#rob was never MEANT to be the enemy he never wanted to be the enemy!!!!!!

[phoebespenglers]

hmmmm thinking abt gumball's One True Enemy quite literally being the narrative. i love this show

[gdn019283]

We deserved more of just Merlin

The little head tilt, the sweet voice and the tiny smile, the moment he asked Arthur:

“Don’t you?”

To Merlin, magic had always been there for everyone to see, to feel.

He is magic, after all.

For all those years, Merlin had believed what he felt was obvious, and that everyone else felt the same way. It was strange to Merlin that Arthur couldn’t understand that the forest, the animals, even the smallest, living in it, were sacred. Because life is sacred. He couldn’t grasp the reason why the knights couldn’t feel that the old Druids’ camp was haunted, and therefore didn’t believe him. He had literally heard death, and cried because of it.

“As if everything is much more than itself.”

The phrase could refer to him too. Merlin is much more than… Him.

That’s what brought his doom. He had never had the chance to truly know himself. He was either a servant, or the sorcerer of a prophecy, or a Dragonlord.

Never just him.

And in this moment we see he had missed being one with nature, breathing in the animals’ lives. He was himself again.

He was vibrating, much like anything else there living with him.

They never went deep into Merlin’s powers, they were just there for Arthur. Merlin had lost sight of what he wanted to do with them, he even forgot he was so powerful he could have overthrown Arthur himself, if he really wished to.

Merlin was the only man alive able to see Avalon.

During the knights and the king’s quest to save Gwen, Merlin met the Queen of a Queendom no one had ever even seen.

He could have killed Morgana (and did try) multiple times, although she was an High Priestess, and simply decided not to, but he had more than just the power to do so.

The Catha, the Druids bowed to him, met him in the woods, called to him.

Merlin created a telepathic connection with Arthur the first days he was in Camelot.

He survived death multiple times.

His immortality forbid him to die.

Merlin hated hunting because he could feel the animals being scared, followed; he had recognised Gwen when Morgana transformed her into a deer; he could hear the magic around him, inside objects and inside people, like a whisper, as if it was nothing; he could call lightning from the sky.

He could stop the time, or at least slow it down.

Every magical being knew him by name only. But he was not a leader, he was just different.

“Is she like me?” “No one is like you, Merlin.”

After everything he had witnessed, even Gaius knew Merlin was special and did nothing to help him understand why he was.

Merlin was the reason Aithusa was born, why Kilgharrah was free, and we were robbed of him getting to really know his powers, both as a Dragonlord and as the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth.

He literally deleted himself just to be at Arthur’ side, and it hurt him. We saw it constantly. He was sad not only because everyone and everything was against him, or because he couldn’t use magic for simple tricks, but because he couldn’t really know what he could do, both as a magical being and as just Merlin.

To study his powers meant treason and death, and Merlin forbid himself to go beyond what he already knew.

His incapacity to understand, his lack of will to know, and his indecision about who he was, literally helped the fall of the great destiny he was a part of.

Merlin’s decisions, whatever he wanted them to happen or not, helped Arthur die.

Merlin’s real enemy was himself.

[ecoterrorist-katara]

The tragedy of Katara’s parentification

Sokka and Katara were both parentified, and it’s a profoundly life-changing thing for both of them. One of the saddest things in ATLA, though, is how Sokka sort of got to outgrow parentification, but Katara never did.

Sokka’s told to be the man. The provider, the protector. He’s not so good at the former (his hunting failures are a consistent source of comic relief), and he takes failures of the latter very, very hard. He doesn’t manage to save Yue, and that wrecks him. After Yue, he becomes extremely protective of Suki in a way that’s borderline offensive to her. He’s willing to do anything to protect his friends and his family, including something as irresponsible as breaking into the Boiling Rock. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Sokka is the only one of the Gaang who unambiguously kills. The rest of them may technically have clean hands because of cartoon logic, but Combustion Man is very dead, and Sokka is the one who killed him. We don’t know how he feels about it, because the show never goes there, but I have a pet theory that Sokka is so uncharacteristically (remember he was team “leave Zuko to freeze to death”) against Katara confronting Yon Rha in The Southern Raiders because he’s the only who knows what killing feels like and wants to protect Katara from it.

But by the end of the show, Sokka’s in a place where he can start to let go of his need to protect. Objectively, all his friends are unbelievably powerful and can take care of themselves, including his sister and his girlfriend. Suki is the one who saves him in the final battle, representing not only a reversal of his initial cartoonish misogyny, but also demonstrating that he is worthy of protection. And of course, he and his friends saved the world, so there isn’t really an enemy that he has to protect them from anymore. Sokka’s loved ones create the conditions under which his parentified behaviour is no longer necessary. Sokka would still have to take the first step to stop seeing himself as the one who has to lay his life on the line, but at least it’s possible for him.

But not Katara.

Katara had to take on the mom role after their mother was murdered, which meant she was responsible for domestic labour and emotional support. Sokka says in The Runaway that her role was to keep the family together. Unlike protection, that’s always a full time job regardless of the war. We see Katara spending more screen time than anybody cooking, getting food, mending, and generally doing women’s work. We see Katara giving everyone emotional support, including strangers and her enemy. We see Katara putting aside her own discomfort and her own hurt in The Desert because if she falls apart, they all die. Nobody ever showed her that she doesn’t need to be the only one who cooks, or that somebody else can be responsible for the emotional wellbeing of her friends, or that — god forbid — someone else can actually be responsible for her emotional wellbeing.

That’s why I never cared for the Ka/taang argument of “he teaches her to be a kid again!” Putting aside the fact that Katara ends up taking care of Aang a lot more as the series goes on, the whole tragedy of parentification is that you can never again be a child. That part of your childhood, your god-given right, is robbed from you. It is extremely precious and important to still be able to be a kid, but breaking free of parentification is not about seeing yourself as a kid. It’s about breaking free of being responsible for everyone’s feelings and behaviours.

For Katara, that responsibility is not problem of perception, but of reality. Unlike Sokka, who was told and shown that his loved ones are capable of protecting themselves, Katara has zero reason to believe that her loved ones are able to feed and clothe themselves and not fall apart emotionally. Between Toph and Sokka who emphatically don’t want to do this work, it all falls on Katara. Telling a parentified child that they just need to loosen up is akin to telling an overworked mother that she needs to just relax (“happy Mother’s Day! You get a break from chores, which you will catch up on tomorrow because nobody else is doing them”). It doesn’t accomplish anything if nobody creates the circumstances under which it’s possible to let go of responsibilities. A lot of Zutara fans, spanning all the way back to the early days of the fandom, like the “Momtara and Dadko” trope where Zuko also does chores. Why? Because even without the concept and language of parentification, many fans recognized that Katara’s performance of domestic and emotional labour is inequitable and probably very taxing.

Growing out of parentification is about more than just letting go of old expectations: it’s also about finding a new way to value yourself beyond the role you grew up with. I’ve said this before, but it’s very important to acknowledge that just because a kid is parentified doesn’t mean they’re actually good at being a parent. In fact, it’s probably a given that they’re not, because they’re kids performing roles that are developmentally inappropriate! Sokka remains a shit hunter; he becomes a decent fighter but he’s still miles behind his friends. A big part of healing from his parentification is finding another area — strategy, engineering, project management (what else do you call that schedule) — where he actually excels, to which he can dedicate his time and from which he can derive satisfaction and a sense of identity. For Katara, fighting for the oppressed and combat waterbending give her that. Crucially, however, Katara does not stop being a girl when she becomes a warrior. She’s still responsible for domestic and emotional labour. Unlike Sokka, whose protector duties were more or less relieved as the series went on and he found new ways to contribute to the group, Katara continued to perform her old role in addition to her new one (which is depressingly realistic btw, look up feminist theory around the concept of the second shift). Still, it’s important that she found these new ways to value herself and her contributions…

…which disappear in her adult life. Where’s adult Katara fighting for the oppressed? Where’s adult Katara enjoying her status as a master waterbender? Where’s Mighty Katara? Where’s the Painted Lady? Where’s the person who vanquished a whole Fire Lord?

What do we know about adult Katara? She’s no longer a rabblerouser or an ecoterrorist. She did not translate her desire to help the downtrodden into a political role, like being Chief or on the United Republic Council. She’s not known as the best waterbender in the world, only the best healer, even though her combat abilities are what she took the most pride in. Even as a healer, she established no hospitals, trained no widespread acolytes (except Korra, I guess?), and made no known contributions to the field.

What Katara is known for…is being a wife and a mother. The same role she was forced to take on at age 8. One which she performed for the next 80+ years.

[thefanficmonster]

Heavy Metal Lover

PART 2

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smoking, Brief Choking, Mentioned Past Suicides (at the location they're exploring), Suggestive Content, Arguments, Swearing

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Very Slight Smut, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Sam's best friend and Kat's best friend have been tangling antlers since the moment they met. So much for the couple's hopes of setting the two up.

NOTE: Sam and Kat are still together in this fic. This detail is not meant to be disrespectful to Sam's current girlfriend in any way.

"Why do we keep trying?"

Sam's question comes out as an exasperated sigh as he slouches further into the leather couch him and Kat have settled onto. Their rooms aren't ready yet, seeing as how their flight arrived way earlier than their calculations had suggested.

The hotel lobby is busy. The noise on any other day would be too much for the two to ignore and tune out but right now it's much more alike white noise. Jet-lag has really done them in this time. They'd been running away from it for long enough - hopping from plane to plane filming Hell Week is the same every year. But alas, by the fourth location they'd always shut down as has been the case since they stepped foot out of the plane and into the Las Vegas airport.

The only reason they're staying awake is so they don't get robbed blind. Well, that and to make sure the other two people on this trip don't murder one another.

"Because I still believe there's something there."

Y/N and Colby had successfully made it through the whole boarding process and flight without a single fight. Hell, Sam can't even recall them exchanging a single word until they arrived at the hotel. Maybe that's why it took them less than thirty seconds to break out in their usual bitter back-and-forth in the middle of the lobby. The only reason voices remained leveled was because they are indeed in public and they have appearances to upkeep.

The couple managed to subdue the perpetual assholes, convincing them to 'take five' which they thankfully went to take in opposite directions - Y/N headed for the parking lot to grab something she allegedly forgot in their rental car while Colby immediately clocked the patio across the lobby and quickly disappeared out of sight.

Kat watched them both, as if on cue, pluck their packs of cigarettes from their pockets on the way out.

That's what she means when she's trying to convince Sam of that something she sees. She can't explain it without the reasoning sounding like wishful thinking but she knows there is something. Something in the explosiveness in their interactions, the 'hatred' in their glares whenever they are tangling antlers over the smallest inconvenience, the way they look at each other when the other isn't looking.

Y/N and Colby are to Kat what the paranormal is to Sam. She wants to prove it to everyone, but mostly herself. Prove she didn't spend years poking holes in their apprehension for one another and pushing them together when the holy force clearly didn't want her to.

Or maybe that's what has been driving her.

Either way, she's truly grateful Sam is going along with her antics. Whether he believes what she's preaching or sees what she's seeing is up for debate, but at he's still supportive.

He'd never tell her this, but he isn't exactly trusting of the process. He more than anyone would want to see his best friend in a happy and healthy relationship. Does he believe that him and Y/N could have that? No. Not at all. Does he have faith Kat will succeed in her endeavors? Nope. Not even a tad. Even though she's stubborn and dedicated to this cause, he's never met a person more hard-headed than his best friend. Or at least he hadn't until he met Y/N.

You know the whole 'opposites attract' notion? The reason Sam and Kat's experiment subjects won't give the results they're hoping for is because they're too alike. In sync even - as the cigarettes instance that happened less than ten minutes ago would confirm. They're on the same wavelength headed in opposite directions. They're permanently heading for a collision - a fight equal to a ticking time bomb. Sam and Kat have to put out the fire the explosion of said bomb causes but that is a small price to pay to keep the two in each other's proximity.

"I don't know, babe...." Sam's shoulders slump downward, his arm automatically wrapping around Kat when she leans into his side. Hesitant as he may be, he's willing to go along with it. How is it any different from all the times Kat agreed to visit abandoned and haunted places with him. Hell, that's why she's here. She had no problem hopping on a plane to Vegas on such short notice just because she knew how much it'd mean to him. So...what's a little matchmaking in return? "But I believe your romance instincts." Looking down at her, he can't help but smile when he sees her absolutely beaming at him.

"I will not let you down."

She may try her best, but their subjects are two particularly unruly chess pieces.

Y/N, for example, is still out in the parking lot, getting antsier by the second. Anger refuses to let her stand still. Her jaw is still set, hot blood pumping through her veins. So many words she didn't get to spit out due to the public constraint are still stuck in her throat. Colby's words are replaying in her head, their edge causing her to dig her nails into her palms.

She needs to get some air, she just doesn't know where to find it. Maybe at the top of a mountain where she could scream her lungs out in peace. That's not really an option now, though, she she just settles for walking around the hotel, giving herself a couple more minutes before she rejoins Sam and Kat inside.

Eventually, she's made her way around to the side of the hotel that spreads out as an open patio, basking in the all-too-warm sun rays of this fine September day. Last year, the high temperatures were not such a problem while putting up with the fast paced dynamic of Hell Week because they actually filmed it in late October. This year, however, they chose to get it out of the wat sooner because their schedule would be packed all October. Kat's been working on a new album, Y/N has a deal with Crypt TV to make a horror movie and Sam and Colby will be doing Sam and Colby stuff. I don't think there is any other way to sum up what those two are doing.

Not that Y/N really cares what they do. The only reason she's versed into their schedules is because she lives with them. Yes, that is correct - much to her dismay, she found herself forced to live with the guys and Kat after an unexpected and unwarranted eviction from her apartment.

She exhausted all possible options long before caving and accepting Kat's offer to move in with the three. She was welcomed into the house with three different reactions: her best friend squealing with excitement; Sam offering her a warm welcome and helping hand in moving her stuff to her room; and last, and certainly least, was Colby who gave her nothing more than a 'hello' in passing.

None of them can really recall when this endless butting of heads started or how or why. Sam and Kat would equate their attempts at getting the two to get along to pushing same charges toward one another - the harder you push, the harder they push apart.

It's truly baffling where Kat found even an ounce of romance between the two.

Y/N wipes a few droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand as she climbs the few stairs to reach the bar out on the patio, hoping to gulp down a glass of water after the cigarette she tossed a few minutes ago coupled with the intense heat.

"Hello there." The bartender greets her with a smile, his gaze trailing over her with zero subtlety. "What can I get ya?"

She chooses to ignore it, "Hi. Just a glass of water, please."

The man chuckles, reaching for a tall glass "You know, it's Happy Hour somewhere."

Despite his attempts at flirting - which Y/N is aware is part of his job - she finds herself letting out a small laugh, "Yeah well, not here. And not for me." She gratefully accepts the glass of ice cold water with a nod.

Before the guy can reply, a third voice butts into the conversation, "Yeah, definitely not for her. She's a raging alcoholic."

Stunned, Y/N turns to see a pair of electric blue eyes piercing her with a blank look that contradicts his extremely fake smile he's pinned on his face out of nothing more than politeness.

For a moment, due to their glaring match, they completely forget about the man they've roped into their mess. Thankfully, he speaks up, reminding them of his presence before he could witness any potential brawl, "Oh, um, I'm sorry to hear that."

Momentarily, Y/N drops the torch, tearing her gaze from Colby to acknowledge the bartender directly, "Yeah, no big deal."

Her teeth grit together in absolute rage when she hears the asshole beside her snort something alike a laugh, "Tragic, really. Can I get a vodka cran?"

Y/N busies her hand with holding the glass so she doesn't give into the idea of punching him, "Someone clearly follows that Happy Hour rule."

"I'll have you know..." Colby turns his whole body to face her now, as if challenging her, "...it's not for me." The tilt of his head directs her gaze to an attractive brunette sitting alone at a table, scrolling through her phone.

"Lovely." She spits the word like poison on her tongue, "I'll go tell her to blink twice if she needs help."

"You need help." The lack of bite to his statement stuns her more than if he were to yell it at her. It's an effective throw-off considering she doesn't immediately jump back or smack his hand away when he reaches for the pocket of her shorts, swiping her lighter, "Mine's out of juice." He explains, sticking it in his back pocket before turning to the bartender once more, handing him a ten dollar bill, "And lemon iced tea for my friend here, she's looking a little parched."

With that and a brisk nod in Y/N's direction, Colby excuses himself from the interaction and heads back to the model of a woman who's quick to flash him a bright smile when she notices him approaching.

A sickening feeling settles in her gut. She can't believe any woman gets wound around his finger so easily. She might be biased but she just simply doesn't see it. She can't understand what gets girls within a five mile radius of him swooning.

That smile so many deem charming she finds cynical and fake. His eyes, although a pretty color, are hollow apart from the twinge of evil she sees every time they glare at her. His flirty, charismatic words could make her puke if exposed to them for an extended period of time. In short, she finds him repulsive.

Had they gotten off on a better foot maybe she would've even ended up in his bed on a few occasions by now. As they stand now, she'd rather sleep with Satan himself.

Still, she takes the iced tea, mostly out of curtesy but also because she is indeed dehydrated. She spares the table Colby has now taken a seat at a brisk glance just to find her eyes met with a pair of piercing blue ones once more.

She could strangle him, theoretically, but she won't. Not with this many witnesses around. Instead, she heads inside, looking for Sam and Kat in hopes of getting the last fifteen minutes out of her head.

* * * *

"What's up guys, it's Sam and Colby! And today we'll be investigating the Oasis Motel in Las Vegas. Known for its dark and unexplainable past and the reputation that precedes it today." Sam explains as they begin filming the intro to their video.

The group is currently standing outside the aforementioned motel. The exterior they were met with upon arrival was enough for Kat and Y/N to exchange a particular look. It's in an area off the strip, the surroundings accentuating the atmosphere and amplifying the creep factor.

"Unfortunately, we won't be able to stay at the hotel. They haven't been renting rooms for close to a decade to avoid any potential casualties. And by that I mean - suicides." Colby says, reciting the notes he both wrote and memorized on the car ride here.

"Yeah, this motel is known for two specific suicides that happened here. Specifically in room 20." Sam adds, listing the sightings that have been allegedly witnessed by staff and guests alike before the motel was shut down for business.

The place now just stands ominously as a haunted attraction of sorts. It's meant to honor the memory of the two people who took their own life there but it's clear they have purposefully added to the fear factor to attract more people like Sam and Colby.

That still doesn't take away from the fact that just looking at the building settles an uneasy feeling in Y/N's gut.

She's always been curious about the paranormal but never went out of her way to seek answers. The only reason she's been joining the gang for paranormal investigations is because Kat often begs her to. And she's always had a hard time turning down her best friend, about anything.

So, here she is, sighing as she follows Sam and Kat inside the barely lit lobby of the motel where the staff member who's gonna be giving them a tour is waiting for them.

Before she can fully cross over the doorstep, she feels a finger trail over her arm, running over the very prominent goosebumps that have appeared on her skin.

"Aww, is someone scared?" The mockery in Colby's voice drains any sort of fear or uncertainty she was feeling before.

She whirls around to face him, nostrils flaring when she sees his coy smirk, "Get your fucking hands off me before I knock you the fuck out." She snarls between clenched teeth.

His smile only widens, becoming a tad more genuine now, "That's more like it. Don't be a pussy."

She's about to retaliate with a string of insults that's make a sailor blush when Sam, thankfully, interrupts her, "Guys! Come on!"

The fucker was saved by divine intervention this once, but Sam won't always be there to shield him from Y/N's wrath - he's very aware of that. Time and time again they've screamed their lungs out at one another just to storm off to fill them with nicotine for a potential round two.

In a way, that is a love language too, right? Well, if you ask Kat, that is. Though she isn't completely wrong. The opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. And these two are most definitely not indifferent to one another.

Speaking of Kat, she doesn't fail to sneak a peek at the hostile interaction between the two. She nudged Sam's ribs to point it out and smacked his arm when he put a stop to it. Although that was the best course of action to prevent Colby losing any teeth tonight, curtesy of Y/N's fist.

Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration.

She may have spit a million threats his way over the many year they've known each other, but never once did she go through with them.

"Hi, guys. I'm Scott, and it's an honor to be welcoming y'all to the Oasis." The man, who they now know as Scott, introduces himself as he turns on an old tall lamp by what used to be the front desk of the motel. "I hope you're ready to capture some great footage tonight. We're giving you a time frame till 2 AM which is an exception we rarely make, but this one over here is a smooth talker." He says, smiling slyly over at Colby who was the one that placed the call to the motel before they added the place to their itenirary.

Colby, in turn, shrugs, a grin plastering itself on his face, "I mean..." He chuckles, causing Y/N to roll her eyes, "No, jokes aside, I can't thank you enough for bending the rules for us."

It baffles her how charming he can be. She can't help but wonder at times why she wasn't deemed worthy of this pleasant side of him. Not that she hasn't grown somewhat fond of their dysfunctional dynamic - not that she'd ever admit it - but she still wishes she knew.

And she hates it.

Instead of dwelling on it, she busies herself with the fear that's still lingering on the backburner. She'd much rather be scared of whatever's waiting for them in this motel than what she might find if she keeps digging in her mind.

* * * *

"What is your fucking problem?!"

The tension has been building all night, both between Y/N and Colby and from the paranormal aspect of it all.

Glares thrown in from across the room. Light, supposedly accidental touches, some even meant to startle her. Lingering behind her or always looming close to her, reminiscent of her literal shadow.

He's rarely so bold with his proximity to her. He respects her personal space and tends to keep himself at an arm's length regardless of the place they're in. But for some reason, not quite clear to him yet, he's been keeping himself close to her the whole night. Either it's from a certain need to protect her or an inherent need to annoy her into continuously acknowledging his presence, he can't tell.

But by now it's reached a boiling point.

What pushed the situation past Y/N's tolerance threshold was getting scared out of her skin by Colby who, by design of the challenge, wasn't supposed to be anywhere near her. They were less than five minutes into their solo investigations - Sam, ever the challenger, took room 20; Kat is in the restaurant, Y/N is in room 33 and Colby was supposed to take on the attic.

However, he didn't quite last long.

At the first sound of mild panic coming from room 33, which is directly underneath the attic, Colby immediately took off down the stairs, nearly taking the door off its hinges and scaring the ever-loving daylight out of Y/N.

That is what provoked this reaction from her. And now that we're up to speed...

"I thought you were in danger." He explains, quietly shutting the door behind him as he approaches the bed where she's sat.

"Jesus, Colby, you gave me a heart attack!" She groans, squeezing the bridge of her nose in frustration, suddenly antsy in her seat, "I'm not new to this shit! I've been doing this for years with you guys! I get that you may not see me but that doesn't mean I'm not there!" Her heart is still racing, her breathing shallow. Her chest is heaving despite the hand she's placed overtop it in an inefficient attempt at calming herself down.

A few steps closer on his part make her even more uneasy. She gets up to her feet to level the ground between them somewhat. There is something so vulnerable in sitting down with him standing over her. Dare I say, intimate.

"I see you." He says almost bitterly, "Oh, I fucking see you, Y/N. You're always there, always in my viewpoint. Always just a step out of arm's reach. And I hate it. Or try to. You piss me off so bad I can't even put it into words without sounding fucking insane!"

He's close, too fucking close. The chain hanging from his jeans brushes against the exposed skin of her thigh, sending chills all over her body. It makes her wish her shorts were longer. Makes her wish she could push him away, keep her guard up, keep up her mean front.

But when fingers tangle in her hair, his hand cupping the back of her head, she knows it's too late for any of that.

Their lips are barely an inch apart, the two practically sharing the same breath. Still, her pettiness dies screaming with one last whispered, "Fuck you."

With that, all barriers, both physical and metaphorical, come crashing down as their lips collide with the force of seven years worth of tension. Seven years of denial masked as aggression and annoyance. Every word spat out in anger, every glare, every passing touch, every 'flirty' moment. It's all condensed into a hostile collision of lips, biting teeth and battling tongues.

Y/N's hands intertwine at the back of his neck while his travel down to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Their connection is airtight, the heat between their bodies increasing the need to pull back to breathe, though that's the last thing they wanna do. It's been far too long for it to end this soon.

Her legs threaten to give out. It's all too much too fast and too unbelievable. Thankfully, Colby seems to feel the same.

He softly pushes her down on the bed, smiling in the kiss at the zero complaints he receives in response.

"You're so sweet when you wanna be." He pulls back for just a second, his hand cupping her chin.

She's quick to smack it away. He expected nothing else. "Shut the fuck up."

He chuckles almost darkly as his hand now settles around her throat, "Adorable." He's aware he's pushing his luck, but then again it's always a gamble with her. This time, he might just luck out.

Their lips have no time to reconnect though, much to their dismay.

"Colby! Y/N! Where are you guys?!"

Sam's voice reaches them from the lobby downstairs, forcing them apart instantly. A deer in headlights look flashes across both their faces as they hurry to create as much distance between them as possible.

Colby swears he sees any hope he had sink right before his eyes. He watches the realization of what just happened dawn on Y/N. Now that the heat of the moment has evaporated, it becomes all too real and all too clear to her what a mistake that was.

"Guys?!" This time it's Kat's voice bouncing off the walls, coupled with the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

He's panicking, not really sure as to exactly why. Whether it's because he'll have to explain this predicament to his friends or because he can see Y/N starting to regret said predicament in real time, he's not sure. Either way, he needs to come up with something, fast. If his brain can kick back into gear after his whole world was briefly thrown off its axis.

"Go." It comes out as a whisper but it bounces around in his head like an earthquake.

"What?" His tone mimics hers, afraid that a single note higher would ruin what little tranquility they've managed to maintain while there's full-on storms raging in their minds.

Her eyes are trained on the floor, hollow with a thousand yard stare. She can't look at him, unsure as to why. She just knows she can't. "Go. Get out. This never happened." When she finally wills herself to meet his eyes she can feel the burning of tears at the back of her throat, "Forget this ever happened."

Footsteps grow closer but they still have leeway to get away with it with just a white lie.

"Go. Now!" She repeats, a bit more fervor in her words now. She gives him no room to reply as she ushers him away but he isn't capable of stringing words together right now anyway.

So, he obliges, going against all his instincts telling him the opposite. And he does so on time as well, shutting the door behind him just as a tear rolls down Y/N's cheek.

What a fucking mistake, they once again sync up, sharing the same exact thought. Though they silently agreed to forget everything that just happened, they're both well aware it won't leave their brain for the foreseeable future.

If ever.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

what do the rouges think of cardinal?

OHHHHH What a lovely question <33

Since i've yet to write in Cardinal in a scene beyond his desk work- these might change.

Cardinal acts well- like a cryptic?? It's a complete coin toss how he will behave, if he will turn the creepy to 100% and speak in tounge's (its a mix of latin and greek) But when he DOES respond its through a heavy voice modulater.

However if you want specifics?? (also some extra lore of some rouges no longer active- both due to. Cardinals interference and BECAUSE I SAID SO)

Joker- They are a menace, never once humors his schemes- he knows the moment Cardinal gets involved his fun is ruined. Therefore he hates their guts. (Cardinal is reported 10x more brutal when faced with the Joker)

Scarecrow- Self proclaimed "Arch enemy" of Cardinal since hes never once sucseeded in drugging them, and he longs to know what would make the little bird sing. (Cardinal is said to have an entire pocket dedicated to backup rebreathers, usually lets the bats take over)

Riddler- LOVES Cardinal so so much- they are like best friends (no no they are not) Cardinal seems to enjoy his puzzles and he's able to pull out ones even the Batman would struggle with. Sometimes an informant for a good game. (Cardinal will admit, out of all the rouges? He doesn't mind Riddler- just with less hostages)

Harley- Thinks they are strange, even more strange than the bats. But more than anything concerning- their behaviors raise a ton of red flags but she doubts she can convince them to therapy, though it is her goal. (Cardinal is... unsure about Harley, she's changed- but memories are hard)

Ivy- Theres a mutual respect- Though out of all the vigilantes Cardinal seems to fear her the most, the last time being hit by her pollen they freaked out enough Harley made her give over the antidote. They definently fight, but she does try and hold back some of her more underhanded stuff. (Cardinals suit got several more layers after that incident)

Mr.Freeze- Reformed villain now, as a result of Cardinal. Aka when he first did his villain monologue to them- they had spoke (for the first time to ANY rouge) and asked to see his blue prints. A few years later his suit was fortified to help him live a somewhat normal life, and his wife had been cured. They got their life back. Leaving Gotham soon after, but he still checks in on ocassion (Cardinal never responds though, but they're happy with the updates- that he was able to help)

Catwoman- Annoying, but interesting for sure. It seems no matter how elaborate her scheme they always seem to pop in and just stare or even wave. The most interesting thing though? They never stop her. Certian locations she robs they will return the item (usually museums) but have never once tried to actually take her in. If anything shes half convinced they throw the bats off her trail, its interesting. (She never steals from anyone who cant afford to replace it, and honestly her stuff goes to a good cause-)

Clayface- Never became a villain- After his accident, Dagget had been shut down long before so Matt Hageb he had no accsess to the cream. With the help of his coworker (and future husband) Teddy Lupus he got the help he needed. Drake Industries came out with an amazing prosthesis program that helped construct a whole new face. Now Mr & Mr Lupus live in upper west side of Gotham where they now raise two daughters going to Gotham Academy.

Blackmask- Hates their fucking guts. People think Cardinal comes down on the Joker hard? They're practically suffocating Black Mask movements- buisness is failing and at this rate he's trying to put out a hit on the fucker. (The hates their guts is mutual)

Two face- Instead of going to the Manori trial- Harvey had an emergency call from a very panicky Bruce who suddenly had CPS knocking at his door about Dick. The delay finding a new attorney meant Manori was found with the acid and held for attempted assault while Harvey was scot free. He owns his own law firm now and has continued to be a close confident to Bruce and "Uncle" to the kids. (Cardinal cried when he first found out about Harvey, that he was okay- he thought it had been too late.)

Penguin- Cardinal is a pain in their ass, not as much as Black mask but still just enough that he doesnt hold back when attacking. The ONLY saving grace from absolute hatred is Cardinal outright refuses to fight any of his birds, and will even go as far as to save some of them when the bats are too careless to notice a penguin slipping off a roof. (Cardinal wishes Penguin would stop dragging actual penguins into his shit- even with guns they're just too cute)

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part four

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 5.6k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T F O U R 🎶 the elevator, lizzy mcalpine

“Alright. We’re gonna take care of things at the Creel house and your job is take care of things here,” Steve leveled with Eddie, thinking he was out of earshot for everyone else, but you heard it. Knew what he really meant.

Take care of things.

Fight monsters.

Try not to die.

You’d dropped Lucas, Max and Erica off, drove halfway across town to Eddie’s, dumped all your weapons through the gaping hole in the ceiling and threw yourselves in after them. Had outfitted the exterior of the trailer with metal fencing and cages, ladders and locks, hoping – no – praying it would hold and begged the universe to let everyone come out the other side of this.

“Robs, you and Nance are with me.”

Steve pulled taut the belt around his waist and clicked his flashlight on, looking for once like he actually knew what he was doing, and for a split second you thought maybe this just might work. Thought if Steve was that confident, if Nancy was willing to go with him, then maybe it would be alright.

But then it came time for you all to split in half again and you walked with Steve and Nancy and Robin to the front door and out into the ash choked air. Half-hid behind Eddie as they double checked their gear and started to walk away, but Steve stopped at the last second and turned back around.

“Listen. If things here start to go south, I mean at all, you abort. Okay?” he said brows tugged together with conviction, the weight of his words causing you to start trembling. “You draw the attention of the bats, keep ‘em busy for a minute or two, and we’ll take care of Vecna.”

And as you looked at the axe slung over Steve’s shoulder, the shotgun held tight in Nancy’s grasp, heard your molotov cocktails clinking together in Robin’s backpack you realized you didn’t want them to leave because what if they didn’t come back?

“And don’t try to be cute or–or be a hero or something. You’re just–”

“Decoys. Don’t worry. You can be the hero, Steve,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, unable even now to let go of the consistent needling that happened between him and Steve, but you could read between the lines.

I care about you.

Don’t get hurt.

Please be safe.

“Absolutely. Agreed. I mean look at us…we are not heroes,” Eddie admitted shaking his head, his nail covered garbage can lid swung over his shoulder and hair tied back out of his face. Trying so hard to just do his part in all this and after Steve nodded his acknowledgement, he looked at you.

Held your gaze for a minute. Parted his lips with words held heavy on his tongue, but unsure if he should say them. Knowing if he set them free, they would make the stakes unbearable and instead gave you a small nod.

A slight smile.

An attempt at quiet reassurance and as he turned to leave you felt a tangled knot of worry start to swirl at the pit of your stomach and the further he walked away the more knotted it became. Snatched up with it regret, possibility, second and third chances and trying to start over until the sound of someone’s voice shouting into the dark broke your concentration.

Your voice.

“Steve! Wait!”

He had never turned around so quickly, the sound of your voice stopping him dead in his tracks and he waited. For you. Waited as your boots crunched in the dead sticks and leaves on the ground, cracking and snapping with each step until you reached him, breathless and unsure of what you wanted to say but insistent on saying something.

“Everything okay?” he asked, trying to be casual. Unattached. Felt Robin and Nancy’s eyes on you both, but shot them a look and they gave you some space.

“Yeah–I mean, no? I just–we’re about to get swarmed by bats from hell and I...well, I guess what I wanted to say is–” you tripped over your words, felt clumsy and stupid, but desperate. Wanted him to know you wanted to work on things. Wanted to give him another chance, but it just wouldn’t come out and his expression softened as he realized what you were getting at.

“Slow down,” he murmured and you drew in a breath.

In.

Out.

Try again.

“I just want you to know that...I wanna try,” you said, still a bit clumsy, one word falling out after the other. “I wanna work on–on forgiveness or…shit. I don’t know,” you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would help you gather up your thoughts and Steve waited. Patient. “Just come back, okay?” you finally asked, opening your eyes to see his mouth tugged up at the corner in a lopsided smile.

“You want me to come back, Princess?” he asked wryly and you scowled.

“I’m gonna let that one go cos ‘end of the world’ and whatever,” you snarked and it made him laugh. A low rumble in his chest that filled you up to the brim and spilled over at the edges.

“Gee thanks.”

“Yeah, you owe me now,” you teased.

“Alright, deal. Promise I’ll get you back when this is all over.”

When this is all over.

“I’m gonna hold you to it,” you said, your voice wobbling a little despite your efforts to keep it even and the sound put an ache in Steve’s chest. Pulled his hand to your cheek. His fingers gently tucking your unruly curls behind your ear.

“Wouldn’t expect any less,” he said quietly, only to you, and then took a couple steps back. Put space between you quickly to try and make it easier, but it stung. The sudden realization that your want for reconciliation was mutual and having to watch it walk away with the possibility of not returning.

The possibility of death.

“Good luck,” you whispered, your throat closing around the sob that had lodged itself in your chest, and watched as Steve disappeared into the dark.

❝ JUST ANOTHER TIME THAT I GO DOWN, BUT YOU ARE KEEPING UP, HOLDING TO A HOPE YOU’LL UNDERMINE ❞

“Eddie, Eddie! It’s working!” Dustin yelled after Eddie helped you back into the trailer.

“Shit–” Eddie handed you his nail covered garbage can lid and grabbed hold of your shoulder. “Listen to me. You leave this trailer no matter what, you hear me? Doesn’t matter if I’m yelling at you for help or–or covered in these fucking bats, you leave.“

“Wha–”

“No. It’s not a discussion.”

“Eddie, I’m not leaving–”

“Yes. You are, sweetheart.”

The ache in your chest swelled unbearably, painfully, tight and squeezing around the possibility that your best friend might not come back through that gate with you and the tears came. Hot against your cheeks as they cut paths down to your jawline.

Swiping his thumb gently across the line of your lashes Eddie gave you a sad smile.

“It’s not the plan, honey, but just in case. Now take this and get inside.”

All you could do was shake your head as Eddie popped back out of the trailer, shouting at Dustin to hurry the hell up, and as you walked back to the angry, gaping hole in the ceiling you could hear scratching on the roof.

“Eddie!” you yelled through your tears.

“I know, I know!” he called back.

“Eddie, they’re on the–”

“The roof! I know! Dammit, Henderson, get the hell in here!” yanking the younger boy into the trailer, Eddie slammed the front door shut and barricaded you in. “Fuck!” he shouted into the door, “I hope this works.”

“It’ll work, it has to work,” Dustin muttered, eyes glued to the air vent above you.

“It has to,” you echoed, quieter and under your breath as an image of Steve wielding his axe in front of Vecna flashed in your mind.

The squeals and shrieks in the air vent were getting louder and louder, scratching closer and closer and the ache in your chest twisted into something uglier, dread, fear.

“Eddie…” Dustin looked over his shoulder, “Eddie can they get through that?”

“Uh–I don’t think so–”

SCREEEEEEECH!

The vent burst open as a demobat clawed it’s way through the plastic cover, it’s long, sharp talons cutting deep gashes in the ceiling.

“FUCK! FUCK!”

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!”

Eddie and Dustin were on it before it could get all the way in, jamming their spears into the hole, Die, die, die!! until Eddie slammed one of the garbage can lids over the top of it and sealed it shut, heaving holy shit, holy shit from his lungs.

“Nice,” Dustin gasped from the floor.

“Thanks.”

You didn’t realize you were watching everything through your fingers, face buried in your hands, until Eddie glanced up and saw you.

“Oh, god. You okay? You’re okay. It’s okay,” he closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you. “It’s okay, they can’t get in now. It’s okay.”

“Eddie…” Dustin was still on the floor, eyes looking down the hallway to Eddie’s bedroom. “Are there any more vents?”

Eddie tensed against you and froze for a second and then let you go in an instant, “Oh shit.”

“What? Eddie, what??” you shouted as he turned and ran down the hallway, Dustin on his heels, both of them just yelling shit so much now that it didn’t even sound like a word anymore.

“There’s a vent in my roo–”

As Eddie yanked open the door to his room the hissing slap of wings against wood paneling almost drowned out the shrieks that followed.

“That’s not gonna hold!” Dustin screamed.

Eddie shoved you back down the hallway, “Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But the others–”

“We don’t have time!” Eddie shoved at you and Dustin, the younger boy already halfway up the knotted bedsheet hanging out of the ceiling as Eddie snatched up the spare garbage can lid.

“C’mon!” Dustin yelled from the other side.

Grabbing Eddie by the jacket you shook him, “They need more time!”

He met your gaze and sobered, chest heaving as he gasped for air and realized what you were implying.

“They need more time,” you said again, quieter, throat tight around your words as Eddie looked up at Dustin through the gate.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered harshly, squeezing his eyes shut against he knew you needed to do. “Dammit, I’m sorry,” he said looking back up at Dustin.

“What? What d’you mean sorry?? Eddie what d’you mean sorry?? What are you doing? What are you–”

Grabbing a spear, Eddie sliced the bedsheet in half and you watched as the other end fell to the floor in a pile at your feet.

That was going to make getting back just a tad more difficult.

“EDDIE! EDDIE, NO! STOP!” Dustin was screaming now, strained and painful and you couldn’t bear to look at him.

“C’mon,” Eddie grabbed your arm and pulled you with him back to the door.

Steve’s bat was heavy in your hands, your fingers readjusting their grip in anticipation of putting your training session back at the meadow to good use.

…wide stance right?…choke up on your hold…it’ll make your swings hit harder…follow through with your hip.

Sucking in a breath you could hear Dustin still screaming at you from the other side.

“Come back!! Don’t do this! Please, don’t do this!”

And your body went numb as Eddie put a hand on the doorknob, “This is for Stevie. For Nance. For Robin and Max and everyone. And we come back alive, okay?” Eddie said to you, brown eyes soft like brown sugar, crinkled at the edges as he tried to smile and you tried to give him one back.

“Okay. Together,” you said.

“Together,” he echoed and then yanked the door open to a swarm of bats from hell all screeching and clamoring to get their hooks into you.

The bat in your hands hit hard against the body of the demobat flying above you with a sickening crunch. Caught it mid-air as you swung it down into the ground and twisted it, shouldered down and killed it with another pop! but you were far from finished.

Pushing loose hair out of your eyes you glanced up to see Eddie wrestling with his own hoard of nasties that the Upside Down had coughed up.

THWACK!

You swung again in a half circle, taking two demobats down with one swing and a grin flickered at the corners of your lips. Steve would be proud.

“Just a little longer, sweetheart!” Eddie shouted over the slap of desiccated wings and sharp, gnashing teeth.

A little longer, you told yourself, swinging the bat again and again, Eddie keeping up with his spear and shield.

Pulling back, you swung heavy at a particularly nasty looking demobat, a sneer on your lips doing as Steve instructed and following with your hips, but it didn’t connect and you stumbled forward, scraping your hands on the ground.

Fuck, was your immediate first thought, your bat clattering a few feet away with the impact, and again, fuck, when claws sliced through the heavy canvas of your tactical vest and into your back.

The cuts burned, hot and angry, the fabric against your back growing damp with blood, but you couldn’t stop. You had to get Steve’s bat. It was just out of reach as you scrambled against the dirt, fingers fumbling on the handle until something slipped through your hair at the back of your neck. Gritty like sandpaper, slithering as it crept around your throat and wrapping around and around and your eyes grew wide when it squeezed.

“Eddie!” you croaked, hands scrambling against the demobat tail tightening at your neck, cutting off your air supply.

“Wha–shit! Hang on, sweetheart! Hang on!”

The look on Eddie’s face scared you, like maybe you were going to die and god you didn’t want to die, and then the demobat yanked at you and everything went sideways as you hit the dirt, back first. The cuts there screamed and your head thunked hard enough against the ground you saw stars. Then, as if to add insult to injury, the demobat tightened its hold so that now and truly you could not breathe.

Your fingers scrambled against the flesh of the monster, struggling to loosen its grip, but it felt impossible. It was too tight.

Little pinpricks of light appeared against your vision as you watched red cracks of lighting split the sky in two. You couldn’t remember what it was like to take a breath. How long had it been? Thirty seconds? A minute? Longer? Where was Eddie?

A fuzzy feeling crept around you, warm and wrapping around your body as a shadowy haze blurred in at the edges of your vision. Closing in further and further and melting your pain along with it. You couldn’t feel the scrapes across your back, the cuts on your knees, the burning in your throat.

Were you going to die?

But what about Steve? You promised. He promised.

I’ll get you back when this is all over.

You needed to tell him how much you wanted to try. Wanted to hear him out. Wanted to see the real Steve, the one Eddie trusted so much, the one you were starting to feel like might actually prove you wrong, but you weren’t breathing. Hadn’t been breathing and you were dying and–

“God dammit–die, asshole!”

Suddenly the tail loosened at your neck and your body heaved you from the ground, writhing at the ability to breathe again. Gasping and gulping and pulling in ash-thick air, your hands pressed to your throat to make double damn sure it was really gone.

“Christ–” A hand, wide and warm was at the small of your back and the voice in your ear made you feel like you couldn’t breathe again.

Steve.

“Told you I’d come back, princess. You alright?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it wouldn’t go away and your fingers smoothed over the angry, swollen skin.

“Look, twins,” Steve tried to joke, tugging his shirt down so you could see the same marks on his neck and it pulled a hoarse laugh from your lips, but it hurt. “*Shit–*I’m sorry, don’t talk. C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

You wanted to stop for a second and look at him, the moles dotted on his cheek and neck, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the cut on his cheek and wipe the dirt from his forehead and just–

“We gotta go!” Robin yelled from the trailer and Steve scooped his hands under your arms and pulled you to your feet.

Nancy was with Robin back over at the trailer door yelling something about not jumping through gates like that anymore – Dustin? But didn’t he…and then your stomach lurched.

“Eddie?” you croaked, fingers digging into Steve’s waist, “Where’s Eddie?”

“Shh, don’t talk. He’s okay, he’s already in the trailer.”

“Where–”

Steve stopped for a split second and looked down at you, brows pinched together, his eyes dark, worried, “I’ll explain everything, but we need to leave.”

You nodded and he picked up the pace again dragging you both into the trailer and, as Robin says, by some miracle you all piled through and came out the other side.

❝ I FEEL IT COMING ON, YOU CAN BE WELL AWARE, IF I EVER TRY TO PUSH AWAY YOU CAN JUST KEEP ME ❞

When you all stumbled out of Eddie’s trailer into Hawkins it felt like nothing had changed – it still looked like the Upside Down.

Ash fell from the sky, dark clouds hung heavy overhead and smoke rolled up from downtown as you struggled to process what had happened. They’d killed Vecna, or at least blasted his ass out the window and onto the ground below, but when they went to check he was gone and that was when the clock chimed. Four chimes, four deaths.

Everyone was worried about Max, but everyone was also in various states of injury, so you all decided to split up. Nancy and Robin took Lucas, Max and Dustin to the hospital and after you’d suffocated Eddie with hugs he said he wanted to hang back and look for Wayne. Part of you wanted him to stay, but Wayne was the only family he had so you understood. With Vecna ‘gone’ there were no real pressing threats – for now.

So, all that was left was you and Steve.

“Let me give you a ride?” he asked, dirt flecked across his cheeks and forehead, bottom lip split.

“I can’t go home like this,” your voice had made a return, but it was hoarse, sounded rough like gravel and every time you spoke Steve winced.

“Oh, right. Okay, yeah–uh–we can go to my place. My parents are out of town on business, so no one’s there. Get cleaned up and then I can take you home.”

Piling into Steve’s BMW you could feel the adrenaline starting to melt away. The pain that your body had held at bay starting to push against your skin, your very bones, a deep ache that threatened to break you and you fought it as hard as you could.

“Thank you,” you half-whispered into the quiet of the car and Steve’s fingers twitched on the gear shift.

“For…?”

You looked across the center console at him, “For saving me.”

That pulled his attention and he met your gaze and for a split second everything felt suspended, held in mid-air, floating in the space between you and Steve’s lips parted. Trying to find the words.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly, still looking at you, then he flicked his eyes back to the road. “I know you said I owe you, but…I really do. I–I couldn’t stop thinking about you after we left the trailer. How fucked up everything was and how I didn’t get to say everything I wanted.”

You watched his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the way it ticked when he clenched his teeth and fought back the lump in his throat.

“I owe you a lot more. A lot more.”

“Steve–”

“No, I mean it,” throwing the BMW into park he turned to look at you again. "You've made me feel...so many things I didn't think were possible anymore and–god–I thought about losing you and I just..."

"I did too," you admitted to the dark and it pulled his gaze.

"You did?"

"Yeah, Steve. I think I–ouch," a sharp pain punched in you leg and you doubled over from the force of it.

“Wait. Are you hurt?”

You sucked in a breath and tried to sit back up, tried to play it off. "Yeah, I mean, aren’t we all?”

“No...your back," Steve ghosted a hand over the back of your vest and pulled his hand away damp with blood.

“I–the demobat–” stuttering over your words Steve didn’t let you finish and stumbled out of the car and around to your side to get you into the the house.

The Harrington’s place was out of a stupid catalogue. All the art, the vases, the plants and furniture – it all looked staged, not lived in. If you hadn’t felt like you wanted to throw up you would’ve lingered a bit longer in the entry, but Steve was pulling you up the stairs and you were too weak to fight it.

“Shower’s in here,” he said, opening the door to his parent’s room.

Exquisite sky lights cut large rectangles into the ceiling and washed the room in the dim, cool light of the moon above. A clearing in the smoke. Somehow his house hadn’t been swallowed up by the gashes in the earth. A large sleigh bed sat against the wall, a large painting of a garden hanging above it and two matching nightstands with lamps perched on either side. Nice, but cold. Not lived in.

Too busy looking around, Steve came back out of the master bath and called your name, but when you didn’t look he took the few steps to stand right in front of you.

Warm. Safe. Steve.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry, uh–yeah, I'm okay.”

He looked at you, skeptical, but needed to gather more supplies and so didn’t push you on it.

“Alright, princess. I got the shower going in there, but don’t move too quick. Take it slow, one step at a time and I’ll be back with a towel and some bandaids.”

“Okay–”

“Seriously,” he said, “I mean it. Slow.”

“I will,” you insisted, a smile twitching at the corners of your lips and he gave you a little grin.

“Okay. Be right back.”

Even if he hadn’t asked you, you couldn’t go faster than one foot in front of the other. The pain was almost unbearable now, screaming all over your body and you didn’t know if you could handle a shower, but it wasn’t an option. Infection would finish off what the demobats couldn’t, and so, layer by layer, you pulled your clothes from your body.

Your jeans, your vest, your shirt, your socks, your shoes. All of it a muddied brown and red pile on the floor leaving you in your bra and underwear. Your back was burning, felt like fire and when you stepped into the shower expecting more pain, you found peace.

Carefully shuffling on the tile floor, the steam billowing up from the shower floor felt like it was swallowing you whole. Filled the air around you and made everything hazy. Made it feel otherworldly, like heaven, and as you stared you watched the water falling down your body turn rusty. Mixing with the dirt and ash and blood from your skin and carrying it down the drain. Washing away any remaining proof that interdimensional monsters are real and that you’d nearly died killing them. The only things left hinting at what had been life or death, would be all the little silvery scars after your wounds healed.

You turned the heat up and as more steam clouded the stall, you felt a warmth wrap itself around you. One that felt deeper than the hot water. Like a heavy cloak draping over you and you wanted to let it swallow you whole. Wanted to nestle into it and succumb to the deep, soft feeling it was pouring into you and your vision started to blur at the edges.

“Oh–” you half-gasped. Stumbled as the world swam in front of you. Pressed a hand heavy against the wall to steady yourself and your fingers slipped against the tile.

“Hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Suddenly someone was opening the shower, sucking out the steam, and a shock of cold air hit you as Steve filled the door frame.

“Shit, hang on–” he swore softly and stepped in with you still wearing his jeans and ripped up shirt. Water soaking him from head to toe, he gently looped an arm around your waist and held you steady. “I got you, I got you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, and it pulled your gaze up.

Water clinging to your lashes, your lids were heavy as you blinked and when he finally came into focus it made your heart ache. A deep pinch between his brows, eyes searching yours and trying to work out what he needed to do to fix you. What he needed to do to keep you here.

God, he wanted to keep you.

“I’m fine,” you insisted weakly, pushing against him as your lips tried to twist into a scowl and it pulled a huff of a laugh from him.

“No, you’re not,” his tone was firm, but gentle. The rough pads of his fingers pressing into your side as he eased you onto the seat at the corner of the stall. Made doubly sure you weren’t going to fall and half-stepped back out onto the bathmat.

Shrugging off his shirt, he pulled it over his head and tossed it into the tub. Kicked off his wet Levis and left them in a pile on the floor. Grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack and stepped back in with you and closed the door behind him.

Kneeling, Steve sank down through the steam, putting himself at your height for once. Water running hot and soothing both of your aching bodies as he wetted the wash cloth. Then, pushing up on one knee, he started to gently scrub the dried blood from your forehead. Rinsed the cloth out and moved to your hand. Looked it over for any obvious wounds and softly cleaned the dirt from your palm. Then, satisfied with what he found under all the grime, he turned to your other hand. Moved up your arms and paid close attention to the cut on your right shoulder. Winced and snuck a glance at you when you sucked in a pained gasp through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” he said and when he looked up at you it was a thousand sorry’s, so fucking sorry, and it made your chest ache. “Let me look at your back,” he said, standing to see the three nasty cuts across your skin there and he huffed a sigh. “These could be worse,” he assessed, shaking his head, “I’ll look in the light when you’re out.”

He bent back down and knelt in front of you again, water splashing against his back as he took your hand in his. He started up again at your feet. Skipped over the bruises on your shins and the angry-looking scrape on your left knee and as he gently shifted you to reach your upper leg, the water running off your body turned bright red.

“Oh shit..." he breathed, a deep frown pulling at his features as his eyes frantically searched for the source, worry tugging at the pit of his stomach. It couldn’t have been your back…where was it coming from?

And then he finally saw it. The nasty gash on your thigh courtesy of the same damn demobat as it dragged its claw down through your skin. “Christ,” he hissed under his breath, moving to let the water run over it, “We gotta clean this–”

“Fuck, Steve–” you choked out, the pain in your leg white hot as you pressed a hand heavy into his before he could use the washcloth. “It hurts,” you half-sobbed and he quickly blocked the shower with his back again.

“Shit–I’m sorry–dammit–” a string of curses fell from his lips as he leaned closer to get a better look.

The few seconds of water had done a good job of cleaning it up, but he could see now how deep it was. Probably needed stitches, just like his stomach would, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a minute.

It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll be okay.

Pulling in a deep breath he went to the place in his mind he knew all too well. The one where he closed out the sick feeling of worry blooming in his chest, the thoughts of 'what if' that didn't end nicely and hardened against it all so that he could do what he needed to keep you safe.

“Alright, princess,” he reached over his shoulder and turned off the tap, then looked back up at you, still on his knees. “I gotta get you out and dried off, okay? Get this fixed up,” he said, nodding at your leg, “Will you let me do that?”

A soft scowl pulled at your features and it almost made him smile – how pretty you were even when you were mad. Even like this.

“I don’t think you’re gonna give me a choice,” you tried to snark around the sob in your throat and that finally cracked a tiny grin on his face.

“I’m not,” he gently agreed and with that you let him lift you from the seat. Let his hands, warm and wide at your waist, guide you from the shower and wrap a towel around your tired body.

Setting you at the edge of the sleigh bed, Steve dug around in the box of medical supplies he’d slowly put together during his time with the Upside Down. Bandages, rubbing alcohol, peroxide, antibiotic ointment, wraps, gauze–

“Steve,” you whispered and it pulled his gaze.

“What is it? Are you okay? Are you dizzy?”

You gave him a weak smile, “I promise I’m fine.” He nodded, not wholly believing you. “What is that for?” you asked, pointing at a needle and thread and his expression shifted.

“For cuts,” was all he could manage and it made your stomach lurch.

“Like mine?”

He chewed on his lower lip, fingers twisting the thread dipping through the eye of the needle. “Like yours,” he agreed quietly and you squeezed your eyes shut.

No. No, no, no. Not here. Not Steve.

“Hey, hey,” Steve pressed his hand into yours, warm and safe, “I promise it’s gonna be okay. Look, I’ve got my own shit I need to do too.” He moved his arm aside to show you the cut along his stomach from the lake gate. “See? Right?”

You were crying, but it was too quiet to really know and when Steve saw your tears silently slipping down your cheek he caught them with the pad of his thumb.

“I know how scary this is,” he finally said, voice a low vibration you could feel in your chest, reassuring and true, “But I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I swear.”

And the way he was looking at you was something you’d never seen from him before. Features pulled in pain, agony, but not from his wounds. Searching for something in your eyes he wasn’t sure of, but knew he’d find if he looked long enough and you lifted your hand to his over your cheek.

“Okay,” came out cracked, wobbly, crying, and he gave you the tiniest smile.

You watched as he pulled through a new line of thread, knotted the end and dipped the needle in rubbing alcohol and a wave of nausea crashed over you.

“Here,” Steve caught the look on your face, the way you were shaking, “Lie on your back and hold this to your face. Scream into it if you have to, okay? I’m going to go as fast as I can.”

He handed you a pillow and thank god because you were sure if you’d had to watch, you were going to pass out.

Doing as he asked, you laid back on the bed with the pillow pressed to your face, still only wearing your underwear and bra, and a thought struck you – if this had been literally any other time, what would Steve had said? Would he tell you how beautiful you looked? How he liked the lace trim across your bra straps? How he wanted to trace his finger along the hem of your panties? How–

“Oh, fuck–” slipped out of your mouth, muffled against the pillow, but you didn’t get a chance to finish because everything went black.

“Hey, hey! Oh, shit. Dammit. Princess? Are you with me?” Steve had just finished the first stitch when you suddenly went limp on the bed.

Quickly leaning up he put his ear to your chest for a heartbeat and heard a steady thum, thum, thum. Happy with that he sat back up and took even more solace in the even breaths falling from your lips.

“Sorry,” he whispered to you, “I didn’t do well with it the first time either.”

Then, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead he finished stitching up your leg. Cleaned up your back and applied a few bandages there where needed. It’d looked worse than it actually was, thank god. He pulled back the covers and lifted you up to the head of the bed and tucked you in, checking your breathing again to make damn sure.

He made quick work of stitching up his stomach. Pausing only a couple of times to swallow down his own nausea, and when he was done, he changed into a Hawkins Athletics shirt and shorts and crawled in next to you.

Despite the world on fire outside his window and despite the fact they couldn't find a body for Vecna, it was all okay for right now. In that moment. With you there in that room, hidden in the indigo shadows as he clicked off the light, promising he'd finish saying what he'd started in the car. And soon enough exhaustion claimed Steve too, pulling him into the same deep, dreamless sleep that you'd thankfully found.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART FOUR OF A FIVE – POSSIBLY MORE – PART SERIES, PART FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR SEVEN

in which you come to a few realizations while remembering the very first night you'd met eddie. a phone call with steve leaves you with more questions than answers.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, heavier angst this chapter but all will be well soon, two uses of y/n, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ word count: 4.4k+

→ a/n: shorter chapter today but the focus here is the memory! finally making some progress haha. also trying out something new with formatting/the summary situation. if i hate it, i'll probably change it. <3 also, italicized portion is a memory.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

7:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: [image attachment]

DINGUS: y/n just texted me this. we’re not getting an update this hour. 

BIRDIE: what the hell happened?

DINGUS: she hasn’t said yet, as you can see in the photo, robs. 

ARGYLE  😎: what do we THINK happened? 

BIRDIE: my best bet is fighting? 

ARGYLE 😎: lover’s quarrel? Makes sense. 

BIRDIE: i’m adding nance back into the chat

BIRDIE added NANCE to the groupchat.

BIRDIE: @NANCE explain what you meant earlier please. we’re having a code red. the bad kind. 

DINGUS: there’s a good kind of code red?

NANCE: Oh God, what happened? 

DINGUS: y/n texted me saying she fucked up, and we’re assuming either she’s finally murdered eddie, or they’re fighting again.

NANCE: I can call Eddie, if you guys want?

JOHNNY: So does this mean we’re all $500 richer?

BIRDIE: @JOHNNY if you still think this is about the money, you’re a fucking idiot

—

HOUR SEVEN - 10:00 PM

There had been a time in your life where you believed you didn’t hold a single mean bone in your body. A time where you were soft-spoken, a time where you overflowed with kindness and dotted out compliments to random strangers. There was once a version of you in this lifetime that worked so fervently to be the type of person people liked and enjoyed the company of. You always swore to always treat others with the same grace as you would prefer to receive as well.

A year ago, that version of you had been sidetracked. 

You stare at the wooden frame of Eddie’s door with blank eyes. He wasn’t going to open it any time soon. You’d tried knocking multiple times, calling out to him in a soft voice, begging and pleading and begging and pleading. His response continued to be silence. 

“All I’ve ever done is hurt you.”

With the haze clearing, in the midst of the aftermath and sour clarity, you wish you would have corrected him. Eddie and you had surely hurt each other countless times, but it is not all he’s ever done. 

You can remember the better moments clearly now. The time you’d tripped walking up the steps of one of the bars on Main Street, and Eddie had been the only person in your friend group to stop completely, reflectively reaching out to catch you from embarrassing yourself. The night of your birthday, in which he hadn’t come to the party due to “work” as Steve had explained, but had sent a card along with your friends that contained a gift card to your favorite coffee shop. You hadn’t even realized he knew your favorite coffee shop, and you’d come to find out that he didn’t even ask a single one of your mutual friends for it. You’d brushed it off as a lucky guess. And there was the time you’d forgotten your wallet during a brunch with the group, and he hadn’t hesitated to pick up your bill with his own. He didn’t even give Robin the chance to argue; he’d simply snatched your bill from across the table when you’d paled as you dug through your bag, and didn’t say a word about you paying him back. 

Small moments. Glimpses of kindness, bandages on wounds that you’d been ignoring to keep up a war between the two of you that you’d always assumed he’d started. 

Eddie Munson wasn’t the enemy, and the first night you two met was never a red herring; it was a glimpse into who he actually was. A clear look past the armor he hadn’t formed yet when it came to you. 

—

A YEAR AGO

“They’re going to love you!” Robin insists as she continues to shove you from behind through the entrance of the bar. Steve is ahead of you, guiding you through the rough crowd to the table the rest of the group had already snagged. 

You turn your head over your shoulder, reaching up and grabbing the hand that Robin rested on you, “You don't know that. What if they hate me? What if they think I’m the worst person they’ve ever met?” 

Even as you wore a smile, there was a truth to the fear in your words. You were petrified that these strangers, strangers who meant so much to your only friends on campus, would turn their noses to you. There was nothing Robin or Steve could do to extinguish the fear. It was already a terrible knot in the pit of your stomach, tying and untying itself like a nuisance as Steve started to wave at a brunette who had been scanning the bar as if waiting for someone. 

She’s pretty. Wavy hair barely brushing her shoulders, sharp features accentuated in the shadows of the busy location. The moment her blue eyes locked on Steve, all the concentration on her face faded to be replaced with an excited smile. 

She returns the wave, and the boys surrounding her at the table all glance in your direction. 

You’re still half-hidden behind Steve as the three of you approach the group. Robin bounds out from behind you, scooping the woman you assumed was the famous Nancy into a barrelling hug. Your eyes flickered to the boy sat to Nancy’s right, shaggy hair flopping against his forehead and smile creases exposed as he nods to Steve and holds up his drink in greeting. Beside him, another man sits, long and shiny hair flowing over an outrageous Hawaiian print shirt and topped off with a baseball cap that looked to be the merchandise of a pizza shop. His smile is welcoming – something comforting in the relaxation of it. 

You’re almost completely captivated by the warmth that bled from the group when Steve and Robin are suddenly taking their seats. Robin sits beside Nancy, while Steve takes the seat across from the man with long hair. 

The only seat left open was between Steve and a man who’s back was turned to you. 

His hair is in a loose bun, unraveling against the nape of his neck.  You could see each and every defined curl. His broad shoulders stiffen beneath a leather jacket and denim vest, and his ring-clad hand cradles a short glass of something dark, something fizzy. 

“Alright, everyone!” Steve announces, turning and beckoning you to take this seat. Your stomach twists again, realizing you’d be sitting beside a stranger. One who had yet to even spare you a glance, “This is Y/N.” 

There’s rounds of greetings and introductions as you brush shoulders with the stranger to take your seat, and try as you might to keep up, all you can focus on is not looking at him. 

You’re guess was correct – the pretty girl that Robin had hugged was Nancy. The boy with floppy hair at her side was Jonathan, and the man with long hair told you his name is Argyle. His tone of casualty matches the comfort of his smile as he holds a hand out to you across the table, both your elbow and his brushing against empty baskets once filled with bar food as you shake. 

Finally, you turn to look at the stranger beside you, Steve reaching around to clasp his shoulder. 

“And mister oh-so-welcoming here is Eddie.” 

Eddie. He finally turns to look at you, with doleful eyes and a tight-lipped grin, and you almost forget how to breathe. 

He was intimidating. All broodish glances and stand-offish energy. But then Argyle cracks a joke, and suddenly, it all fades. The air in the room crackles frantically as you watch him chuckle slowly at first, until he finally descends into cackles with Steve and Jonathan alike. 

That’s when the first vine sprouts. 

The second one does when the conversation becomes overwhelming, and you find yourself lost amongst the sea of new friends. They’re nothing but friendly, trying to learn more about you but easily falling into well-established inside jokes at times. When you descend into silence as you watch them recount a story of a time that Argyle snuck them into his job after hours, you suddenly feel Eddie lean in closer to you.

“I think they tell this story every time they get drunk,” he whispers, tilting his head so that the words only reach your ears, “I’ve probably heard it a hundred times by now.” 

You bite back a smile, “Just tonight, or the entire time you’ve known them?” 

“Both.”

You have to fight hard to swallow down giggles, Eddie hiding his with a sip of his drink. A waiter who had taken your order nearly ten minutes ago arrives with your own drink. An amaretto sour. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” he says as you taste the drink. Its citrus bursts across your tongue and you nod.

“So Steve mentioned.” 

“Yeah, but I felt bad for not introducing myself,” he shrugs. You were facing him fully now, no longer trying to stick vehemently to Steve’s side. “I didn’t want to seem like a dick, just… had a long week.” 

You knew all about long weeks.

“I get it,” you assure him, “Are you in school, too?” 

“Night classes,” he supplies with a wave of his hand, “Midterms are a bitch, especially after working all day.” 

“Tell me about it. I think I’m about ten seconds away from getting fired at my current gig,” you joke, and Eddie laughs. It occurs to you that you’d probably do just about anything to hear his laugh more, and already begin to conjure up terrible jokes to pull that sound from him once more. It’s even more comforting than Argyle’s friendly cadence, than Steve’s elbow knocking yours to remind you he’s still there.

“Why would you think that?” Eddie’s nose scrunches, more curls falling against his cheek. Your drink is immediately forgotten. 

“He caught me talking shit,” another laugh falls from Eddie’s lips at your deadpan, more reserved than the previous but just as melodic, “I give it a week. He was already looking for a reason to send me to the chopping block. Says I talk too much to customers.” 

“Is that even possible?”

“Apparently.” 

For a moment, in the smoky bar, it’s just you and Eddie. All knotting nerves have been replaced by the weight of the vines that surge higher and higher in your chest, growing at impossible rates. They don’t strangle you like your fears of the night had; their weight is a comforting hold, something solid to reach out for in the unfamiliar territory of new socialization. Without the mask of intimidation, Eddie feels like an old friend. 

You assume that everyone else is distracted by their own conversation, but Robin catches the way you lean into him as the two of you joke. She nudges Nancy subtly, and they both share a look when Eddie blushes at you being impressed as he tells you that his battle vest is hand-sewn. 

Your vines are not as hidden as you assume they are, certainly not when the first bud of hopefulness begins to grow. 

“So how long have you known Steve?” you ask him quietly, still under the guise of the two of you having created your own small bubble of a moment. 

Eddie downs the last of his Jack & Coke, something you caught onto by smelling it on his breath when he had gotten particularly close to you during conversation, “Too long. We all met in high school, actually.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me that,” you groan, and your forehead dramatically falls into his shoulder without second-thought. He stiffens beneath the connection, “I’m infiltrating a friend group that’s stood the test of times? I’m doomed.” 

You nearly lift your head from his still stiff shoulder, afraid to make him uncomfortable, when he brings a hesitant hand to pat your back jokingly, “There, there. I think you’re fitting in fine.” 

“Just fine? Ouch,” you finally lift your head as you had planned to, just as Eddie had begun to relax into your touch. His hand doesn’t fall too far from your back, resting on the back of your chair. His shy grin is impossibly charming, “You could have just said I’m crashing and burning, you know?” 

The night carries on like that, you and Eddie lost in private conversations only to be occasionally dragged back in on whatever debate the group is having. It’s a spring reaction; once one or both of you have given your two cents, you return to one another, finding solitude in joking and Eddie updating you on the group’s ‘lore’, as he puts it. Steve shoots several glances in your direction, always prepared to offer comfort in what should be an overwhelming situation, but he never has to. Every time he glances at you, Eddie is already taking the lead of entertaining you, qualming all your anxieties into non-existence. 

Your vines decorate with buds of hope. Every laugh you pull from Eddie, every fleeting touch that passes between the two of you, every new inside joke he decides to make with you rather than indulging in ones set in stone already with old friends - they all whisper of new friendship. They whisper in potential, in new beginnings and coming home after long weeks. 

By the time Nancy announces she has to go to the restroom and invites you and Robin, you’re in full bloom. You’re convinced that Eddie is a friend. And you can see it in his eyes – he’s convinced of it too, looking nervous when you stand and agree to go with Nancy. He looks like a child about to lose their social crutch, and it has potential to be devastating.

It’s almost enough to make you ignore your bladder, but you need to pee, and you need to socialize with more than just Eddie tonight. 

You’re not sure what happens at the table during your trip to the bathroom. But something surely does happen as you giggle with the girls under the humming lights of the restroom, as you all stand in the mirror side by side and fiddle with your hair and makeup and Robin makes a comment about how terribly cliche the moment is. Nancy slaps her on the arm, mutters something about the importance of girls bonding, and when you return to the table, you see it immediately – Eddie’s mask of indifference has returned. 

His cheeks are flushed, and all the boys are sharing nervous glances between one another as you all sit down again. 

There’s no more fleeting touches. You sip on your now watered down drink, and you try and pull Eddie out from wherever he’s ventured in your absence, but it’s no use. A conversation was had while you girls had been in the restroom, and it left Eddie in his head, out of reach. The buds of hopefulness quiver on their vines, and you try to reassure yourself that it’s nothing personal. It’s nothing personal when he clearly holds back any laughs at your jokes you lean into his space to whisper to only him, it’s nothing personal when his arm never rests on the back of your chair again, it’s nothing personal when he won’t meet your eyes the rest of the night. 

It’s nothing personal, but it’s sorely disappointing. 

You end the night, everyone splitting up, Eddie heading off towards his motorcycle. He hadn’t even mentioned driving a motorcycle during the night, and you curse the way you watch him straddle the seat as he secures his helmet over his tied-back hair. You desperately wish to know what was said while you were in the bathroom, what had happened to make him retreat so far from you after spending the entirety of the night tending to the greenery that had grown attached to your ribcage. 

“You like him, don’t you?” Robin teases at your side, bumping shoulders. 

Something aches in you. The thrill of meeting someone new, of getting along, of finding them cute and endearing, is beyond your grasp. 

He didn’t even say goodbye. 

“I did,” you whisper softly. A reverberation of past-tense, an exhale of worry. 

You did. But he didn’t even say goodbye. 

—

Eddie still hasn’t opened the door. But to his defense, you haven’t tried knocking again. 

That ache from that night, the feeling of a delicate rush of possibility taunting you from a distance, still remains. Even amongst now rotted vines, even as petals fall from your hopeful buds. It never really went away. With each group hangout that followed, it echoed louder and louder, demanding to be heard and demanding to be felt as Eddie grew colder. You were an idiot the first few times; you’d still gravitated to him, falling right into his orbit and begging for his attention. You’d still seek him out in every room, craving to find the warmth that had once sparked in his eyes only to find them averted from you entirely. And when you couldn’t take the hint, when you wouldn’t leave him alone when Steve and Robin left you to your own devices at the hangouts, he became mean. 

You took it as a joke at first, but six months ago, something inside of you finally wisened up – it wasn’t a joke. Eddie Munson hated you. Somehow, he hated you, and yet he also swore to protect you. He hated you, and yet he would still pay for you without you asking him to. He hated you, and yet he still remembered your birthday. He hated you, and yet, he still knew your favorite coffee shop. 

He hated you and yet. 

You stand, unable to take your racing thoughts anymore, moving to pound on the door again, “Eddie. Open the door.” 

You’re not asking anymore. 

You don’t care for answers any more. In this moment, you truly believe you could let it all be water under the bridge. Right this second, if you looked into honey brown eyes and goddamn dimples, you’d forgive him. 

“Eddie,” your voice cracks, and you scorn yourself. 

All I ever do is hurt you. 

Even in locking himself away, he’s hurting you. Putting that distance, choosing to not work this out like adults, is hurting you. 

“Can you- I don’t know, at least let me know that… that…” you trail off, huffing in frustration and finally smacking a flat palm against wood, watching the door shake on its hinges from your force, “Just let me know you’re alive, Jesus Christ, Eddie. We still have to take the stupid fucking photo for this hour, and we-” 

Mid-tirade, the door swings open to reveal Eddie. He doesn’t look irritated, he doesn’t look mad. He looks tired. 

The war between you two has weighed heavy on him, too. He doesn’t look like the same person you met a year ago. The battles raged, the fights lost, the victories celebrated through bloody teeth – they all show on the shadows of his face, a clear mirror image to your own. 

“Take the photo,” he says in monotone, hardly leaving the door cracked enough to catch a proper glimpse of him. 

“What?”

“The photo. Take it. For the chat, so you can get your money when it’s all over.” 

You’re stunned for a second. The money hadn’t even crossed your mind; you had just been rambling, hoping to find the right thing to say to get him to unlock the barrier between you two. 

Who the fuck even cares about the money anymore? 

You do. You’re supposed to. And so is he. 

You sigh and pull your phone from your back pocket, and turn your back to him before lifting the camera to capture the two of you. The door creaks open an inch more. 

There’s no fun pose. There’s no smiles. There’s nothing. It’s even more lifeless than the first photo taken. You can’t stand to look at it longer than necessary as you send it off to the group. 

Just as you turn around to face him again, to try and talk to him, the door shuts again. You can hear the soft click of a lock. The ache is heard, the ache is felt, as you refuse to look back at the wood that still separates you physically, at the emotions that separate you mentally.

You don’t really know why you do it. But you walk out to the living room, deciding against sitting outside the door any longer and continuing to make yourself miserable. Your feet carry you straight to the sliding door of his balcony, and you press outside into the cooler night air, shutting the door behind you. 

What happened when I was in the bathroom that night? 

The thought haunts you, a new ghost that had been lingering and gathering dust since that night. You never asked anyone, certainly not Eddie, and refuse to overthink it until now. But after tonight, after practically reliving your first encounter with Eddie all over again, the deja vu and the curiosity are winning over. 

You dial Steve’s number.

“Hell-”

“Why do me and Eddie hate each other?” you blurt out, cutting off Steve’s greeting. 

“I- What?” Steve’s confused, understandably so, “How should I know? I don’t keep a list of every time you rant about him to me.” 

“What about him?”

“Okay, you know I love you, but I’m not a mind-read-”

“What about a list of every time he rants about me?” 

Silence buzzes through the line, and you glance up at the night sky. It’s a cloudy black. The city pollution hides most of the stars, and from Eddie’s balcony, you can’t locate the moon. 

“I also don’t have one of those.” 

“Why not? Because, Jesus Christ, Harrington, I have questions-”

“Because he doesn’t rant about you. Especially not to me, but Nancy says he never talks about you usually either,” Steve explains in an even tone, still not sure how his answer should be helping you. You are the one, afterall, with Eddie right now. 

Even if he is locked away in his room right now, refusing to speak to you. 

“That makes no sense,” you sigh, exasperation creeping its way into your bones, “I rant about him all the time. I’ve bitched to you and Robin more times than I can count about him. He should be doing the same.” 

Steve says your name softly, “Why are you asking me this?” 

You laugh humorlessly and shake your head, even knowing Steve can’t see you, “It’s stupid. Forget it,” It’s not stupid to you, and you can’t forget it, but this doesn’t concern Steve, “Can I ask you one last question, though?”

“Shoot, babydoll,” you can’t help but grin at that nickname. Steve pulls it out at random, every time he’s trying to make you feel bad. He knows that neither of you can take it seriously. 

“Um, that night you introduced me to everyone,” you begin, stepping up to wrap your free hand around the iron railing of Eddie’s balcony, letting the cold seep into your palm, “At the bar, you know?” 

“Right…” he encourages, “What about it?” 

“Me and Eddie got along,” you spit it out, letting it tear from your chest and score your throat on its way out, “We… we were getting along at first, and then I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, he…. He…” 

He was gone. The Eddie I’d first met had vanished. Where’d he go? Why’d he go? 

“Shit, your memory is way better than mine,” Steve chuckles, sounding nervous, “But, I mean, I kind of remember that. You two getting along, at least. Guess that’s why we all were really confused when you started hating each other. But I’m still not understanding the question - are you asking if I remember the night? Or if he’s ever talked about it? I was a jock, you’re gonna have to spell it out for my pea brain.” 

“Stop insinuating you’re stupid,” you scold on instinct, scowl settling along your features as you lean onto the railing and glance down. It’s only two stories, but the ground feels impossibly far as you ask, “What happened when all us girls went to the bathroom? When we came back, he acted differently. Did he mention hating me that night? Did I leave a bad first impression? Was it all just a joke to hi-”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. One question, remember?” you’re sure Steve can hear the panting in your breath over the line, the way your chest heaves in the memory, “I’ve gotta be honest - I don’t remember. I know that’s probably not the answer you’re looking for, and I don’t know what’s going on with you two right now, but I was already well on my way to drunk. I think Jonathan and Argyle poked some fun at Eddie, maybe teased him about something, but I really can’t recall what it was about. Maybe his hair? Who knows?” 

The answer isn’t helpful. It’s only more confusing, more hurtful. 

He stopped joking with you because someone made fun of his hair? You lost access to the warmth buried beneath his surface because his friends teased him? 

“Okay,” you sound defeated. You feel defeated – defeated by the weight of still feeling like an outsider, defeated by the barrier of some measly wooden door, defeated by the hurt in Eddie’s eyes as you admitted that he only ever hurts you, “Okay, thanks, Steve.” 

You hang up before either of you say goodbye. When you pull your phone down from your cheek and ear, you see your phone still open to the photo of Eddie and you that you’d sent to the group. 

You were wrong. There wasn’t only nothing. Your face may have been void of all emotions, but now looking at it, you can see Eddie’s isn’t. 

He’s looking at you and not the camera during the shot, face crestfallen, eyes nearly teary as the corners of his mouth tucked downward. 

He’s looking at you with regret, with sadness. He’s looking at you as if he can see the vines he’d planted in you, all rotted and dusting away, and he’s mourning them just as you had. 

It’s bullshit, or your imagination, or your innate need for Eddie to bleed the same way as you have over your entire situation with each other. You lock your phone and don’t bother to look at the photo again as you enter the living room, as you toss your phone onto the loveseat, as you curl up on the couch and don’t even bother to go to ask for a pillow or blanket. He probably wouldn’t answer the door, anyway. 

You don’t say goodnight to Eddie, just as he never said goodbye to you the first night, and wonder if he notices the absence of your salutation.

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[cevansbrat0007]

An Afternoon with Minerva

Summary: Ari finds himself finally ready to admit the truth about his feelings for you...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Slight Angst, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Cancer, Dead Mothers, Brief Mentions of War, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Somewhere Four Hours Outside of Bell’s Creek, Texas

“Shit!” Ari hisses when he almost slips in the middle of trudging up the muddy hillside. It had been raining pretty much non-stop since he’d made it out of Dallas and it hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down. 

But that hadn’t been enough to stop Ari Levinson – not today anyway. Today he was a man on a mission. And that mission involved a meeting with a very special woman. The very first love of his life, and he’d almost missed it. 

What kind of son forgot about his own Mama’s birthday? Not him. Otherwise he would’ve never heard the end of it from Evelyn and Marcia. 

He knew without having to call them that his sisters had already been by with their families earlier in the day. And the last thing he needed was them throwing a fit over his absence, no matter how justifiable it might’ve been. 

The Bounty Hunter nearly stumbles again as he weaves his way through the numerous memorials and monuments. He tries to move carefully, doing his best not to disturb the tributes dedicated to others’ loved ones who’d all gone too soon, regardless of how much time they’d spent on this earth.

And his sweet Mama was no exception. She’d left him just shy of his 21st birthday. He’d been by her side, holding her hand as she took her last breaths. Which seemed only fitting since she’d been there holding him on the day he’d taken his first. 

Cancer had done his Mama dirty. But while it had robbed her almost everything – her hair, her ability to walk, and ultimately her life – her fighting spirit had remained. Minerva “Minnie” Levinson had gone out swinging, leaving him behind to see after his two younger siblings. 

A sixteen-year-old Evie had been so angry back then. So small, but so unbelievably pissed at the world. Meanwhile, sweet baby Marcie had clung to him so tight he’d damn near had a fight on his hands whenever he wanted to take a piss by himself for longer than two minutes. That ten-year-old might as well have been his second shadow. 

He’d honestly had no idea just how much he missed her following behind him until he’d been deployed overseas during his first tour. But they'd needed the money and the benefits. And he’d needed an enemy – someone or something that could help him channel all of the rage and anger and hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface. 

So he’d left them behind to help fight another man’s war. But not before entrusting his sisters’ care to his friend, Vicky Gunther. And at the time, the fact that she’d also been his highschool sweetheart had felt like an added bonus.

It hadn’t necessarily mattered that his mother had never been too crazy about the woman. But what had mattered was that the girls had someone he knew to look after them while he was out risking his life.

Ari’s grip tightens on the flowers in his hand as he finally finds himself nearing his Mama’s grave. Evie and Marcie had picked it out, all he’d done was sign off on the check. They’d assured him that it was exactly what she would’ve wanted, right down to the quote etched into the granite, which read: “Always keep them guessing.”

That had been Minnie Levinson’s favorite phrase whenever they pulled up in a new town. When you’d grown up being on the run, staying one step ahead of your opponent was an absolute must. Especially when that opponent happened to be your own damned father. Growing up the son of Rex Levinson meant always having to look over your shoulder.

Because you never knew where he might be lurking. He could be states away or, more likely, right around the goddamned corner. Waiting to strike when his poor, terror-stricken family least expected it.

So they’d had to learn to always expect it. Even now, the only reason Ari felt any peace was because his Daddy was currently enjoying an all-inclusive, taxpayer funded 15 year stay at the James Crabtree Correctional Center in Helena, Oklahoma.

Thankfully, Rex still had a few years left on his tab before society deemed his debt to them finally repaid in full. Once he was released, he’d deal with it then. But right now…

Now it was time to see about his Mama. And this chat that they were about to have was long overdue. 

A smile finds its way to Ari’s lips once he’s finally standing in front of his mother’s memorial. He pauses briefly before crouching down to place the bouquet he’d brought with him next to the offerings left behind by other members of his family. Although he wasn’t surprised, he was happy to see that they’d all brought daylillies, which had been her favorite.

“Hey. Happy birthday, Mama.” Ari whispers, allowing his fingers to brush along the cool granite. “I made it. Just like I told you I would.” His eyes flutter closed as a light breeze blows by, gently ruffling his chestnut locks. 

It was a sign from Minerva herself, letting him know that she was there with him too. Just like she said she would be. And his Mama had never been one to lie to him. Not even in death. 

“I see the girls have already been here. I’m surprised they haven’t blown up my phone.” He stands then, grimacing when his left knee cracks as a result of the movement. It seemed like that old injury only bothered him when it rained. Shit sucked. 

“I’m sure Evie brought by baby Micah for his first visit. He’s cute ain’t he? Little chubby-cheeked shit machine.” Ari chuckles at that, scrubbing a big hand over his heart. “And I’m not being rude. First time we met he had a blowout in his diaper that was so bad we both needed a shower.” 

He laughs harder at the memory of him desperately trying to hand off his incredibly messy nephew to first his own Mama, and then his sister. They’d swerved him so fast, claiming that it was about damned time he learned how to change a diaper. 

He’d been mighty pissed at the time. But even so, he and baby Micah had stomped off to the bathroom, determined to handle the stinky situation like a couple of real men. And when they’d emerged from said bathroom forty-five minutes later, they’d been the ones to have the last laugh.

Okay, not really. Micah’s mother, Evie, had been too busy napping on the couch to notice much of anything, her body buried beneath a sea of half folded laundry. And Marcia was playing Go Fish with their four-year-old niece Isobel. But Ari hadn’t allowed the lack of fanfare to take the wind out of their sails.

He’d just grabbed a bottle of milk from the fridge and retreated to his sister’s bedroom, intending to teach the kid about the importance of football until they’d both dozed off. And he still had the picture Evelyn had taken of them both that afternoon, fast asleep in the bed. The baby rocking a Dallas Cowboys onesie, and him wearing her lavender bathrobe.  

“They were just jealous, Mama. There I was being a good uncle, bonding with my nephew, and they were playing paparazzi.” That breeze kicks up again, the smell of wet earth filling the air. 

“But I’m sure you already know that. You were there. You saw everything. Those two were picking on me like they always do.” Ari pouts then, jamming his hands into his pockets. “There’s just something not right about those girls. Everytime I’m around ‘em, they pinch and poke and prod. Always asking if I’m seeing someone.” 

“It’s annoying is what it is. Makes me feel like a damn pincushion or somethin’.” The Bounty Hunter grumbles, nudging a tiny weed with his foot. “How am I supposed to tell ‘em anything if I haven’t run it by you first? Especially when it’s…when it’s…” He trails off as he searches for the right word. 

“Real.” He sucks in a breath as his head dips to his chest. “It’s real and it’s right and it’s new. It’s all those things, Mama. And I don’t know what to do with any of it because it’s like I spend half the damn time fightin’ with myself and the other is spent fightin’ her wanting to fly away on me.” 

One hand leaves his pocket to rest on the back of his neck. “And I know what you’re probably thinking, Mama. But that ain’t the issue. This woman, my little Bird…she ain’t Vicky.” He rocks back on his heels, careful not to slip in the rain soaked grass. 

“And I know you didn’t much care for Vicky. I already told you that I made a mistake with that one. I thought I was doing a good thing leaving the girls with her…” A harsh sigh leaves him as a fresh wave of bitterness rises in his throat. But he swallows it down, refusing to let it choke him. 

Because there was more to be said about the woman in his life today. His woman. His sweet Bird.

“Bird is everything I thought Vicky was. But it’s more than that. She’s the best part about that godforsaken Bell’s Creek. And something tells me that she’s wading knee deep into a pile of shit with this fuck, Martin, and these assholes, the Prescotts. It’s all one big mess that I normally would be chompin' at the to get rid of…”

Ari’s head drops again as he prays for another gust of wind, wanting another sign from his Mama to let him know that she was still listening. He doesn’t speak again until he feels it on his skin. This time it’s a loving caress, a gentle reminder that he’s not alone. 

How could he be when he had Minnie Levinson by his side?

“I haven’t had a single nightmare since I met her. I’m not saying I’m fixed or anything…” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “But maybe I’m not quite as broken as I thought I was. At least she sure doesn't seem to think so. She just tells me I am an ass.”

The sound of squirrels playing in a nearby tree is enough to distract him, albeit briefly. Once they settle down he quietly forges on.

“Ma, I swear this girl is really something special.” Ari whistles, running a hand over his beard. “Sweet, funny, absolutely gorgeous – and did I tell you she runs a bookstore? Can’t go and leave that part out now can I?” 

By now the rain has stopped, with the sun finally beginning to emerge from behind the clouds. He welcomes the warmth it brings. His Mama deserved to enjoy a little sunshine on her special day. 

“She – we fight like cats and dogs sometimes - my Bird and I. But that’s not really my fault. I mean I consider myself to be plenty damn agreeable with most things. But my woman…let’s just say I’ve met mules less stubborn than she is. But even so, it’s…it’s like I can’t get enough of her.”

Ari blows out a comforting breath before closing his eyes, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose. “She’s…she’s making me wanna stay. Got me wantin’ to plant roots and build her a house, complete with the white picket fence.”

“I’ve been lost since the moment I laid eyes on her, Mama. And nothing feels right unless I’m with her. When she’s not around it’s like I can’t think – I’m off balance and…” He swallows thickly. “Like even now, I’m here with you and there’s a part of me that is just itchin’ to get back in my truck and haul ass all the way back to Bell's Creek. I mean, I suppose I could’ve brought her with me.” He cocks his head to the side as the thought strikes him. “She would’ve come, but I couldn’t...”

Ari goes back to awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I couldn’t bring her here because I needed to talk to you about her first. Introduce her properly so that I could tell you myself that I…” He swallows again, fighting the lump in his throat. 

“I love her, Mama.” 

There. He’d gone and said it. Not in his head. But out loud to the air. To the world. To his Mama.

“And that sweet little spitfire makes me work for it every day. I’m telling you right now that she needs a damn keeper. And I need her to keep me…balanced.” 

A grin spreads across his features as he feels the weight he’s been carrying suddenly lift from his shoulders. “I’m gonna introduce her to the girls, okay Ma? I know they’ll love her like I do. But can you do me a favor and tell ‘em to be nice? You know they never do anything I say.”

Ari bends down to let his fingers graze over his mother’s headstone one last time. “And when the time is right, I’ll bring her here to meet you too.” He murmurs, wishing for a moment that they were actually speaking face to face instead of like this. But unfortunately, that couldn't be helped. 

“Until then you rest easy, alright? Because me and the girls are doin’ just fine.” He takes a tentative step backwards. “I love you, Minnie Levinson. And I’ll be back to see you real soon.” Ari turns on his heel, preparing to navigate his way back to his truck. 

Halfway through the maze he pulls out his phone, thumbing through his contacts until he lights upon your name. He taps the entry before holding the device to his ear. The sound of your voice on the other line is enough to ease the subtle ache in his chest. At least for now. But he also knew from experience that it wouldn’t go away until he had you in his arms again. 

Just four measly, lonely hours until Ari Levinson felt whole again. 

END

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning.  Definitely before everyone else went to bed.  But he couldn’t bring himself to.  Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms.  Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest.  Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest.  He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear. 

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall.  It kept him sane.  It kept his eyes open.  It kept him from letting the nightmare return.  You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life.  Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you.  Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing. 

“I can’t stand you either.” 

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in.  Something danced inside of his stomach.  It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost.  He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy.  And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him.  The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler.  The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good.  Robbed of love.  True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler. 

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive. 

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies.  The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray.  He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves.   Otherwise, he’d go berserk.  Completely berserk.  Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him.  She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone.  To everyone’s surprise, they operated well.  Like chef and sous-chef.  What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms.  He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise.  With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you.  You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door.  But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring. 

Turns out, it was Murray.  He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good. 

Your uncle cleared his throat.  “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls.  Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed. 

“She’s still out,” Steve told him. 

Murray nodded.  “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.”  An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued.  “Listen, why not come down?  Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup.  Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you. 

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve.  “Trust me.  I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you.  He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass.  It took Steve by surprise.  No wonder you two were related.  With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce.  She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing.  Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway.  Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor.  She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort.  She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile.  She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen.  “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat.  Don’t even think about not eating, Steve.  I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef.  Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in.  Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar.  They all sat next to him happily.  YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon.  Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks.  Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this.  “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear. 

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused.  “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not.  “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that.  He knew King Steve, too.  But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it.  Jealousy.  It’s subtle.  Not toxic, or even remotely a threat. 

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids.  She looks enchanted, melancholy.  Is she sad?  Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows.  Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking.  Because he sees it too.  Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick.  I know.  Told him so myself.”  Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning.  “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head.  Shit, I did.  I used to run away from alllllll my problems.  Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big.  Not in a bad way, though.  Never mean.  Just…immature.  Y’know?  Point is, I’ve been there too.  Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…”  He snorted.  “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction.  What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood.  “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks.  You know?  Big ones.  Small ones.  Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan.  Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself.  “The point, the point.  We uhh…we live and we learn.  Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her.  And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody. 

It began to click for Jonathan.  The longing stares.  The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back.  He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California.  But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him.  One look at her made it all go away.  They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too?  For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms.  Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again.  No Byers in sight.

…was this karma?  Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that.  Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school?  Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.”  Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him.  Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly.  “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad.  He never got mad at either of them.  He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay.  And he never said anything to Byers about it.  Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence.  Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing.  But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then.  Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger.  Red hot and flaming.  He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief.  For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain.  Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT.  NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW?  THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE?  FUCK YOU, BYERS.  FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it.  He completely deserved it.  All of it.  It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it.  All of it.  Even what was still left unsaid.  Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen.  He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate.  Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat.  Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been.  But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again. 

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler.  He pined for you. 

Not for long, though.  Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual.  The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his. 

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table.  Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things.  But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.  

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile.  Eddie watched them, knowing.  Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike.  They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind.  He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him.  He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table.  Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze. 

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee.  “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee.  Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm.  Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing. 

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said.  “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat.  “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll.  “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.”  She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes.  “I really should have seen it coming, though.  I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive. 

Eddie smirked, uneasy.  “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious.  “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us.  Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together.  Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed.  But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air.  “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer.  You know, found a way to get along.  Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed.  “Robin.  He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared.  “What?”

“When?”  Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking.  “Whenever we…brought her back.  He — he kissed her.  He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.” 

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all.  Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing.  Even Eddie looked over at him. 

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured.  “Steve’s never sad.  Not like that.  I’ve never even seen him cry.  Not once.  Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought.  She shook her head, realizing… “No.  No, he didn’t.  Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says.  “Because he’s awesome.  He’s brave, and cool, and awesome.  Steve doesn’t cry.  Today?  He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy.  “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today.  I did.  Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm.  It made everyone go quiet again.  “Not like that,” he repeated.  “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died.  Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back.  How Hopper and Joyce would.  How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff.  But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug.  “S’true,” he mumbled.  “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty.  Of course, it was the same for her.  But she couldn’t focus on that right now.  Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed.  Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain.  “It’s a matter of when.  When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that.  Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t.  She knew her best friend all too well.  How had she not seen this coming?  How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you?  Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day.  Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy.  To get her back, win her over.  But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course.  He knew better than to cross that line.  Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her.  He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin.  They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other.  Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth.  She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.” 

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl.  He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly.  Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused. 

Jonathan, however, was not.  This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked. 

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl.   “The sexual tension.  The incessant arguing.  Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself.  “But…why though?  She didn’t do anything wrong.  Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her.  It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck.  “Honey…really?” 

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s.  Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess.  But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends.  Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down.  But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you.  Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial.  On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well.  She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —”  (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued.  Because my niece isn’t stupid.  She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna.  She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie.  She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve.  So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' " 

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do?  He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What? 

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all.  Every lick of it.  So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl?  The person who told him to do it.  Myyyyyy niece.  Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life.  And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension?  But Steve had to hate someone.  To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself.  So he chose her.  He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her.  Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids.  Which is to be expected.  So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.” 

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued. 

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding.  Trauma bonding.  Forced alliance.  The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive.  And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears.  Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back.  And then…suddenly…”  Murray snaps his fingers.  “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world.  At least, Hawkins.  We all somehow manage to survive it.  We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here.  In a house, all underneath the same roof.  Forced to coexist.  Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters.  Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker.  Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in.  Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following.  “Magic.”  He walks closer, slowly.  “Some small talk becomes bigger talk.  Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation.  My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one.  They both discover they’re the only child in both their families.  His parents are absent.  Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care.  But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why?  Because she’s listening.  Relating.  Understanding.  Meanwhile, Steve feels heard.  Seen.  Relevant.  Important.  Like maybe whatever he has to say matters.  Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape. 

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together.  Not that you knew that.  You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet.  Which is good.  And they love that.  Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her.  And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same.  Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you.  Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more.  Or at least, that’s what I observed.  Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures.  Just like you two were.  She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her.  She insists they are mortal enemies.  That he hates her.  Will forever hate her.  And then…that rambling turns into truth.  Admittance.  Denial, still.  But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue.  She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve.  But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler.  Not forever, anyway.  Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas.  But it was her.  You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve.  And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop.  The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.  Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing.  They were stunned into shocked silence.  With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…”  He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup.  Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again. 

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah?  Not yet.  Not to them.  Wanna do it with each other, go ahead.  But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes.  They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding.  Robin did, too.  Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now.  Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them.  Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin.  Jonathan swigged his coffee.  Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression.  Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan.  Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too.  He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air.  Steve squinted at his best friend.  Finally, she found her voice.  “Sorry.  Got the jitters.  Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip.  Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin.  She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself. 

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head.  He watched her go, curious. 

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly.  The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers.  He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes.  That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow.  But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy.  Really queasy.  And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan.  She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own.  He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink.  She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall.  But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly.  “Real early.  Probably 6AM.  Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad.  Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked.  “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back.  “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind.  Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection. 

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce.  After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain. 

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there.  Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place.  They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both.  The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep.  Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground.  He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time.  Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew.  He just knew.  You two were crazy for one another.  Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too.  Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens.  Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s.  He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it.  He felt it best not to push anything.  Not yet.  When Max woke up, he would.  But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to.  Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you.  And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous.  Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas.  She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual.  And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his.  At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore.  Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned.  Steve grinned back. 

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands.  “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously.  His wounds, I mean.  I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip.  God, she wanted to ask him so many questions.  Hug him.  Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans.  Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her.  To scream.  To laugh.  Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted.  “Like – love you to death.  Best friends forever.  Just — just…”  She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks.  Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous.  Robin sighed.  “Just know that…I’m here.  And I’m always gonna be here.  Supporting you, with…whatever you need.  Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions.  Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs.  His best friend of a soulmate.  Platonic with a capital P.  Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets.  She sagged with relief.  Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours.  Spread out.  Starfish.  Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter.  “Okay.  Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death.  He really did have the best friend in the world.  They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace.  Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair.  He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide.  Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin.  She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs.  “Sir, yes, sir.” 

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms.  Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit.  He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell.  There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully.  Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair.  He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position.  Almost like you hadn’t moved at all.  He looked at the clock.  It’s…been hours.  Several hours.  At least 4.  He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark. 

His heart stopped.  Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell.  But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily.  Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning.  He melted. 

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily. 

“Hours,” he told you.  “Which is good.  You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly.  “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear.  “I can fix that.  Want me to bring it up here?” 

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully.  Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return. 

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication.  You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard.  You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl.  Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close.  His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter.  “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two.  Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring.  Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town. 

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple.  You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window. 

“Blue.  Sky blue.” 

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers.  “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.”  Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine.  He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night.  He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s.  Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl.  He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits.  Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say.  But regardless, your answers fascinated him.  He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men.  Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time.  You were smart, but somehow underestimated.  It was strange.  You were strange.  Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too.  Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously.  But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff.  “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own.  Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him.  “God…no wonder you love those kids so much.  You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows.  He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk.  Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another.  Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone.  Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god.  How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting.  Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla.  He loved diners, and you did too.  He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner.  It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not.  It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years.  Maybe ever.  Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration.  Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding.  “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk.  “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah.  Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly.  “Yeah.  It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness.  But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly?  Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else?  Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him?  He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever.  You nodded eagerly.  Yes.  Those, or a border collie.  A dog that felt like a true family member.  Even a stray mutt who needed a home.  You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids.  Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku.  When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household.  Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard. 

God, you were beautiful.  You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud.  “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head.  “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased.  “Yes, you are.  You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious.  How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now?  You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek. 

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper.  “Not to you.  I’ve been ugly.  Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours.  Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly.  “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life.  Well, your love life.  But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you.  Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.”  He visibly winces at his own words.  “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks.  “Don’t.  I’ve forgiven it.  Really.  You didn’t know.  You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight.  “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway.  Worse.  Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again.  “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears.  Still, he let the joke land.  You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss.  Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered.  “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck.  He sighed.  “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly.  “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it.  Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him.  It did, for the most part.  Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end.  He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same. 

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you.  “Hawkins.  The country.  The world.”  He paused, breathing you in.  “Just know I want you there.  All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering.  “Good.  You’re stuck with me, Harrington.  Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot.  He felt happy.  Absurdly happy.  Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his.  He waited, pulling back nervously.  Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way.  That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens.  So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan?  Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment.  His childhood.  His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed.  He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him.  It hadn’t been many.  At least not many that meant anything to him.  He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years.  But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours.  “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed.  He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks.  He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly.  Little kisses peppering your face.  “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul.  Steve could bawl about it later.  Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

TAG LIST [if I forgot u, pls lmk and pls forgive me]

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00  @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers  Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst @goosy-goose

[respectthepetty]

How does it feel to stay winning Petty? Also who would've guessed that baby Barcode would be the one of the BOC boys to collect kisses from all the homies!?

Anon, I appreciate you sending this because, right now, I feel like an elite status female rapper. Like CL from 2NE1 rapped in their 2011 hit, "I am the best", Be On Cloud owns me, and y'all can't tell me shit about this show.

I know I have some Wild Ass Theories and I'm always clownin' in these BL streets, but I love when my theories actually hit their target like . . .

When I knew Teacher Chadok was in a relationship with Teacher Dika since the first episode of The Eclipse.

When I knew Kanghan's house was going to be robbed and his dad would be shot since the third episode of Dangerous Romance, even though I thought Saifah would do it.

When I knew Pat was working with Joke to win over Zo since the first episode of Hidden Agenda.

I love making Wild Ass Theories no matter how crazy they are, like my belief that the twins' dad is involved in this whole murder and sex work plot in Playboyy. No matter what happened in this past episode, I still believe it and am eagerly awaiting the upcoming chaos to see how hard I clowned.

Which is why I LOVE Dead Friend Forever.

I want the record to state that no matter what happens after episode seven, that at this exact moment in time, I love this show. It makes me happy to be alive at the same time this is airing, and I'm not joking. I want to remember that at one point, this show was everything to me, and even if it goes down hill, it had all my attention in the first seven episodes. I want to appreciate it right now because regardless of what happens, it did everything right in the first half.

With the way some shows keep losing their footing in the end, sometimes we forget how good they were in the beginning, and the emo in me doesn't want to forget this feeling. Some of my favorite movies are Scream, Heathers, and Jawbreaker so this show has been giving me the explicitly queer version of kill your frenemies since the very first episode, and I love it.

My internal alarm went off the second Tee got upset that Phi was speaking to White in episode one, then the dark hand touched him making him enemy #1. I didn't like the way he told White he needed to obey him, and I feel like the dark hand wasn't too pleased with it either. It was a vibe.

And now Non has a hurt hand in the past from falling off the bike . . .

Then, Jin was the main character of the previous film, so he was either the killer or the biggest baddie.

But Phi was just so sus, that I clocked him as a killer.

Which meant Phi and Jin were the killers, but Tan has no backstory and people with no history are intentionally hiding it, so they can kill everyone and peace out.

So in my mind, Tan and Phi were regulated to the killers, Tee was the second to last to die, which I'm hoping it's by his boyfriend White who he thinks disobeys him, and the rest of the squad would die as needed. Which left Jin to be the baddie.

All of my theories could blow up at any second because we don't know if Jin actually sent that video or if his computer fizzled out before it finished uploading, so he could still be a killer avenging Non instead of a baddie who wronged Non (but he took the video and that is messed up regardless of what he planned to do with it).

But either way, I'm hoping it comes down to Phi and Jin in that forest because the show started with them.

And I don't think Jin realizes who Phi is to Non since Jin never got a good look at Phi's face in the past.

The Twitter folks spotted that Phi's dad was the police chief from the letters the boys got calling them in for interrogation in episode six.

And now the knife from episode two is showing up in the past in Non's backpack.

Up until this point, I feel the show has laid out a solid story with a good cast, and I think Be On Cloud relied on their KinnPorsche casting to throw people off in this show because who expected Us to be doomed in the first episode? That was like Drew Barrymore dying at the beginning of Scream.

People have felt off about JJ's character, but the show wouldn't really have JJ do anything bad to sweet Barcode, right?

And Barcode and Ta being paired together was a pipe dream for the Macau x Porchay shippers, so it could never happen here!

Especially because Ta and Copper won The Hidden Character, which meant they were going to be the main pair of this show, right?

WRONG!

Barcode is gonna be involved in some fucked up shit, and according to those MDL comments, people are realizing they messed up making any assumptions before this show started based on what the actors previously did.

I truly feel like BOC looked at its lineup and said "Baby Barcode was babygirled so hard for the past two years that the audience won't even think his character is capable of such things"

and I love that for us.

BOC gave these youngsters (19-23 in age) a script from Dr. Sammon and the Pit Babe writers and said "go HAM, bitches"

And the audience stays winning.

This isn't about my Wild Ass Theories coming true. This is an appreciation post for what this show has given to me up until this point - a good mystery.

Every week I have more questions and none of them feel like they will go unanswered. Is Non dead? Did Jin actually upload the video? Is Tan a killer? Why did Phi hook up with Jin? Will White finally snap, crackle, and pop like a bag of Rice Krispies treats for the mere fact that he simply wanted a nice weekend getaway with his boyfriend and now has to deal with all this bullshit?

But most importantly, when did Phi realize he was going to kill all of them after making them run around scared for their lives?

Because by time the show makes it back to the present day, I'm sure we're all going to want to watch these kids suffer in the worst ways possible.

Manipulate, Murder, Mayhem

[megxplryxb]

Our Little Secret

Disclaimer: GIF is not mine.

Pairings: Steve Harrington fem!reader

Warnings: Minors Do Not Interact! Jealously, enemies to lovers, smut, bathroom sex.

The blaring music and chatter of the rowdy crowd on the other side of the door had long disappeared in to the background as the sound of Steve Harrington’s skin slapping against your own echoed throughout his downstairs bathroom. His rapid thrusts sending you closer and closer to another orgasm as he nipped at your throat, leaving a trail of violet bruises behind as evidence of your current hook up.

You shut your eyes, hissing in pleasure while Steve continued to bite and suck on your skin as he bucked his hips in to you, a low groan escaping him as he chased his own release.

"Jesus sweetheart, you're...so...fuckin' tight, feel so good around my dick.” Steve growled, grabbing your waist, slamming in to you from behind, throwing your head back to lean against his chest for support as you watched him come apart in the mirror. You were wrecked at this point, completely cock drunk on Steve’s dick as the smell of sex and alcohol began to consume the room. You were totally hypnotised by the pretty sounds coming from him, the way he kept his glossy eyes on you in the reflection of the glass as he edged you both closer, hair an utter mess as he swiped it from his face...he was utterly fucking beautiful but you'd never tell him that.

You weren't entirely sure how you ended up bent over his parents expensive marble sink but you knew it had started with an argument, just like every other one of your encounters with Steve. You had never seen eye to eye with the boy, not in High School, not as Dustin's babysitter and definitely not as co-workers in Family Video. His constant need to flirt with every cute girl that walked in to the store made you gag out loud, rolling your eyes while he ran to the back to make sure his hair looked good before making his move on the unsuspecting female customers. Much to you and Robin's astonishment some of them even fell for his ridiculously shitty pick up lines and for some reason, it kind of bothered you.

"You know he just does that to piss you off, right?" Robin revealed on a late night weekend shift while you were stacking video tapes, nudging her head towards Steve who was leaning over the desk, flirting with some airhead who was giggling at his god awful jokes.

"Does what?" You questioned, trying your best to ignore the fake sounds of laughter at the counter to get on with the task at hand.

"Flirting with the ladies…He only does it make you jealous." Your friend stated as you scoffed at the thought, refusing to look in Steve's direction, afraid to give him the slightest bit of satisfaction that he might in fact, be getting under your skin.

"And why would he do that?"

"Duh, cause he's totally in to you." She said as you let out a loud enough laugh that Steve and the girl turned to face you both before going back to their conversation again.

"Yeah, right Rob, we can barely survive a shift together without killing each other. Plus, why the hell would I be jealous of those poor girls having to endure his cheesy chat up lines?" You asked as your friend shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know, but you've been stacking horror movies on the kids shelves since dingus started talking to the pretty blonde, ten minutes ago." Robin teased, smirking smugly as you realised you were putting The Exorcist beside E.T - The Extra Terrestrial.

“That doesn’t mean I’m fucking jealous, Robin! I’m just tired of doing all the work while he stands around doing nothing as per usual.” You huffed in an angrier tone than before as Robin tried to change the subject, sensing how annoyed you were.

It was safe to say that Steve Harrington drove you fucking crazy. So, when Robin begged you to come to one of Steve’s many house parties you flat out refused, not wanting to spend your rare day off from work in the same vicinity as your colleague. Especially, if it meant having to witness him in a lip lock with some random girl all night. But somehow, you had let Robin convince you to join her at the party, your friend pleading with you to be her wing woman while she attempted to get to know Vickie a little better without “turning in to a babbling idiot”.

You somehow managed to avoid Steve for the whole time you were at his party, dancing with Robin and Nancy, beating Eddie at beer pong, even turning down two guys who were trying to get you to go home with them. So, when Robin had enough liquid courage in her to confidently talk to Vickie without you being present, you downed your final drink and slid off of the kitchen countertop, making your way through Steve's house, finally reaching the front door to make your exit.

“Leavin’ already?" The familiar voice asked as you turned to see Steve standing with some girl hanging from him. Fucking typical.

"Yep." Is all you said, not wanting to stop and talk.

"Didn't expect to see you here." He said, completely ignoring the brunette beside him.

"Trust me Harrington, your house was the last place I wanted to be on my night off."

"Why'd you come then?" Steve challenged as you folded your arms.

"Cause she asked me to." You stated pointing at Robin who was still in the kitchen, blissfully unaware that you were gone. "She was nervous about seeing Vickie, said she needed some backup." You explained, as he nodded, understanding how anxious Robin got around her crush.

The girl standing beside him let out an aggravated sigh, finally gave up, realising she wasn't getting anywhere with Steve now that you had his full attention. Steve didn't even notice she had walked away, he was too fixated on you, scanning your body, taking note of how your outfit complimented your figure, curves being hugged in all the right places as you stood looking at him. You were so fucking pretty and you didn't even know it but Steve desperately wanted to show you.

"You really going?" He quizzed as you placed your hands on your hips, letting out a deep breath.

"As much fun as it would be to stay and watch you flirt with the entire female population of Hawkins High, I think I'm gonna pass and head home." You said turning on your heels to reach for the door knob.

"It really bothers you doesn't it?" Steve smirked as you turned your head to face him again.

"What?" You huffed in frustration.

"Me, flirting with other girls." He replied as you let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking your head. "You really are so fucking full of yourself, you know that?" You spat, hoping the heat rising to your cheeks wasn't overly visible with the make up you were wearing.

"Maybe I am but I think m’right, aren't I?" He questioned, walking closer towards you as you decided to hold your ground.

"Sure, yeah, it bothers me when you flirt with every chick that walks through the door in work instead of doing your actual job...you know, the one you get paid to do?" You teased as he grinned at you. “Is that the only reason?"

“Can’t think of another.” You shrugged.

"I can." He challenged. "Please, enlighten me..." You mutter in a sarcastic tone, rolling your eyes.

"Maybe you're jealous."

"Maybe you're fucking delusional." You fought back as he smiled at you.

"Just admit it princess, s'ok." He whispered, closing the space between you, waiting patiently for your response. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or the way he was looking at you or the fact that you knew you looked good but you felt a growing confidence inside yourself, so you tugged at the hem of his shirt, licking your lips as he watched you with complete curiosity.

"Is that what you want me to say, that I'm jealous? Is that why you do it, to make me jealous?" You challenged as he remained silent, smirking at you. “You think I don’t see the way you look back at me for my reaction every single time, cause you aren't really interested in any of those other girls, are you Steve?" You flirt, still playing with his shirt as he looked down at you, completely turned on by the way you were teasing him.

"You gonna tell me it's one sided, sweetheart? This little game we play...I think you enjoy it just as much as I do." He purrs in your ear and your heart stops at his sudden confession because you weren't actually expecting him to admit it and now that he had, you were more intrigued than ever, feeling the sudden ache between your legs. Cause as much as you didn’t want to believe it, trying to push it to the back of your mind every time he looked at you, you knew you wanted Steve Harrington and you hated yourself a little bit for that.

"The fact that you aren't walking away here kind of tells me everything I need to know, princess." He smirked, locking eyes with you, moving even closer as you tried to regain your composure.

"Kind of hard to move with your dick pressing against my thigh, Harrington." You replied, pressing your tongue to your cheek as he pushed his body against yours, an arm wrapping around your waist making you gasp out loud, the sexual tension between you almost crippling at this point. “Want me to put it somewhere else instead?" He suggested as you looked up at him through your long lashes, nodding.

"Need you to use your words baby, m'not gonna do anything unless you tell me what you want." He said moving his thumb over your lips.

"You're really enjoying this aren't you?" You huffed as he let out a little laugh. "Just need to know if you really want this to happen?" He asked as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, removing them before he even had a chance to kiss you back.

"Steve, just fuck me already." You pleaded as his eyes filled with lust.

So, he took your hand, dragging you to the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he caught your lips in a passionate embrace, tongue dancing with your own as he pushed you back against the door while you began to unbutton his shirt. “This stays between us, got it?” You requested as he nodded his head, capturing your lips again. He tasted like beer and bubblegum and you couldn't get enough as you pulled him closer.

"So fuckin' beautiful." He murmured, lifting your top over your head, tossing it on to the floor to join his shirt. You watched as he got on his knees, unzipping your skirt, slowing pulling it down, leaving wet kisses on your inner thighs as your skirt finally hit the floor. You bit your lip with how close he was to your core, noting there was only a thin piece of fabric between his mouth and your cunt. "Can I taste you pretty girl?" He asked, looking up as you nodded again.

"Words baby, need your words." he purred moving a hand over your panties, tugging them down until they were around your ankles, lifting your heels off of the ground to fully dispose of them, stuffing them in to his pocket as your cheeks flushed realising he could probably tell how wet you were now.

"Do it....please." You whimpered, feeling his tongue immediately swipe through your folds, lapping up your juices before he started to swirl circles around your clit. "Fuck, Steve...that feels so fucking good, oh my god." You gasped, gripping at his hair as he buried his head deeper between your legs.

"So wet for me baby, you taste fucking amazing, knew you would." He moaned, palming his hand over his tight Levi jeans.

"Steve..." You hissed as he gently slid his index and middle finger in and out of you. "Not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that.”

"Gotta stretch you out baby, you're so tight and I'm pretty big, don't wanna hurt you." He hummed, sucking on your clit. You knew he was big, you'd seen the outline of his dick when you went to Eddie's to watch a horror movie and Steve got hard during a sex scene sitting next to you. Plus you heard all of the rumours in school too, you just didn't know whether Steve had started those rumours himself before that night in the tailer.

"St...oh shit, stop, I'm gonna come." You cried as you felt his lips curl in to a smile. "Go on baby, come f'me, come on my tongue." He demanded, flicking his muscle against you faster and faster as you bucked your hips, the coil in your stomach finally snapping as you reached your climax, biting your lip to stop everyone outside the bathroom door from hearing you.

Steve didn't give you much time to recover from your orgasm as he pulled you over to the marble sink, kissing you again as your hands moved to his jeans, unbuckling his belt and unzipping them as his dick sprung free. Jaw dropping at the sight of it, pre cum already leaking from the tip but Steve stopped you just as you tried to wrap your swollen lips around it.

"As much as I would love for you to suck on my dick right now, I need to fuck you before someone rudely interrupts us." He growled, as you voluntarily bent over the sink while he lined his cock up to your entrance before pushing in to you, letting out a loud moan at the feeling of being inside of you— as if he’d waited forever for this moment.

So, thats how you wound up getting fucked by Steve Harrington in his bathroom. His dick making you feel fuller than you ever had before and your tight cunt making it impossible for him to last much longer.

"Shit, Steve...I can’t, s'too much." You whimpered, gripping the countertop with one hand while the other grasped the back of his neck as your stomach tightened with a familiar feeling building once more.

“Can’t take anymore baby, huh? I know you’re close, can feel your pussy clenching around me, m'close too, you feel too good on my dick." He whispered as he continued to pound in to you while you rolled your hips on to him. "Where can I..."

"Inside me, please. m'on the pill, s'ok." You nodded as he pulled out of you. Your eyes widened feeling the sudden emptiness without him inside you.

"Steve why did you-" You asked as he turned you around, lifting you on to the countertop before sliding his cock back in to you again, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist with the feeling of him filling you again.

"Want to look at you when you come." Steve said as you bit your lip in sheer pleasure while he bucked his hips in to you. "You're so beautiful." He whispered nestling in to your neck.

That was it.

"Steve, I'm gonna..." You cried, closing your eyes, digging in to his shoulders as you winced in pleasure.

"Me too baby." He moaned, fighting back his own orgasm until he felt your body tighten and shudder around him, finally releasing the hot white ropes of cum in to you, his forehead leaning on your shoulder for support as you both tried desperately to catch your breath. It was only after a few seconds that Steve realised he was still inside you, eventually sliding out, helping you down from the counter. You avoided eye contact with the boy, not quite believing what had just happened between you. It was the last thing you ever expected to happen.

Once you both had come down from your high, you began to find pieces of your clothing that were scattered around the room, getting dressed just as quick as you had undressed each other previously.

“You ok?” You heard Steve mutter as you bent down to retrieve your skirt from the cold floor as he buttoned his shirt back up.

“Yeah, m’fine.” You replied, jumping in to your skirt, zipping it up as he kept his eyes focused on you. You weren’t expecting Steve to stay around while you dressed yourself, figuring he’d just walk out like he hadn’t just fucked you but he didn’t seem like he was in any rush to go back to his party.

"So what now?" He quizzed, buckling his belt, leaning against the countertop as you threw your top back over your head.

"What do you mean?" You asked, trying your best to fix your hair so it didn't look like you just had the hottest sex of your life with Steve Harrington.

"Are we just gonna go back to pretending we hate each other or?"

"Pretending?" You questioned, raising a brow at him as he let out a small laugh.

"Sweetheart, I just came inside of you, harder than I ever have actually. I don't really do that with people I hate." He revealed as you blushed.

"Me either...but that doesn't mean this is going to happen again." You warned as he rolled his eyes. "You know it's gonna happen again.”

"Steve!"

"What? One of us has to be honest here." He smirked as you shook your head, readying yourself to exit the bathroom.

"You forgetting something?" He coughed, swinging your panties on his index finger as you felt your cheeks go bright red again.

"Oh my god, Harrington, give them to me!" You giggled as he cupped your face, lightly kissing your lips unexpectedly as you kissed back, cursing yourself for the way you melted in to him again. You tried to grab your underwear but he scoffed shoving them back in to his pocket. "I just meant you forgot to kiss me goodbye, I'm keepin' these." He teased as you huffed, admitting defeat.

“You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington.”

“Yeah, but it turns you on.” He grinned as you took one last look at him before exiting the bathroom, trying your best to hide the smile that was quickly spreading across your face.

[dairy-farmer]

You know that annoying "redeemed by a Good Woman/redeemed by puss" troupe?

I just remembered Match :Dc

Kon's evil Clone twin. The one where they actually SUCCEEDED and he's totally down to kill Superman and is also super unstable physically etc.

But consider!

Secret Relationship! Bats are paranoid after all. Can't let our enemies or Dads know we're dating! Or fuuuuuckin.

So when the switch happens? And "Superboy" gets a nasty blow to the head that gives him spotty memory? Of COURSE his... "Best Friend"(tm) wink wink nudge nudge, is gonna take care of him. The whole team obviously knows. But no one else does.

So Match has no idea what's happening.

Has he been Made? THAT FAST? Shit, Bats really ARE something else. Better kill hi-... why is he hugging me? This... IS a hug, right? He's never had one before. It's not awful.

And so Match keeps pretending to be Kon. Slowly gets "better". Forgot a lot about Robin and their Relationship, of course, so they have to start basicly over. But isn't Rob the BEST? So patient! Hand holding. Cuddles. Tender kisses.

Hand jobs.

It blows Match's MIND. This? This is fantastic. No one tells him what to do, treats him like an animal, calls him an "it", and?? He gets all these soft touches and kisses? Robin's even talking about maybe having sex "again"!

Fuck. He is TOTALLY stealing the other clone's Life. RIP to that guy. His now.

Except? No The Fuck You Don't, Bitch(tm). Kon is actively waging a one man war against his captors. Fuck these guys. Luthor in particular. He has a boyfriend to get back too and a Usurper to curbstomp. Or fuck. Depends on how hot he is and if he's a dick. Kon DOES have a well known incest kink.

Might keep him.

But back with Match? B-be gentle with him Robin~ *bats eyelashs* *shoulder smack* they're doing the whole shebang. Cabin by a lake. Pizza and dancing. Sparkling grape juice since booze won't effect "kon" anyway.

Just? Everything Tim can think off to make it fun and memorable. He even remembered lube this time, because NOW he knows Kon is too big to take without a little help. It's like a do-over, almost.

It's ALSO the moment Match's loyalties completely fuckin switch. Ride or Die with THIS guy, specifically. [Robin has given Match: The Sex. Match will now willingly die for Robin.]

It's a literally life-changing First Time for Match and a Really Good for Tim. Laughing and tired from dancing, hands roaming each other's bodies, lazily finding what feels good. Tim sighing in pleasure, a pretty little roll of his body arching his back, as he let's his legs fall wide. Smiles at Match.

His hands still loosing hugging Match close, his kissable lips, soft in a lazy grin. The body under Match relaxed and full of trust. Touching him back. Just to feel his skin, too make him feel good too. Looking at him like he's wonderful. Like he's worth loving.

IS Loved.

Match wants to worship this. Steal it away. To hell with the world and "saving" it. He uses a brain meant for grand battle strategies, to memories every twitch and squeeze around his rocking fingers. What makes Rob feel good. What makes him feel BETTER.

Kisses his way down.

Gentle. Careful, so careful. He has so much strength.

He wishes he could suck, but doesn't trust himself. Luckily his tounge draws delight anyway. He let Rob roll them. Feels cradled, between those thighs, as Rob desperately rides his face.

Takes so much control for Rob to stop. He's shaking with it. He wants to continue so BAD. But wants Match's cock more. So Match gets passed the lube. Blindly fumbles to get ready.

He hears something, flying. Probably a plane. Not important. Robin's important. Lifts him so EASY. Feels him shudder, turned on by how easy Match moves him. They line up, and Match slides in like he's always been there. He has to let go or his grip will get too tight. Amazing. Wet, hot, soft... w-words... he can't...

And THAT'S when he gets a sharp stab to the arm with an injecter and a Smiling But PISSED, grabbed-by-the-throat-hard-enough-to-break-the-bed-frame Slam from ACTUAL Kon. Who has escaped.

And found Match in bed with his boyfriend.

The injector has the stabilizing agent they were withholding. The choke hold however? That's for him. Sup, buuuuuddy. Enjoying my boyfriend? Yeah, he DOES feel good. I would know!

Give me a reason not to kill you where you lay :)

Tim is confused as hell. Still horny. But very alarmed. Two Kons? One is clearly NOT Kon. Please tell him it's not the one he's in bed with. He does NOT want to be a cheater! Kon he would NEVER cheat! (Kon knows.)

Match... offers to switch sides? He would kill for Tim. Die for him. Is in love. Wants to be a person. Is mildly to moderately insane but can TOTALLY promise to keep a lid on his Crazy.

.....also this is kinda hot. Wanna make out? Do you think Tim would enjoy that?

Kon? Is basicly? Yyyyyep. That's a 'Me but fucked up' alright! Unfortunate. Hot though. Let's keep him. He's like one of those really, really ugly dogs you kinda can't help but falling in love with.

Tim? Still impaled on SOMEBODY'S dick and just wants to know what's going the fuck on. Face in his hands. Why is he dating this asshole? Why!? *gets smoochs* oh, right. Tim loves him.

Damn it.

Fine! Fuck it! Both of you, I GUESS, get over here. Time to live out some of those fantasies Tim's had but couldn't do with only one boyfriend. Kon! Naked! You! Name? Match. Okay, Match? Move your hips! *vigorous sex noises!!!*

And so they threesome it out! Until Tim can no longer keep up. Then Match n Kon pull on pants and blow up some bases, get pizzas, and come back for "round two". It's a great week!

Tim ends up on bedrest. Looks vaguely mauled. But with a delightfully dewy well-fucked shine~ to complexion.

-🐼🐼🐼

sex with tim getting ppl to stop being evil😍😍😍!

[sarnai4]

The Deranged

Something that fascinated me about Dagur (spoilers) was after he turned good. Before, he just seemed off, but I assume part of it was due to him being bad. When we saw him genuinely trying to be good and "normal," that was when it sunk in for me just how mentally ill he was. There are so many moments of him trying to not lose his temper or still just not realizing how his behavior is unlike the others. It's so interesting to me, but it's also very sad that it's probable he'll never really receive any type of help since he lives in Viking times.

Personally, I still think that he had hope as a kid. Going back to Viking times, it probably is why he got worse. People saw him do abnormal actions and just wrote him off as weird. We've seen Dagur be around enemies and not hold back. In Twinsanity, he talked about the laughs that he AND Hiccup had when he tried to drown him. He would not care about pretending like they both had fun if he knew that wasn't true. He didn't even sound sarcastic because he probably meant that. Just like when he called Hiccup "old friend" in The Night and the Fury. This boy seriously did not know what he was doing wasn't friendly or normal. At that point, it becomes the responsibility of the adults to sit him down and explain to him what is and isn't okay. I really think he wouldn't have become an enemy if that had happened so that he could have learned how to form a healthy friendship with Hiccup and the other kids on Berk. Instead of this, his mind is viewed as a weakness.

Dagur is called "Dainty" for being so unlike the others at his home. He's called a "lunatic" for being weird on Berk. Finally, he calls himself "deranged" to use what everyone has told him made him weak or a freak to make himself dangerous and worthy of getting the respect he's always wanted. If he never had the potential to be better, he wouldn't have been able to be so selfless later on, even going so far as to put himself in danger when Heather and Hiccup still hated him. That is one sharp turn. He was evil before, but he was never hopeless. In RoB, I think Dagur was a neutral character with the possibility to have turned good or bad. It's just a shame that he went down such a dark path before turning around.

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

SKIN-DEEP COMEDY!

the symbolism of the wizards' crests and their journeys with you, their beloved master sage.

gender neutral reader

OZ!

—right collarbone: fragility, visibility, shattering of deep belief

Even the strongest wizard in the world has his weaknesses, even if it may be hard to believe. Maybe that’s why it’s so fitting for a man like him to have his crest placed in such a vulnerable place. The collarbone is infamous for being the most fractured bone, the right moreso being weaker than the left. Under the demonic guise, the facade of a wizard so powerful that he can bury his emotions, is a man whose heart is still thawing under love. Emotions are new, they’re fickle, and yet it’s enough to make him hesitate and reveal parts of himself that even he had never faced. Whether it be Arthur’s guidance or the wholehearted trust he puts in you to restore his world back to what it was, the shimmering black lily branded onto his right collarbone is the only telltale symbol on his body of the man behind the magic.

“Remember your duty, Master Sage. The moon does not forgive. Only the strong can survive in this world. Mind your place, and stay by my side.”

ARTHUR!

—right hand: ownership, power, a place of honor and status in biblical text

Sworn to the throne by birthright, Arthur is a man meant to grow into power and grace. His crest speaks to this responsibility, hovering over him more imposingly than any uncle or throne could. He carries out the will of the Central country, second to only the citizens of the people he rules over. His destiny is to inherit and enact blessings, and the constant visibility of his crest is an undeniable reminder of his fealty to you and that he must always use his place as both a wizard and a prince for nothing but good. You have faith that he won’t waver, not when he has such clear eyes for the future and comrades that believe in him without a shadow of doubt. Arthur is someone that’ll seek the light even when the odds are stacked against him, and his outstretched hand, bearing the black lily, will herald his bright tomorrows.

“Please trust me. So long as you are with me, I won’t allow any harm to befall on you. Not only are you the Master Sage, but you are someone important to me above all.”

CAIN!

—right forearm: strength, action, the capacity to start anew

Cain is a man of the sword first and foremost. Even now, with his secret as a wizard out on full display, he defines himself as a knight before anything else. His crest is representative of his strength and his will, as someone who has vowed to keep his liege safe but to also bear the safety of those around him. He’s determined not to make enemies with anyone that might stand in his way, whether it be human or wizard alike. Cain knows there’s more to the world than the small sliver he’s seen, and he knows holding onto his courageous heart will be the key to paving a way for those to follow. Despite having his status, his humanity, and his eye robbed of him, he wants you to help him stand strong in what he believes in. The black lily on his right forearm brandishes his sword literally and figuratively: a living embodiment of his justice.

“Let me protect you. I want to be someone you can lean on, Master Sage. It’s okay to depend on me. As long as I’m standing, I’ll be someone who fights for your honor.”

RIQUET!

—forehead: intellect, intelligence, heavenly love with the good

The world is an anomaly to Riquet just as much as Riquet is an anomaly to the world. After being withheld so much, Riquet’s only now learning what it means to exist apart from his days locked away in a cult. The line between curiosity and hedonism is a thin one: the one between morality and cruelty even thinner. His crest is a reminder of everything he has yet to learn and the importance of utilizing what he already has. Riquet has to discern between what will help others, what will help him, and what will betray everything he’s built up until now. You’re a stranger from another world who holds nothing but kindness towards him, so isn’t it only natural that he looks to you with reverence in his eyes? The black lily on his forehead is a manifestation of his hunger for intelligence, but also a newfound devotion to do good, for the universe and for himself. 

“Let us step away from sin. Guide me to the light, and I will do the same for you. There are so many things wrong with this world, so let’s work hard together to make everything right again.”

SNOW!

—right neck: anger, hazardous, desolate to truth

Blood stains Snow’s hands. There’s no wizard that doesn’t eventually end up succumbing to the chaotic roar nestled inside their chest, but it’s one thing to kill others for power or glory and another to kill your very own kindred out of desperation. He claims it was love that brought White back from the dead, tethering his own soul and sharing it with his twin, but the dead swirls in his golden eyes hint at something a bit obsessive instead. But all’s well that ends well, and your worries should be less about him and more about yourself instead. This world is a lot scarier than you think, and it’s only right that a wizard as wise and skilled as he is ought to guide you through its pitfalls. The right side of his neck is adorned with a black half lily: an eternal reminder of his mistake and his rage, and everything he has to do in order to rectify his sins.

“Have you ever loved someone to the point of death? No? It's an indescribably heartbreaking experience. Master Sage, I hope this world will be kinder to you than it was to me.”

WHITE!

—left neck: strain, the past, implementation of the soul’s will

White is a remnant of what he once was. With no being of his own, his borrowed corporeal form is just an extension of Snow’s longing. He knows his time here is borrowed and yet he can’t even find solace in having died once. He shares his convoluted and twisted truth with the rest of the wizards, even extending a hand towards you when you’re willing to listen to whatever sick advice he might whisper into your ears. It’s hard to believe that his familial love for his brother isn’t as warped as he is, not when the hand that strokes yours feels so real. His half crest is a reminder that White is truly no longer and that he’s practically a ghost wandering in the shadow of Snow’s rage. The black half lily on his left neck is a mark of taboo, not fully intact but refusing to disappear altogether. 

“Has someone ever loved you to the point of death? No? It’s a truly beautiful thing, Master Sage. Perhaps I can show you, if your curiosity demands it.”

MITHRA!

—pelvis: sexuality, old memories and trauma, issues of control

The pursuit of strength might be Mithra’s own way of keeping those he loves safe. He once had no one he could call his, at least, not until Tiletta took him as his student and made him a part of her family. Despite him being rough around the edges, you know that his obsession with becoming the strongest is only so that no one can question him and his desire to be loved. There’s no other reason as to why he holds your hand so tightly as he sleeps, or why he refuses to let any other wizard wager any influence over you. He bares himself wholly to you and you only, trusting that you understand his brusque words. The black lily nestled by his hips is proof of his love, and it’s a mark that he would only show to you. It’s an honor he won’t give to anyone else, so cherish it closely.

“...Don’t go anywhere, Master Sage. What, is that something you wouldn’t expect from me? Does it matter? You’re going to be with me. Nothing more to it.”

OWEN!

—tongue: the devil, the voice of the gods, shame

Owen shrouds himself in mystery, and he takes pleasure only in his hedonistic ways. Whether it be sneaking sweets when no one is looking or thinking up of new ways to torment those around him, everything he does remains inexplicable to anybody else in the Wizards’ Manor. No matter how thorny he is to you or how much he threatens to rip you from limb to limb, you refuse to back down in your attempts to wiggle into his heart. He’ll spew curses and keep you at bay, but he can’t deny your warm heart and the time you’ve spent with him. Maybe his distance is not because of maliciousness but out of his own loneliness, with large swathes of his memory missing. Can anything else come close to your sincerity? There’s no telling. His mouth will always say one thing, but the black lily engraved onto his tongue speaks of a devoted truth. 

“Say, Master Sage, I wonder what taking your heart as a trophy would be like. A gruesome, bloody heart, ripped straight from your broken ribs. All mine… Won’t you give it to me? 

BRADLEY!

—right abdomen: dysfunctionality, things unresolved and unprocessed, authenticity

The spitting image of the North, Bradley always holds his head high despite how much his situations have changed. A once-proud bandit leader of a powerful group, Bradley’s power lies not in his magical strength but in the keen mind that he sharpens with each year that he puts under his belt. He’s experienced his fair share of victories, but he’s experienced even more heartbreaks. He’s cognizant that nothing lasts forever, more than anyone else, but at the same time, could you blame him for not knowing when to let something so sweet go? Fate dangles regret right in front of his face, and it’s up to you to unravel the tangled threads. Sometimes he’ll indulge parts of his past with you, weaving tales of biting cold Northern winds and his stellar glory days, but the glimpses of the black lily on his right abdomen remind you of everything else he’s left unshared and unsaid. 

“I got your back, so don’t slouch. A real leader worth their salt has to hold their head up straight, you hear? You’ve got the great Bradley Bain as your right hand man, Master Sage.”

FAUST!

—left shoulder blade: connection to the heart, guilt, vulnerability

Faust’s crest spreads like a shadow on his back, bearing the guilt and altruism of his past. It’s bigger than any other wizards’ crest for a reason, and it covers him as if it were the same embrace that he yearned for for so many years. His heart is jaded yet still soft, wanting assurance that his actions are the right decisions yet unsure if his goodwill is enough to save the crumbling world around him. His faith has been tested time and time again, and he’s sure it’s going to be tested once more, as the moon descends to take everything he’s cared for. Your clear eyes and unwavering loyalty to him might seem overbearing, but this devotion is what he needs to find the courage to stand up once more. The black lily on his left shoulder blade is his fealty to you and his choice to believe in goodness once more.

“There’s no need to praise me. I’m only doing what’s right. I’m no hero, no great leader, nor am I the Faust of the legends. Please, Master Sage, I’m nothing but a wizard that believes in you.”

HEATHCLIFF!

—lower left back: acceptance, generosity, crossroads at life

Many wizards of different walks of life are called to duty, but Heathcliff stands unique as the heir to a noble family. If being a wizard wasn’t difficult on its own, he’s had to balance the responsibility of his birthright and position for his entire life. Despite the doubts that gnaw like gnats in his mind, Heathcliff strives to be gracious and clement, vowing never to use his position for evil. And yet with his position as an heir growing heavier and the world demanding even more of his sensibility, the insecurity that plagues him becomes harder to wipe away. It’s only the love and care of those around him that can prop him back up, and one day, he hopes that he can extend a helping hand to you just as much as you’ve done for him. His lower left back sparkles with the black petals of a lily, his wizard’s crest, with his gratitude towards you.

“There’s a lot of times when I feel inadequate for all the titles I hold… And yet, you never admonish me for my mistakes, Master Sage. Thank you, and I’ll do my best for you.”

SHINO!

—right shoulder: masculinity, bearing burdens, imbalance

Rash but smart, strong yet inexperienced, Shino’s eager to take on the world and prove himself as a worthy retainer of Heathcliff. He’s hyperaware of everything he owes to the Blanchett family, and for him, becoming a Sage’s Wizard is his way of paying back the debt that saved him from a life of misery. He has little to call his own, not even his own last name, but what bonds he does have, he treasures above all else. The intensity and fear in his eyes are a testament to everything he has to put on the line so he can hold true to his promise of eternal loyalty. You’re the only one that can hope to understand him, the only one to help him digest the danger and the perils around him. The black lily on his right shoulder is the power you give him, to lead him to glory, to lead him to the refuge that he’s sought after all this time. 

“Worry about yourself, Master Sage. I know how to hold my own ground. Things will fall apart if anything happens to you. You’re someone I can’t afford to lose yet.”

NERO!

—left bicep: to nurture, receiving support, intuition

For every shining protagonist on the stage, there’s someone hidden in the curtains to pull the strings. Nero wonders how long he’s been the one in the back. He has an intelligent mind and an even harsher tongue at times, his Northern birth betraying the Eastern mask he puts on. If he closes his mind and lets himself dream, he can conjure up distant memories of snowy nights spent drinking, boisterous laughter, the indulgence of stolen goods and a gruff voice praising his wits. But when he opens his eyes back up, he’s reminded of his betrayal. It’s hard to swallow back the lump in his throat when you console him and tell him he’s more than his past mistakes, but how many more can he make before his act is up? The black lily that appeared on his left bicep betrayed his facade once, and only so many parts can disintegrate before the entire whole crumbles.

“You can’t trust a man like me. But you’re going to do it anyway? You’re such a hassle at times, Master Sage. No, it’s okay. Being stubborn is a good thing too.”

SHYLOCK!

—left collarbone: shock, union, enthusiasm of a full heart

The beauty of being the one pursued means that Shylock has seen the rarest and the most desperate parts of the human psyche. It doesn’t mean he himself is above falling victim to love’s incessant ways, but it’s given him a seduction and a charm that’s increasingly difficult to read. You’re lucky that you have a special place in his heart, with his penchant for treating his loved ones like a pet. He claims Western wizards are free spirits who hate being tied down, but somewhere in his soul, perhaps he’s also grown tired of the cat-and-mouse game he plays with his admirers. He wants the permanence of something fickle, and is there anyone better for that role than the Sage from another world? He doesn’t want to trap you per se, but he wants to see how far he can go with this borrowed time. The black lily branded onto his left collarbone is his permanent reminder of a temporary bond. 

“What a beautiful face you’re making, Master Sage. Fufu, am I getting too close to you? Won’t you allow me, just this once? I want to be spoiled by you today.”

MURR!

—right palm: good luck, encouragement to work hard, impending loss

Is there anything in this world that Murr hasn’t taken an interest in? Undone by his own pursuit of knowledge combined with just the right amount of hubris, even in his shattered form, Murr walks to the beat of his own drum and explores to the tune of his heart. It’s an impossible task to turn him back into the fickle man he was before he ventured too close to the moon, but when he pulls you in for a dance in the courtyard or whisks you away on his broom, it’s hard to stomach the dread that settles in your stomach as you realize his current form is an apparition of smoke and mirrors. Murr doesn’t mind—there’s still plenty out there for him to squander his foolishness on. He’ll happily invite you to fall with him, and the black lily weeping in the middle of his right palm is the proof of the only ending the two of you can have.

“Why the long face? Dance with me, Master Sage! Look at how lovely the moon is and how bright it makes everything down here! Why don’t we fly up and say hello too?”

CHLOE!

—right chest: dissatisfaction in relationships, physical connection, personal power

Optimism and a desire to be loved is what Chloe cares most about. After having his entire world flipped upside down by Rustica’s mistake, he’s learned what it means to be a human and a wizard. He vows to use his talents to spread happiness and always to help others, but each corner of the world seems to be tainted with insecurity and doubt the more he aims to spread goodness and truth. Even his own bond with his teacher seems shaky at times, and Chloe wants to find the courage to break free of his mold to reach through to Rustica’s frozen heart. You’re the only one to know the conflict in his heart, torn between both what’s good and what’s truthful. You appreciate him for who he is: a reflection of all the good wishes he’s kept inside, and the black lily hidden away on his right chest is only the beginning to what you hope will be nothing but a flowery path for him. 

“Do you have faith in me? Then… I’ll do what I can so that I won’t let you down! You always see the good in everyone and in me, so I’ll do my part to repay the favor, Master Sage!”

RUSTICA!

—throat: truth, purification, clarity in responsibility

Rustica desires to love. His entire time as a wizard has been in chase of a bride from memory. The smiling nobleman wants the warm embrace of a lover, their soft whispers, even a quick kiss stolen in between honeyed glances. But that dream has long fluttered away, and only remnants of feathers remain at the floor of his birdcage. He doesn’t mind; his eyes have been opened thanks to his diligent apprentice and you. You’ve never denied his romantic streak, not when everyone else ridiculed him, not when even the universe seemed to condemn him from love. It’s no wonder that he clings so desperately to the dregs of love that he can catch from the end of your words or your touches. The black lily on his throat is his duty to uncover the reality of his past and to fulfill his duty of devoting himself to love, be it something old or something new. 

“Ah, you look as lovely as ever, Master Sage. Your presence never fails to stir something in my heart. Come, let me adore you even more. You deserve nothing less.”

FIGARO!

—right rib cage: crookedness, need to protect the heart, longing for reunion

A man of self-inflicted ephemerality, Figaro struggles to see the permanence of the world. His idea of love is so tilted, so permanently warped, that he develops an inhuman craving for being desired that he refuses to fulfill. He wants to reach out and to be brave, and yet some cowardly vices keep him entrapped in a web of his own making. Even behind all of his empty, slack eyes and perfectly poised smiles, you keep probing far deeper than he expected or wanted you too. Though simultaneously, he wants you to keep pushing, wants you to understand his soul-crushing loneliness and save him from it. Surely, you can see past the “ordinary” wizard doctor to see the broken man underneath; you’re the only one that can save him now. Hidden away like his heart is the black lily on his right rib cage, forever yearning, forever begging for one more chance from cruel fate. 

“You’re staring at me so intently. Could it be that you’ve fallen for Dr. Figaro? Haha, I’m only teasing you. You deserve a far finer man, Master Sage.”

RUTILE!

—right wrist: misalignment of purpose, sentimentality, movement

Rutile straddles the difficult line between the past, the present, and the future. He plays the precarious game of balancing his mother’s legacy and his younger brother’s unrelenting desire to unleash his full potential, all while tending to his own needs and the responsibility of being appointed a Sage’s Wizard. It’s all too easy for him to get lost in the memories of the simpler days in the South Country, with a baby Mitile clinging to his side and his students surrounding him. But he has to find courage and to place his trust in you, praying that you have the proper vision to use his magic for good. You’re both a cherished friend and a leader to Rutile, and it would shatter him to lose you too. He doesn’t need grandeur or glory, only your guaranteed safety. The black lily carved onto his right wrist is his constant wish for your well-being.  

“Would you like a ride on my broom, Master Sage? Ah, you don’t need to look so scared! Would you like me to hold your hand too? No? C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

LENNOX!

—nape: freedom of the soul, deeper truths, connection

Lennox has lived honestly and faithfully, dedicating himself wholly to what he believes to be right. He spent centuries in search of the lost leader he considered to be his master, and he spent even more time pondering what his place in this world was. While he knows he’s no magical genius like Faust might be or even a figure of legend like Oz, his genuine desire to help others and to protect those he’s placed his devotion towards runs far deeper than any magic could even fathom. His true strength lies in aligning his life with yours, the same love he tends to his herd with becoming the same love he needs in order to save the world with nothing but his bare hands. The black lily that blooms on the nape of his neck is a reminder of the delicacy in his fortitude, the gentile nature that will render him as a true savior. 

“Is anything troubling you? No? That’s good. I’m not the best talker, but… I’m always willing to listen to your words, Master Sage. I will be strong for you.”

MITILE!

—left wrist: divinity, receiving energy and protection, healing

The youngest of the Sage’s Wizards and the youngest son of the great witch, Mitile’s entire soul itches to live up the shoes that his mother left for him. He knows he’s capable of doing amazing and unearthly things with his magic, gifted by his older brother in order to keep him alive. No amount of patience is enough to quell his curiosity, so as the Sage, you’re tasked with the impossible duty of giving him the experience he needs all while being cognizant of the ambitions of those around him. Will you let him run free, to become the terrifying wizard he dreams of? Or will you let him be snuffed out, a sacrificial lamb in order to save the entirety of South Country. There has to be a middle ground, and when the black lily on his left wrist glitters cruelly, you have to believe that you’ve made the right choice. 

“Master Sage, look what I can do! Magic sure is amazing. One day, I’ll be a wizard as great as my mother, and I’ll be sure to wow you even more!”

x

[ay0nha]

The Sweet Hereafter | Peter Quill

SUMMARY: He cursed at himself for succumbing to you again. That was just the lure you had. Miles away—galaxies even—you always found a way to lead Peter to you. It may have been subconscious, but despite the fact that you bickered, the pair of you belonged together. 

PAIRING: Peter Quill x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

WARNINGS: canon typical things, descriptions of injuries, cursing, general angst, semi enemies to lovers, etc.

A/N: I had to dust off cobwebs for this one. I forget how much nonsense I write and don’t post, this being one of them...gotg v.3 got me in my feels so I’m posting this. It’s a little plotless and full of plot holes....so enjoy lol.

“No.”

“Please.” Kraglin’s desperation was obvious, and had been for months. Yet, through every modulated call, he was met with disappointment. “She has no interest in staying with us, tried to get her to go—

“All she does is run off–” Peter countered just to bite his tongue. But characteristically it didn’t last, “–then I’m the one sent to drag her back.” He scratched at his growing facial hair, growing increasingly frustrated. “I’m tired of this.”

"And you think I'm not?" Kraglin snapped. Peter could see, even through the hologram before him, that Kraglin was being pulled thin.

As a new Ravager leader, Kraglin had growing pains with the position, but nonetheless carried himself well. He could handle the banter as it was a part of the life, even the new settlement of Knowhere. Yet, he could never understand how to handle you.

"We don't have space for her." Peter feigned passivity, but his voice wavering exposed his facade.

"Peter–

"I can try and put in a word to the Nova Corp, see if they can—

"We can’t just pass her off to the next, she's Yondu’s daughter—

Peter cut the connection before Kraglin had a chance to finish.It was a trap. It had always been a trap. But Peter fell for it all the same. Like him, you found yourself surrounded by scoundrels that’s hearts softened every time you called for help. Over the years, though, your calls became more deliberate; less for aid but more to stretch your sticky fingers.

There was something deep in Peter’s chest that made him queasy. As time went on he found it harder to say no, even if his body screamed at him. The ship was quiet, only carrying the sound of his dragging boots. Each step to the atrium of the ship, Peter struggled to quell his thoughts.

He cursed at himself for succumbing to you again. That was just the lure you had. Miles away—galaxies even—you always found a way to lead Peter to you. It may have been subconscious, but despite the fact that you bickered, the pair of you belonged together.

"Fuck." Peter cursed again, leading the unknowing crew to the last coordinates that Kraglin had sent to him.

—

Oddly enough, the cold floor felt relieving against your back. Pulling your arms above your head, the horizontal position elicited deep pops from your vertebrae. You were sore, your body enduring too much too soon, but in a way felt good. It meant you were still alive and breathing, more importantly, it meant that you got your way.

You perked up at the footsteps approaching you. You knew who it was, but you’d never admit the relief you felt hearing Peter’s voice echo through the dingy ship.

“And you’re tellin’ me she only now decided to tell us?”

“…You know how she doesn’t share anythin’...” Kraglin answered honestly, but it did nothing to comfort Peter. “...Well, ya know, expect that she’s Yondu’s kid.”

"She's lying."

You had a knack for twisting the truth. Lying was just a game to you, a game you were good at. It was what got you in your current holding cell. You posed as a threat even behind bars, but it was only due to the tales spun about you.

Peter knew you well. That you stumbled upon Youndu and his crew only to rob him blind with  innocent charm. It could make sense that you were his daughter, but even you didn’t want to believe it. You hadn’t until the letter found you. The chicken scratch was barely legible, but it detailed your unorthodox relation.

"She's not."

"How do you know?" Peter resisted. The man they spoke of was gone, but Peter doubted his legacy fell on your shoulders. "He didn't have any kids."

"Then what were you to him?" You didn’t need to be loud to be heard. The silence carried your suggestion. “Always good to see you, Star-Lord.”

Peter saw now how the bruise on your chin carried up onto your bottom lip. To match, just below your eye, a bruise started to form. He watched you move languidly to stand, he could see how much you hurt.

Pinching his brows together, he asked a rhetorical question. "Your boyfriend do that to you?"

"Something like that," You smirked slightly.

Quill sighed deeply, regretting the interaction. If you looked like this, Peter knew your ‘boyfriend’ was close to dead. You were the definition of reckless and something he wasn’t convinced he needed to take on. Yet, everyone in the room knew that by standing in front of you, his fate was set.

“Go on, Kraglin, show him,” You motioned your head with your words. Although you were considered one of them, they welcome you aboard with pointed blasters. In doing so, your belongings became theirs, even the tattered letter.

Peter didn’t want to read it as Kraglin unfolded it for him. He skimmed it, not bothering to look for the interesting details. Years ago, Peter would have questioned the astronomical coincidence that you had any blood relation to the man who raised him, but coincidences and beings with gauntlets scared it out of him. However, the last line resonated. Don’t tell Peter.

A bitter laugh escaped Peter’s lips. It was always like Yondu, even in death, to get the last gag. The story went as follows; you weren’t taken and forced into the life of a ravager. You were left in the safety of a Xandarian orphanage only to weasel your way out and join the life your father intended to keep you away from. You would have been better off stranded on an abandoned planet.

You got good at what you did, too good. You made a name for yourself that instilled fear in some and in others an open invitation to challenge. Challenges you never shied away from which only meant you begged for danger to follow.  

Peter tossed the letter to the side, letting whatever leaking pipe soak its material. The letter’s significance didn’t matter, years had come and gone washing away any anticipated emotion, but the only thing that held Peter’s attention was why you waited so long to reach out to him.

“Why now?”

“Had to get your attention somehow.” You frowned. He avoided you, but you waited for the perfect moment to gain his attention. “That boyfriend of mine is coming for you.”

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

CRUSH- J.B BARNES

Pairing: Biker! Bucky x Innocent! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: home for the summer, you plan on spending it in isolation, too shy and innocent to get into trouble. bucky barnes- the head of the local biker clan, has other ideas in mind.

Warnings: teasing, heavy flirting, pet names, drinking/ drugs mentioned, swearing, lap sitting, enemies to lovers trope

“can you read my mind? i've been watching you couldn't fight to save your life, but you look so cool camo' jacket, robbing corner stores hard odds to beat when you're on all fours good men die too, oh, i'd rather be with you”- crush, ethel cain

PART ONE OF THE CAIN SERIES. 

You could hear the revving of the bikes from where you stood, safety guarded behind the glass doors littered with posters and signs, peeling and jumbling over each other- colours starting to fade from the summer sun. 

It was loud, their voices somehow seeming to overlap the roaring engines as they slipped on their glasses. You knew the men in that group, puffing out smokes in the convenience store parking lot. 

All of them. 

And you didn't know what that made you. Cool, for perceiving the closely, tight knit biker gang? Or shameful- for being seen anywhere near them?

 They were troublemakers. They had always, flaunting their tattoos and leather, never needing an announcement whenever they stepped into a room. You just knew who they were, that they were there and they meant business. 

Bucky Barnes and his posse never expected less. You, on the other hand, were the opposite. Shy, quiet, reserved. A girl who was headstrong yes, but knew that the bark and bite was not always the best strategy. 

You were polite, the kind of person an older person would think ‘What a sweet girl. I like her, so modest!’. Perceiving others, but not wanting to be perceived herself. Innocent. You were like that at school, and you were like that while being home for the summer. 

The gang was the same, and you dreaded the fact Bucky’s father lived right near yours. Which is why you felt your stomach drop at the bustle outside, clutching your plastic bag tighter, feeling the handles twist and pinch at your fingers circulation. 

You didn’t want them to notice you. But the rest of the parking lot was next to dead empty. Only an older man glared at them as he bagged things in the trunk, too far down in the parking lot for the group of men to care. 

Eyes stared at the back of your neck as you debated how to approach your old pickup truck, trying to assess the situation at hand. 

Not that there was a situation. Why did there need to be a situation? Just walk to your car. Don’t engage. 

The cashier, lifted his eyes from the newspaper, eyebrows cocking in concern. “H-have a good day. Thanks again.” you murmured, wanting to smack yourself. 

You had already said that. Just shut the fuck up and get home. The sticky, warm air of the west in the summer hit you as you removed yourself from the air-conditioned shop, and you took a breath before you fumbled for your keys. 

One step, then two. One step-  

“Hey sweet thang.” the leader called out, accent thick as all heads turned towards you. Your eyes met his, shades protecting the baby blues you knew were hidden under as he smirked. You felt your breath quicken, stomach turning in on itself the longer you stared. 

It was like a battle off. You were a Capulet. They were the Montagues. He reached for the smoke between his lips, throwing it down on the pavement before twisting his boot sole on it, ash smearing.

 “You shouldn't do that, you know. It’s bad.” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, wanting to shrink back as soon as the words left your mouth. 

Little ooo’s and chuckles rose up from the other man, and you recognized some of them, even without the names on the back of the jean vests. Rogers. Wilson. Stark. 

He stepped towards you, cocking his head. Examining you. You couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not, and you weren't planning to stick around and find out. 

“Whatever you say Y/N.” he chuckled, making your eyes widen. Sweat broke out down your neck from the beating sun, and the fact he knew you. He knew you and that scared you. 

But also excited you, just a smidge. 

He noted your tense stance, and couldn't help but get a form of satisfaction out of it, even if his boys teased him for having such a crush on someone so unlike him. 

You rushed off before Bucky could say anything more, the breeze brushing the silky white sundress against your thighs as you slammed the truck door shut. Backing up without sparing a second glance, you sped out of the deserted parking lot, down the highway and away from him.

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It had been days since the last time you saw him, yet it replayed in your mind as if it had happened only a minute earlier. 

The way he noticed you. Had called out for you, as if he had been waiting the entire time you were in the store, wandering through the isles.

 It haunted you, in a way. You weren't sure if you cared for him or not. You had been watching him for quite some time now, though it had been mainly to steer clear of his antics. 

Bucky was a bad boy. You were a goodie two shoes. It didn’t fit. Intimation seeped your bones whenever you passed him, caught wind of his husky voice from whichever parking lot he crawled out from. 

So why were you still thinking of him? He scared you. Frightened you. But he was beautiful. 

Dangerously beautiful, like you couldn't say no to him no matter the question or cost. He was high strung with authority, a maturity about him that made you want to cling to him and never let go. 

Bucky was indescribable you decided, as you swung back the bottle of red wine, the sweet, tangy liquid caressing your throat as the cool night breeze blew through your hair. 

He looked like he worked with his hands and smells like marlboro reds, was all you could place in the category that you had organised in your mind. Though it was foggy, the lines slightly blurring the more you drank, the higher the moon rose in the night sky and the more the wooden railings creaked from the wind, you knew there was a reason he was constantly on your mind. 

It was silly really, how much your deep subconscious clung to the idea of him. Intoxicated or not. 

You heard the mosquitoes swarm towards the dim porch light by the old screen door, cicadas chirping in the tall grass. It was peaceful out here, alone. You let yourself dawn on how much you really missed home, the feeling of the freedom out in the middle of nowhere. 

“Drinking is bad too, ya know.” a low voice called from the shadows, making you jump- heart hammering in your chest as Bucky emerged from the darkness.

 Air whosed through clenched teeth as you sucked on your cheek, admiring him. Though he was in his ‘gear’, a rolled up henley, jeans and a smoke between his lips, he seemed different. 

Calmer.

 Like his guard wasn't up as much as you had seen it around his friends, or anyone else for that matter. “Why are you here Bucky?” was all you could muster to ask, not even knowing where to begin. 

You knew he knew where your father lived, as the two of you grew up on the same street. You just never expected him to show up. 

“Ah so shy girl  knows my name eh?”

 “Of course I know who you are. I’m not stupid.” He threw his hands up in defence. “Hey, I never said you were. Quite the opposite, from what I’ve observed.” 

He hinted towards the empty spot beside you.

 “Can I?” 

You nodded, watching as his beefy body adjusted to the smaller spot, knees brushing yours as he hung his head low. 

“Why are you here?” you repeated.

 “I don’t know. I guess seeing you the other day made me want to know you more. Is that bad?”

 “Yes.” you stated firmly, taking another swig of booze as he fumbled with his lighter. Your own answer startled you, words abruptly coming out of your mouth. It was the wine talking. But it was too late now. “Its a bad thing because you're a bad guy. You shouldn't be hanging around me.” 

He smirked, hand running through his dark, messy locks, tugging at the back of his neck. “Is that right? I forgot you're such a goodie two shoes. Are you too good for me?” he mocked, and you rolled your eyes.

 “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… we’re so different. And I don’t know you, like at all. You’ve done… bad shit.” 

“Like smoking pot? Or are you talking about that guy I murdered?” Your eyes widened, mouth forming an O shape as you whipped your head around to face him fully. Anxiety churned like angry waves in your stomach, and you feed the acid would rise up to the surface.

 “Kidding! Jesus you’re so fun to nag doll. It’s too easy, should’ve seen the look on your face! Priceless.”

 “How was I supposed to know that?!” you hiccuped, knocking the glass bottle against the bottom step, setting it down before you finished it all. That was a bad idea. Especially around a pretty boy with as much charisma as a snake charmer. 

“No idea, but some faith in me would be nice. I’ve put plenty of faith in you, ya know.” he bumped your shoulder, as if the two of you had been life long friends. 

You were baffled at the thought of what was happening right now. Never in a million years could you have pictured this, the teachers pet paired with the notorious bad boy, allowing him to sit on your porch and unwind with you when the minimal interactions the two of you had left nothing but mysteries in your mind. 

Who was he, really? Why were you so intrigued by him, though you knew he was nothing but trouble? And why, oh why did you find yourself actually enjoying his company? 

“How so?” you asked, looking down with interest at the dog tag that swung on his neck, silver shimmering in the gloom of the night. You didn’t want to look into his eyes. It scared you. 

“Well I had faith you’d come around, and let me talk to you. You’ve always looked so timid. I didn’t want to scare you.” 

You felt your breathing stop. “Why did you want to talk to me?” you asked, hesitantly. 

“Because you’re interesting to me. Like a puzzle. And I feel like there’s a lot more to you than from what I’ve seen and I want to know more.” 

You let Bucky's words settle, rest in the western air. They hung low over you, like a physical force. You're interesting to me. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction that feeling was mutual.

 “I’m glad you think I’m entertaining.” you shrugged, trying not to show how his words made you feel. 

“Come with me to the Lounge.” Smoke trickled from his rosy lips, and you watched the ash fall to the dirt before squished the but into the wood. What like… right now?” you asked, confusion spewed across your features. 

The Lounge was the towns local bar, its dark and grungy vibe off putting to you. The bikers often hung out there, the misfits throwing back drinks like it was no tomorrow You had never been to a bar before, let alone one where Bucky and his crew practically owned. 

Between its southern gothic walls was nothing but smoke and cheap booze was what your father told you, highly suggesting you steer clear of the towns local hangout. So naturally, you flinched. 

“Everyone's there right now. It’ll be all good, I promise.” 

“So why aren't you there then? At your ‘spot’” you air quoted, making him laugh. It was low and husky, tinging your skin warm with heat despite the cooler air.

 “I left to come invite you. Don't make me look stupid. I can't show up empty handed.” he teased, and you felt an obligation to follow in his footsteps as he rose, brushing off his jeans. 

“I know its a Saturday night and all and I’m supposed to be out but I’ve never… its not my territory.” you shrugged, rubbing your arms in comfort. 

“You're welcomed there. I promise. But if you don’t feel safe, or comfortable, don’t worry about it. I just wanted to see if you’d be willing, is all sweetheart.” 

You sighed. The right thing to do would be to shake your head no, grabbing the bottle and heading in for the night. Leaving him on the porch, with his bike parked down the street for himself. 

But you couldn't leave him. Not now. Not when you finally had the guts to properly answer him in a conversation, even if it was ambushed onto you on your own property. 

“Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

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If the wind was chilled before, it was crisp as ice now. You clung to him as he sped down the old roads, barley daring to breathe as the engine throttled, revving onwards as he laughed. 

The breeze roared in your ears, whipping through your hair that escaped your the helmet he had conveniently packed, an extra. Fingers were clenched tightly to the deep maroon of his henley, bunching as you hugged him tighter. 

This was the closest you had been to him, ever. On the back of his Harley, zipping down back roads you knew took you the longer way to the bar, as if he was intently wanting you to cling to him tighter the faster he dared to go, for as long as possible. 

It was frighting, but exhilarating. Like a wave of cool water on a hot day. It was refreshing to see the endless bounds of wheat fields and old barns through he shade of the viser, a taste of his lifestyle. 

You almost wanted to throw your hands up, to feel the air rush through your fingertips. 

“You doing okay doll?” he roared over the whip of the wind, glancing at you with a smile though the side mirror. You nodded, to frightened to speak, throat parched dry. 

Before you knew it, you emerged from the cool, undertones of deep blue,bright light shinning from the distance. You could already make out the bundles of people scattered in the parking lot, gripping Bucky tighter as the two of you slowed. 

Bikes were parked everywhere, and you could remember some of them from the other day from the gas station. No familiar faces. The world came into focus as he parked, helping you down and slid off your helmet, bursts of talking laughter and music swarming your ears, the lights seeming brighter without the blur of your viser. 

It was busy, but that was expected. Bucky had already told you everyone in town was here- the misfits at least, but it didn’t quell your anxiety any more. 

Part of you wanted to grab his hand, scared of loosing him in the crowd you were about to face, but he had already done that for you. His large, slightly rough, callused hand was warm as it enveloped yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“We can leave at any time. I’ll be with you honey. Promise.” he reassured as you nodded, looking over at the dozens of bikers that scattered along the outside of the bar. 

They took no notice in you, minding their business as they chatted away, smokes in hand. Good. No one was gawking yet. You hoped it would be like that the whole time- but you knew it wouldn't be. You stood out too much, and it was because of your lack of spunk for once, and not the other way around. 

Plus, anywhere Bucky went, people stared. It was hard to look away from him. You knew from personal experience. 

Loud bustles of music streamed from the speakers with the murmured of dozens of voices, swarming your head as you took in the scenery. There was leather everywhere, smoke blending in with the neon signs. Dart boards and pool tables were all occupied, bartenders buzzing like bees in a hive as they poured drafts and shook cocktails. 

“Where are we going?” you asked him, leaning in closer as you squeezed by the other bodies that crowed the space. 

“Where it’s quieter.” 

You prayed it was also more secluded, as the eyes began to follow you. Your little white dress was no match for the sea of dark neutrals here. Bucky’s group appeared, sprawled in booths around the back wall- like it was their territory. 

You didn't know if you felt welcomed or not, feeling like a show pony on display as the stared at you. “She’s here!” the blonde on called, smirk wide on his face as he looked at you. 

Steve. You knew him right away, always seeing him appear next to Bucky, front and center. The right hand man. 

Then there was Sam you learned as you sat down next to Bucky, giving you a little wave before downing the shot he had in front of him, always seeming to be in the shadows. 

There was at least ten of them, all of them as eager to meet you as the last. Like they were infatuated with you. Before you knew it, dozens of drinks were sent your way, and after about two beers you had somehow landed directly on Bucky’s lap. 

“So your the girl who turned Barnes soft eh?” Sam asked you, making your eyes widen.

 “What do you mean?” you asked timidly, wiggling your hips anxiously. 

“Oh doll he doesn't mean literally.” Bucky chuckled, and you felt a very prominent bulge press into your ass as his hands guided your hips downwards. 

Your cheeks burned with heat. Sam laughed, the smell of smoke heavy on his jacket, and whisky on his breath. Your head spun, and you felt yourself slumping  against Bucky the longer the night went on, starting to forget you barely knew him the way you wanted to- that this wasn't your crowd. 

“You okay?” he murmured against your head as you gripped his jacket, blinking slowly. 

“Mhm fine. Jus- drunk.” you hiccuped, breathing in the ceadarwood and smoke that clung to him. 

“I shouldn't have let you drink that much.” 

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snapped back at him, standing your ground. Bucky was already unravelling you in a way that made you feel vulnerable enough, you didn’t need him making decisions for you too. 

“Shes got a point Barnes. Pretty soon it’ll be the other way ‘round.” Steve announced, seeming to reappear from thin air as he slide in the booth next to Sam- twirling his keys around his ring finger. 

“Where’d you come from?” Bucky asked, eyebrow raised. You wanted to ask the same question. He looked like he was on cloud nine, eyes wide and sparkling, the booze giving his cheeks a tinge of pink. 

“Jus’ beat Romanoff at darts n now shes all pissy.” he laughed, and you leaned your head over the side of the concave to search for her.

 You liked her. She was the only girl in the gang, but her personality shined bright enough to be at least four. Her red hair was as fiery as her personality, and you would be terrified to piss her off. You were surprised Steve wasn't worried about her grabbing the dart and gouging his eye out with it. 

“She’s gonna beat your ass man. I wouldn’t put it past her.” Sam shrugged, making you giggle. You didn't know if it was the alcohol or the quiter atmosphere in the back, but you found yourself enjoying their company. 

The fact you had made Bucky ‘soft’, whatever that meant- made you happy. You wanted to be the only person who made him feel that way. “Cmon.” Bucky said suddenly, waking you from your drowsy state, leg bouncing to startle you. 

“What are we doing?” you asked as he shimmed the pair of you out of the booth, ignoring the looks the guys gave him as his large hand slipped in yours, thumb rubbing your skin in a soothing motion. 

He just smiled, that cheeky little smile you had seen him slide your way so many times- the one that intimidated you because there was no one a man like him could look at you like that and not be pulling your leg. 

But here he was, with you. Looking at you like that- and making it authentic. It was crazy to you how easy it was for you to be caught up with him, wanting nothing more then to seek his attention and validation. 

Though he was bad- and you knew he had done some very, very bad things- the warnings seemed to falter in your mind the second he flashed you that dangerous smile.

 “We’re dancing.” he shrugged, as if it was the most average thing for the leader of a biker gang to do.

 “Dance? But no one else is dancing.” you noted, confused as you looked around the room. Though more people had dwindled out over the night, there was still plenty of people here. None of them dancing, all of them staring. 

This establishment seemed much like a fight club and less like a dance club.

 “Awh you shy?” he teased, guiding you away from the bustle and the lights, towards the entrance. Of course he wasn't. He had no reason to be. You were sure Bucky had never felt shy a day in his life. 

“Do you blame me?” you demanded, eyes wide as he tugged you a little harder, nearly making you stumble over your own two feet. You wished you weren't so clumsy. Especially now. 

“We’ll go outside where its quiet. And then we’ll dance up a storm.” Bucky sung, spinning you around as he pushed open the front door, clearly drunk. 

You laughed, the chill air making goosebumps rise on your skin through your little dress, though the wine sloshed in your tummy made you feel giggly and warm. “I didn't think you were a dancer.”

 “Looks can be deceiving.” he replied, wrapping his arms around your middle, swaying you side to side as he guided you over towards his bike, parked next to the others. 

It was far enough from the human eye, but close enough you could hear the music as clear as day. Hands were wrapped around his forearms, gripping him tightly as he moved you, guided you to a state of serenity. 

“It's gonna be a fun summer shortcake.” he whispered, kissing your cheek softly, as if you were a piece of glass china, scared to hurt you. 

You let him. The sweet, soft melody trickled from the speakers, lyrics intertwining you to Bucky. Like it was made for him. 

Something's been feeling weird lately There's just something about you, baby (there's just something about you, baby) Maybe I'll just be crazy (I'll be crazy) And piss him off 'til he hates me

Yeah right... he fuckin loves me...