#dialogue heavy fics

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[niinnyu]

No going and associating my presence with guilt pls thanks >:)

[strangersteddierthings]

"What's wrong?" Robin asks, bumping her arm against his as she joins him leaning against the counter, staring out the front door of Family Video.

Steve doesn't bother to lie. Robin would know, she always does. "I'm not sure wrong is the right word, but it's, it's something."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Yeah," he says, taking a quick glance around. It's just after 11pm on Saturday. They've got another hour of work before they can officially close, but Hawkins closes down at 9. The store is empty currently, and since they're facing the door, they'll know if someone comes in. "I just don't know- I don't-"

"Gather your words. Speak when you're ready. I'm not going anywhere," Robin says, and it speaks volumes that she didn't call him dingus. Steve's never upset by the nickname, not really, but sometimes, when the conversation is heavy, he can't deal with nicknames. Especially not ones that are meant teasingly now but started as an insult.

"I feel- I feel ungrateful and, like, selfish, because I'm... I'm not happy with Eddie," Steve says, then immediately frowns because that's not right. It's not wrong, either, but it's. "I'm not unhappy with Eddie. I love him. I love him so much, Robin."

"I know you do. It's disgusting."

"And I got into this relationship knowing what Eddie's like. I love him 'cause of those things, not in spite of-"

"You don't have to convince me you love him."

"Right. Right. It's just. It's like, I thought, I don't know, that I wouldn't have to always be the guy?" Steve says, and it's followed by such a long pause that he looks over. It startles a laugh out of him at how much Robin looks like him right now. Confused, brow furrowed and mouth slightly open. That's his perplexed expression, and it's mirrored on Robin's face now.

Well. Not now because he laughed so she's glaring at him.

"Sorry. It was like looking into a mirror for a moment there."

She wrinkles her nose at him and says, "What do you mean 'always be the guy'?"

He lets out a sigh. "I just mean- Eddie's the first guy I've ever dated. And there was, like, unwritten rules when dating girls. Don't give me that face, I already know the rant about straights and their het-ro-norman-whatever-"

"Heteronormativity."

"Yes, that. I know it's bad, working on unlearning it, etcetera, etcetera. Can I just get through this using the words I do have?"

"Yes. Sorry."

He waves off her apology and continues, "So, the unwritten but absolute rules of straight dating. The guy asks. The guy plans the date. He pays, if it's something that requires money. He gets the door, offers his jacket if it's cold, gives the flowers and chocolates on Valentines Day and- sorry. The guy does all that. I do all that. And I just. I want to not, not have to?"

Robin's eyes soften and she gives a sad smile. "Eddie doesn't do those things?"

Steve frowns. "Not- he's done some of those things but it's not... It's never been romantic. Never felt... intentionally romantic. Which is why I feel so ungrateful and selfish. 'Cause Eddie's not a romantic. Not like I am. And I shouldn't expect him to be!"

She frowns. "But you don't expect him to be."

"I mean, yeah. I don't. Which just makes this worse, right? Because Eddie tries. In his own way. And I'm still..."

"What does Eddie do to try?"

"He loans me jackets when I'm cold. And it's- it's like a throwback to the upside down. He'll fold it all nice and then throw it at me full force. Like with the battle vest," Steve smiles at the memory, despite his sour mood.

"That doesn't sound very romantic. That sounds like an inside joke. He could do that same thing while not dating you and it wouldn't be weird."

"Can't an inside joke be romantic?"

Robin nods as she turns, back to the counter so she can hop up on it. "Can be. And I guess if you find get pelted in the face by jackets romantic, that's your kink."

"Why do I talk to you?" Steve groans, and Robin shrugs. "Anyway, I guess I just... I want to be the one taken care of, sometimes, but not just when- God, I'm so selfish, aren't I?" He paces away from the counter, running a hand through his hair.

Eddie's a good boyfriend. He listens when Steve rambles about sports and stats, asking questions and actually engages in conversation. He takes care of Steve when a migraine leaves him all but useless; gets him his meds and water and combs his fingers through Steve's hair softly until it lulls Steve to sleep. Eddie pays attention enough to know the little things about Steve that he doesn't say out loud.

"Not just when?" Robin prompts, and Steve realizes he quit talking.

"Not just when I'm hurt. I want doors held for me, and for him to plan a romantic night, either out or in! And I- I want him to give me his jacket by wrapping it around my shoulders like I do for him."

"I'm going to say something, and you aren't allowed to be upset by it."

Steve nods.

"You have to tell him. Eddie's not gonna know you want these things unless you say so."

He nods again, because he knows that. He does. It's just... "I got with him knowing he wasn't a romantic person. I don't want- I don't know how to say it without making it sound like I want him to change. Or make him feel like he's not enough, or that he's a bad boyfriend for not having done this and-"

"Steve! Jesus, now who's the mirror? It's Eddie. He loves you. He'll listen. Even as you fumble your way through an explanation. A conversation is not the make or break of this relationship."

Steve swallows even though it feels like there's stones piling up in his stomach. A single conversation broke his last relationship, but Eddie's not Nancy.

"Yeah. You're right. I think I'm just... I'm afraid of making Eddie feel that same way Nancy made me feel, when she called us bullshit. I was blinded-sided by it all and I don't, I can't do that to Eddie."

"You won't. 'Cause this situation is different. You love Eddie, and Eddie loves you, and that's real and true. I think it would hurt Eddie more to think there's this whole other category of shit he could be doing for you, but isn't, 'cause he doesn't even know you'd like it, much less want it."

Steve nods as she speaks. It's all true, and he feels less like there are stones in his stomach. "Thanks, Bobbin. I don't- I might give it a few days before I talk to Eddie about it, but I will."

"You better, dingus," she hopes off the counter and looks at the clock, groaning when she sees it's still not midnight. "Think Keith will kill us if we close early?"

"No way. He'd have to cover all our shifts until he can hire replacements. We're too valuable to him to die."

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @skepsiss @afewproblems

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Good Luck, Babe! (7)- I Told You So

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Inspired by the song 'Good Luck, Babe!' by Chappell Roan

Summary: Returning to Westview after twelve years away causes you to look back on your secret love affair with Wanda, to remember the intimate moments you shared together before her refusal to accept her true self drove the two of you apart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart alone.

What happens when you reunite with the woman you've been trying so hard to forget, forced to watch her suffer in an unhappy marriage that was slowly drowning her, still too scared to confront her true feelings?

Chapter 7- 5.5k Words

Good Luck, Babe! Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 6

As you were cleaning up the last of the dishes you had used for dinner, your mind roaming for something interesting to think about after your boring evening alone, the twins who you usually entertained on a Friday evening away at their uncle's house, you snapped back into reality at the sound of voices being raised next door, your brows furrowing as you wiped your hands clean, concerned at the noises coming from Wanda’s house.

The sound of the married couple arguing when the twins were away wasn’t a surprise to you, but the sheer amount of shouting was. Normally, you would hear a few raised words, mostly coming from Vision and the occasional slam of a door but tonight it seemed different, they both seemed to be screaming at one another.

You wanted to go over and make sure things were alright as the argument seemed to grow louder, the voices muffled meaning you couldn’t make out what was being said, but you reluctantly decided against it as it wasn’t your place to intervene, to make sure Wanda was alright. By the sounds of it, she was handling herself alright against him, a loud, hostile shout coming from a female voice before you decided to give them their space, not wanting the temptation to go on over there.

Grabbing Lucky’s lead, you quickly found everything you would need for a long walk with the bundle of fluff before heading out, your gaze trained on the house as you passed it slowly, listening to the continuous shouting, having to fight against every instinct that told you to knock on the front door and interrupt them. You hovered as the shouting suddenly stopped, a sense of panic trickling down your spine unpleasantly before it seemed to erupt again, your feet reluctantly taking step after step until you walked away from the house, trying to get rid of the worry building in the pit of your stomach as you roamed around Westview, taking a trip down memory lane once again to try and clear your mind.

***

Turning the corner to enter the avenue you lived on, your gaze immediately caught sight of auburn hair, Wanda’s despondent form slumped on her doorstep as she sat on the edge of it, her fingers deftly wrapped around a cigarette as she took a long, tired drag, seeming to try and lose herself in something other than the emotions forcibly drowning her. The sight of her stirred something inside you as you grew closer, your features softening but also filling with concern as you felt a prominent pain in your chest at how small and broken she looked, a lump forming in your throat when you caught her empty stare. The mesmerising green that hypnotised you were nowhere to be seen as her gaze lacked life, her inner demons clawing away at her and prying away any hope or happiness she had, your mind tormented at having witnessed her in such a heartbroken state.

“If you’re here to say ‘I told you so’, I don’t want to hear it,” she mumbles defeatedly as she lifts her gaze marginally to see your approaching steps, an onslaught of confusing emotions coursing through her as she somehow manages to feel her heart flutter and clench at the same time at your presence, a familiar ache growing unpleasantly in her chest as she wipes away the tears threatening to fall, not wanting you to see her like this. She didn’t want you to see her so lost and confused, to see how you were right. You had always been right. She couldn’t run away from it forever, no matter how hard she tried to stop the shame eating her alive. It slowly tore her apart everyday, even more noticeably when you had returned to Westview, only adding to the pain and longing she felt since you left that day twelve years ago. Why did you have to come back? Why did you have to rip open her heart again and let over a decade’s worth of anguish and agony seep into her blood, consuming her entirely and overwhelmingly. Why did you have to come back and remind her of how much she loved you- No, she didn’t. She never loved you, she didn’t. She couldn’t. She wasn’t like that, she was normal, she was…

Your mouth opened to reply to her but a deep, frustrated sigh escaped her, her head tilting back, looking up at the night sky as she blinked back the tears that were about to fall, her teeth biting down on her lower lip to stop it trembling as she felt bile rising up in her throat for denying everything once again. Why couldn’t she just say it?

She lowered her head from the canvas of the dark sky to look at you, the raw pain in her eyes taking you back at how overwhelmed by sorrow she was, the look soon fading to disgust and shame as she tried to hold the intimate gaze, unable to stop doubts and insecurities picking at her thoughts whilst your features softened as you attempted to comfort her, unsure of what to do as she gradually composed and collected herself.

Wanda hands pressed against her eyes as she focussed on breathing calmly, her throat tightening as the air managed to push past the lump that had formed there, shaky breaths escaping her as her mind continued to race, your approaching steps seeming to speed some of the thoughts up whilst slowing others, her heart splitting into two, unable to chose how to feel. She was just so tired, so tired of wanting to love someone she shouldn’t, so tired of feeling like she was trapped, the walls of expectations and reality closing in on her everyday and suffocating her, her only escape being something that seemed to inevitably push the walls in faster.

You waited patiently for her to calm down as you stood before her, carefully moving to sit on the doorstep with her, Lucky sitting on the floor by you feet as you managed to comfort part of her without doing anything, the warmth of your body being next to hers allowing something soothing to wrap around her heart that was crying out for help, her hands eventually leaving her eyes to wipe away the stray tears lingering on her cheeks.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” you softly whisper, keeping your voice calm and delicate for her, not wanting her to know the whirlwind of pain coursing through you at knowing she was struggling, your mind filling with memories of that sob you caused to rip its way out of her that day, the tears you caused in her eyes. You hated seeing her hurt, it was the one thing you couldn’t cope with, a familiar sense of dread crawling up your spine, ready to corrupt your mind. “I was going to tell you about someone I once knew,” you start off, a hint of nostalgia lacing your tone as she listens to you, her tangling thoughts soon fading as she focuses on you, on how she wants to lean into your body and feel your comforting touch again, the way your bodies always slotted against each other perfectly, your souls seeming to connect. She longed to feel that spark of electricity flow through her body at a simple touch from you, even just a brush of your shoulders as you sat so close, but she refrained from moving any closer, deciding to stay still and silent as she listened, a small sniffle filling the brief silence that amplified your concern for her.

“She’d always tell me how bad smoking was for me,” you murmur, tentatively moving your fingers to wrap around the cigarette that was hanging between her fingers, slipping it out of her grasp and dropping it to the ground, letting your foot crush it with the heel of your shoe, “How I should stop, how I should be thanking her for ‘saving’ my life because she was. She did save me.”

At your words, Wanda turns her head to look at you in the eyes, memories of the many meetings in the old convenience store car park filling her mind as you watched the nostalgia swirl in her eyes, her mind recalling the sheer excitement that would swarm through her stomach as she took those steps towards your truck, ready to feel free from the world. However, the reminiscent look swiftly faded to anguish, your shoulders slumping at the way her eyes flickered away from you, a visible glossiness coating them as she tried to stop more tears from spilling down her cheeks, the corner of her lips attempting to tug upwards as she whispered to you,

“You owe me a cigarette,” her voice wavered as she attempted to tease you, mimicking the tease you would always offer her after she ended your smoke early, earning a small, gentle smile from you as your tender expression encouraged her to look at you again.

Gazing into her eyes once again only stirred more emotions inside you both, your soft stare somehow seeming to still the storm raging on inside her head and heart, the lingering fog more manageable for her as she reluctantly let herself sink into the comfort you provided, a gnawing thought at the back of her mind desperately trying to convey to her that she didn’t deserve your care, not after the pain she caused you.

“I think you owe me more,” you whisper in a delicate tease, offering her a playful smile in an attempts to ease the pain in her, seeming to succeed as a timid smile graces her lips, her hands coming up to wipe away the stray tear that spilt whilst she kept her green on you, relishing in the safety your presence provided. You lost yourself momentarily in her eyes, both of you subconsciously leaning your bodies closer together as your shoulders brushed briefly, sending a spark through the both of you at the mere touch, an electric warmth flowing through you both as the gaze lingered longer than it should have, each passing second amplifying every emotion you felt.

You wanted to let your fingers graze the soft skin of her cheek, wipe away the other tear that trickled down her skin before cupping her face, letting her sink into your palm that was there to comfort and console her, but you knew it wasn’t right. You couldn’t do that to her, offer her that false sense of hope and safety knowing that it couldn’t happen again, you couldn’t do that to yourself. You couldn’t.

“I told you Wanda, I’m here for you,” you murmur, honesty lacing your words as a hint of pain washes over her face at the conflict coursing through her veins, the care you provided tearing her apart. She didn’t deserve your kindness, she didn't, you should hate her for everything, for the lies, for what she did to you, why couldn’t you just make this easier for her? Instead, you had to give her the one thing she craved, the care and look of love she had yearned for over the last twelve years. “Tell me what’s wrong,” you practically coo, her eyes fluttering shut in defeat as she battles between following her heart or her mind, her lower lip trembling slightly, only furthering your worry.

“I can’t,” she croaks out, reluctantly opening her eyes after she manages the words out, a hint of confusion but also realisation on her face as you watch her battle with her demons once again, that desperate look in her eyes as she begs you to not push it further, to push her to face the truth. “I can’t,” she whispers again, emphasising the pain it would cause her as she looks away from you, needing this conversation to end so she could escape the doubts picking away at her mind. “You should probably go home now, Lucky must be tired,” she tries to excuse, looking at the way the bundle of fluff lays by your feet, his head resting on his paws as he sleeps, the walk tiring him out.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” you say without hesitation, a serious tone seeping into your words as you look at her, noticing the way she avoids your pleading gaze. “You don’t deserve this Wanda,” you murmur, expressing your concern for her as she shakes her head at you, the part of her she despises dismissing your words.

“I’ll be fine,” her watery green meets yours, trying to persuade you to stop caring about her for once in your life, the raw look of guilt and regret swirling in her eyes making your throat tighten as you can imagine the thoughts playing on her mind like a broken record.

“I’m not leaving you, not again,” you murmur out, lowering your head slightly to try and meet her gaze as she looks away from you, hoping that you’d get the hint and walk away from her, letting her drown in misery on her own as she had done since you left.

“Please,” the word fell from her lip in a pleading tone, but even Wanda didn’t truly know what she was begging you to do. She wanted you to leave, to stop bubbling pain, hurt and conflict inside her but she also needed you to stay, to let her try and focus on the brief happiness, love and care you stirred within her, her head tilting to look at you, the lingering look her green gave you telling you what she wanted.

“I’m not leaving,” you whisper, highlighting your honesty behind your words as your gaze turned serious momentarily, needing her to know you weren’t here to hurt her again, despite the avalanche of pain your arrival back in Westview brought her. When she stays quiet, a hesitant look in her eyes, an idea pops into your mind, a nervousness growing on your face as the thought may not be the best idea, but you didn’t care if it meant she wasn’t alone.

“I’m not leaving, not without you. Come…Come with me,” you murmur in an apprehensive voice, her eyes widening a little bit at what you were suggesting before continuing, “We don’t have to do anything, we can sit in silence, or we can talk, or we can watch those sitcoms you love, I don’t care. We’ll do whatever you want just please don’t make me leave you alone like this, I can’t do it again.” At the rawness and regret seeping into your voice, she realised the sheer amount of torment the memory of walking away from her caused you, further confusing her as her features subconsciously softened at the pain in your voice, her mouth parting, unsure of what to say.

It wasn’t going to be a good idea, you both knew that as you longingly looked at each other, waiting for the other to say ‘no’, to not let this situation get any worse but neither of you did, you simply kept looking at each other as though the world around you was fading away, leaving you both to remain locked in the moment. All Wanda knew right there as you stared at her with a look that expressed more than what words could, was that she wanted you. She wanted your safety, your care, your comfort, just you.

***

Relaxing against your sofa, Wanda’s eyes travelled across the décor in your house as you wandered off to find the two of you a drink, trying to figure out what you were like now but failing as her focus soon switched to the bundle of golden fur heading her way, the corner of her lips inevitably tugging up at the dog’s actions. Her heart melted a little at the way Lucky effortlessly hopped up onto the sofa to join the other woman, his body circling a couple times in the spot next to her before dramatically flopping, his head moving to prop itself on her knee, sensing she needed a little comfort. His eyes looked up at her as her fingers naturally moved to pet him, her slender digits trailing up and down his soft locks as he sighed in a satisfied manner, pleased to be given the head scratches whilst a chuckle left her lips at his adorable state.

Her attention remained focussed on him as she let herself slowly relax further against your soft pillows, her fingers mindlessly playing with tufts of fur as her eyes took in some of the photos on your wall, the one of a young Natasha and yourself standing out to her as well as one of you hugging an unfamiliar woman, a sense of curiosity stirring in her as she let her gaze linger on the framed photo.

Oblivious to your return, you paused at the frame of the door with her requested glass of red in your hand to stare at her, a strange sensation consuming you whilst you observed the other woman, a lump forming in your throat. It felt… teasing to look at her like this, the domestic sight of her almost mocking you for how you never got to have her in your life like this, the way she was curled up on your sofa, with your dog, in your house an image that would make you ponder and wish things were different. Why couldn’t things have just worked out?

The thought played on your mind momentarily before you pushed it away, remembering the only reason she was here was to be comforted and not left to suffer on her own, your mind clearing of any selfish thoughts or desires you had as it wasn’t the time. It never seemed to be the right time.

Sitting next to Lucky, a smile found its way to your lips as his tail started to wag, creating a sound similar to a beating drum against the sofa at his excitement to see you, his head remaining on Wanda though as he was far too comfortable to move, your gaze following his to the soft and less despondent look on her face, a small feeling of triumph floating through you at the lack of tears threatening to spill.

“I think he likes you,” you playfully whisper whilst sitting back, turning the tv on quietly to have some background noise as Wanda sipped on her drink, a small smile stretching across her lips, hiding some of the nerves building inside her at being alone with you in private, the alcohol attempting to ease them. Nodding to your words as she was unable to find the courage to reply, a silence seemed to brew between you both as your gazes locked onto the tv screen, mindlessly watching whatever show was on as your fingers stroked Lucky’s back whilst Wanda’s his scratched his scalp, neither one of you wanting to be the first to speak up, leaving you both to your thoughts.

Her mind naturally went to the earlier events of the evening with Vision, her jaw clenching as frustration wrapped tightly around her heart, spreading like wildfire at the words he had shouted, at the words she had shouted. The argument had started by a small remark from the blonde man, purposely irritating his wife about the cleaning and triggering over a decade’s worth of bottled up emotions to force their way out of her as she finally reached her breaking point. She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t live this life with him anymore, she wanted more. Wanda wasn’t a servant or a slave, she wasn’t put into existence to serve him his food, clean and take care of the kids despite everything that was engraved into her. She wanted more, she deserved more. She had dreams and ambitions, she wanted a life she enjoyed, a life where she woke up in the morning and was excited about the day ahead of her and the happiness that would consume her. She wanted a life full of love and excitement, a life with someone else, a life with… It didn’t matter if she wanted it, she couldn’t have it, she couldn’t have you.

Sitting next to you after all this time caused her thoughts to roam about your life as her eyes occasionally flickered over to the photo of the unfamiliar woman, a strange feeling of jealousy building in her as she wanted to know more about you, about your life in England. You had managed to move on, to be happy it seemed, how? It tormented her, the other woman never truly getting over what had happened between you as she threw herself straight into Vision more committedly, deciding to push the issue away rather than confront it like another aspect of her life, part of her wanting to know how to deal with it all as it all seemed to pile up and drown her now. Why couldn’t she move on? She needed to.

After drinking and sitting in silence for a while, the deafening lack of noise started to annoy Wanda, her hand lifted her glass to finish her wine in an attempt to build the courage to ask you a question, her gaze turning to you, inviting you to meet her curious green.

“Can you tell me about England?” She tentatively asks, breaking the quietness that had surrounded the room as you offer her a gentle smile, a wave of happiness growing on your face as you see her guard seeming to lower, becoming more comfortable and less overwhelmed than before.

“It… It was amazing,” you say in a whisper, smiling to yourself as memories over the last decade flood your mind, reminding you of how much you loved the place and the city you were in. “It was beautiful but in its own unique way,” you start off with, struggling to think of a way to describe it, “I loved it, the city of London, the people, just everything. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life there but things don’t always work out ,” the happiness in your voice clearly fades away to the end of your words, only further amplifying the curiosity in the woman next to you as she can’t help but admire your features, her green travelling across your side profile, appreciating your beauty before she realised she was staring, letting her gaze drift to Lucky who hopped off the sofa to leave you two completely alone.

“What happened?” she questioned a little cautiously, your smile dropping momentarily making the woman next to you wish she never asked. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me that,” she mumbled but you just shook your head, deciding there was no point in keeping it a secret.

“No it’s ok,” you softly murmur out, needing to say it out loud and get it off your chest, even if Wanda wasn’t the right person to be sharing it to. You needed to say this for yourself, to acknowledge that it had happened and move on completely from it. “I made the mistake of falling in love again,” your tone is gentle despite the hurt underlying it, Wanda’s attention focussed solely on you as she listens attentively. “Gamora, my best friend,” you say whilst motioning over to the photo of you and the dark haired woman, having caught Wanda staring at it a couple times, “Introduced me to a work friend of hers, Valkyrie. We hit it off instantly, it was um… passionate to start with before we both realised we wanted more. I wanted more with her,” you confess, the memories of tender nights with her, loving caresses and delicate touches filling your mind as a small smile made its way to your lips briefly as you remembered how deeply you loved her. That was always your problem, you loved too much. “Cut to a few years later and we were engaged, I thought I’d finally found the right person to spend the rest of my life with but it turns out she didn’t feel the same.”

Your gaze lowers from the tv to the floor as the haunting image replayed in your mind, a deep, frustrated sigh escaping you as it still angered and hurt you to this day, the knife in your back twisting violently as you try your best to vocalise another painful experience that would torment you forever.

“A couple weeks before the wedding, I came home early from work to surprise her but instead… I caught her in our bed with her maid of honour between her legs,” your voice wavers as you manage to get the words out, a bitterness lacing your tone as you felt the onslaught of frustration and hurt gnaw away at your thoughts, your eyes flickering over to hers momentarily to gauge her reaction.

Wanda’s features softened as she listened to you, knowing that you never deserved that, her heart physically hurting for you as you deserved to be loved right. She knew how caring, compassionate and tender you were, how you remembered the little things about people and made sure they were always alright, you should never have been hurt by Valkyrie or herself. You hadn't done anything wrong, you never had.

“The worst part was, she had the nerve to blame me,” you say in a breathless laugh, slowly exhaling to stop yourself from getting too annoyed, words falling from your lips freely, “She said she only went to Carol because it was clear I was still in love with someone else.” Almost instantly, you realised you shouldn't have said the words to her, a look of confusion swirling in her eyes before the realisation kicked in, a tension building in the room as you looked away in embarrassment and fear, not having wanted to send more racing thoughts through both of your minds.

“Were you?” She asks in a delicate whisper, a familiar ache tightly gripping both of your hearts as you both realise what you could have had, the different lives you could have lived if it had just worked out.

Part of her wants you to say no, begs for you to say no as insecurities pick away at her mind mercilessly, reminding her of how wrong it was to think of you in that way, to think of loving you whilst the other part did everything she was against. She didn’t have it in her to pretend anymore, she was exhausted from pushing it down, of lying to herself, berating herself for wanting something, for wanting someone. Despite how frightening and reluctant she was, she needed to confront herself, there was no use in coming up with another excuse or a stupid reason. She… wanted you, that’s all she ever wanted. She loved you.

All the doubts swarming her head were nothing compared to the yearning she had for you, everything seeming to click into place in her mind as she finally realised you were always worth the risk of loving. You made her feel like she was living, that she was lovable and that there was a reason her heart was beating in her chest, sending warmth through her when she’d stare at you. It was your eyes she wanted to get lost in as she relished in the sound of your laughter filling the room, it was your hair she wanted to play with mindlessly as you relaxed against one another, that inevitable spark going through her at the slightest of touches you’d offer her. It was you she wanted to love.

Catching the various emotions swirling in her hypnotising green, you hold the intimate stare whilst your features soften, pausing before answering as the shared silence expressed more than words could. Your lips parted as you went to answer her honestly, your heart beating wildly in your chest as longing evidently consumed your features, the movement causing her gaze to lower, drifting to your lips and unable to look away as you wet them subconsciously. All the other woman could think about was what it would feel like to kiss you, to kiss you like you were her lover this time, not holding back anything.

When her eyes flicker back up to your stare, all you can think of is the memory of how her lips felt against yours, your mind cruelly imagining the feeling of them crashing to yours now, despite how wrong it would be. If you concentrate hard enough, you could feel the ghost of them brushing yours tenderly, conveying every single ounce of longing the two of you felt into it, a kiss that would heal the wound of your heart or tear it completely into two.

“I think I’ve always been,” you confess, your heartbeat pounding in your ears at the brief silence that envelopes the room, feeling as though it lasted an eternity, time seeming to slow as you both subtly move closer to one another, confusion drowning you. You didn’t know what to do as you watched the gap between the two of you gradually lessen, your head tilting marginally as hers did, welcoming the advances as your lips got closer and closer, your faces mere inches apart as you gaze at her lips, not knowing what to you. You wanted to kiss her, you’d been wanting to for the last decade, but you couldn’t do it all over again if it meant getting your heart shattered once more, you wouldn’t be able to survive the heartache again.

Letting your eyes flutter shut, a small sigh escaped you as you paused, trying to stall as your mind raced, trying its hardest to make a decision on whether it was worth the risk, whether the broken bond could ever truly be fixed.

“We shouldn’t,” you croak out as you feel her lips ghost yours, the warmth of her body intoxicating, the feeling of her breath tickling your face almost nostalgic as memories of the many kisses you had shared filtered through your mind, every stolen kiss trying to ignite the fire in your heart.

“I know,” she whispered out, your faces so close you can feel her lips move as she murmurs to you, her words laced with conflict as she struggles to decide along with you, logic failing to win her over. She was married, she had a family and a life she couldn’t just throw away like it was nothing, despite not enjoying it, she had to be responsible as she wasn’t a young naïve girl anymore. The reason and sense gnawing away at her was soon drowned out by her emotions, Wanda deciding it was time she did something for herself for once, “But I’ve missed you.”

Her words stirred something deep inside you, a tenderness settling within you before it was dampened out by the fear seeping out of your chest as you couldn’t do this again. Not like this. You couldn’t survive the agony that would rip through you if she changed her mind or avoided the truth again, you were too broken to handle the knife being pulled out of your heart, to feel that brief moment of relief for it to just be thrusted in deeper, leaving an even bigger scar behind to remember her by. You were too scared to take the risk.

“I can’t,” the words are torn out of you as your hand moves to cup her cheek, your contrasting actions only adding to the hurt and rejection flooding through her, breaking the dam that was holding back her emotions as a tear falls from her eyes, further adding to your anguish. “I’m sorry but I can’t, not like this, not again,” you mumble out, meeting her broken gaze in a distraught manner, the warmth of your delicate touch burning into her skin as it was all too much for her, her lips trembling at the avalanche crashing down on her.

She wanted to scream, to cry and let everything out but all she could manage was a choked sob, a familiar tightening in her chest and lump forming in her throat making it impossible for her to do anything other than look at you with an expressive look of pain as the walls of despair closed in forcibly on her.

It tore a gaping hole in you to witness her fall apart in front of you, took everything out of you to not let tears pour down your cheeks as she sobbed because of you once again, your body moving without care as your hand cradled the back of her head, encouraging her to collapse against your body in an embrace you both needed. Whispered apologies fell from your lips in an attempt to sooth the guilt ripping through you for hurting her, to fill the room with something other than her muffled cries as she gripped onto your shirt, unable to stop the barrage of tears spilling from her green at the way fear, rejection and heartache festered deep inside her, your caring actions not going unmissed but dampened out by the overwhelming amount of agony filling her. 

The two of you remained in the embrace of lost lovers until your cries eventually quietened, a despondent realisation clouding both of your minds at the fact the melody of your love seemed to forever be out of tune, your souls moulded for one another but just always seeming to meet at the wrong time, never quite aligning. 

---

Did I mention that this fic involves angst?😅

Sorry if this feels rushed/is all over the place, I've been really struggling with writing at the minute and this is the best I could do without throwing my laptop out of the window. 

Updates may take longer now as I managed to get a job and I'm returning to college next week, so apologies in advance! Also, I think we're nearly at the end of this fic but it depends on if I change my plan as I do that a lot :) 

I hope you enjoyed! 

Please leave any thoughts/comments/votes! They are greatly appreciated <3 

Ao3- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger

Wattpad- LovePersevering2

[spiteless-xo]

Eren Jaeger is charming.

You rationalize to yourself that it’s because he works in sales—when he smiles at you, when he flirts, when he touches your arm—you’re supposed to fall in love with him. He wouldn’t be good at his job if you didn’t.

And of course, Eren’s girlfriend is stunning.

Dark-cropped hair to highlight her sharp jawline, a body crafted from hours at the gym and careful attention to diet, and tits bigger than your head. She’s beautiful, she’s perfect, and the two of them look flawless together in all of Eren’s photos hung in his office. The two of them seem like the ideal couple. They're madly in love and aren’t afraid to broadcast it to the world.

The only problem is, she’s not you.

But when you start to see the cracks in their flawless public facade, you find an opportunity to tilt things in your favour.

Your boss asks you to stay late a few nights each week to help do some filing while the bookkeeper is on maternity leave. It’s not rocket science and you’re able to figure it out without direction, but it takes a few hours and you’re usually the last person to leave each night.

Usually.

Recently, you’ve noticed that Eren has been staying at work late. He’s typically the type to clock out the second the clock hits 4 pm, so his change in behaviour leaves you curious.

His office is nowhere near the filing cabinets, but if you take the long way back to your desk at reception, you get to walk past his office. His door is always closed but he keeps the blinds on the window open, so when you make your way past you catch glimpses of him staring angrily at his computer screen, or his phone, or resting his chin on his hand as he scribbles on some papers.

What could he possibly be working on so late at night? Sales were down this year due to supply-chain issues, so he should be leaving work earlier, not staying late.

Your curiosity grows like a weed and you find yourself staying late on nights that you don’t need to. Keeping yourself occupied with busy work and walking past Eren’s office as many times as you can. You know that your persistence will eventually yield more information.

One night, your patience pays off.

When you walk down the hall toward Eren’s office, you notice that his door is sitting half-open. It's unusual—he always closes it when he works late.

You slow your steps, approaching his door carefully and cautiously and praying that your shoes don’t make noise on the tile until you’re close enough to his doorway to hear his deep voice mumbling into the phone.

He’s arguing with someone, that much you can tell, even when you can’t make out exact words. His tone is harsh—angry—and you quickly realize that he’s talking to his precious girlfriend. The one he posted a picture of on Instagram yesterday—her sitting at a cafe, wrapped in a dark red scarf with just a simple hashtagged caption.

Eren spits out each syllable of her name like he can’t tolerate how it feels on his tongue. His voice gets louder but you still can’t quite make out what he’s saying over the rushing of blood in your ears. You bite your tongue and hold your breath, desperate to know more, and accidentally find yourself pushing the door open further as you lean against it.

Dark green eyes meet yours instantly, but his tone doesn’t waver as he speaks on the phone. He wraps up the conversation quickly, throwing his phone down onto his desk when he hangs up.

He doesn’t look at you after that and you make slow, cautious movements toward him as you apologize profusely for eavesdropping. You explain that you’ve never heard him speak like that to someone before and you were just worried it was something serious.

Eren grunts in response and covers his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his desk as he breathes out with a huff.

You move closer—soft, slow steps like you're afraid he might run off—until you’re making your way around to the back of his desk. You seat yourself on the wood, crossing your legs until your knee brushes against his arm and he finally looks up at you.

He looks defeated and you feel a sick sense of victory brewing in your gut.

You offer him some words of comfort and a soft smile as you reach out to rest your hand on his shoulder. You’re surprised when he melts into your touch, gaze wavering slightly as he looks up at you.

Feeling bold, you gently stroke down his arm, running your hand up and down along his bicep, feeling the firm muscle underneath the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You swear you can see his breath catch in his throat when you bring your hand back up to his shoulder, fingering softly at the collar of his shirt.

He thanks you for being kind and asks that you keep this to yourself. He doesn’t need Karen from accounting to know the details of his relationship problems.

Of course, Eren. Your secret is safe with me. Always.

He smiles up at you and rests his hand on yours. It’s warm and heavy against your skin and when you intertwine your fingers with his, he doesn’t pull away.

You can be charming, too.

[theosphobia]

posting my delusion for tumblr

fic below

[groovy-heels297]

Chef's hat

(I'm a slut for dialogue. I will not apologize)

Read on A03 (no presh)

👨‍🍳🍳

"Hey, Tommy?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you know there's a hundred folds in a chef's hat?"

"A hundred?"

"A hundred."

"Huh."

...

"That's all you can say?"

"What else is there to say?"

"Don't... don't you want to know 𝘸𝘩𝘺 there's a hundred folds?"

"Naturally."

"But you didn't ask..."

"I... alright. Why does a chef's hat have a hundred folds, Evan?"

"Well-"

"Tell me, please! I'm so enamored."

"Wooow. I'm not telling you now."

"What? Why?"

"Respect the facts, Kinard."

"Mmm... fine." Tommy rolls over on top of Evan. "𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 tell me about the folds in a chef's hat and their reasoning. I'm on the edge of my seat."

"... we're in bed."

"It's metaphorical."

Evan sighs, fond smirk on his lips.

"There's a hundred folds in a chef's hat to represent a hundred ways to cook an egg."

"That's... that can't be true."

Tommy rolls away and Evan sits up.

"Why would I lie about that?"

"I didn't say 𝘺𝘰𝘶 lied. Have you been on Wikipedia again?"

"Wiki- have you met me? Wikipedia is a trash site."

"Okay, well, there's no way you can cook an egg a hundred different ways, and honestly.... why would you 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 to?"

"Why? Uh... variety? Experience? ... fun?"

"Fun?"

"Fun."

"You think cooking a hundred different versions of an egg is... fun?"

"Not necessarily... but it is 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦."

"By that logic, sure. Technically 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 is possible, Evan."

Evan begins listing off all the ways to cook an egg.

"There's boiled, scrambled, fried..."

"The trifecta."

"Poached, baked, basted..."

"Fancy."

"Coddled."

"... coddled?"

"Yeah. Coddled."

"How the hell do you coddle an egg?"

"Well-"

"Give it a pillow? A kiss to its shell before you crack it?"

"What?"

Tommy laughs. Evan rolls his eyes and flops down dramatically on the bed.

"I hate you."

"Pfft, no, you don't. Tell me all the other ways, Buckley, so I can go to sleep. When do you walk the egg?"

Evan ignores that.

"There's mayonnaise."

"Wait."

"Cakes, quiche, omelets..."

"That's just cheating."

"Cheating? How?"

"When you say that there's a hundred ways to cook an egg, you can't include full-blown recipes."

"You absolutely can!"

"But... okay, well, 𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 wouldn't that just be sorta like... ninety different ways to utilize a scrambled egg?"

Evan opens his mouth to disagree, but...

"Wait. That's... no... your lack of belief isn't going to detour me."

"You mean my logic?"

"I mean your inability to be wrong."

Tommy smirks at Evan.

"Sooo, my ability to be... right?"

A pause. Evan reaches for his phone, unlocking the screen with determination.

"What are you doing?"

"Ordering ten dozen eggs."

"It's one in the morning, Evan."

"So?"

"𝘚𝘰?"

"Eggs can't be bought after midnight now?"

"... I don't want some poor delivery person to have to juggle ten dozen eggs at one in the morning."

"So, what? Is five in the morning more appropriate?"

Tommy stares at his absolutely serious boyfriend.

"Make it nine, and I'll coddle your eggs 𝘧𝘰𝘳 you."

Evan laughs, putting his phone away before burrowing himself against Tommy.

"I love you."

"A hundred different ways?"

"I'm still counting."

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Sinclair

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.7k || cw: check the tags

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper ao3

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Evil monsters from a hell dimension are easy to spot, like a dog with a face that blooms open to eat your cat, or a monster clawing it’s way out from the ceiling. Everything about them feels wrong on base-level instinct. But all you have to do is just get it in your sights, plant your feet, and swing for the fences. Dodging helps too, Steve supposes. 

Monsters like Billy Hargrove, however, are harder to spot. They look and sound like everyone else if you’re not paying close enough attention. The guy radiated violence, and all Steve could hope for was to stay out of his way. To stand off to the side and hope Billy would pass him by, sight unseen.

After what happened to Lucas, Steve can’t afford to stand by anymore. There’s more kids out there like Billy. Fucking christ he used to be friends with those kinds of people. He thought it was all just meaningless jokes and empty words– Steve and all his friends and his family and their neighbors in the Loch, it was all just jokes.

But then he’d called Jonathan Byers queer, laced with venom and meant to sting. As Jonathan’s fist hit its mark, Steve finally realized that maybe the people in his life weren’t just joking. He’d started to understand what they actually meant, how to look past the casual tone and see it for what it truly meant. 

Since then, Steve’s worked to separate himself from people like Tommy and Billy, like his parents. That still doesn’t mean everyone believes he’s trying to change, or that he’ll be forgiven. But that doesn’t matter, he’ll spend the rest of his life making amends regardless. Steve will do whatever it takes to be the best person he can be for the kids.

Anxiety churns through his gut as he knocks on the front door. The cold November breeze ruffles his hair. It sends a shiver down his spine and he finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet to shake out both the chill and his nerves.

After a few moments, a woman with a delicate heart-shaped face and stylishly short black hair opens the door with a warm smile. He never saw Mrs. Sinclair in the moments after it was all over, everyone congregated in the Byers’ living room exhausted, sharing information, and tending each other's wounds. Steve had slipped out the back just as Claudia had arrived for Dustin. 

Her smile falters, only for a moment, before she overcomes the surprise at her unexpected guest. She smoothes her hands down the front of her blue jeans then crosses them over her chest, wrapping the crochet shawl on her back tight around her shoulders. It’s cute, patterned with little yellow and green flowers with dark brown in between.

He smiles awkwardly, bringing his hand up in a wave only to abort the movement halfway through because she opened the door and she’s waiting, just say something.

“Hello, dear,” she prompts, saving him from his spiral by following a simple script. The things you’re supposed to say when some random boy knocks on your door late into the evening but doesn’t say anything.

“Hello, Mrs. Sinclair,” his voice cracks, and he winces. “Umm, my name’s–”

“Steve Harrington,” she says, not unkindly. “Yes, I know.”

He swallows, desperately maintaining an appropriate amount of eye contact. On top of everything else, that sentence alone could mean so much.

Even though Steve’s never met Mrs. Sinclair, he knew of her from his mother. He remembers listening to her rehash the events of whatever social event they’d both attended over dinner, notable only because it was one of few occasions his father would actually listen while his mother talked.

She was a little outspoken during book club.

Richard, you should’ve seen her new hairstyle.

Sue wore a very interesting outfit today.

His parents have nothing in common, but they both love tearing down others to feel better about themselves. Sue Sinclair eventually quit attending the same clubs, and his mother adjusted her sights to new targets. Steve can only hope that Mrs. Sinclair is referring to things Lucas might have mentioned about him, and not because of Beth Harrington and her luncheon book clubs.

“Right, yeah,” he says. “I was hoping I could talk to you and Mr. Sinclair about Lucas. About what happened that night at the Byers’ house.”

His gaze has drifted back down to the pavement, and he can’t help running a hand through his hair only for it to pull at the stitches on his forehead. They would’ve been healed by now if he didn’t keep pulling them out. If he could keep his hands in his pockets like Dustin keeps telling him.

It’s dark, and it’s quiet. It’s silent for so long he expects to be turned away, until he hears a soft sigh.

“Come in then,” she says, stepping to the side to open the door fully. “I’m sure we’ll all want to sit down for this.”

Even on a dark, cold winter night, the sunshine yellow walls help the home feel warm and bright– to match the family inside, he thinks fondly. Steve spots multiple science fair plaques hung up in the living room and a fridge covered in what look like pages of meticulously colored pink and purple horses. A stark contrast to his own home, lifeless and lackluster.

A small cough breaks him of his reverie, and he turns to find her carefully watching him. She’s eyeing him like he’s a code she can crack, making him even more nervous. Her lips quirk up at the corner of her mouth and she gestures for him to sit at the table.

“Would you like anything to drink, Steven? There’s lemonade, tea, and milk, and there’s pop out in the garage.” She moves into the kitchen, the hanging cabinets obscure her face. Her voice is pleasant and genuine.

“Just water, thank you, Mrs. Sinclair.” She sets the water glass next to him and leaves the room only to return a moment later with Mr. Sinclair. He’s sporting a wide smile, but his eyes are strained. 

“Steve Harrington, isn’t that right,” he asks. He gently guides his wife to a chair at the opposite corner of the table, pulling it out for her and softly kissing her cheek. She smiles at Steve and rolls her eyes. The normalcy of the domestic gesture causes Steve’s cheeks to burn and he averts his eyes. He’s been here all of five minutes and has seen more love within the Sinclair home than he’s ever seen within his own. 

“Uh, yes sir,” Steve responds as Mr. Sinclair takes the seat opposite of him, like this is an interview for a high class job. Which, he figures, it kind of is. Except the man’s wearing blue flannel pajama pants and an oversized grey hooded sweatshirt with a Pacers logo on the chest. It helps Steve relax slightly, the perceived casualness hopefully setting the tone for the situation.

“So what brings you by? Sue mentioned something about what happened at the Byers’ house.”

“Yeah, I just umm–” he swallows around a lump clogging his throat– “I’ve already talked with Ms. Henderson and Mrs. Hargrove about being Dustin and Max’s official babysitter, and I’m really hoping I can do the same for Lucas.” In through his nose, out through his mouth. In, and out.

“I’m not sure what all Lucas told you, but the kids got into a lot of trouble that night. Dustin came looking for Mike to help find his lost cat, but he found me instead. I wasn’t even supposed to be there.” He pauses, replaying the cover story in his head. “Lucas and Max found us just before the pack of feral dogs did. We ended up ok, hitched a ride with Nancy and Jonathan back to the Byers’ house. Then that’s when Will got sick and they all left to go to the hospital.

“I didn’t know Billy was Max’s brother. She kept telling me, over and over, that she had to get home or her brother would kill her. I was too busy trying to keep the boys distracted– I should’ve listened to her. We heard the car pull in the driveway, and I knew straight away who it was.

“I told the kids to hide and I tried to convince him to leave, but he saw them. He pushed past me to get into the house, but by the time I got back inside he had Lucas pinned to the wall and– I’ve never seen someone look like that before. The way Billy looked at Lucas– I know I was a bully, but I’ve never– Billy hated him.”

He’s prepared for this, even done it twice already like he said. He’d hoped it’d be easier this time around, yet he’s still just as tense. But the Sincair’s sit patiently across from him, waiting for him to continue. So he musters his courage, takes deep breaths, and pushes on.

“If it wasn’t for Max,” he plows forward, “I’m not sure what would’ve happened. She knocked Billy out while he was on top of me. We managed to take his car and get out. When we came back later, he was gone.”

Steve’s eyes fall to his lap and he wrings his hands together, rubs them harshly against the tops of his thighs to feel the rough denim scratch against his palms– to keep himself from hyperventilating, to calm down, to breathe. Anything to show these nice and normal people that he’s stable enough to care for their son. That he’s not the kind of person to panic when nothing’s wrong. 

“What about the parents?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. When he looks up, there’s a comforting smile on her face that doesn’t meet her eyes, still filled with a hesitancy Steve can’t pinpoint.

He knew the question was coming, yet he still finds it difficult to answer. “I feel like everyone in town knows The Harrington’s,” he says, voice laced with distaste for his own last name.

Mr. Sinclair’s lips form a fine, thin line across his carefully restrained face, disappearing under his  trimmed mustache. Mrs. Sinclair reaches out to hold her husband’s hand again, rubbing her fingers across his knuckles. She still holds Steve’s gaze, unwavering, as he tries to explain himself.

“I can’t ever make up for what my parents have said or done. All I can promise is that I’m trying not to be like them. And those kids,” he stops, digging deep for the right words to explain emotions he’s never had to articulate before. “I feel more like myself around the kids than I ever have with anyone else. It’s like they give me a purpose. They matter to me, and I’m not really used to that. I’d do anything to keep them safe.”

They’re quiet for what feels like ages, leaving him waiting for them to pass their judgements, weighing his heart. “I’m glad you’ve told us this,” Mrs. Sinclair replies, “but that’s not what I was asking, hun.”

Steve racks his brain, sorting through his words to find what he’s missed. The confusion must show on his face.

“The girl, Max,” Mr. Sinclair fills in, “what about her parents?”

Steve’s confusion only worsens as he tries to reason out why they’re asking about Max’s family and not his own. The Harrington’s have terrorized this town for decades, and the Hargrove’s moved in less than six months ago.

“Max?” Steve asks. “Why– I don’t understand.”

“Steven,” she starts again, “we know all about the kind of people Beth and Richard Harrigton are, and we know the kind of boy you used to be,” he smile softens, finally reaching her eyes as they shine at him with a sad affection. He feels bare, and moves his gaze to just over her right shoulder instead. “Just because your parents are bad people, doesn’t mean you are. And just because you’ve made mistakes, doesn’t make you a bad person. Especially when it’s so obvious how hard you’re trying to fix them.”

“But this young girl, Max, that Lucas has been spending time with. She’s new to town, from California, right?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. Steve nods.

“We don’t know them,” she says, her smile melted into a frown. “Lucas and the boys talk about her well enough, and she sounds like a sweet kid.” She blinks, hard, and Steve realizes she’s trying not to cry.

“If her parents are like her brother, Billy,” Mr. Sinclair picks up her train of thought, “Lucas could be in danger just by being her friend, Steve. If her parents are anything like that, I can’t have our son spending time with her. It won’t matter whether you’re there to protect them or not. There are some things in this world you can’t save them from.”

There’s nothing he can say that’ll meet the gravity of their questions, except sit in their beautiful, warm, yellow kitchen and process the small fraction of their world they’ve laid plain. He’s imagining Billy catching them at the movies, sharing a popcorn bucket and a soda with two straws. He can’t help but morbidly wonder what would happen if Neil passed them on the street with Max riding on the back of Lucas’s bike. 

Even if Steve were there with them, they’d still be seen. He can’t be around all the time, won’t always be there to help. Shoving down the panic at that thought, he leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair and yanks at the strands. The stitches rip from his scalp, and the sting of it keeps him present.

“Her stepdad, Neil, is the problem,” Steve starts. “I haven’t met him, but he seems– I think he’s the reason Billy is the way that he is. I’ve heard him yelling from the driveway when I pick Max up sometimes.” 

His thoughts stray to last week, standing in the driveway, half out of the car trying to decide if he should go knock or stay and wait. The shouts were hard to ignore. As Steve finally decided knocking would be worth the risk of confrontation, Max burst out the front door, red-faced with bloodshot eyes, and her jaw clenched tight. Words like ‘spoiled’ and ‘ungrateful brat’ floated between the snowflakes after her, carried along by the frigid evening.

“Max’s mom seems alright,” Steve says. Beth Harrington’s years of training kicks in and Steve falls back on typical midwest niceties. “Susan loves Max, and she’s the one who agreed to let me watch her instead of Billy. I think she knows that their house isn't– great. She lets Max stay with me a lot. Hell, half the time she practically lives with me.”

He knows Dustin’s happy when Steve’s around, and he hopes eventually the rest of the kids would eventually feel the same way. Max likes having him around too, but Steve thinks she might need him more than the others do. Because unlike The Party– but very much like himself– she doesn’t have anyone or anywhere safe to escape. 

He never had a person waiting in the driveway with the car running, ready to take him away. With Max, Steve gets to be the person he needed when he was her age. 

Steve sighs, resistant to the decision he’s come to, but hopefully the Sinclairs will understand. He meets their gazes, a solemn look from both of them tells him maybe he’s easier to read than he thought.

“I want them all to be together, but when it comes down to it, the boys all have their families to fall back on. Max– she doesn’t have that. So I can’t leave her behind– I won’t.” Steve hesitates, closing his mouth before he oversteps.

“But?” Mr. Sinclair prompts, eyeing him across the table.

Steve considers his words carefully before saying, “I think keeping them apart would be a mistake. You know Lucas won’t stop trying to see Max. He really cares about her, and the way she looks at him–I don’t think you could keep them apart no matter how hard you try.” He sighs, anxious he’s undoing all the trust he’s gained tonight. “And it’s like you said, right? Just because someone’s family is all bad, doesn’t mean you’re like them. We– I mean, Max– can be different. Better.”

They glance at each other, but when Mr. Sinclair opens his mouth to respond, a blur of red and blue crashes into Steve’s side, almost toppling him out of the kitchen chair. All he can see are fingers entwined together across his chest and small arms covered in red and blue rocket ships. Of course Lucas would wear nerdy pajamas, it’s so goddamn adorable. Just another reminder that Steve is so utterly screwed for these kids.

“Lucky,” Mrs. Sinclair admonishes, “what are you doing out of bed?” She stands and moves over to her son, who clutches Steve’s chest like it’ll keep him from being pried away and dragged back to his room.

“You can’t keep me from hanging out with Max,” he shouts, muffled by his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. “She belongs to The Party now, just like Steve. And we don’t leave anyone behind. Ever.”

Something he might think is fondness balloons in his ribs at Lucas’s admission. Steve hadn’t really considered himself included in The Party, as Dustin explained it. He always assumed it was mostly just the kids, plus Nancy and Jonathan because of Mike and Will. He’s more like an accessory, if anything at all. A guy on the fringes, brought in by random chance. 

“I want Steve to be my babysitter, and I want Max to be my friend,” he answers.

“Son,” his dad says, who stands up to place his hand on his son’s shoulder, “we’re talking to Steve about this.”

“No,” Lucas interrupts. He pops his head up to look at them, but doesn’t loosen his grip around Steve’s shoulders. “You don’t get it. Steve’s not like Billy and neither is Max. Max is the coolest. She’s nice and funny and laughs at my jokes. And Steve gives rides in his super fancy car. He lets them hang out at his house after school. Sometimes he even buys us candy and gives us extra quarters for the arcade.”

Mrs. Sinclair clears her throat, a very motherly excuse me, you did what? Steve realizes she’s teasing Lucas, the slight smirk on her face giving the game away. He gives Lucas a gentle nudge, and chuckles when Lucas tries his best to back pedal. 

“I mean,” the poor boy stammers, “he never buys us candy. Only, like, apples and stuff.”

His mom laughs and his dad gives his shoulder a slight shake, bringing a smile to Lucas’s face. He knows the world will be tough for Lucas, but Steve can’t help but think how lucky the kid is to have a family like this. Safe and loving, comfortable enough to tease each other, and carefree enough for affection in front of company.

“Ok, Lucky, we’ll think about it, alright? Now let’s get to bed,” Mrs. Sinclair says, gently leaning Lucas into her arms and guiding him away from the table. He groans, burying his face into his mother’s stomach as she laughs. “You’ve got to get up early for school tomorrow, you know that.”

“Mom,” Lucas draws out the word, whining obnoxiously, “don’t call me that when people are here.”

Steve listens to Lucas’s lamentations as the two disappear down the hallway. Mr. Sinclair gives Steve’s shoulder a hard pat and firm shake, just like he had to his own son. Steve’s throat clogs slightly, and the gesture makes him think of Hopper.

Mr. Sinclair says on the back of an exasperated sigh, “Lucas is a good kid. When he likes something– or someone– it’s fierce. He gets consumed with whatever he sets his sights on, almost like it’s all he can think about sometimes.”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Sinclair chuckles at her husband, stepping back into the room. “Remember when Mike first showed him Dungeons and Dragons? Stayed up all night for weeks working on his character even after we grounded him for it. It’s been years and it’s still all he talks about.”

Mr. Sinclair laughs, shaking his head, but when he looks back to Steve there’s resolve scrunched between his brows. He turns to his wife who nods, a soft smile spreads across her face. “Unfortunately for us, I think you might be right, Steve. If Lucas and the boys have already decided Max is their friend– and if what you’re implying about the two of them is true– I don’t think we could keep him from seeing her. No matter how dangerous it might be. That boy will always do what he thinks is right, consequences be damned.”

“You can watch him this week, and we’ll see how it goes,” Mrs. Sinclair says, her smile now wide and loving, bright enough to match the home her family has built.  “All we ask is that you keep us in the loop, and he stays away from the Hargrove’s.”

“The kids talk about you constantly,” Mr. Sinclair continues, “and Claudia only has good things to say about you– Max too. We only got to meet her when we drove her home that night, but it’d be nice if we got another chance. Maybe sometime next week we can have the both of you over for dinner to get to know each other.” 

Butterflies erupt in Steve’s stomach at the giddy realization that they’re willing to take a chance on him. To trust him with something as important as their son’s safety is a blessing Steve thought he’d never be worthy of.

They work out the scheduling details, and Steve leaves feeling higher than he has in months. He’ll do everything he can to prove to the Sinclair’s that he deserves the chance they’re giving him, that neither he nor Max are their parents, and that Lucas will be happier for it. He can’t imagine how Lucas would’ve felt if kept away from Max, but now it doesn’t matter. Steve can keep his kids under one roof.

Three down, three more to go.

[formerstingray]

Gamos chapter 4 WIP

Diomedes’ eyebrows raise speculatively. He has put his coin pouch away. Odysseus has told Penelope before that his friend has a little-known fondness for gossip. Diomedes looks at Odysseus. “He really doesn’t like you, does he? Don’t blame the fellow.”

“My father-in-law doesn’t like me. Your wife doesn’t like you. We all have our battles.”

“Fuck off. My wife likes me enough. So, what did Icarius say?”

Odysseus defers to Penelope, swooping his gaze to hers. She can feel herself smiling. As she finishes binding her hair, she speaks. “He called him a smarmy bastard.”

“Right he is.”

“And a dowry-pincher.”

“That too.”

“And a good-for-nothing cheapskate with a hound’s face.”

“I actually thought that one was a bit harsh,” Odysseus is saying. 

Diomedes is howling with laughter. “And then?” He is now, literally, on the edge of his seat. “And then? What did our dog-faced king say?”

Penelope nudges him. “Go on. What did you say?” 

Odysseus shrugs, face touched by a kind of inner amusement. “Well, I just suggested that we ask Penelope."

"Ask her what?"

"If she wanted to go back with him, or to come with me.”

[lunalikestowriteanddraw]

I think I finally cracked the code on how I view Gricko’s relationship with Frost (and every member of the Krew, tbh). It’s almost, parental, I feel. Not in the sense of “I have adopted you in every way except in the eyes of the government” but more in the sense of “I will pick you up when you fall, and love you unconditionally all the while”

I mean, think about it. I’m assuming that, by the time the two met, Gricko already had Hootsie, so he was probably already in Dad Mode, mentally. And Frost was, assumedly, very lonely growing up, and had no actual parental figures past the age of 8 or so, when he was taken to the Psionic Order.

I imagine Frost probably saw Gricko tending to Hootsie one day (maybe she injured herself playing or something), and calming her down, and just started crying. Frost doesn’t realize he’s crying until Gricko points it out, and asks if he’s okay. Frost says he’s fine, and just notes that he hasn’t seen someone cared for that tenderly since he was a small child, after he scraped his knee when playing, and his mother cared for him the same way Gricko cares for Hootsie.

Gricko listens, and takes a mental note of this. The two travel, and Frost eventually learns that his parents had passed away sometime between his leaving and his return to his village. Frost is, understandably, distraught, starts crying again, and starts blabbering on about being left behind again. Being alone again. Always alone.

And Gricko doesn’t say anything. He just puts his hand on Frost’s shoulder, and provides moral support. Once Frost calms down, Gricko sits beside him, and rests his head on the tabaxi’s arm. “You’re not alone,” he says, “you gots me an’ Hootsie.”

Years go by, and sometimes Frost has a bad brain day, where he’s convinced that none of his friends care about him, and that they’ll eventually abandon him too, but Gricko is always there, by his side, listening. Frost is usually adverse to touch, but not with Gricko. I mean, Gricko still respects his friend’s boundaries and avoids touch as much as possible, but sometimes Frost just needs a gentle—yet grounding—hand in his.

After the Jabberwock, everyone is eerily quiet. And Frost is in a downward spiral of “I should’ve fought back. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve been there for them. They all died because of me. They’re all going to leave me. I’m going to be alone again.” before he feels a calloused yet gentle hand in his. It’s Gricko’s hand, Frost doesn’t even need to look at the goblin to know that, yet he does anyway. And Gricko just gives him a sad yet comforting smile, and Frost doesn’t have to read his mind to know that Gricko is mentally saying “you’re okay. We’re okay. You’re not going to be alone again. Not while I’m here.”

And Frost cries again, and nods at him. Nothing was said verbally. They never connected mentally. But that didn’t matter. The message was conveyed all the same.

[dansconcepts]

Bro Talk

Sometimes Hajime feels a bit insecure over Nagito liking him and reassurance from a friend is always nice.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Kazuichi’s eyebrows furrow, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Isn’t that why he likes you though?” 

Hajime pauses. 

“What do you mean?”

The mechanic shrugs. “Man, I know this is Komaeda, but doesn’t he like all the strange stuff about you?” It only causes the Reserve Course student to blink. 

“Bro. Isn’t that what love’s kinda all about? Liking all the strange stuff, and then some? Because if he isn’t, then he really doesn’t love you dude, and you deserve much better than that.” He squeezes Hajime’s shoulder. “But from what I can tell… he’s crazy about you man, and has been since day one.” 

“I- thanks.”

“No problem. Anything for my soul bro.”

It’s silent, but then… “You sound like you’re in love with someone. Is it Sonia again?”

Kazuichi’s face nearly turns as pink as his hair. “Wha-? Psh, nah…”

Hajime squints at him. His eyes widen. “You’re actually telling the truth! Who is it then?”

It takes him a few moments to think back, having to drown out Kazuichi’s protests, before he finally works it out.

“Oh. Strange stuff, huh?”

The mechanic just looks down. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I just thought about it a little. It’s okay. I’m happy for you.” He smiles, clapping Souda's shoulder. “You got this.”

“You too man.”

[whosthere54]

I can’t find my original post about it but I did do a poll a while ago on what fic I should finish. Yes it’s been a WHILE but I finally did it so here’s the “If Icarus got that hug in family reunion” fic cause I can

Until Ao3 Works you get it here :]

The TWs for Family Reunion are Panic, Yelling, and Manipulation. Let me know if you believe anything else should be added and I’ll edit the list.

You know how it is, these themes will carry over to my fic so pls make sure to take care of yourselves first <3

“I never asked to be here at all. So why do I still have to face the fear of loosing it?” - Song: The fear of loosing this by Florist

Or - What if Icarus got that hug?

—=+=—

There’s a moment of silence between the two brothers, Rae glancing at Aax before speaking again.

“Do you… do you want a hug?”

They look up, surprise and confusion washing over them before they’re able to adjust their expression to something neutral.

“I… yeah. Please.” Their wings adjust on their back, draping themselves over their shoulders as they move their arms to cross over their chest.

Rae nods, glancing at Aax again who gives him a nod back. He takes a few test steps forward, when they don’t move he walks over to them. Aax follows, keeping a decent distance between her and Rae- letting him have space but making sure he’s safe. They can’t exactly blame him, like they said- the two don’t have the best track record when it comes to “talking” right now.

Rae gets close, and they instinctively take a small step back, feathers flaring for just a moment before settling again.

Rae stops, holding his hands out placatingly. He gives a gentle reassurance, a simple repeat of what they’d said before- another “we’re not here to hurt you” “I-I’m not mad.” and some other quiet reassurance they didn’t quite hear.

After a moment of hesitation, they take the next step forward- Rae immediately pulling them into a hug.

It was nice. They couldn’t remember the last time they had a hug from Rae.

Trying *so hard* not to let tears escape, they look at Aax over his shoulder. Though immediately regretting it when she just looks so… sad. Pity held in her gaze that makes them feel sick.

They hid their face against Rae’s neck, quiet shaky breaths the only indicator that they were trying not to cry. Rae sighs softly, and when he speaks again it sounds like he’s close to crying as well. “It’s gonna be okay Icarus… I’m still going to try- I promise I’m not going to give up on you.”

Maybe that causes some of their tears to fall, and maybe Rae holds them just slightly tighter.

When their knees shake and threaten to give out Rae adjusts them so they’re both sitting in the wet grass, not letting go of them. (Not letting them fall, even if it’s something as stupid as this.)

They hear Aax settle to sit nearby, facing away from the brother to scan for threats. It was comforting, they couldn’t do it themself and if Fable came back and did something to him they don’t think they’d be able to forgive themself.

They sit like that for a while, Rae occasionally murmuring soft reassurance not once loosening his hold. It was nice, a comforting pressure- a distraction away from the cave they were still sitting outside of. Rae seems to think of something then- adjusting slightly and causing Icarus to pull away. Not completely- just enough so the two brothers were looking at each other. Icarus tilts their head just slightly as Rae looks at them with renewed sadness- pity in his eyes causing them to look away, fidgeting with the hem of their sleeves.

“I… Icarus it’s four months today isn’t it…” He says it so softly and they can’t-

“Shut up-“ They mumble.

“Icarus-“

“No-no. He isn’t��� he isn’t gone I can fix it I’m going to fix it! He’s gonna come back-“ They wrap their arms tight around their chest careful of the ever-changing wound still concealed.

“Icarus…” Rae tries again, but they cut him off just the same.

“No- if you’re gonna say what all of them have been saying I’m not- I don’t have to *mourn* him he’s gonna come back, I don’t have to think about it because when I fix it it’ll be fine… you can go back to normal and it’ll be fixed…”

Rae’s face contorted into something confused, and then shocked and it crumbles into something sad, he blinks tears away so he can see them clearly.

“Is that… is that why you’re working with him?”

They give him a weak laugh, head angled down so their hair covers their face- goggles having fallen to their neck earlier that day and they didn’t bother to put them back up.

“Icarus…” they can’t handle this. They can’t handle the way he’s talking to them, holding them so gently like they’re something that’s going to *break.* they can’t handle him looking at them like that- they can’t-

“You have to go.” They say their voice firm and monotone.

“Icarus no-“ Rae’s brows furrow slightly and his hands linger on their shoulders.

“Please”

And that makes Rae pause.

“I don’t… Icarus I don’t want to leave you alone here. I- even if I don’t… *like* him Fable isn’t here right now. I’d rather you at least have him here.” When Icarus frowns at that Rae asks another question that leaves them thinking- more than they should be. When they think it doesn’t usually lead to anything good.

“Icarus how long has fable left you alone?”

They shrug. They really haven’t been keeping track of the time he was gone.

“He’s… he’s busy. The faster he gets whatever he’s doing done, the faster we can get this over with.” They mumble. It feels like they’ve said the same things over and over and *over* again and it still seems like nobody understands what they’re doing even after they explain it. Geez how many times have they done this circle of conversations with the things in the past four months?

“So you’ve been… you’ve been alone out here most of the time?”

They shrug, and nod. (They don’t want to lie anymore. It leaves them feeling sick and *wrong*)

“Icarus…”

Aax gets up quickly, face contorting into muffled anger, motioning at them to get up as well.

Rae turns to them- “Icarus-“ but they shake their head, getting up and helping Rae up as well.

“You have to go-“ They repeat the words, this time fueled by anxiety.

“Icarus!”

“Rae!”

“Icarus!” Fable’s booming voice echoes through the small clearing and they back away muttering a quiet apology under their breath that only Rae was meant to hear.

“Are you alright? Are they… are they here for anything?” He pulls out the reaver and it takes all of their power to look away from the blade glinting in the rain dimmed light.

“I’m okay… I ’m-I’m okay.”

“We’re not here to fight.” Rae’s gaze lingers on them for just a moment to long that it makes their skin crawl, arms wrapping around their torso and wings pulling slightly tighter to their back as Fable sighs.

“Of course. I see that it is only the two of you.”

Aax moves to stand only slightly in front of Rae, trident out and ready to attack if necessary. His voice carries confidently actress the clearing, low and sharp. An easy enough warning to understand. “We wouldn’t be stupid enough to come just the two of us if we were here for a fight.”

“No. You wouldn’t be that… stupid. No one would be.” He looks at Icarus then, solid gold meeting heterochromatic gold and purple. His eyes are too sharp, and they look away, casting their head down again.

He turns back to Rae, head held high. “But why are you here?”

“I’m here for Icarus.” They look at Rae through unkempt bangs, eyes darting between Rae and Aax as if analyzing them for a threat.

“Because they don’t need to be alone out here with just you, isolated from everyone else.” His tone holds more anger with Fable than it had with them.

“I’m not alone.” They say, loud and probably too sharp. They wince at the sound of their own voice casting their eyes to Fable when he looks at them again.

“Yes.” He looks away, and they do too. “They have me, they have Ven, they have Arisanna…”

“Which don’t know where you are?”

They cast their eyes down once more shuffling their feet.

“This place is supposed to be a secret for a *reason*, Rae. To keep others safe.”

“From… what, exactly? We’re not the ones running around hurting people.”

“Perhaps not now.”

“You haven’t changed! You’ve always hurt people! I’m starting to remember more of that now! You’ve always been like this… and now…” Rae turns to them, his voice softening just slightly again. “Look, Icarus he’s not a good person!”

“Neither am I!” They hold their head up as they say that, regretting it immediately in the way Rae shuffles and glances between them, Fable, and Aax.

“None of us are good people right now, Rae.”

He starts talking, he starts talking and they try so hard to tune him out. They don’t want it- they don’t want him to say more stupid words that get them to comply because they’ll comply regardless of what he says. They don’t think he knows that, but they will. They don’t… like him. They don’t trust him. But they’re good at putting on a show, and they can pretend they do. (Maybe deep down they do. They try not to, they know he’s wrong and they know what he’s doing to them -they don’t want to acknowledge the fact that it *is* working- but they love him. He’s their dad after all, and when they have no memory of their childhood he’s something that they can cling to)

“You hit me!” Rae says, anger disappearing to leave a suffocating tone of sadness fear, and *betrayal* that lingered in his voice.

“I did.”

They just look between him and Rae feet shuffling against the grass, begging their head to go blank like it tends to do. They’re feeling too much and it’s too wrong and they’re thinking- thinking leads to questioning and questioning leads to things they don’t want to know-

“Where is she.” Rae’s voice wobbles with anger and unshed tears. They glance up to Fable as he turns to them- “Where…”

“Icarus, do you wish to see your mother?”

They blink, looking back up at him with a muted look of confusion. “Yeah…” they said it too quietly, too much emotion filling their voice that wasn’t supposed to be there. They can tell in the way they feel Rae’s gaze on them again. They try to cover it up- “Yeah, yes, yes.” But then Fable starts to walk towards the stupid fucking cave and-

“W-wait- wait” they stare with wide eyes as Fable creates a small opening, just enough for them to get through. “Uhm..” Rae glances at them again, Aax moves to stand in front of Rae, trident in hand face contorted into disgust and then anger. “Wait-wait where…” He pulls his shield out.

“It was the one place I did not think anyone would go.” He breaks a small hole through the stone, just enough that they would be able to walk through. Rae walks closer to him, while Aax lingers behind.

“Uhm…. Um…” They walk towards him, stopping about the same distance Rae is away from the entrance for a moment before moving up to stand beside Fable.

They don’t want to be here anymore- they don’t want to be that close. They don’t want to *see* it again- they can’t…

Their breathing shakes.

“Where are you… where is…” Aax moves quickly back in front of Rae. “Where is that? What are you…”

“She is in a pocket dimension. Just as Enderian had held her before.” He says his sister's name with a sneer. “I will bring you Rae, and I will bring Icarus to see her.”

They can’t breathe- they look through the space Fable had cleared into the cave. The first thing they noticed was that there was still blood on the floor… theirs or Centross’s they couldn’t quite tell. Their eyes fell on the slab, seeing their blood still dried on the smooth stone and splattered on the ground in front of it. Fuck they can’t breathe… their chest *hurts* they can’t-

They manage to pull their gaze away from the cave back onto Fable as he speaks again.

“I’m sorry, Aax, but I will not let you see her. I cannot take the risk.”

“Why… why does it smell like death in there?” They turn to look at Aax, his tone settling on a heavy undertone of sadness as they speak.

They try to bring themself to explain.

“It… it’s-“ Fable cuts them off sharply. “Because it is a place that I thought was of life. I was *foolish* enough to believe it was of life. But it is a place of death. This is where the first mortals were made by me. This is the place where I first mourned them when they *died.*”

“This is where… Centross… died.”

“And you’re taking him in there alone, just the two of you?”

“Yes. I know you do not trust me…”

Their chest aches. They have to take a moment to breathe through a wave of pain that courses through their chest, through their ribs. They tune back into the conversation a moment later when Fable says their name again, though they don’t pay much attention. Their mind won’t stop wandering, and the things won’t stop talking.

“If *anything* happens to him. Know that I will be hunting you to the ends of the earth.”

“As you should. Rae is important to you, as he is to me.” He turns and walks into the cave, but before they can even *think* about following him Aax stops them.

“Icarus. I need you to promise…”

They nod, trying to get their thoughts to work to the current conversation. “Yeah… I’m- he won’t-“

“Promise me he’ll be okay.” Aax asks, and they nod firmly this time.

“He’ll-he’ll be okay.” They can’t tell if they’re trying to reassure her or themself.

“Okay.”

Icarus turns to the entrance, hesitating a moment before heading inside.

“Are you ready?”

“We’re going… in?”

“Yes. I did not think Enderian had this power. I thought she could simply create the bubbles, but she could move if she wished it. If she had other abilities I now hold. She might have been able to escape at any time if she had known. If she could’ve held the same powers I now have .”

They have to take another minute to even out their breathing.

“She couldn’t escape. She- she gave them to me. She was trapped there.”

“Just as Isla was. But now we can move freely to see her.”

They nod lightly. “Okay.”

Fable inhales, “Here we go.” They teleport into the small pocket dimension.

It was a bright, glow stone blinding encircling the small space. As soon as they looked up at their mother- blonde hair blocking a face they couldn’t even remember- they felt an overwhelming sense of dread. It was almost like anxiety, the way it thrummed through their veins. Just a sense of something was wrong.

They couldn’t tell if Rae felt it, but when they got in there they knew he was more distressed, probably at the sight of their mother in a stasis chamber than anything else.

“Icarus I can… I can help. You don’t need him- I can- I can help her! I can help us…” They don’t know what to say, but they get cut off by Fable before they could respond.

“How, Rae?”

“I… I’m not going to tell you. I’m not going to let you do something else to her. Or screw up trying.” He spits the last part with lingering anger, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

“Rae…” He turns to look at them a moment before turning back to Fable as he speaks again.

“You will not give me the chance to help your mother? *My wife?* To bring her back to us.”

Rae doesn’t speak, he simply shakes his head.

Fable frowns. “No?”

“No.” Rae says softly.

“You’d have her stay here?” Rae’s expression crumbles.

The next time they look back at Isla, they can’t look away. This is the first time they’ve seen their mother in person. They don’t have any image of her in their memory other than the portrait that’s sat locked away in Fable’s house. She looks different, they can’t quite see her face but she seems so… tired. A lingering sense of sadness seems to be all she has in that small tube, and it almost physically pains them to see her like that. (To have her feel so similar to what they feel locked up in their house.)

“I have Enderian’s powers now. I could wield them.”

They look back at Fable then. “What?” They glance between him and Rae.

“You could do this! You could hurt her all over again!”

They frown. “He wouldn’t.”

“He did it the first time!” Stray tears are beginning to fall down Rae’s face now that make them stop.

“As a *mistake*, Rae.” He tries, but Rae isn’t having it.

“So what’s preventing you from making the same one?!”

Fable sighs. “Remembering what happened the first time. Seeing my wife’s face, and having it haunt-“

“She doesn’t want to be yours!” Rae yells, his voice echoing in the small chamber. There are more tears spilling down his face, and Icarus can’t help but take a step back as they take another shaky breath. They watch Fable's face, but he doesn’t seem to react. Simply responding calmly, anger quiet and reserved (as if that doesn’t scare them more.)

“She gets to make that choice. Not-“ Rae cuts him off again. “Does she?!”

Fable frowns, and his tone comes out just slightly more angry than he probably wanted it to. “Yes. When she is well, Rae.”

“You don’t get to make that choice, you tried to take that choice away from her. I won’t tell you shit!” Rae talks over what he tries to say next, words hitting their mark effectively when Fable sighs again.

“Rae!” They start, trying to maybe help in some way, try to get that information. But they go quiet as Fable talks again.

“I understand. If that is what you wish.” He inhales sharply again, and they are teleported back outside the bubble. Back into the cave.

They can hear Rae’s breathing shake, as he is ushered out of the cave by Fable. They take a lingering glance back, eyes falling on the slab, and then spot Centross died before Fable pushes them out.

They linger near the cave entrance as they hear Fable walk out behind them with a sigh. Rae goes to huddle next to Aax with his head down as he wipes the lingering stray tears from his face.

“Rae. When you are ready to help your mother and to fix our family, now you know where we are. You said it yourself, you can do that Rae. Bring her back to us. I have made mistakes in the past, but I have done my best to watch over *you* and your brother in her absence. I have protected you and your brother as best as I *could.*”

His tone changes then, more earnest, more desperate. It was all tinted with an undertone of anger a force perfectly covered as he says the words that hit their mark as Rae seems to cower as he says them.

“It was not perfect, I admit this, none of this has been perfect. None of this had been perfect. I have not been perfect, Rae. But *you* gave me a chance. All the same. As you have given so many others. *You* freed me from purgatory Rae. I owe you my life. You can do the same for your mother. You can give her a *chance.* When you are ready to give her that chance, we will be here.”

There’s a deafening silence as Rae takes a few steps back, eyes moving between Fable and Aax.

“We should go- we should go.” His voice sounds like he’s trying so desperately not to cry and something in them feels concerned, it does, but as Rae and Aax fly away all they can think of is that he didn’t say goodbye.

All they can think of is that he didn’t even look at him after they left the bubble. All they can think about is how he left them alone again without saying goodbye. He’d just said he wasn’t going to give up on them. That he wasn’t going to leave them alone here again, but that’s all they feel like is happening.

Fable ends up coaxing them inside. They take the confirmations and reassurance he gives them, ignoring the fact that they know that sometimes he’s lying to them. They ignore the things all yelling, ignoring the way they erupt again when Fable apologizes to them. Apologizing that he couldn’t remove Quixis from them. They ignore them as they say he just apologized for not killing them that day.

They just don’t want to think about it anymore. (They don’t want to remember… and that’s a concerningly familiar wish for them.)

Fable finally gets them to take their mind off it, changing their focus to the birds lingering at their bedside.

They eventually lie down, Fable leaving them to their own thoughts again. The things leave soon after that, sleeping or going somewhere else they still don’t exactly know.

The silence is so so much worse. They curl in on themself under the covers, their birds having fallen asleep a bit ago on the birch next to their bed, so they weren’t making any noise either.

There’s a lingering feeling they can’t quite explain. It’s something under their skin that just makes them want to cry. It’s the lingering feeling of their brother’s hug, his hands running through their hair and his arm wrapped securely around their back. Their wings try to compensate, wrapping around their curled-up figure tightly as their arms wrap around their chest and their tail falls over their legs.

They want their dad. As stupid as that sounds. They want their dad, they want Rae they want… they want Centross.

Four months.

Their hand moves to stifle a quiet sob.

They miss him- gods they miss him so much.

They miss him randomly interrupting what they were doing to get them out of their house. They miss talking with him, joking with him. They miss being *near* him, as pathetic as that sounds. His presence was always comforting. Something that made them feel *safe* and fuck they missed that feeling.

They miss his voice, they miss and they miss and they miss.

They *swear* they’re going crazy when they get the phantom feeling of fingers running through their hair, just closing their eyes and willing themself to just sleep as their breathing shakes through more muffled sobs.

It takes too long in their opinion. By the time they fall asleep, they’ve run out of tears. Sitting in heavy silence for too long until they finally fall asleep.

Maybe sleep isn’t much of a release, the only thing they see is the memories of their best friend, the happiness stained by a lingering sadness and guilt that follows them when they wake up in the morning because of the memory of the cathedral that the dream always ends with.

Soon.

That’s all they have to remember.

It will be over soon.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Have You Ever...

Danny gets invited to a hero convention as Danny Phantom, and his booth is next to none other than the legendary Ben 10, one of Danny's own favorite heroes. But when the two start playing a modified version of Never-Have-I-Ever to alleviate their boredom between handshakes with fans, they accidentally expose some things they didn't really mean to.

You can also read it on AO3

Written for X-over Danuary Week 2024, Day 1: Ben 10 | Prison Thanks @crossoverdanuary for running this!

I got a late start because I had DnD today, and I finished this at like 10pm, so I didn't have time to edit. I'm planning on editing it later this week, but until then, sorry for any mistakes. [Edit: it has now been edited]

[Warning for mentions of past traumatic experiences]

It was weird to see such a huge convention center so empty.

Well, it wasn't completely empty, but a few people carrying boxes and setting up displays was a significantly smaller crowd than Danny would normally expect to see in a place like this.

"Ah! Danny Phantom you're here!" A woman with a high ponytail and a convention staff t-shirt walked over to him. "Wow, I'm so excited that you actually came!" 

Her voice was familiar.

"Sally, right?" he guessed. "Sally Braddock?"

"You remembered!" She said brightly.

Sally had been the one who'd convinced Danny to come to this convention. She'd offered him pretty substantial payment, but it was only when she told him he could have three free tickets to the convention as well that Tucker told him he had to agree or they wouldn't be friends anymore. 

So here he was, at San Diego Hero Con, halfway across the country, to sit at a table and sign autographs for a few hours each day, and then do an hour-long panel with a bunch of other teen heroes, and another tomorrow on specifically ghost hunting. (He was still debating whether he should actually show up to that one, or if it would be too dangerous.) The worst part, though, was how early he had to wake up to set up his booth before the event started.

"Here's your presenter badge," Sally said, and handed him a bright yellow name tag clipped to a blue lanyard with the convention's logo on it. "Celebrity meet-and-greets are over there. I'll lead the way. We try not to put them too close to each other or the lines get out of control, but your booth is right next to Ben 10's."

Danny perked up at that. "The alien guy?"

"Yup!"

Oh, man, he hoped he'd get the chance to talk to him. Ben 10 was Danny's favorite superhero. He got to fight real life aliens, sometimes in actual space! And sure, Danny had been to space before that one time Technus had taken over a satellite, but it had still been a ghost fight. It wasn't the same.

"So, this is your table," Sally said, pointing to an empty, white folding table. "Do you have a tablecloth, or banners or headshots or anything?" she asked him with a tight smile.

"Uh.... I don't photograph well," he replied.

Sally sighed. "Well, I can bring over one of the convention tablecloths, but you really should get some kind of poster or cardboard cut-out or something that shows people who they're meeting. And you'll definitely need something to sign. Comic books, or T-shirts. Anything, really. There's a portrait artist in Artists Alley who works pretty fast, her name is Jess. If you get something from her, I can send a gopher to make copies for you to sign." 

"Uh, okay? But, I can just call a friend to bring something."

"Whatever works." With that, Sally left to go organize something else.

Danny called up Sam, who was back at the hotel with Tucker—Tucker would no doubt still be sleeping—and asked her to find a nearby print shop and get a Danny Phantom Banner to hang up and a whole bunch of 8x10 illustrations of him. He let her pick the picture, but asked her to please not pick anything too embarrassing.

Right as he hung up, a pair of people approached the booth next to him carrying plastic tubs. It was none other than Ben 10 himself and a tall, furry, blue alien who was no doubt one of his allies. (That or a cosplayer, but since they were with Ben 10 himself, Danny felt safe in assuming that they really were an alien.) The two of them placed their tubs on the floor and opened them up to start unpacking their display.

"Woah, hi!" Danny said, louder than he meant to.

Ben 10 snapped his head around, muscles tensing. Danny recognized that response all too well, and tried not to let out a sympathetic wince.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said. "You're Ben 10, right? I know this is cringey to say, but I'm a huge fan."

"Uh, thanks? Just Ben is fine."

"I'm Danny Phantom, but you can just call me Danny."

"I can see that... uh... nice to meet you?" Ben replied. He seemed uncomfortable. Had Danny come on too strong.

"Something wrong?"

"What? No, of course not," Ben said, though it wasn't very convincing.

"I am Rook Blonko," Ben's companion said, offering Danny a handshake which he excitedly accepted. "It is an honor to meet another hero, though I will admit, it was only recently that I came to learn about you." 

"Oh, yeah," Danny let out an awkward laugh and rubbed the back of his head. "My scope is a lot more regional and sometimes not very... in this dimension." 

"That would be... the Ghost Zone, right?" Ben said casually. "What's it like? Anything like the Null Void?"

So he was at least somewhat familiar with Danny and his exploits. Danny tried not to let that go to his head, but he couldn't help feeling a little giddy nonetheless. Ben laid down a black tablecloth with his logo on it and spread it across his table. This definitely wasn't his first rodeo.

"I don't know about the Null Void," Danny said. "It's like the bottom side of this dimension. It's where ghosts live... or... not live. Reside. Almost everything is green because of all the ectoplasm there, and when humans go there, they can pass right through walls and objects just like ghosts can in this dimension."

"That does not sound like the Null Void at all," Rook observed, pulling rods and boards out of one of the boxes and assembling them into a small standing shelf.

"What's the Null Void like?" Danny asked.

"Mostly red," Ben said with a shrug. "Full of floating islands and enormous aliens. Used as a penal colony for this dimension's worst criminals."

"Oh... yeah, no. Aside from the floating islands, that doesn't sound anything like the Ghost Zone," Danny agreed. "Although it's kind of a cool coincidence that we both have experience with alternate dimensions."

"Yeah, I guess so." Ben looked over at Danny and his sad excuse for a booth—really looking for the first time. "First time at one of these things?"

"Oh yeah," Danny confirmed. "My friend is bailing me out at a print shop right now, but I was so unprepared."

Ben snorted. "Here," he said, digging through one of his boxes and pulling out a bright green swath of fabric. "You can use one of my tablecloths. I brought an extra, just in case. It has my logo on one side, but if you turn it around so the logo faces you no one will be the wiser. We have basically the same color scheme, so it works out."

"Thanks," Danny accepted the tablecloth, slightly surprised, and spread it out over his table. It was almost exactly ectoplasm green, just a shade or two darker. "Have you been to a lot of conventions?"

"A few," Ben said.

"This is your fourth," Rook said.

"That sounds right. If it hadn't been for Rook, I probably would've been just as lost as you at my first one. He's all about preparing in advance. But yeah, I've been a public hero for over a year now, and since my identity isn't a secret anymore, it's easier for the people who run these things to get a hold of me."

"About that... why don't you have a secret identity?"

"It wasn't exactly my choice," Ben replied. "Some kid found it out and exposed me on the internet. It turned out surprisingly well, though, for the most part. Must be nice for you though, not having an alternate identity—not that being dead is nice or anything like that—I mean, it's not a bad thing—or it is a bad thing? I uh... yeah, I don't know what I'm saying."

After taking a moment to parse that rambling sentence, Danny burst out laughing. 

"Hahaha! Is that why you're acting so uncomfortable around me? Because I'm dead? Ha! You don't have to worry about that. You're fine."

"Serious?"

"Dead serious," Danny replied with a smirk.

Ben shook his head with a soft laugh. "Alright, fine.... Actually, that's not the only reason. Back when I was ten and just starting out I had... a bad experience with a ghost-like alien of mine. Ever since, ghost stuff just puts me a little on edge."

"Oh... I see. Well, don't worry, I won't take it personally," Danny said. "Did you really start doing this when you were ten?"

"Yeah. Although I kinda retired for a few years when I was eleven, and started up again when I was fifteen."

Danny did some quick math in his head. "Oh, so altogether, you and me have been in this for about the same amount of time. 'Cause I got started a little over two years ago."

"Yeah?" Ben was silent for a few moments. He pulled out boxed figurines of his alien forms and lined them up on the shelf Rook had assembled. "So... when did you...."

"Die?" Danny finished for him. "I was fourteen. I'm almost seventeen now. In about three months, I mean."

"Do you still age?"

"Sort of?" Danny shrugged.

He and Jazz had come up with an answer to this question a little while ago, when people noticed that Danny Phantom was starting to look older, even though ghosts supposedly didn't age.

"A ghost's body is a reflection of their mental image of themself. In the Zone, ghosts don't really age or change unless something specific happens that makes them feel older or different. Because I spend so much time in the human world still, because I learn and grow with each fight, I still feel like I'm growing up, so I look like I'm growing up, too."

"That is fascinating," Rook said. "I would love to learn more about ghostly biology."

"I would love to tell you about it. Problem is, I really don't know that much," Danny told him apologetically. He shrugged. "Sorry. I'm a superhero, not a scientist."

"I'm here!" Sam called, her heavy combat boots tromping into the room. She was carrying a large cardboard box. "I would have been here sooner, but I had to put together a design for the banner. Luckily I found a printer that could make one for you on short notice like this, or you'd be screwed."

"You're a life saver!"

"You wish," she scoffed. "I got you a banner and three hundred head shots."

"That's not gonna be enough," Ben said immediately.

"Ya think?" Sam asked.

"Trust me."

She sighed heavily in annoyance. "Okay, I can go back and get some more, but you so owe me, Danny."

"Yeah, I know," Danny said, taking the box from Sam. "You're the best!"

"Yeah, yeah," she said, taking one of the head shots off the top of the stack and leaving again.

"Is that your friend?" Ben asked.

"One of them," Danny confirmed, setting the box down on the table. "That's Sam. She and Tucker have been with me since the beginning. He's probably still asleep at the hotel."

He pulled out a stack of head shots for the table and slid the box with the rest underneath. She'd picked a good picture. It was a poster illustration for a local ghost awareness presentation he'd done a while back, and he nearly sighed with relief when he saw it. He'd been half afraid she'd pick one of the grainy newspaper photos of him in his underwear.

"That's cool," Ben said. "Yeah, I don't think anyone could do this job without allies. When I first started, I had my Grandpa and my cousin, then my cousin and my best friend, and now I have Rook as my partner."

"We have been together for a year," Rook added.

"Like... together together or...?"

"Working partners," Ben clarified insistently. "It's not like that."

"Oh, okay, my bad."

Hoping to alleviate his embarrassment, Danny unfurled his new banner and flew up to hang it on the wall behind his booth. It looked cool, but not too complicated. Just his name and logo and a little bit of ghost designs around the edges. Sam had done a good job with it.

"You are not the first to think that," Rook consoled. "It is a more common assumption than one might think."

They continued chatting idly while they set up their booths. Danny got to ask Rook what kind of alien he was, and what his home planet was like. Sam showed up with a whole bunch more photos and then immediately abandoned them to get a sneak preview of artist alley before she came back as an attendee.

Just before the convention center officially opened, Danny worked up the courage to ask Ben for an autograph, and Ben obliged him with a smile, offering an exchange, rather than asking for payment. Danny eagerly accepted, signing one of his own pictures and trading it for Ben's. Ben's looked far more professional than his own. He hoped people wouldn't be disappointed.

As people started trickling in past the security checkpoint up front, both heroes only got a few people in the beginning. After only about twenty minutes of boredom, Ben suggested they play a game.

"Sure," Danny agreed. "What game?"

"My buddy Kevin calls it Reverse-Never-Have-I-Ever, and my cousin calls it Have-You-Ever." Ben said. "See, we could never play regular Never-Have-I-Ever, because we all knew all the weird stuff we'd done and we'd target each other mercilessly. With this version, You say something you have done, and anyone who hasn't done it loses a point. If everyone's done it, no one loses a point."

"Okay... I think I get the idea, but why don't you start? Five fingers or ten?"

"Let's start with five," Ben said. "Rook, you playing?"

"I will pass," Rook said. "I always lose this game."

"Alright, if that's what you want." Ben shrugged. "Alright, Danny, have you ever... transformed into a different species?"

"Yes."

"You have?!"

"Uh, yeah. I went from human to ghost. Duh."

"Oh... right, duh," Ben agreed, shaking his head at how foolish he'd been to blow his first question like that. "Wow, I can't believe I didn't even think about that...."

"My turn, right?" Danny said. "Have you ever fought an evil alternate version of yourself?"

"Yeah, like six of 'em."

"Okay, well, now you're just showing off."

Ben smirked. "Oh, I never get to use this one on my friends. Have you ever been to space?"

Danny smirked right back. "One of my rogues possessed an orbital satellite."

"Damn it!" 

Someone walked over to Danny's table and he smiled at her, pointedly ignored the way she shivered when he shook her hand, and signed a photo for her.

"Okay," he said, shifting his attention back to the game, "have you ever... been cut in two."

"I regenerated, but yeah."

"How?" Danny demanded.

"Plant alien."

"I should've guessed. Stupid plant creatures with their stupid regenerative powers. Undergrowth-ass alien. Lame." 

Ben laughed at him while he signed a figurine for a fan who came to his table. "How about this. Have you ever fought a medieval-style knight?"

"A knight? Hold on." Danny considered that for a moment. Had he? He'd rescued Sam from Dora's realm that one time, and yeah, he'd definitely had to fight the ghosts of knights then. Oh! Also Fright Knight. How could he forget about him. "Yes, I have definitely fought knights on several occasions. Ghost knights, obviously."

"Ugh! I really thought I had you with that one. Why do ghosts who died a thousand years ago have to stick around for so long?"

"Nope!" Danny teased. "Okay, how about this one. Have you ever fought a ghost?"

"Define ghost?" Ben asked.

"The law defines a ghost as any creature which produces ectoplasm, is composed of ectoplasm, or requires ectoplasm to survive," Danny recited. 

There was no need to say which law—that would be the anti-ecto acts. It was stupid that those stupid acts were still even law when public support of ghosts had never been higher. Although, they hadn't been as heavily enforced the last year or so, since the G.I.W. lost a lot of funding after repeatedly failing to catch their most wanted, Danny.

"Then yes, I have," Ben said. "Have you ever fought an alien?"

"Define alien."

"A creature originating from a planet or plane other than Earth."

"Then yes, ghosts."

"Ah ah ah!" Ben argued. "Ghosts are the spirits of dead humans, which means they originate on Earth."

"Except that not all ghosts are the spirits of dead humans," Danny countered right back. "Many ghosts originally formed inside the Ghost Zone, which makes them, by your definition, aliens, and I have fought them, too. Also I fought off some Incurseans back when they invaded the Earth a little while back. It was awesome." 

Ben groaned.

"Haha! Gotcha!"

"Just go already."

"Have you ever died?"

"Ha! Yes, I have," Ben said, as if dying was some huge victory. "You probably thought you had me, but you were wrong. I may have been brought back through alien magic and/or time travel, but yes, I have died. Speaking of which, have you ever time-traveled."

"Psh, have I time traveled?" Danny scoffed. "I have literally met the Ancient, omniscient Master of Time. He's a huge pain in the neck."

It was at this point that more people started accumulating at the two heroes' tables. Some got in line for autographs, though both Ben and Danny were too engrossed in their game at this point to give their full attention. Others just stood, watching, and listening to the two of them. A few even started filming their little game.

"Alright, my turn," Danny said. "Have you ever... oh, I have a good one! Have you ever had to fight your best friend after he copied your powers which then caused him to lose his mind and become evil?"

"Literally how?!" Ben shouted.

"Is that a no?"

"No, I meant 'literally how' as in how has something that specific happened to both of us?"

"No way!"

"Yes way! That's happened to Kevin more than once."

"What?!"

"I know, right?"

"It is also strange for this game to go so long without any of the participants losing a point," Rook said. "I believe it is at this point that I would have lost, had I been participating."

"You put up a good fight, Rook," Ben joked.

"But... I was not playing?"

"I was teasing, Rook."

"Ah, yes."

"Whose turn is it now?" Ben asked. "Mine, right?"

"Yeah," Danny confirmed.

"Have you ever had a limb severed?"

"Yes, but I'm a ghost, so I reattached it pretty easily. Have you ever altered the fabric of reality?"

"I once had to recreate the entire universe after it got destroyed, and then went on intergalactic trial for doing it. And the worst part is, ever since then, grape smoothies just don't taste the same. It's so frustrating. I did get this super comfortable hoodie out of it, though." 

"Ew, smoothies?" Danny grimaced. "What are you a yoga mom?"

Ben stood up, slamming a hand on his table and with the other, he pointed accusingly at Danny. "Smoothies are delicious, screw you!"

"You're just frustrated because I'm winning."

"You're not winning, neither of us have lost a single point! But you will!" Ben declared. "Have you ever saved the whole entire universe."

"Yes."

"What?" Ben fell back into his chair, deflated.

"A while back, this one group, the G.I.W. tried to destroy the Ghost Zone with a special anti-ghost nuke, and I stopped them. The Ghost Zone is the flip side of our dimension, so if it had been destroyed, it would have taken our universe along with it. Hence, I saved the universe. I just didn't let it get all over international news first."

"Boo!"

"Isn't that my line?" Danny said. 

Ben threw a sharpie at him and he turned intangible and let it pass right through him while he laughed at his own joke.

"Anyway, have you ever visited an alternate timeline where the entire earth is barren and desolate and the alternate version of you rules supreme?"

"Yes, I call it the Mad Universe, because it looked like Mad Max, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess I can see it. But really? You have?"

"Yup. The alternate version of Rook was a jerk." 

Rook frowned but didn't have the chance to say anything before Ben kept talking.

"Have you ever... I don't know... every time I go weirder, you just match me. Have you ever had a family member be friends with one of you enemies?"

"Yeah, my dad considers my archenemy his best friend in the world," Danny said. "The feeling is not mutual, though. Have you ever been imprisoned by one of your enemies?"

"More times than I can count. Have you ever asexually reproduced?"

"Do clones count?"

"No!" Ben refused.

"Yes," Rook argued, possibly still upset about Ben's jerk comment. "Technically, cloning is a form of asexual reproduction."

"But could they fly?"

"I don't see how that's relevant to asexual reproduction, but yes," Danny said. "They were ghosts. They could fly. Most of them were too unstable to survive though. There's only one left." He frowned.

"Oh... sorry."

"It's... fine." It wasn't fine. He still found himself lying awake at night thinking about them sometimes. Danny shook his head and plastered on a determined grin. "I really think I've got you this time, though."

"Do you?" Ben did not sound convinced.

"Have you ever had to fight sentient food that was not still alive?"

"Y—wait...." Ben frowned as he thought about it for a long moment. "No... I haven't."

"Yes!" Danny cheered and Ben buried his head in his hands, humiliated. "This puts me in the lead."

"Not for long," Ben said. "Have you ever eaten food from another planet?"

"Wha—noooo...." 

"Ha!"

"We're dead even again." 

Their game continued.

"Have you ever fought a cult's subject of worship?"

"Have you ever had a Christmas-themed battle?"

"Have you ever fought on the same side as one of your enemies?"

"Have you ever been called upon to end a war?"

"Have you ever unexpectedly developed a new power that caused you trouble?"

"Have you ever used your powers to get out of other responsibilities?"

"Have you ever had to skip out on something you were really looking forward to and save the day?"

"Have you ever been blamed for property damage your enemies caused just because you happened to be there at the time?"

"Have you ever been mind controlled?"

"Have you ever fought an evil circus?"

The game kept going on and on, while they absently shook hands and signed autographs, with neither of them giving up another point. Until Sally showed up to tell them it was time to go to the teen hero panel they were on. 

It was only then that they looked up and saw all the cameras that had been recording their game. How long had they been recording? How much had they gotten?

"Uh... right," Ben said. "Sorry everyone. You can come back for autographs after the panel. And Danny, I think we're gonna have to call it a draw."

"We'll have to have a rematch some other time," Danny said, trying to keep his tone light, despite his sudden anxiety. 

Sally led the two of them to a large room with rows upon rows of empty seats, right down the aisle to the stage up front where a man in his thirties was already standing, and a masked teenage girl with glowing pink hair and eyes was sitting behind the table.

"Hello, I'm John and I'll be moderating this panel," the man introduced. "This is Lucky Girl, another teen hero we invited. Lucky Girl, this is Ben 10 and Danny Phantom."

"Nice to meet you," Danny said.

"I can't believe they roped you into this," Ben said, smiling at the girl like he knew her.

"Shut up," the girl barked back. "We can't all gain international fame overnight, and I have to pay for student housing."

"You two already know each other?" John asked, surprised.

"Oh yeah, we've known each other for a long time," Ben said. "All our lives, in fact."

"Ben, I swear if you give me away I will hex you so bad your children's children's children will travel for miles just to spit on your grave."

Ben put up his hands in surrender, and took his seat without another word. Danny followed his lead. This Lucky Girl didn't seem like the kind of person he wanted to mess with.

Once they were all in their seats, John gave them a quick run down of how the panel would go. He would ask a few questions. They would answer. He would open it up to questions from the audience, and they would answer those too. After an hour, the panel would be over, and they would return to their booths, or in Lucky Girl's case, simply leave, as she apparently didn't have a booth.

"She uses her powers to disguise herself, but she can't keep that up for more than an hour and a half," Ben whispered to Danny, clearly sensing his confusion. "She'll probably hang around for a little while after to greet fans, but she'll have to leave when her mana's drained."

"Oh, okay, that makes sense," Danny whispered back, nodding. "I was worried it might be like a sexism thing."

"As if she'd stand for something like that," Ben scoffed.

Soon enough, the doors opened, and people started trickling in. The seats filled up with mostly teens and young adults, with a few parents and older adults sprinkled in. Danny noticed Sam and Tucker come in and sit in the back row and waved at them. Rook was also sitting in the back row, trying not to draw attention to himself. Although, it seemed like most people thought he was a cosplayer, so he didn't really have to bother hiding.

When the doors closed, John started the panel.

The first part was easy. 

John asked questions like: "How do you balance being a hero with the other responsibilities you have as an adolescent?"

"Honestly, not well. You know how people say 'you can sleep when you're dead'? Yeah, that's a lie." 

"I'm lucky enough to have a good memory so I don't have to study much, otherwise my grades in school would tank. For me, the real struggle is finding time to do chores." 

"I prioritize my other responsibilities. I don't usually face world-ending, city-destroying threats like these two, which allows me the luxury of saving hero work for after my homework is finished."

And: "Where do you go when you want to de-stress after saving the day?"

"I usually go over to my friends' and play video games. I feel safe around them."

"If the sun's still up, Mr. Smoothie. But if it's late, I like to go out for chili fries."

"The library. I know it makes me sound like a nerd, but whatever. I am a nerd. Who cares."

And: "How do your parents figure in to you heroic activities?"

"They... don't know. They don't exactly have a great opinion of ghosts, and they don't recognize me when... I mean, they don't recognize me anymore. So I guess they don't figure in." That wasn't entirely true, but Danny wasn't about to say they shot at him in front of a crowd of hundreds of people.

"My parents are actually very supportive. At first, they wanted me to quit, because they were worried about my safety, but I changed their minds. They raised me to know right from wrong, and to help others whenever I can, and they're proud of me."

"My parents don't know either, and I don't live with them right now because I live on my school campus, so I guess, like Phantom, my parents don't really figure in either."

They were easy questions to answer, even if Danny didn't always tell the whole truth. John kept things light, focusing mostly on them being teenagers, and how being a hero affected that aspect of their life, rather than the other way around. There were a couple questions about battles and enemies, but for the most part, they avoided the heavy stuff.

Then, about halfway into the panel, John opened it up to the audience to ask questions.

They didn't shy away from the heavy stuff.

"Hi, I'm Mandy, big fan," said a girl with curly brown hair. "I have two questions for Ben, first is, are you dating anyone?"

Ben chuckled, trying to sound amused, even though, up close, Danny could tell the question made him uncomfortable.

"No, I'm not dating right now."

The girl giggled for a moment before asking her next question. "My next question is: when you're fighting an alien invasion basically by yourself, do you ever feel afraid?"

Ben didn't answer right away. He took a breath, and nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I know I'm strong, and there's a lot that I can do and have done, but when I'm outnumbered a thousand to one, yeah, I'm a little afraid."

"Not that you were ever actually by yourself," Lucky Girl pointed out.

"Heh," Ben rubbed his neck awkwardly. "That's true. Even if there weren't many, I've always had people in my corner."

The next person who stepped up was a guy in a Danny Phantom T-shirt which read 'it's not gay if he's dead.'

Danny immediately groaned and Ben grinned hugely. "Before you ask your question, I have a question for you. Where did you get that shirt?"

"I got it at a souvenir shop when I went to Amity Park, but I think you can buy them online, too," they guy said.

"I'm getting one."

Danny groaned even more insistently.

"My question is for Phantom. If you hadn't died, do you think you still would have become a hero, and protected your home from ghosts?"

"Honestly? I don't know," Danny admitted. "Amity Park does have other ghost hunters, the Fentons and Red Huntress, for example. If I hadn't d... if I didn't have my powers, I wouldn't really have the ability to protect anybody. I'd probably leave it to the ghost hunters who were better equipped."

"And for Lucky Girl, are you single?"

"Ha ha no," she said flatly. "I have a boyfriend."

"Figures."

Next up was a girl in some pretty fantastic Lucky Girl cosplay. Her wig even lit up. Although she looked like she was quite a bit taller than the real thing.

"Lucky Girl, do your periods ever interfere with fighting crime?"

"Uh... that's a bit personal," Lucky Girl said instantly, as if the answer was instinctive. 

But when she saw the way the girl reacted like she'd been slapped, hunching in on herself with shame, Lucky Girl bit her lip and answered anyway. 

"Actually... the life of a superhero is really stressful. The kind of stress that has... biological effects. When I first started fighting crime as, like, a regular thing, I didn't have a period for months. When I finally did again it was... you know what, I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, it was really bad. Like, my doctor prescribed me pills to stop me from menstruating bad. So... I guess the answer to your question is 'not anymore' and also sorry for the TMI." She finished with a short grimace.

"Thank you for answering," the girl said before going to sit back down.

Ben covered his mic and turned to her. "How come I never knew about that?"

"Are you kidding?" Lucky Girl muttered back. "Like I'm gonna discuss my cycle with a fifteen-year-old boy."

Ben didn't even attempt to argue with that.

As... much as those questions were, it was the next one that really stopped everything in its tracks.

"Hi, I'm Michael. I don't know if you know about this video that's going around. It was only posted, like, less than an hour ago, but it's really blown up in fan circles already," the young man said. "The video shows Phantom and Ben 10... I guess playing a game or something? Where you guys are asking each other if you'd done certain things and basically comparing experiences with each other? Do you know it?"

Ben and Danny shot each other anxious looks.

"Uh... I haven't seen it, but I think we know what you're talking about," Ben answered cautiously. "Is that your question?"

"No, my question is... well, in the video you guys are talking about alternate timelines, and fighting evil versions of yourselves, and getting mind-controlled, and changing reality. I guess my question is. Did all that stuff really happen to you guys?"

Neither Ben nor Danny wanted to answer. They didn't look at each other, or the crowd. They deeply regretted playing a game that revealed such personal secrets in a public space.

Finally, Ben cleared his throat. "Yes, all that happened." Danny nodded his own confirmation. "The life we lead is a dangerous one, and it demands sacrifices, and it takes a lot from you, and it puts you in a lot of strange situations that few others can understand. It's... not for everyone."

The next fan stepped up to the mic. "Follow up questions. First, how are you guys like... functional? Because I mean, if I'd gone through the kind of stuff you were talking about in that video, I think I'd have a mental breakdown. Second, why would you put yourselves through all that?"

"Well, first off, bold of you to assume I've never had a mental breakdown," Danny said. "And secondly, if we don't do it, who will?" he asked. "We're not just random ordinary high schoolers who up and decided to subject ourselves to unspeakable trauma just for the fun of it. 

"We do this because we have the power to do things others can't, to fight enemies other people can't fight. We do this because if we don't... if we don't, people die. Or worse. People experience the kind of things we do trying to protect them. So I guess the answer to both of your questions is, what other choice do we have?"

"Yeah, exactly what Danny said," Ben agreed. "I tried to give up my powers, and my responsibilities once, and people got hurt because of it. My grandpa.... Because I wanted to live a normal life, to take it easy, there was no one else to protect them. It is every individual's responsibility to do what they can to help others. It just so happens that we can do more than most, and that comes with drawbacks. 

"Lucky Girl, care to weigh in? You weren't in the video, but I know you've had your share of superhero related trauma."

"I think you guys pretty much covered it," she replied. "I don't think I've been through quite as much as you two, but I definitely know about the sacrifices we make for this life. I also know that it's worth it to know that the people and places you love are safe and protected because of you."

The boy's both nodded in agreement.

The questions didn't really lighten up after that. "What's the worst experience you've ever had as a hero?" "Have you ever failed to protect someone?" "We heard Ben 10 say so already, but have you ever wanted to quit, or wished you never had powers in the first place?"

After a point, John noticed how uncomfortable they were getting and had to step in and ask that the next few questions not be so dark.

A younger girl, maybe even a middle schooler, hand mercy on them at last, and asked, "What was the funniest thing that ever happened to you while you were saving the day?" and from there the questions finally eased up.

It felt like it had been far longer than an hour when the session ended, and they left the stage and returned to their booths to sign autographs and shake hands and listen to dozens of people gushing, "I'm you're biggest fan!"

They didn't pick up their game again, even when things got slow. Evidently they'd learned their lesson. And they kept learning it as more and more of the people who came to visit them asked about that video. Each time Danny had to smile and laugh it off, the regret deepened. 

It had been a while since he felt like such a complete idiot. Since he'd done something so thoughtless. He'd gotten a lot better at keeping secrets over the years, but he'd just been so excited to talk with someone he had so much in common with—and yeah, he'd probably gotten a little too competitive also. He should have known better.

"So uh... I was at your panel earlier," said a girl who placed a science magazine on the table for him to sign. The cover touted an article about 10 Things You Didn't Know About Ghosts (they have their own culture!). Danny remembered doing that interview.

"That's nice, thanks for coming," Danny said, his smile tensing. "Do you want me to sign the cover, or the page with the article."

"The cover please," the girl said. "For Marnie. And um... I was too nervous to stand up and ask before, but... I was really curious."

"Oh?" Danny asked, keeping his eyes on his hand as he signed the cover 'To Marnie, stay spooky'.

"Why would you make it a game?" she asked. "Wouldn't it be better to try to forget all those things?"

"Easier said than done," Danny said. "Things like that stay with you. Turning them into a joke or a game takes the power away from those bad memories. When you're laughing at your fears, what can they do to you? That's the way I see it. Ben might have another reason, and technically, it was his game. He came up with it."

"So... what you're saying is, laughter is the best medicine?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Danny agreed. He slid the magazine back to her. "Thanks for coming by."

Finally, Danny's shift was over, and Ben's ended at the same time. Just in time, too, because Danny was just about out of photos. He'd have to get more for tomorrow. He signed his last picture with a sigh of relief, thankful that the convention staff had come by to cut off the line when it was about time for him to be finished.

"You finished too, Danny?" Ben asked.

"Yup."

"You wanna go get lunch with us? Wait... do ghosts eat?"

"We do, but I was gonna meet up with my friends for lunch today, and then explore the convention a little." Danny said. "Are you gonna be here tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'm here for the whole con," Ben said. "Here, let me give you my number. We should keep in touch."

"Totally!" Danny agreed. "It'll be nice to have an actual superhero friend. I love Sam and Tucker, but there are some things...."

"Yeah, I get what you mean."

After swapping numbers the two of them headed off to their separate engagements. Danny transformed and got to experience what else Hero Con had to offer without getting swarmed by fans like he saw happening to Ben that afternoon.

They met up again the next day. Chatted at their booths, had lunch together, checked out the fan artists, just hung out for a while. This time around, Danny didn't have his human form to protect him from the crowds. 

That video of their game haunted them both for the rest of the convention. People kept bringing it up until it became almost more annoying than mortifying. 

When Hero Con finally ended, they both breathed sighs of relief. The convention was over, but Ben and Danny kept in touch. They never did have that rematch though. In fact, they were both pretty much done with 'Have-You-Ever'.

[strangersteddierthings]

What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Pizza order successfully placed, Steve dials Robin's number next. He doesn't need to talk long, just... hear her voice. Maybe get some verbal support.

"Buckley residence."

"Thank God it's you," Steve sighs in relief to hear Robin's voice on the other end. There was a little bit of dread that her mom might have answered and then he'd be stuck on the phone while she tried to chat with him.

"Whoa. Was hosting the nerdfest that bad?" Robin asks, laughter in her voice.

"Uhh," Steve starts, because he's eloquent like that.

"Oh no. Was is that bad? What happened?"

He feels a flood of warmth for Robin's immediate concern. "No, no, nerdfest was fine. I, uhh, mostly I'm calling because Eddie and I are gonna, like, hang out and talk and I just- I dunno. Wanted to hear your voice, first."

"Oh. Really? Well. Here's my voice. This is you hearing it."

He laughs at that. "Thanks. It's just, I think it's gonna be, like, a bathroom floor kind of conversation, except in my living room on a couch."

"Oh! I can be there in ten if you need me."

"Nah. This is just- me needing to hear your voice, and also a warning that I might have to crawl through your window and fall apart on your bed later. Just don't know how this is going to go."

"I'm here if you need me. Are you going to talk about Freshman First Day?"

"We, uhh, already did. Mostly. There's been apologies and now we're gonna talk. Get to know each other. Play 20 questions, I guess."

Robin laughs at that. "Alright. Ask him if he's ever going to get me the sandwich he owes me from back in November."

"What?"

"You know, his whole cafeteria speech thing? Stepped right on my ham and cheese. It did make him slip and almost brain himself, and he did apologize. Told me he owed me a new sandwich. I never got it. Ask for me."

"We'll see. Okay, I'm going to go but, thank you. Love you."

"Love you, too. Window will be ajar."

Steve hangs up, then opens the fridge. He debates grabbing them beers but opts for soda. Back in the living room Steve finds Eddie sitting like a normal person on the couch, one leg bouncing relentlessly. Even with his superficial knowledge of Eddie, he can tell he's nervous. Not nervous Eddie would be perched on the back of his couch, ruining the cushions with whatever junk is on the bottom of his shoes. Probably.

"Soda?" Steve offers, plopping himself on the other end of the couch, hand outstretched for Eddie to take the beverage.

"Thanks." The bouncing of Eddie's leg pauses for a moment while he's opening and chugging half the can in one swift motion, then the bouncing starts again.

"Hey, man, relax. You didn't seem nearly as nervous when you were trying to sneakily hang out earlier."

Eddie lets out a big sigh. "Yeah, well, I didn't know you hated me then."

"I don't hate you."

"Oh, shit, no. Not what- I meant, like, past tense. Hated as in, used to hate. Not present tense."

"Ah. Well, I don't think I 'hated as in used to hate' past, like, three months into my freshman year. This is going to be the most self-absorbed shit ever, but, like, once I became popular, I couldn't be bothered to hate you. Didn't have the time to put towards that."

"Oh, of that I've no doubt. That was absolutely the read everyone who tried to interact with you got."

Steve ducks his head to hide his own embarrassment by fiddling with the can in his hands. "I thought you wanted to do, like, 20 questions or something."

"Oh. Serious? You'll do it?"

"Yeah."

"Right then. What even are the rules for 20 questions? Is it 20 questions each, or in total asked?"

"I dunno, man. I don't think people actually keep track. I think we just ask questions until we're done with talking. I guess the rules are don't lie, and if you don't want to answer a question, then don't. Pass on it, or whatever."

Eddie nods but he's still nervous, leg still bouncing. A look on his face so close to fear it makes Steve ache a little. He knows too well what far looks like on Eddie, experienced a week's worth of it.

Steve can start. Ease them into this. "Do you got a favorite color?"

Eddie shifts then. Turns sideways on the couch to lean against the armrest and face him. "Wait. One more rule. No mocking answers. You may laugh once at an answer."

"If you are about to tell me it's hot pink, I cannot follow that rule."

"It's not hot pink. Jesus. It's, uhh, brown, actually," Eddie says, rolling his can between his hands. "It used to be red but. I dunno. When I think of red, now, I think of the sky in the upside down and how that was almost the last thing I ever saw. I think of blood, and bleeding out."

And here he thought he was easing them into this with the most basic of questions. Eddie's already being vulnerable. "Follow up question, if you'll allow it. Why brown?"

"What's wrong with brown?"

"Nothing. Just thought you'd pick black or something," Steve gestures to all of Eddie.

At that, Eddie looks down at his mostly black outfit, the only part of it with any color is the DIO album art on his shirt, then back up. "Fair point. I guess brown just makes me think of home. The wooden porch, the paneling, brown dirt road that leads to the trailer. It's also, like, a good eye color. Exhibit A," He waves his hand in front of his face, batting his eyes exaggeratedly. It pulls a laugh from Steve.

"I can't argue that," Steve waves towards his face, where his own eyes have been described by many a girl as ranging from hazel to honey, but Steve just thinks of them as brown. "Your turn, man."

"You, tragically, had never heard of Ozzy before we met. What's your music of choice, and why is it the Top 40?"

"Like everybody didn't hear you singing along to I Wanna Dance With Somebody last week when it came on the radio at the Byers' Barbecue-"

"Whitney is a national treasure and I will not be slandered for knowing the words to any of her songs."

"Yeah, yeah. I guess it was just the Top 40, but really I don't have a preference. I just let other people pick the music. And, uhh, with the multiple concussions I don't listen to as much music as I used to. The migraines are brutal. It's never the music that brings on the migraine but like, it never helps, y'know?"

Eddie is nodding. "I do know. Like when you get sick and vomit, you avoid the last thing you ate, even when it turns out to be the flu and not food poisoning. Like, you know it wasn't the mango milkshake that made you throw up, but you avoid the mango flavor anyway."

There's definitely a full story in that somewhere. Maybe Steve will ask about it later. "Kinda? I don't avoid music but I don't think I've put a record or cassette in the player in months. Anyway, my turn. How'd you learn to play the guitar?"

"Wayne. He started teaching me before I live with him. Just a few chords when we'd visit every so often when I was little. Really got to learn after he took me in. I was eleven, if memory serves."

"Am I allowed to ask about your parents?" Steve interrupts.

"Yeah. Speaking of parents," Eddie's nervous again, bouncing his leg.

"It's your turn. Ask."

"I know the high school reputation. Big house, no parents. I might have even snuck over a few times to sale here when I knew a party was happening. Rich kids will pay whatever price you name, y'know? So, guess the actual question is, what's the deal there, with your parents?"

Steve would laugh except he has no memory of ever seeing Eddie at his house prior to all the fuckery that's gone down. He was too in his own head to bother with other people back then. And the real kicker? He probably bought from Eddie, at his own house, with his supposed grudge and all. God, he was such a dick. "Yeah. Lots of business trips, for them. The used to ship me off to spend a month with my grandparents when I was little, so they could take those trips. Guess once I was old enough to watch after myself, those trips started to happen whenever, instead of just over summer."

"What, they left you here alone as a kid? Even during the school year?"

Eddie sounds so scandalized it'd be funny if it wasn't so sad. Steve says, "I wouldn't say kid. I was fourteen, so, like, a teenager. But, yeah, gone a lot. More and more with each passing year. I mean, they've been back, but like, for a day or two. Mom switching out what jewelry she wanted and dad bit by bit emptying his office." He pauses with a frown, remembering now the last time he did see his parents face to face. "It was about halfway through senior year. The last time they were here. They didn't even come to my graduation."

Eddie sucks in a breath and Steve can visibly see him hold back some choice words.

"Anyway, long sob story short, I'm still just a rich kid with absent parents. They don't charge me rent or anything, but I pay to keep the lights on."

"That just adds so many more questions to my list."

"Well, it's my turn now, so. What got you into Dungeons and Dragons?"

Eddie looks surprised, and then guilty. "I've always liked fantasy. And, uhh, my Freshman First Day, the DnD booth was set up in the cafeteria, an okayish looking dragon drawn on the poster taped to the booth's edge. And, uh, I approached..."

"No one told you to fuck off?"

"I didn't tell you to fuck off."

"Might've hurt less if you had," Steve hadn't even meant that to be insulting, or insinuating, but it doesn't land. He'd been aiming for teasing and missed the mark, given the way Eddie jerks back, like he's trying to put more distance between them. "Oh, shit, Eddie, I didn't mean- I was-"

The doorbell rings out and both jump, turning to the front door like it might bite them. The bell chimes again, and it's then Steve remembers he ordered pizza. Wordlessly Steve gets up and deals with that. Pays for the pizza and gives a tip, stops in the kitchen long enough to grab some napkins, then folds himself back onto the couch, placing the pizza box on the cushions between them.

The time away from the couch, less than three minutes in total, Steve thinks, was enough to calm Eddie again, since he starts the teasing, "greasy pizza box directly onto the cushions! That'll never come out you know."

Steve shrugs and grins, flipping the box open to grab a pizza slice. "That's a problem for Future Steve."

Eddie grabs his own slice, and they just eat their first slices in silence before Steve breaks that, "I really wasn't trying to- earlier, I was trying to joke. About Freshman First Day. Not, uh, not like, pick a fight. So, if you still want to talk, I think it's your turn to ask a question. Any question. A big question."

"Alright. A big one. Who is Christopher?"

"Okay. Uh, just, give me a moment. I'll answer and I'm gonna be real honest right now with you, so just let me get through this, ok?"

Eddie nods, reaching for a second slice of pizza.

Steve gathers his thoughts, and speaks. "Christopher was my cousin. His family lives in Washington, so I don't see them much. You know that 'shipped off to the grandparents' thing I told you about earlier? Christopher, and his younger siblings, Amber and Robert, also came out to visit.

"I think my grandparents loved to have us all there. My cousins were there for family time, and I was there to just... not be in my parent's way, I think, but the reason why doesn't matter. The important bit. Christopher was two years older than me, and I thought he was the coolest person in the world. I wanted to be just like him. That last summer we spent together, he told me all about the game of Dungeons and Dragons he'd played with his club at school.

"It made me want to play. I was a kid who loved fantasy, too. I had to pretend to leave that behind when I got into middle school; too afraid of disappointing my dad for still liking make believe. I didn't know at the time that making him proud was just something I'd never achieve.

"Anyway, Christopher introduced me to the game, told me the entire campaign they'd run at his school, and then sent me those books. He's the reason I was at the booth that day. If Christopher could play sports and be a nerd, maybe I could, too? But, uh, that didn't go how I planned in my head. And, then. Then," Steve stops here, a knot in his throat but his eyes dry. It's not that he doesn't still mourn the loss of Christopher, it's just that the tears have dried up long ago. "Christopher committed suicide, that year. Halfway through the school year. I think... I think even if I had joined your club, if you had let me take that flier, I would have dropped out after the funeral. I'd wanted to join so bad so that Christopher would be proud of me."

The room has lost focus, now. Steve is staring forward but he doesn't really see Eddie anymore. It's like he's fallen into his thoughts and nothing else exists anymore. "It's a bit fucked up, but being older than me, I think I looked for approval in him that I didn't find in my dad, or maybe I wanted to be him because his parents were so proud of everything he did and I wanted that. Approval. I- it's- I think I used to confuse the two. Approval and love. Maybe I still do? I dunno.

"I guess I just wrapped all that up, the need for approval, Christopher's suicide, my love for fantasy, and shoved it in the same bottle deep down that I kept my anger at you in," Steve blinks himself back into the present. Takes in Eddie's face, a mix of sad and fond, like he wants to wrap Steve in a hug. Steve would probably let him. "That wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry."

Eddie shakes his head no. "You don't have to apologize to me, Stevie. I get it. You wore your jockness that same way I wear The Freak. Like armor. You weren't wrong, earlier, when you said we were dumb kids who learned to lash out and hurt first, so we couldn't be hurt. I was fucking, no, I am still like that. I mean, I just lashed back out at you when all you did was point out how I'd acted to you."

"Yeah, well, life gives everyone a shit hand sometimes. I used to capitalize on that. Kick people when they were down. It's- it's humbling and, like, awful, to unpack that. I know I'm still working on it, but I didn't have to do it alone. Robin and Dustin have been there for me. Great. They call me on my bullshit and it's easier to take then, hearing it from people I know who care about me."

"Guess I better ask find someone to call me out then."

"Haven't you already?" Steve asks, gesturing to himself.

Eddie barks a laugh. "I- yeah, I guess. You sayin' you care, Harrington?"

"Of course I do, man. We wouldn't be doing this -talking about deep shit and getting pizza grease all over my couch- if I didn't."

He watches Eddie turn red, and hide behind his hair. "Could just be doing it for the kids."

"I could. Guess you'll have to trust I'm not. That I also want a do over."

Eddie shoots him a big smile, dimples on full display, and Steve's happy to let go of his grudge if it means Eddie will smile at him like that more.

-

((Looks like there's going to be one more part. Thought this would be the last one but the boys wouldn't cooperate so next part.))

[slightlyunconventional]

long overdue second dbhwks fic (2.8k)

SLAVED AWAY at this for days (i didnt. i could have done it in one but i procrastinated so much it’s unbelievable. but heres some food) quite happy w how it came out too if i do say so myself,, hope u enjoy!! 🫶

-

“Sorry I’m late.” Dabi. He’s picked the damn lock again. 

“Oh my god, do you seriously not know how to knock?” Hawks calls back, practically skipping into the living room. 

“Don’t wanna stand around outside your door like a creep, thanks,” deadpans the villain. Hawks rolls his eyes.

“You look like more of a creep picking the lock, but sure. Come here.”

He takes Dabi by the hand and leads him toward the couch. His fingers are warm, like usual. God, has Hawks missed that. Between hero work, villainy, and conflicting schedules they’d barely had time to see each other and, man, was it miserable. It takes everything in him not to bowl Dabi over with an absolutely suffocating embrace - it’d probably kill the man. 

Dabi raises his eyebrows. “You cleaned?” 

Hawks had expected Dabi to notice, but not point it out, so he’s a little caught off guard by the halfway-question. “Oh, yeah,” he says, a fraction sheepishly, “Is it too much?”

“Mm, no, looks good,” Dabi smirks, “Makes a nice change from all the crap you’ve usually got lying around.” Hawks hits him playfully and he laughs, clear and smooth, not at all like the peals brimming with malice he’d usually hear from Dabi.

“Uuugh, I hate you, leave me alone,” he complains. When Dabi’s eyebrows raise again, Hawks pulls a face and adds, “I’m a busy man! I don’t have time to clean!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m flattered.”

He sits Dabi down on the couch, maybe a little too eagerly, and comes down to straddle the taller man’s lap. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, before pressing his lips to Dabi’s with an urgency that only comes from being deprived of seeing one’s lover for far too long. Dabi loosens underneath Hawks and they quickly fall into a long practised pattern, all pretences dropped for this moment of touch-starved tenderness. Nothing exists outside of this room, everything is so warm, and Hawks melts even more when he feels Dabi smile against his lips.

“Seems like someone missed me,” murmurs the villain, voice sleek and low. The response is simply a hand laced through the dyed-black hair at the back of Dabi’s head, taking hold of him and pulling him closer with nothing short of absolute need. In turn, Dabi’s hands find the small of Hawks’ back, and heat begins to pool in his stomach as they slowly threaten to sneak closer to the bases of his wings. And his lips are warm, so warm, and he always seems to know exactly what to do with them to make Hawks collapse like putty in his hands. For a crazed villain who incinerates shit for fun, Dabi’s a fucking good kisser. 

…And a tease, apparently! Hawks knows that Dabi knows how badly he wants this, and how long he’s been waiting - yet he still seems to be taking his sweet time. He can feel the villain absently tracing circles into his back, with the same pace as his mouth is working against Hawks’. The little shit. He knows exactly what he’s doing; well, two can play at that game. Hawks takes it as a challenge, takes Dabi’s scarred face between his hands, and takes control. He presses closer, kissing the man with some previously unseen vigour, practically forcing him to match the increased pace. A little wave of triumph passes through Hawks as he hears Dabi’s breath catch in the back of his throat, nearly silent, but they’re close enough that nothing can really go unheard. Feeling like he’s succeeded, Hawks goes to indulge further, perhaps elicit some more reactions like that, when he feels Dabi’s hand leave his back. Before he can register it properly, the hand is upon his chest, pushing with some insistence. Hawks pulls away, panicked.

“Oh, shit, fuck, sorry, was that too much?”

The arm Dabi has outstretched towards Hawks’ chest slackens slightly, as do his facial features. He doesn’t reply, but rather his lips part and his eyes glaze over, forming an expression so laced with vulnerability that Hawks is almost taken aback - though, he can’t dwell on the display for long, as he’s quickly instead watching Dabi bring his other hand, curled tightly into a fist, up to his own face and press it most firmly to the underside of his nose. His chest rises once with an inhale not unlike before, only this time a little louder and deeper, and he ducks forward slightly with two slightly-awkwardly stifled sneezes.

“hhahh-! ..hh’nGXT! kxNTsh! Ugh, fuck.”

“Oh!” Hawks says, a little surprised, “Bless you.” A part of him wants to chide the villain for holding it in like that, but he refrains, knowing full well he himself would stifle exactly the same.

Dabi hums in lieu of a thanks, and Hawks returns his hand to his boyfriend’s face and leans back in.

“Can I go back to kissing you now?” he murmurs.

Dabi rolls his eyes but drapes his arms lazily over Hawks’ shoulders, an invitation, yes, you can go back to kissing me now. Their lips interlock once again, picking up where they left off, with Hawks feeling absolutely on top of the world from the fact that he’s doing the work here, he’s the one kissing Dabi, not the other way around. He’s never been opposed to Dabi taking control, in fact he loves being ravaged by the man, but sue him, sometimes it feels good to be the one doing the ravaging. However, his elation at this seems to be poorly concealed, or perhaps Dabi just wants to knock him down a peg, because Hawks feels teeth closing on his bottom lip. Not so hard that it hurts, but just enough to tease an audible gasp from him as he tenses up on Dabi’s lap. He’s fairly certain he’s never needed someone all over him so badly until this point. Clearly it shows, too, since Dabi insists on being such a menace and playing the long game with him. Well, Hawks decides that’s not going to fly; he presses in closer, almost entirely closing the gap between them and slides his other hand behind Dabi’s head, not-so-subtly tugging him closer and kissing him harder, once more regaining the upper hand. He takes to gently thumbing back and forth against the base of Dabi’s neck, to which the man lets out, involuntarily, a little noise of satisfaction, finally accepting submission. Hawks is almost tempted to bite Dabi back, but maybe that’d be pushing his luck. Besides, this side of Dabi - soft, pliant, accepting - is one he rarely sees, and he’s kind of into it. It’s a good look on the villain. 

Before long, however, their rhythm is broken once again. One of the arms laying around Hawks’ neck begins to move, and the hand meets his shoulder. Hawks has a sneaking feeling he knows what’s coming (for the second time), as Dabi’s hand pushes against his shoulder - slowly, though, as if he’s really trying to prolong the inevitable. It really doesn’t seem like he wants to pull away, so Hawks does it for him, gently separates their faces, strangely endeared by Dabi’s reluctance - and it seems he did so at exactly the right moment. Being so close to him, Hawks can easily see the way his face immediately crumples, eyes flickering shut and lips parting with an inhale that sounded as though it had been waiting to be drawn for… a while. In a split second, he’s tugging the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand with some urgency, and Hawks catches the flare of his nostrils right before he pinches his nose, clamping the thick black fabric over the bottom half of his face. There’s hardly six inches between the two of them, so Dabi twists awkwardly to the side with a set of cruelly stifled sneezes.

“hh’GKTtch! ‘KXXSHh! Ugh, god– h-hahH’KGXt’sh!”

They sound harsher this time around, harder to stifle, probably.

“Bless,” says Hawks, “You okay?”

“Mm… yeah, just something really… stings,” Dabi replies. He’s knuckling the side of his nose with some force.

“You’re, uh, not getting sick are you?” Hawks asks, unable to conceal the tinge of nervousness that seeps into his tone. As much as he loves the man, he’s got some long days on patrol coming up soon, and a cold from Dabi would severely compromise him.

Dabi raises an eyebrow. “I’m not that much of an asshole, Kei.”

“Right-! Yeah, no, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t really think there.” Hawks grimaces internally at himself, and Dabi shakes his head.

“Ugh, Jesus, hold on–” He turns away again, breath wavering, “hehh’nGXKt!” A shaky exhale escapes from him as he releases his nose.

“So, what’s got you all worked up, then?” asks Hawks, teasing.

Dabi half-sighs, half-groans, and replies, “Don’t know, but I wish it would fucking stop.” As if for emphasis, the sentence is punctuated with an irritated-sounding sniffle.

“Well, it probably would if you stopped stifling like that,” Hawks says pointedly. That earns him a hazy blue-eyed glare… that doesn’t last long, since Dabi’s squinting again, and his mouth curls up into the beginnings of something akin to a snarl. Hawks smirks as he ducks into the crook of his sweater-clad elbow to muffle yet another sneeze.

“hehH’DSHHh’uh! What the fuck?”

At least he didn’t stifle it.

Hawks hums. “Bless you.” He sends a feather to retrieve a box of tissues, then decides the villain probably also needs some space, so he manoeuvres himself gracelessly off Dabi’s lap to sit beside him on the couch. 

“Very elegant,” Dabi remarks.

“Ugh, shut up,” he replies, elbowing Dabi in the ribs. The laugh this elicits almost straight away rises into a staggered gasp, that itself turns into a pair of hastily covered sneezes.

“hhahH’KXXTshuh! hh’huuhh’DZSHHhue!”

“Jeez, bless you.”

Dabi sniffles thickly. “Yeah.”

Hawks’ feather zips back into the room and drops a box of tissues into Dabi’s lap - the thicker, softer ones that the hero always insists on buying despite them being double the price of regular ones. 

“Sounds like they’re getting stronger,” Hawks observes, a note of concern in his tone, but then adds, more teasingly, “Not allergic to me, are you?”

Dabi scoffs and tugs a couple of tissues from the box. “I wish,” he says, scrubbing at his nose. “Then I’d actually have an excuse to avoid your annoying ass.”

“Wow, okay, that was so uncalled for. Just say you hate me at that point.”

It’s Dabi’s turn to elbow Hawks back. He probably deserves it. 

 “Ow, bitch,” he says in mock offence. 

“You’re the bitch,” comes the reply, from behind a handful of tissues (which are then promptly screwed up and tossed, flying in a neat arc, straight into the trash on the other side of the room). 

“Whatever, bitch. Are you done sneezing yet? This couch isn’t as comfy as your thighs-”

“Ugh, shut up, you are so weird,” Dabi interjects in fond disgust. 

“Oh my god, what if you’re allergic to my apartment being clean? Then I never have to clean ever again, hah!”

Dabi gives him a look. “You say that as a joke, but honestly, you migh-might be right…hh.. hehH’KXNTtsh’uh!”

Dabi’s expression falls midway through his sentence, brows drawing together and eyes narrowing as he gives into another sneeze, hastily half-stifled against the back of his hand.

“Seriously,” Hawks deadpans, eyebrows raised. That’s new, he thinks.

“Well, unless you’ve suddenly acquired a pet cat - which I doubt - then yeah, seriously,” says the villain flatly, though with a note of congestion starting to creep into his voice. “Last I checked, your place didn’t reek of fuckin’ –all of spring and then some.” 

Hawks suddenly remembers the air freshener he’d used–the only one he had, some floral one found right at the back of a cupboard, unused for entirely too long. He hadn’t had a clue what clean apartments were supposed to smell of, so he’d sort of just… went ham with it. Definitely a mistake.

“Don’t slander my choice in scents,” he teases, “Are you sure it’s… that?”

“Nothing else changed ‘round here, has it?” Dabi pauses to give his nose a brief rub. “I’m here practically every week and I’ve been fine, so, you tell me.”

Hawks will never not poke the bear when he’s got the opportunity, so he says, “So this does mean I never have to clean the place ever again, right?”

Dabi’s mouth falls open as he feigns offence. He says, dramatically, “Wow. That’s all you have to say? When I could literally die right now in front of you? I’m.. hah- I’m-”

Hawks snickers. “Bless you,” he sing-songs prematurely, utterly pleased with himself. It’s almost cute, the attempted glare Dabi gives him through his glazed over expression. Nobody can look menacing in the slightest when they’re trying not to sneeze (and that’s a fact!).

“Sh-shut uhhhp..” replies Dabi, his voice quavering. He lifts a hand slowly, bringing it to hover weakly before his face. His breathing is unsteady and his eyes half-lidded, and the crease between his dark brows deepens.

“Okay, point proven, idiot,” Hawks says with a laugh, “Just sneeze, this is torture even for me.”

The hazy glare returns, and Hawks clocks it. 

“Oh!” he laughs, giving Dabi a slightly bewildered smile. “Oh my god, I jinxed it. You deserve that ‘cause you’re mean to me.”

“I hahh-hate you-” Dabi responds breathily. He rubs at the side of his nose with two knuckles, pressing decently harder than is probably necessary. The bridge crinkles in irritation when the rubbing clearly has no effect. “Jesus, it won’t go away.”

“Mm, what a shame.”

There goes a third bleary glare from the villain. “I’d like to remind you wh-whose fault thhihhs.. was in the first place,” he says. Any malice intended to be behind his utterance is immediately negated by his breath catching and wavering through the words. Though, at a point, Hawks begins to feel a little… voyeuristic just watching Dabi struggle. Sure, he’s his boyfriend and all, and yeah, he’s definitely seen worse, but it’s easy to tell Dabi’s getting a little self-conscious about this… spectacle. He’s never been a fan of having things out of his control, especially not displays of vulnerability like this, and Hawks knows this, so why prolong it?

“Well, I guess there’s only one thing for it,” he says, taking matters into his own hands. 

“Fuck off- what–” Dabi gets out, as Hawks takes his face between his hands and begins to press kisses softly down the bridge of his nose. Hawks doesn’t let him twist away from it, trying not to laugh to himself about how dumb this probably looks. At least one of them is having fun. He considers pulling away with a “Gonna sneeze yet?”, but refrains - he’d probably end up on fire. He does, however, pause for a moment when he reaches Dabi’s trio of silver nose studs, hovering. There’ve been feathery, wavering breaths coming from his boyfriend consistently but, nothing has come to fruition, so Hawks decides–those piercings have always been sensitive, a fact he’d discovered about Dabi rather early on (and maybe, possibly sometimes used to be a menace). He plants a final, delicate kiss right upon where the three studs lie, and finally lets Dabi pull away.

“Oh, oh, fuck– s-screw you–hh’ehH’IIDTSSHh’uh! ‘kXXTS’SHhue! …Christ, you’re such an ass.” The pair of sneezes that result are harsh to say the very least. And even after all that, he still tries stifling the second– unsurprising, but at that point is it even worth it?

 “Sorry! I had to!” Hawks says, really trying to look like he isn’t laughing. It doesn’t work.

“You absolutely did not have to,” corrects Dabi. 

“Okaaay, okay, sorry. It was funny though.”

“Yeah, for you, maybe,” Dabi mutters, shaking his head, “Oh, fuck’s sake, hold on–”

“I’ll wait till you’re done to say bless you, this time,” says Hawks with a fond snicker. 

“Good plah-an–! hhuh’hHDSHH’SHuh! …Ugh, fuck.”

“Bless,” Hawks replies. He averts his eyes, a little sheepishly. Dabi pulls a face.

He asks, “What the fuck’s with the guilty face?” to which Hawks throws his head back with a groan and slides his hands across his face.

“I just wanted to do something nice,” he says, “You know, clean the place up a bit. Since it’s always kind of a massive mess.”

“Jesus, Kei, I don’t care about that,” says Dabi, breathing a laugh. “It’s you I’m here for, not your fuckin’ apartment. I can kiss you whether or not there’s crap on every surface.”

Hawks isn’t used to Dabi outright saying nice things, so his cheeks flush slightly hearing this. He’s unsure what to say. Thankfully, Dabi speaks again.

“Okay. Where didn’t you spray that shit?”

Hawks scoffs. “I sort of went crazy with it, uh… my bedroom? If that works?”

“Very forward,” Dabi replies, raising his eyebrows. “Almost like you wanted me in there.”

Hawks jabs him in the ribs but still smirks. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

[effervescentwolf]

lights will guide you home

buddie | rated T | 6k

A near future fic where buddie have recently started dating, and chris comes home. Lots of emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship, and kind of a 3+1: aka 3 times eddie says I love you and 1 time buck says it back.

Excerpt:

Buck sighs. “Do you think we should’ve waited?” he asks, shifting his weight a little, restless. “I know you asked, but still, I—I don’t want him to feel like he didn’t have a choice, or to be overwhelmed or anything.”

Eddie thinks it over. “I think it’s okay because he knows if he asked us not to, we wouldn’t.”

Buck’s gone still behind him.

“And if he asked you to break up with me, you would,” Eddie says, very quietly, frowning despite himself at the thought.

Buck exhales. “I don’t know if anything could get me to do that.”

Eddie’s chest feels tight. “You would for him, though?”

Buck doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, “Yeah. I would.”