#did it metaphorically and/or literally blow up in his not-face? yes. yes it did

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

after the party - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader can't let go of her wedding day so spencer needs to give a reminder of what weddings are really about

genre: flangst wc: 823 warnings: wedding, post-wedding-depression, talk of honeymoon and kids, reassuring, very brief mention of the wedding night, pessimist!reader

Your wedding was everything. It was perfect despite your worries. Beforehand, you thought up all that could possibly go wrong but it turned out that the moment you saw him waiting at the end of the flower-covered aisle, nothing could ruin it. There was cake, food, photos, smiles, and laughter. When it came to your first dance as, officially, Mr. and Mrs. Reid, Spencer revealed that he'd been taking dance lessons without your knowledge. He said he didn't want to mar your perfect wedding with his two left feet and poor coordination. You thought the idea was preposterous.

The planner he was, David Rossi offered to hold the event at his mansion. Who were you to pass that up? It ended up being everything you've ever dreamed of—fairy-lit backyard, family, and the man you love. Not to mention the party.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. While your wedding night was mind-blowing, you were upset to leave the day behind. Because you knew you'd revisit it forever.

And you already are.

Yes, you're now the wife of the most perfect man you've ever known but the best day of your life has also slipped away. Maybe that's dramatic and not at all what you should be focused on but you can't really help it, can you? Perhaps it's the petulant side of you. The side that yearns and holds on.

And maybe it's the metaphoric packing away of the memories that's contributing to this feeling. After all, you're quite literally picking up the night before and placing it in the garbage. Quite literally. Here you stand, in slippers and remnants of last night's makeup, picking bits of confetti and glitter off the ground. Leftover curls sit atop your head.

From behind you, familiar arms wrap around your waist. "You finished outside already?" you ask. Spencer shakes his head against your shoulder. "No, not yet. I just wanted to see you."

You smile, turning to face him, a hand coming up to hold his face. You remember yesterday, how he looked, smelled, admired you while—

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" your brows furrow.

He hums thoughtfully. You wonder if you'll ever feel how you did last night again. "You seem... distant," Spencer acknowledges, eyes narrowed.

"Oh."

Kindly, his eyes search yours, looking for any explanation because all he really wants is for you to be happy. He mutters softly, head dipping closer to your level, "tell me what I can do."

What can he do? You mean, he's a profiler, he's not going to let this go. So, you should tell him, right?

"I'm just... upset that it's over, I guess. I'll never be a bride again," you admit gently, voice unsure.

Spencer nods with understanding. His hand runs up and down your arm. "You're right... you'll never be a bride again," a small smile appears on his lips, "but you'll always be my wife."

It's true and you know it. You'll be his forever and ever. He'll be yours. Though, there's still that feeling that your best has passed you by.

"I suppose that's true..."

A sigh leaves him before he inquires with a faint, cheeky smile, "is that really why we got married? To have a party?"

You frown, shaking your head adamantly. "No! Come on, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't," he quips with more confidence than you were expecting. "Because, yes, our wedding is over, but now we move on to the next part and then the next and then the next."

You playfully roll your eyes at the simplicity of his words. Since you, he's become better at looking at things more positively. Probably because you don't.

"Think about it," he whispers.

"Think about what?" you hum, now a small smile on your lips.

Spencer grins with you, bringing his hand to yours. "What comes next. Look forward to our honeymoon instead of thinking about what's passed."

"Okay, fine. I'm only agreeing because I'm excited to go to Paris, though," you giggle softly.

In an awful French accent, he responds almost dreamily, "ah, Paris."

Leaning down, he places an exaggerated kiss to your cheek before sighing, “then whatever comes after. House, kids.”

“Kids,” you murmur happily. You’ve spoken about this.

“Yes. Let’s focus on the next few things, okay?” he smiles sweetly.

You nod your head. Spencer’s ability to soothe every line between your brows never fails to baffle you. Somehow, he can simultaneously calm and excite you with everything he does. Perhaps it’s in his nature or maybe he just knows you all too well. You like to think it’s the second option.

When his lips come down on yours in a gesture of warmth, you breathe out through your nose, a smile creeping up onto your mouth. It’s quick, lasting only a few seconds.

“Better?” Spencer mutters.

Humming in affirmation, you nod. Your thumb brushes the scruff on his chin. “Better.”

tags: @angellic4l @sweetestthingonthissideofhell @floraisunwell @1mnshw @mggslover

[scatter-snz]

Best Laid Plans - Part 2

Details: 12k, M sneezes, M/F (for now..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. It’s time for him to put his research to the test.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

AAAA EVERYONE ♥️ I am overwhelmed TwT. Thank you so much for sharing your likes, comments, reblogs, asks, and tags QwQ. My original stuff means a lot to me, so I’m really, REALLY touched that people enjoyed this!! To everyone who left kind words, you give me soul power 💕 I hope this part hits as hard as the first one did, and that you all like it!

Also wanted to quickly shout out @themiseryandcompany, @bestwhumpist, @juxtaposedrose, and @stormyweaver for going so hard in the tags!! Seriously kicking my feet and squealing, I felt spoiled by your commentary, thank you so much for all the love🥹

These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties!

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, Mess Lite™, fake contagion themes [nobody can catch this cold], exhibition / humiliation themes [main character gets horny in public], feeling pleasure from sneezing, masturbation).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

It was a little after 1930 in this timezone, standard military time. They’d started their final descent to the landing strip with the beginnings of a sunset smeared across a cloudless sky. And during the flight, Omicron learned three key pieces of information.

Firstly, he absolutely could not stop sneezing. It was simply impossible. He’d swaggered to his plushy recliner with hubris and paid for it about 57 minutes later after dutifully repressing every single rising urge that niggled his sinuses over the course of the hour. It grew and grew in him, increasingly worrisome in its size, until the tickle was just too strong to hold at bay. No amount of snorting, nose blowing, or finger rubbing would ward it back.

It forced him at metaphorical gunpoint to the closet-like bathroom, blindly staggering through tears and wrenching hitches, where he dropped to a crouch and then to his backside with almost a dozen cataclysmic sneezes. Each one worked his lungs like a bellows, dizzying him until he saw spots, winding him until he felt breathless. By the end he was wrecked, and clinging perilously to his self control. He realized then that his sneezing wouldn’t bring him to orgasm alone; it could only lead him to the edge and trap him there until he finished the job himself. Which he obviously couldn’t do in the agency’s aircraft lavatory.

So. He gave up on the ‘don’t sneeze until the jet lands’ plan.

Instead, Omicron washed his face, dried his hands, and resigned himself to minding his nose’s whims. His original hypothesis was correct - if he did nothing to deter his sneezes, they’d come at regular, but controllable, intervals. This remained consistent as long as he didn’t make the other critical error.

Which led him to the second issue: if his mind strayed too far toward anything sneeze-related, he armed the tickle with more ammo. His sneezes became unwieldy if he held them back, yes, but they also magnified to arousing proportions if he imagined literally anything tickling his nose. This was the hallmark of Dr. Voster’s virus - the ‘suggestion sneeze.’ So to avoid a case of blue balls, Omicron did his best not to ruminate on the ceaseless, beckoning sensation that lived in him now. This was by far the most trying aspect of his predicament.

And the third and final bit of info was an exasperating realization: Agent Delta was a chronic and committed blesser even in these circumstances.

“H-ah.. DZSshuh!” 

“Bless you.”

Omicron resisted the urge to rub his nose, and instead treated it to a dab from his beleaguered tissue. Any motion more substantial than that would goad it into further misbehavior. He wasn’t interested in another stumbling trip to the bathroom.

“Sir.” He sounded as congested as he felt; his voice was locked up in his sinuses. “You really don’t have to bless me every time.”

Delta patted Omicron’s knee. The two of them sat side by side, despite the sea of empty seats around them. “Aw, Omicron, you keep saying that. I really don’t mind.”

I mind, groused Omicron. That’s why I keep saying it. His gaze drifted to the porthole window and all the little, passing structures beneath. The ground drew closer meters at a time, just as the tickle, yet again, tugged him closer to a conclusion he’d given up fighting. He blinked wetly against the sensation, then let his eyes fall shut. The image of the tiny cars cruising down below lingered, each one speeding undeterred to a destination. They were perpetual. Indefinite. And it was far beyond Omicron’s ability to stop their momentum.

He felt the tickle lurch forward, ripping his breath into a shuddering, “-hUH!hh.. mbb..” Omicron swatched his finger beneath his nose, pausing when the tickle reprimanded him with a lancing spark. “eh-HEH!..hh..”

Hurry up already, he chided with a daring snub to his nose. His nostrils pulsed erratically, aggravated, and another gasp shivered out of him. “h-hh-hh.. HAH-TZSS!sss’uhh..”

“Bless you!” chirped Delta.

It was a particularly unsatisfying sneeze, and ridiculous as it was he felt mocked by his own nose. Omicron sniffled, sniffled again, trying to flare the tickle into action. But it wouldn’t budge. He dug at his eyes with his palms.

“Does your head hurt?” asked Delta.

Omicron dropped his hands and leaned his head back against the seat with another defeated sniffle. “Ndo, sir. Mby head doesn’d hurt.”

“Do you need more tissues?”

His fingernails bit into the palm of his hand. “Ndo, sihHH-”

Unwilling to endure another hygiene lecture, Omicron flinched both elbows to his face and kept his nose there. He heaved through a series of increasingly yearning breaths, light on the inhales, heavy on the exhales, shoulders lifting and dropping each time he thought the sneeze might grant him mercy. In the end it left him wanting. He dropped his arms and panted, eyes still closed, cheeks streaked with tears.

Delta cleared his throat and Omicron lulled his head in that direction, squinting through sticky eyelashes. His superior held a fresh pack of tissues in offering, and Omicron’s cheeks heated. How many of these did he bring??

He didn’t snatch them, but it was a near thing. Delta’s smile tilted with sympathy, and Omicron prickled like a wet cat. “You can vent your complaints to me if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Not sure what you mean,” he muttered through gritted teeth, scrubbing his nose with intentional strength. It stung, but served it right. 

“It’s okay to be grumpy, Omicron.” Delta spoke like he was soothing a startled horse. “I’m sure this is a tricky situation to manage.”

What remained of Omicron’s professional decorum disintegrated, and he snapped with a waspish, “What would you know?”

Delta’s eyebrows flew up and Omicron’s blood flashed cold. He hadn’t meant to say that. 

“P...Pardon mbe, sir,” he mumbled and lowered his tissue with a sniff. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was,” Delta agreed, his tone contemplative. “But it was also very out of character for you. I’ve seen you stay composed during triage for a gunshot wound. Just what about this has you so out of sorts?”

Admitting to Delta that there was more to this than simply sneezing - disclosing the induced erections that were slowly eroding his self control - would be professional suicide. Even if this side effect wasn’t Omicron’s fault, it was his responsibility to manage. This was a chance to prove himself, and if he screwed it up he’d never get this chance again. That’s just how it was at the agency.

He’d have to lie. Lie until he could deflect. 

“Dnothi’g, sir,” he said. “It jhhust tih.. iih..ckles-hh..hH..” Omicron’s eyelids fluttered and he crushed his crumpled tissue to his face. 

Please, please, please, he found himself begging as the itch crawled around behind his eyes. Give me a good one.

Against his better judgement, a smoky silhouette sprung to his mind’s eye. Something lithe and graceful, skulking through his nasal passages heedless of the sorry state of them. It glided across raw nerves, pausing to snuggle against their warmth as Omicron sliced his lungs with a gasp. Then dragged the breath back out on a groan. Fuck, he could feel it. Could feel the dimensions of the tickle as it prowled and pawed, arched and sprawled, coy in its torture. He could feel his nerves recoil, his nostrils spasm - a panicked cry for action.

“h-YEH!hh..oh.. hh-HEH-” 

Omicron panted as the tickle receded, plumeing into an indistinct but irritating mist. Like a phantom it spread through him, coating his quaking membranes as it drifted deeper.. deeper.. deeper still. It filled his nose with a sensation too ambiguous to do much more than hopelessly itch. His hiccuping breaths eased to stillness; he was trapped on this plateau, punished by a tickle that wouldn’t grow. It merely wanted to endure. A bit frantic, Omicron tried to grasp onto a more solid visual. It didn’t matter what it was, it could be anything, just so long as- 

“Agent Omicron?”

The torturous mist evaporated, leaving his nose singed and no longer imminently sneezy. It took substantial restraint for Omicron not to pound his armrest in abject, miserable frustration. He blew his nose in defeat, raked his sleeves over his cheeks to clear the tears, and sniffled. His nose squeaked in reply. 

“.. I don’t think I can adequately communicate how annoying this is, sir.”

“Well, it really must be a bother if it’s making you pout like this.”

Omicron puffed up in offense and casted for a snide reply before he remembered that this was his boss. He bit his tongue, figuratively and literally. “It’s true this is testing my patience,” he said, “but I assure you that it won’t impact my performance. I’ll achieve nothing less than exceptional results. And respectfully, sir, I’m not pouting.”

Then he shimmied in his seat to face the window.

Agent Delta considered him with a skeptical eye, and as someone who knew the extent of his subordinate’s gifts he was right to do so. Deception was something of Omicron’s specialty. Trained in the art of information extraction, he excelled at becoming whomever a target wanted to see: a cautious creative type, a severe and dismissive businessman, the gullible boy next door or the leather-clad motorcyclist your friends warned you about. This ability, among other qualities, landed him this case.

But tricking a stranger he’d researched for weeks and swindling his superior officer were two different beasts.

“As you say,” Delta conceded to Omicron’s back. 

The jet’s landing gear grazed the runway.

+ + +

The destination was tropical, but close enough to a coastline that the heat wasn’t stifling. Their resort hotel was nothing short of opulent, offering amenities such as: a grand carpeted staircase, bellhops in uniform, and over a dozen glittering chandeliers. They’d changed into their civilian clothes before entering to better blend in. Well, blend was a strong word for Agent Delta; he wore Bermuda shorts with an equally garish aloha shirt printed with hibiscus flowers. Omicron doubted it was an officially sanctioned garment. He himself donned something understated - khaki shorts, boat shoes, and a white v-neck t-shirt. A pair of gold aviator sunglasses sat on top of his head.

He’d done what he could for his nose. When he caught sight of it in the jet’s bathroom mirror just before they deplaned, he could understand why Delta kept needling him. The skin was blushed an obscene red, the color deepest at his nostrils and fanning out across his septum, cupid’s bow, and as far up to the bridge of his nose. He also hadn’t been aware of how much it moved on its own, incessantly prodded by the tickle inside. Looking at himself too long just made him feel sneezier, and Omicron had braced his hands on the bathroom counter with helpless hitching until he coughed out a single, underwhelming, ih’BZSch!

Now watching Delta check in at the front desk from across the hotel lobby, Omicron tempered his trembling nostrils with a touch of his index finger. Settle down, he bargained. Stop teasing me.

His phone vibrated against his thigh. It was a burner; he got a fresh phone for every assignment and didn’t keep a personal cell. A glance at the number told him exactly who it was. He lifted it to his ear.

“Make it quick, Doctor,” he said. “I’m onsite.”

“Well, hello to you too, Mr. Grouch!” Dr. Voster trilled. His mood further soured at her enthusiasm. “New phone again, huh? How’d you know it was me?”

“I memorized your number.”

“Because I’m your favorite?”

Omicron wrinkled his nose. “I memorize all my numbers. Don’t get excited.”

“You really know how to make a woman feel special, O.”

“Did you want something?” he asked, eyes on Delta as the man chatted amiably with the clerk. His nostrils twinged and he gave them an appeasing rub. “I’m busy.”

“Just checking in. How’s your nose doing?”

As if to answer, the tickle squirmed. Omicron snorted reflexively and rubbed more sternly against his sore septum.

“You’re calling at..” He checked his watch. “..1:15 in the morning your time to ask about my nose?”

“Your viral load should be pretty high by now,” she replied, sounding wide awake despite the hour. “I want to know how it feels.”

“It feels-” He’d been gearing up for a snarky remark, but it died on his tongue. Between one breath and the next something changed. His nostrils slowly flared, grazing his finger where it rested against his lip.

“… it feels?” prompted Dr. Voster.

To his credit, Omicron tried. “I-hht.. h’tzuh..” 

But then his eyes flickered shut as he became entranced by that incurable tickle. It advanced slowly, enormous in his nose, lumbering forward and promising him a bounty. The swell would have intimidated him if he hadn’t been waiting for the better part of a day. He dropped his finger from his lip and braced his hand against the wall instead. If this was as big as it felt, he’d need it to stay on his feet.

“hUH-… ugh..” A sharp sniff, and a mutter under his breath. “..chhome on.. h-hh-!”

Fuck, it was oppressive. Omicron cinched his eyes tightly shut as he eased a breath through his tingling nose. It didn't hasten the advance, only threw gasoline on a raging fire. The tickle licked at his nasal nerves, which began to spasm in alarmed reply. Suddenly he was gulping down air, hitching so loudly it felt lewd.

“hah!hh.. uHH!h.. HUH-.. HUH-.. HUH-!”

The fire burned on, colossal and all consuming, demanding so much of him that his lungs filled to the brim. He could feel his head ratcheting by degrees, twitching back even when he could take no more air. If he could open his eyes, he’d probably see the shimmer of those fancy chandeliers. The tickle seethed for an agonizing moment. A quiet ache of pleasure twisted his gut. And then-

“WRRUZZSSSSHOOO!!”

Ecstasy. 

“HHHH-!.. RRIHSSSSCH’YUU!”

It scraped through him thoroughly with a crack of throbbing relief. Dazedly, he hitched anew. In, in, in-

“h-hH-HH-” And out in one fell swoop. “HPT’ZSSSCHOOO!!..nnngh..”

Omicron thanked himself for the foresight of leaning against the wall. Otherwise he’d probably be on the ground, or at the very least staggering aimlessly as his sneezes tossed him around. His nose didn’t seem to know what to do, other than grant him another.

“HAH’DIZSSSH’uh!”

And another.

“HEH’YIIZSSCHOO!ohhh..”

He gasped for breath, the hand holding his phone routing to his sternum. He could feel his heart hammering, his chest heaving. Each time he sneezed, his abs clenched. And with each release, a cloying ache spread through his groin. He was probably erect by this point but-

“Hih-.. HIHBISSSH’YAHhh!”

He didn’t want to stop. Omicron breathed deeply into the tickle, feeling it paint the inside of his nose with a swath of sensation. Something speared into his sinuses - the probing tip of a paintbrush, a thin piece of twine, a fiendish little intruder intent on undoing him.

“IIH’TIZZSCH’iu!!”

His lungs emptied and replenished themselves with another single, flowing breath. Despite his light-headedness and unsteady legs, Omicron felt himself smiling. 

“HHHH!.. EHJZZSSHUE!!’hhhooohh by god..”

It resonated pleasantly, like he struck his body with a tuning fork, and the trancelike need to sneeze, gasp, sneeze finally ebbed. The tickle receded, mollifying his nose in its tide. He could still feel it floating around in his sinuses somewhere, sated for now but impossible to fully satisfy. And of course his dick wasn’t satisfied in the slightest. His balls ached terribly. He’d had the good sense to arrange himself before entering the hotel lobby, fully aware he might find himself in this predicament in public. Again.

A voice spoke intelligibly, muffled against his shirt. Oh right, the phone. He put it back to his ear.

“What?” he panted.

“Did those feel good?”

He sniffled and fended off a full body shiver. “Don’d all sdeezes feel good?”

“Mm. Yeah.” Her tone was weirdly stilted. “Well. So. This is awkward, but I might have-”

Omicron tuned her out as he gathered himself. He was in dire need of a tissue, and he’d caught his own shirt in the crossfire of those last few sneezes. A quick scan of the room confirmed that just about every guest and employee saw him letting loose without even an attempt to cover his mouth. Many people were staring, including Agent Delta. The man was agog, but as Omicron stared back, he got the prickling feeling that it wasn’t him Delta was looking at. It was a second after that when he heard who exactly caught his superior’s eye. 

“Bless you.”

He clocked the voice before he turned, which gave him a split-second to prepare his expression. He arranged a look of chagrined surprise and hung up the phone on a still-nattering Anita.

“Oh!” He jumped, and flashed a shy smile. “Thagk you.”

She was taller in person, with legs a mile long and hair falling in thick waves to her waist. She wore burgundy lipstick, accentuating the plush shape of her mouth. A voluptuous woman, her Bohemian ensemble framed her curves and flowed around her like a modern renaissance painting. Her jewelry spoke of wealth, her painted nails spoke of elegance, and her eyes concealed a careful fire. 

She held out a pair of sunglasses. Mine, Omicron realized.

“You dropped these.”

He took them from her with a chuckle. “Ah, jeez, that’s embarrassi’g.” He sniffled and didn’t miss her swift glance at his nose. “I really mbade a spectacle of mbyself. Sorry about that.”

“Not at all,” she said. Her voice was dark velvet, soft and sophisticated. “I’m sure you couldn’t help it.”

Omicron juggled his phone and his sunglasses, keeping his eyes on her as he unearthed a half-empty package of travel tissues. He kept up his sniffling, in part for her benefit and also because his nose dripping onto his shirt was an imminent concern.

“Yeah, I’b kind of a mbess todahhy..” He tried to keep his eyes open even as they fogged with emergent tears. His voice scratched against a tender throat, tremoring around little hitching hiccups. “I do-hh!T huh.. don’t eved doe where th.. hh-hH!..mbghh, where all thad came fromb I-hhH!.. ndormally don’d sdnee-”

It overpowered him suddenly. He just barely rushed a tissue to his nose in time.

“hiH’TISsh’oo!” Back to the regulars, and just one didn’t quite cut it. Omicron huffed his way to a second. “..uh.. hck’KSSH’u!.. ugh..”

“Bless you,” she said.

That took care of the itch (for now). He wavered on his feet, fawn-legged from his earlier fit, and muttered a guttural “Pardod be” as he ducked away to noisily blow his nose. It took several tissues before he deemed himself presentable and by the time he got all the used ones shoved into his shorts pockets, he turned back around to see his sunglasses being offered to him again. 

Omicron chuckled hoarsely as he took them from her. “I should probably start carrying a spare pair, at this rate.”

There was an amused tilt to her lips. “Perhaps.”

He shared in her smile until the pause between them stretched a little too long. Then he jolted into awkward conversation. “Ah, um- where’s my manners, jeez, I’m Nicolas.”

Nicolas Foster, his cover for this operation: an under-the-weather tourist in town for a destination wedding.

She inclined her head to him gracefully and held out her hand. “Josaline.”

Josaline Jewel, his target: business mogul of the fashion world with a clothing line, makeup brand, and lucrative designer bag collection all sold exclusively online. The agency suspected her of extensive cybercrime; Omicron’s job was to uncover any signs of money laundering, malware manufacture, or identity theft.

“I’d shake your hand,” he said with a self-conscious scrub of his palms against his shorts and another self-deprecating laugh, “but I’ve been sniffly all morning, I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” Again her gaze flashed to his nose when he wrinkled it with a sniffle. “Are you not feeling well?”

He sniffled again as he fiddled with his sunglasses, bashful. “I’m still hoping it’s the jet-lag, but it feels like I’m coming down with something, yeah.”

He punctuated this with a wrist swipe beneath his warm, chapped nostrils. They flared to caution him against further meddling. Josaline crooned in sympathy.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Doubt it, he thought to himself as he offered a warm smile. “That’s really sweet of you to say. Thanks.”

Omicron researched sneeze fetishes as thoroughly as he cased intel on Josaline Jewel. Operatives observed her engaging with unfamiliar men at industry events or galas, escorting them off the dancefloor and into private quarters. All these men had two things in common: they were shorter than she was, and they were at the time afflicted with sneezing. Though she didn’t seem deterred by illness, the agency lacked further details. To fill his void of knowledge, Omicron dove headfirst into a world of niche kinks; he read and watched a towering amount of sneezy content, some of it about fictional characters he’d never even heard of. But he left the experience a more educated man, enlightened and prepared to perform. Now it would be a game of discerning Josaline’s preferences.

“What brings you to town, if I might ask?” Josaline asked. She took a hesitating step in her peep-toe wedges and Omicron followed the cue to walk with her.

“A friend’s wedding,” he said, and it became obvious that his increasingly wet sniffles required maintenance. He sighed as fished around for his last clean tissue. “He’s an old college buddy, super nice guy. The wedding’s not until next week, but I had some time saved up at work and the flights were cheaper on weekdays, so..” Tissue acquired. “..I guess it worked out pretty well.”

“Do you enjoy traveling alone?” she asked, setting a sedate pace across lush carpet and spotless tile. “I find it invigorating, but it can be a little lonely now and then.”

He blotted gently at his nostrils. They fussed at the treatment, jerking and fidgeting against his fingers. Yes, that’s right, Omicron goaded. Tickle me. Go on. The virus humored him, unfurling and sauntering forward with ambition. Instantly his eyelids got heavy, and his voice grew heady.

“Oh, I couldn’t afford this place by mys-.. mys-hhelf..” He kept the tissue tucked to his face this time, muffling his voice and obscuring her view of anything but his fluttering eyes. “I’m hhuh-” 

The tickle got to work, trailing feather-light fingers along his nasal walls. They writhed, trapped and helpless to the whims of a persistent itch. It stroked sensitive places, unhurried and secure in the knowledge he could do absolutely nothing to stop it. He tried to speak around the buildup, each breath a little blip or sigh he couldn’t repress.

“Ho, sorry, I’m rooHH-!.. uh.. rooming with another frihhend whose… als-uHH’h..H-H!” 

He paused as the tickle escalated, now lounging indulgently as it guided him to a gasping high. Its approach was always rhythmic, an everlasting titillation that magnified as the tolerance of his nose diminished. Omicron shot Josaline an apologetic glance over the edge of his tissue and found her looking right at him. For the first time she lost composure, and hurriedly ducked behind a lock of her hair.

“.. Are you alright?” she asked, staring at the floor as they continued to stroll.

Omicron cringed through another playful swipe of the tickle, like fingers made purely of fluff skimming up the length of his nose. He gasped hugely, certain it would come, but then let it out on a near-moan. “..ohhh, sorry- it’s this cold, I-.. Iyyiieee..HH! iG’GZZSCHhu!”

It was a little stronger than he thought it would be. Instinctually he flashed a hand out and anchored his grip to whatever was nearby. The tickle gave him another long, firm stroke and his nerves begged mercy. 

“HIH!PPSSHh’oo!” And another lancing tickle, like washing your car with a sponge, running your hand along a cat’s back, a frictionless glide but it was malicious in its softness and it agitated his nose into rebellion. With one hand, Omicron sealed the tissue more tightly over his nose and mouth. “MMPPHSssh!”

He emptied his remaining air in a desperate blow. His nose tingled with temporary relief. The single, brave tissue did its best, but he’d absolutely need to wash his hands and find another fresh package as soon as possible. Picking his head up, he balled up the trash and knuckled his nose with his fist.

“Sorry, that was gross, I’m-” Genuine anxiety prickled in him as he looked up and realized his other hand was clasped firmly to her upper arm. That was an accident. Omicron flinched away and clung white-knuckled to his disguise. “-SO sorry, oh jeez, I really didn’t mean to grab you like that, I wasn’t- I just, I had to sneeze and then it felt like it was gonna be a big one so I-.. guess I reached for whatever was around, I wasn’t thinking…”

Josaline stood and silently let him run out of steam. A molten heat pooled in her irises. A rose tint glazed her cheeks. She lifted her purse, an understated but expensive clutch with a golden chain, and popped it open.

“Not at all, Nicolas.” Her words melted from her lips. “I truly don’t mind.”

She slipped a swatch of white fabric from her bag and shook it. It unfurled like a flag of surrender, and she held it out with a coy smile. He lifted his finger once again to his nose to graze it just beneath his itchy nostrils and felt a telling touch of moisture. His ears flushed and her smile grew.

“Oh gosh, sorry, that’s..” Cupping one hand over his nose, he reached with the other. “Thank you, Josaline.”

Omicron took the handkerchief and paused when she didn’t let go. Their eyes met.

“I do hope this won’t be the last we see of one another,” she told him. 

Just behind her, the elevator dinged. He blinked, only just noticing where exactly they were. She stepped back into the gilded lift, leaving him with her handkerchief and one last view of her burgundy smile. Then the doors closed. Omicron dropped his shoulders and blew a slow breath from his cheeks. Initial contact: not a catastrophe. Step two: arrange a serendipitous rendezvous.

Agent Delta appeared beside him. Omicron was certain he’d watched it all from a covert corner. He spoke softly, so as not to be overheard. “This is going swimmingly. Well done.”

Omicron ignored his heart’s little leap at the praise. He didn’t like to count chickens before they hatched. His mind raced to assemble all that he’d learned, the pieces of what intrigued her. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Nicolas.” Omicron looked at him, and resisted shooting the man a withering glare when Delta brightly grinned and said, “Your nose is running.”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Omicron snipped. “I’m aware.”

He tucked into the handkerchief. It was a balm to his sore nose after so many cheap tissues. The cotton was of superb quality, probably with a thread count higher than his bed sheets back home. Omicron nuzzled into it to snuffle and blow; seconds later, he realized with dawning dread that this was the wrong thing to do. For while this handkerchief was freshly laundered, it was also steeped with an overpowering perfume.

The tickle took umbrage with this. It bristled in his nose like a startled cat, sinking claws into his tender membranes and whipping its tail angrily against the sensitized border of his sinus. He couldn’t even suck a breath in before-

“Tssh! Ih’TSsh!.. HSH’u!” He ripped his nose away from the handkerchief, holding the cloth away from him with revulsion. “Hih’KSSh!.. h’KZSh’iu! Ugh!”

“Ooh, bless you, bless you.”

The handkerchief disappeared, and without any other options, he buried his nose into the prayerbook of his hands.

“IHPsh!.. h’PZSsch!.. fugk, ednough, plhHE- HH!BZSSh!”

“Bless you!”

At last it abated. He could imagine the tickle huddled far back in his nose, growling low as it continued to lash its tail. Omicron sniffled behind his hands and coughed from the effort.

“It’s impossible to say whether she doused this intentionally or not,” mused Delta, studying the handkerchief. He tried to pass the offending item back to Omicron, who shrunk away from it. He didn’t want it anywhere near his nose. “She couldn’t have known you were allergic.”

“I’b dnot allergic,” Omicron argued through gritted teeth. Delta gave him a look that plainly said, I don’t believe you, but I’ll humor you because you’re irascible and sneezy. Omicron fantasized about strangling him with a garrote. 

They took the elevator up in silence. Delta passed over another package of tissues and Omicron plowed through several of them. More garbage to add to his pocket collection. He’d have to unload once he got to his hotel room, and used tissues weren’t the only load on his mind. His erection had yet to flag. It was easy to ignore during his conversation with the target, focused as he was on his work, but with nothing to distract him Omicron was getting tense and eager for alone time.

Which is why he balked when Delta tried to follow him into his hotel room. Omicron stopped just over the threshold. “Is this your room?”

“It’s our room.”

Omicron’s grip tightened on the doorknob. He’d been lying when he told Josaline he had a roommate. That was his cover story, yes, but not the actual plan. “I thought we were bunking separately.”

“I’ve reconsidered,” Delta replied, and while his tone was light there was a finality to his tone. “Sharing a room will reinforce our cover, and given this is your first high stakes case I’d rather stick close to support you on the ground.” He fixed Omicron with a pointed stare. “Unless there’s a reason you’d rather not share?”

Oh, you bastard, he seethed. You know what I’m going to say. Delta was already suspicious - giving him anymore ammo would just worsen things for Omicron. His hand slid off the knob. “Of course not, sir.”

There were so many reasons Omicron would rather not share a room with Agent Delta. He preferred solitude over company, silence over noise, and Delta was the opposite. The senior agent prattled about nonsense while awake and he snored very loudly while asleep. He hovered around Omicron all evening and compulsively blessed his sneezes and bullied him into watching crappy reality television shows. The hotel room was excellent, but small; there was no opportunity for privacy. The silver-lining was that there were two beds so they didn’t have to share.

After unpacking, discussing tomorrow’s plans, and sharing an array of delivery boxes from Panda Express while they watched some inane matchmaking show, Omicron collapsed into bed with a heavy head. All the congestion settled behind his eyes, and both nostrils were blocked as soon as he reclined. He jammed the charger into his phone with stuffy grunts of exasperation and then noticed the flurry of missed calls and text messages from Dr. Voster lighting up his screen. They were hours old, most of them berating him for hanging up on her and demanding that he call her back.

But it was late, he was tired, and surely by now she was asleep. He’d catch up with her tomorrow.

+ + +

Steamy hot water fell around him, sliding warm down his skin and thickening the air. Omicron tilted his head back. He hitched a single breath, and shuddered it out on a voiced sigh. “..huh..”

He braced his hands more securely against the shower walls and steadied his feet beneath him. He woke this morning with post-nasal drip and a too-big tickle in his nose. Just as Delta said before, it stockpiled power in his sleep and by the time he came to bleary consciousness, he could feel the itch in every nook and cranny of his respiratory system. It wanted out.

The tickle scuffled with his weary sinuses and his lungs snagged with a sharp gasp, “Hih!” and another slow, yearning sigh. “..hhuhhh..”

His prick throbbed and he brought a soaped-up hand down to grip the shaft. He was rock-hard, woke up that way, too muddled with arousal and tickling misery he could do nothing but stumble to the shower. Another grungy sniffle roused the tickle to action; it shimmied in the confined space, touching every nerve with its feathery borders. It was such an overpowering sensation that he couldn’t actually sneeze. Only suffer.

“h-H-HH!” Both he and the tickle waited, but to no avail. He deflated with a moan. “.. hhh-uuuhhhh..”

Omicron stroked himself, stepping forward to press an arm to the cool tile wall and lean his forehead there as he lost himself to the climb. Sneeze or no sneeze, he was going to come. Muggy air coaxed a dry cough, a snuffling breath, another flexing fidget from the tickle. It didn’t settle afterward, but instead began to twist and turn. Thrash and flail. His nose shuddered helplessly in the onslaught. Yes, yes, yes, chanted Omicron as his nostrils pulsed. That’s it. Tickle me.

He smoothed his thumb over his slit, arching forward. He panted hot breath against the sweaty tile. Water pounded down against his shoulder blades, muscles shifting beneath skin as the tickle wriggled and wormed against its prison. His nose frazzled at the attention, and Omicron’s parted lips flinched up with a little grin. He heaved with breath, whining his way through a monstrous buildup. All the while he pumped his hand at an increasingly feverish pace.

“..uh... hhUH-hh!.. HUH!’hh.. HAH-H-” His voice reverberated off the walls with obnoxious volume. The sound of wet skin squelching mingled with the patter of water on the shower floor. He gasped at the bolt of pleasure sparkling below his stomach. “-H-Hhh’oh-hh.. h’H-uhh..”

The arousal broke his momentum. He thumped a fist against the wall with an abysmally soupy sniffle. With warring sensations, neither could win. Omicron lifted his head to the shower spray to wipe his face and paused to chafe his index finger beneath his flitting nostrils. He slowed the rhythm of his other hand. You can do better than that, he challenged the tickle. C’mon, let me have it. He snorted, feeling his sinuses vibrate with the strain. Make me sneeze.

Wish granted. With a loss of sensation down below, the tickle rushed in to fill the void. It consumed him in an instant. Omicron inhaled as if the shower water suddenly turned to ice.

“HHHHH!! IIHDDZSSSCHHYOOO!!”

It was finally out, the start of what felt like a dozen. His whole body trembled, including his dick, and Omicron dazedly picked up the pace as his nose cramped with another powerful swell. Another butter-smooth gasp.

“HIIIIH!! EHTZZSSHHH’EH! Mmmbb-!”

A beautiful ache bled through his abdomen, mirrored in the tingling clarity of his nose. Fuck he didn’t know when Delta would be back from his morning run, but.. “nnnggh..HAAASCHHYUU!-uuooh..”

He’d never been a quiet man in bed and these sneezes were some of the best he’d had so far. His membranes twitched in relief each time, as did his prick, before another storm quickly gathered. Omicron instinctively sped up the tweak of his wrist as he rocked into each stroke. He wouldn’t last much longer; he’d been edged long enough. His flaring nostrils flew wide.

“h’YIZZSSSH’Iyuh!! hooh-.. hh.. H-HIISSCHH’OOO! hhhAH-!” 

The orgasm hit like a truck. It rippled through him, wrenched him forward, and it would have been perfect if the shower floor wasn’t so damn slippery. As he shook his way through the aftershocks, the tickle snuck up on him.

“iiGGXSHH’TT- AAH-” Nothing about him was prepared. It exited roughly through his congested airways and upset his equilibrium. His feet went out from under him and rolling with the momentum spared him a concussion from the slick tile. It didn’t spare his pride however when he heard a voice from the other side of the door.

“Bless you, Omicron! You okay in there?”

Fuck, cursed Omicron, back flat to the tile as the shower pelted water into his eyes. When did he get back?

“Fine!” he barked back. The slip-scare soured what remained of his orgasm and the inside of his nose ached with raw exhaustion. He touched a knuckle to the tip. Before Delta could ask, he added, “I dropped the shampoo!”

“Well, be careful,” Amused, now that he knew his subordinate was alright. “Sounds like that nose of yours means business today!”

Omicron covered his face with his hands and sighed.

+ + +

Sunshine coated the simmering pavement. People kept their sandals on as they milled about for fear of burning their feet. Couples cuddled together in upholstered loungers around the pool’s perimeter. Loners relaxed with books on couches sheltered by giant, colorful parasols. A dual walk-and-swim-up tiki bar bustled at the far end of the pool, surrounded by wading, tipsy tourists. This was an adult-only area, so aside from the group of trust-fund college grads squealing and shoving one another off the diving board, it was quiet and classy. 

Nicolas ignored wandering eyes as he maundered the water’s edge. 

After his ill-fated shower, Delta informed him there was surveillance of Josaline Jewel in this area and it was time for a fated meeting. He’d put on a pair of colorblock swim trunks and a thin cotton cream shirt he left unbuttoned over a waxed chest. He was not a big man, but his work kept him toned. Defined abs, firm pecs, broad shoulders with muscles that rolled across his back when he moved. He’d use them all to his advantage.

Deep in his sinuses, the tickle swelled. His nostrils weakly complained and he hushed them with a quick back-forth sweep of his finger. He’d use this too, when the time came.

An arm draped over his shoulders, dragging him in for a chokehold hug. “The whole team should take a vacation sometime,” Delta said fondly. “This is fun.”

Speak for yourself, groused Omicron. Irked as he was to have Delta here, it would help his cover. Acting with a partner provided an opportunity that single performances couldn’t. Besides, jerking off in the shower took the edge off his temper, so Omicron weathered the affection without complaint. He only pressed an elbow to Delta’s chest when his own expanded with a fast-rising urge.

“G-Gonnaahh-” He hiccuped a hitching breath. Experienced now in dodging, Delta leaned away as Omicron pitched haphazardly into his opposite arm. “hih’DZSSS’ooh!”

“Bless you,” muttered Delta, and mercifully didn’t complain about the distinct lack of vampire-sneeze etiquette. Some of these sneezes just got away from him, no matter how slow or quick they came on.

They both paused for more, but after a couple uneasy breaths, none arrived. Omicron checked the damage: no shirt stains, a slight drink spillage but not on himself or anyone else, and Delta wasn’t caught by collateral. Insufferable as his senior officer could be, Omicron would perish if he accidentally sneezed on him. 

Delta lowered his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. “See her anywhere?”

Omicron scanned as they walked, swirling his stemless wine glass before he took a sip. “Not yet.”

“Maybe she left before we got-”

“Hello.”

They whipped their heads to the left and there was Josaline. She wore the widest brim sun hat that Omicron had ever seen, black with a dramatic dip, and streaked with a white ribbon that matched the chic blacks and whites of her asymmetrical one piece suit. She still wore heels, toes painted to match her nails, ankles crossed. Her smile peeked at them from under her hat and designer sunglasses.

Nicolas roused himself and gave her a helpless smile, as if he hadn’t meant to stare. “Hi.”

“Were you looking for me?”

He fished a hand at the back of his neck, flushed to his ears, and Delta playfully tightened his grip. “Yeah, he couldn’t stop talking about you.”

Nicolas elbowed him with a hiss under his breath. “Harry!”

“I’m Harry by the way,” Harry told her, swooping in to offer his hand. Nicolas wrestled out of his hold in the meanwhile, straightening his shirt with a huff. Josaline raised a hand to her mouth to hide her widening smile.

“You must be the friend Nicolas mentioned. The one he’s rooming with?”

“Oh, he told you about me, huh?” Harry smoothed back his hair and waggled his eyebrows. “All good things I hope.”

Nicolas took another sip of his drink as they chatted, wrinkling his nose to one side and then the other. A quick, strong sniff flared his nostrils wide. He let the breath go on a sigh. Josaline tilted back the brim of her hat.

“Feeling any better?”

“Ndot really,” he conceded, then moved to sit across from her on an empty lounge chair. His shirt fell open to frame his sculpted chest and she curtly inspected the view. His pecs jumped with a brisk sniff, then another. He knuckled more aggressively at his nose. “But I’mb dnot gonna let it spoil mby vacation, if I can help it.”

Feeling lousy wasn’t actually a lie. Omicron woke up in the thrall of the tickle, yes, but when he had the ability to think afterward he realized he wasn’t at his best. His throat stung when he swallowed, scraped sore from all his harsh sneezing. His abs felt like they’d been through a ruthless core workout. And there was a disconcerting malaise settling over him, a woozy feeling that he refused to acknowledge in hopes it might just go away. 

“Forgive me saying so, but should you be drinking in your condition?” she asked, nodding to his glass. He took a breath to reply but Harry interrupted with a booming laugh and an amiable slap to the smaller man’s back.

“That’s just lemon tea and honey,” is what he told Josaline and that was also true. He did lie to Delta about it just being a prop for his cover story though. In actuality, it took the edge off his aching throat. Harry carried on, unaware. “I told him to try a hot toddy but he’s a little goodie two shoes when it comes to nursing a cold.”

Nicolas narrowed his eyes, blinking as they began to glass over. All the while since he woke, the tickle in his nose continued to haunt him. Contrary to Dr. Voster’s claim to Delta, the sensitivity hadn’t diminished at all. He bodily turned from the conversation with his drink held far away from him. His other arm tucked snugly around his nose as he sucked in a shuddering breath. Then quaked in place.

“.. hik-.. iH-GZSShu!”

“Bless you,” chorused the other two. 

He picked his head up by hesitating degrees before giving it a sharp shake. More sniffling, a thick clearing of his throat. His gaze darted to Josaline, who glanced away when he caught her looking. “Pardod mbe.”

“You know what? Try not to ruin my vacation either,” Harry griped at him, then looked to Josaline. “Nobody wants to get within five feet of me with him around. He’s like a walking cold medicine commercial.”

Omicron’s eyebrow twitched. “Well at least I don’d snore.”

Delta shot him a look that Nicolas met with innocence and a sip of his drink. Omicron shouldn’t push his luck, but he refused to pass up the chance to take pot-shots at Delta while he could get away with it. Josaline giggled.

“I can tell you’re old friends,” she said as she looked between them. “Do you see one another often, outside of events like this?”

This spiraled into deeper discussion. Delta and Omicron rattled off fake trivia to all her questions, and asked about her in turn. She was vague about her work but fairly open about her personal life. Almost all of it was useless small talk, aside from a compelling instance when she told them she created the software for her website’s security certificate herself. Her competency in coding wasn’t something Josaline Jewel advertised to the public. 

Dr. Voster called him exactly three times during the chat, and each time he dumped her to voicemail. She knew he was working. Whatever she needed to ask him could wait, or ideally, be an email.

Soon the sun was past its apex and Omicron was running out of tissues. Mortifyingly, a passing poolside waiter brought him a little bin for him to toss his trash so he didn’t have to keep walking off to a garbage can. Over the course of their conversation Josaline’s attention gravitated squarely to Nicolas and both men took this as a cue.

Harry slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Alright, I’m gonna check out the casino. I’ll catch up with you later, Nick.” He winked. “Have fun.”

Nicolas waved him off with one hand and tended to his unruly nose with the other. His nostrils pushed against his fingers, pulsing irritably. The tickle seemed to get worse over the course of the day, and his sneezes were coming with frustrating regularity if he didn’t waylay them. He tried to strike a balance between holding back and letting go, observing Josaline’s reactions all the while. She definitely wanted him to sneeze as badly as he did, which is why he chose to press the flat of his forefinger hard against his septum until the urge receded. He huffed away the gasp he’d gathered.

“.. huh-hh, sorry, I’b probably ndot great combpadny right ndow..”

He opened his eyes to find Josaline staring at him from under her lashes. She’d taken off her sunglasses some time ago. “On the contrary, I find you captivating.”

Nicolas laughed, ducking his head to cough. “Really? Thad’s a relief. I was worried all… this,” here he gestured to his nose, “would put you off.” 

He punctuated with a sniff, the sound purely liquid, and rushed a hand to cup his nose while he tried to free the last of his tissues from the pack with the other. “Ugh, sorry-”

“Did you lose the handkerchief I gave you?”

Omicron feigned surprise, as if he hadn’t been waiting for her to ask. “Umb.. so-.. hah.” He scrubbed his finger under his nose, subduing his wavering nostrils. “I did use it, but I thig’k you had someb kinda perfumeb on it?..”

Her lips parted in shock, and Omicron knew at once that the scent on that cloth wasn’t intentional. Maybe it was a habit of hers, dousing her handkerchiefs in perfume, but she didn’t know it would actually make him sneeze. There was a faint, petal-like blush spreading across her cheeks and her thighs tensed more tightly together. Well, well.

Nicolas blinked wetly, as if the memory of the handkerchief was enough to make his nose tickle. Granted, literally anything was enough. “As soon’d as I-.. as I-yee…huh-” He blinked again, and again, each time a little harder and with more moisture in his lashes. With a swallow, he tried to hurry through the rest, “As I used ihht I.. st- st..”

He pressed a hand to his sternum as his chest jumped with a little sip of breath. The tickle fluttered in him, enticing. Omicron gave in for just a moment, letting his eyes fold shut, relaxing into the sensation of it. Sometimes the virus felt mechanical, automatic, indifferent to him and his reactive nose. Like a machine chugging ever onward, so did the tickle continue to toil. Tickling.. and tickling.. and tickling… Blind to his convulsing nerves, deaf to his snagging breaths, just carrying on with its function with no regard for the consequences.

Unable now to open his eyes again, Omicron spoke around compulsive gasps and breathed his words on the exhales. “hH!S’made be-.. h-HH!Bade be-uhhh.. snd’HIH!.. sdeehEEZZSSHOO!”

Nicolas snapped forward, sneezing over his lap, and belatedly raised a hand to his nose. It was running copiously. He wouldn’t get the job done with what was left of his tissues, unfortunately. He squinted against another hopeful tickle, begging himself now to keep it together. He really didn’t want to sneeze again like this.

A flash of white caught his eye. Josaline, her gaze boring into him with palpable weight, offered another handkerchief. He swallowed. It was identical in every way to the first, and Omicron suspected it smelled the same too. But this was what she wanted, and he was a professional. He would deliver.

He took it from her and began to unfold it with both hands to give her an uninhibited view of his face. As he began to wind up for another sneeze, he gave the tickle full control over every micro-expression. The fitful flare of his nostrils. The crease of his crow’s feet. His quivering, parted lips. The way his nose gathered grimacing wrinkles at the bridge when the urge became undeniable. His voice bled into his heaving exhales, unintentional but not unwelcome.

“H’uhh.. iIH!hhh..h-h-!hohh.. mbbggh..”

This was the worst part, when it crested to a peak but couldn’t quite get him high enough to tip him over. Throwing caution to the wind, he lifted the aromatic cloth to his face and breeeeeeeathed-

“KZZSSSCH!”

Rough, wrenched out of him in fury. As the methodical tickle gave way to a fierce burn, Omicron had just long enough to wonder if Delta was right: he might actually be allergic.

His eyes rolled closed and he shuddered helplessly into the handkerchief. “iih’TZSsh!” A tight breath and then, “iik’KISHH!... hd’IZSSH!.. Tshh! it’TZSH!”

There wasn’t time for anything else. No wavering gasps, no bleary moment of respite before the next volley. It was a quick trigger release, too itchy and ineffective to do anything but wind him. “-DSSH’uu!.. hd’DZSSH’oo!! ohh..HH!”

He heard Josaline stir in her lounge chair, and then felt the jostle of his own when she sat down beside him. A hand smoothed up and down the line of his spine, pausing to feel his back expand with a single, catching breath. 

“-ig’GEZSC’Hoo!.. GZSShuu!.. Chshh-IH’chzssh!.. HIH!chzsch! Ugh!” He finally managed a shaky blow into the folds of the handkerchief. A couple desperate hitching breaths and then he quickly committed to another. It cleared away most of the mess; he was able to free his nose for air.

His eyes were still locked shut, but he could feel his nostrils twitching like a rabbit’s. Rushing a finger beneath them did nothing. He sneezed against his hand. “iihpssh!... h’TZschh!h- hIKssh!! TIZSSCH’u!”

It felt endless, and nothing like the big, bad wolf sneezes that the tickle cooked up. No, these didn’t help anything. Each sneeze just somehow itched him more. “..hah-..hh.. hH’ZSSCH’yah!”

He nearly lifted the handkerchief back to his face and caught himself at the last moment. Loathe as he was to do it, he used the collar of his shirt instead. He had nothing else. Omicron lifted the corner to his nose, his nostrils so warm to the touch they felt feverish, and muffled what he could.

“MMFZSSH!.. hg’ISHH!..” At least it was slowing down. He sniffled, feeling muzzy, and finally cracked his eyes open. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He closed them again with a jumpy, “hih- IH!-..MMPHZSSH!!”

Omicron waited, tense, for the next one. It sizzled in his sinuses for a solid few seconds before dissipating in a wave of prickling dismay. It left his nose wary, on guard for the next attack, even as the virus insidiously labored away inside him. His shirt was a lost cause, so he shrugged it off and used it to blot at his face as he snuffled and hitched his way into presentability. Holy hell, that was more than he bargained for.

“Bless.”

A touch alighted on his bare arm. Nicolas picked his head up, squinting through puffy eyes and already cringing with apology. “Sorry,” he croaked. “I thigk I mbight be allergic.”

“Yes, so do I,” she breathed, and smoothed her touch to his back again. Without his shirt in the way, her palm glided up and down his skin. Her other hand thumbed a tear from the corner of his eye. “You poor thing.. I didn’t realize that’s what you were trying to say. Forgive me.”

They were both lying to each other now. Nicolas shook his head, both his hands coming to hold one of hers. “Ndo, ndo, it’s ndot your fault! I couldn’d explain itd well.” He gave her a pitifully tearful smile. “Had to sdneeze too bad.”

The tone shifted. Omicron could feel it keenly. Josaline squeezed, then let them go. Her hands lifted instead to cradle his cheeks, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I need to confess something.”

He blinked at her, wide eyed. “... Codfess whad?”

“I’m not the sort of woman to be repelled by all... this,” she said softly, with an equally soft graze of her thumb against one of his chapped nostrils. It flared in response, and Omicron fended off the visceral need to rub it. Josaline stroked him again, and his nose twitched away from her. The tickle bristled and he leaned out her hands, racked with fittish hitches. He jammed his finger beneath his septum, barely catching himself before a sneeze tumbled out. 

She watched him avidly as he battled back the urge, one eye squinted shut in a lopsided wince. Her attention honestly flustered him; Omicron never liked attention when he sneezed, and her gaze in particular stripped him bare. He lowered his finger reluctantly, and kept his hand hovering at chest level. The sneeze was stalled but certainly not gone.

He sighed his words. “S-uh.. Sorry, I-.. hooh, I bight.. I-ihhm godda-HH!” He wiped his head to the side. “iih’DZSCH’iew!! ugh, b’sorry..”

Her voice wavered. “Please don’t be sorry.”

“I-hhuh.. hkrrm!” Omicron cleared his throat, bringing the edge of his shirt up to his nose to blot and then, with great disgust, blow. He was going to burn this thing when he got back to his room. When he finished he looked away from her, painfully embarrassed. “I’m seriously so gross right now, I’m sorry-”

“Nicolas..” She slid a hand up his arm, splaying her fingers on his shoulder. Her other arm came around to rest at the juncture of his neck so she could toy fingers at the short, fine hairs on his nape. “I want to be clear. I’m not put off at all by your cold. Frankly, I think it looks very good on you.”

He frowned at her as the gears turned, then perked up when they slotted in place. “.. Oh!”

Josaline smiled wide enough to show her teeth, humming a little laugh. “I would like to kiss you. Is that alright?”

She drifted into his orbit as she spoke, her smokey stare flicking between his eyes and his lips. He nodded, and met her halfway. As their mouths met, she tugged down the brim of her hat to hide them from view. They kissed behind a black veil, his hand reaching to cup her jaw as she pushed a palm up the plane of his bare chest. With his nose so completely packed, Nicolas gulped air between passes of her tongue and chuffed soft, stuffy breaths against her skin.

Something about Omicron. He was suited to his job in many ways, one of which being his attitude toward infatuation and sex. Romance made his skin crawl, and physical intimacy was to him nothing more than a nice dessert. Delicious? Yes. Mandatory? No. He desired sex as much as he desired bubble baths or a night at the opera. He never let it distract him from his mission, even when at times it was his mission. It was a point of pride for him.

She eased him onto his back, kissing him deeply into the plush of the lounge chair. The new angle wasn’t great for his nose, shifting congestion in his head like tetris blocks until he whimpered against her lips. She finally let him up for air and he heaved in a breath, snuffling squeakily and then coughing when the air bottled up in his sinuses. He belatedly turned his head, and flushed up to his hairline.

“- guh, suh-sorry,” Nicolas whispered, his voice gravelly. “Can’d breathe through by dose at all.”

“Stop apologizing,” Josaline whispered back. She nudged the tip of her nose against his, nuzzling him even as she bit down on his lower lip to mumble around the flesh. “Can I help?”

He didn’t get a chance to reply before her tongue was back in his mouth. It was dark beneath the shade of her hat, with bits of sunlight dancing through the weave. While it was no mystery what they were getting up to under there, it was as subtle and as tasteful as public displays could get. She leaned more of her weight against him, pushing the planes of her palms up the span of his chest until he made another pleading sound.

Again she leaned back by an inch and again he tried to catch his breath. His nose fizzed with a wicked tickle. Sinuses immobile. Couldn’t agitate his nose with air. It would have to be something else, another method.. 

A bolt of inspiration struck.

“Josah-H!.. Josalind,” he mumbled. She was passing time sucking a bruise on his neck. “hah.. Josalind, cad you-”

She blew a puff of cool air over the patch of wet skin and smirked as he shivered. “Can I what, baby?”

“Hhhelp,” he gasped, and arched when she laved her tongue over his collarbone. His neck was sensitive, and Omicron resolutely continued even as he arched his back. “I’ll breathe better if I cad sdneeze, bud.. huh..” He sniffled in vain. The attempt ended in another disappointed cough. “.. id won’d combe.”

It was like he said the magic words. Josaline lifted her head and refocused her attention on his nose. It looked pitiful, so raw from rubbing and snubbing that the skin shined a brilliant red. His nostrils flared like a beacon, irregular but frequent. Nicolas gazed up at her, blotchy and half-lidded. She skimmed her pinky finger up the bridge of his nose, watching his eyes fall closed and his brows crunch and his nose wrinkle up beneath her touch. She sighed, besotted.

“I can certainly do something about that, but I’m not sure I should do it here,” she murmured. Fingers threaded through his hair, scritching lightly at his scalp. “I have things in my room-”

He slivered his eyes open. “Whhee.. cad d..” They fluttered closed again as he breathed, breathed!... And then sighed out a groan. “-ohh..We cad go to your roomb-h-H!.. hiiff you w-wand.. but..huh-”

Unable to help himself, one of his hands routed from her waist to his nose to grind beneath his throbbing nostrils. Just enough to take the edge off so he could finish what he was saying. His entire expression scrunched as he worked his nose, but he plowed onward.

“..I usually don’d ndeed buch,” he clarified. “Jusd thinking about id is edough to.. to…” He dropped his hand and snatched in a gasp so deep, his chest lifted Josaline where she lay across him. “HHHUH-!” But nothing came. He growled, his first real display of frustration in front of her. She comforted him with another rake of her fingers through his hair.

“Truly?” she asked, and when he fought his eyes open to look at her she seemed awed. “No.. external stimulation at all?”

Omicron knew of the methods to which she alluded, but Nicolas didn’t. He gathered his eyebrows together. “.. Ndo?”

“How do I help?”

“You cand just talk.” He anchored his hand back to her waist, his gaze glassing over. “About how buch id t.. tiihckles..”

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks beginning to darken. “.. could you demonstrate?”

Not the response he expected. He figured she’d want to take the lead, but Omicron was nothing if not flexible. “Yeahhh..h!IH-.. I usually thig’k about fhheathers or.. flowers or.. sombthig like..” He closed his eyes and conjured an image. “Like a little bug, crawli’g around up there.”

And just like that, it’s what the tickle became. Small, at first so unobtrusive as to be barely of notice but over time the irritation compounded. Omicron hauled in a hearty sniffle, coughing for his trouble, but the endeavor cleared up some of his consonants.

“It doesn’d know what it’s doing, but it’s tryi’g to escape and the luhh.. lohhnger it searches the.. huH!ohh.. the mbore unbearable it becomes.”

He could feel it zipping about, uncaring and unaware of how it stirred his haggard nose into motion. As it scampered along the length of a nerve, the membrane flushed and quivered. As its glossy wings grazed the tender pink walls, they shuddered. Another sensation pulsed further down; heat began to pool into his abdomen.

“And it’s tiih.. tiHII-!ckling mbe, but it doesn’t know that and I can’t tell it to stop and at this p-hhoint I don’dH! wantHH!- hhihht to..” 

The little presence adventured in the wrong direction, into more sensitive depths, so deep in his nose he didn’t know it could tickle there. Omicron moaned at the honeyed ache in his groin. He desperately wanted friction, but common sense kept his hips welded to the lounge chair. He felt the tickle flutter, then flit, and then begin to panic. It realized this wasn’t the exit.

“Ahhnd th-then.. it starts freaki’g out. It’s buzzing all around and maki’g my ndose itchier and itchier, and I’m st.. start-HH!h’ingHH!!h-to.. IIH!”

Omicron imagined the wet, cavernous expanse of his tortured sinuses, every inch of it undulating in agitation all because of one little tickle. And that tickle persevered even now, darting around in the abyss of his nose unceasing. A smile flickered across his lips as another pang of pleasure swirled through him.

“.. and I just want it to keep..HHHH!” He huffed a momentous breath and his chest jumped under her hands. Words carried on his pining exhale. “.. -want it to mbake mbe-HHHHH!” Tingles trailed down his spine as he uttered the last few words in a high, airy voice. “.. make mbe snhheeze… HHDZZSSSCCHH’OOO!!”

Sparks popped behind his eyelids and Omicron moaned helplessly through a wave of carnal delight. He didn’t come, but the sneeze was paradise. He hitched gratefully up to the next one in line. “HH! HH! HHHH-” Something billowy and soft tucked over his nose and he pitched into it. “EH’JZZSSHHH’IUU!”

He groaned into fabric, stretching restlessly on the lounge chair as his cock twitched again. It was confined to the tight pressure of his swim trunks, a problem Omicron couldn’t think clearly enough to solve as he huffed and puffed his way toward another humongous sneeze.

“-ah.. haH.. HAAASZZSSSH’UE!” And still his nose craved more. Who was he to deny it? “-iihHHIIZZSSHEW!! mmbb..” Once they started, they felt too good to stop. “.. uhTZSSSSCH!!iuuhhhhh..”

Omicron keened, muffled by the cloth snugged over his nose. The break afforded him a chance to snurfle into its folds and reach up to brace his hand over the one that held it there. Deep in his nose, the tiny intruder buzzed brainlessly against nerves flayed raw. They were defenseless, vulnerable and so, so very sensitive. His chest rose and fell with an increasingly staccato rhythm, his expression frozen with need. He needed t-to.. He hhhad to-!

“ehhHPBBZSSCCH’IIYUU!”

He seized into the cloth and collapsed back to the chair. Heat surged through his veins, wondrous but left wanting as his erection strained against the front of his shorts. But at last the attack on his nose abated; the tickle retreated to the dark, hidden place where it liked to bide its time. Omicron mustered through a long, alleviating blow into the sturdy fabric. Sinus pressure dissipated from behind his eyes, just enough to take the sharpest edges off his encroaching headache. Then he just laid there panting and steadying his hazy vision when he finally opened his eyes.

He noticed a few things.

Nearly everybody in the vicinity was looking at him, sunbathers and staff members alike. Josaline was not an exception. Her hand rested lax in his, where she’d held his shirt to his face as he sneezed. And blew his nose. And he had a visible erection, blocked mercifully by Josaline’s position to the wider crowd but absolutely not hidden from Josaline herself. And for the first time, Omicron thought, Oh shit. I might actually be compromised.

“Um-..” he squeaked. All he could hear was a rushing noise, like standing in a wind tunnel, his heart banging against his ribs. Cold sweat broke out over his skin. “Um-..”

Josaline was similarly speechless. Paralyzed, even.

Did she not like it? Was it the bug thing? Fuck, he should have gone with pollen or something, that was more mainstream or at the very least, comparatively less weird. What was he thinking?! He thought this ‘sneezing untouched’ method might entice her, but a hell of an idea that was. Dr. Voster and her ridiculous pursuits. ‘Sneezing by suggestion,’ his ass. Now he was sprawled out here on display with a cock harder than diamonds and he’d just blown his nose into his shirt and practically into her hand-

Don��t panic, he counseled himself through shaking breaths. This is salvageable. Just play it off with a laugh, apologize for everything, then tactically retreat, regroup with Delta, fess up, come clean, apologize AGAIN-

“I-I’ll go,” he said, barely present as he gathered his shirt and held it in front of his crotch to stand. “I’m really sorry, very sorry about this. I just… um..”

Delta will be so pissed that he’ll take me off the case and the agency will put me on probation and I’ll be sorting files in the office for the rest of my career and they’ll never let me live this down, I’ll be the laughing stock of the force, I’ll-

A hand caught his wrist. He looked down and there was Josaline, coaxing him with soft, careful touches to sit back down. She smoothed hair off his sweaty brow.

“Relax,” she told him. “No one knows. They only looked because you were loud, and nothing more.”

If she meant that to be reassuring, it didn’t help. Everybody and their neighbor just watched him obnoxiously sneeze and moan for what might have been several minutes. So much for subtly, which was his entire job description as an agent. He was a disgrace to the force. Omicron buried his face in one hand, elbow propped on his knee. Nebulous plans to cut his losses and find a new job stalled at the sound of her chuckle. 

“And didn’t I tell you to stop apologizing?”

He shrunk inward, painfully embarrassed and hissing a whisper into his clammy palm. “Yeah, but that was-”

“It was incredible.” 

Omicron snapped his head up, blinking the blur out of his eyes. Josaline’s flushed cheeks and smile came into focus. She scooted closer to him, pressing her bosom to his arm and tucking her head in the crook of his neck. She raised the edge of his shirt, still piled between his limp hands, to dab beneath his nose. Omicron startled, recognized the feeling of something wet on his upper lip, and lost what remained of his composure.

“Could I not be a disaster for just five seconds? Please??” he demanded of the universe, of the virus, of anyone, and turned his head away to clean himself up without help. Sniffling and scuffing his nose prompted retribution. It tickled like a dangling string. Omicron ducked forward. “..h’HIDZssch!!”

Josaline swayed with him and pressed a kiss to his throat. She trailed her lips up and up even as he rushed to wipe his nose. “Listen, Nicolas,” she said against the corner of his mouth. “There is something else I need to confess to you. I want to introduce you to someone.”

Omicron’s nostril wrinkled as it was bestowed a kiss. “.. intro..hh.. duhhce me to someone?”

“Yes.” Silken breath glossed over the bridge of his nose. “To my husband.”

Everything grinded to a halt. 

It was a good thing she expected him to be floored by that news. Husband? Husband?? The word echoed around in his head, immaterial; he couldn’t grasp the concept. There was no intel about a husband. Nobody mentioned a husband. She’s married? How can she be married!? His eyes jerked to her left hand, bare of a ring. She followed his gaze with a charming smile.

“Neither of us wear one,” she explained. “We married for practical reasons, and we aren’t interested in exclusivity. He and I consider ourselves free to explore as we like.”

She’s… married. The fact churned sluggishly in his mind, untethered and unexpected. She’s married. So..

“..uhh..” Omicron contributed intelligently. “Uh, s-so.. huh-” 

Oh for fuck’s sake. He fought tooth and nail to keep his eyes open, watching Josaline bite her lip as the last sliver of light disappeared. Now the tickle was just kicking him while he was down. It snagged him by the lungs and hurled him forward over his lap.

“-eHTCHZSS’hoo!”

“Bless you,” Josaline purred, stuck to him from shoulder to hip.

Omicron tucked his fist beneath his nose with a couple convalescing sniffles. “-nguh, thagk you..” Another sniffle, sharper, and a crinkling blink to disperse the dark spots floating in front of his eyes. “So, you want me to.. meet him?”

“While my husband and I have similar tastes,” she continued delicately, “we find it more gratifying to seek pleasure with others than with one another. However..”

Here she guided him to look at her with a single finger to his chin. 

“.. very rarely, one of us will meet someone special. Someone who would please us both. Together.” 

This conversation was going at light speed while Omicron was still floating in space. He nodded, buying himself time, trying to gather more than just the word husband. So his mortifying sneeze-fit failure was actually a success, to the extent that Josaline wanted him to meet her husband, who also had the hots for sneezing? Presumably? Possibly? But wait, nothing in the files ever mentioned a husband, so that meant this was a secret husband..

“Do you understand?” Josaline asked. “What I’m proposing?”

Ménage à trois, his strategic mind supplied. Ménage à trois with the suspected cyber criminal’s secret husband. 

Suddenly, and Omicron truly didn’t know how, everything was turning up aces. Not only did he have intel on a secret husband but he’d get to meet the guy. Talk to him. Learn more about Josaline through him. Find some incriminating indication that she actually was a white-collar mastermind screwing thousands of people out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. And then he’d get his ass kissed by everybody at head office and they’d crown him King of Spies and give him only the coolest assignments henceforth. Maybe he’d get a fancy company car.. or a commissioned self-portrait in a tuxedo.. or..

Omicron jolted, as if coming awake from an impromptu nap. Shit. He rubbed both hands over his face, dismayed when they came away sticky. The humidity must be getting to him. Moist air always made him groggy. 

“Nicolas?” Josaline looked a little uncertain now.

“I’d love to,” he blurted, then ducked his with a sheepish sniffle. “Ah, I mean.. if that’s-.. if you’re offering..?”

“If you’re comfortable?” she asked back. Nicolas nodded, maybe a little too quickly because his head felt like it was on a string five feet in the air. Josaline broke into a toothy smile, reaching to smooth thumbs over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. “Really?”

“Well, I-... as long as you’re both okay with it,” he replied. His nose creased at the bridge when she nuzzled the tip of hers to his. Omicron hiccuped a breath, and huffed it against her lips. “I-hhah..”

“Dinner tomorrow night,” she promised him, watching avidly as his expression contorted. Omicron squirmed his nose in a bid for it to behave, but Josaline wasn’t having it. She kissed just beneath his nostrils as they flared against her own. Lurking in the recesses of his sinuses, the tickle emerged. “I’ll ask him.”

Then she sealed her lips over his as he contended with the damage in her wake. His nose felt full of fuzzy bits, and with his nose as his only source of oxygen, Omicron was forced to keep stirring them with air. Each inhale swept them in a wind, sending them spinning against every inflamed atom of his nerves. They moved deeper, joined by more, an escalating infestation drifting deeper into his sinuses until he was dizzy with it.

“mmm!” he hummed into her mouth. Both her hands sunk into his hair, holding him still, keeping him locked to her lips as the tickle grew and grew. He sucked a hitching, shaky sniffle that whipped all the fuzz into a storm. Omicron whimpered again, higher and sharper. “-MM!”

Only when he set hands on her shoulders did she part from him with a soft sound, and even then she did it reluctantly. By now Omicron was lost to his gasping ascent. “hih-..hIH!h.. IHT-!” On the cusp, he whirled to the side and rocked with a perfunctory, “-DZSHH’iew!!”

She draped her arms around him, tugging him into her side as he fussed with his nose. Nicolas topped backward with her to the lounge chair. “Bless.” 

“Ugh, thagks,” he snuffled and shifted in her arms to see her better. “Had to sndeeze, I’m sor-”

Josaline pressed a finger to his lips to silence an impending apology, and when she was sure he’d gotten the message, she trailed her painted nails along his bottom lip. “It’s a date, then?”

Nicolas smiled. “It’s a date.”

/tbc! 

I know what happens next, I just have to write it! Thank you so much to everyone who’s stuck around for part 2, I really appreciate you!💗Hope to see you again at part 3 ^w^

PART 3 IS HERE!

[keelt9]

Chapter 10 (Final)

A/N: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing. 🧡

I’ve been thinking about an epilogue but I don’t know, I don’t want to mess up anything, so I’ll keep that in mind.

I’ll write to you soon.🧡

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Masterlist

The fireworks it's my item on the photo wall. Now every photo on my wall, metaphorically or literally has a firework on it.

"Ready?" Mom softly knocks my door perking in it. 

It's the conference game for the championship, Joe didn't have to ask if I was going to be there or not. 

"Yes, one second." I just revealed new photos for my wall and my favorite by far is the one his mother took from us playing under the moonlight in his parents backyard, a lot of snowballs.

Archie it's definitely at the limit of his excitement. Joe insisted we must watch the game from the box, so each second Archie expanded his smile. By the half of the game the Bengals were up by a touchdown and my throat feels pretty sore already.

All week Joe has been fully focused and still makes his time to call me from time to time, both of us have been busy with work lately.

"There you are!" Leah raises her phone, a picture of me chatting with Joe in his warm ups appears on the screen. "Joe Burrow's girlfriend on the field in a lovely moment."

I chuckle because the photograph took pretty well the angle of my kissing his lips as he pulls me by my waist.

"Joe definitely will want that." Mrs. Burrow hugged me with a proud smile.

The last quarter was a cardiac one; Bills came closer to them leaving them the Bengal up just for one point and our faces speak for ourselves, we're dying of nervousness.

A turnover of B.J let them keep the ball for the rest of the quarter, if the OL kept him covered he would work to increase the difference of points. Joe scanned the field with urgency feeling already tackles over him, he threw a dime finding Chase but with our bad eyes it seems he didn't get the ball before fall.

"I can't see." I hid on Peter's shoulder covering my eyes, hearing the awful silence.

>IT GOT HIM! First and goal for the Bengals. 

The crowd in Paycor turns wild; when I lift my eyes, Joe is totally fired up, he just has to do what he knows, be him.

The final score light on 31-24, they're the Champions of the AFC one more time; in the box screams and claps couldn't wait. Neither I, who runs down to the field, can't wait for him.

As I reached the field a lot of family and friends were coming too. Among the crowd cameras and reporters I found Joe congratulating Zach, by the time he opened his eyes I was already waiting for him.

"Babe!" He let his helmet go down and lift me in a big hug. "You did it!" 

He breathes in on my neck as I close my eyes feeling so distant the noises and cameras of us. 

"Go, I just want to hug you but people are waiting for the champions." He chuckles, kissing me deeply.

"Don't you dare to move from here." He said point where I'm standing. "Love you!"

Seeing him standing with a trophy however looking for me in the crowd confirms, some risks are totally worth it.

Pam surprised me with balloons falling from the door, a cake in her hands and a loud “Happy birthday!”

“Make a wish!” I close my eyes blowing the candle. “Yeah.” Pam leaves the cake on my desk and hugs me softly.

“Thank you.” I hug her and I see the bag on my chair. “Pam.” 

“Open it. I hope you like it.” I took the bag immediately and I knew what it was.

“Oh my, you don’t have too.”

Months ago when we were doing our Christmas shopping I saw an old camera in an antiquity store. I refused to buy it because the shoppings was left me without money but Pam has a good memory.

We chat a while before we have to come back to work about my plans for the day and if my family is coming.

“You’re parents?” I shake my head. My parents want to come but in 3 weeks I have a Monday off so I decided to go home for the weekend. “Peter is out of question, kid in the school. Joe?”

After the loss of the Super Bowl, Joe decided to spend that week alone. He explained to me right now, not even from himself is the most nice company and doesn't want to ruin my birthday. That’s the issue, the SB, turns out to be a weekend before your birthday.

“Joe is busy with all the post things game.” I tried not to sound concerned but Pam knows me well.

“Still mad?” Pam sits one more time. 

“It’s not mad, he has been a little too hard on himself.” The knock on my door interrupted our talk.

In the door appear a big bouquet of flowers and a balloon, and an amazing writer holding them.

“Happy birthday!” Lucy enters pulling her boyfriend who is holding a box with a big ribbon on the top of it. 

“Lucy! I thought you'd come until next week.” I stand for she and her boyfriend wish me a happy birthday. 

“I am, this is a small…” She thinks in her words. “Stop.” 

Her boyfriend laughed and explained she didn't want to miss my birthday even if it’s just for giving me a hug.

“I hope you like it, if Lucy gave enough time, I could do something better.” I open the box inside an embroidered sweater with my favorite colors. 

After all it seems it’s going to be a good day. “It’s fantastic and the flowers, perfect, thank you so much.”

Claire orders me that if I don't take the day of my birthday at least I should go home earlier and rest, but Lucy warns me about something she will bring and I want to progress in all I can. By 7 pm, I found Claire leaving the office too. She scolded me about not leaving earlier, and still she wished me a happy birthday.

“I’m talking seriously Y/N, the food will arrive at your apartment. I’ll know if you don’t go right there.” Claire “threatened” me with her cellphone while walking to her car. “Don't make me take away your promotion.” I giggle, waving my hand to the other side of the parking lot.

As I get in the elevator I keep replaying the video of Archie singing me a happy birthday as my brother plays the piano and Nora signs along with him too; at the end Archie walks closer to the camera holding it blowing a kiss, “I love you aunt” was the last thing you could hear.

Probably I should do what Claire told me and leave earlier for rest; my neck is really tense, while I walk to my apartment I grab it and move in circles trying to make it more loose.

Inside a warm light it’s in the middle of the hallway, as you walk closer you can see it’s a cupcake with a candle.

“I’m sorry that is not enough, right?” Joe appears in one of the doors of the bedroom, puffy eyes sing that he probably hasn’t slept well. 

I choke my head and open my arms. “Isn’t even necessary, I understand.” Joe sighs deeply. “However, I don't mind a birthday hug.” 

Joe chuckles and lifts me in one big hug, hiding his face on my neck. “Happy birthday babe.” He whispered to me.

"I need that photo." After a long days of endless activities Joe finally has a day of rest before another week of meetings and talks begins.

"That's mine, sorry." I show him the new pictures on my wall, especially the one of the warm ups of the Championship.

It’s late at night, Joe had me next to him, my legs over his lap. In a quick move he tried to take the photo of my hands so now I'm completely under him. 

"Ok, ok, god, you're heavy! But one condition." He narrowed his eyes. 

"Anything." A mischievous smile makes him choke his head, grabbing my things as he sits back with me in his laps.

"No! It's not that! Oh my god!" He clicked his tongue. "Be serious with me.”

Joe shakes his head and nods. "Don’t be so hard on you." Joe grabs my face pulling out foreheads closer.

"I love you." He kisses my lips then looks straight to my eyes; I see his blue eyes full of love. 

I kiss his forehead. "I love you too.” I take a deep breath grabbing his face. “You know I do anything for that smile right?" 

"Yes ma'am, now give me the photo." I laughed and gave him the photo winning a breathless kiss.

The next morning Joe was surprised about the fact I actually didn't take a day off for my birthday not before and of course not after it.

“But it’s your birthday.” I’m searching my blazer in the closet as he follows me like a lost puppy. 

“Was, it was my birthday.” I found it. “I have to go, but hey, in 3 weeks I have a day off and I’ll be Cinncinati, ok?”

I give him a peck before going. “No, no, no, wait.” He grabs my hand. “Are you sure? I mean…” He tosses his hair. “I have to go this afternoon, I was expecting to celebrate…”

“I promise, now I have to go or I’ll be late.” I check my watch. “Love you!” I scream before closing the door Joe pouting waving his hands.

Like Lucy promised, as soon as she “officially” came back, she entered my office with papers of multiple colors in her hand; she said she had a lot of ideas but nothing clear, so she was hoping for a helpful eye. That’s how I spend 3 weeks between Lucy’s work and a few manuscripts I have to deliver to Claire.

“Anyway, I’ll be a call away, ok?” It’s my last call of the day. “Yes, Lucy, I got it.” Pam enters her purse on her shoulder ready to go. “Ok, bye.”

I laid back in my chair hearing Pam giggle. “Are you leaving today?” I move my finger, yes.

I bought my ticket for the middle night, hoping to spend a little bit more time with Joe but out of the blue he has to do his chek ups out of Cincinnati, he expects to be there in 2 days.

“My bags are there.” I point to the corner of my office, Pam laughs. “I’ll call a cab after going to dinner.”

“Let’s go, this is on me.” Pam stands grabbing my bags. 

In the elevator both of us realize this is the first time she and I take an extra day at the same time. 

“You think Clare is going to be fine?”  Pam asks, we look at each other and chuckle.

By the morning, I have 6 hours of sleep and a stomach growling. When I go down I see my parents making breakfast.

“What are you doing here?” Mom scoffed at me moving around the kitchen.

“Good morning to you.” Dad laughs taking out from the oven bread for sandwiches. “The coffee shop has a little issue.” 

I look at them, dad nods and clarify. “We’re painting so it’s been closed for a couple of days, nothing serious.” 

Mom put a plate with fruit in front of me. “What are your plans for the day?” I sit turning around in the stool.

“I was expecting to have a full day with my boyfriend, then go to have dinner with Leah but apparently they’re busy.” My days off aren't going as I plan. “So nothing, do you have something in mind?”

My parents look at each other like they’re in trouble. “You have plans, right?”

“Mrs. Carmichael, invite us to domino night, so we’re hoping…not it’s ok we can cancel it.” I shake my head, I don’t want to ruin my parents night.

“No, please go, I’ll find out what to do. Tomorrow we can spend the day together.” My dad kissed the top of my head. 

“We hope that.” I narrowed my eyes, they probably had plans too.

My day passed watching old films, cleaning my old room and sleeping from time to time; my parents were ready to go around 9 pm, arguing about something in the coffee shop.

“You should check it before closing.” Mom complains coming downstairs.

“I’ll go and meet you with Mrs. Carmichael, don’t worry.” Dad tried to calm her but her eyes only scream more anger.

I roll my eyes. It seems I finally have the chance to do something else. “What happened?”

Mom sighs. “Your dad forgot the keys of the house in the coffee shop and guess what? Yes, from the car too.” 

Mrs. Carmichael doesn’t live more than 2 blocks away, so her anger must be because they have to wake me up to getting in. 

“It’s all right, I will go for them, besides I want to have dinner outside.” Mom was about to complain. “I’ll go change and go, don’t worry.” 

I ran upstairs and didn't give them time to replay something. “My keys are on the table next to the door!” 

As I get down from the cab I notice the curtains down but still, a glimpse of light, if dad leaves the light on and mom finds out, he will be in trouble. I shake my head and giggle as I walk to the door.

But there were no bright lights on as I think, it was a new type, small light bubbles hanging in the ceiling, and a few papers too. As I walk closer the bubble lights help to see there aren't papers hanging on the wall, it’s actually polaroids.

“What the…” I grab one and turn around, the photo is me and Joe, laughing with the Christmas tree at our back. The second one I grab it’s us in pjs watching movies on his sofa. The third one is a selfie he took, me at his back reading some papers.

Then a soft music is heard on the piano, “Enchanted”; at the window Joe is sitting there playing the piano, above him three small light bubbles hanging from the ceiling. He turns slightly, smiles at me and turns back and keeps playing until the last notes.

I clap for him as he recalls sitting with a slight tremble in his hands. 

“Beautiful.” I raise my sight seeing the ceiling cover with photos. “All of it.”

Joe chuckles. “Even so, I’m hoping to get my favorite one soon.” 

“Is it not here?” I narrow my eyes, he shakes his head pointing to the back, at the other side of the coffee shop.

“There is a peek of what I want. The one with the red ribbon.” I smile at him walking where he’s pointing.

On the way I saw a lot of photos I had never seen before, some taken by him and others, probably a good contribution of friends and family.

I see the red ribbon. “This one?” Turning around to face him, he nods. 

In the photo, I can see Joe in a jewelry shop looking at something in the glass cabinet, full focus.

“Mhm, new diamonds?” I don’t understand. “Hey, I love how that sunglasses looks on you.” 

I take a closer look at the photo, slowly noticing the details. “No…This is not, rig…”

I see what he wants me to see.

Joe is standing in front of me with a black velvet box biting his lips; my hands start to shake as any coherents words come, just mumblings keeping my fingers stuck to my lips. 

“Joe?” He giggles and opens it, inside there is a ring that emits a soft golden glow.

The band is simple and elegant with clean lines, at the center a captivating tanzanite sparkles, its blue-violet hues shifting with the light. .

“Will you marry me?” I cover my face sitting on the floor, he laughs and sits in front of me too.  

I asked him with tears in my eyes. “What should I do?”

Joe shuggers his shoulders. “A yes will be an amazing answer.” I look at him, he chuckles. “But it’s your choice after all.”

I hug him so tight as he extends his legs for I can sit on his lap, feeling his heartbeat so fast, it just feels like being at home, safe and protected.

“Are you going to put it on my finger or what?” I laugh and split slightly, facing him. “Yes, I will.”

In Joe's face appears a side to side smile and a tear roll from his face, he grabs my hand and puts the ring on kissing my lips, in a tender way.

“This fits perfectly.” I said to him looking at my new ring. 

“Thank god because Chase was pretty judgy that day.” Both of us laugh. The idea of him and Joe searching for a ring is hilarious.

“I actually didn’t mean the ring.” He narrowed his eyes. “Well, I got a promotion, in which Claire said I can work remotely if I want too.” His eyes are bright. “Don't be over excited, I still have to go to the office frequently.”

He grabbed my face and kissed me one more time. “So, Joe Burrow, will you be my home?”

Joe bites his lip, tingles his finger with mine. “Always.”

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

Almost forgot, any request, it’s now open.

[seventeenlovesthree]

Character/Headcanon analysis: Koushirou Izumi and his parental tendencies

I like to call Koushirou "parental" when it comes to his 02 self - and I'm aware that may also be a very self-indulgent headcanon of him taking after Kae, even though she is more into soft parenting, whereas he himself is pretty occupied to make sure that his children are not blowing themselves up...

But of course you can also just call that him being a naturally supportive and caring person - always has been, ever since Adventure, even if certain events had to trigger him to not only be theoretically but physically helpful (such as whenever it comes to saving Mimi, Sora and Hikari - or telling Taichi to take it easy for once). The same attitude can also be found in Tentomon - though in his case, it's being protective on one hand and quite literally parental on the other (particularly in Tri).

Koushirou being thoroughly protective is the reason why I like to parallel him to Sora (and Hikari and basically Taichi too and thus Team Light validates me again), because them having self-sacrificial tendencies towards the others has ALWAYS been a thing - to various degrees. Again, Koushirou was ALWAYS taking on responsibility to make sure that others are safe (which is literally 90% of how his interactions with Hikari go, heck, Atlurkabuterimon trying to protect Angewomon is the biggest metaphor for that!). Unfortunately, my art did not become canon, but yes, I still maintain he was cut out of The Beginning (even as support) to give the spotlight to others for once. They still couldn't fully ignore him, hence why the "If Koushirou-san can't figure this out, how are we supposed to?" quote exists - the 02 kids have always relied on him and looked up to him, so it makes perfect sense. And Takeru acknowledged his support in his fanfiction as well! But they naturally didn't want him to get the spotlight, because it was about the 02 kids. 100% valid.

But then you also have the show vs. tell problem. Mimi says Koushirou is ignorant - and a lot of people take that at 100% face value. Taichi even defends him since he is pretty much aware of his quirks - and the scene above pretty much implies that Mimi herself knows how Koushirou is (= getting into hyperfocus mode and becoming ignorant towards everything he doesn't deem important in the process, hence being ignorant in urgent situations, but NOT in general). Stageplay!Kou is in a league of his own anyway, because he was allowed to voice his frustrations with "not being allowed to help by Taichi" again - and because he made everyone question how they really felt (like a good parent would always encourage their children). There are tons of examples, but to sum it all up: He is a connector, he is basically second in command, he is protective. His way of phrasing that may be awkward and not always understandable by others (hence why Yamato needs to explain it to Kae and Taichi to Meiko, IT'S A PATTERN), but...

Again, I just feel like 02 made him incredibly paternal in how he watches over the 02 kids, every time he talks to Iori, Miyako or Ken, he's kind and reassuring - yes, he does get loud and tends to scold them and his potential suitors, ahem for being reckless, but also knows when to give praises.

(It also makes sense that he also mainly gets angry whenever things are getting dire and/or he is being left out of things - especially if he knows he could have done something to support.)

We also all know that he has a very loving mother himself and, as mentioned, even if their parenting style might be rather different, he knows what is important, so... How can I not think it's because their relationship got better and he takes after her? Yes, Tri onwards didn't maintain the mom/dadness in him the same way, but he still feels responsible for everybody's safety, he gives advice and guidance all the time and that doesn't change.

[justagirlwhowritess]

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffy

Warning: Cursing, not so great parents.

Additional Notes: All characters are aged up!

To say that no one understood your relationship would be an understatement. The staring started in high school , lessened once you and Katsuki graduated but never went away fully. The angry pro hero Dynamite with another pro hero, but one that was softer, kinder, less grumpy at the world. People made it more complicated than it needed to be. He loved you and you loved him, why did they feel entitled to know anything else? His parents were thrilled, yours not so much. You remember it vividly.

“Y/n, why the hell are you with someone like that? He could explode in a minute, literally and metaphorically.” your father was scolding you. “He loves, cares, and respects me. That’s why I am with him. I don’t understand why you are so upset about someone loving me!” you spat. You had gone to visit them without Katsuki for the weekend, planning to tell them you were moving in with him after graduation. “Because he is dangerous! His attitude is awful! His temper is out of control!” your dad shouts back. “We have been together three years and he hasn’t blown up on me. What makes you so sure he will?” you retort. He hadn’t blown up on you, that was true, and sure you do get into arguments from time to time, but that's just growing pains. “I know guys like him.” he taunts. “I am so done with this. Fine, believe whatever you want. I’m done. I’m leaving.” you shout, grabbing your bag and head to the door. “When he blows up, don’t bother coming home.” he shouts at you earning a scoff and a thud to the back of his head from your mother. “I wasn’t planning on it.” you spat slamming the door behind you, calling Katsuki’s mother. She picked up immediately. Your family wasn’t the greatest and Mitsuki was more than happy to scoop you up into her little family. She was so supportive, even letting you call her momma. “Momma, can I stay with you?” You had started to cry. You hear her sigh. “Your dad being an asshole about my asshole kid?” she tries to get a laugh out of you, it works. “Yeah, he really lost it this time. I didn’t even get to tell him what I wanted to tell them. He told me not to come home when Katsuki finally explodes. She scoffs on the other end of the line, you can hear her shuffling to get her keys. “Douchebag. I’m coming to get you, walk down the block so I don’t have to see his face.” she replies and you feel bad for asking her to do this, but she really doesn't mind. Her heart is full because her son is in love and you make him happier than she’s ever seen. 

It’s been three years since that night, you never looked back. You and Katsuki were happier than ever, your parents tried to contact you, you didn’t bother replying knowing it would only lead to more problems. “Come on, we gotta go, mom is waiting on us” he said practically dragging you out of your shared home. You laughed trying to stop “Sukiiii,” you whined behind him. “Hush. we are leaving. You look fine, you don’t need anything” He huffs in a reassuring tone still pulling you along. You guys make a stop at the local market for some vegetables at Mitsuki’s request. You ended up wandering off while Katsuki shops like a man on a mission. “Oh. y/n, lovely to see you. How have you been?” It was Uraraka. You hadn’t seen her in person since high school. You gave her a soft smile. “Good, how have you been?” You asked in a pleasant tone. “Fine, fine. Are you still with Bakugou?” she asks, looking around. You nod “Yeah, just hit our six year anniversary.” You were bragging, just a little. She had a crush on him and tried to get with him, unknowing of your relationship. Once she found out, she held it against you though. “Oh. Congrats.” she whispered. Katsuki had found you at this point. “Dumbass, what are you doing? We are going to be late.” he grumbles looking at you, paying Uraraka no mind. “Oh Bakugou! Hi!” She says, her happy tone returning. “Yeah. Hey. C’mon we are gonna be late, seriously.” he says, nodding, giving her a small wave and following behind him as you walk to the checkout. 

“Hey kids!” Mitsuki greeted you both as Katsuki handed her the vegetables. He shut the door as you both removed your shoes before moving further into the house. The table was set already, you noticed as you looked around the familiar house, more familiar than your childhood home at this point. “Dinner is almost ready, you two! Relax.” Mitsuki smiled and waved you both out of the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” You asked, partially knowing the answer already. “What did I say? Go relax, shoo” she laughed your words off and you followed Katsuki to the living room. “I have a surprise for you tonight, after dinner.” Katsuki says after a moment. You turn to look at him. “Oh. What kind of surprise?” you asked. Your question made him souffle his feet, he was nervous. That was unusual for him, he was always so confident. “No, that’s all you get to know for now.” he retorts. You roll your eyes with a laugh “Why did you bring it up then? You know it’s all I'm gonna think about now” he smirked “Yeah dumbass, that was the point.” he teased.

All through dinner you were bouncing between feeling tense and excited, you had no idea what Katsuki had planned. He had been tapping his foot the entire way through dinner, finally excusing himself but not before looking over at you and mumbling “Stay put.” You put your hands up in surrender allowing him to do whatever it was he wanted to do without protest. God, was he grateful for that, he loved you to death but sometimes you just needed to let him do whatever it was without questioning him too much. Besides, he was doing all of this gushy shit for you. 

It took about fifteen minutes before Mitsuki came out from the kitchen. “C’mon he’s ready for you.” she said and you stood from your place at the table, you  went to follow her to the backdoor. She gave you a smile, which should have helped calm your nerves but it only made them worse. You opened the back door to their little patio which was decorated in hanging lights illuminating the patio, you noticed flower petals thrown messily around. You felt a smile creep onto your face as you noticed Katsuki standing in the middle, shuffling on his feet, a singular rose in his hand. He gave you a shy smile. “Suki, what is this?” you asked in awe stepping into his little circle with him. “Woman, will you let me speak before you start interrogating me?” he barked, but it wasn’t much of a bark, he was containing a laugh, a sparkle in his eye. It made you giggle. “Apologies my love, go on then.” you gesture, his face feels like it's on fire. “The first day I met you in UA I knew there was something that annoyed the fuck out of me.” he started which made you roll your eyes but you let him continue without interjecting. “I also went home that night and told my mother, her response was ‘I can’t wait to meet the girl that stole your heart’. I didn't know what she meant by that then. It took a couple months for me to ask you to be my girlfriend. Once I did, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, which was weird for a kid to have such big hopes. I know being with me was weird for you, people stared, made comments, I wasn’t blind, neither were you. I was kind of figuring you would leave me over it, but you never did. You stuck by my side even when I didn’t deserve it. Y/n, I love you so much. There will never be anyone else that compares, Marry me?” he asks now, kneeling and opening the little ring box. You were crying, the words didn’t want to form. “Y-yes” you choked out jumping into his arms promptly knocking him over, he caught you though, stifling a laugh through his own tears. One arm wrapped around you as he sat you both up, the other sliding the ring on your left ring finger. You stared in awe for a moment before peppering his face with kisses. “I love you Suki. I love you so much. I never cared what anyone thought of us.” He wrapped his other arm around you now hugging you. “I love you too.” he mumbled.

[zetathedraconequus]

A small rambling mess of a speech for Lucky

Whew ok ten years. Should of like planned for this given I've known this is going to be his tenth year since like February. Got no art. Got no party. Man I suck huh? But uh. Anyways. It's luckys 10th birthday. Well technically the 10th anniversary of us meeting. Hes 26 now. Which meant he was 16 when we met. I was 10. I've either had his plush for ten years or just under I can't really remember. His eyes have uh, darkened because my dumbass keeps rubbing him against the oilest face known to man kind. His skin has like more of a grey-bluish tint compared to a new plush. I want this plush to last forever but I'm also not ready to replace or alter him. Got off focus there. Right. Lucky. He's been through three main generation-changes. The latest one and the one people probably know the best is Gen 3, which is like 8 years now? 6th grade, yeah that'll be 8. I'm kinda just writing this as I'm thinking but I just don't really have anything. Everything that's been known has been said already by me many many times. He's my best friend and family. He's been with me through everything. From small shit like falling off a bike, to going through my parents divorce and going to the mental hospital. He's always protected me from danger, shouting out or pulling me back from cars or alerting me of something just *wrong*. When I've had nightmares he'll stand there just watching me to make sure I feel safe. If I'm cold he'll try to wrap me in his wings or share his sweather. He wipes my tears away and gives me the strength to pursue on. He sits by me when I'm sick and even if he doesn't say anything or do anything I just know that he's always there. Even if sometimes I can't see him, I just know if I call out he'll respond and be here. He really is my everything, and that's not even including the adventures I've had with him. Spiders and slime and one time he got covered in honey which attracted a lot of bees and well...

I've helped him as well..or at least I like to think so.I know that sometimes he feels as If he can't come to me for whatever reason or that I wouldn't understand. Sometimes I don't. We live different lives so I can understand that. Maybe he's afraid that I'll think less of him. Buddy I've seen you passed out in the alley and I still love you. I'll drag your ass out of there over and over and over again and never think less of you. I know you're listening somewhere, you're always listening in, I can't have a single private thought to myself. Even if you won't exactly tell me what's going on I just know that your silence speaks volumes, especially when its connected with a bottle. You've been through so much shit. You've done so much shit. You're not the Saint or the angel and I don't expect that from you. I love you and hold onto you with all of your problems. Your baggage. Your addictions. Your attitude. Because I know that you would do the same for me. Even if I call you out on your actions, you've done the exact same shit for me and so I don't want to hear that you think I'll think less of you.

I'm rambling and got off task there.

You're attached to me. Literally. You did some shit, yes I'm blaming you, and now we're stuck together through life and death. I know you're going to haunt me, if not then I'm haunting you. I can't imagine a life without you because I truly don't think I would have one without you. That's not really being metaphorical either. I want to create to *be* closer to you. I picked up drawing so that way I could look at you. I picked up plush making so I could hold you. I started cosplay so I could be you. I try new foods because you're glaring at me and calling me a bubble blowing baby if I don't. I picked up drinking tea because you really liked it. Surprise I like it too. I don't think people understand that we are a package deal. Even if the bond isn't nearly as close or they don't understand really, If I like them then I want them to know about you. They don't have to love you or understand Who you are or what you do for me and with me, but they don't have to. They just have to know that you exist and you're important. That's all I ask. If they can't accept you then I just can't have a true bond with them. Simple as that. There is no way around it. And if they do accept and understand then it's even better. I wish more people could come to your birthday besides those just kinda in the dome, but I guess we gotta make it work. Who knows. Maybe in ten years we'll have more people.

I love you. All variations. All iterations. Lucky. FTL. El. Even the bad ones like Evilous and Foyzur. Because they're all different sides of you and I would be a hypocrite to not accept one of them. I still find it so silly how you, yes you Lucky, fight with the rest of them. You really all got that superiority complex don't you?

This is all of yours birthday. We're making the cake to reflect that. Maybe I'll make a better art piece then the silly cake doodle I made. But anyways I'm running out of words and thoughts. You've been quiet today, I'll wait for you to speak. I will say there is just one question.

Why are you British.

I did not make you like that, dummy.

Love- ZetaTheDraconequus

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 257

Keep Calm and Carry On/Sleep No More

“Keep Calm and Carry On”

Plot Description: as Crowley conducts a desperate search for Lucifer’s vessel, Dean must come to grips with an unbelievable sight: the return of his mother

Oh. So NOW we’re getting a “the road so far”??? But not to carry on wayward son…feels wrong

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No, but not for the normal reasons. We picked right back up with Dean and Mary

Omg Dean’s right around my age now, too??? I can’t

Oh right. Castiel got super banished from the bunker at the end of last episode

Everything that Mary’s saying about how many times she and Dean have met over the course of the series sounds so fake, but it all really happened

This lady just bribed a veterinarian with like…$200k maybe? To dig the bullet out of Sam. Ohhhhhh, she’d shot him in the leg!

This interrogation is going super well for London Lady (maybe one day I’ll learn her name). That. Um. That was sarcastic.

Omg Mary almost shot her son’s boyfriend

Two things: Cas initiating a hug!!!! And two, when you see your boyfriend who you thought died when you sent him to go blow up god’s sister

Castiel and Mary are kind of funny together. Dean, on a normal laptop

Mary: is that a computer?

Cas: Yes. I don’t trust them

(But like….he’s and angel and she’s from 1983)

The face of a man who just realized his mom is remembering the times his parents fucked in the car that would eventually be his….and his confused boyfriend he looks to directly afterward

Lady. No. It’s just that your country is so much smaller. It’s easier to control monster populations.

Wait, are the writers trying to make supernatural beings a metaphor for guns? Because she was just saying there hasn’t been a monster related death in the UK since 1965…guess I’ll have to watch this season to find out

We must stay strong. I love when Cas gets to show his ruthless side. That was almost season 4 Cas levels. They soften him so much, which I also love..:but every so often, the old Castiel comes out. It’s just nice to see he’s still got it

I wanna go to a fruit stand slash outdoor cafe!! Why do Mary, her son, and her son’s boyfriend get to and I don’t??

Mmmmm, it was only 100k. But man…it’s hard to say no to that when you’ve got doctor student loans

Did you really think they wouldn’t lock the cellar they’re keeping you in, Sam???

Do angel abilities stop at consciousness? Like Cas can heal just about anything but waking up someone who was knocked unconscious?

Does this other UK men of letters woman have some sort of angel warding that keeps her safe from whatever Cas can do??? Guess it doesn’t matter, Mary just stabbed her

Oh, you fucked up BIG TIME, lady. And maybe I should have had just a little more faith in Sam. I mean, he’s lived through all those things before, and every hurtful thing Dean’s said to him…

I can’t believe he said the “saving people, hunting things” line now, here in season 12

(The Crowley subplot was super small and almost unimportant. He was literally just jumping around to where Lucifer HAD been, all the people he’s burnt out by needing them as a vessel)

“Sleep No More”

Plot Description: this terrifying story is assembled from footage discovered in the wreckage of Le Verrier Space Station

*fingers crossed I don’t see “to be continued…” at the end of this episode*

*google translates “le verrier” from French to English ahead of time just in case that’s an important derail* it means glassmaker

I can’t tell if the video’s stalled or if they made this part intentionally ACTUALLY pitch black. Just blank screen. Feeling like I’m watching Season 8 Episode 3 of game of thrones

It’s really been a few minutes of a blank screen…i signed up for doctor who not a scripted drama podcast. It’s giving Wolf 359 but I’m annoyed

They’re orbiting Neptune…I’m literally absorbing NOTHING ELSE. Except Clara thinks this place looks like a Japanese restaurant in space

…I watched like 8-10 minute just like this…I just fixed it. There was supposed to be picture this WHOLE TIME. I thought it was a weird style choice. I hate this

You know…we DO need more multi-season Doctor and companion pairings with no romantic tension. This is no hate to Nine/TenRose (a little ick to Eleven and Amy), but you wouldn’t get these dumbass conversations about how people don’t call things that look high tech and whatnot “space [noun (restaurant, champagne, and hat were used in the show)]”. There’s a big difference between how you act around your crush and how you act around your bff, and unfortunately Donna was robbed of a good deal of her time due to Ten’s time being nearly up. But Twelve and Clara? Have had a LOT of time together to get to be dumb together as friends, and we get it on screen

Ok ok ok. So there’s some kind of creature made of sand aboard this space laboratory that’s named glassmaker where this rescue mission is taking place. I’m connecting the two dots

Why’d that one guy not go with LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE?? They were all in a group and he just split off for no reason while they were running

I’m having less and less faith that this is a one part episode. They’re spending entirely too much time trying to get in touch with their missing teammate

Why would you put a hologram of a 1960s-ish girl group singing Mr Sandman on a 38th century dohickey you’ve called Morpheus but refuse to explain? I’m saying, the thing shuts with a person inside, the small hologram appears singing Mr Sandman. I’m just saying, would we be putting 4th century music on a space station today?

Ewwwwwww, why’d they put turbo capitalism on Neptune??? Morpheus gives you the energy to work for a month straight in, like, five minute time. Thanks! I hate it!

I did not connect the dots. These sand creatures are potentially made of sleep dust…sure

I hate this dude. He’s trying to shorten the amount of time people sleep even MORE

The original crew of this space station sucks too. Why would you make the password to open all doors singing Mr Sandman (my phone tried to autofill Saxon…awww John Simms Master)

PREACH, Doctor! Sleep IS important and blessed! Please ignore how late I’ll be up tonight for the mha leaks…I’m sorry, Doctor

WHAT. The sleep dust is collecting the footage from all this?? That…feels like a step too far for my suspension of disbelief

What the fuuuuuuuck. Horrible Turbo Capitalist is trying to make these sandmen the new human because…..they’re more efficient workers? I don’t know. All I’ve seen them do is near mindlessly attack.

Ok. So the whole premise is that they embedded the signal that turns you into a sandman into this video that you’re now watching, and they made it exciting but nonsensical with no real conclusion. This feels like they tried to make another Blink-esque episode but it didn’t work as well

[maya-tl]

For the quote writing prompts:

"Smoka pokonać trudno, ale starać się trzeba" from Nowe Ateny, a Polish encyclopedia from the middle ages. (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nowe_Ateny) It translates to "Defeating the dragon is hard, but you have to try." Feel free to take this as literally or metaphorically as you wish.

Ideas for characters:

Turin

Thorin

Bilbo

Maglor

(I tried to pick ones where the quote works both literally and metaphorically)

Bilbo was a masterful storyteller, at least according to the children of the Shire. It mattered not which story he told, or how many times he told it, or even how many details he changed—the children always clung to his every word with baited breath.

It was Bilbo's 100th birthday, a truly momentous occasion for any Hobbit, and the celebrations were sure to be spectacular. Preparations were in full swing and the workers had brought along their offspring for the sole purpose of dumping them on Bilbo, who was so very talented at keeping them from causing mischief.

And so he had grabbed a chair, pipe in hand, and the children immediately gathered around him to beg for a story.

"The one with the trolls, Mister Bilbo!"

"No, I want to hear the song of the goblin king again!"

"Tell us about the dragon, Mister Bilbo!"

"The elves, the elves!"

"My, what enthusiasm! Well now," Bilbo had said cheekily, "I suppose I shall have to tell it all, hm?"

So he began his tale and the children quietened at once, and he told them of dwarves in his kitchen and orc chases across the fields and stone giants battling in the rain, embellishing the story where it was appropriate and lowering his voice in seriousness when it was not. And whenever he paused to allow questions many tiny hands rose in the air, waving frantically in the hopes he would pick them.

"And Smaug the Terrible fell from the sky upon the burning ruins of Laketown, and so ended his terrible reign over the Lonely Mountain," Bilbo said.

A hand shot up from the veritable crowd of youngsters, and Bilbo craned his neck to see whom it belonged to. A young boy with ruddy curls and brown eyes was watching him patiently, and his face was solemn in the way a child's features never should be, and Bilbo was intrigued.

"Yes, little one?" he said, blowing a ring of smoke over the children's heads, who all turned to look at who had caught their storyteller's attention.

The boy lowered his hand and held his gaze. "Were you the only one who could defeat the dragon?"

Bilbo blinked. "Why no, little lad. It was in fact Bard the Bowman, now King of Dale, who slew the beast—"

"Yes," said the boy, "So then why did you go?"

"Well..." Bilbo chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pipe. "The dwarves are my friends, and Erebor was theirs before the dragon took it from them. I couldn't stand by and let him keep it, you see."

"But they weren't your friends when you met them," the boy insisted, frowning, "So why did you go?"

Bilbo paused, lowering his pipe mid-smoke. He thought of his friends, so far away, of noble Thorin and bright Fíli and brave Kíli whom he would never see again. He thought once more of his home, and how empty it seemed now, and recalled the history that Gandalf had taught him.

"Perhaps at first because I was selfish," he said at last, as the children listened carefully, "And I longed for something different. But in the end I went because I had to. Because no one else would."

The boy kept frowning, as though Bilbo's answer had disappointed him, and Bilbo sighed and leaned forward.

"Allow me to tell you a little secret," he said quietly, and all the children scooted closer to hear him, "There is much danger out there in the great beyond, and all evil things might as well be dragons. Defeating the dragon is hard, but you have to try."

"Why?" whispered the boy with audible frustration, "Why can't you just stay home? Leave the fighting to someone else?"

"Because," Bilbo said gently, "As much as there is evil in the world, there is some good in the world too, and it's worth fighting for. There may be others out there willing to fight, powerful and ancient warriors who know how to wield a sword—but even the smallest person can make a difference."

Bilbo looked into the child's brown eyes and saw, in their depths, someone who would one day do great deeds, little as he was in the grand scheme of things.

"All you have to do," he said, "Is try."

A noise sounded from somewhere behind him, a mother calling for her daughter, and just like that the spell was broken and the children scattered, each running for their parents. Only the boy with ruddy hair remained behind, a contemplative look on his face.

"But what if you fail, Mister Bilbo?" he asked in a small voice, "What if you do try, but you don't succeed?"

Bilbo blew another ring of smoke in the air and looked beyond the boy's figure at his approaching father. It was late afternoon now, almost evening; he ought to get going, lest he miss tea time. He turned back to the boy, whose curls were framed in a halo by the setting sun.

"Then, little one," he said, smiling, "You try again."

*

Send me a quote and I'll write a short snippet around it! Remember to include the characters you want me to write for!

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Luisa with someone that angrily loves her- that's hilarious, can we see it??

Yes. Yes you fucking may (jfc I'm just pulling these oc's out of my ass. Fuck it, Luisa deserves it).

"She's doing that thing again."

"I know. We like, NEED to do something, this is getting out of hand."

Ever since the...incident that happened two weeks ago, Luisa had been knees deep into romance books. Literally, she had every single love story their library had. Mirabel and Isabela nodded at each other from their hidden spot, before deciding to approach her.

"Luisa, hey hermana! How's it uh. Going, with the books and everything?"

Luisa looked up from her current book, to her sisters, who held those awkward smiles that roughly said 'something in this situation is VERY uncomfortable'. Luisa pointed to the stack on the coffee table in front of her.

"Good! Those are the ones I just finished this week! I need to return them tomorrow so I'm kinda cramming them in. I think I'll be out of books by then though, and the library will be out of them. I asked mom for the ones in her room but she said 'absolutely not', and I kinda dunno why."

They both chose not to question it, for favor of getting to the point. Mirabel sighed, reaching over to hold her hand.

"Look. We kinda been noticing you've in a...romance rut."

"SO, why don't we take you out, go on the prowl? Find you a nice guy. Or girl. I'm better at finding decent girls, dunno shit about men."

Luisa shut her book and sighed.

"I appreciate it, guys. But I'm not looking for a hookup. I'm looking for THAT."

She gestured to the kitchen, where Julieta and Agustín were dancing to the tune Félix was playing on his guitar. Those two loved each other, no matter what. They kissed and danced and told each other they loved each other every morning over breakfast. They were everything Luisa wanted. Isabela sighed with a bit of a smile.

"That's sweet, Luisa, really. But THAT isn't immediate. It comes with time and patience. A tree can't be a tree without being a sapling first. So, lets get you a sapling, get him growing!"

"...Isa are you talking about the dick-"

"No, I was knee deep in this metaphor so I just stuck with it. Now come on! Worst comes to worst, you get to spend a day with your favorite sister in the world! And Mirabel too I guess."

"HEY!"

Luisa couldn't help but smile at her sisters. So what if she never found the romance she wanted? She had the love of her family, and that was enough for her.

"You know what? Yeah. I got some extra cash, let's go blow it all. I have been wanting a new dress."

"Thatta girl! Let's GO!"

Isabela grabbed her hand and pulled her off of the couch, with Mirabel tailing right behind.

"Ma! Pa! We're stealing Luisa for a bit!"

"Where are you two going?"

Camilo poked his head in, currently munching on a snack.

"They gonna get Luisa some dick, and good for her, honestly."

"Camilo!"

"Well he's not like. Totally wrong-"

"ISA!"

Luisa pushed her sisters out of the house, hoping she'd survive the damn trip.

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

"Oh here, try this one!"

Luisa didn't love eating, but her sister's did. It was why they stopped by the merchant's square to get some snacks, before they started their shopping. Isa got this cup of red stuff, and she seemed to be just adoring it.

"What is it?"

"The guy called it 'tteokbokki'. It's like, rice cakes-try it!"

Luisa helped herself to a bite, having to hold her hand under her face to keep the dress from getting ruined. It got a bit down her chin, but thankfully she got it off without too much effort. She shrugged.

"It's...kinda chewey? It's kinda spicy though, I don't like it too much."

She herself just got a drink, and she was glad for it, the carmel/chocolate slush eased the spice on her tongue. Mirabel chuckled after she helped herself to a bite of Isa's food. It was nice, seeing them get along for once.

"I like it! Anyhow, where should we look first? Jewelry? Shoe shopping? Dresses?"

"Ooh-what if we get tattoos?!"

"Isa that's permanent, you know that right?"

"Yeah like me dealing with you for the rest of my life, how much more disappointed can I really get?"

Okay so they got along SOMETIMES. Luisa was about to suggest they go try on dresses, when her eyes locked onto something incredible.

"Guys. What's that?"

They stopped bickering to look in Luisa's direction, at the very cuddly looking creature ahead of them. A lot of times, merchants from far off lands brought their own animals, and this was by far the CUTEST she'd ever seen. A giant, SUPER fluffy, white llama. That was when they noticed the sign 'pet the animals, five pesos'. Isa looked up at her sister.

"You wanna go pet it, don't you?"

"So much so, yes."

"Alright, let's get in line, dresses later."

They got into the line, and Luisa was just giddy. So many of them, past this fenced off area. Brown ones too, but she had her eye on the one that looked white as a cloud. She was about to reach the front of the line and give the man her money, when suddenly two people cut in front of her. A guy and a woman.

"Hey uh, excuse me? You guys cut me."

The guy scanned over her, scoffing.

"Dude, ladies first, I'm just trying to show the lady a good time."

"I AM a lady."

The man and woman exchanged a glance, before the lady, pretty as a peach, whispered to her.

"Like...you were ALWAYS one, or?"

It always hurt more, coming from pretty women. Because she wanted to be like them, all pretty and done up and...never mistaken for a man, or a brute.

"Let me tell you why I'm going to kill you-"

"No Isa- it's fine. It's...fine. Let's just go, I don't wanna be here anymore."

She was about to usher them to leave, when they heard a sharp whistle. They turned to look at where it came from. A blonde fellow, probably only reaching to her stomach in height.

"Hey, you, lady. Get back here, your ass was practically prancing to get in here. These two are leaving."

The guy scoffed at the blonde, as if he personally offended him.

"Hey, we just wanna see the animals dude!"

"Look in the mirror then, fuck off."

"Hey, not my fault he started messing with us!"

The blonde gestured to them, face turning into quite the snarl.

"You giving the girl more trouble? I'll beat your ass right in front of your fake lookin' bimbo."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're right, I'm sorry. I'll beat her ass too, equality and shit."

The guy who was taking the money tried to step in, putting his hands on his shoulders.

"Donovan, relax, we've talked about this-"

"Fuck off! Dude's being a piece of shit to the pretty lady!"

Isa was scowling too, despite the compliment.

"Thank you, but-"

"Wasn't talking to you. I meant the lady with the bun."

Wait. Wait. He meant her? She felt her cheeks get a bit red, and she knew it was super obvious.

"You...just called me pretty."

"Yeah. That's. Kinda gross. Like you'd date that?"

"FUCK YEAH I'LL DATE THE SHIT OUTTA THIS LADY."

"I think you're just saying that."

"Son of a-what's your name?"

"Oh uh. Luisa."

"Okay great-Luisa, you wanna go on a date? Tonight?"

Should she be accepting a date from a total stranger? Probably not. But he was kinda...cute. His mop of blonde hair, his angry looking scowl that reminded her of a pissed off puppy.

"Yeah. I would, actually."

"Great-now I'm giving YOU, asshole, a chance to fucking leave."

The man tried to raise a hand at him, only for Donovan to punch him right in the face, sending him to the floor. Then, he kicked him to get him properly out of line.

"Get your man off the floor. He's in the way of a real lady here, not whatever the fuck you are."

He waited till she did what he said, before motioning for Luisa to walk in. She smiled at him as he opened the gate for her, sort of just now noticing the sun tan that littered his somewhat muscley arm.

"Thank you. You uh, don't have to take me out though, in case you wanted to just prove a point-"

"Hey, fuck off. I said I'm taking you out, I'm taking you out. I mean what I say when I say it."

"Even the pretty part?"

His face suddenly erupted in blush, and he grumbled as he refused to look at her.

"Just. Go inside, Lawrence is waiting for you."

"HIS NAME IS LAWRENCE?!"

Oh my god, that was so fucking cute. She ran in without another word, and immediately started to pet the shit out of this absolutely fluffy creature. Isabela and Mirabel got in on it too, petting animals with grins on their faces.

"Look at you, pulling a boy! I mean. I don't know much about them, can't tell if he's cute enough to date. Might need a bi opinion. Mirabel? Mirabel? Where'd she-"

"DUCK DUCK DUCK!"

Luisa was about to say 'goose', when she saw her sister get chased by a VERY angry looking duck. Fast too. Luisa chuckled.

"Nah. He's cute. And he...called me pretty. I hope we find a good dress after this."

"Oh he'll like whatever you put on. You see how he was looking at you? I know that look. I'm impressed, pulling in an hombre, and I thought I was the heart breaker~"

She bumped her hip against her sister's, making her chuckle. She liked to picture what tonight's date was going to be like. Romantic walk underneath the moon, a nice dinner under candles...and probably no Mirabel screaming 'help me, it's got TEETH' in the background.

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Pact Marks | All Brothers

Request: pact mark hc with the brothers?

Word Count: 1971 words

Page Count: 5.5 pages

A.N.: hope you guys enjoy this!

Tags: none :)

[ U N D A T E A B L E S ]

Lucifer

Lucifer would place his pact mark on the space where your neck meets your ear, somewhere modest and easy to hide, something you could show and hide as you pleased. Though you could hide it, it was in an obvious spot, fitting for the Avatar of Pride. When you summon him or speak with him through it the pact mark glows a deep blue.

If you wear your hair down, he will play with your hair before rubbing the mark gently, and if he is in an extra soft mood he'll give it a quick kiss before moving on. If you wear your hair up he feels prideful, more so than usual, and it intensifies even more if it is a formal gathering where any and all can see it. He'll be glued to that one side where the mark is, and he'll lean in to whisper to you whenever he wants to speak with you, giving a quick kiss to it or just touching it before standing up again.

His pact mark with you on the palm of his hand, and he finds himself thumbing it mindlessly to comfort himself, he starts to understand why Beel does it when he's nervous. Lucifer isn't nervous though, he just likes to remind himself of you, he likes to touch the mark that proves you're both bound together in such a way. When he speaks to you through the mark or tries to look through your eyes, activating the mark, it glows a bright white and reminds him of a blessing mark that angels give.

Having a pact with Lucifer makes him feel light, in a literal and metaphorical sense, every time he even thinks of it.

You bring him light that he thought he had lost long ago.

Mammon

Mammon would keep your pact mark on your collar bone, in the center, right where your throat dips into your chest. He knew you were caring, and being around you had him feeling different, and he wanted to be greedy. Since he is more emotionally inclined, I like to think that he can connect with souls and auras better, so when he felt your soul and looked at it a bit closer he felt so connected to it he knew he wanted to get close with you. It glows a bright gold when it activates, and he loves it, so sometimes when you're sleeping he'll call to the mark and kinda just look in amazement. 

Since he is very touchy, he loves to lay his head down on it, and listens to your heart and the soft buzz of his magic in your skin. He falls asleep fastest on those nights.

His mark with you is in the same place, and like his older brother when you use it it glows a soft white, something he loves since it matches well with his demon markings. Run your nails over it and the boy m e l t s. Since he had his collar opened all the time he loves when people see it, he makes pacts with witches all the time but this is the first time he's allowed a mark on him, and this honestly has everyone just lowkey s h o o k. Like Mammon? The pact whore for grimm? Allowed a mark? on H I M ?

Having a pact with Mammon makes him feel pride, ironically, but also loved and wanted.

He actually feels like an equal, when all else isn't, this is the one time where it's you AND him.

Leviathan

His pact mark on you is on your foot and wraps around your ankle, it seems easy to hide, but you can never really hide it. Unless you're wearing shoes that cover your ankle often or pants that don't ride up your ankle, it's always showing somewhere. He is a strong swimmer and loves to see you swim too, so he knows legs are important for the task, and that's where the idea of placing his mark on your ankle came from. Sometimes, he'll jump in the tank with you, and since he can breathe underwater with his gills (broski I like the idea of him having gills P L E A S E), he'll sit back and chill with Henry swimming around his head, seeing your mark move with the rest of your leg.

When you use the mark, it becomes a soft orange, the same shade that hides behind his eyes when they become more snake-like. Lay your legs over him when he's playing games and he'll settle the controller on your other ankles, letting his fingers brush against the mark on the other. Little shit will even let his claws some out just to scratch them lightly and tickle you like a motherfucker.

His mark is on the ankle opposite of yours, so when you're both cuddling he'll link your ankle around his, the feeling of you WITH him blows his mind sometimes. Same case when he uses it, glows white, due to you being a human and having such a bright soul. 

Having a pact with Leviathan makes him feel like he's worth something.

You helped him gain confidence and become a demon that deserves the title of Avatar of Envy.

Satan

His pact mark runs from the top of your calf to about mid-thigh, right on the back of your leg, it's large, slender, and delicate. It glows neon green when activated, something that he honestly finds cool as hell, because:

1. It's something that means you have a piece of him with you.

2. You make it look awesome.

3. It's honestly so fucking cool.

Like Levi, when you're both relaxing, him reading and you doing work/listening to music, and your legs are on his, he'll touch the mark mindlessly and feel so at peace. But, if you're ticklish, guess who also is a little shit. If you're in bed, and laying on your stomach, he'll lay his head on your thigh and just trace his with a look on his face that says 'wow' and if you think of that meme, yes, that's valid.

His mark is on the top of his hand, he always gets to see it, looking at it shows him the progress he's made. He knows how to manage his anger and actively tries to have it processed through a better outlet. You helping him along the way makes him have hope, an emotion that could seem a bit foreign at times, but he likes it. He feels light.

Making a pact with Satan has him feeling like he can be anything he wants.

He can be himself, not an extension of someone else.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus has no shame, but, when he cares- when he really does, he wants to make it meaningful. He would place it on your hip and have it there and only there, it won't wrap around to your ass or to your front, just your hip. He loves to watch it glow a radiant pink, so he'll section off time to just lay his head on your lap and ask you to call him, the tug of magic and the light emanating from your skin does something to him. Sure, it could be lust, or maybe something more, you may be able to figure it out if he told you.

He didn't want to though. He'd just enjoy the feeling without having to figure it out, because figuring it out meant facing himself, and we can't have that just yet. His pact mark is right over his heart, though Mammon's mark is in the same area, it isn't right over his heart. It is settled right between his pectorals, a slight bit to the left, always hovering around the muscle that proves he's alive and able to love in some capacity.

He often would come up to you and just place his hand on it, palm flat against your hip while his mark would flare up in an ivory light, he swears he can feel your pulse through it and wonders if you can feel his.

Having a pact with Asmodeus makes him feel as if he can be seen past his title- which ever one, and just be himself.

He can devout himself to something that means more than him.

Beelzebub

Beelzebub's pact mark is not on your abdomen actually! He wanted to place it on his favorite spot, on the back of your shoulder, away from the place where his sin seems to ravage him. It of course, glows a deep crimson, but be prefers it when it isn't activated- because it means you're safe and you don't need to call on him to help. He loves when you sit on his lap, because of a few reasons.

1. You're with him :)

2. You're happy :)

3. He can look at your mark as much as he likes, especially if it's exposed, he'll "somehow" leave small kisses all over it. They're so soft, you can't help but laugh, it's ticklish at times. It becomes even more ticklish when he presses his face against it, and if you laugh, he laughs, his laughs against your skin either make you soft or cackle in delight.

4. Your pact mark is right against his!

Beel would have his pact mark right on his chest, matching it to the side you choose to have your pact mark on. This makes the big boi real emotional, and he'll sometimes let some magic through and it glows, and you're kinda like:

"I hope that's a glow stick and not you again Beel."

"Let's just say it's a glow stick for now."

Having a pact with Beelzebub means you're a part of his family, happy, and healthy.

It really just makes him emotional.

Belphegor

When you make a pact with Belphegor, this lil' shit is honestly so surprised you said yes, but considering it was a gift you probably said yes to be respectful. But... you didn't. 

Your pact mark with him is on the back of your neck, where the cervical vertebrae are, moving a bit lower to the thoracic spine. When you suggested it go there, he had to ask why, and boy did he tear up once you explained it to him later that night. You wanted to trust him again and put the past behind you, so what better place to mend a wound than the place that finally put your lights out?

Please don't say it like this to him though, if you do he would think you're joking.

But if that's how it comes out, he'll think you're joking, until he remembers you're you and... he gets it.

It glows purple when activated or when you're sleepy/ in some type of stress, he wants to read your emotions so he can help you as much as he can, make up for what was done. He would never admit it though, and you can tell he's trying his best. His mark would be in the same exact place, not only to remind him of what he did, but that he can do better to make amends. He punishes himself for your death and you try to ease him out of it- and though it takes time, you'll find your way to it. 

He finds himself doing what Beel does, and will bury his face into your mark when he cuddles into you, and places small kisses on it. If he is laying on you, please touch the mark, it manages to calm him into a good sleep. 

Making a pact with Belphegor means you're ready to grow and build something better with him.

You help him find a better path that he needs to walk down on his own.

[yikesharringrove]

Agitation (or disturbance of the mind)

Here is my piece for the Harringrove Big Bang!! I’m so so proud of how this piece turned out and I’m so excited to share it! @harringrovebigbang

Read on Ao3 (highly recommended. It’s over 16k).

Special thanks to my beta readers @thinger-strang @crispysteve without whom this story would’ve been scrapped in many fits of emotions.

Art for this story to be linked soon by @thedogsled

Check out this amazing moodboard by @memes-saved-me !!

Enjoy!

-

Steve Harrington is a liar. 

He always has been. 

Nearly everything about him is a perfectly crafted facade. 

From the story of his family’s move to Hawkins when he was eight, to the smile that slides easily onto his face when he tells Robin I’m fine. 

Steve is a liar. 

But it's all out of necessity. All for the greater of some good he isn’t all that clear on anymore. 

It was always about protection. 

Protecting his friends and everyone in Hawkins from the truth about Hawkins National Laboratory. 

Then it was about protecting himself from his powers. 

From the way his words had a knack of worming their way into someone’s brain. Of setting up shop inside and clanging around until they could do nothing but bow to his suggestion. 

Just because he could get his way with the right inflection and the telltale shiver down his spine, didn’t mean that that was okay. 

It was drilled into him the first night he arrived in Hawkins. 

After his file was stamped with a large red mark that read defective, he was given to one of the scientists and her husband. 

The Harringtons. 

A normal new family from Eastern Oklahoma. 

That’s what they told everyone. 

That’s what they made sure Steve parroted to everyone in his brand new school. 

His new father took a cigar to the tattoo on his wrist, welting the flesh with an ugly burn. He ignored Steve’s screams and tears. 

You have to fit in here, Steven, he had said, the cigar smoldering between his fingers, Steve clutching his wrist, eyes shining with tears. You have to fit in and be normal. 

So Steve lied. 

He smiled and told everyone he came from a normal family from normal Oklahoma. He said that he lived in a normal house, and read normal books, and played normal sports. 

And he tried, and failed, to convince himself the lab was a dream.

-

“We should do something after this.”

Steve was careful to keep his voice casual. He didn’t want to let Robin in on how much he was dreading returning to his empty house tonight. 

Robin didn’t acknowledge him. She was sorting the returned movies, placing them in piles of genre so they could easily be returned to their proper section. 

Steve quietly lifted his leg, and lightly kicked her hip. 

She glared at him. 

“Quit ignorin’ me. Just say yes, or no.” It’s not like if she said no it would crush him or anything. No. It’s fine. 

“I just have a bunch of homework that’s all, like, due tomorrow,” she said it slowly, as though telling him a beloved relative had died. 

Was it that obvious how lonely he is?

“Don’t worry about it, Buck.” Robin took school real serious. She had perfect grades every year and had already applied to sixteen colleges and universities, including four Ivy League options. 

So Steve didn’t blame her for not skulking around with him. 

With college-less, nowhere bound Steve. 

“I’m really sorry,” she began, getting that sad look in her eye like that night in the mall bathroom when Steve spilled his drugged-out guts. Literally, and metaphorically. 

“Nah, I was just lookin’ for something to do. It’s okay, Robin. Really.”

And it was. 

Almost. 

It’s just that, Steve’s not got a lot going for him right now. 

He’s got a big empty house, and a brain that likes to give him excessive nightmares, and one age-appropriate friend in the whole place. 

But he doesn’t wanna talk about all that shit. 

And Robin looked like there was something on the tip of her tongue. Something her teeth were barely holding back. 

So Steve just scooped up the stack of neatly ordered Action films, and made his way over to the far shelf, taking himself out of the situation before it would get to a place that would only make him lie more and more. 

Robin means well. He knows she does. 

It just feels like a lot of her well-meaning chats end up with Steve lying through his fucking teeth and Robin nearly in tears of frustration at his lack of openness with her. 

She feels like being tortured and drugged together gives them a close kind of kinship very few share. 

Steve feels like he’s got just too much fucked-up baggage to dump on her. 

Not when they’re trying to put the Upside Down behind them. 

Not that Steve could ever put it behind him. 

He felt something build in his gut. Something hot and heavy. Something that always meant his powers were scraping at the walls of the neat little cave he had shut them in. Something that meant his skin would burn until he unleashed some of his pent-up energy. 

He took a deep breath, blowing out the air slowly through his nose. 

He had rules to his power. Rules he had given himself, mostly. Things he’d never use his powers for. 

He tried to avoid his powers at all costs, but he had seen what could happen if he tried to tamp them down. It was less dangerous to open the lid of the box just a tiny bit. 

Especially if he did it right. 

He made his way back over to Robin, finding that spot in his brain that made a shudder zip down his spine. The spot that was made of cold and electric heat. 

It was always too simple when he let the power take over. 

Locate her feeling. Let him consume him. 

And then just, twist it as much as he wants. 

“Robin,” he spoke slowly, honing his suggestion. “You don’t have to feel bad about not spending time with me tonight.”

He felt her sadness and guilt about the evening recede about as fast as the tide. 

She really shouldn’t feel bad about ditching him, especially not when her education is the main priority. 

He matched her lazy grin, wiping his nose discreetly, only a small drop of blood smeared against his hand. 

The rest of the shift passed without incident, and the roaring feeling in Steve’s gut had been sated enough for the time being. 

So he pushed it back out of his mind, and returned to his empty house. 

He was saving up to get his own place. He really was. But it was easier this way. He didn’t pay any bills, had lots of space to himself, and a pool in the backyard (that he never used). 

And it’s hard for him to explain, but there’s something tugging him back into this house all the time. 

He doesn’t know if it’s because it’s the only home he ever knew after the pain and fear that was his childhood in the lab, or if it’s something else that makes him feel tethered to the too-big house. 

Sometimes he thought there was a sense of safety in the old place. 

With parents that spent excessive amounts of time doing research for things he didn’t understand but was sure were important, it was largely an emotion-free place. 

Which was good for Steve. 

High emotion situations made his power boil up and spill over the edge like a pot of water on the stove. 

A place like his empty house, he could keep everything in check. Not get his feelings tangled with those around him. Not catch thoughts that were just beginning to be molded into something brand new. 

He clambered into bed, punching his pillows around in a way that was decidedly not petulant. 

There was a steady silence in the old house. A silence that was as depressing as it was easy on his brain. 

And there wasn’t silence. 

Creaks. 

Creaks issuing from downstairs. From the floorboards in the hallway. 

Footsteps. 

Steve was out of bed in a second, bat held aloft in as close to ready position as he could maintain while bolting down the stairs in his socks and faded green gym shorts. 

He knew how to navigate the house without a sound. Practice of tip-toeing around a volatile not-father kinda ended up giving him something useful. 

The creaks were still progressing, moving up the hallway from the back of the house, where his parents’ empty bedroom sat still. 

The person was getting closer, lumbering slowly as if they were trying to be quiet themselves. 

Steve adjusted his grip on the bat, taking proper batting stance, ready for the intruder to round the corner into his section of the hall. 

First sign of a person, and Steve would swing. 

No questions asked. 

The floorboard before the bend in the hall gave a loud sound, and he could’ve sworn he heard someone curse under their breath. 

He closed his eyes, and swung. 

His bat sailed through the air, and connected with, not an intruder. 

And then he was filled with an overwhelming sense of fear. A completely feral state of fight or flight made him nearly bare his teeth in an animalistic growl. He felt fear, and dread, and pure stubborn, stupid resolve. 

It nearly blinded him, the emotions were so thick and clear. 

And then there whooshed out of him, as though being sucked up by a feelings vacuum, leaving him empty and confused. 

His top lip was covered in blood. 

He had a lot of fucking questions as he stared at the bat, hanging by it’s long nails in the hallway wall, the ominous creaking moving past him towards the stairs. 

The footsteps that were caused by no one. 

It’s official. 

Steve’s lost it. 

He’s fucking crazy. 

He’s hearing footsteps and voices swearing quietly, and he’s going mad and completely batshit and should be tucked away in a padded room for the rest of his life. 

He didn’t even bother to wrench the bat out of the wall as he stumbled after the imagined footsteps. 

He clearly needed to get a good night’s sleep, and to forget that anything happened at all tonight. 

-

Billy hates Harrington’s house. 

He doesn’t, really. It’s given him excellent shelter while he pulled himself together, and it’s out of town enough to serve as a good base for the little gang of Lost Boys he had accumulated. 

It’s just that, the old house likes to make a lot of noise. 

It keeps him on edge. 

Every squealing door hinge, and every creaky floorboard sets his teeth on edge and makes him whip around in a frenzy, expecting to see a demogorgon snarling at him from the sitting room. 

He nearly had a heart attack when he heard the thuds coming from upstairs. 

He generally liked to avoid the top floor of the house. 

Harrington’s bedroom was up there, and it wigged him out something fierce. He’d only been in the dilapidated version of it one time, his first night in the house he had claimed for safety. 

He didn’t intend to stay the night in there, he had just stumbled upon it, and curled up in the bed. 

He remembers not sleeping the entire night. He was so scared after coming to in the library, something slimy and disgusting slipping its way out of his throat. 

The whole place had been screaming, as though the Upside Down itself was alive. Alive and being horrifically murdered. 

He didn’t know what it was called then, all he knew was that Harrington’s house was the first one he came across, and that Harrington’s room was depressingly empty and impersonal. 

But, there was a thudding coming from that general area, and if some kinda shitty creature was making its way into the house, he needed to hedge it off before it did any damage. 

He took hold of his ax, never far from his side these days, and slipped out of his cot. 

The floorboards in the hallway were creaky, and he tried to walk slowly, muffling his footsteps as much as he could in his heavy boots, not wanting to warn the monster he was coming for it. 

He cataloged the crew in his head: Hopper had his troop of three in the basement where they were resting up for the supply run tomorrow. Timothy was on nightwatch with his team of five. Billy was in a pack with four others; Heather Holloway, her mother, Janet, and the two boys they found skulking around the library the same night everyone seemed to wake up. One of the boys was called Andrew. The other hadn’t spoken a single word the entire time they’d been trapped. 

Billy liked to call him by different names each time he referred to the kid. Trying to get him to laugh. He couldn’t’ve been more than seven years old, and he was trapped in this fucking hellscape with the rest of them. 

Andrew was thirteen. Billy didn’t like to look at him much. Andrew reminded him of Max. Which made Billy feel empty and achy in a way he didn’t think was very productive for survival.

But Andrew took a shine to Janet Holloway. Probably missing his mother and needing more comfort than his thirteen-year-old self was willing to admit.

The Holloway women were a hell of a lot feistier than Bill originally gave them credit for, saving his ass in a scrap just as often as he had been there for theirs. Heather and Janet were equal parts caring and soft, with the right amounts of clever and bossy to take point on their team. 

Billy let himself be the muscle. 

He let himself be the watchdog and attack dog. He took nightwatches and never let his weapons out of his grasp.

Everyone had a role. 

And that was perfectly okay.

They had to keep together in this world. They wouldn’t survive it otherwise. 

They’d all lost enough people to understand that. 

One of the boards gave a hefty creak under his left foot, and he breathed a quiet fuck through his bandana, listening for more of the thudding. 

It had stopped about forty seconds before, Billy had counted, and he couldn’t hear any other sounds of something forcing its way inside. Plus, the nightwatch hadn’t sounded any alarms. 

He took another step, ax held ready and aloft in case he came face to ugly face with one of the horrible creatures that prowled the night. 

He rounded the corner, and there was a loud bang on the wall next to his head. 

He jumped as paint chipped off the wall and flew all over him. 

He was hit with a feeling of intense fear, and adrenaline rush that caused all the blood in his ears to rush. He looked wildly around, seeing, nothing. 

Billy bared his teeth, ready to go down fucking swinging. 

As long as he took the fucker down with him, that’s all that matters. 

Save the rest. 

And he stood, ready to fight, ready to die. 

And there was nothing.

Nothing in the hallway. He was all alone. 

None of this shit made any sense. He hadn’t dreamed the wall cracked beside his head, and looking back, there were holes in the wall, and a big dent that had splinted the white paint and drywall beneath it. 

There was some fucked up shit going on, and Billy didn’t like it one bit. 

He continued down the hall, creeping to the stairs to check the original source of the noises that had woken him up. 

Harrington’s room was pretty much just as he remembered it from that first night in the house. 

It was sparse and sad-looking. The covers on the bed were all jostled and thrown around, the horrible spindle-like vines covering nearly every surface in the room. 

They had cleared the tendrils in other rooms, cutting them and burning them back, ensuring the vines didn’t start creeping over them when they weren’t looking. 

Billy didn’t fancy being covered and tethered by the slimy black vines. He was pretty much over all this Upside Down shit. 

He took a cursory look around Harrington’s room, not noticing any signs of forced entry from a creature, really nothing was out of place. 

The meager school trophies on the bookshelf next to the closet looked rotted and tarnished, just like everything else in this absolute hell called a parallel universe. There were few pictures in this room, much like the whole house. It had taken Billy a long time to notice the lack of inhabitancy the house had. The way it seemed to feel so cold and empty, it would be that way in the real world too. 

His eyes swept over the dilapidated dresser, cataloging the room quickly for anything that should worry him. 

Billy deemed the whole scene safe, and made sure to close the door tightly as he retreated back downstairs. 

-

Steve’s going fucking crazy. 

He was still in bed, his alarm clock ringing angrily at him as it had for the past six minutes. 

He hadn’t slept at all last night. 

Something just felt. Off. 

The feelings in his chest were scrambled, and they felt foreign to him. Like he had taken in somebody else’s emotions. 

But proximity was the key to his power, and he was alone. Alone alone. 

Like, the closest person was Mrs. Gardfeld in the next house, all the way across their combined, much too big, yards. 

It felt like. It felt like someone was in the house with him. Someone was in the house with him, and they were scared, and stubborn, and tired, and a flurry of things that made Steve feel ill. 

And he couldn’t push them out. 

He couldn’t find the chasm between this slew of someone else’s shit, and his own messy cocktail of feelings. 

The other feelings were like those awful vines in the tunnel. Snaking around under his feet, wiggling up his ankles and keeping him stuck in the mud. Wrapping around his own emotions and squeezing until they just merged into one. 

He’s lost the metaphor. 

Doesn’t matter. 

His feelings are fucked and his brain is fucked and his day is fucked. 

And he has to work a double at Family Fuckin’ Video. 

He found his way out of bed. Not going very far, just standing next to his warm nest of blankets, debating getting back in and hiding for the rest of his life. 

He was going to be late for work. 

He didn’t really give a fuck. 

Keith would be all smug and probably make some remarks about Steve not even being worth the less-than-minimum wage he was making. 

He took a shower, not so much cleaning himself as letting the lukewarm water cascade down on him and hope it got rid of the stench of sweat and anxiety and bad sleep that was clinging angrily to his skin. 

His brain was empty. 

Empty save for the pounding otherness that were these horrible fucking feelings. 

Robin didn’t even have the heart to call him out for being nearly half an hour late.

“You look like shit.”

No, she just called him out for looking like shit. 

“Y’know, it’s really wonderful to have such a caring and thoughtful friend in these trying times.”

She rolled her eyes. He always told her one day she was gonna get stuck like that. With her eyes permanently fixed towards the ceiling in exasperation. 

“Drop the attitude, Steve Harrington. Just because you didn’t sleep doesn’t mean I have to suffer.” 

Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was joking. Steve just clenched his jaw and stared at her blankly. Either she would get mad at him, or sigh and roll her eyes. 

She sighed and rolled her eyes. 

Bingo. 

She wasn’t actually mad at him. 

“You okay?”

“Jus’, some weirdness. Bad vibes.”

He couldn’t give her more than that. Couldn’t say I can feel someone else in my house and I don’t know if someone is hiding in my house or if I’m going crazy, oh and by the way, I was one of those freaky lab kids and I can manipulate and feel people’s thoughts and emotions, by the way.

That’s too much for a slow shift on a Saturday morning. 

That’s too much for really any time of any day.

No, Steve fully plans to take all that shit to the grave. Like a real man, his dad would say. 

“Well, if you could take your bad vibes back to rewind duty, that would leave all the good vibes up here to me.” She shooed him off with her hand, landing a quick slap square on his left asscheck when he groaned and dragged his feet dramatically on his way to the back room. 

Not that Steve would ever actually complain about rewind duty. Steve preferred doing it to anything else in the place. Especially re-shelving. That was just asking for someone to come ask him for a movie recommendation. Steve only watched the same five campy old westerns and when he recommends any of those, people seem to wanna get out of his face right quick. 

No, rewinding was dull and monotonous and solitary, all the shit that Steve really needed on a day like today. 

There was a strict routine and he didn’t have to think or do anything. 

Just sit. New tape. Rewind. Put in case. Put in re-shelve bucket. New tape. Rewind. Put in case. And again and again and again until all the tapes were ready to go. 

Hawkins tended to take out a lot of movies on the weekend. Not much else to do when you aren’t sixteen and ready to hit up any party you could possibly weasel your way into. 

So, Steve had about fifty some odd tapes to rewind from the past few days and he was feeling benignly excited about sitting in the small room for most of his shift. 

It was easy to pass the shift like that. 

Sitting with the quiet whirring of the tapes being tracked back to the beginning. Not having to deal with anyone’s thoughts except his own tedious ones about when he should take his lunch break and reminding himself to check the TV Guide for anything good tonight. 

It was an odd emptiness that took hold of him throughout the day. And he almost felt, well. 

Lonely. 

He almost felt lonely. 

Which is fucking bonkers because that horrible feeling of someone else had well and truly fucked him over last night, and well into this morning, but he kind. Missed. The other presence. 

He’s officially crazy. 

Someone find this boy a padded fucking cell because Steve Harrington has officially gone all kinds of batshit bananas wacky. 

He’s feeling lonely because the horrible not his feelings of fear and anger and betrayal and desperation aren’t clogging up his little brain sink. Even when they were, the brain sink was threatening to burst and leak all over his brain kitchen. 

Or something to that effect. 

He let his eyes unfocus, watching Jaws at double speed and backward for the fourth time that day. 

There was something about the foreign feelings he just couldn’t quite wrap his head around. 

Something twinging in the back of his brain, screaming at him to open his eyes and pay attention. 

But that’s never been Steve’s strong suit. 

-

“Stupid. Fucking. Vines .”

Hopper muttered to himself a lot. 

It was usually too muffled underneath his own bandana face covering and the hefty beard he had been sporting to discern whatever he was thinking, but it’s not like hating the awful black tendrils of gross plant/monster/everything-that-made-up-the-Upside-Down hybrid of vine-ish tentacles was something that just Hopper experienced. 

It was a sentiment they all shared as they hacked away at the new growth in the dilapidated Bradley’s Big Buys. 

They had already ransacked the general store five times over, and took as much as they could salvage from the wreckage of the other-dimensional mall. 

Supplies were needed, and they had to be smart about it. 

Things had been quiet lately. 

Not many beasties out and about since the night they all seemed to come to. 

Hopper had said something about the gate closing and the brain being cut off from the body. 

Billy hadn’t listened. 

He’d been scared off his ass and all that had really registered was clear for now. 

So, they made supply runs. And poked around town for any survivors left to take back to Basecamp Harrington. Only Billy called it that. 

They had the runs down to a system. 

Pry away any vines they could, burning them back as they went, making enough room to slip into the bargain store, gather as much canned food and grimy medical supplies as they could manage, and book it back to the relative safety of the big house on the edge of the forest. 

Nobody talked about what they’d do when they ran out of supplies. When they’d exhausted their resources and were stuck with nothing but the vines on the ground and the spores in the air. 

Billy got it. 

It’s not like he wants to hear he’ll probably die of starvation and/or a gangrenous infection before he’s eighteen. 

They just. Make do. 

Ration food and keep each other safe. 

Always thinking about the minute they’re in and the minute coming up. Not looking too far forward. 

There’s nothing to see too far in the future. 

Billy crashed the blunt end of his ax through the sliding door at the front of the store, clearing away as much as he could. 

Janet and Andrew would slip inside first go, taking as much as they could carry with them. Next round, Heather would take the little one and gather anything left. 

Billy would keep watch. 

He always kept watch. 

Things had been too good for too long. 

After the first wave of those who didn’t make it, the whole broken side of the Earth was too kind to them. Not sending horrible fleshy monsters to nearly suck out their very souls. 

Billy didn’t think this could last for much longer. 

Heather took the little one by the hand, rushing past her mother and Andrew as they returned with their supplies. Billy did a quick scan of them, noting no new injuries. Nothing out of the norm. 

Supply runs were choreographed down to the minute. 

Should the group not return in forty-five minutes, a search team was sent out. 

The small group trudged back to the Harrington safehouse, keeping in the shadows, not a single one of them daring to speak. Billy walked slightly behind the others, never letting himself relax for a single second. 

Things were too quiet.

-

The feeling hit Steve over the head like a sack of bricks being whacked against his skull. 

Walking into his home was like walking into a stinking den of fear and anxiety. The air was clogged with so many emotions Steve felt like he was choking on them, slowly being crushed under their weight. 

Whoever was emitting all these, Steve felt sorry for them. He can’t imagine living with this much bad energy taking up space in someone’s brain. He could barely cope with his own terrible bullshit. He doesn’t know how someone could cope with this. 

He tried to move through his evening to the best of his ability. 

He nearly set the house on fire when he left the tin foil covering on his frozen meal, causing the microwave to spark angrily at him, the potatoes underneath the corner of foil that had nearly caught fire to smolder and blacken. 

Even in the shower, the water as hot and steamy as he could stand, he felt that prickle he couldn’t get rid of. 

Like if he could just close his eyes and reach out far enough, his fingers would brush someone else. Someone nearby. 

He’s felt it before. That there was a person just out of reach. A person he could feel clear as a bell, but couldn’t alter. Couldn’t manipulate. Just had to experience everything that was going on inside and try to hold on for the ride. 

He wore headphones to bed, blasting a mixtape Robin had made for him last month. Something with a lot of heavy guitars and girls wailing about society. 

He doesn’t think it was all that good, but it helped. Helped him feel like maybe the person wasn’t seeping into his own soul. 

And the whining synth of Patti Smith finally let him get some goddamn sleep. 

  “Hello?”

It was his house. 

But it wasn’t his house. 

It was a blank void. It was nothing. It was nowhere. 

But for some reason, his brain kept telling him it was his house. 

“Harrington?”

It was Billy. Hargrove. 

But it wasn’t Billy. 

He was dirty, covered in soot and horrible black sludge that made Steve’s stomach churn. 

“Why are you in my house?”

Billy looked around the blank void all around them. Water sloshed on the floor, lapping at Billy’s black boots. Steve observed his own toes. 

He was barefoot, but he couldn’t feel the water. 

“This is your house?”

Steve didn’t want to explain. 

“You’re dead.”

“Could be soon.”

Nothing Billy said made any sense. But then, Billy never made much sense when he was alive, either. 

He was an enigma to Steve. A big question mark all wrapped up with a gorgeous face and perfect body.

“Where is this to you?”

Why was Steve’s brain so adamant on declaring this place his house?

“Somewhere safe.”

-

So. 

That’s something. 

Dreaming about Harrington. 

Not necessarily something that Billy wanted to have happen to him while he was experiencing the worst possible time in his life. 

Or maybe he did. 

He’d said it in the dream. 

Somewhere safe. 

It’s what he felt in that blackness. 

Safety. Warmth. Hope. 

All the shit he hasn’t felt since he opened his eyes in the rank-ass library. 

That darkness was like a harness, keeping him grounded to something real. Tucking him in gently at night and kissing him on the head. 

It made waking up that much shittier. 

Knowing he’d be on nightwatch with Heather and Janet tonight, he used resting up as an excuse to lay on his cot, hardly moving in the clouded air. 

He needed to process. 

There was something so fucking weird about that dream. 

It felt real in the moment, and he didn’t question anything that had happened. 

Why there was water on the ground at his feet? Why Harrington was there wearing pajamas Billy could only describe as skanky? All of this made perfect fucking sense to dream Billy. 

Awake Billy, had some fuckin’ questions. 

Mostly, those previously listed. As well as: what the fuck?

He blames seeing Steve specifically on being in his house. That makes sense. You tend to think about a guy quite a lot when you’re living in the broken shell of his family home. He blames seeing Steve in those itsy-bitsy shorts and a homemade cropped t-shirt on the well repressed sexual interest he refused to admit he felt towards the guy. 

All that made sense. 

But everything else. 

Steve said he was dead. 

Was he dead?

Was this Hell?

Purgatory?

He’s read The Divine Comedy, and this doesn’t quite match up with any of the shit Dante waxed on about. 

And dream Billy didn’t think that was a weird thing to say to someone. To accuse them of being dead. He just said could be soon and then acted like that was a normal fucking response. 

His head was spinning out of control. 

The only thing that made sense was when Billy said they were somewhere safe. 

Because, they were. 

Even in the void place, he knew they were safe. 

There was a small tapping sound on the wall next to the open door frame. 

The door had long since rotted right through. 

“Miss Janet sent me to see if you’re alright.”

Andrew was always calling Janet Holloway Miss Janet. 

It makes Billy wonder if manners like that were beaten into him by a father like Neil. 

He hopes not. 

He likes Andrew too much for that. 

Andrew hovered around while Billy swung himself out of his cot. 

He changed out the bandana over his mouth and nose. 

Most of them slept fully dressed, even with their shoes and socks still firmly on their feet. 

You had to be ready to go at the slightest sound of Bad in this place. 

Plus, everything was so goddamn dirty, what’s a little mud in the sheets in the grand scheme of things? And the rancid rotting smell of the Upside Down did wonders to cover the smell of body odor.

Billy followed Andrew down the L-shaped hallway, to the sitting room where he found Janet and Heather huddled together on one couch, the little one between them. 

“Apparently something happened on the run last night.” 

Billy’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t make out Janet’s expression under her face covering. The little one got up from his spot on the couch, standing in Billy’s shadow. He liked to do that. Billy figured he felt safe behind someone so much bigger and stronger than him. Someone with a big fuckin’ weapon that was never too far away. 

“Who’d we lose?”

“No one. Everyone’s okay. Hopper just called all of us for a discussion, then went to the basement.”

The basement was Hopper’s domain with his little chunk of the crew. 

He had found some busted up H.A.M. radio from somewhere he refused to explain, and spent all the time he wasn’t watching over his shoulder for threats or gathering supplies from smashed grocery stores, trying to fix it up, tuning it to different crackling stations, and yelling into it. 

El. El, I need you to copy if you can hear me. El!

-

The pillow was a mess of blood the next morning. 

It was congealed and cracked and tacky against his face and made the pillowcase stick to his cheek and his bloody upper lip in a way that kinda made Steve wanna puke a little bit. 

His nose had bled in the night. 

He never got nosebleeds. 

Unless he used his power. 

And that dream. 

That blank void space and that mucky scraggly Billy lookin’ like the hunky star of some apocalypse movie.

Wait.

Blood forgotten, smeared on his face and neck, Steve tossed himself towards the phone on his nightstand, smacking his shoulder against the wooden corner and tumbling to the floor, his legs still tangled in his sheets on the bed. 

He couldn’t deal with anything, snatching the phone up and punching in the only number that was grinding through his head. 

“ Pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up, ” he muttered into the receiver. 

His upper body was still flopped over to the plush carpet, legs twitching and shaking on the bed with his anxiety. 

He’s had some massive fucking realizations and he needs backup. 

“This is the Byers.”

“Put El on the phone.”

-

“Oh. Steve’s covered in blood again. The Upside Down must really be back,” Dustin said in complete monotone as Steve opened the door. 

Steve couldn’t give less of a fuck right now. 

He felt like he was on the verge of a major breakthrough, all coming in the neat package of a major breakdown. 

He felt manic and shaky and so what if he forgot he was covered in the aftermath of a superpower-nosebleed-explosion?

“Shut up. Just get in.”

El had rallied the old troops from St. Paul, calling everyone at the ass-crack o’fuck in the morning and saying something about catching some weird Hawkins vibes all the way from Minnesota. 

It was a fucking weak excuse, but explaining the whole Steve situation was just not really in the cards today. 

He’s got an agenda and they need to stick to it. 

Robin said she’d gather Max on the way to Steve’s place, and Nancy was probably hauling Mike and Lucas over faster than a speeding gun or whatever that expression is, so all Steve had to do was get his story straight. 

“And maybe you should think about putting on a clean shirt? At the very least. I’d say, maybe just start over. Take a shower. Powerwash your face, even.”

“When the fuck did you become sarcastic ?”

“Right after you became friends with the coolest chick on the planet and then decided you’re too good for her.”

“ Chick. Don’t call Robin a chick. And I’ve told you, we’re just friends. I’m not too good for her.”

Really, Steve thought she was too good for him. 

Well, that, and there’s the whole part where she’s super totally not into guys at all. 

“So, what’s this all about, anyway? Mike said on the phone that El called him and left a really cryptic message.”

“Look. She called me to explain and ask if everyone could meet here,” Steve lied. “I’ll give you guys a recap once the rest of the gang shows.”

“But she thinks there’s something going on with the Upside Down? Again ?”

“I think she knows there’s something going on with the Upside Down.”

The more Steve sat with the memory of how Billy looked in that dream, the more he was certain of where he was. 

Billy had been ratty. His normally perfect hair was long and limp, greasy on top and matted around his face. He was sporting a patchy beard, nothing like the fuckin’ pornstache the guy had been rocking all last summer. 

And he was filthy. Covered in grime and dirt, and Steve’s sure if he’d looked harder, he would’ve seen traces of that viscous black goo that only meant bad news. 

There was a squeal of tires, an alarm signaling the arrival of Nancy in her mother’s station wagon, toting her brother and Lucas. 

“I’m in this now, Lucas Sinclair!” came Erica’s voice from the entryway. 

Steve was tapping his foot impatiently.

“Erica, you accidentally found out about all this!”

“So did you!”

The Sinclair siblings’ bickering was only cut by the sound of the Wheeler siblings snapping at one another in turn.

“Am I the only one that thinks it doesn’t make sense to meet up this early? El and Will are like, seven hours away!”

“Mike! It doesn’t matter. We all have to talk and figure out what’s going on.”

The sounds of arguments all quieted abruptly as the four people rounded the corner and caught sight of Steve.

“Oh, Jesus. Who kicked your ass this time?” Mike snipped at Steve. 

Oh, yeah. He keeps forgetting he’s covered in his own nose blood. 

“What? It’s nothing. I kicked my own ass. Just take a seat.”

“I told you to-”

Steve didn’t wanna hear it. 

He loves all these people, but his head kinda felt like it was full of mushy jelly and runny pudding and all the loud talking wasn’t doing much to help. 

He stepped out onto the porch, snagging the pack of cigarettes he kept stowed in the flower box next to the door. 

It took two to finally tame his nerves any. 

Sitting there with all the people in his house waiting for an explanation, he kinda felt like his haphazard plan was shit and going to fall through immediately. 

Just tell them El called. Tell them she saw Billy in the nowhere place and she thinks he’s alive. Easy as pie. 

The tell-tale sound of a skateboard making its way closer and closer announced Max before he saw her. 

Robin was pedaling next to her, helmet lopsided on her head and not buckled underneath her chin. 

They were talking animatedly to one another, their laughter dying as soon as they saw Steve waiting for them.

“Fuck. So this is real.”

“Why does everyone think I got the shit beat outta me?”

“Your ass gets creamed every time some spooky shit goes down in this place, Harrington,” Max informed him. 

She was a little Billy replica, all the way down to the way the corner of her mouth twitched up when she said his name. 

It would’ve been sad. The way she tried to become her brother after losing him so violently last summer. 

But something like relief settled into his bones, strong and real and wait ‘til I tell her Billy’s not dead and he was laughing. Curling in on himself cackling so hard his stomach had already begun to get sore

“Fuck. He’s lost it,” Robin sighed, ditching her bike next to Dustin’s and heaving Steve up, both hands underneath his armpits.

-

Nobody dared speak. 

“And you’re sure? You’re positive you heard one of those things?”

Janet had her arms twisted over her chest, her jaw tight as she watched Hopper’s every move. 

“It’s not really a sound you forget.”

Billy’s hand was shaking, he was gripping the ax so hard. 

“So, we’re fucked,” Angela said harshly. Her cold voice sent ice down Billy’s spine. “If those things are back, we don’t stand a fucking chance.”

Hopper scrubbed his hand over his brow, sighing through the cloth over his mouth and nose.

“It just means I have to try harder. I can get to El, I know I can.”

Hopper said that a lot. But he never explained what getting to El meant. 

Heather had explained she met El once, but she said it was weird and she only saw her like some kind of shadow, a figment in this dark empty place. Somewhere as cold and broken as the Upside Down felt. 

The little one was leaned up against Billy, his left hand balled in the edge of Billy’s leather jacket. He stood like that a lot. It was grounding for Billy. Kinda like holding Max’s hand when she was young and still thought he was the coolest person she’d ever met. 

“But, you only heard something, right? So it very well could be nothing.” Timothy was good at keeping mediator. He always kept a level head and talked slowly and calmly. They needed someone like him in this nightmare.

“They make this noise. This kind of wet chirping. Like this gurgle that just sounds like they’re watching you, ready to pounce out at any time, shrieking and attacking. It’s not a sound you forget.” Hopper had this horrible haunted look on his face, and Billy fucking believed him. 

“Then we up nightwatch. Stick together,” Billy offered. He never usually piped up with strategy, but that’s the best he’s got, and frankly, he thinks it’s the only way they’d all be able to make it through. 

“Exactly. We move in a pack now. Keep track of everyone together, and stay aware of what’s around us. I think we should do a major run and then lock up for a few days to see what goes down.” 

Hopper leaned back in the ratty armchair he was taking up, looking around to see if anyone challenged his ideas. 

Billy had given up his alpha male attitude the second Hopper yanked his upper arm and nearly screamed at him, asking Billy if he was ‘one of the flayed’ all while aggressively checking him over for injuries. 

First time any of Neil’s lessons actually sunk in. 

Respect and responsibility. 

If that fucker could see Billy now, doing nothing but respecting authority and taking responsibility for all these peoples’ lives. 

“We should rest up. Take a run tonight. Get a lay of the land,” Timothy said with an air of finality. Nobody argued. 

Hopper nodded. 

Everyone broke out from the Harringtons’ living room, milling around to get prepared for tonight’s run. Taking stock of what they needed to keep going for the next few days. 

Billy was itching to slide back into his cot and try to seek out that space if he can. The empty space where Harrington and that warm feeling of safe existed. 

The little one stayed clinging to his jacket, and Billy took a loose hold of his wrist, trying to provide some kind of basic comfort to the tiny kid. 

“You wanna go raid the cabinet?” The kid stared up at Billy with big eyes. Billy could never tell what color they were in the gloom. He thinks maybe green. 

The cabinet was a large door, built into the wall of the sitting room, and clearly where the Harringtons kept their games. 

They had these excruciating couple thousand-piece puzzles, the pictures peeling and faded on the pieces. They had Trivial Pursuit and backgammon, and all kindsa shit. 

The little one went and pulled out the checkers board. That was the only game Billy knew how to play anyhow. 

He and Max used to sit for hours, playing with this dinosaur-themed checker game Max’s dad got for her one birthday. 

It helped, playing a game. Helped pass the time. Help bait the anxiety. 

Helped them all feel a little bit closer to human.

-

“I don’t. Get it.”

Apparently, Nancy was not the only one, if the blank stares Steve was receiving from around his living room were anything to go by. 

“Yeah, why did she call you ?” Mike’s snitty tone was really grating on Steve’s fragile nerves.

“She said, she called to make sure everyone could come over here before she told you all to just show up this early on a Sunday morning and then she kinda explained what happened.”

Max was white as a sheet, tracking Steve like he was playing a horrible joke on her. 

“And she saw Billy. Billy Hargrove .” 

Steve nodded at Dustin. 

“Why does she think he’s in the Upside Down?” Robin asked, perched on the coffee table, sitting closest to where he was standing nervously. 

“She just knows .”

It was frustrating, trying to impart the seriousness of the situation without just spilling his guts. 

He rubbed absentmindedly at the cigar burn on his wrist. 

“I just don’t believe this. I talked to her three days ago, and she’s still having trouble with her powers. She can barely move a book, and hasn’t been able to get to the void since July, and you’re saying she accidentally saw Billy Hargrove, who we all saw murder a bunch of people and then get killed -”

“Shut up! He wasn’t himself!” Max shrieked out over Mike, the only time she’d even opened her mouth since Steve had mentioned her stepbrother’s name.

“Even if he is alive, El couldn’t have seen him! It doesn’t make sense!” Mike’s voice rose over Max’s, and Steve has a fucking headache and he’s over it.

“It was me! I had a dream. I went to the void. I saw Billy in the Upside Down. I called El to say she saw him.” 

Everyone went dead silent, staring at him.

“Steve,” Robin began, searching his face.

It was like all the wind that had been filling up his sails, powering his energy ship, had suddenly quit blowing. 

Steve was tired. 

He sank to the floor, crossing his legs where he sat.

“I need you all to shut the fuck up for a moment and let me explain, because I only wanna say all this shit once.” He covered his bloody face with his hands. “I’m like El.”

That statement hung in the air for a moment. 

And then there was a roar of noise.

“How could you keep this a secret?” Dustin shouted.

“Not in a million years !” Lucas decided. Erica yelled something back at him, vaguely defending Steve, which was nice.

“You mean you came from the lab?” Mike had a look on his face like he’d swallowed a particularly bitter lemon. 

“Everybody, shut the fuck up!” Max roared, glowering at each person until they were silent again. 

In all this Robin hadn’t said a word. She was pale, staring at Steve.

“Look, I don’t wanna go into it because it fucking sucks to think about,” Steve still hadn’t uncovered his face. “But yeah. I was in the lab. I got out because they decided I was a failed experiment. My mom worked at the lab and she took me and we pretended like the three of us moved here from Oklahoma and my dad told me never to tell anyone. And I haven’t. Didn’t even tell El. She recognized me from then. Don’t even know how, I left when she was like, three. Doesn’t matter. I’m a freaky lab kid and last night I fell asleep and saw Billy in that-what’d you call it? The void? Yeah, I saw him, and he’s covered in dirt and gross black Upside Down shit, and he’s fucking stuck there, and now we’re here.”

There was another silence. 

Steve didn’t dare to look at any of them.

He didn’t want them to laugh in his face. Tell him he was making all this shit up and leave him alone to deal with Billy trapped somewhere else. 

He wanted them to take his word for it. To quietly believe this crazy fucking shit of a story because the scared other feeling was back and clawing at his spine and making him want to burrow into the ground and find somewhere safe and secure and-

“Okay.”

Of course it was Robin. 

It was always Robin. 

Steve let himself look at her. 

She was pale, but she was smiling at him. 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Steve nodded once.

“Okay. Uh, great.”

“Wait, if you’re defective, no offense, then how did you see Billy?” 

Steve stared at Max weighing his answer carefully. 

“Because, well, the defective thing, that was all, I didn’t mean to, that was before I really understood what I could do. Don’t get me wrong, it really worked out, but it was an accident.”

“Spit it out, Sailor Man.”

“ Erica .”

Erica just rolled her eyes at Lucas. 

“Okay. Uh, before I explain, just, just keep in mind that I have rules, and I don’t use my powers if I can avoid them, and I’d never use them to be a creep, but-”

“Steve!”

“Fine!” The words were right there, ready to tumble out of his mouth and ruin his life forever. 

There was no going back after this. 

The second they knew, everything would be different.

“I can feel other peoples’ emotions and, like, change them.”

Another silence.

“I don’t understand.”

Nancy was the last person he’d ever want to have this conversation with. 

He knows what she’s thinking. He knows that the great anger brewing inside her is because she assumes he made her like him. Made her attracted to him. 

Made her want him. 

“I don’t use it like that. I would never, put something there that shouldn’t be there. It’s just, When someone feels something near me, I can tap into it. Let it become my own feelings. And then I just, change it. Just a little.” He cast around for a harmless example because so far, everyone was staring at him like a goddamn creep. “Robin!”

She startled slightly when he yelled at her.

“Okay, so Robin. I’d never, ever make you feel something not true to you. Like, I’d never make it so you were into me when you’re totally not, right?” He cast a glance at Nancy. “But, like, the other day, when you felt really shitty when I invited you over and you were studying, I just, I made it so you wouldn’t feel bad. I felt all this guilt you had for leaving me alone when you thought I was having a shitty day, and I made it so you didn’t feel guilty because you shouldn’t. That’s the kinda level I allow myself to work on.”

The look Robin was giving him was breaking his fucking heart. 

Worse still, was the feeling of betrayal that began eating away at her. 

“So, right now. You can tell what we’re all feeling?” Even Lucas, ever the level-headed one, couldn’t look him in the eye.

“I don’t want to. I don’t try to, but I can’t really avoid it. I just try to ignore it. But sometimes, sometimes if I bottle it all up for a while, it comes crashing out of me, and that’s when bad shit happens. If I don’t use it occasionally, it only wakes things worse, and I-”

“I can’t hear this.”

Robin’s anger crashed through Steve like a wave, nearly knocking him over. She stood, towering over him. 

“When we were in that bathroom, all drugged out of our minds. I-” she sniffed, rage tears pooling in her eyes. Steve likes her eyes. So crystal blue. “Are we even really friends?”

Her last question was nothing more than a whisper. 

And it made Steve wish he was never born.

He gaped at her like a dead fish.

“Rob, of course we are! I would never-”

“Because I hated you. And then one summer. Two whole months where we’re close enough that you can get all up in my brain, and suddenly I’m telling you shit I’ve never told anyone before.”

“It wasn’t, Robin I swear, that whole time, I never once used-”

She held up her hand, cutting him off. 

A sob caught in his throat as she turned on her heel. 

She slammed the door closed behind her. 

Another fucking silence. 

Steve couldn’t look anyone in the eye.

Their feelings were enough for him now, betrayal and anger and disappointment rushing into his lungs, drowning him. Choking him. 

“You’ve used them on all of us.”

It wasn’t a question. 

It was just a statement. The coldest he’s ever heard Dustin sound. 

“I just want everyone to be happy.”

“Jesus, Steve. You realize that’s actually totally fucked up, right? You can’t just make us feel whatever you want,” Dustin bellowed at him, standing up like Robin had done, looking down at Steve where he sat pathetically on the floor. 

And, when it’s put like that. 

Sure. 

It’s kinda fucked up. 

But he’s only ever meddled in a way that’s good. He only ever tries to make his friends feel the positives. Hell, on the night of that stupid Snow Ball, he’d given Dustin enough self-confidence to make Madonna seem insecure. 

All he does is try to help. 

“All I do is try to help.”

More fucking silence. 

Steve was so goddamn sick of silence. All he had was silence. He had the nothing, empty quiet. And he didn’t want it from the people who were supposed to make his life loud. 

“El won’t be here until later tonight. I think we should just meet up then.”

Steve buried his head in his hands, biting back sobs as the small group filtered out of his house. 

This is why he had wanted to take this secret with him to death. 

He told everyone who he really is, and now they all hate him, and he’s completely alone, and wherever Billy is he’s fucking scared and-

“Steve?”

Max’s voice was small, mirroring the way she was curled in on herself in the plush armchair near the wall. 

“Do you really think Billy’s alive?”

Steve nodded at her, desperately begging her to stay. To help him. 

“I know he is.”

“I have an idea.”

-

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

Doesn’t remember much of anything in this place. 

He studied the water lapping at his muddy boots, dragging his toes through it to make the water wave and ripple. 

It didn’t make a sound. 

“I want to help.”

Billy knew Steve was there even before he spoke. 

Something about the warmth he brought to the void place. 

The safety. 

“Don’t know if you can.”

Steve’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile at that. His face was covered in blood, dried and flaking away from his skin, painted all the way down his face and neck, some staining the collar of his shirt.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“That happens when the only interactions you have with a guy are to beat his ass.”

Steve cracked a real smile at that. Something big and bright that made Billy’s gut twist in a way he didn’t quite like. 

“You’re forgetting all those other times we spent together. You’re not very subtle, you know.”

Yeah, Billy knows. 

Mostly because he wasn’t trying to be subtle. 

He had talked to Steve about his bitchy ex while they both had their dicks out in the shower. He was trying to be very much un-subtle. 

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“I know.”

Oh. 

Steve knows. 

And all he had done was stare blankly at Billy. 

Nice. 

“I need to know where you are.”

“Why?” 

“Because I can help.”

Billy just blinked at Steve. 

“Do you know El?”

Something funny happened to Steve’s face. He kind of gave a little smile that flickered into a frown and landed on something a little pinched and awkward. 

“Yeah. How do you know her?”

“Hopper keeps saying he needs to get to her. None of us know what he’s talking about.”

And with that, Steve’s eyes went huge, and his jaw dropped. The water at Billy’s ankles sloshed quietly. 

“Hopper’s there? Chief Hopper? Jim Hopper is there?”

“Jesus, yeah. Been here since we all woke up.”

Steve acted like Billy had told him that Farrah Fawcett herself was on her way to shave his head. 

Meaning, he looked struck fucking dumb. 

“I’m gonna need you to explain.”

“I don’t know. Don’t remember much. Crashed my car on one of your shitty backwoods roads, and then everything is just, kinda, gone. I woke up in this shithole version of the library and Hopper found me here and we’ve kinda set up camp.”

Billy shrugged lamely. Something was dripping, he could hear the sound of it far behind him.

“There’s more of you? How many?”

“Not as many as there should be.”

Steve’s mouth pinched, and his big droopy eyes went all sweet and sad. 

“Where are you? Where’s the camp?”

Billy was suddenly embarrassed. There was a sound like a stream flowing over rocks.

What’s he supposed to say? The hellscape skeleton of your house oh and by the way all your stuff is here and I slept in your bed once because I was scared and sad.

“Someone’s house. Don’t know whose.”

Steve huffed some air out of his nostrils, his mouth pinching again. 

Billy hadn’t realized someone could make so many different expressions just by pursing their lips in different ways. 

“Find out. We’re coming to get you.”

A crash of a wave, and Billy was back in hell. 

-

Steve sucked in lungfuls of air, tossing the towel that had been covering his eyes to the ground. 

“You saw him.” 

Max was sitting in front of him, the t.v. playing static behind her. 

“Yeah. He’s okay. I mean, he’s really gross. Like, he’s-sorry. He’s okay.”

Max was still staring at him like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. 

“But he’s in the Upside Down?”

“Yeah. And there’s others. He said Hopper’s there, that he’s been trying to contact El.”

“Wait, Hopper? He’s alive?”

“Billy said all of the flayed woke up after the Fourth of July in the Upside Down. He doesn’t know anything that happened in this world, and Hopper was there and they’ve set up, like, some kind of camp, or whatever. He said they’re in someone’s house. He doesn’t know who.”

“ Fuck .”

Yeah, Steve agrees with that sentiment. 

This whole thing was like, kind of a lot. 

And deep inside him, those other feelings had yet to leave him alone all day. 

There was some kind of disappointment knocking about in his brain. 

He knows it’s Billy. 

All of those other feelings, it’s whatever Billy is feeling right that minute wherever he is. 

And it only happens when Steve is-

“Max, he’s here.”

She whipped around behind her, staring at the front door like Billy could waltz through it at any moment. 

“No, no not here, here .” She clearly didn’t understand. He used the towel to wipe the fresh blood from his upper lip, still having yet to clean himself up any. “The camp, the safeplace, it’s here. They’ve set up in my house!”

It felt like a revelation on par with the greatest inventions. Steve felt like the scientist that landed the man on the moon or the very first person to melt cheese onto fries. 

A genius. 

“So, he’s, I mean, he could be, just, here .” She looked over the room wistfully, and Steve knew how she felt. Like she wanted to pierce her hands into thin air, tearing a hole in between the two worlds and ripping Billy straight outta hell. 

(Really, she just filled him with a wave of fierce determination, but Steve likes to take poetic license on other people’s feelings sometimes.)

“And you can feel him.”

“Yeah.”

“Is he, okay?”

And he knows this question. 

Not the okay he assured her of when he first saw Billy. Soothing that he wasn’t missing any internal organs or possessed by any monsters. 

She wants to know if he’s held it together. 

“He’s scared. He’s always scared. But he’s really fucking stubborn, and he- I don’t know why he feels these things, but sometimes he gets kinda sad. Almost like he’s lost something, and sometimes, it feels like he’s caught fire, and his insides are just going up in flame and he gets overwhelmed by them. And sometimes he feels-” He hadn’t meant to continue.

“Tell me.”

He’s pretty sure Max knew what he was going to say next. 

She just wanted it confirmed. 

“Hopeless. Sometimes he feels hopeless.”

She sniffed, her eyes shining as she looked anywhere that wasn’t Steve. 

“But, we know now. He doesn’t have to be hopeless anymore. We’ll find a way in, and we’ll get him out.”

He didn’t want to manipulate her. 

He didn’t want to cross the boundaries everyone clearly thought he already had. 

But he was positive he would find a way to Billy. He was positive he would get him out and get him home. 

He sent a wave of that determination and hope and conviction to her. 

“Yeah. We’ll get him.”

-

“Hopper, man, some funky shit is going down.”

Hopper whirled around quickly, halfway to his feet and asking who's been hurt before Billy raised both hands, acting like he was calming an anxious horse.

“Nah, sorry, shoulda worded that better. I just mean, something’s happened to me. With me, maybe. I don’t know. Just hear me out. This shit’s gonna sound, insane.”

Hopper didn’t say anything as Billy explained, beginning with that night when the wall shattered next to his head, and ending with his most recent trip to the void place. 

Billy shrugged lamely when he finished explaining. 

“So, Harrington, huh? Never woulda guessed he was like her. You sure you didn’t see a little girl anywhere in the blank place?”

“No. It was just us. Both times.”

Hopper leaned back in his chair, scratching a hand through his thick beard. 

“The first time one of the demogorgons showed up on our side was behind Steve’s house. Took Will Byers from his shed. They live some few miles away. Second time was in Harrington’s backyard. Took Barbara Holland.” Hopper sighed, looking in the direction of the busted radio. Billy could more or less see the cogs turning in his head. “If you see him again, tell him where we are. Tell him I think the walls are thinnest here. That maybe he and El could tear through. Better yet, tell him to find me if he can.”

He clapped Billy on the shoulder, looking right at him in that way he did sometimes. It always made Billy feel like a little kid. 

“Thank you, kid. You might’ve just saved us.”

Billy felt awkward and didn’t really know what to do with his face. Thankfully, Hopper turned away from him, cutting the moment short and moving back to fiddling with the old radio. 

Billy ducked his way up and back to the furthest bedroom on the ground floor, taking a seat on his low cot and digging his palms into his eyes. 

He didn’t know how the void happened. If he could only get there in his sleep, or if it was Steve’s doing somehow. 

“C’mon, Steve. Where are you? Come find me, Pretty Boy. We gotta talk.”

When he moved his hands away, he was in that blank place. 

Billy was taken aback a bit, thinking somehow he had created the place around him. 

Until he saw Steve, standing nervously and staring at Billy. 

“I felt you. What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, you felt me? What in the fuck’s that supposed to mean.”

“Don’t worry about it. What happened? Are you guys okay?”

Steve wasn’t covered in blood anymore. 

In fact, he looked freshly showered, his hair slightly damp and soft-looking without product. 

It’s how he always looked right after having a post-practice shower. Clean and warm. Soft and inviting. 

“I talked to Hopper. He told me to give you a message.”

Steve’s eyes lit up, and he took a step towards Billy, the water rippling where his foot disturbed the surface. 

“He said, well. He told me where we are. Apparently, we’re at your place.” Billy tried to smirk a little, act like this was brand new information to him.

“Yeah. I gathered.”

“He thinks the walls are thinnest at your place. Said that maybe you and El could tear through easily. That mean anything to you?”

Steve nodded so hard his bangs flopped right into his eyes. 

He pushed his hair out of his face, tucking some behind his ear. Billy tracked the movement. 

“We’re going to try tonight. Maybe around six. Can you guys be ready by then?”

“We don’t have any way to track time around here. Don’t even know if it’s day or night, really.”

Steve bit his soft bottom lip, looking at Billy like he wanted to cry for him. 

“Then I’ll come and get you before. Warn you when we’re about to start. Make sure everyone stays close. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep it sustained, and we want to get everyone out if we can.”

“Steve, man, what in the fuck is going on? I’ve been shut up in this place for, for I don’t even know how long, and all of a sudden, you just start showing up in my head and telling me that you’re gonna take point on this big fuckin’ rescue mission.”

Billy doesn’t want to admit it to anyone, least of all Steve Harrington, but he’s scared, and confused, and he genuinely wishes that he had died in that library instead of waking up. 

“I’ll explain it when you get back.” 

And Steve smiled at him and the corners of his eyes crinkled and Billy didn’t quite feel like he wanted to die anymore. 

-

“Where are they?”

El didn’t even say hello when she pushed Steve’s front door open, just made straight for Max and Steve in the sitting room.

“They’re all being dicks,” was Max’s answer. “Steve told us about how you two know each other, and everyone kinda freaked.”

“I mean, it’s pretty freaky.”

“Yeah, sure, but they didn’t need to be such shitbirds about it.”

Somewhere between feeling harshly angry at Steve and his powers and hearing her brother’s voice crackle through the television speaker, Max had pretty much ensconced Steve as her sidekick. 

Which he didn’t mind in the least. 

It was kinda odd seeing the Byers in his house. 

Jonathan looked. Exactly the same. 

Like literally. His hair had grown out since his mother had taken a pair of scissors and a bowl to it last summer, and he looked just like the Hawkins Jonathan Steve was used to. 

It was kinda nice. 

At least one thing hasn’t changed. 

Especially because Will is pretty much unrecognizable. 

He had shot up, growing until he could nearly look Steve in the eye. And thank God, he must've followed Jonathan’s footsteps and stopped letting Joyce cut his hair. 

It was longer, adn shaggier, but it made him look so grown up. 

Nearly as grownup as El, her hair nearly down to her shoulder blades, the top of her head coming up on Steve’s chin, showing off the signs of her own growth spurt. 

Even Joyce was sporting a new look. Longer hair with bangs that were swept off her face.

She gave Steve a comforting hug, and those were just the same. 

Unease filled the room. 

Nobody knew what they were walking into. El had to have given them the basics, and Steve figures she explained some on the long drive back to town, but there had been even more developments since the last they had spoken this morning. 

Steve sifted through the borderline panic of Max and the Byers, clinging onto the fierce calm that El was radiating. Probably for his benefit more than her own actual experience. 

“I know where Billy is. We talked. I have an idea.” He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the feelings. “Hopper’s alive.”

It took a second. 

El’s carefully maintained calm wavered for a moment. 

And then it crashed down. 

Disbelief, relief, denial, anger, hope, joy. 

Everything a person could possibly feel at once poured out of El and Joyce both, nearly knocking Steve off his feet with the sheer velocity of the emotions. 

“Saw him?”

“No. But Billy mentioned him. He said he’s been trying to get to you.”

El’s eyes filled with tears, and Steve could feel the satisfaction, the pride, welling up in her that Hopper was still thinking of her. That he was trying to reach out. 

“My powers,” she trailed off.

“Yeah. I know. But, he said, well, he told Billy to tell me, he thinks the walls are thinnest here. Maybe in the woods outback. He thinks we can do it.”

Sorry,” Joyce interrupted. She had gathered herself somewhat, but her feelings were still shaky. 

She always felt like she was trembling emotionally. Joyce felt everything nearly as viscerally as Billy did. 

“I think we’re not on the same page. Steve, you spoke to Billy? El said she sensed him.”

“Steve is like me. From Papa.”

“You mean, from the lab?” Jonathan clarified. 

Everyone was staring at Steve again and he felt like burrowing a hole right through the floor and hiding underground forever. 

“Yeah, I got out when I was a kid. My parents were pretty hell-bent on hiding it from everyone. But. You know. Cat’s outta the bag now. But yes, it was me who saw Billy. He’s in the Upside Down. A bunch of people are. Including Hopper. It sounds like they were all taken and the flayed people out here were like, fake. Like evil twin versions.”

Sure, it’s a shitty explanation.

It’s the best he can do, okay? Leave him alone. 

“So, what’s his plan, then?”

That’s the good thing about the Byers, though. They get the whole, priority thing. Now’s not the time to focus on shit like Steve’s fake life. Not when the Upside Down is concerned. 

“Billy didn’t say much. Just that he thinks maybe El and I could like, band together to open it. I don’t really know how, I mean, I haven’t thought about it much, I just spoke to him, but that's the idea. I told him I would meet him in the void or whatever before we go so he can gather everyone and get ready.”

“So, is it just us?” Will asked quietly, biting the inside of his cheek. He was disappointed. His friends not being where they were needed. Not being there to see him for the first time since his family moved away months ago. 

Steve shrugged.

He was battling his own disappointment and hurt at everyone ditching him. 

“No. Let’s start calling. We need to stick together for this one. Billy hasn’t said anything about how bad the Upside Down has been, and we need to be ready to fight off anything that tries to get through.”

“Max is right. They should be here.” Will was already making his way to the phone placed on the side table. “They need to be here.” 

Jonathan caught Steve’s eye, jerking his head slightly to the hallway. 

Steve followed him, already knowing the line of questioning that was about to hit him. 

“I knew you called El. I picked up this morning. Now the story makes a lot more sense, I guess.”

“Yeah. I’ve been getting this weird feeling for a couple months, but I finally put it all together. Probably would’ve happened faster it is was El.”

“I don’t know. She’s been struggling a lot. She practices every day, but,” he sighed” I don’t know if she’s strong enough to make this work.”

He’s worried, adn scared, and has that exact same tremble-feeling that his mother does. 

“I know. I just don’t think we can leave them any longer. Billy said they’ve already lost people. I don’t know what it’s been like for them, but they’ve been stuck for fucking months, and-”

This time, it hit him so hard he really did blackout. 

His vision clouded around him, and his whole body burned with the raging fear inside of him. 

He could hear something, could hear someone screaming, adn something, something that sounded horrible, and so very very like a-

-

“Demogorgon!”

It’s like it had come out of nowhere. 

This towering figure, long and thin in all the wrong fucking ways.

And the sound. Billy realized what Hopper meant about how it’s not something you forget. 

They were in some form of a ready position. 

Billy among the front of the group, holding his ax he had never let go of in the first place. 

His heart was pounding. 

We’ll be out soon. We’ll be out soon. 

He didn’t believe it. 

How could he?

How the fuck is Steve Harrington going to get them out of the worst place ever? No offense to him or anything, but the guy could barely make a goddamn milkshake without spilling something on the sticky tile floor of Scoops Ahoy! and now, Billy’s life is in this guy’s hands while he stares into the jaws of a monster that looks like it stepped right out of H.P. Lovecraft’s wettest dreams.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s had this realization, but he is in way over his fucking head. 

“Steve,” Billy grumbled to himself through gritted teeth. “If you can hear me, get us the fuck outta here.”

The thing ahead of them wasn’t moving. It stood in the line of the trees behind Steve’s house. 

It was staring down the clump of people on the other side of the backyard. 

The air was still. 

Billy’s ears were ringing. 

He stared the thing down. 

Its long fingers twitched. 

Someone screamed. 

And the thing charged. 

It roared like nothing Billy had ever heard before. A shriek that seemed to vibrate Billy’s bones and tremble the earth underneath his feet. 

It charged. 

Sprinting forward on long thin legs, it loped with a grace that turned Billy’s stomach and made his knees wobble and threaten to give out. 

Plant your feet. 

It rang through his head, Steve’s voice from, some time Billy couldn’t remember. Or maybe Steve was just the little voice that commanded his bravery now. 

Either way, he dug the balls of his feet into the cracked ground, and waited. 

Don’t stop fighting.

He swung. 

The ax clocked right into the side of the thing, barely cutting into its thick leathery skin, but it slowed it down. 

Well, actually. 

It made it change course from attacking the group as a whole, to honing in on Billy. 

Which was less than awesome. 

Billy wrenched the ax out of its tough body, thick, sticky black goo connecting the ax with its entry point as he drew it away. 

He swung again, nearly hitting the same place. 

The thing cried out, roaring over the sound of screaming and gunshots. 

Hopper had his rifle trained on the flowered head of the one Billy was furiously chopping into like a tree. 

There were two more, two he hadn’t noticed in his preoccupation with the one in front of him. 

He didn’t know who was who. Which gunshot belonged to which gun, which shriek belonged to which animal. 

He didn’t know if the cries of pain were from the awful beasts or the people in his camp. He was hoping the former. 

He swung again. There was a sickening sound of the metal blade connecting with something solid. Something like bone. 

Hopper shot it, once, twice in the head. 

It was whining, making a high-pitched noise as it staggered about. 

One last blow to the side of the thing, and it was finished. 

The monster flopped onto the ground, dark liquid oozing out of it, its body nearly split in half where Billy had hammered it with his ax. A great gaping wound that showed sticky dark entrails. 

Billy turned. 

His brain was working in slow motion as he charged into the battle still raging. 

He didn’t know how many of the things had arrived. 

All he knew was taking them out.

His arms were sore from the force he was putting into each blow with his ax. His muscles threatened to give out at any moment.

Drive them back. We’re coming. 

The thought was shoved into his head. He didn’t know where it came from but he believed it. 

“Help is on the way!” He shouted to no one and everyone. 

He had taken down two more demogorgons with the help of the others. One was missing its body, a petal head lolling on the ground, getting trampled on in the fight. 

-

Steve had felt the demogorgon before Billy saw it. 

It was an odd feeling, almost like it was a black hole sucking up everything he thought and felt before he could cling onto it. 

It made him feel cold, and empty, and just like the Upside Down felt. 

“We don’t have time!”

El was insisting on contacting the others. She was livid with them for abandoning Steve, but things were taking a turn for the small group trapped in that hellscape. 

“Steve’s right. If there’s a demogorgon there, that means the Mind Flayer has gotten some strength back, wherever he is.”

Steve nodded at Will gratefully.

“But, what’s the idea? You two open the gate. Then what? We wait for those things to come through to our side?” Jonathan asked, kinda harshly, if you ask Steve.

Steve rubbed his eyes, his fists pressing against them so hard he was seeing odd shapes. 

“No. I go through. I get them. I bring them back.” His head was a fucking mess. Billy was all over the place. Fear, desperation, and a horrible calm that only came when things looked like the end. Plant your feet, he thought, trying to get his feelings to Billy through the thin dimensional wall. Don’t stop fighting. “For the past few days, all I’ve been able to feel is somebody else’s fucking fear and this stupid stupid stubbornness and I know it’s Billy, and I know he’s in trouble. Like right now. The demogorgons are coming for them, and he’s so scared. He’s so fucking scared and he thinks he’s gonna die, and he’s trapped .”

He looked at each person individually, glaring at them all in the eye. 

“We don’t have time.”

So it was decided. 

He brought El outside, and stared into the shimmering water of the pool. 

The pool where a demon came out and dragged Barbara to her death. 

It gave him the fucking creeps. Well, it more gave him the severe anxiety, but there was something about it that made it seem like it was the best place to try and rip the fold between himself and Billy. 

Drive them back. We’re coming. 

He wanted Billy to have some hope. Something like a lifeline that would keep him fighting the monsters. 

He had wrenched his nail bat out of the wall it was still planted in from a few nights ago, and stood next to El, ready to try. 

“To be honest, I don’t know how to help you.” It was the only thing that scared him about this plan. “I don’t have the same powers as you. The telekin-the moving stuff around. I don’t know how to open this.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. 

“In Chicago. Kali. When I’m angry my powers are better,” she took his hand. “Make me angry.”

Steve closed his eyes. 

He tried to push Billy to the side, clinging onto the first bit of El he could sense. 

Her anger was like a melted core running through her. Driving her in a lot of ways. 

He grabbed onto it. 

Papa. Everything he did to your mama. Being locked in isolation. Fights with Hopper. Being trapped in the cabin. Feeling alone and not knowing how to fix it. New kids at school being mean. Techs in the lab that treated us like rats. The smell of skin burning. Parents that called you a freak. 

He didn’t know when he had stopped using El’s ready-made rage, and began siphoning his own straight into the beating heart of her fury. 

His gut began to feel white-hot, and he could feel the blood dripping down his lip. 

Lying to everyone. Being abandoned for the truth. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. 

Steve was livid. 

He’s never felt an emotion consume him like this. Felt one feeling take over so completely it’s like there was nothing else in the world. 

He opened his eyes. 

There was blood flowing steadily from El’s nose, and he knew his was doing the same. 

He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, his body going into overdrive to divert all of his energy to his powers. 

The rift glowed red through the clear pool water, splitting open like a seam on a well-worn shirt. 

The burn on his arm ached, and he pushed into it. 

He remembered being held down on his father’s desk. Remembers the cigar being forced against his skin, bubbling up and disfiguring the tattoo beyond recognition. 

He remembers his father, this is for your own good, Steven. You’ll tell everyone you had an accident. People won’t question a burn like they will a tattoo. 

Like no one would take one look at the quarter-sized mark and know what would make it. 

He remembers getting the tattoo. 

It was nearly the same process. 

He was strapped down in a chair, his screams going ignored as the needle drove into his skin over and over, leaving a neat black number behind. 

001

Number One. 

The first in a series of children bred for something more, and beaten into acceptance. 

His head felt like it could explode. He didn’t know what was going on around him, was barely aware of El’s sweaty hand in his, and the bright red light coming from the cracked bottom of the pool. 

It was open. 

Number One took a deep breath, and dived into the pool. 

-

It was the little one that noticed it. 

Billy had been trying to yell at him to get back inside, to keep himself out of harm’s way. 

They had killed six demogorgons, and more were certainly coming. 

The trees in the forest were rustling in a way they never did on their own. 

The little one was pointing frantically, his eyes wide and scared. 

Billy turned, and his blood ran cold. 

Something was moving in the pool. 

It was making the thick non-water slosh around dangerously, the dark liquid lapping over the sides and staining the concrete. 

There were vines crisscrossing over the surface of the liquid, and Billy approached it carefully, hoping whatever was coming out would be trapped underneath them. 

“This is the last fucking thing we need,” Hopper gritted out, cocking his rifle and aiming at the sludge. 

And then Billy’s head felt like it had been cracked open. 

He was blinded with pain and rage and 

Help me, Hargrove!

He started swinging his ax wildly at the vines. Trying to break them apart enough for a body to fit through. 

His heart thundered in his chest, and he dropped to his knees, ripping at the slimy black tendrils. 

He shoved his left arm in.

It was like dousing his arm in ice. Like the liquid was made from the purest essence of cold. 

He searched frantically with his hand, finding something solid and yanking with all his strength. 

He had to put both arms in, grabbing hold of whatever he could, using his body weight as leverage to extract Steve from the cold. 

He was limp when Billy finally got him out, but breathing heavily. 

He opened his eyes, wiping his face free of the goop and blood covering him, and grinned at Billy. 

“Told’ya we would get you out.”

They shepherd him inside, most of the gang speechless and struck dumb from the events of the past while. 

Steve was given a change of almost clean clothes, and allowed to use some of their bottled water ration to clean the freezing black fluid from himself. 

He wasted little time, and was down in the Upside Down version of his living room with everyone else. 

“We can’t be long. El had to use a lot of strength to open it, but she’ll need her strength to close it, too.” 

Nobody knew what in the fuck Steve was going on about. 

Nobody but Hopper, that is. 

He still had disgusting pool sludge all over his front from when he pulled Steve into a tight hug when he had gotten his bearings back from his journey through the rift. 

“We can’t send people through that shit. It took all of Billy’s muscle to get you outta there.”

“So we drain it,” Steve insisted. “My parents drain it sometimes, I know how to do it.”

“I’ll keep watch. Make sure nothing tries to make itself known.”

Billy had barely wiped himself off. 

He didn’t care anymore about how freezing that shit was, he just wanted to surge forward, and get back the fuck home.

Hopper studied them both.

“Bring weapons. Yell if you need help.”

Billy nodded once, and turned on his heel, following Steve out the back door. 

Steve led him to a wooden shed on the side of the house. Billy had to clear the vines away from it before Steve could pry open the doors. 

It was full of pool equipment, and it didn’t take long for Steve to locate a large grubby pump. He knocked it against the wall of the shed until the filter attachment clattered off, leaving bigger openings for the sludge to, hopefully, run through. 

“Shit. This thing is electric. You got electricity?” 

It was the first time Steve had really gotten a good look at Steve since being in the Upside Down. 

He looked exactly as he had in the void place. His hair had a lot more disgusting black fluid in it, and he overall looked kinda shitty with the flecks of grime and blood on his face, but he looked bright. Alive. Strong. 

“How did you do it? Take me to that place. Figure out we were here.” 

Steve flushed. Billy had become overly aware that his face was completely covered under his bandana. Steve should cover his face. 

He drew another one of his back pocket, and, he didn’t know why, but he tied it around Steve’s face. 

Seriously, he could’ve just handed it to the guy and called it good there. But no. He had to set his ax on the ground, propped against his leg, wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, and tie the bandana like this was some intricate ritual. 

All while Steve just stared at him with those fuckin’ eyes of his. 

“It’s a long story.” Billy could barely hear Steve speak through the dirty cloth now covering his mouth and nose. “I’ll tell you when we’re back. When we’re safe.”

“I’m holding you to that, Harrington. Can’t have a guy poking around my dreams and shouting in my head without knowing his intentions.”

It was as close to flirting as Billy dared right now. 

Right before they tried to journey between worlds. 

“Good to know you heard me. I was trying to give you something of a pep talk.”

“Well, it worked. I would’ve just put my arms out and let those things rip me to shreds if I hadn’t have known.”

Billy didn’t know what Steve’s face was doing behind the cloth, but his eyes dropped, and Billy imagined that little cinch of his mouth that he had noticed Steve doing so much in that void place.

-

Billy meant it as a joke. 

He really did. 

And the Billy that was torn to bits in the mall wasn’t this Billy. Wasn’t the real Billy that was made out of real Billy materials and real Billy personality. 

But it still made Steve feel queasy, thinking about his arms spread wide, black goop pouring out of his mouth and nose as the Mind Flayer decimated him. 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about, Billy. Just, not now.” 

And Steve turned off, hauling the pump back to the pool and taking calming breaths. 

The pump sank without much effort, like there was some kind of gravitational pull at the bottom of the pool. 

Steve had connected the thickest hose he could find, adn sent Billy off with the extension cord to find an outlet that didn’t spark and threaten fire. 

Before no time, the pump was humming, and pushing black slime through the hose and onto the dead grass. 

They didn’t need to get it all out, just as much as they could shove everyone through. 

Steve closed his eyes, trying to reach El like he had Billy. 

We had a hold up. Shouldn’t be long. 

He could feel her on the other side. 

She promised she would stay close enough to the rift that Steve could get in touch with her. 

He could feel something slither down his spine, a wordless confirmation from her. 

The liquid in the pool was slowly edging down, leaving a stain on the once-white walls of the pool. 

“Gather everyone up. Tell ‘em to meet out here. Tell ‘em to leave it all behind.”

Billy was still staring at the edge of the forest when he commanded Steve. 

It was odd, being in his house that’s not his house. 

Everything was so. Wrong. 

From the way the house seemed to be crumbling down, reduced to its studs in some areas, to the way it was still clearly his house. Paintings his father had bought. Elegant furniture his mother selected. 

It was all there. Just under a thick layer of dirt and nightmares. 

He thought idly about his bedroom, wondering if it would look like it did on his end. A little messy, the sheets typically rumpled and unmade. 

He resisted the urge to wander upstairs, reminding himself he was on a mission. 

“It’s time. Don’t bring anything. It’ll probably be ruined along the way.”

Everyone looked grave. Steve tried to smile at them, tried to push through some calmness to them all. He had forgotten Billy’s bandana was tied around his face. He sent one last wave of quiet confidence around the room, and led the group through the kitchen. 

They had barely rounded the corner of the kitchen island when they heard a strangled yell from outside. 

Steve put his head down, and sprinted through the shattered glass doors, skidding to a halt in the threshold. 

Billy was staggering backward, his ax forgotten on the ground and his left hand was clinging wildly to his right shoulder. 

His jacket was in tatters, thick blood dripping bright crimson down his arm, standing out like neon against the dark, dirty ground. 

Steve didn’t feel himself moving forward. He didn’t feel his hands raising in front of him. 

He just felt anger. The same anger from before that had ripped through him like a raging forest fire and straight into El. 

The thing shrieked. 

It backed away from Billy, twisting and writhing as its horrible screams filled the air, making the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand on end. 

Fierce fury was exploding out of him, and he grit his teeth against the pounding in his head. 

“You don’t get to hurt him,” Steve barely barked out. 

All went still, and the demogorgon snapped into pieces. 

Steve felt like he could pass out where he stood. 

He had never felt so wrung dry. 

His vision was waning at the edges, and he felt an arm around his waist, coaxing him toward the red light now barely shining through a thin layer of slime in the pool. 

“Hold your breath, Pretty Boy.”

-

Steve was limp against him, and Billy was doing his best to ignore the searing pain in his right shoulder as he held Steve close to his side. He had fumbled off both of their face coverings, moving clumsily through the pain of his injury. 

He took one last breath, and jumped into the rip between worlds. 

He plunged into the water, the crystal blue of a chlorinated pool. 

It was the best feeling in the world. 

Being covered and surrounded by clean. The heated water doing more to soothe Billy’s frayed nerves than anything in his life. 

He kicked hard, swimming one-armed to the surface, Harrington a dead weight in his injured arm. 

His head broke the water, and he took in deep lungfuls of clean, crisp air. 

Someone was tugging at Steve, and Billy, for the first time in his fucking life, was glad to see those kids Max was constantly hanging around. 

A woman Billy didn’t know was fawning over Steve, feeling for a pulse, and looking relieved when she felt his hot breath against her palm. 

“There’s more coming,” Billy coughed. 

He barely managed to get the words out, dripping muck and grime on the cement by the pool, when it felt as though he was hit from the side by a speeding train. 

He buried his nose in bright orange hair, hugging Max back as tightly as he could manage. 

He was exhausted, and feeling her there, alive and okay, was all that was keeping him standing. 

“I thought, I mean, we all thought you were dead. We saw it. That thing killed you .” Billy realized, with a whole lotta horror, that she was crying. Sobbing outright into his dirty chest. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” How could they have seen when that monster just came at him? 

“Oh, you’re bleeding.”

And if she only just realized he was hurt?

Max frog-marched Billy inside, to a very pale-looking Nancy Wheeler, sitting ready with a first aid kit. 

Billy had to peel his clothes off his body, the fabric stuck to him like a second skin. 

Nobody was speaking, and more of the people locked in the other place came traipsing into the room, fluffy towels wrapped around their shoulders. 

Hopper was the last to come in, holding the woman tight to his side underneath the striped pool towel. 

“Steve and El are closing it back up.”

There was a quiet murmur around the room.

Nancy patched up Billy’s shoulder, Max still stuck to his side like glue, the little boy from camp pasted to his other side. 

He had no idea how much time had past when Steve finally came traipsing into the room with Max’s little friend, both of them sporting matching bloody noses. 

Steve looked like shit. 

His face was covered in blood, old and new, and he still had some of the gross not-liquid in his hair from the Upside Down. 

But Billy doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see someone in his life. 

“I’m sure everyone has questions,” said the woman tucked against Hop’s side. El, Billy assumes, had taken her place on Hop’s other side, wrapping the towel around her shoulders as well. 

The woman launched into a story that made Billy feel like his brain was oozing out of his ears. 

A monster. One they had all met before. Playing body snatcher in their sleepy little town. 

Apparently, one had been wearing a Billy meat-suit and wreaking havoc around town, which made Billy wanna throw up until he died. 

Which, not-Billy, had died. Fuckin’ brutally. And in front of everyone. Which sure as shit explained why Max wouldn’t let go of his sweaty hand. 

The story made Billy queasy, and he took to studying everyone in the room instead. 

All the kids were there, even the one that had been following Steve around like a little shadow, but they were all glaring in the very much opposite direction of Steve. 

Steve himself was pressed almost against the wall, looking like he’d collapse if the wall weren’t supporting him. 

“What’s up with the cold shoulder?” Billy muttered to Max.

“They’re mad at Steve right now. He’s been lying to us all.”

It was all he got out of her before everyone started moving around. 

The woman, Joyce Byers, he’s learned, had finished her story, and the group from the Upside Down had begun clamoring for rides home, or maybe something to eat. 

Billy just saw Steve manage to slip away before he followed him. 

It took some doing, shaking off the little one, who still wasn’t speaking, and looked ready to burst into tears when Billy told him to stay behind in the living room. 

But Janet Holloway took the kid’s other hand and gently led him back into the living room. 

Billy nodded at her, and sped up the stairs. 

It was weird, being in Harrington’s actual room. 

It was messy, and looked like Steve spent most of his time here tossing clothes on the ground or twisting up in his bed covers like a tornado. 

But it was oddly comforting. 

Being in Steve’s real room, and not some perverse dirty copy. 

Steve was standing, facing the bed, peeling his borrowed jacket from his shoulders and leaving it there on the floor.

“I never said thank you.”

Steve startled at Billy’s voice.

“Yeah. No problem.” Steve’s tone was light and airy, but Billy heard him sniff.

“Max said the little shitbirds are mad at you. Something about you lying.” 

Steve turned around, giving Bily a watery smile.

“It’s a long story.”

“I got time.”

So Steve told him. 

About the lab. 

About the experiments. 

About the torture. 

He explained that he had rules. Never making anyone feel something they already didn’t. Never altering someone’s opinion of, or feelings towards him. 

Billy grit his teeth as he imagined Wheeler giving Steve a hard time about that.

Steve was silent for a moment, not looking at Billy.

“It’s okay if you hate me. I mean, everyone does now.”

“You'd be able to feel if I hated you. You and those powers of yours just saved my life, Pretty Boy. I’m pretty sure I’m feeling the farthest thing from hatred just about now.”

It was as close to a confession as Billy would let himself get. 

But if Steve knows what he’s feeling at any given moment, then that means that he knows, and he didn’t-

“Quit it. Insecurity isn’t a good look on you.”

Steve sounded tired, and he flopped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms out. 

At first, it didn’t sit quite right with Billy. 

He had barely even begun to identify what he was feeling when Steve swooped in and just point blank told him what the emotion was. 

Billy spent nearly all of his time being a big fuckin’ facade. 

He tried his very best to hide any emotional tell from anyone around him. 

He prided himself on being a chameleon. That nobody would ever truly know how he felt in any given situation. 

And here’s pretty boy Steve Harrington. Who is feeling just as, if not more, strongly as Billy is. 

But, it takes out all the parts of emotions that Billy hates dealing with. 

Showing them. Talking about them. 

He’d never once had to grapple with the words to explain how he feels to Steve. 

Steve would just. 

He’d know. 

And god, that’s kind of a nice idea. 

Billy sat down gently on the bed. 

“Alright.”

Steve’s head popped up to stare incredulously at Billy. 

Billy just grinned at him. 

[justasparkwritings]

Green Light

Previous: 

Pairing: Harry Styles X Ex Reader, Harry Styles X New Girlfriend

Genre: Angst

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol use, Mentions of Drug use, Past Infidelity 

Listen: Green Light by Lorde

For the #playlistficchallenge by @harrystylescherry 

           The lights flicker against her skin, dancing pinks and purples and blues giving way to green as the bass thumps through the speakers. The light up floor is causing an illusion against her body as she hastily searches for her peers. Eyes darting across the club, trying to find the couple of the hour, but getting lost in the sea of drunk people dancing to a b-rate Whitney Houston cover, she’s becoming frustrated. Why play Whitney if you’re not going to play the original? She wonders, moving through the perimeter towards what she assumes is the VIP area. Being correct, she waits patiently for one of the guests to notice her, waving her into the exclusive space.

           He notices her first, beaten converse and magenta tulle, she dressed to kill. Standing, he moves towards the bodyguard, pointing to her as the guard gave her a once-over. Nodding, pulling the rope back, she smiles at the stranger before deftly moving into the space.

           “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Harry says, hand on the small of her back, flush against the exposed skin, lips low to her ear, guiding her towards their friends.

           “You’re such a liar,” She replies, rolling her eyes. The neon eyeliner, drifting over her eyelids and near her brows is striking against the dim lights. The single rhinestones applied carefully to the inner corners of her eyes bounce the light off, shrouding her in a conflicting color story.

           “You made it!” Daisy yells, arms reaching to pull her into a hug. It’s tight and sweaty, a sign she’s either been dancing or snorting.

           “I told you I’d be here,” Her smile widens at her friend, “Congrats again on your engagement.”

           “Thank you!!! Now please, drink. We have bottle service until midnight,” Daisy hands her a champagne flute, which she happily tosses back before reaching for the vodka. “If you’re good, you can have a little of what I’m having.”

           “I better behave,” She responds, eyes clocking Harry talking to Daisy’s fiancé, Jack.

           “I thought he wasn’t coming,” Daisy’s gaze follows hers, eying the man. His wide trousers and cropped jacket give way to the tattoos covering his chest, swallows in constant conversation. Hair recently cut, he’s scruffy and wanting, his eyes not hesitating to check her out for the second time in two minutes.

           “Lies,” She scoffs, eyes rolling again at the sentiment.

           “I swear! Jack said he was out of town,” Daisy counters.

           “Clearly he’s not,” She looks at their other friends, nodding and smiling to the familiar faces. Their friends from uni, from work, a few from their neighborhood in Holmes Chapel have all gathered to raise a glass at Daisy and Jack’s inevitable engagement. It feels like the kind of New Year’s party Harry would’ve dragged her to, on the pretense that it would be fun to catch up. Knowing he would be right, she would’ve gone and enjoyed the company of the people who knew her before she was on his arm, the people who knew him when he worked all hours at the bakery. Tonight, their friendly smiles weren’t hitting the same, welcoming her into their embrace, no, they were darting between her and Harry, unsure where their allegiance should lie.

           “Rumor has it, he’s got a new girlfriend,” Daisy says.

           “Super,” She purses her lips, eyes moving to search for whoever his latest trophy was.

           “Don’t be like that,” Daisy shakes her head, disappointment oozing from every syllable.

           “Like what?” She snaps.

           “You’re so mad he’s with someone else, when -

           “I thought we were done talking about what happened between us?” She interrupts, frustration and anger coursing through her veins.

           “If you were over it, you’d stop looking at him like that,” Daisy holds her own, tone unwavering.

           “Fuck off.”

           Handing her a drink, Daisy levels with her, “Drink.”

           Tossing back whatever was in the glass, she waits impatiently for the liquor to take over, coursing through her veins and reducing her heat to a dull simmer.

           In the months after the breakup, she hadn’t seen or interacted with Harry. No cursory texts, no awkward pleasantries exchanged at a birthday party, or running into him at the grocery. She didn’t speak to him, and yet he was everywhere. His voice, his favorite sayings, his touch, his music, all of it spread across the city, taunting her. She had let him go, literally, but figuratively, metaphorically, he was everywhere. Seeping into her thoughts, burrowing into her mind, never able to escape him even in sleep. Tonight, he looked at her like he didn’t know her at all, like she was the villain in his story, not the other way around. Like he didn’t let his work get the best of them, ruining what they had in its wake.

           Somewhere between drinks four and five, Harry’s latest lover arrives. Scarily tall and equally skinny, silky brown locks and pouty lips, it’s clear she’s a model. Whether she was with anyone or not, the bouncer lets her into the VIP section without a second thought. She floats towards Harry, sinking gently onto his lap before whispering in his ear. He smiles at her as she places a hand on his scruff covered cheek and lowers her lips to his.

           From the dance floor, she stares, unable to stop watching him move on from her. How could it be so easy?

           Pulling her attention back to the floor, Daisy spins her, moving them out of sight from Harry. The lights beneath their feet give way to a soft glow about her, the colors bending against Daisy’s white jumpsuit. She’s grateful for her friend, her best friend, grateful for the distraction of alcohol and blow, grateful to be dancing and screaming the lyrics instead of sitting in the tub at home, crying into her room temperature bath water. But grateful and grieving often go together, and as her level of intoxication ebbs, the hurt of seeing Harry with someone knew, she retreats to the VIP section to gather herself.

           “You must be Y/N,” The model says, moving from her post next to Harry to her.

           “Um, yes?” She responds, eyes traveling up the woman’s legs, slowly making their way to her face.

           “I’m Arden, Harry’s girlfriend,” Arden smiles, blinding, and sits down. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

           “Can’t believe everything you hear,” She scoffs, grateful for the bottle of water Jack hands her before going to find Daisy amongst the neon.

           “Harry speaks quite highly of you, so does Jack,” Arden continues to smile, blissfully ignoring the contempt she’s displaying.  

           “You’ve met Jack before?” She asks.

           “Just Jack, never Daisy, she’s stunning, right?” Arden asks, laughing.

           “Yeah, completely,” She nods, eyes traveling to find Daisy, her beacon in the club. She’s been best friends with Daisy since diapers, their mother’s best friends, hoping and praying they’d each have daughters to carry on the legacy of their familial bond.

           “Harry tells me you’re in publishing,” Arden tries again to make conversation.

           “Correct,” She nods again.

           “That’s amazing, I love reading,” Arden offers.

           “Same.”

           “I have a lot of downtime at work, I’m a model. I just did the new Rodarte campaign, and Gucci,” Arden is trying her damnest to make this work, but her motives remain a mystery.

           “Congrats,” She snorts, unimpressed by the model’s recent credentials.

           “Thanks, I just want to say, I know you and Harry are at this weird point in your friendship, but I do hope you’ll work it out.” Arden is serious, glossy blue eyes resolute.

           “Did Harry tell you why we broke up?” She asks, eyeing Arden suspiciously.

           “A little, but I didn’t ask. It was before me so really, who cares?” Arden forces a giggle, baby blues trying to break through the tension.

           “Right,” She nods, a slight eyeroll giving way to her true feelings.

           “I just thought maybe you two could, mend your –

           “Hey,” Harry says, making his way towards the two of you.

           “Hi babe,” Arden seamlessly slips her arm around his waist, pulling him close to her.

           “What uh, what are you two talking about?” Harry asks, eyes accusatory as he again takes in your stunning appearance.

           “I was just saying that we’re going to Tahiti after I finish my campaign with Gucci. Relax, sit on the beach, drink Mai Tai’s, surf, or really, for me, learn,” Arden rambles on, her hair bouncing in animation, matching her words. Her deft swerve to the topic of vacation surprising, unsure why she needed to lie to Harry.

           “The beach?” she asks, looking at Harry. He nods, cursory.

           “Yeah,” He sips on his drink.

           “Huh,” She responds, eyes narrow. “Will you excuse me? It was nice meeting you Arden.”

           Slipping out of the VIP section and into the night air, she feels his presence behind her, chasing after her as she moves through the crowd and into the brisk summer air.

Not bothering to turn around, she asks, “Why are you following me?”

           “Why did you just disappear?” Harry demands, coming to stand next to her. His warmth radiating onto her skin.

           “You’re here with someone else,” She reminds him.

           “You haven’t responded to any of my –

           “Harry, you are here with someone else, the very someone else who if I’m not mistaken, is the reason for our demise,” She turns to stare at him, eyes boring into his.

           “I, she’s not,” Harry shakes his head.

           “Oh right, because I am the sole proprietor of our heartache and failed relationship,” Another eyeroll. Her mother used to tell her that if you roll your eyes too many times, they’ll get stuck up there. A fear she was clearly ignoring.

           “You’re not,” Harry scoffs, they’d had this fight before.

           “Why are you looking at me like I am?” She’s unwilling to back down, a trait Harry once loved about her.

           “I’m, I’m sorry alright?” Harry’s flustered speech gives way to a run of his hand through his curls. Resting his hands on his hips, he stares at her.

           “Sorry for what?” She asks again, words clipped.

           “Everything,” He shrugs.

           “That’s the least specific apology I have ever heard,” She deadpans. He wants to respond with some witty banter, some lighthearted sarcasm, some joke a year ago, five years ago, she would’ve laughed at. But they’re not the same people they were six months ago.

           “What do you want me to say?” Harry’s exasperated.

           “I want you to tell me how you really feel, because we broke up six months ago, and I still don’t understand why you ran to her, whoever she was, instead of fighting for me. Then tell me why our friends think I’m the viper, I’m the one who broke your heart. Why are you spreading rumors hoping they’ll bite me, when they just show how pathetic you’re behaving?” Her volume increases exponentially as she speaks, until she’s nearly yelling at him.

           “That’s not fair,” Harry states, eyes closing as he shakes his head.

           “I’m trying to let go, Harry. But you fucking have your tentacles in everything I do! You’re everywhere.”

           “It’s so easy for me? You are everywhere. Every new song I write, every role I consider taking, every project. I still fucking talk to you like you’ll hear me, everywhere I go is tainted by some memory of us.” Harry spits back.

           “Tell me why, Harry. Why are you going to Tahiti?” She questions, voice cutting through the cold air and going straight to Harry’s heart.

           “I like the beach,” He shrugs.

           “You are such a fucking liar! No, you don’t!” She yells, arms reaching towards the summer sky as she shakes her head at him.

           “Maybe I’m trying out new things,” Harry stares at her, “Maybe I’m trying to be –

           “What, different? Better? You cheat on me, after saying that you will always be in love with me, which surprise, you’re not!”

           “Not a cheater?” Harry’s momentarily confused, a slight diversion from the rant she’s begun.

           “Not in love anymore,” Her eyes are wide, confused by his lapse in memory, “You’re not in love with me anymore. You cheated on me, lied to our friends and now you’re here with little miss long legs.”

           “Don’t call her that,” Harry says.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Arden,”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Harry runs a hand through his locks again, sighing in frustration.

           “No, you’re not. If you were, she wouldn’t be here with you. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be fighting with me outside the club. If you were sorry, you’d –

           “I need your forgiveness! Alright, that’s why I’m out here.” Harry’s voice raises several decibels. He’s been holding onto this for months, long before she found out, long before he willingly broke her heart.

           She lets out a shaky breath, “What?”

           “I need you to forgive me, to accept my apology, to, give me the green light that it’s okay to be, not yours anymore,” Harry explains.

           “You cheated on me!” She yells, finger pointing directly above Harry’s heart. “I have honored you by not telling our friends for what? You don’t get to have or ask for my forgiveness, I’ve already given you too much. Forgiveness went out the window when you fucked someone else Harry! How dare you ask me to forgive you, absolve you, for a sin you willingly committed. You were in complete control of yourself and you still cheated on me. You want a green light? That was fucking it.”

          She pushes past him, stomping back into the club and onto the dance floor, into the arms of someone else, someone who isn’t scared to kiss her above the dazzling lights, someone whose bedroom she’ll wake up in, unsure where she is, not caring to leave a note before slipping out into the city. And hopefully, after a few more escapades, the embrace of the rising sun on her walk home won’t echo his voice anymore. The birds chirping won’t sing his songs, and the sting of telling Daisy the truth won’t ring out over overcooked eggs and overpriced mimosas.

          Harry had wanted her to give him the green light, but in refusing to do so, she watched the light change for herself.

Next: Talia

[captaincravatthecapricious]

You Don’t Understand- Prompt Fill

Jon has a rough time after being absent for 6 months.

Write as a prompt fill gotten through A03

CW fainting, victim blaming, withdrawal/starvation symptoms (from statements) (I am a bit vague about which it is more like because I couldn't choose, so a bit of both), trust issues, very brief Peter Lukas mention, brief mention of someone being touched while unconscious (nonsexual and very brief mention), and cw for some very mixed feelings about Georgie.  I understand her, and I don't hate her, but I don't really like her either so please don't get mad at me for how she is written I am trying to do her justice and I get why she does the things she does, but I don't have to like her for it.

Thanks for reading hope you enjoy! I have a few more bingo prompts to post, but only one more to write!  Feel free to stick it in my inbox and if no one does, well you will just have to put up with whatever whim strikes me this weekend when I will write it for a backlog!  Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​

It’s been six months.  How has it been six months?  

Jon isn’t sure how he is supposed to think about that time.  Is it all supposed to feel like a dream, that one moment he’s blowing up, the next he’s awake?  

It doesn’t feel like that.  

But he also wasn’t really there for six months, was he?   

He sighs deeply to himself.  It doesn’t matter.  

It doesn’t matter.  

He’s alive.  

He’s fine.  

Martin and Tim are sharing a flat, apparently.  And that’s good.  He thinks?  Maybe?  

They keep telling him there is room for him, but he isn’t sure he can believe that…. Not after everything with Tim.  He wants to believe it…  But… what if Martin doesn’t want him there.  He thought maybe they had a moment before the Unknowing, but did they?  

Jon’s not good with…. Feelings.  With people.  

Not to mention he’s been Gone.  With a capital G and a flatline of a heartrate.  

Even if he and Martin could possibly have…  Could possibly have had something.  Of some unknowable sort.  That he couldn’t have hoped to put a word to for fear that it would crumble around him.  But he’s been gone and Tim hasn’t been and they seem close now.  

And maybe Tim is trying again with him?  But how can he be sure?  When everything is confusing and out of sync with what he thought of time.  

Not to mention the deep hunger that is more than hunger.  Deeper in his gut, and harder to ignore.  Followed by a fog of confusion and the sense that his skin is too tight, that the world is the wrong temperature, and that everything is tilted ever so slightly, making it impossible to keep his balance.  

Reading statements helps, but… Basira… but Georgie.  The disappointed glares they send his way when he skulks off to read one in hopes of feeling like his limbs are his again…. That he isn’t being slowly set on fire or slowly frozen.  The world skirting by him with a vengeful glee leaving him to rot in his own misery on the shelf in the stacks he’s been calling home recently.  

Martin wasn’t there when he woke up…. Working for the ever elusive Peter Lukas.  Tim wasn’t there… Martin later telling him he’d been afraid of scaring him.  Which Jon couldn’t escape the worry that, in actuality, it was Martin worrying that Tim would scare Jon… or hurt him.  Which Jon could tell was the more valid of the worries.  Or he thinks it is?  How is he supposed to be certain.  How can he trust anyone?  How is he supposed to trust anyone when Basira gives him such calculating stares, when Melanie glares metaphorical and literal daggers at him, when Georgie has been ignoring his texts (and her harsh words upon his waking).  When Martin is working for a literal monster.  When Daisy is gone… and Jon doesn’t know how to feel.  He wants Basira to be happy, but he feels safer without her.  And he doesn’t know how to feel about anything but he is sick and hungry and cold and hollow.  

There is no one.  

Georgie doesn’t understand.   

He runs into her once, picking Melanie up for therapy.  After…. An unwise abrupt and shady surgery.  

He is in the breakroom.  Baffled that Martin is still making him tea when he hardly sees him around.  Even more baffled when Tim makes him another cup.  

What does it all mean?  

(Not to mention his confusion at the green hair… that had been a shock.

When he texted Martin about it, he said to ask Tim, and included an emoji that Jon couldn’t parse out.  Weren’t emojis supposed to be easier to read than actual faces?  It was maybe resigned?  Or maybe regretful?

Regretful of what?  Is he ashamed of something?  Is he regretful that he opened a text from Jon, that Jon turned down the request to move in?  It isn’t that Jon wanted to turn it down.  

But it sounds too good to be true?  When everyone avoids him at work… Well Tim doesn’t, but Jon is scared of being alone with Tim.  He is scared of this kindness and how long it might last.)

So he’s in the breakroom.  

Trying to steady himself the less monstrous and terrifying way.  

And Georgie is there.  

Jon shrinks back on himself.  Still hoping the mug of tea will make his hands steadier, make him less cold, less shaky, less miserable.  But he’s having difficulty holding it with one shaky hand, white knuckling his cane with the other.  Trying not to let it tremble as much as the rest of him, propping himself up when black spots start eating at his vision.  Not in the POTS sort of way… but in the same way that has been since America.  Since that first hint of fear that maybe… maybe he’s not human, that he is reliant on some horrifying eldritch god of knowledge.  

This is the price of him waking up.  

And it chews him up from the inside when, in his panic, he tries to limit his consumption hoping that it will turn him back.  Hoping that he still has a chance to win back the people he cares about, but fighting the fear that this is the only way to save them all.  

He doesn’t know what to do.  Being undead doesn’t come with a manual.  

And there is no chance that Georgie will take this any better than she did when she kept telling him to quit… to just stop.  

He’s trying!  

It’s been a few days since his last statement, and the world swims before his eyes whenever he stands.  Worse than it ever has.  He’s woken up on the floor more times in the few weeks he’s been alive again than in the long and confusing months leading up to his diagnosis.  

Which was after Georgie… which… means she hasn’t seen him like this.  Not when he was living with her because he has been managing, or so he thought, but hell maybe the Eye had a hand in that.  

And oh Shit, she is looking at him now.  

What does he do if she wants to talk?  She hasn’t responded to any of his texts, or late night calls when he’s been too afraid to call anyone else and she always felt safe.  Even when they were fighting.  But she hasn’t been there for him.  No one has, of late.  Except the people who are trying and Jon is too confused to know what to do so he does nothing and an all-consuming guilt joins in with that Hunger.  That sickness eating him from the inside with every word he doesn’t consume.  

“Hi Jon.”  

He can’t say anything.  He’s been standing too long, but seeing her there, he is frozen.  Fight or Flight breaking down to freeze.  Has he always been such a coward?  

Yes.  

Yes he has.  A miserable coward since he was a child.  Getting into trouble trying to try to prove to himself that he isn’t.  

Christ he’s dizzy.  But she’s still talking.  

“Jon, you really oughtn’t be here.  You don’t look well.  Shouldn’t you still be resting?  That long in hospital should have you in need of some physical therapy.  Are you pushing yourself too hard?”

Jon bites down on the urge to snap at her.  Or start crying.  Or simply pass out and not have to deal with this conversation at all.  “I need to be here,” he says quietly.  Afraid that expelling too much air will knock him over.  

“And why is that?  Really Jon, I swear…  Melanie says you haven’t been eating , or sleeping, but she sees  you here at all hours.  Why?  What is this all for?  It’s just a job, I don’t care if there are Monsters or whatever.  You see this?  This is why I can’t deal with you right now!  Not to mention what you did to Melanie.  What the hell, Jon?  You say you’re trying to save the world, but maybe you can’t?  Maybe you need to save yourself before you can do anything else.”

Jon just wants to get away before he goes down, and by this point he knows that is inevitable.  Maybe get to his office, and open a statement first.  Maybe that will help, or maybe it will make him feel better once he comes around.  He should put down his tea.  He doesn’t want the mug to break if he can’t make it.  He’ll set it on the table on the way out, or wait until he’s in  the bullpen and put it down and take a seat and hope that helps.  He tries to edge around her, staring at the floor.  Careful not to say anything that could compel.  Just wanting to get out.  “Have work to do… sorry.”  

“No you don’t!  Look at yourself, Jon!  Work can wait!”  

Jon just wants to leave.  He wishes it could!  He does.  He wants nothing more than to take a vacation.  To move in with Martin and Tim and have a life.  A home.  Safety.  Normalcy.  And Argument over who finished the milk and who has to do the shopping and not about how best to not die at the hands of Fear Gods, and how best to not serve them.  “Please, Georgie you don’t understand…”  

He backs away.  Fuck he’s dizzy.  

“No, Jon I don’t.  Explain.  What am I missing.  Why do you have to do this?  Why do you insist on working yourself into your grave?  It’s already basically killed you.  Maybe some of us don’t want to see you do that again?”

“I… I…  I need a Statement….”  Well so much for getting away.  He’s not even going to make it to a chair or the floor on his own.  “Hold this, I’m… I think I’m going to faint now.”  He holds his cane out to her.  

She takes it confused.  

Jon doesn’t remember hitting the floor.  

When he comes around, his head is pounding.  

Georgie is touching him.  He is on his side, and he is being yelled at.  He can’t make out the words yet… all just in a haze of pain and confusion and feeling like utter shit.  He tries to bat her hands away but he can’t and so he just lays there.  Hoping some feeling comes back to his limbs soon.  Or that Georgie will just get bored and leave him there.  

But then Martin is there.  And Tim.  

And Martin is shooing Georgie out of his personal space.  “He doesn’t like being touched while he’s out.”  

Well…  correct.  

“What the hell just happened?”  Georgie.  

“Well… it happens sometimes.  Did he say anything?”  Martin again.  

“Something about needing Statement?”

“Tim, could you grab him a Statement?”  

“Sure thing, back in a mo.”  Tim.  More earnest than Jon has heard him in a long time.  Tim helping him?  If he wasn’t already on the floor, he might have fainted again at that.  

“What, you’re just going to go along with it?  Let him work himself to death?  Look at him!  He isn’t well!  …I don’t know why I am arguing this.  He’s an adult and if he is going to do that, I don’t need to be a part of this.  It isn’t my job to baby sit him.”  Georgie shoves his cane at Martin, who doesn’t freeze.  In fact, as far as Jon can tell through half lidded eyes, Martin looks angry.  

“Look.  I know we don’t know each other well.  But do you really think so poorly of Jon… of me?  I don’t know what he’s told you… but he needs those Statements to live.  I don’t know if it’s ….a food… or… or an addiction.  But … he doesn’t do well without them.  And… And Elias was feeding them to him when he wasn’t here.  And Jon told me how you didn’t want them in the flat, but he got sick in America.  Really really sick, and … and Elias found him there and fed him another one.  He didn’t know until then.  But… you have to know we can’t quit.  And we aren’t sure if Jon can live without these.  And it is a far from ideal situation… but we are working on it.  You don’t have to like it.  Or talk to Jon, although you should.  You aren’t enabling him, he needs a support system.  And he’s just too thick to see that Tim and I are here from him, and everyone else is giving him the cold shoulder… so I don’t blame him for being too thick to notice!  Not to mention, my new position has made interacting with him during work hours… difficult, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to move in yet, although I hope he will.  And you!  The only person not in this mess who he trusts, ignores him.  Blames him!  Maybe you should try listening?  I get it… you can’t deal with him right now.  Fine.  I get it.  Do what you have to.  You don’t have to look after him at your own expense.  But don’t be cruel.  …Oh good.  Tim, thanks.  When he comes around, a Statement and some tea will set him right.”  Martin smiles at Tim (a smile that makes Jon jealous) and gives Georgie a cool look.  

“Marto, I think he’s been awake for most of that.”  Tim is crouched by him.  

“Haven’t been eavesdropping, promise.  Just… just getting my bearings.  I’m fine.  I’ll be up soon.”  Jon’s voice is rough.  Misery, unshed tears, exhaustion.  Take your pick.  

“It’s okay, buddy.  We’ll get you fixed up and then you can have a proper rest.  Offer of the flat share is still open, okay?”  Tim hovers, ready to help him sit when he’s ready.  

Jon… doesn’t know what to say.  After hearing Martin defend him… Maybe… Maybe he can start working on trusting Tim again.  Tim… is, after all, working on trusting him too.  

Georgie looks down at him.  He can’t read her expression.  She looks at him for a long moment.  

The gaze isn’t uncomfortable by itself.  But Jon feels exposed on the floor.  Small and helpless and weak as well as supernaturally hungry, that not at all helped by his “surprise nap.”  

He tries to avoid meeting her eyes.  

“I’m… sorry I didn’t listen.  I… still can’t do this with you right now.  But… I’m sorry.  I can’t be your friend now, but… let me know if you want some pictures of the Admiral ever, okay?”  And she leaves.  Off to bring Melanie to her appointment.  

Leaving Jon with Martin and Tim.   

Who bring him to his sad excuse for a bed, tuck him in with a statement and a cup of tea and tell him to call if he needs anything.  And Jon thinks, maybe he will reconsider their offer.  

[melatovnik]

i wanted to make this quick wangxian fic rec post just so they don’t get lost. i asked for cute/funny fics and @manhasetardis​​ delivered. thanks teresa! ❤

housed by your warmth by scifi | rated E | 2K words

wei wuxian may never grow to enjoy mornings but he enjoys this, he really enjoys this – stolen time together, bodies reuniting, waking up before the world.

rainy season by scifi | rated T | 3K words

even rabbits deserve to stay dry (in which lan zhan brings all the rabbits to the jingshi during a summer storm and wei ying is pleasantly surprised)

The Thing Is by sunlightrefrain | rated T | 8K words

“What the fuck, dude.” Jin Zixun sounds mad. Oh, he sounds very mad. “Are you out of your fucking mind? I’ll get you fucking expelled.”

Lan Zhan, who doesn’t give even an ounce of a shit, only grits out, “Please, by all means.” Which, for Lan Zhan, is more or less the verbal equivalent of a fuck you and your ancestral home too. Wei Ying blanches.

Or; Wei Ying meets Lan Zhan when he’s seven. Nearly two decades later, Lan Zhan punches Jin Zixun.

Far Away You Are by cqlorphan | rated E | 17K words

Suddenly, it snaps into place. The weary way Lan Zhan has been holding himself is suddenly cast in a new, much more distressing light. Somebody is responsible for it, a real live, horrible, blind, stupid person. The combination of guilt, sadness, and anger that sets in all at once is hard to contain. Lingering wisps of resentment that remain from the night-hunt flock to him, like calling to like.

All four boys stare at him with wide eyes.

“Wei-qianbei,” Sizhui says. “You look...um…”

“Scary,” Zizhen breathes, beaming.

“Who has rejected Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Or; during one of his visits to the Cloud Recesses, the juniors strike a blow to Wei Wuxian's certainty that his feelings for Lan Wangji are one-sided.

Swipe Right by Bowandtie | rated T | 30K words

How not to use Chinese Tinder, a cautionary tale. (Or not, if you're looking at the end result.)

WWX made his life's mission to be matched with every weird people with hilariously bad profile pic on Tantan.

thoroughly in earnest by stiltonbasket | rated G | 3K words

The first time someone addresses him as something other than "Honored Master Wei" during an assembly, Wei Wuxian barely registers it.

He's never been one for titles, after all.

Ten years after his wedding, Wei Wuxian ascends as Chief Cultivator.

Somehow, he's the last one to know about it.

the And They Were Married And Had a Son series by yellowcarnations | rated G | 9K words total

Xiu Mei can see the gobsmacked faces of her classmates on the screen, some of them even have their mouth hanging open comically. She doesn't doubt that she is in a similar state herself.

Not only is Professor Lan is apparently married, he's married to Professor Wei, and they also have a kid together. Literally no one could've seen that coming.

neck deep with no way out by ericacea & SugarMilkTea | rated T | 29K words

There's a hickey on Lan Zhan's neck, and Wei Ying didn't put it there. Wei Ying's Plan For Gaining Lan Zhan's Affections™️ had not accounted for this. He sets out to discover who exactly has had their mouth on his friend's neck—and figure out how to get his plan back on track.

Friendly Fields, Open Roads by queensmooting | not rated | 12K words

She smiles. She scrunches up her nose. She sneezes a monstrous cloud of dark smoke in Wei Wuxian's face.

"Lan Zhan," he says lightly. "I think something's wrong with your baby."

Nothing But Trouble by brooklinegirl | rated E | 60K words

"I don't want to really date anyone. It's so stupid, I just need to pretend date someone until Jiang Cheng gets his act together, then go back to my own life." He stares at his empty coffee cup.

"Date me," Lan Zhan says. Then he looks at Wei Ying's empty cup. "Would you like another cup of coffee?"

"Always," Wei Ying says automatically. "But wait, what."

"I'll get you another cup." Lan Zhan rises smoothly from the table.

"No, wait, hang on." Wei Ying grabs his wrist before he can take the cup and Lan Zhan freezes up, staring down at where Wei Ying is hanging on to him. "Fuck, sorry, I'll—" Wei Ying hastily lets go of his wrist. "Sorry, I—what did you mean?"

"I can pretend to date you," Lan Zhan says. "You take it with cream and sugar, correct?"

like, comment, share & subscribe by detectorist | rated T | 22K words

“Come on, A-Cheng!” Wei Ying says. “Think of all the hapless youths who are watching hanguang_jun’s channel and being duped into thinking that’s what university is like! It’s not fair on the kids!”

Jiang Cheng appears to be entirely unmoved by this highly logical argument.

—

Lan Zhan runs a popular studytuber YouTube channel. Wei Ying decides to parody his videos. Things escalate from there.

play your love songs all night long by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf & tardigradeschool | rated E | 2K words

Look, sometimes you meet a guy in college and become best friends. Sometimes the two of you spend a day babysitting objectively the best baby on earth, and that baby needs parents. Sometimes you get married to the guy (platonically!) and spend thirteen years raising the best baby on earth into the best teenager on earth. Also you share a bed. Also you're in love with him.

Wei Ying is pretty sure all that is normal. Lan Zhan agrees. Sizhui is... dubious.

like blue flame over my fingertips by tangerinechar | rated T | 37K words

Lan Wangji’s roommate is brash, noisy, messy, annoying, and — absolutely terrible at feeding himself properly.

(Or: food as a metaphor for love, featuring Lan Wangji’s A++ cooking skills, five times Lan Wangji cooked for Wei Wuxian, and one time Wei Wuxian reciprocated.)

and bonus fic rec from @themanfromnantucket​ (thank you! ^^):

Just say yes by edenwolfie | rated T | 10K words

Lan Qiren had never had a student he couldn’t improve, and Wei Wuxian would not be the exception, especially not now that his nephew was in love with the troublemaker. He would not allow history to repeat itself.

plus one more fic rec from me since i read this recently and loved it:

and there was only one tent by detectorist | rated E | 21K words

Lan Zhan gets into the front and Wei Ying hands him a paddle before getting in the back. The canoe rocks a little as they settle themselves.

“Comfortable?” Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan looks over his shoulder and nods. Wei Ying decides, abruptly, that this is probably the one of the best views he’s ever going to get in his life: Lan Zhan in the front of the canoe, wearing his baby blue baseball cap, bathed in sunlight, with the sparkling expanse of water all around them and the lush sugar maples in the background.

—

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan go camping.

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 7~

I love how Yoshino and Kurama are literally flirting on the battlefield. Yoshino....I have already said it, but I’ll say it again, she’s the best character CYBIRD has ever created, according to me, that is. And I also love how she literally drools in awe at the sight of her male leads in every route.

WARNING!!! This story has a lot of violence, blood, and gore.

Chapter 6

*

*

*

-------Part 1-------

Kurama: "Troublesome woman."

He clicks his tongue and pulls me tight with one hand.

Yoshino: "........!"

Something warm touches my back as he straightened me and he positioned me in such a way so that I could lean on his chest.

Yoshino(blushing): "Kurama.....?"

Kurama: "Sit still, like an ornament. If you fidget, I'll have to do more."

As he says this, Kurama draws his sword with one free hand and lets it fly.

In the blink of an eye, the battle was upon us.

Enemy soldier 1: “....! The banner of the rebel army.”

(They saw us!)

Kurama: “Let’s go.”

One minute we’re floating and the next moment----

Kurama makes his horse dance and plunges into the middle of the battle.

I bit back a scream before I had time to reply.

Enemy soldier 2: “You’d be a fool to come in with that many hands!”

Enemy soldier 3: “Have the rebels gone crazy? Come on!”

Kurama: “It’s an annoying rumor, we’ll have to stop it soon.”

The sword, wielded with tremendous force, struck the enemy soldier in the torso.

The second blow had already flicked off the sword of another enemy, who had fallen from the saddle without a second thought.

Enemy soldier 1: “ARGGHHH!”

Kurama: “Get out of my way.”

Kurama grabs the enemy by the chest and throws him with ease.

(I can’t believe he’s so strong even without using any other powers!)

Rebel soldier 1: “Don’t fall behind Kurama-sama!”

Rebel soldier 2: “Yes, we’ll help Benkei-sama in any way we can!”

The rebel soldiers, desperate to catch up with Kurama, are also struggling with their weapons.

(Great, even though we are outnumbered by the enemy.)

As soon as he appeared, he slew five of his enemies, and his presence sent them into a frenzy and completely galvanized his allies.

But Kurama doesn’t care about that, he’s running fast.

Kurama: “Benkei is further back?”

The swords he wielded were brilliantly used to dispatch one enemy after another.

(I don’t have time to feel afraid of the enemy.)

Kurama, who is closest to me, is much more terrifying.

Despite my awe, I feel the same warmth as our bodies touch.

Kurama: “What are you thinking? Why do you keep making that stunning face at such times?”

------Part 2------

Kurama: “What are you thinking? Why do you keep making that stunning face at such times?”

(Ah.......)

As he rode his horse fast, Kurama forced my face upwards.

Uninteresting eyes look down on me.

Yoshino: “Kurama is the one who should not be looking the other way at a time like this.”

Kurama: “For me, it’s child’s play. More importantly, don’t be so cocky as to think you can hide things from me, Yoshino.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. I didn’t mean to. (+4/+4)

2. It’s just your imagination.

3. Kurama, is strong....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: “I didn’t mean to imply.....that I was hiding anything.”

Kurama: “If you want to fool me, I can call your name in your ear as often as I did that time.”

Yoshino(blushing): “That’s a bit....!”

Kurama laughed in the back of his throat in satisfaction when he saw my impatience at the sound of his gifted voice.

Kurama: “Remember this, even what you feel in your heart must be something that I give to you.”

Yoshino(blushing): “So, unreasonable....”

At that time-----

(.....!)

One arrow flies towards me with a bite.

Kurama: “Don’t look away.”

Yoshino: “Kurama!”

The enemy archers look aghast when they see me unharmed.

I was the only one who noticed the swirl of transparent wind that had forcibly twisted the trajectory of the arrow in front of me.

(Wind blade...)

Kurama: “......”

Kurama, who had been trying to manipulate his ability without turning around, suddenly touched my cheek as if to confirm something.

Yoshino: “Eh...”

Kurama: “I hope you’re not injured.”

Yoshino(blushing): “No, no, no I’m fine.”

Kurama: “So be it. Humans are vulnerable.”

(That’s...)

Yoshino: “If I get hurt, will Kurama be in trouble...?”

Kurama: “I’m not in the slightest bit of trouble.”

The red of his eyes took on a dumbfounded color at my question.

Kurama: “I told you I won’t kill you for now. It’s just that once you’ve spat, you don’t swallow.”

Yoshino: “You mean you keep your promises? Even with humans?”

I look back at Kurama feeling surprised.

Kurama: “To condescend to break a self-imposed rule is like begging to be reduced to a dwarf.”

 As he continued to speak, Kurama killed another incoming enemy soldier with a single slash.

(Metaphorically speaking, I thought Kurama was as terrifying as a natural disaster.)

A terrifying demon that defies logic and human understanding. That was my first impression of Kurama.

(But now, I know a bit more.)

(Kurama is just living on a different scale, neither good nor evil as I know it.)

(He’s arrogant, but reasonable, which is why I’m drawn to him without even knowing it. ....I’m sure the rebel army thinks the same.)

Kurama lightly swings his swords, which are dripping with blood, to get rid of the drops.

Even the gesture was cruelly beautiful.

Enemy soldier 2: “Damn it, stop that man!”

Enemy soldier 3: “AAAHHH!!!”

(We’re surrounded!)

Perhaps fearing Kurama, who leads the way with overwhelming strength, about five enemies attacked us all at once.

Yoshino: ”No....!!!”

Kurama: “It’s useless.”

------Part 3-----

Kurama: “It’s useless.”

On the contrary, without changing his color, Kurama makes his horse dance further in front of the enemy.

Enemy soldier 2: “Ku....”

The enemy, impatient to be out of range, struck a blow in the dark.

Kurama knocked it down with difficulty and twisted the enemy with his return sword.

Enemy soldier 3: “Eat this!”

Kurama: “......”

(I’m going to be slashed-----)

He came at me from the side, and our blades collided with each other by the skin of our teeth.

He clicks his tongue sharply and forcefully Kurama bounces off the enemy’s sword.

Kurama: “I don’t like it. Fighting for cover.”

Yoshino: ”Be careful!”

Kurama dodges a slash that comes at him from a blind spot.

Without blinking an eye, he literally flipped his enemy off, even as he slashed black hair fell in a heap.

Yoshino: “.....Kurama, are you hurt?”

Kurama: “If you’re so bored you’re asking unnecessary questions, take a nap.”(I love him!)

Yoshino: “Then I’ll have nightmares for sure!”(I love her too!)

Kurama: “You seem to have more blood in your veins than you care to admit. A few scratches won’t kill you.”

Despite this, Kurama does not let up his attack.

(It looks like you can afford it....)

As I say this, I’m not used to fighting for someone else.

From a while ago, the enemy’s sword skimmed past Kurama’s body.

Enemy soldier 5: “He’s too strong,....is he a monster!?”

Enemy soldier 6: “Aim for the woman! Let’s take her as a hostage....”

Yoshino: “Me....?”

I was horrified by all the glaring stares.

I then heard Kurama chuckled coldly above me.

Kurama: “Don’t you know that tricks are useless in the face of overwhelming odds? A little ignorance is a pity, but stupidity is a sin. Atone for it and be scattered with the dew.”

The swords wielded without mercy slaughtered one enemy after another, turning the earth red.

Enemy soldier 7: “Nnn.....”

The last person, shaking and clutching his sword, falls on his butt.

Kurama: “Stand up and I’ll kill you with honor.”

The enemy soldier shook his head in dismay, tears streaming down his cheeks as he was overpowered.

Without even looking at him, Kurama passes by.

Yoshino: “So you chose not to kill him....?”

Kurama: “He who is gripped by fear is as good as not alive. What is the use of slaying the dead?”

------Part 4------

Kurama: “He who is gripped by fear is as good as not alive. What is the use of slaying the dead?”

(-----After all.)

I felt the black wings that should have been invisible on Kurama’’s back spread powerfully.

(To be strong is to be cruel, arrogant.....and to be able to live your life the way you want to live it.)

Unrestrained and following his heart, Kurama is both terrifying and hauntingly beautiful.

(There is not the slightest deviation between Kurama’s words and actions.)

I spilled a small truth in the wind because I knew it so painfully.

Yoshino: “.....Thank you.”

Kurama: “......?”

Yoshino: “I never thanked you for your help. It was my misfortune and fault that I was taken as a prisoner, and it was Kurama who brought me to the battle in that condition, but....in the meantime, thank you for not letting me die now.”

Kurama: “Not for you. It’s for the sake of my strength.”

Yoshino: “I could feel it somehow. But if that strength is what’s saving me, I wouldn’t feel comfortable not telling you.”

Kurama: “.......Will you persist in your complacency even after being taken as a prisoner? On the contrary, you are stubborn. It’s appalling.”

Kurama’s lips twisted in a somewhat venomous manner.

(He doesn’t seem to be offended.)

(....Even though, Kurama is still scary, he can get a bit out of tune with these things.)

At that time----

???: “KURAMA!”

Yoshino: “Hm?”

A large figure broke through the enemy enclosure at once, and leaped from his horse in front of us.”

Benkei: “What are you doing here?”

Rebel soldiers: “BENKEI-SAMA! BENKEI-SAMA IS HERE!!!”

The soldiers on this side noticed and burst into joy at once.

In the midst of it all, Benkei-san’s eyes caught mine and widened.

Benkei: “------Fox princess!?”

Kurama: “She’s my prisoner.”

Benkei: “........ We’ll talk more later.”

Benkei-san quickly let out his hesitation with a faint breath.

He then stood next to Kurama and held his red miscellaneous sword in a dignified manner.

Benkei: “Get your feet up, all of you! To reward you for holding on to hope, Kurama going to give you a wonderful tomorrow.”

------Part 5------

Benkei: “Get your feet up, all of you! To reward you for holding on to hope, Kurama going to give you a wonderful tomorrow.”

Rebel soldiers: “YAYYY!!!!”

As Benkei-san’s loud voice shook the battlefield, the soldiers shouted in happiness.

(Great momentum.....!)

Enemy soldier 8: “Damn, what are these people?”

Enemy soldier 9: “We still have the advantage in numbers, don’t be afraid!”

The enemy soldiers soon came at us with a massive force.

(So fast----)

Kurama: “Hey, why do I have to give them a reward?”

Benkei: “As they say...”

It was as if they knew each other’s movements, and in an instant, the enemy in front of them was wiped out.

Benkei: “They’ve seen how strong you are. It’s a small price to pay for a name and a figure that attracts attention and gives you hope for life.”

Kurama: “You’ve got some nerve, Benkei, selling me cheap.”

Kurama, frowning like the incarnation of a grump, cut down two new enemies.

Benkei-san knocked down another enemy who had jumped out of his blind spot.

(These two are talking while killing soldiers and are in perfect sync.)

Benkei: “Shut up, man. It’s okay, being thanked doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

Kurama: “Less.”

Benkei: “Huh? What?”

Kurama: “....I don’t understand you.”

(Kurama?)

After an unusually short silence, Benkei-san also glanced at Kurama as he fought.

Kurama: “I’ve never been able to eat anything that humans offer me because it’s too warm. If I had been grateful I would have been fed up with being fed.”

Benkei(smiling): “It’s a masterpiece that you, a picky eater, should be forced to eat something you don’t like.”

After knocking down the enemy with gusto, Benkei-san turned around and smiled wryly.

Benkei: “Well, I’ll have a bite.”

Kurama: “What?”

Benkei: “Thank you for coming all this way to save me, Kurama.”

(......!)

Kurama(glares): “I’ll cut your tongue off.”

Benkei: “It’s my choice to be grateful. If you don’t like it, I’ll give you cat food.”

Kurama: “...............I don’t like beasts that flatter me like cats. I’d rather....”

Benkei: “Have good sake and snacks?”

Kurama(smile): “You understand me well. Let’s quickly end this crappy battle and return to Hiraizumi in triumph.”

Chapter 8