Thanks.” He muttered.

“For you?” Gareth teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Anytime.”

He sent his own, exaggerated wink Steve’s way and basked in the loud boos Robin and Dustin both gave him for it.

Bonus

In the wee morning hours of 9 AM, Gareth sat on the counter of Scoop’s and tiredly watched as a group of grim men walked by with some sort of construction material covered by a tarp.

The tarp had the words ANODYNE blazed across it--or would have, had someone not taken paint and changed it to “ANAL ONLY.”

(That person might have been Gareth, not that he’d ever tell.)

“So you know how you’ve taken to calling Eddie nicknames?” Gareth started, wondering if the key to all this was just being fast enough to say it before Steve could spin them off topic.

“Yeah?” Steve said.

“You know how you don’t call anyone else by a nickname?”

“I literally called you Gary five minutes ago.” Steve refuted. “Also I’m pretty sure Tiff’s full name isn’t, you know. Tiff.”

“I don’t mean those kinds of nicknames.”

He meant the fact that Steve had decided, after months of tolerating ‘Sunshine’ ‘Sunlight’ and various other variations Eddie came up around the word “sun” he’d finally given Eddie a special nickname of his own.

A cute one even, that had made Eddie blush when he’d first heard it.

“I’m not following.” Steve told him as he flung up the gate that stood guard over Scoop’s Ahoys' entrance, with a motion so smooth Gareth was briefly mad at him for accomplishing it.

Stupid athletes and their jock powers.

“You know damn well what I mean.” He said, exasperated with all the dodging.

Something Steve must have picked up on, because he sighed.

“If you haven’t noticed, Eddie's been kind of clingy lately. Octopus level clingy.” Steve told him as he finished setting up (and Gareth in turn, did absolutely nothing to help. Hey, he wasn't the one getting paid!) 

He didn’t have much time—Robin was apparently opening, and Steve had only gotten there first because of his odd habit of going for morning runs. Since the two of them were determined to crack the stupid code today, Henderson would probably show up soon, too.

Gareth was only up this early out of a love for two friends that he better be thanked for at their wedding. He could be asleep right now but noooo--

“He’s been acting kinda weird, too." Steve continued. "He won’t say why, so I thought giving him a nickname back might make him happy.”

Before Gareth could dig into that, Steve picked up a towel and whipped it towards the younger teen. 

“Now get off my counter, I don’t want to give Robin any reason to bitch at me today.”

Gareth leapt out of the way, mindful of the towel after the first time he learned how much the damn things hurt. “Do you really care what she thinks?”

It was an honest question--Gareth had a hard time getting a read on what, exactly, Steve was trying to accomplish with her.

He got where the You Rule/You Suck board had come from.

Understood how that ballooned into a game where Steve flirted--and greatly annoyed--every chick who waltzed past.

What he couldn’t understand was why Steve was working so hard to be nice to her. From every angle, it seemed like he was trying to win her over. If that’s what Steve wanted, then Gareth wasn’t about to get in the way, but…

He needed to stop flirting with Eddie, if that was the case. Needed to be told he was flirting, and that Eddie didn’t deserve it if Steve had no intention of following through.

Steve made a face, like he was trying to decipher his own emotions. “Kind of?”

And finally, Gareth had his opening.

He pounced. 

“Do you like her?” 

“As a person I do.” 

Annoyed with the non-answer, Gareth was quick to lighten the noose. “And as a date?”

Steve wiped down the counter with the towel, once. Twice. 

“Nah.” He admitted. He averted his gaze down into the endless rows of ice cream. “It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then?” Gareth pressed. 

Steve frowned, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought about the answer. Gareth let him, knowing he got like thi when he was actually thinking something through, and wanted to phrase it the right way.

Pity their time had run up.

“Harrington, what did I say about letting customers in here before we’re officially open!?” Robin snapped as she strode through the back doors, sending a glare Gareth’s way.

“Gary said he wanted to apply to work for us.” Steve returned, sending a downright evil smirk Gareth’s way. “So technically he’s not a customer.”

Robin stopped dead in her tracks to stare at them, eyes narrowed as she attempted to suss out if Steve was lying. “Really?” 

“Absolutely not.” Gareth spat. 

Then, as petty revenge for the denial of the answer he’d been chasing, tattled; “Also Steve forgot to check the walk in.”

Gareth!” Steve called, twisting the towel in his hands like a weapon.

“Sorry, not sorry!” Gareth chanted, bolting for the exit before the towel could strike.

It wasn’t the conversation he’d hoped for, but for the moment, Steve’s little confession felt like a small victory.

A place to start.

And that filled him with absolute glee—until he ran past the construction workers, hollering apologies when he nearly knocked one over (and almost sent the entire group toppling with him).

“My bad! He called over his shoulder, hearing shouts of “Idiot!” “Stupid boy!” and something that sounded suspiciously like Russian—

Which Gareth, of course, understood. He’d spent nearly as much time on the stupid code as Steve and Robin had, after all.

He skidded to a halt, his eyes widening as he looked back at the angry crew, noticing one of the Russian-speaking security guards Eddie had mocked was with them.

There was no way Steve’s wild theory about the code being recorded in the mall was true, except...

When you combined it with the goo vial Stewart had found and the music, it started to look like it might be.

‘Well,’ Gareth thought. ‘Shit.’

[zablife]

Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwiches

Summary: Even though you've promised to marry him, you still feel as though you might not be what Elvis needs. An argument over dinner proves the perfect time for him to set you straight.

A/N: I've never written for Elvis before, but something came to me I couldn't resist!

"Get up 'ere and tell me whatsa matter with you!" Elvis demanded, obviously displeased by the way you'd stormed away to the kitchen.

You pursed your lips into a defiant pout, arms crossed over your chest as you heaved for breath. He'd knocked the wind out of you when he picked you up and slammed you down onto the counter. The gasp you'd stifled was proof of it.

"I don't got anything to say to you," you retorted, averting your gaze and staring down at his dark suede shoes.

He was a gentleman at heart, but his temper often got the best of him. You heard him huff, watching him stuff his hands in his pockets to keep from manhandling you further. It was clear he only wanted to know what was wrong and he paced silently as he waited for an answer.

You were stubborn too though and often tested his patience by being deliberately willful. If he didn't know what he'd done this time, you certainly weren't going to tell him. He could figure that out for himself, you thought as you let him stew.

A moment more of shoes squeaking against the linoleum and Elvis snapped. Charging back toward you, he captured your jaw in one enormous palm forcing your eyes to meet his penetrating stare.

"Said I was sorry, didn't I?" he demanded and you could only gulp in reply. He hadn't been kind about your efforts cooking dinner and the jokes he made to the mafia eroded what little confidence you had left.

Your lip quivered despite your best efforts and hot tears welled at your lash line. Of course he noticed the change in you instantly, reaching up to catch the first tear as it fell.

“Don’t do that darlin’,” he pleaded, voice dripping in honeyed concern.

You sniffed back emotion so as not to show weakness and he chuckled slightly. "Always a brave little soldier, ain't ya?" he teased.

"M not, tho," you admitted. "I don't think I can do this," you whispered, pitching forward to press your foreheads together. You breathed in his comforting scent, allowing the waves of calm to wash over you before you continued. "I'm sorry, but I can't be your wife," you confessed. You knew it to be true, unable to keep house or cook meals for him perfectly the way his mama did for him when she was alive. You didn't have the same experience and it was killing you to know how you were failing him.

Elvis breathed deeply as his large hand came to cradle the back of your head, making you feel safe and secure as only he knew how. You could feel him smirking against you and you held your breath waiting for whatever reply he'd give to dismiss your concerns.

However, he surprised you when his voice rumbled low and sincere from deep within his chest. "You're gonna make the most wonderful wife, sweetheart. I know it cause you're kind and gentle..." He paused to gather his thoughts, fingers twisting in your hair as he added softly, "but most of all cause you love me like I love you."

Your heart nearly skipped a beat as he spoke the words of affirmation you'd longed to hear so many months now living with him at Graceland. However, your old insecurities ate at you faster than he could banish them. Your head shook softly against his broad shoulder, tears dripping down his shirt front as you proclaimed, "Tonight you said I couldn't do nothin' right. Maybe it's true." Then you gave in to the melancholy, hiccuped sobs leaving your parted lips.

You felt his chest puff out against you, ready to deny the accusation before he thought better of it. He looked back toward the dining room where a dozen witnesses could easily corroborate his sharp criticism. With you tugging at his heart strings now, he realized his mistake.

"Look, baby, I don't care you can't cook," he swore to you. As you looked up into his sapphire eyes, you knew he was telling the truth. Searching your tear stained face for forgiveness he added, "I'll hire us a chef and you don't ever have to worry again, alright?"

"You won't think less of me?" you asked, wiping at your ruined mascara.

A wide grin spread over his face as he thought for a moment, the devilish glint returning to his eyes as he answered, "Not as long as you learn to make me a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I can't go on a two week honeymoon with no help and nobody to make it f'me," he chuckled.

You hit his chest playfully, a giggle escaping your lips. "And how am I gonna do that?" you teased back, biting your cheek in anticipation.

Elvis' broad hands came to rest at your waist, raising you from your perch with ease. With controlled precision he placed you onto the ground beside him, pulling you into his side. "What if I teach ya?" he asked in complete seriousness.

Hands resting against his firm chest, you looked up at him expectantly, wanting to please him more than anything in the world. "I reckon I could learn."

"Yeah?" he asked, lips twitching into a tentative smile at your willingness.

"Mm-hmm," you confirmed with a quick nod.

Elvis took you by the hand and drug you toward the pantry as you furrowed your brow in confusion. "R-right now?" you stuttered, unable to believe he'd forsake his guests waiting for a proper meal in the next room.

"Ain't no time like the present, sweetheart," he declared, shutting them all out to spend time with you.

[palmerzy]

spencer reid & panty stealing? 💋💋

god i love a bit of perv!spencer, definitely my fave trope, mainly because he’s definitely a little freak, no arguments!

NSFW! - explicit sexual themes incl. perv!spencer.

the first time he did it was when you’d been having a little work gathering at your apartment - inviting the entire team over. spencer had never been to your place, and he spent the entire time looking around, taking in everything that made it yours. he’d stumbled his way into your bedroom, after stating he was heading for the bathroom, his eyes landing on the laundry hamper in the corner of the room.

spencer hadn’t intended to be weird, he wasn’t just naturally drawn to your dirty clothes, no, he was drawn to the small glimpse of purple lace peeking out. purple is his favourite colour, that’s the only reason he kept walking closer, he’d told himself. his big brown eyes somehow got bigger when he saw the sight of what was evidently your underwear, skimpy and pretty, laying on top of the hamper.

he likes to tell himself he wasn’t in his right mind when he swiped them, a little tipsy from the cocktails you’d made, which is the only reason he’d lifted them to his nose, bunching them in his slender fingers and inhaling your scent. he knew then that he was, by definition, being a pervert, but he couldn’t resist himself. he’d wanted you since that first day he met you at the bau, your eyes too kind and your smile too bright.

the boy knew he had to have you, and right then, your underwear was the closest he could get. he was quick to shove them into his pocket, returning casually to the party with nothing more than a faint blush dusting his chiselled cheeks.

that pair of panties quickly became his vice when he was alone at night in his bed, mind wandering to you and your tight work shirts, the swell of your breasts in the corner of his eye whenever he sat next to you on the jet, the way you bit your lip to stifle a laugh whenever he made a joke.

the first time he came into the material of your purple lace panties, he’d never felt such shame in his life.

yet, over time, he didn’t seem to be getting any closer to having you, so he resorted to repeating his actions that day, sneakily swiping a pair of your underwear on the rare occasion that you’d have the team at your home.

he doesn’t wash them, if he’s honest. he doesn’t want to. he wants the smell to stick around, so he can feel like you’re with him. he hasn’t tainted all of them with his release, some of them he loves too much - like the white pair with little love hearts adorning them, and a bow at the navel. he’s imagined them gracing your hips more than he’d like to admit.

of course, you’re not an idiot, you’re a member of the fbi, for christ’s sake, and you’re fully aware of what spencer’s doing - especially after the third pair of your underwear went missing, conveniently after he had visited you with the excuse of wanting to discuss a case.

you’ve let it slide so far, a little entertained by the seemingly innocent boy’s deranged behaviours. you’re waiting it out - patiently seeing if he’ll ever confess, or if he’ll spend the rest of his life staring at your tits instead of your eyes when you speak to him.

[hrtwayne]

Her Royal Highness || Jenna Ortega

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Princess of Scotland!Reader (Your Royal Highness AU!)

Summary: Where a school competition might lead you and Jenna to discover that hatred was actually a hidden passion!

Note: This chapter was inspired by the book Her Royal Highness! (English is not my first language!!)

Warning: Mentions of arguments, class differences, and a possible kiss!

Part Two

Among all the things Jenna could like in the world, being stuck in the middle of a frozen forest with a stupid princess who had absurd charm was definitely not one of them. Once again, she was caught up in something because of that damn blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl. Even so, her mind always played tricks on her when it came to the Scottish girl. She shouldn’t give in to the charm of the taller girl.

"Give me your backpack, Ortega," the girl said, her thick accent unmistakable.

"So you can fall and force us to quit this damn competition?" Jenna retorted in a harsh tone.

"Look, I really want to get out of this cold, alright? So could you just give me the damn backpack, Ortega?" the blonde shot back, watching as Jenna groaned before handing over the backpack with both of their clothes.

What Jenna didn’t realize was that this was all part of another elaborate plan born of the blonde’s fertile imagination. It wasn’t the first time she tried to escape school or come up with some ridiculous excuse to get expelled. As Jenna walked past her, the girl “accidentally” let both backpacks slip into the bottom of the frozen lake.

The American girl’s mouth fell open, letting out a dissatisfied sound, and the Scottish princess felt the piercing glare of the brunette as they both tried to save the damn backpacks containing their jungle survival kits. Jenna's stormy brown eyes were enough to make Laird shiver.

"You’re an idiot, Laird! Now we’re both stuck in this damn forest without even a trace of internet!" Jenna exclaimed, watching the girl freeze.

"I didn’t think about that, Ortega," her voice trembled as the cold seeped into her wet clothes.

"Of course, you didn’t think about it. The only thing you ever think about is ruining everything around you," Jenna snapped, stomping off toward a fallen tree.

A low grumble escaped Laird as she felt the cold begin to settle into her body. The sun was nearly disappearing over the horizon. The blue-eyed girl blinked a few times before walking over to the brunette.

"I’m sorry for getting you into this, Jenna," her voice wavered, making Jenna look at her curiously. "I know this isn’t a good time, but I’m really sorry for making your life a living hell."

"Save your apologies for when you manage to get us out of here, Laird," Jenna replied, brushing snow off her pants.

The Californian’s tempestuous brown eyes followed her to a dirt road that led to the campsite where Emma and the other counselors were. The wavy-haired girl followed Jenna to the camp, greeted by some insults and a less-than-pleased expression from the blue-eyed counselor.

"Try not to get killed by the principal," the Lady muttered, making Jenna shiver again.

The heated blankets made Jenna sigh heavily, though the girl beside her seemed somewhat detached. They both walked quickly to the car that would take them back to the Gregorstoun building.

A two-week suspension was now on Jenna’s spotless record, and she couldn’t be more stressed. That damn blue-eyed girl had messed everything up again, even after promising not to drag her into more trouble.

Jenna’s sharp glare was fixed on the back of the princess’s head. The blonde let out a quiet sigh, filling her lungs with air she didn’t even realize she was holding.

“How long are you gonna hate me, Ortega? I swear I’m trying not to lose it with how cold you’re being!” she complained, crossing her arms.

The pink flush on her pale skin was enough for Jenna to know she was seriously pissed. Jenna just nodded while the blonde kept talking, her reddish lips forming that stupidly charming smile. The way her lips moved up and down when she thought Jenna wasn’t watching... it was driving her crazy.

Jenna felt her throat dry up, and her hands started sweating even in the freezing cold. Those blue eyes were like a storm, hazy and intense, and they were making it impossible to focus.

“Kiss her already, you idiot. Do you think she’s just gonna magically realize how you feel?” Emma’s voice echoed in Jenna’s head as the blonde paced back and forth.

“Can you stop pacing, Laird?” Jenna snapped, watching her scowl. “Just sit down on the bed for like two minutes.”

“You’re so bossy, Ortega,” Laird muttered, crossing her arms.

“And you’re such an idiot who always screws things up,” Jenna shot back. “Just shut up for once, okay?” she added, stepping closer until there were just a few inches between them. “Last night made me realize some stuff I’d been ignoring. And unfortunately, when you apologized in that stupid frozen lake, it hit me—I’m totally in love with you.”

Your throat tightened, and for a second, everything went dark before your eyes focused back on her. She had to be joking, right?

“Don’t joke about this, please,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

“Laird, look at me,” Jenna said softly, cupping your cheek. “I’d never joke about something like this. Especially not about you.”

In a delicate motion, their bodies met, and their lips collided in a passionate kiss, filled with need and discovery. Y/n slid her hand along, Jenna's neck, savoring the softness of the girl's skin as their lips moved in perfect harmony. The princess's heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest, each beat echoing through the room.

Jenna's fingers gripped the princess's waist, making the blonde let out a soft sigh between the kiss, instinctively pulling her closer.

Y/n tried to control the kiss, but Jenna seemed determined to show her that she couldn't always have things her away. Jenna's firm hands kept the blonde in place as she explored every sensation of that moment — every sigh, every touch, every shiver. It was as if the world had disappeared, leaving just the two of them own bubble.

With a shaky breath, Y/n pulled back, her lips slightly parted, releasing small gasps or air.

"Enjoy the moment, Laird. I’m not going to hurt you like that idiot did," Jenna murmured, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"I know you won’t," you replied, leaning in to kiss the brunette again.

After all, going to a school for royals hadn’t been all that bad.

[syndrossi]

Rhaella and Daemon telling the twins that they are going to have a new sibling.

Of course I can't do anything fully happy, but it's still cheerful enough, I hope!

x~x~x

The way her sons’ brows furrowed in determination when preparing to argue for something they knew would meet resistance never failed to make Rhaella smile, because they were perfect mirrors of one another. She knew what would follow, of course. Jon would make his appeal to reason, and Rhaegar would neatly tailor his argument to best complement it—citing precedence, or invoking sentiment.

What made it all the more endearing was that they held the greatest of power in their hands. The mere mention of their childhood in the Vale—a childhood that wrenched her heart to glimpse in moments of great stress or vulnerability—would shatter any resistance their father might think to mount. And yet neither would ever use it.

Not for the fear of his rage, which burned the hottest for those stolen years and occasionally stirred dark memories for her of another rage, fueled by vanity and wounded pride. But rather because they knew their father’s heart and sought to guard it against such pains.

It did mean that they had to employ their arguments more creatively, which is how she found herself listening to their third attempt at persuading Daemon that they should be allowed to ride their young drakes.

Jon was adamant that it would allow them to better defend themselves, to more efficiently plan journeys by dragonflight, and that it was the safest means of travel from one point to the next. Rhaegar meanwhile cited ancient dragon texts that claimed the deepening of bond between rider and dragon was most crucial when it neared drake size. Then, ruthlessly, he pointed out that Daemon’s council business left him with less time for flights with them on Caraxes.

It took Daemon a brief pause to recover from the blow. “Does the prospect of flight on Vermithor not excite you?”

Rhaegar’s gaze shifted to Rhaella, suddenly uncertain, and her stomach fluttered. He knows.

It should not surprise her. He had been present for so many pregnancies, long and short, and all of them bitter in the end. He would know the fear that haunted her. Aerys had not been cruel, at first. But with every failure, both within her womb and without, he had come to resent her. To blame her.

To join the chorus of doubts within her own mind. Had she eaten this, or not eaten that. Had she slept more. Had she endured the maester’s examinations with more grace. Had she managed to drink his vile concoctions—or tossed them out the window.

It had been so difficult to know where the poison lay, the garden or the seed.

Or perhaps she had been cursed at Summerhall itself. Or perhaps all those lives had been spent so that her firstborn could breathe.

“I shall not be riding Vermithor for much longer,” she said gently, and the faint grimace on Daemon’s face told her that he had forgotten that approaching limitation.

Jon regarded her with confusion. “Why? Is he hurt?” His gaze swept her, then flicked to Rhaegar and back. “Are you hurt?”

“I am with child,” she said, forcing her lips into a smile. This body had not devoured its young yet. Perhaps it would be different. “I shall need to be careful for a time.”

“Oh.” Jon blinked, then he smiled at her, the radiant in his elation. “Those are happy tidings.” His hand reached out, then faltered, and his eyes went to hers in question. She nodded, and he gently touched her stomach. “Hello, little sister—or brother.”

She felt the babe within kick, as though in response. “That is the hope.”

Rhaegar’s hand clasped hers. “Whatever you need, you need only tell us.”

She squeezed his hand, and took a breath, commanding the fear away. “I shall need your help in choosing an egg for the cradle.”

Jon’s smile turned sly. “If we were allowed to ride our dragons, we could more easily attend to our mother’s needs.”

His boldness startled a laugh from her, and she felt the babe kick harder. This one is strong. She pressed a palm to the swell of her belly. Out here awaits all the love and joy your heart could desire, little one.

[rea-grimm]

Weapon Crocodile

You were always looking forward to finding out what kind of weapon you were going to have. You knew you were a Master because you didn't have the ability to change into a weapon. But now all you had to do was wait to see what kind of weapon you would have. You hoped you would have a cool weapon.

However, you couldn't have guessed the shock when your mark finally appeared. As much as you were looking forward to it, that was such a blow. 

A sword tattoo appeared on your wrist. That would have been fine, but the blade of the sword was broken, split into two pieces. You had a broken weapon. 

That was something that brought a lot of trouble and problems. Especially at school, when everyone was going over their marks and competing to see who had the better weapon. 

Ever since they found out at school that you had a broken weapon as your mark, you became the target of ridicule and bullying. What kind of Master would you be if you had a broken gun? 

After that, you started covering your mark with bandages or other things. You didn't even want to see it. So far, it's done you more harm than good. It also made you give up looking for it. You didn't want to look for someone who was ruining your life without you knowing them. 

After college, you went to work at a famous casino. You were one of the best bartenders there. You even had a uniform where you wore wrist tattoos. That suited you best of all. 

All the guests always wanted a drink, especially from you. You were so good, even the boss of the casino, Crocodile, would come over for a drink. 

He loved all the drinks you made for him, though of course he had his favourite. You were his favorite bartender in the whole casino. In fact, in the whole town. 

But he was sure it wasn't just your drinks. It was more than that, but he didn't know what. 

He even asked you about your weapon, but after your reluctance to give more information, he didn't press. The only thing you were willing to reveal about yourself was that you were a Master and you weren't looking for your weapon. 

He even felt generous enough to offer to help you find your real weapon. But you refused, which took him by surprise. Every Master wanted his weapon, which was meant for them. You were a mystery for him to unravel. 

Crocodile was a very powerful weapon himself, despite having a hook for a hand. You knew he was a secretive weapon, but nothing more.

No one actually knew that the hook, or rather its blade, was his own broken blade. 

He had once been in battle against a very powerful weapon, but his ego told him he could beat it. However, that backfired on him. 

He had his hand turned into a blade and blocked a very powerful attack with it. The attack was so strong that the blade began to crack and before he could retreat the blade broke and he lost part of his arm. 

However, the broken part was still a part of his hand and even though it had been turned into a weapon forever, he wasn't going to give it up. Instead, he attached it to his hand like a hook. 

One day, Crocodile invited you to dinner. He didn't deny that he liked you and wanted to get to know you better. At first, you turned him down because, as an employee, you wanted nothing to do with your boss. 

However, that was no argument for him. And just as you mentioned, he was the boss and he would do whatever he wanted and invite whoever he wanted. 

Dinner was in his office, where he also had a giant fish tank for his crocodiles. Even though you had plenty of food and the casino, now you had the whole table set and you had never eaten better food in your life. 

After dinner he took you for a little walk in the private gardens behind the casino where the crocodile tanks were located. 

You walked along a little path lined with palm trees and water as the sun slowly sank to the ground. It was a truly enchanting moment. 

You were so relaxed that you forgot for a moment that you were an employee and he was your boss. As if drawn to him by a magnet you moved slightly closer to him and your hand slipped to his with the hook. 

Before you knew it, you touched the blade of his hook. At that moment, you felt as if a wave of energy passed through you and you were complete. As if you weren't missing anything. 

"I should probably go," you muttered, and immediately let go of his hook. You were torn. Your resistance to finding your weapon and the attraction you felt for this man at the same time. 

Before you could escape, however, Crocodile hooked his hook around your waist and pulled you closer to him. 

"Now that I have you this close, I can't let a single person in the world who might have any power over me simply walk away," he said, taking your hand with a sign. 

He let go of your waist and used the hook to rip open the fabric that covered your wrists. You didn't even have to look at it to know that the grey tattoo had changed. Now there was a golden khopesh with a broken tip that lay like a hook beside it. Crocodile grinned with satisfaction at that. 

"Now that's what I call a surprise," he said wryly, placing the tip of the hook under your chin so that you could look at it. 

"I had you right under my nose the whole time. Y/N, I have two news for you. One good and one bad. The bad one is that I'm firing you," he said, still smiling smugly before pulling you closer and grabbing you around the waist. 

"And the good one? You're moving in with me at the casino. I can't let my Master just walk away," and he leaned in until your noses were almost touching." Even though you're my Master, it's still me who has the power here," he added before kissing you.

Crocodile Masterlist

[enbyfrogz]

what if instead of the sunshine institute they went to the magnus institute

i didn’t get to drawing them, but petra would be melanie, idk who basira and daisy would be tho. maybe if they were more unhinged they could be ivor?? idrk i think his personality would fit an avatar better (he’s sooo the eye coded it’s crazy)

no idea who elias would be either, maybe romeo?? but that could just be because they’re both antagonists, romeo is a lot more outwardly unhinged too

i feel like soren would be peter lukas. for obvious reasons

so maybe elias could be ivor? isor, lonelyeye, what’s the difference lol

anyways maybe i’ll assign everyone an entity to me aligned with, if the brainworms don’t get me first

[rist-ix]

https://www.tumblr.com/rist-ix/749015401700229120 not you reblogging this when you ship bloom with the man who murdered her family 😭

Bloom's into ppl who slay! Hope this helps :3

[strunmah-mah]

Saw this running around as a poll on youtube, was curious how different the results would be on tumblr.

[derpinette]

i hated airpods & phones with those big fugly cameras in the back when they were announced as a concept & i hate them even more each time i see that hideousness in person

[loustyleshtommo]

I will defend Taylor Swift like I would defend my big sister because she’s been protecting my emotional wellbeing in the way no one else could. Her music kept me fighting another day, got me through the night I thought that I might die.

[orbiting-star]

god can people please stop taking pictures with wildlife please for the love of god just fucking stop taking pictures with wild animals i am going to scream

all those people (with maybe 1 or 2 exceptions) with "rescues" in the US on tiktok are fucking awful people and they're directly contributing to the exotic pet trade

[obnoxiousarcade]

!!!!!!! book that speaks of part of my thesis? its likely.

[kirain]

My favourite bit of BG3 lore is that Withers is legitimately responsible for the Dead Three, but he's probably too embarrassed to tell you, so every time you ask him to elaborate he just gives you a very stern, "Noooo."

I also love that the reason he's responsible for their uprising is because he got bored. He literally got bored of his position as Lord of the Dead and wanted to retire, so when these three morally questionable humans came looking for godhood he was like, "Hmmm. Yes, okay. Here. Take my portfolios. Fight over them. I don't care. I quit."

So after bowling with skulls in a friendly competition to decide who would get what portfolio, they took up his powers and wreaked havoc on the world. Only at that moment did Jergal, AKA Withers, AKA our precious Bone Daddy think, "I'm just now, internally, asking myself, in quite a worried way, whether I might've made an error."

So he joins your merry band and watches your escapades, calmly twiddling his fingers while you clean up his mess. He's happy to lend his aid, even to the point that he'll bring Durge back to life if they reject Bhaal, even though he technically shouldn't. But he's Withers. The rules don't apply to him. If Ao doesn't like it, he can descend from the Heavens and say it to his rotting face.

And the reason he saves Durge isn't necessarily because he likes them or because he's a morally good entity (though one certainly could make that argument), but because he wants to add insult to injury. He steals Bhaal's child with a big smile on his face, dubs them his Chosen, and praises them for rejecting all the power they were promised. But of course, he still doesn't tell them who he is—or rather who he was.

Then, when all is said and done, he throws Tav and their companions a cute little party. No one knows it's probably half a thank you party and half a "Withers is bored again" party. And if anyone misbehaves, he'll get irritated and whisk them away. Because how dare they? He put a lot of work into that.

And at the end of it all, he walks up to a mural of the Dead Three and basically goes, "Lmao. Thou didst fuck around, and thou didst find out." Just savagely roasting them.

And then poof!

He waves them into non-existence.

[novelbear]

scenarios for that grump x sunshine dynamic

a prompt list by @novelbear ᵔᴥᵔ

letting their chatty partner ramble about their day, listening with a small smile

sunshine toppling over them with the biggest hug they could muster and grump just giving them tiny little pats to reciprocate

grumpy going out of their comfort zone to cheer up their sunshine who's having a bad day

^ "look, i made pancakes! i even made a smiley face out of the whipped cream, see?" "oh, that's what it's supposed to be? you're so cute.."

grumpy calling sunshine names (dummy, idiot, chatterbox) knowing they take no offense to them, but the moment someone else does, they snap

"are you always this happy?" "i try to be, but especially when i'm with you."

sunshine knowing when it's okay to push but never crosses a line when it comes to grumpy's boundaries

sunshine comforting the grump when they're a little more quiet and snappy than usual, leaving grump a flustered mess because they're used to people actually listening when they tell them to leave them alone

"i'm not leaving you like this, i care about you."

sunshine taking grumpy on more active dates than they're used to (like ice skating for example)

[while cloudgazing] "i see a duckling!" "literally how."

sunshine making lunch for grumpy in the cutest way possible (little notes, heart-shaped sandwiches, always adding their fave snack)

getting into arguments about how nice sunshine can be and where it gets out of hand

^ "i was just trying to be nice!" "they were clearly taking advantage of that!" "since when do you care so much?" "i'm trying to look out for you!"

grumpy letting sunshine play with/do their hair

when laundry piles up and grumpy has no choice but to borrow one of sunshine's colorful little sweaters

^ and of course, sunshine coos and smothers them all day over it

"i love you." "i know." "say it back!"

[autumnscribbles]

take care of you | rc

pairing: mommyissues!rafe x pogue!reader

summary: after a heated argument with ward, rafe seeks comfort from the only woman in his life who’s ever stayed

warnings: wee bit of theorizing about mama cameron (death)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: hey friends!! thank you to the anon that sent this request in!! i love me a soft rafe moment who just needs to be held🥹 enjoy!! feel free to send me more angsty/soft rafe i love it!!!

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Rafe slammed the truck door shut behind him, twisting his key into the ignition. Ward stood in the doorway ahead of him, his mouth moving but his words unheard. Rafe stopped listening to him even before he decided to leave. He couldn’t listen to it anymore. The rain pelted the windowsill, overpowering the pounding sound of his accelerated heartbeat. He pulled out of the driveway, no destination in mind. He just had to leave.

As he drove, his headlights broke through the rain ahead, illuminating the pitch black road. His breathing was still heavy, trying to ignore his fight with Ward. They weren’t exactly few and far between, but this one had escalated particularly badly. He replayed it over and over, on the verge of screaming just to make it stop.

He didn’t know why he tried to hard to impress Ward, or to get his validation. Everyone is his life left in one way or another. Whether it was on their own terms, or they were taken. He clung to Ward and the fact that just maybe, he would stick around. Be proud of him. In the end, everyone gave up on him. Everyone screwed him over.

Except maybe one person.

When Rafe first met you, he didn’t like you. He never thought he could be friends with a pogue, let alone be with one romantically. You had too much confidence for someone who didn’t have very much. He admit, he thought less of you. He judged you about things that didn’t truly matter. Eventually, he began to find you endearing. You didn’t need boats, a big house, designer clothes, or anything material to be happy. You knew who you were, and he admired that.

You understood him in ways no kook ever had, and probably more than any kook ever will. You knew hardship, and you saw through his bravado. You could tell deep down, he was in pain. No money could fix what was truly happening inside. All the other kooks were shallow. Never having any conversations with substance, just rambling about bullshit. Rafe never really fit in with any of them. He pretended to be friends with most of them, to keep up appearances and his reputation. At the end of the day, he knew none of them truly cared about him. Even worse, he knew they would mock him if they knew he was with you.

Without realizing, Rafe ended up pulling into your driveway. Through the still pouring rain, he could barely see your house. All the lights were off, including the porch light. Were you home? He didn’t even know. As his mind reeled, he automatically drove here. He wanted to see you. Wanted your comfort. Before you, he hadn’t had that in a long time. Since his mom…no one had ever been there for him. No one to tell him things would be okay, no one to comfort him, or hold him. He craved it.

He hopped out of the car, jogging through the rain to your front door. He rapped his knuckles, hoping you would appear on the other side. He saw a light turn on inside, and exhaled a sigh of relief.

You opened the door, met with a dripping wet and sad looking Rafe on the other side. You were surprised to see him. You had some distance from each other recently, since Rafe told you that his friends couldn’t know about your relationship. You pulled back as he continued to hang out with them, unsure how to move forward.

Seeing him here made your heart sink. He pouted as his blue eyes bore into yours, sadness overcoming his entire expression.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “Please.”

“Of course,” you muttered. You stepped aside, letting Rafe into your empty house.

He crossed the threshold, a shiver coming over his body at the sudden change of temperature. His wet clothes left him cold, making the warmth of your house even more shocking to his system. He wiped at his face in attempt to dry it.

“Are you cold?” you asked gently. “Here let me go get you some clothes and a blanket.”

You walked away for a moment, leaving Rafe standing in your doorway. You gathered a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that belonged to your brother. He wasn’t here, he wouldn’t mind. You snatched your fuzzy blanket from your bed, scurrying back to where Rafe stood waiting. You passed him the clothes, offering him to go change.

As he took his time, you put a kettle of water on the stove. Opening your white cabinets, you rummaged through the various flavours of tea you had. You settled on chamomile. You knew Rafe liked it, even though he would never admit it to literally anyone else. You grabbed 2 mugs and placed the tea bags inside as the kettle began whistling.

You took the two steaming mugs out to the coffee table, where Rafe sat on the couch, waiting for you.

“Here,” you muttered, handing him the mug. You grabbed the blanket, placing it across his lap. “That should warm you up.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, gentle eyes looking up at you.

You sat down beside him, tucking your legs up on the couch. You both sat in silence for a moment, sipping your tea. He let out a small sigh after his first sip, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“My favorite,” he whispered. You responded with a nod.

“You take such good care of me,” he said, breaking the silence more. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Rafe,” you sighed.

He shook his head, not wanting you to deny the truth. He didn’t want you to tell him that he deserved it when he knew it wasn’t true. You were consistently there for him, exuding a kindness he’d never felt. Yet what did he do in return? Essentially tell you he’s embarrassed about your relationship. It was ridiculous, and you shouldn’t be nice to him.

“Come here,” you whispered, opening your arms to him.

His eyes welled up with tears, and he leaned over, resting his head on your lap. You tugged the blanket up slightly higher, covering his torso. You ran your hands through his hair and down his back, feeling the tension release from his body.

Unexpectedly, the tears continued to fall harder. Rafe’s breath caught in his throat as he heaved out a sob.

“You’re okay,” you cooed. “I’m here.”

He let out all the emotions he had been trained to hold back. Grown men didn’t cry. Strong men didn’t cry. This is what he was told over and over. No one ever let him express himself freely, or show vulnerability. For some reason, he felt safe to show it around you. Confident that you didn’t judge him, or view him as weak.

He didn’t realize how much he was craving to just be held. To have his hair played with, his back scratched. To be told it’s okay. He couldn’t remember a time when someone treated him so gently. He wondered if his mom was the last person who truly took care of him. Now, he felt responsible to take care of people around him most of the time.

“Talk to me,” you said. “What happened?”

“My dad,” he blurted out. He rubbed the tears from his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to compose himself. “We got into a fight, as always. I accused him of…of killing my mom.”

“What?” you asked, unable to hide the shock in your voice. “Do you really think…”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was too young, but sometimes what he says just doesn’t add up. Doesn’t matter anyway, not like anything would happen to him.”

You nodded silently, knowing he was right. Even if Ward had killed her, no justice would be had. You knew Rafe grappled with the loss of his mom. Rose wasn’t exactly a replacement. She was cold, unkind. Rafe was in a constant battle with Ward. Trying to impress him, get his validation. Rafe grew up wanting his dad’s success, but most of all he just wanted his love. His acceptance. He didn’t think he would ever have a real family. That possibility only came into view when he met you.

“I’m so sorry, Rafe,” you consoled him. “I know how tense things can get with your dad. My arms are always open if you need a break, or need to talk.”

He sat up from your lap, facing you. His eyes were bloodshot from his previous tears. His usually hard features had softened, his eyes still carrying a deep sadness that you knew you couldn’t fix.

“I’m going to tell everyone we’re together,” he told you. “You’re…you’re perfect. You don’t deserve to be hidden. I don’t deserve you in general.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “When you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” he nodded. “I think…I think you’re the only person who actually cares about me. Who listens and…sees me.”

Your eyes welled up slightly. You weren’t expecting Rafe to say something so vulnerable like this. His rough edges were beginning to soften around you.

“I see you, Rafe,” you told him. You reached out and cupped the side of his face, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

He leaned forward, his warm lips crashing onto yours. The kiss was desperate, yet gentle. You didn’t realize how much you had missed this. When you pulled away, Rafe’s eyes were glistening once more.

“Everyone in my life leaves, or screws me over,” he told you, repeating his previous thoughts. “Please don’t leave me.”

You pulled him towards you, wrapping your arms around him. He melted into your touch, safety and warmth encompassing his entire being.

“I’m here, Rafe,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You heard his stomach gurgle, making you let out a quiet chuckle. “Hungry?”

He nodded into the crook of your shoulder. You laughed once more as he pulled back, a smirk on his face.

“Let me make you something,” you told him. You planted a kiss on his cheek before standing up, placing the blanket over his carefully. “You just sit here and relax, okay?”

“I love when you take care of me, baby,” he murmured as he rested his head on the arm of the couch.

You smiled down at him before going into the kitchen to make him some food. He felt safe with you. You had to admit that your heart soared at the thought that you were the first person he came to after a fight with his dad. The first person he opened up to about his mom, to try in front of.

You didn’t even realize it would always be you. You would always be the first person he would run to, even in a crowded room.

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