#who lets him because he is a good boy look how good he can be

[gold-onthe-inside]

debriefing

v. def. the systematic questioning of individuals to procure information to answer specific collection requirements by direct and indirect questioning techniques.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer content warnings: none word count: 2.5k

You couldn’t sleep, restlessly turning in bed as flashes of Spencer torment you - vaguely remembering his hand on your ankle as he slid your heels off, kneeling in front of you with his hands grasping yours, his firm grip on your arm, his hand on your lower back, guiding you downstairs. “The team knows that my priority is you.”

You feel like a teenager trying to decipher whether a boy likes you. More importantly, you have to go back to work in 5 hours, and if he doesn’t like you the way you think he does, then there’s no point losing sleep over it. A wave of frustration washes over you, stuffing a pillow in your face as if that could remove the imprint Spencer’s made on your brain.

The pillow falls to the side, leaving you staring at the ceiling with a desire to kill or kiss Spencer, and since neither of those were options to you, you did the next best thing. You knocked on the partition between Penelope’s room and the living room. She had dragged you through Lord knew how many thrift stores and flea markets to put together this magical room that was a cross between Turkish royalty and California in the 60s. The woman, your best friend, bless her heart, woke up with a slight grumble, pushing the unicorn kitty eye mask up (apparently it reduced dark circles, and seeing as she didn’t have any while you were left to suffer, it must work) to attend to your distress.

“Honey, it’s 2 in the morning, can we talk about this in daylight?” Penelope asked, her saccharine voice a soft rumble in her sleep.

“It’s about Reid,” you said, hearing how pathetic you sounded, standing on the step to the raised platform that led to her bedroom. But it seemed to perk her up, and she got up faster than you’ve ever seen her wake in the 10 years you’ve known her.

“I’ll put on a pot of tea,” she announced, moving to the kitchen.

“I-I don’t need tea,” you said uselessly to the whirlwind you called your roommate, trudging across the floor to the kitchen.

“Do you even remember the last time you came to me with boy problems?” Penelope asked you, grabbing her teapot and dropping bags of masala chai in it before setting it to boil on the stove while you parse through your memory, coming up empty. “That’s right. Never. Not once in the entire history of our friendship have you ever come to me about a boy,” Penelope continued and you sink into a seat on the bar stool.

“Because there’s never been anyone worth talking about,” you replied, rubbing your face. “God, how did I let this happen?”

“Let what happen?” Penelope asked, sitting next to you.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t lose sleep over guys, and it’s like Spencer just… snuck up on me and now he just lives in my brain or something.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s horrible and embarrassing and—”

“You really like him,” Penelope finished for you, watching your hands fall to the kitchen island.

“I really like him,” you admitted, letting out a disgruntled sigh as you dropped your head into your hands.

“Sweetie, it’s okay,” Penelope assured you, trying not to laugh as she rubbed your back. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a really good guy. A little nuts, but a really good guy.”

“He’s not nuts,” you muttered and Penelope really wants to laugh. The idea of you defending a boy from Penelope’s words was such a far stretch from who you were as a person…

“He also really likes you,” Penelope told you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “Seriously, he was hounding me the other day asking if you were into that Jack Ryan-esque new guy or not.”

“He was hounding you?” you asked, looking up with a skeptical brow.

“As in took up residence in my office until I gave it up,” Penelope clarified and you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as the teapot whistled. You watched as Penelope poured you a cup of tea with a little milk, just the way you like it.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” you asked, taking the cup and slowly spinning it as you waited for it to cool. “I don’t want to have to avoid him forever. Or put you in a weird position with me and him.”

“What if it does work out and you fall in love and have adorable genius babies?” Penelope countered, making you furrow your brow.

“That sounds so much scarier,” you muttered and she sighed.

“Look, sweetie, as much as it pains me to admit it, he makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” Penelope told you. “Seriously, I have video footage.”

“Delete it,” you tell her immediately, putting on your most serious face, but after 10 years, she’s grown immune.

“You’ll never find it,” she sings, sipping her tea. You suck your cheek in, staring at your tea.

“So… what, I just… tell him?” you asked and you looked so clueless that Penelope had to giggle just a little. “Don’t laugh.”

“I swear to God, you two are so meant for each other, it’s written in the stars,” Penelope said, laughing. “Yes, baby doll, you tell him. Because Lord knows he’s not gonna tell you. He’s been dancing around his feelings so long, he could be Kevin Bacon in Footloose.”

“But I don’t want to,” you protested childishly. “Can’t I just ignore it?”

“Not if you want to sleep at night,” Penelope said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and you pursed your lips.

“I hate this.”

“Yeah, that’s what being in love is,” she replied. “Welcome, it sucks.” You hummed, disgruntled, and sipped your tea.

You’re close to clocking out for the day when Penelope’s heels clack against linoleum, rapidly approaching your cubicle. “The time is now,” she hissed and you frowned immediately, pressing the back of your hand to her temple.

“Are you okay?” you asked and Penelope shook her head.

“Morgan’s setting Reid up on a double date, I couldn’t talk him out of it,” Penelope said rapidly.

“Wait, what?” you asked and Penelope growled in frustration, pulling you out of your desk and towards the elevators.

“You remember the blonde girl who worked with us last year, her father was a serial killer, she transferred to Swann’s unit? Ashley?”

“Yeah,” you said hesitantly. You’d helped Penelope bake cupcakes for Ashley’s graduation from the Academy — and swatted Kevin when he tried to swipe more than he was given.

“Yeah, well, Morgan’s got a date to this Hitchcock Festival, and he wanted to make it a double date—”

“Why? Double dates suck,” you interrupted, completely missing the point and Penelope shook your shoulder.

“Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth? Spencer is going on a date and it’s not with you.”

Passers-by look at the two of you strangely before walking off and you pressed the button to the lift in an attempt to look normal.

“So what?” you asked half-heartedly. “I’m sure Ashley’s a great person.”

Penelope looked like she wanted to pry open the lift doors and throw you down the shaft. “Her father is the Redmond Ripper, is that what you want for Spencer? For his future father-in-law to be a serial killer?” she demanded, the last few words coming out as a hiss and your lips part. Words, you remind yourself.

“It wouldn’t go that far,” you said, sounding weak even to yourself as you both step inside the lift.

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted. “Maybe they go on one date, maybe two. Next thing you know, he’s asking Charles Beauchamp for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You’ve just been following Penelope’s lead, and it doesn’t strike you that you’re headed to the BAU until the lift opens again and you’re standing face to face with half the team. Spencer’s brow furrowed as he recognised you, JJ glancing at Penelope curiously and Derek grinning at the both of you.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Derek asked, with a lot more charm and casualness than Spencer could have mustered.

There’s a shove from behind you, Penelope pushing you out as she chirped. “She wants to talk to you,” she said, ambivalent to your horrified expression as she pointed at Spencer.

“Me?” he asked, meek and slightly alarmed, going through every interaction of the past 7 years to check if he’d done something wrong. Derek and JJ shared a glance, with every intention to stay and listen, until Penelope pulled them both inside the lift.

“Bye!” she chirped, immune to your glare, waving as the lift closed. You stared at the lift, your escape route disappearing before your eyes, Spencer’s glued to you. His fingers drummed on the belt of his satchel, lips pursed in anticipation, heart hammering in his chest as you take a breath and look at him. Of course he had to wear purple today.

“Um… Penelope said you were going on a date,” you started slowly, hands sliding into your pockets despite your sweaty palms.

“Yeah, Morgan kind of roped me into it,” Spencer said, his expression turning pained. “We had this practical joke war and the truce agreement means I have to go on a double date with him. It’s a… whole thing, what did you want to talk about?”

You sucked your cheek in, a telltale sign that something was making you anxious. “So… you don’t want to go on the date?” you asked, tentative and Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Not… enthusiastically, but Seaver’s- I mean, Ashley’s nice, so…”

“But you don’t like her,” you reasoned slowly, gauging his responses so analytically that you could have your own desk here.

“I don’t not like her?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling more and more as the conversation went on.

“Right,” you said quietly, having run out of questions. “Cool, so… I’m gonna go. Have fun on your… date?”

He’s never seen you this unsettled, this flustered, especially around him, and cute as it is, it worried him, his hand reaching out to nudge your elbow before you could run off. “Are you okay?” he asked, deeply concerned.

“Yeah, no, Penelope’s just… um…” You closed your eyes, took a breath, and internally went, Fuck it. “If you don’t like her, don’t go,” you said, looking at him again. Bad decision. You really want to kiss him.

“Okay… But I kind of already agreed to go,” Spencer said, shifting where he stood nervously.

“I… I don’t want you to go,” you said, hoping he would extrapolate the meaning, but of course he doesn’t. He just narrows his eyes in confusion.

“You don’t—”

“I’m asking you not to go,” you insisted, your heart in your throat. You might actually cry if he goes anyway. A beat passed, Spencer just looking into your pleading eyes.

“Okay,” he said eventually, moving to press the lift button, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Okay? That’s it? I asked you not to go and you’re not going?”

“Pretty much,” he replied casually, moving to call up the lift. “Besides, Hitchcock movies don’t really have the same appeal after you know who the murderer is. I mean, it’s nice to appreciate the cinematography of the whole thing, but once you know who the killer in Psycho is, there’s only so many times you can rewatch it before it becomes predictable. Now, if it was something like a novel, that’s a different story, because literature can be interpreted so many ways, and Arthur Conan Doyle still appeals after the third or fourth time you read—”

“You’re not going?” you repeated, standing there, completely struck by him and he looked at you, as though puzzled that you were still stuck on it.

“You told me not to,” he said, concerned again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His hand flitted up to press against your temple and you freezed, his hand drifting down to your neck to check your pulse, which fluttered when he touched it.

“Why would you just… I mean, how can you just listen to me like that?” you managed to ask and he dropped his hand, slightly amused.

“You’re impossible, you know that,” he said, the lift opening and he waited for you to get in first, his arm keeping it open. “I mean, I don’t listen to you, you argue with me. I listen to you, and you’re still arguing with me. Is there any way to win with you?”

You ignored the easy avenue into a catfight, still looking at him. “She could be the love of your life and you’re just not gonna go because I—”

“She’s not,” he said, his voice plain and firm. “Will you get in so I don’t have to hold this forever?”

“You don’t know that she’s not,” you continued, frowning at him. “She could be the woman you spend your life with—”

“She’s not,” he said again, just as firmly as before. Fact. Not opinion. Not doubt. He looked at you intently, your throat moving as you swallow, not that there’s anything there with your mouth completely dried out.

She’s not the love of his life.

The team knows that my priority is you.

Whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.

You have people. Even if you can’t see them.

How many times had he told you how he felt without saying it? “I’m such an idiot,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I have no business calling myself an intelligence analyst when you…” He frowned at you as you trailed off, still holding the stupid lift open. Penelope was right. All along, she was right. You crossed the foot between the two of you. “Spencer Reid, will you go out with me?” you asked, your voice calm, finally finding yourself on even footing with him. “Properly, I mean. On a date.” No more cryptic codes to decipher, no more dancing around each other. Everything had been decoded, deciphered, plain to see.

“I…” He blinked at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked, almost in disbelief, then checked down the hall like someone was watching him.

“Not a practical joke, I promise,” you said, your heart settling back in your chest. “We could get a drink, see a movie, I couldn’t care less what we do, I just… Spencer, I like you. A lot. And if you don’t want to, which, I mean, fair enough, your call, but—”

He crosses whatever gap is left between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours and grasping your jaw and your hands emerge from your pockets, holding his waist as he takes your breath away. His fingers threaded into your hair, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and you kissed him back, pulling away only when your lungs ached for air. His eyes are bright and dilated when he looked down at you, lights glittering in his clear gaze. “I want to,” he murmured, a slight rasp. “Very much.”

[diushek]

The Shen Qingqiu who has a strong qi deviation and becomes a child of 7, 8 years old? but he talks about weird things like Pokemon, TV, internet, chocolate cookies, his brothers and where they are and where is his mom.

At this moment, Luo Binghe has already fallen into the Abyss- so, there is a bit of relief about Shen Qingqiu not mourning, but that child is a terror of nature. He goes barefoot everywhere, he has no decorum in his dress, he talks nonstop as if he had a sugar overdose- he says that Liu Qingge is pretty like a Barbie, no matter who the hell that Barbie-jie is (Liu Qingge even gets offended, has he been compared to some COURTESAN?), that Qi Qingqi scares him if she does THAT look (and finally challenge her to flex her arm muscles just to hang from them, and she is PROUD), he rejects Yue Qingyuan's hugs by saying that his clothes are ugly and stiff, but then only accepts cuddles because he says that he has puppy eyes and it's not fair. He tries to flee or attack when Mu Qingfang comes near, saying he smells like a bad weird doctor, and only lets him come closer when Mu Qingfang promises that there will be no needles involved (he also talks a lot about something called a UCI, weird operations - how the hell HAD HIS HEART BEEN REPLACED? what the fuck was a pacemaker - and how horrible hospital food is). And definitely NONE OF THEM can deal with the demanding, loud, complainer, critic, easily bored chaos that is that child.

The only one who seems to know what the hell to do with that little Shen Qingqiu? Of course, Shang Qinghua.

He sings to him in an unknown language lively songs to which the child responds by squealing with joy and following the melodies, they talk about something called Pokemon for hours, he apologizes for not having chocolate cookies (he offers him milk candies as compensation), he says they have no internet reception up there and what's the point of having a TV if they don't have good shows?? Entertains the boy for HOURS telling him about monsters and plants, both clearly made-up stories and real stories from that world. He makes him run chasing flying folded paper to exhaust their energy, and even cooks his meals making meals that none of the other Peak Lords have ever seen (much to the chagrin of disciples Ming Fan and Ning Yingying - they also want to spoil little Shizun!!! But the child only makes ugly faces when he sees white rice!!!)

All the Peak Lords are perplexed who happens to be the only one who knows what to do after all. Apparently and thank goodness, it is temporary; soon Shen Qingqiu's qi will circulate normally and his body will return to adulthood as well as his mind. In the meantime, the sect basically leaves him in Shang Qinghua's hands - although they visit him almost daily.

And Mobei Jun, who sees much of all that because the child Shen Qingqiu - or Yuanyuan - does not leave the side of his spy no matter where he go or what he has to do, just think how much he wants to put babies in Qinghua. Many of them. He will find out how, and soon.

[zepskies]

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

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[svetamillss]

Headcanons: their reaction to the fact that you asked them to obey you during sex🫦

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Park Min Su x Reader(f), Thanos (Su Bong) x Reader(f), Gang No Eul x Reader(f), Nam Gyu x Reader(f)

Warning: NSFW

A/N: It was written in classes at the university!😭

🫦🫦🫦

Cho Hyun Ju

Usually your girlfriend is the main one in bed, but it happens that you really want to be the main one. When you ask her to obey you tonight, Ju doesn't resist, she likes to watch you control her embarrassedly and incompetly. Ju like when you try to flirting to point her out.

- Baby, your face is so cute, I can only cum by looking at it. - the girl teased you when you ordered her not to cum.

- Ju, stop embarrassing me! Because of you, I'm leaving my role!

- I'm silent, I'm silent, baby.

Still, you like it better when your girlfriend orders you, so you rarely offer her to change roles.

Park Min Su

Your boyfriend is literally a timid rabbit, he is very shy and gentle in relationships, so you take the main role, both in ordinary relationships and in bed.

It doesn't bother both of you, because the guy literally has a fetish for you to order him to do something, but without any humiliation! You two don't like it at all! Everything is nice and very tender with you!

- Honey, do you know how you can please your beloved girl?

- What should I do?

- Give me a cunnilingus, and then I'll reward you.

You never force him to do something against his will, if he doesn't like something, he'll tell you right away.

Thanos (Su Bong)

No, no, no. Don't even think about asking him to obey you during sex, he will refuse you with a laugh. No matter how much he loves you, he's not going to agree to such an adventure.

He believes that a man should not lay in front of a woman, even if he has a strong love for her, so don't even think that he will agree.

And if you suggest, he will bring you to five orgasms, after which you will forget about your idea.

- Now I'll get this fucking dope out of your head, baby. So that you don't offer me to obey you anymore. - he said almost always when he stuck his dick in your pussy.

Gang No Eul

With her, also don't think that she will allow you to subjue her. She won't respond to your request with laughter, but will only show who is really in charge by fucking you well.

No Eul is not used to obeying anyone, no matter a girl or a guy, no matter she loves much or not, she will not allow herself to be subordinated to anyone.

And she herself understands that you like it better when you humiliate yourself in front of her, and all your ideas are just a small performance.

- My love, I love you very much, but let's be honest, you like to be humiliated by me and you like to beg to let you cum. So don't make an iron lady out of yourself, but let me give you real pleasure. - these words are enough for your panties to get wet, she knows you too well.

Nam Gyu

Your boyfriend is a good manipulator, he doesn't let anyone get to him, let alone allow himself to obey someone.

He is a very respectable man, the owner of the club, he is used to other people running in front of him on their hind legs and almost whining, as long as he would pay attention to them. And he only laughs at how pathetic they are and he will never descend to such a point.

But you are his exception.

You are the only girl, and in general, the only person in front of whom he himself can kneel and beg to pay attention to him.

So he does not refuse your offer to be a master in bed, on the contrary, he loves diversity in your sexual life, so he is ready for you to put a collar on him and give commands, he is ready for anything for you.

- Good boy. Good Gyu.

🫦🫦🫦

[squiddy-god]

Haii , i absolutely loved the cat savanaclaw fic and i wanted to ask for something similar , a reader that's like a bunny ? Bunnies are my favorite animals tbh ♪～(´ε｀　)

Hehe i absolutely can do a bunny boy reader because i too am a big fan of adorable cute bunnies. This is like super late but hopefully this finds you well lol- one of my first post in the new year 

Cw : savanaclaw x reader, male reader!, reader is implied to be the perfect they are just also a bunny boy. 

Leona 

The herbivore comments will not stop i fear

Definitely calls you cotton ball- but you are his cotton ball and he needs you to nap with him

Gets soooo offended when you thump near him like- what do you mean you are mad at him- how dare you 

Also thinks its cute tho 

When you are napping together he definitely is biting your ears, like he is giving them a gentle nibble 

You are smaller than him and he uses that against you at every opportunity 

He will never ever admit this but like when you flop near him and show him your stomach like bunnies do he is dead on impact

You killed him because who gave you the right to be so cute 

I already think that leona 1000000% uses little bites as a love language but it is so much worse with you because he is biting your cheeks 

Ruggie thinks it is hilarious when you stomp your feet at him to thump 

Actively encourages it

Ruggie 

Another one that teases you so much and really how could he not? His giggles ring out every time he hugs you because augh looks at your cute self? 

Ruffles your hair as an excuse to touch your ears 

One of his favorite things is watching you munch down on vegetables 

Squishes your cheeks 

I think he would call you bunny or bunbun because its such a ridiculous nickname he cant help himself

LOVES WATCHING YOU GET MAN AND START THUMPING 

Not at him tho :( but at leona it is so so hilarious 

Got kicked by you on accident and will not stop milking it because it gets him cuddles witch he will never turn down 

Likes doing domestic things with you, chores and other such activities 

Quite a few people look down on you for being a rabbit but he is not letting that slide at all 

Ruggie is the tye to make their stuff go missing or their alarms to be late for the next week 

Just a little resistance hehe 

Jack 

Ok look beastars 

Lol ok for real tho like i feel wolf x rabbit is a classic 

He pretends like you aren't the cutest thing but his tail literally will not stop wagging when he sees your ears twitch 

His favorite part is your adorable tail and the way your nose scrunches up when you are displeased

He never expected you to flop right down next to him and once he realises it means you are very safe and content he is like overwhelmed 

I love the idea of jack letting you ride on his shoulders so that you can get that good good height advantage 

Another one who i think has a love language of love bites 

He is nibbling your cheek like that one image of the two puppies where one is biting the others snout like a kiss 

That is jack 

I think he is also a big fan when you like lay on to of him as if you have one some kind of fight 

Like yes wrestle this boy into being a very comfy pillow

[fleuriion]

✦ General & Random Headcanons ノ Random hcs and little things that came up to my mind when it comes to them! ⸝⸝ gn reader ⸝⸝ featuring moze, mydei, dr ratio. ⸝⸝ wc: 1,196 ✦ Note ; the usual "beware of horrible grammar with spelling mistakes because English isn't my first language" ⸝⸝ might be ooc because I've only started writing about hsr characters in general just now ⸝⸝

♡ Moze

⸝⸝ Imagine a cat lover Moze who always yet discreetly tries to pet a kitty when he was lurking at the street but the cats always end up running away because of his scary aura (Jiaoqiu never lets him off the hook when he found out about this.) ⸝⸝ Secretly really likes and collects those tiny adorable plushies that resemble cats. He keeps them sitting near his pillow on the rare occasion where Moze does take a rest out of fatigue. ⸝⸝ Canonically enjoys cleaning and couldn't stand even the smallest of smallest dirt in his presence ever. Wherever he lives or resides in, it's super clean that you can see the light from the lamp on the ceiling being reflected by the floor. His place is super tidy and neat too! Things are placed where they're supposed to place. ⸝⸝ Following the third point, I see him using at least 20 shampoo and/or conditioners in a single shower to ensure his hygiene. Once his work is over, Moze would spare at least an hour and it's all for bath and his hygiene. In the case where he did finish earlier, Moze would use those time to ensure his place is still as clean and tidy as it was before leaving again. ⸝⸝ HATES drinking/consuming medicine due to his past. Due to this, Moze keeps and make sure he's always healthy. (His sleep schedule might be unhealthy though) ⸝⸝ Moze would follow you around from behind to ensure your safety. I know, it sounds a little bit creepy and weird from an objective standpoint, but he's doing that to ensure your safety! Really! ⸝⸝ Say goodbye to giving him surprise hugs from behind on the contrary. Moze's sharp and keen senses can always detect your presence miles away before you even acknowledge his near you. You can unfortunately rarely if not never catch this man off guard. ⸝⸝ Would leave you small gifts with notes on them. Stuff such as a bouquet of flower, or something that reminds him of you ⸝⸝ Moze is so underrated and adorable I love him <3 ♡ Mydei

⸝⸝ Do you think Mydei could braid hair well? I've been staring at his drip marketing for a while now and it makes me think about how he braids that little part of his hair. So yes! Would braid your hair if you ask him to as long as you two are not under the peering eyes of the public.

⸝⸝ VERY discipline and strict about especially his training, and being the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos strengthened this. Mydei would wake up early every morning to train and train.

⸝⸝ Headcanon that comes off very personally that Mydei is actually pretty good at playing chess, he just doesn't show it off all the time because he thinks it's not all that necessary. Mydei grew up in a region/nation that's all about basically war and tech that revolves around them (cmiiw.) Due to this, he pretty much has a strong sense of the strategization needed in chess.

⸝⸝ Dry texter. Like super dry that it's actually funny. Mydei doesn't see the need to use things like emojis and stickers because as long as it gets his messages across then it works for him.

⸝⸝ Good with kids. Mydei canonically had willingly trained a kid in Okhema. He's those typical gruff who's an enormous softie deep inside, except he just struggles or even sees it as vulnerable to express it.

⸝⸝ I could see him as those healthy mama's boys. Mydei had often gotten compliments about his looks, but utter out something like "I bet your mother is sooo pretty for her son to look like this" and he will melt in your arms.

⸝⸝ Has one of those punchable yet cute smug-ish grin. When Mydei managed to for instance get under your skin, he will have that stupid grin on his face that makes you want to punch him, except he also has enough of the charm to not make you want to punch him. (Not like you can anyway man's a beast)

⸝⸝ Probably has a sweet tooth. On a particularly hard day, Mydei will indulge in himself by having a bite from Golden Honeycake, or have a drink of Pomegranate Juice with milk. (Gosh love this man <3) ⸝⸝ Likes chaste kisses. The prince will never say it out loud to your face, but when he wants a small peck on your lips or just wants to be held by you in general, he will subconsciously glance at you and let his eyes linger a little longer on you, be it on the lips, or stare your eyes out. Give him a short small kiss on his lips, and the warrior succumb into your arms.

♡ Dr. Ratio

⸝⸝ Elegant yet horrible looking handwriting. By horrible, I mean they look like those ancient scripts that needed to be translated in order to be read. By short, we call it "Doctor's Handwriting" lmao.

⸝⸝ I like to think he does skin care as a routine. Be it due to his value of hygiene, or even irritable skin. He has a 20 step routine skin care I just know it (source: trust me bro)

⸝⸝ Also another one of a strict and disciplined scholar. Ratio wakes up every morning early to workout and maintain his healthy physique. He never leaves without tucking you properly and sneaking in a small kiss on the forehead however!

⸝⸝ No doubt will invite you over to bath with him. Not in any sexual way, just a cozy escape after both of your own rough and tiring day. Ratio will gladly help you scrub your back in the most gentle way possible. The two of you would end it by him reading a book in the bed while holding you close to his figure <33

⸝⸝ Ratio is a busy man and tend to leave early, but will leave notes at certain places for you (ex. on the fridge in the morning)

⸝⸝ Don't know about you, but Ratio personally doesn't say anything much about your relationship. But, he doesn't deny it either when asked. Once given the opportunity, will subconsciously ramble on about how he's graced with your presence and as your lover.

⸝⸝ Has a habit of eating fruits because he both wants to and keeps himself healthy. Expect the fridge to always have a space for some fruits in there for him to eat.

⸝⸝ Encourages you and makes sure you do eat healthy, following up from the point above. Ratio will remind you when to eat and stop you from work to make sure you remember to take a break. (I also love this man)

[veritas-scribblings]

Euphemia Potter - @into-the-jeggyverse - words: 660

He tries to make himself small so he doesn’t take up space. So he can’t be seen, perceived, heard. She’s sure that he would fit himself into the nooks and crannies of the two-storey house if he could. Vanish himself entirely into the aether if they let him.

He minds his pleases and thank-yous more than her own child does. 

Calls them “sir” and “ma’am”.

Keeps his elbows off the tables.

Ensures he’s freshly washed for meals.

Waits patiently to be excused.

Euphemia had heard bits and pieces from James over the years. At twelve-years-old, James had written home about the boy who had arrived at the school and was, disappointingly, “nothing like Sirius at all”. At thirteen-years-old, he’d written home to inform them that “Baby Black” had become the Slytherin Seeker and had described in incredibly lengthy detail how he appears out of “literally nowhere like some sort of apparition on a broom”. 

At fourteen-years-old, James had written home to inform her that “Baby Black and his two Slytherin thug friends” were, quite ominously, “causing problems” for them. And had left it at that, no other form of explanation given.

At fifteen-years-old, Euphemia had been informed quite stiffly by both James and Sirius that “that traitorous wretch who shall not be named” was strictly out of conversational bounds. Now, Euphemia tries not to pry. She likes to think of herself as reasonable. Understanding. A hip, cool kind of mum. Yet, although she’d had her hands full with one Black son, she’d found that she couldn’t help but worry. Nor could she suppress the overwhelming urge to storm Grimmauld Place so she might keep both sons of the House of Black in her sanctuary. “The Potter Home for Wayward Runaway Boys”, Fleamont likes to call it.

At sixteen-years-old, James had been shook when this quiet, scowl-y boy had turned up on their doorstep with a trunk trailing after him and such presumptuous audacity that he couldn’t be anyone other than Sirius Black’s little brother. He’d deposited himself in their lounge, eaten their food, slept in their spare bed, and quite literally moved himself into their lives. And it was when she’d caught her son peering curiously around corners to watch the scowl-y boy read, pestering the boy with thinly-veiled invasive questions, that Euphemia had quickly figured out exactly what was happening.

Now that he is seventeen-years-old, Euphemia Potter is watching her son fall in love for the first time. James doesn’t know this yet. He hasn’t yet figured it out. And thank goodness for all of them that neither has Sirius, who is certain that James is trying to be hospitable.

James is building (mending, even) bridges, according to Sirius.

It’s surprising, honestly, because James is really quite ridiculously obvious about it. He follows Regulus into the living room to sit with him while he reads (“I’m just doing my summer homework, Mum!” he'll claim, though James has never done summer homework in his life). He’ll read the same books as Regulus so they can talk about it afterwards (“He’s just so quiet, Mum, but if you get him talking about books, he could go on all day!”). He’ll invite Regulus to help him cook, offer to make his famous Chai for Regulus, invite Regulus to take a peek around Flea’s potions lab, offer to give Regulus a tour of Flea’s garden of potions ingredients, though he’s never shown much of any interest in his father’s work before.

And sometimes, when James doesn’t think anyone is watching, she’ll catch James staring, looking so desperately besotted that he might very well float off into the aether at any moment.

James doesn’t realise it yet, but Regulus, bless his soul, is worryingly perceptive. And though he might not yet quite realise the extent of James’s affections, he’s well aware of the attention. 

And Euphemia thinks, Regulus is Slytherin enough that he might very well have something up his sleeve.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hot boxing with the corroded coffin boys while wearing a tank top in the summer heat, everyone is high and loopy and eddie can't stop staring at reader while she's sweaty panting, so of course things get hit and bothered

cw: MDNI ( 18+) smut (p in v) nipple play, mention of drug use

You sit with the band in the back of Eddie’s van as joints are being passed back and forth between the five of you. The smoke is swirling around you all, making you even more high as it’s trapped in the small space. 

You’re all giggling about literally nothing as you get higher and higher. You’re drenched in sweat, your white tank top sticking to your body, your nipples poking through it, making it very clear that you’re not wearing a bra. 

And Eddie can’t stop staring at you. He's always thought you were hot and now even more so now that he can see the sweat dripping down your skin, making you even more desirable. 

He wants to glide his tongue all over your body until he’s licked up every salty bit, kissing and sucking all over your skin until it’s obvious that he’s marked you up. 

He’s so locked into his imagination that it’s like everyone else has disappeared but you and him. You’re still giggling, leaning your back against Gareth who seems a little too comfortable wrapping his arms around your waist. 

Your eyes are on Eddie’s now, seeing how hungrily he’s staring at you through the smoke. He looks like he wants to swallow you whole and you think you’ll let him, wanting to feel his lips on yours so badly. 

He’s crawling over to you before he can stop himself. You lean forward, spreading your legs so he can fit between them. Gareth moves out of the way and as Eddie pulls you in for a kiss, the others take a hint and decide to leave, opening the back doors to the van, fleeing and taking the smoke with them.

Eddie inhales some of the smoke from his joint and motions for you to come closer. You obey and lean in so that your faces are only inches from each other. Eddie then pulls down on your chin, opening your mouth before pressing his open one to yours, pushing the smoke into it.

You’re quick to inhale, letting Eddie kiss you as he lies you down onto the floor of the van. His tongue flicks into your mouth and you let it explore as your arms wrap around his neck. You feel so dizzy and this time, you’re sure it’s not because of the weed. His mouth is doing things to you and you don’t want him to stop. 

He stubs out the joint then looks up at you as he begins to massage your nipple through your shirt. It’s harder than ever and he wants to warm you up before he gets his mouth on it. He wants to feel it between his lips so badly that he’s drooling.

Eddie leans down and kisses you again, continuing to do so as he massages your nipple over and over with his thumb before going to the other one with his other thumb. It feels so good, dizzying, almost making you feel lightheaded. You’re whining underneath him, begging for something but he doesn’t know what. 

“If you want something, sweetheart,” he says with a devilish smirk. “You’re going to have to ask.” 

“Need your mouth on my tits,” you moan and he just smiles widely.

“That’s all you had to say,” he winks before lifting your shirt slowly in a teasing manner before lifting it over your head and tossing it behind him. He then stares down at you, taking in the beautiful sight before him. You’ve been friends for how long and you’ve been hiding these from him? How rude of you. 

“Fucking hot,” he breathes before going straight in, giving your nipple a hard suck which causes you to gasp as your hands slide into his hair. He just lets out a laugh before he continues, giving it another hard before going in with his teeth, biting down pretty hard but not enough to actually hurt you. 

You moan in response and he’s even harder now just by hearing it. He was planning just doing this, but now that he knows what you sound like, he’s convinced that he actually has to fuck you afterwards. You just sound so good that he’s gotta do what he can to make his girl happy.

He bites down again and you give his hair a hard tug in response. You know that you’re high as shit but you swear it’s never felt this good. It’s always awkward and too slobbery, but this man really knows what he’s doing, like he’s done this very thing to you more times than he can count. 

You’ve never thought about Eddie in this way, always the awkward guy you play DnD with sometimes. But now? Now his nickname “freak” takes on a whole new meaning. Now the handcuffs that you’ve seen poorly hidden in a box under his bed when you’ve hung out in his room make total sense. 

Eddie’s made you feel so good that you’ve transported somewhere else, seeing stars as you reach your first orgasm. You’re writhing underneath him as his name falls from your lips in a loud scream that’s making him hard beyond belief, his cock now tenting in his pants. 

As you’re coming down, you pull his shirt off, pushing him so he’s the one lying down. You take in his tattoos then bring your mouth down to lick over every single one. You then lower yourself down onto him as your lips find his again in a heated kiss as you unbutton his pants. 

Together, you pull them down and he works on his underwear as you finish getting undressed, your clothes ending up in various places throughout the van as you discard them. He removes a condom from the pocket of his jeans and hands it to you before lying back down, letting you roll it onto him. 

You then settle yourself onto his cock, taking no time to move hard and fast, needing to make him feel good. He looks so pretty like this, naked underneath you with his hair splayed out on the floor, looking so…submissive. You’re sure that this is the prettiest he’s ever looked. 

His hands reach up and grab hold of your waist, moving you up and down even faster as his hips buck against yours rapidly as moans and whimpers pass his lips. He’s so needy for you so he’s trying his best to show you what he needs and you’re happy to give him what he wants. 

“Fuck, so good,” he whines as his hips pick up the pace. You’re moving so fast now that you can feel your tits bouncing up and down, already feeling out of breath because of how much energy you’re putting into it.

The windows are fogging up quickly as the two of you moan and breath heavily, trying your hardest to make each other feel good. And fuck, does it. As your high is starting to wear off, you’re coming to realize that this is easily the best sex you’ve ever had and Eddie definitely feels the same. As he’s reaching his climax, he’s wondering how he can get you to do this with him again, but completely sober.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he whines as he’s hit his peak, his nails digging into your waist as you start to slow down. As soon as he comes, you get off of him and instead of getting dressed like you were initially going to do, you decide to lay your head on his chest, his arm wrapping around you as you breathe together, coming down from your highs before immediately going for round two.

[alphajocklover]

So I’m at my best friend’s house and something weird happened. He just told me how much he knew I love muscular guys with strong facial hair and said he had a really early birthday gift. He took a selfie then took a picture of me and now, I feel all weird and foggy in my head. I think I can see his big fat…dick through his briefs. I rubbed my face and, do I have mutton chops growing in? I just, please help me I’m not sure what’s going on, I don’t think I like it

First off, I’d like to wish you a happy early birthday! Turning 22 isn’t the most exciting thing ever, certainly not as fun as turning 21, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it! And before you correct me and say that it's not your actual birthday yet, or that’s you’re not turning 22, let me just say this: give it a moment.

You feel that tingling across your body? The strange sensation that’s like a sunburn that somehow underneath got underneath your skin, or static electricity dancing across your muscles. That’s the app your friend downloaded doing its job. I’ve talked before about InstaJock, the app that turns people who use it into a jock, and how there seem to be people making knockoffs of it as well, but as the app has grown in popularity, some of the knockoffs have gained traction too. I’d even venture to call a few of them legitimate competitors. Most have done so by finding a gimmick and carving themselves out a place in the digital tf world. Fratbook, for example, is an app that works a lot like this InstaJock, except every more of a frat boy lean. SnapBack does internet fuckboys, Redsky does conservative men, etcetera. There are even some more far out ones, like Polygraph, which is kind of like Twitter (or X or whatever) except everything you post becomes true. But I’m getting way off track, we should get back to you.

I can’t be entirely sure what app your friend used on you, but I doubt the specifics matter anymore. By this point the burning in your muscles and the itch of hair growing across your face and body is unbearable, but it doesn’t remotely compare to the dull warmth that's spread through your head. You said that you didn’t think you liked the change at first, but right now it’s hard to think at all, especially with your friend's fat dick swinging in your face. You weren’t sure when he took out his cock, or when you got on your knees, but as the heat in your muscles calmed to a dull throb, and your new thick black hair has settled across your body, you find yourself just going with the flow. Why wouldn’t you bro? Everything just feels so fucking good!

Now I have good news, better news, and even better news! The good news is that whatever your friend has done is probably temporary. It was a gift after all, and he also transformed himself, so you’re probably both going to just enjoy being hairy hunks for a while. The better news is that you probably have a boyfriend now, if that's what you want. Your friend probably knew you would hook up, and this might have been your way of seeing if you’re also into him, while living out his fantasy. The better news is that, if you want, it doesn’t have to be temporary. Once you’ve turned back to normal, and you and your ‘best friend’ have had a little talk, reach out. If you guys want to spend more time in your dumb, beefy, hair forms, I might be able to help. ---------- Hey guys! So, I know most people skip over the little out of character updates I sometimes put at the bottom of my stories, but I'm hoping you guys take a second to look at this one because I have a bit of an announcement. I realized yesterday that on February 17th, in just five days, this blog will be a year old! I know I'm only just getting back into doing this, but I'm so proud that I've actually stuck with this for a full year! So I want to celebrate! So, I'm going to be temporarily reopening my ask for...

An Alphaversary QNA!

What makes this QNA special is that you won't just be asking me questions. You can ask a question to me, my character, or any of the characters I've written about in any of my stories! The answers will probably be shorter than my usual work, but will give you guys the chance to ask about anything thats confused you, dig deeper into the world building, or even check up on a character or concept that you're curious about. This will go until February 24th, the day I posted my first original story! Don't be afraid to ask away! Thanks for coming on this journey with me you guys! I can't wait for another badass year!

[pretentious-blonde]

stay for dinner?

summary: a stupid conversation, past insecurities, and a boy who thinks he isn’t enough—until you show him he always was

warnings: steve self-sabotaging, crying

a/n: part 4, can be read as a standalone too. PLS give me ideas for these two if you liked them!! they currently have my heart <3 (may or may not write nsfw, if i get an idea for that, so be on the lookout!)

series masterlist

Steve set a freshly rewound tape on the countertop. The sign on the wall stating: Be kind: Rewind, clearly had not been making an impact on the general public. And if that wasn’t enough, he was desperately trying not to roll his eyes as a certain curly-haired boy to his left, perched on the desk as if it was a lounge chair. 

Dustin had been pleading with him for the past ten minutes—some elaborate scheme involving a comic book store in the next town over. Steve had already told him “no” at least four times, but the word didn’t seem to register in the boy's vocabulary. He became aware he was fighting a losing battle as the kid refused to budge. 

“Please?” Dustin implored again, swinging his legs idly as he watched Steve rewind the day’s returns.

“For the last time,” Steve muttered, eyeing a slightly worn Back to the Future case with mild dismay, “I already told you no.” 

He was trying to figure out how he could make his declaration any clearer. 

Dustin huffed, crossing his arms. “I can’t drive yet, remember?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not my problem,” Steve shot back, sliding the VHS into its designated slot behind the counter. 

“I’m telling you, it’s only like a fifteen-minute drive. Tops.” Dustin glanced at the clock pointedly. “Plus, your shift ends soon. What else are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know—go pick up my girlfriend?” Steve flashed him a wry smile, letting the term roll off his tongue with pride. 

Girlfriend.

It still felt new, but it also felt good. He thought it would take longer for him to assimilate to his new title as boyfriend, but he fell into the role as easily as breathing. Something that felt completely natural.

No longer was he the designated driver for his friends after work, he did the stuff that boyfriends do. And that included spending most evenings with you.

There were a few times you insisted he needed to spend time with his own friends, but he still wished you were there. Hopefully, you would be comfortable enough to tag along with them in the future. God knows he was more than willing to show you off. 

“Oh yeah?” Dustin sat up, his posture straightening. “So it’s official now?”

A tiny grin tugged at Steve’s mouth. “Yeah.” He closed a drawer of tapes and rested his hands on the counter, staring at Dustin with a slightly smug expression. “It’s official.”

“Good for you, man. Seriously. That’s nice.” He said, seemingly out of obligation rather than pure interest. Then, snapping back to the real topic at hand. “But I’m not leaving until you agree to take me to the comic book store.”

“That’s like—” Steve glanced at the clock above the television sets for rent, “an hour from now.”

“Yep,” Dustin said, unabashed. “I’m persistent.”

“Look,” Steve sighed, massaging the tension in his temples. “She’s coming here once my shift is over. I can’t just bail on her to drive you around.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “Then bring her along! Maybe she’ll like it!”

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” A short laugh escaped Steve before he could stop it. “I’m not dragging her to a comic book shop just so you can blow your allowance on some special-edition nonsense.”

“Hey, it’s not nonsense!” Dustin protested. “They have the rare issues I can’t find anywhere else. And who knows, maybe your girlfriend’s into comics!”

“Why do I even argue with you?” Steve groaned to himself, returning to the stack of tapes in front of him—anything to have an excuse not to keep looking at Dustin’s pleading face. “You just keep going and going. It’s exhausting.”

“That’s because I know you’ll give in eventually,” Dustin quipped, flashing that self-assured grin that made Steve want to either adopt him or toss him out a window—possibly both.

“Yeah, well, not this time,” Steve insisted, though the conviction in his voice wavered slightly.

Dustin was right about one thing: Steve did have a tendency to cave when it came to the kids, especially the ones he’d practically helped raise. But, as he filed away the last of the returns, a pang of guilt rippled through him. 

He didn’t want to let you down. Truly, he didn’t. You were swinging by just to see him. It was a Sunday after all, so he was finishing early, and he wanted to spend as long as he could with you. 

Unfortunately, he did feel a little regretful about letting his friend down. Perhaps he was spending a bit too much time with you—which wasn’t a crime—but he was struggling to recall the last time he spent alone time with Dustin. 

The kid must have caught the trace of hesitation in Steve’s expression. Finally, a crack in his armour. 

“Look,” he said, in a rare moment of sincerity, “just ask her, okay? If she says no, I’ll drop it.”

Steve mulled that over, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Fine,” he relented, not hiding his exasperation. “I’ll let you pitch your case when she gets here.”

Dustin pumped a fist triumphantly. “Yes! You won’t regret this.”

“I regret a lot of things, Henderson,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Now let me finish up so I can actually clock out at a decent time.”

“Deal,” Dustin agreed, but he made no move to vacate the desk. Instead, he just kept swinging his legs, watching with interest as Steve tried to busy himself with the returns.

The kid was relentless—he had to give him that.

He was half-leaning against the counter when you walked in, the lazy Sunday light spilling through the windows, making him look almost golden.

You instantly spotted him, features slightly fatigued but nonetheless tender. The boy who inserted himself into your daunting new life, making you feel less alone. The boy who made you feel safe whenever your eyes met—warm, reassuring, sometimes bashful if you caught him at the right moment. 

Your gaze drifted to the curly-haired kid perched on the front desk, chattering away while Steve fiddled with cases. You hadn’t met him yet, but had an inkling as to who it might be from you and Steve’s many conversations. 

The second Steve caught sight of you, the slight crease in his brow eased, and a genuine smile lit up his face. He straightened, set the tapes aside, and practically melted as you approached, arms opening to fit you just right.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you into a warm hug. His vest brushed against your cheek. You tilted your head just enough to feel the soft press of his lips against your temple. 

Even though the two of you were official, your cheeks still reddened at his action. It often seemed he didn’t mind that you had company, or maybe he just didn’t care. Or perhaps he didn’t realise how brazen he could be.

Either way, you weren’t going to stop his displays of affection. You enjoyed knowing he was proud to call you his.

“Hi,” you said quietly, relishing the way he lingered in that hug, not quite wanting to let go just yet.

“This is Dustin,” he turned, gesturing to the boy with the curly hair. “I told you about him, remember?”

“Right!” You offered the boy a friendly smile, glad your assumption was correct. “So great to finally meet you. Steve mentions you all the time.”

Dustin stared for a moment, then blinked like he was recalibrating. 

“Um… hey,” he said, his tone surprisingly timid. “Yeah, you too.”

That made Steve grin even wider. 

Dustin, rendered speechless? He never thought he would see the day. He looked at his awestruck expression and glanced over at you smugly. 

Yeah, he did that. He isn’t quite sure how, but he did that.

“You ready to go?” you asked, glancing up at him over your shoulder. At your question, Steve let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair nervously. 

“Apparently, someone wants me to be their personal chauffeur,” he said, with a pointed look at Dustin. “Says I need to drive him to a comic book store.”

“A comic book store? But there’s one like four streets over, right?”

Steve spread his hands in exasperation. “Exactly what I said!”

Dustin threw his hands up. “That one sucks! Their selection is terrible and they get new shipments like once a month!”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. He sounds like a tiny professor with the fervour in his voice. Steve shot you a look of abject guilt, like he was already imagining leaving you hanging.

“Would I be the world’s biggest jerk if I did this?” he asked, the uncertainty evident in his tone. He hated to be the one to make decisions like this, picking sides and disappointing someone in the process. 

“No, honestly, it’s fine.” Gently, you shook your head. “It’s still early, right?” You gestured to the clock on the wall—three o’clock, give or take a few minutes. “I’ve been all over the place today, honestly an hour or so just to get everything in order would be amazing.”

“I mean…” Dustin started, looking between you and Steve, not sure if you're just being nice or actually had something to do. “You’re welcome to come with?”

But you waved him off with an apologetic smile. “Thanks, but seriously, I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. You two enjoy, please, don’t let me stop you.”

Dustin beamed at you, grateful for the positive turn of events. Steve, on the other hand, still looked torn, torn between not wanting to inconvenience you and also not wanting to bail on his friend. 

“Alright,” he relented, exhaling in relief when he realised you were genuinely okay with this. “I’ll… yeah, I’ll drop him off, and we’ll probably poke around for a bit if they really have something he’s looking for.”

“No worries.” You leaned forward, reaching for his hand, not missing the smitten glaze in his eyes as you squeezed it. “Swing by mine after, okay? I should be done by then.”

Steve’s posture relaxed, gratitude colouring his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, “deal.” 

He leaned in, cupping your jaw and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips this time—a sweet, unhurried gesture that made your cheeks flush—again.

There was a shuffle behind him, and you could sense Dustin being extremely polite (or maybe just temporarily stunned) enough not to comment. Steve pulled back smiling, as you made your way to the exit.

“See you, Steve,” you said, backing toward the door. You cast a quick wave at Dustin. “Later, Dustin.”

“Uh, bye,” Dustin managed, raising a hand in farewell.

And with that, you slipped outside, leaving Steve to shoulder his shift into driver mode—though, judging by the fond look on his face, he wasn’t half as annoyed about it anymore. 

He just got to rub it in Dustin's face, that yes, he had a sweet girlfriend. And yes, she really was that nice. All the time. Probably when she shouldn't be.

As far as he was concerned, if you needed it, he could haul Henderson around for an afternoon to give you some free time. 

“You,” Dustin said, pointing at Steve once you were gone, “are one lucky dude.”

Steve snorted, but it came out more like an affectionate laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmured, casting a glance at the door you’d just left through. “Yeah, I am.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised down the main road, Dustin rambling away in the passenger seat. The kid’s feet bounced on the floor mat, all brimming energy. Steve had to admit—it was nice to see him so pumped. But that didn’t stop him from cringing slightly at every new question that spilled out of his mouth. 

Right now he was the subject of a very intense interrogation, and while he had mentioned he was seeing someone new, clearly that was not enough information for the teenager sitting next to him. 

“So,” Dustin said, leaning forward, “this girl—your girlfriend—what does she do?”

“She’s writing for the paper in town.” He said, feeling a surge of pride in his chest as he got to gush about your achievements. “Gonna be a big-shot journalist someday. That’s what she wants, anyway.”

Dustin let out a short laugh, amused in a way that made Steve raise an eyebrow. “Why’re you laughing?”

“I’m not, I’m just—” Dustin shook his head, lips quirked in a grin. “You and your… type.”

Steve gave him a side-eye glance. “My type?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Dustin scoffed, half-exasperated, half-teasing. “Smart writer girls. You know—the go-getter, brainy ones.”

Steve’s initial instinct was to shrug it off, but something nagged at him.

He felt a twinge of déjà vu that he didn’t love. 

“Yeah, okay, I can sorta see what you mean.” He spoke cooly, but the heat rising in his chest was anything but. 

“Admit it,” Dustin pressed on. “You like girls that are just a little… out of your league.”

Steve bristled, tightening his grip on the wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, think about it." Dustin shrugged, apparently not noticing the defensiveness in Steve’s tone. "The girls you’ve dated. They’re super smart, super driven. It’s cool how you have managed to pull this off twice.”

Steve forced a laugh, though it felt hollow on his tongue. 

Pull this off? That the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Right, yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence, Henderson.” He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping into his stomach. “Well, if they like me, then I must be doing something right.”

“For sure. No denying you’ve come a long way.” Dustin nodded, tapping the dashboard with one finger. “Remember how you used to act at Scoops? Man, you were just—”

Steve groaned, cutting him off as he steered into a small parking lot beside a rundown building with a neon sign advertising Comics & Collectibles. Not wanting to relive failed moments from his youth any longer than he had to. 

“Alright, we’re here.” He put the car into park, his posture now rigid. “You’ve got thirty minutes, max. Then we’re outta here.”

“Thirty minutes?” Dustin repeated, eyes bulging. “But—”

“Non-negotiable,” Steve said flatly, giving him a pointed look, suddenly in a sour mood. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Fine.” Dustin grumbled under his breath but ultimately acquiesced, grabbing his backpack and popping open the door. “Thirty. Starting… now.”

He hopped out, the door slamming shut behind him. Steve exhaled, jaw still tense. He watched the kid dart across the lot and pull open the shop’s glass door with excitement.

Alone at last, Steve let his head fall back against the headrest. 

Are you really that much out of his league? The question looped around in his mind like a broken record.

He could laugh it off—he had enough practise doing that—but he started remembering how he felt so inadequate around Nancy. 

You made him feel needed, cared for, that much was certainly true. But how long would you need him, really? 

The notion stirred up old insecurities he’d thought he’d buried. 

The rational side of his mind told him he had nothing to worry about. If you liked him—chose him—that was enough, right?

Sighing, he pulled out his watch and glanced at the time. Twenty-nine minutes until he could drop Dustin off and head straight to your place. He suddenly wished the clock would run faster. 

Because if there was one thing he couldn’t wait to do, it was lose himself in you. If only for the evening.

Your familiar doorstep was supposed to feel welcoming, as it had so many times before, but Steve’s mind was a bundle of half-formed worries as he stood in the familiar space. 

He hated to admit when things got to him, but Dustin’s teasing—albeit lighthearted—had, indeed, gotten to him. The doubts clouding his mind like a soft static he couldn’t push away. 

The one statement he kept circling back to was the whole "out of his league" idea. I mean, yeah, from the outside looking in, it could be the case. But he had something to offer, right?

If nothing else was true, he at least had a decent enough face, and his personality had come a long way from high school. Hopefully, other people could see that too. 

He forced his mind into silence as he took a deep breath, knocking twice in quick succession. 

When you opened the door, dressed in soft, comfortable clothes that looked unfairly adorable on you, he felt something in his chest unclench. Even on a lazy Sunday—one where you had every right to be tired from your own job—you still radiated a classic warmth, one that he was selfishly drinking up, grateful to be the one basking in it. 

“Hey,” you said, smiling so easily that a bit of the tension in his shoulders melted.

“Hey, angel” he echoed, stepping inside when you ushered him through the threshold. The air hit him first—warm and fragrant, hinting at something savoury on the stove. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

Little did he know, you had already taken care of most of your errands that morning. Knowing you’d be spending the afternoon with Steve, you’d gotten up a little earlier than usual to make sure everything was in order. But when you saw the desperate look on Dustin’s face as he pleaded with your boyfriend to take him to the store, an idea sparked. A little surprise for him—one you hoped would land well.

“Figured I’d make dinner.” You gave a pleased little shrug. “We don’t always get Sundays like this, and I know you had to work, so…”

“Wait,” he said, blinking, “you made dinner?” 

His eyes softened as he took in your words, letting them settle in his chest. He tried not to feel indebted—but God, he wished he stopped to pick up flowers or something.

“Yup,” you confirmed, leading him toward the kitchen. “Nothing fancy. Just has to reduce on the stove for a while longer, but I wanted it ready for when you came by.”

Steve’s heart twisted in two directions at once. On one hand, it was the sweetest gesture, and certainly one that should have put his mind at ease. On the other, his mind kept whispering to him. He questioned if he was even worth this kind of effort.

The bluntness of the thought shocked him a little, but he couldn’t render it completely false. He felt like he owed you something. 

“You didn’t have to go all out for me,” he murmured, smiling at you in an almost apologetic manner.

“I know.” You reached up to brush a stray bit of hair off his forehead. “I wanted to.”

He swallowed, nodding. “Thanks, angel,” he said softly, the pet name rolling off his tongue with more tenderness than he intended. Like he wasn’t supposed to be using it. “Seriously.”

You tugged him gently into the living room, where he sank down onto the couch, exhaling a sigh of relief. The day had felt so long—the slow hours, Dustin’s energy, the drive out of town—but now, in the familiarity of your apartment, it all felt calm. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right. 

You curled against him, fitting neatly at his side as he draped an arm around you. The soft haze of a lamp cast a cosy halo over the bookshelf across the room, the very one he’d helped you build not long ago. He couldn’t help but notice the extra row of spines he didn’t remember seeing before.

“Hey,” he teased, nudging your head and gesturing to the neatly lined novels. “I thought you said no more books until you’d read all the ones you owned.”

You lifted your head to follow his gaze, a faint grin tugging at your lips. “I did read them. Which means I’m allowed new ones.”

“All of them? In, what—two weeks?”

He barely finished reading Salinger in senior year, and that took him months to work through. 

“About that,” you said, sounding almost sheepish. “They were good, and I got on a roll. You know how it is when a book just sucks you in?”

He didn’t really, but now he felt as though he should. 

“That’s…impressive.” He replied safely, not wanting to bring down your mood with his lack of literature knowledge. Especially when you seemed so pleased that he was there in the first place. 

You used that moment to shift closer, your cheek pressing against the broad line of his shoulder. He felt the warmth you emitted, and if he allowed himself, he could imagine that maybe you enjoyed his company as much as he loved yours. 

“So,” you said, glancing up at him with genuine curiosity. “How was work? How’s Dustin?”

Steve hesitated, momentarily tripping over the idea that you’d be interested in the mundane details of his shift or the kid’s comic book haul. But the way you were watching him—like you actually cared—made him sigh and lean into it.

“Pretty standard, y’know?” He ran his free hand over his jaw, trying to sound casual. “Dustin got what he wanted, as usual. He’s like a force of nature—hard to say no.”

You smiled, amused. “That kid seems unstoppable.”

“Definitely unstoppable,” Steve agreed, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Eventually, after his debrief of today's events, you got up to check on dinner, stirring the pot and releasing another wave of that delicious smell. He watched, heart clenching again with gratitude and guilt. 

He could see how careful you were, minding the heat, adding a pinch of seasoning, taking the time to make something special just for him.

He wondered if he could do anything to help, something to be useful again. 

It felt so domestic that for a second he let himself imagine a future where this could be the norm—where the two of you shared little traditions, teased each other about groceries, woke up side by side. Equally happy with what the other had to offer. 

Soon enough, you both ended up at the small kitchen table, plates filled with a hearty meal that made him groan with delight after each bite. You just laughed, pleased by his genuine appreciation. 

“Good?” you asked, grinning as he nodded enthusiastically, mouth still full. 

It was good. Really good. Made only better by the fact that you made it for him.

Why didn’t he think of something like this?

At this rate, he was going to have to pull a screw loose from your bookshelf just so he could prove himself again. 

When you’d eaten more than enough to satiate your hunger, you cleaned up together, bumping hips in the process, trading playful glances as you washed and dried the dishes.

He followed you back to the couch, happy to follow where you dragged him hand first. You spent the rest of the evening chatting aimlessly about books, random gossip from your workplace, and his occasional run-ins with Robin or the kids. 

There was nothing particularly grand or momentous about it; just a gentle closeness. Though he was worried it was too mundane, if his crappy jokes were enough to keep this thing going. 

All too soon, the clock on the wall struck a sober reminder: Monday morning was lurking around the corner, and you gave him an apologetic look.

“I hate to kick you out,” you said softly, “but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He pretended to huff in annoyance, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile. You were the one with a real job, after all. “Responsibilities and all that.”

At the door, you hugged him, chin hooking over his shoulder. He could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent on your jumper, mixed with the lingering aroma of dinner. It felt safe in your arms—safer than he’d felt all day.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your hair, voice thick with more emotion than he intended to reveal.

“For what?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, sensing his unease.

“For dinner,” he shrugged, trying to hide the lump in his throat. “For letting me hang out… for, y’know, being you.”

A smile lit up your features, and you rose on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

It should’ve been reassuring, but that old worry nipped at him once again. 

You gave him a playful nudge out into the hallway. “Drive safe, okay?”

“Always,” he promised, mustering a half-smirk. But the moment the door closed behind him, the warmth drained away like someone had shut off a heat lamp.

By the time he slid into his car and started the engine, he was already thinking about Dustin’s words, "girls out of his league." 

Mentally, he scolded himself. But the thought stuck like glue, stubborn and unmoving. He glanced at your apartment window—light still glowing from inside—and his chest ached with longing. 

You liked him. You even cooked for him, fully aware that he would have been just as content with a crappy pizza or diner fries. 

So why couldn’t he let himself just be happy?

With a quiet sigh, he pulled away from the curb, leaving the comfort of your home behind. And as he drove through the sleepy streets of Hawkins, he couldn’t quite loose the hollow sense that he was missing something.

Good things always had a way of escaping him, and he couldn’t imagine how this would be any different.

You’ve never felt unsettled since moving to Hawkins—at least, not until now. 

Work at the Hawkins Post can be demanding, but those pressures were somewhat tangible: deadlines, edits, the joyous feeling of being undermined for basic input. You can handle all that. But suddenly finding your supposedly devoted boyfriend slipping through your fingers for reasons you don’t understand? 

That feels far worse than any work stress could ever be.

All week, you’ve told yourself not to overreact. Steve might just be busy or tired or dealing with something personal. You didn’t want to pry, and after coming clean about your own struggles, you assumed he would do the same thing. Take his own advice or whatever. 

But the excuses keep piling up, and you can’t ignore the changes in his behaviour. It started with some half-hearted reasons to hang up the phone in the evenings—when he used to plead with you to stay just little longer—usually ending up with one of you falling asleep on the line, listening out for the others breathing to steady before ending the call. 

The whole week he didn’t even mention spending the weekend together. Usually that was sacred time, with him arguing with Kieth and Robin to please let him have the evening shifts rather than the morning. He enjoyed waking up lazily next to you, not rushing out the door before he had his fill. 

By Saturday, you decide you can’t wait for answers any longer. You head out, crossing the familiar street, eventually pushing open the door to Family Video. Robin’s face pops up from behind the counter, the bell signalling a customer. 

“Hey,” Robin calls, stacking tapes. “If you’re looking for Steve, you just missed him. Morning shift—he took off like ten minutes ago.”

“I know.” You attempt a polite smile. You were already aware of his absence, watching his BMW speed away from the store, feeling even worse when it turned the opposite direction to your place. “I actually, uh… came to see you.”

“Me? Really?” She seemed half-surprised, half-intrigued.

“Yeah. I… I think I need your help.” The words spill out in a rush. You don’t realise how anxious you sound until Robin sets aside her tapes, giving you her full attention. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, but I’m kind of at a loss. You’re Steve’s best friend, and—” You pause, cheeks warming. “I don’t really know many people here yet.”

Robin’s expression softens. “Hey, hey, no need to apologise. What’s going on?” Her eyes narrow, the smallest spark of protectiveness lighting behind them. “Did Steve do something stupid? Because I can give him a good slap if—”

You lift your hands, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s not that. Or… not exactly?” Your voice wavers. “I just—wanted to know if he still… likes me? Because he’s been distant, and I can’t think what I did wrong.”

Robin’s mouth opens on a short laugh, but then she sees you’re serious. 

“Oh. Wait—you’re for real?”

Heat pools in your cheeks. It sounds so ridiculous when you say it out loud, but you press on. You were here already, so if she knew something, you would rather just get this over with. 

“He’s barely returned my calls, and this weekend he hasn’t even tried making plans. Last week I cooked for him—nothing fancy, just dinner—and he acted so weird about it, almost like he wanted to be anywhere else. I keep replaying it in my head, wondering if I came on too strong or something.”

She watches you carefully, reading the tension in your posture, the way your hands keep twisting into your sleeves. 

“Okay, okay,” she says, gentler now. “I promise I’m listening. You think you scared him off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” You look at the floor, biting your lip. “This past week, he’s barely tried to see me at all. Usually he’s so—well, so Steve, you know? But now it’s like he’s ignoring me, except he’s still in town.”

Robin sets aside the tapes completely, leaning her elbows on the counter. Yes, she knew how Steve had been acting, practically besotted with you. So this fast turnaround was odd, but then again, Steve had his moments. Though they usually came with more of an explanation than this. 

“That’s… not good,” she concedes. “But trust me, from an outside perspective, he’s been head over heels for you since day one. My guess is he’s the problem, not you. It might be in that thick skull of his, you know? It doesn’t help that it’s covered with all that hair.”

“I feel so stupid, but I didn’t know who else to ask." You let out a shaky laugh. "I’m just… worried I messed up somehow. I know it’s weird—”

“Hey, you’re not weird.” Robin shakes her head, reaching over to squeeze your arm gently. “You’re worried—totally normal. Let me talk to him, okay? I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Your eyes widen. “No, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to cause drama—”

She interrupts you with a wave of her hand. “Drama is my middle name, apparently, thanks to Steve. Let me handle him. I’ll be subtle. Trust me.” 

A mischievous grin tugs at her lips. You have a feeling she’s never been subtle in her life, but you’re too tired to argue.

“Alright.” You sigh. “Only if you’re sure. And please, maybe don’t mention I… came here? I don’t want him thinking I’m this desperate, clingy girlfriend who needs constant reassurance.”

“Desperate? Clingy? He’s been the clingiest guy I’ve ever seen—until now.” She snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up. I know he adores you. He’s probably just… freaking out about something. He’s good at that. Self-sabotage is his specialty.”

The tight knot in your chest loosens just a bit, but her words set you on edge a little. You instantly think that you are the one freaking him out, coming on too strong. But you decide that silence is the best option here. 

“Thank you,” you say, voice still unsteady. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She offers a supportive smile. “Hey, you’re welcome to drop by anytime, you know? If you wanted someone else to talk to or something, but no pressure.”

“I might take you up on that.” You tell her, relieved. 

“Good. Now go home, put on some music, try to relax. I’ll handle the Harrington situation.”

You’re not entirely sure what that entails, but her confidence is reassuring. After one more grateful nod, you thank her again and head back outside. Not quite feeling relief, but certainly not feeling any worse.

Steve juggled a soda cup in one hand and a stack of tapes in the other. He had the evening off yesterday and had spent it binge watching crappy rom coms while trying to ignore the nagging feeling in his chest. Trying to find some solace in those mundane guys managing to snag the unattainable, popular girl. They never showed what happened after the whole kiss and get-together thing. Life imitates art in a way.

He also had the day off today—normally something that would have him beaming from the inside out—but he made the decision to spend it alone. A decision that had been laced with anxiety, which now leaked into a mild depression. His nerves overshadowed any relief he felt about his schedule. 

He unlocked the door to Family Video, hoping he’d be able to stash the unchecked tapes and slip out before Robin noticed the cloud hanging over him. No such luck. 

She was early for her shift, waiting at the counter, arms crossed, jaw set. Her eyes locked on him the second he stepped inside.

“You.” She spoke the word like it was a challenge. “Explain yourself.”

He paused, heartbeat picking up, not expecting this level of hostility.

“What did I do now?” he asked cautiously, setting the tapes down. “I planned to bring them back before opening, I swear, I just—”

Robin cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Not that. Your girlfriend came in here yesterday, totally distressed. She thought she did something wrong. Actually asked if she might’ve scared you off by, and I quote, ‘making you dinner.’”

Steve’s stomach flipped. A wave of guilt slammed into him, sharper than he’d expected. He swallowed, remembering how you’d stood in your apartment, smiling so warmly, how you’d carefully stirred a pot of sauce just for him. 

God, he’d been such an idiot.

He thought that you would have been too busy with work this week to notice his silence. He thought he hid his emotions better than that. 

“She thinks that?” he managed to say, voice tight. “She really asked that?”

“Of course she did.” Robin slammed her palm on the counter. “Now, are you freaking out, or what? Because if you are, just say so.”

“Me? Freaking out?” A shaky laugh left Steve’s lips. Freaking out was putting it mildly. “I’m fine, Rob.”

She shook her head. “You’re clearly not,” she persisted. “Last week you’re gushing about your new relationship, and now it’s radio silence. What’s up with you? Spill it.”

He knew there was no getting out of this, well, unless he literally turned and ran out the store. But that seemed a bit extreme and would likely only delay this conversation. 

He dreaded this part. The whole talking about his feelings and his subsequent inadequacies. 

“It’s going to sound dumb,” he muttered, gaze dropping to the floor. 

“More so than usual?” She teased.

“Robin.” 

“Right, no.” She muttered. “Wrong time. Sorry.”

She sighed and walked round the counter so she was standing directly in front of him. Both so she could gauge his reaction and bring him some semblance of comfort. “Talk to me.”

“It’s like…” He trails off, looking away from her pitiful expression.”She’s going places, you know? Really going places. I’m just… here.”

Her expression softened a fraction. “What brought this on?”

Steve felt the memories swirl—Dustin’s pointed remarks, the creeping sense of déjà vu reminding him how Nancy once left him behind. 

“Dustin,” he admitted after a beat. “He said some stuff… about me only dating smart girls who are outta my league. It got stuck in my head, okay?”

“Henderson?” Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Steve, he’s a kid. A kid with zero concept of normal relationship drama. You’re really letting that get to you?”

He tried to muster a shrug, but his chest felt tight. No matter what angle he looked at it, it was a statement that he couldn’t disprove. 

“He’s not entirely wrong,” he mumbled. “I don’t have a big plan or anything. My job’s okay, but it’s not exactly a career, and I’m certainly not saving big money—there’s no future path. Meanwhile, she’s got all these ideas, ambitions, everything.”

Robin stared, seeming torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to smack him upside the head. 

“God, you’re self-sabotaging again.”

“I am not—”

“Yes, you are!” she insisted, stepping forward. “Textbook Harrington behaviour: good thing’s happening, so you panic and decide you don’t deserve it. I just watched her walk out of here looking like someone kicked her puppy. She literally thinks she scared you off.”

Steve’s gut twisted further. He pictured you, eyes glassy with worry, probably replaying every moment you’d spent together. After your heart to heart the other day it became clear that you tended to overthink, he didn’t realise you could be doing that because of him. 

The notion that you blamed yourself made his chest ache. 

“I… I didn’t mean to make her feel that way,” he said, voice hollow.

“So don’t.” Robin pressed her lips together. “Fix it. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

He exhaled shakily, setting the soda on the counter before he spilled it with his shaky hands. “How?”

“You have today off, right?” Robin asked, folding her arms.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“She does too,” Robin replied pointedly. “And it’s not even 10 a.m. yet. So do something nice for her. Show her you’re not running away. Because, believe me, if you keep pulling back, it’s gonna look like you are.”

Steve nodded, trying to will away the tightening in his throat. “What do I even plan? Something big? Flowers? Fancy dinner? She’s already done the cooking thing—”

Robin let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “You’re not exactly wooing the queen of England. Just do something that says ‘I appreciate you and want to be around you.’ Could be a picnic, a drive, a movie—whatever. Don’t overthink it.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “But that’s kinda my specialty these days.”

“Clearly,” Robin muttered, though her tone was gentler now. “Look, the point is, she’s into you. She made that super obvious. The only person doubting it is you. So cut it out.”

Steve paused, letting her words settle. A small seed of hope unfurled in his chest, reminding him why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, gaze locked on the floor. Then he lifted his head, determined. “I’ll, uh… yeah, I’ll figure something out.”

Robin’s tense posture eased, and she gave a curt nod. “Good. Because if you break that girl’s heart over your own insecurities, I’ll murder you. In a loving, best-friend sort of way.”

Steve managed a small grin. “In a loving way, sure.”

“Get out of here before Keith shows up.” She smirked, waving him off. “And don’t forget to call her, for God’s sake.”

Snatching up his soda again, Steve headed for the door, heart still pounding but a faint sense of relief settling in.

From the moment Steve picked up the phone at ten that morning—voice shaky with nerves—he knew he was taking a gamble. 

He could feel the cautious edge in your tone, the coolness that suggested you were bracing yourself. Still, he invited you over to his place for that evening, willing the dread in his stomach to subside. He told himself it would be okay, that he’d find the right words. 

Robin had told him to talk, so talk he would.

Meanwhile, you spent your Sunday feeling a dread so heavy it threatened to pin you to the floor. 

Why else would Steve have been so distant all week? The only logical conclusion was that he’d decided this wasn’t working. After all, you’d had that conversation with Robin—maybe she’d reported back to him, told him something that sealed the deal. 

It made sense in a heartbreakingly logical way.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, you felt like you’d gone through every stage of grief. You dragged yourself to your car and made the drive toward the Harrington residence, a place that had once felt so exciting in its promise. 

Now it loomed large in your mind as the site of an upcoming breakup. When you arrived, you saw plenty of parking space—his parents, you recalled, were almost never home. You turned the keys of the ignition and exited the vehicle. 

At least no one will witness what’s about to happen. 

You made your way up the steps, breath tight in your chest. Just as you lifted a hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing Steve, hair meticulously styled, smelling faintly of aftershave. The pang in your heart only sharpened. 

Did he seriously dress up for this?

“Hi,” he managed, the word catching slightly, like he was just as nervous as you.

“Hi,” you replied curtly.

Steve cleared his throat, looking awkward in a way that tugged at your heart—no matter how resigned you felt. “Uh, I think you should come in.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “All right.”

Inside, the house felt cavernous, every footstep echoing. He led you to the living room, and you couldn’t help but glance around, remembering how you used to marvel at this place—huge, yes, but also warm with the potential of summer get-togethers, that pool you’d joked about wanting to try. Now, the thought made your stomach twist. 

Guess you won’t be swimming here after all.

You both settled on the couch, an awkward space between you. Steve’s fingers twitched at his sides, and he couldn’t quite meet your eye. The hush was almost suffocating, until finally he spoke, voice low and unsteady.

“Look, um… I think we need to talk.”

Your heart thumped. So this is it. You drew a shaky breath, forcing yourself to sound calmer than you felt. 

“Okay. Sure.”

He tried not to grimace at the coolness in your tone. You’d never sounded so distant before, and it killed him to know he caused it. Robin’s words about “explaining himself” rang in his ears, so he opened his mouth—only for you to beat him to it.

“Listen, Steve,” you began, voice thick with tension. “I… I get what’s going on here.”

Steve frowned, something twisting in his chest. “Huh? You do?”

“Yeah," you nodded. "I kind of guessed it.”

“Really?” A flicker of confusion passed over his features. “You did?”

Exhaling, you steeled yourself, trying to keep your composure. 

“Look, I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Maybe you didn’t appreciate me crying about my job the other day, or maybe I was too forward cooking dinner for you. I get it. I just… I can’t think of anything else I did wrong.” You forced a hollow laugh. “So I assumed it must be that. Maybe I scared you off.”

Steve’s brows shot up, genuine shock colouring his face.

“What you did wrong?” he echoed. “Wait—what are you talking about?”

You swallowed. 

Get it over with. 

“Aren’t you… breaking up with me?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. Every worst fear he had about you feeling hurt was now a reality. 

“What? No! No, I’m not breaking up with you.” He spoke in quick succession. “Are you crazy? I’m not doing that.”

The wave of relief that swept through you was immediate but fleeting.

“Then what is this?” you asked, voice unsure. “It’s obvious you’re not feeling this anymore. You’ve been ignoring me all week, and I’m not gonna force you to stay if you don’t want to. I just… I figured there’d be a reason.”

He grimaced, running a hand through his hair and messing up that careful style. 

“There is a reason,” he admitted. “But trust me, it’s not you.”

“Yeah,” you snorted, a weak attempt at humour that came out more sad than anything. “That’s what everyone always says when they break up with someone.”

Steve let out a frustrated breath. He had never been good at this. You were the one who was good with words, not him. 

“No, really. It—fuck, just let me talk.” He paused, gathering himself. The realisation that you thought you caused this somehow made his heart twist painfully. If you only knew how not your fault it really was. 

God, what a mess. 

He stared at the floor, feeling the weight of all his insecurities. 

“Listen,” he started, voice shaky, “I’m not good at this, so just give me a moment.”

You watched him, a pang of sympathy slipping through your self-protective shell. He looked… rattled, more so than you’d ever seen him. Despite your own heartbreak, you nodded, letting him gather his courage.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling slowly. “So, I don’t have the best track record with relationships. Or even friendships. I thought I’d gotten better, but apparently not.” He let out a short laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second—only to dart away when he saw the concern there. 

It was hard to think when you looked at him like that. Like he was something to be pitied.

“What I’m trying to say is… I always seem to get left behind. My first girlfriend left me for someone else. My old friends ditched me as soon as I wasn’t cool anymore. My parents ignored me because I sucked at school.” He swallowed hard, voice thickening with old wounds. “Then I met you, this super smart girl who clearly has the world at her fingertips—you’ve accomplished so much already, more than I ever could. It made me think: how could I hold onto that? How could I keep you interested in my life when I work at a video store and spend my free time with a bunch of teenagers?”

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his words. For a second, you just stared, feeling tears prick the backs of your eyes at how wrong he was about himself.

Without thinking, you reached out and slid your hand into his, the contact gentle but resolute.

“Steve,” you whispered, voice unsteady but filled with honesty, “how can you think that about yourself?”

His gaze snapped to yours, confusion etched in every line of his face. 

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing, running a thumb along the backs of his knuckles. 

“You really don’t see what others see, do you?”

He frowned, looking lost. “I… I’m not following.”

Blinking back tears, you gave a soft, exasperated laugh. 

Of course he couldn’t see, your sweet, stupid boy.

“Steve, the first time we met, you literally lugged and built me a whole bookshelf—remember that? You practically passed out hauling the thing up the stairs.”

“Shit,” he muttered, cheeks tinging pink, “you noticed?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said, remembering the moment you started falling for him. “And I saw you freaking out over the instructions, but you tried to act like you totally had it under control.”

“Damn…” he hung his head. “Not as smooth as I thought I was.”

Not in the slightest.

A weak smile tugged at your lips. 

“Maybe not, but that’s overrated anyway.” Taking a breath, you tightened your grip on his hand. “Steve, you’re a giver—through and through. So you don’t have some swanky office job—who cares? You have something better. You’re selfless, you help people, you care. That’s worth more than anything else, trust me. Whenever you talk about your friends, it’s like a never-ending list of names. You’re rich, Steve. Richer than money.”

He felt tears burning behind his eyes. This was not part of the plan, for him to be openly crying while you praise him repeatedly. That should have been his job tonight. Making you feel better. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he croaked, “you’re gonna make me cry over here.”

“Me too,” you admitted, voice thick with emotion. “We’re both lame.”

“Yeah,” he managed, a watery laugh escaping, “the lamest.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then he lifted his eyes to yours with a shy, almost bashful smile, one you hadn’t seen all week. It looked like him, the real Steve you fell for.

“Come here?” he asked, sounding almost boyish in his nervousness.

You couldn’t move fast enough.

He leaned in, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the big house, the rolling ache in your gut. His lips pressed to yours, soft at first, hesitant, then deepening as relief coursed through both of you. 

He couldn’t quite stop smiling against your mouth, which made the kiss a bit clumsy, but neither of you cared. The tenderness overshadowed any awkwardness. It felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. When he finally pulled back, he let out a shaky exhale, one hand still cupping your cheek. 

“I missed doing that,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

“Me too,” you breathed.

He swallowed hard, glancing away as guilt resurged. “I’m really sorry I made you feel like you messed up. Like I didn’t—like I wasn’t into you anymore. I am. I really am. Probably too much”

“You should have told me,” you scold him, his brown eyes still glassy. “Aren’t you the one who preached about sharing problems?”

A choked laugh tore from his throat. “Yeah, well… ‘do as I say, not as I do.’”

“You’re impossible,” you teased, though the affection in your voice was unmistakable.

Suddenly, a shrill beeping noise cut through the charged atmosphere, making you both jump. 

“What is that?” you asked, pulse still fluttering from the kiss.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh, crap, the timer!” He scrambled off the couch, practically tripping over the coffee table. You followed him with a bemused smile as he disappeared into the adjacent kitchen.

Seconds later, you found him shutting off the buzzer, cheeks flushed. 

“I, uh… made dinner,” he confessed, looking adorably sheepish.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You cooked?”

“I mean, I stole your idea,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Rob said I should do something nice, so… here we are. My parents were never around much, so I learned a few things. It’s probably not as good as yours, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

A laugh rose in your chest, part delight, part lingering emotional exhaustion. “Robin told you to do this? I gotta thank her.”

He set a potholder aside, shrugging with an embarrassed smile. “She said I had to make it up to you, so… yeah. I guess I’m returning the favour.”

“You’re full of surprises,” you said softly, stepping closer. 

Steve let out a quiet breath, a small, relieved grin curving his lips. As you moved into his space, he reached out, fingers ghosting along your arm before settling at your waist.

“And you, deserve it.” He murmured, voice brimming with affection. “Really sweetheart, you deserve the world.”

Something in his tone made your heart clench. Before you could respond, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, tender—altogether mesmerising. 

He cradled your face like you might vanish if he wasn’t careful, as though keeping you close was the only way to convince himself that this was real. You tasted the faint salt of his earlier tears, felt his almost giddy smile against your mouth, and the mix of sadness and relief and overwhelming softness made you cling tighter to him.

It was the kind of moment that made the ache worth it, the kind you knew you’d replay in your head a thousand times.

You finally broke apart, just enough to catch your breath. Foreheads touching, you could see the hint of a shaky grin still hovering on his lips. 

“I guess this means we’re not breaking up?” you asked playfully.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head vigorously. “But hey, you might change your mind after you try my cooking.”

“Hey!” you protested, giving his shoulder a playful shove—no malice behind it at all. “I’m not that cruel. Even if it was terrible, I’d never tell you.”

“And there you go being way too good for me,” he chuckles, but this time it feels more like the joke he was aiming for. 

One that he knew deep down was not true.

[ladykailitha]

Share with Me One Love, One Lifetime Part 4

Yay!! We are about half way there. Because yes, this story will end at eight chapters and I'm so happy to see it end. It's been a long hard road for this series and I'm grateful for all the friends I made since starting out on this journey.

But I'm not the same person who started writing a story to fill a void in the fandom to someone who has written almost a million words in the Stranger Things fandom.

So thank you!

In this chapter we have all the fun Lovers' Lake stuff and a little breakdown from Steve as a treat.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Cal,” Wayne snapped. “There was no way in hell that Eddie levitated Patrick ten feet in the air, snapped his bones and then did nothing to other two? If my boy could do magic, there are more than a few people in this town who would be dead by now and not three kids he didn’t have any connection to.”

“Wayne...” Powell huffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Think of what is at stake here! All those young lives snuffed out. Someone has to be punished for it.”

“And you’re not railroading Eddie to do it,” Wayne said gruffly. “Just because he’s a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks doesn’t make him responsible for their deaths!”

“And you’re saying that Victor Creel is?” Powell said slamming his hands on the table. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“It’s either him or his dead kid,” he said. “Which one do you think is crazier?”

Powell let out a long sigh. “Let’s say we entertained a connection between the two cases. Then it is way more likely to be a copy cat then Victor or Henry Creel.”

“If you’re saying Eddie is practicing evil magic based on a table top game,” he said with a sneer, sitting back in his chair, “then you’ll have to arrest Jacob Matthews, Kenny Martin, and Lonnie Byers because they all played Tactics growing up.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Powell said crossly, “as this Dungeons and Dragons the kids are playing now days.”

“One is playing with armies in fictional battles,” Wayne said, “and the other is playing a small band of heroes to battle evil in fictional setting. I really don’t see the difference. Jake liked being Germany, and I’d say that if far more egregious then playing a thief or rogue whatever they call it.”

Powell licked his lips slowly. “I’m not going to convince you to help us bring Eddie in am I?”

“No,” Wayne said, raising to his feet. “And you try to pin this on him, then you’re more than a coward then I thought you were. There is something evil and rotten in this town, no doubt about it. Hop knew and it’s time you got on board while you can still protect this town.”

Then he strolled out the door.

~

“I concur,” Eddie said leaping from the top of Skull Rock, deftly in front of everyone, “Dustin Henderson, that you are a total butthead!”

“Eddie!” Dustin cried and ran over to hug him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said as he gave hugs to Steve and Wayne, too. “This old man has taught more than a thing or two on how to survive in the wild. I was able to swim back to the house and change my clothes and grab my bag.”

Wayne nodded. “Damn right I did,” he groused. “It’s a good thing too, because when I saw you pinwheel head first into the water, I thought I’d lost ya for good.” He hugged Eddie, too.

Steve hung back, breathing heavily, trying to look everywhere but where Eddie was receiving the worried assurances from Dustin and Wayne.

Eddie leaned his head down to get a better look at his boyfriend. “Hey, Stevie...I’m okay. See?” He held out his arms and turned around, showing that he wasn’t hurt in any way. “I’m okay, baby.”

Suddenly he had an armful of Steve Harrington. A sobbing Steve Harrington, who gripped the back of his jacket in a white knuckle grip.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured gently. “I’m okay.”

“I should have moved you to my place,” Steve whispered harshly. “You would have been safe. You would have been safe!”

Eddie rubbed Steve’s back and made soothing noises. “You don’t know that for sure. But I’m safe now. Okay? Why don’t you guys tell me everything you learned at the Creel House?”

Steve nodded and moved to take a step back, but Eddie held on tight. “I didn’t say you had to let go, Stevie.”

Steve slumped against his boyfriend and they both settled against the base of Skull Rock.

“You say all the light bulbs in your flashlights exploded?” Eddie muttered darkly. “Do you know when that was?”

Nancy and Robin looked at each other. “There was a huge grandfather clock that was somehow still working, so yeah we’ve got a pretty good idea when it was,” Nancy said.

Eddie worked his watch off his wrist and tossed it at her. “That stopped when I hit the water, shortly after Patrick died.”

Nancy looked down at the watch again and her eyes widened.

“It’s the same time, isn’t it?” Dustin asked. “The surge of power we felt in the house was the same power that killed Patrick.”

“Wait, wait hold up!” Lucas said waving his hands. “Dustin’s compass wasn’t wrong. It was acting up.”

Dustin stared over at him in shock. “Oh. Fuck.” He turned back to Eddie and Wayne. “The only reason compasses act up like that is in the presence of a Gate to the Upside Down.”

“You have got to be shittin’ me,” Wayne growled. “You think there is one of these holes in the universe nearby?”

Lucas nodded. Wayne threw his arms in the air and proceeded to let loose a slew of curse words that left Dustin mildly impressed.

“Well what are we standing around gawking for?” he growled and whirled Dustin the direction the compass had tried to direct them on their way here.

Steve and Eddie leapt to their feet and quickly gathered all of Eddie’s stuff, to follow close behind. They took each other’s hands and held on as they marched deeper and deeper into the woods.

~

“Dustin, Dustin!” Eddie shouted as Dustin rushed ahead from the group.

He barely made it in time to pull him back from face plant into the lake. “Shit, dude! Not every edge of the water has a shore line. Jesus Christ!”

“Whoa!” Dustin said. He pointed out to the water. “It’s got to be out there in the lake.”

“Shit that’s where Patrick was killed,” Eddie whispered back. “Look around for the boat, it should be around here somewhere.”

They finally found it and dragged it up to the shore. Dustin stepped up to the boat but Wayne put his hand on his chest.

“No kids,” he growled. “I should say no one under eighteen, but I have feeling the ladies are just goin’ to ignore me if I try to stop them from going.”

Robin and Nancy shared a glance and then they both shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

“Someone should stay here and watch the littles,” Wayne continued. “I volunteer. Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?”

Eddie grinned at him. “I can’t promise nothing. Especially with this lot.”

Wayne huffed out a chuckle and then waved them off. “Dustin, give Nancy the compass so that can find this hellgate.”

Dustin very unwillingly and loudly complaining handed over the compass.

The four teenagers got into the boat and Eddie looked back at the shore as the Party shrank the further they got from them. He had this uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that it would be some time before he saw them again.

~

Steve started untying his shoelaces and working off his socks.

“What are you doing?” Nancy asked, raising an eyebrow. “I was going to go. I’m a strong swimmer.”

Steve looked up from where he was shoving his socks into his sneakers. “Well unless you can beat co-captain of the swim team and a lifeguard for three years straight, it’s going to be me.”

Eddie let out a sigh. “He’s the best swimmer here, hands down. Plus, if something comes out of the Gate, he’ll be better able to fight it off.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “Because unless you have some magic power I haven’t been told about, Steve’s our heavy hitter.”

Nancy threw her arms in the air and turned away as Steve pulled off his sweater and tossed it to Eddie with a smile and a wink. Eddie pulled out a cigarette after that view, because, damn. His boyfriend was hot. But before he could even pull out his lighter, Robin snatched it from his lips.

“Gross!” Robin hissed dramatically, throwing the cigarette into the water.

Eddie wrapped the flashlight in the plastic bag and then handed it to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve said with a smile, taking the flashlight from him.

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie murmured.

Steve nodded and dove right into the water. He felt that rush that he always did when hit the water. It silenced the roar of his thoughts and narrowed his focus. He was more at home here then on land. With Eddie’s flashlight in hand he moved toward the glowing light.

He got as close as he dared to that thing. It was red and pulsating. Angry. Angry in a way that only the Upside Down could be. He swam backwards to try to get distance from it, but his foot must have brushed something as he swam to the surface, because as he was in the middle of explaining to the others that it was definitely a gate, something grabbed grabbed a hold of his ankle and dragged him back down.

He struggled and fought but it was no use, whatever had a hold on him was not going to let go. With that strange swoop that occurred when you moved from one dimension to the next, suddenly he was in the Upside Down. All alone. Barefoot and shirtless in a world designed to kill you as fast as possible. Yeah he was fucked.

~

Suddenly Steve was fighting for his life, but he wasn’t alone. Somehow all three of them had dived right in after him and were attacking the monsters with boat oars. Eddie was swinging his oar around with deadly accuracy. Even breaking the oar in two on the second to the last bat.

God, Eddie was hot when he was angry.

Wait.

He needed to focus so he didn’t die. He bit the tail of the demobat that had wrapped its tail around his neck, causing the beast to let go fast. But Steve was faster. He grabbed the tail and began bashing in whatever the thing had for brains and then stomped on it, ripping it in two.

He panted, spitting out the brackish goo that made up their blood, trying to get out as much as he could. It tasted vile. Even more so than his own. He looked up at the blood red sky dancing with lightning and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Eddie meet the Upside Down,” he breathed, “Upside Down has already met Eddie.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and then was suddenly giggling. Then they all were.

“I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you to Jeff’s humor,” Eddie said once he could breath again.

“Let’s get under cover,” Nancy said with a sneer. “Because I really don’t think we’re going to like what happens if more of them show up.”

Steve pointed to the ‘shore’ line where the trees loomed in front of them. “That’s as good a place as any. We know what a demogorgon and the Mind Flayer sound like and can avoid them as much as possible.”

Nancy led the way to the treeline with everyone else following behind.

“I hate that’s a thing we know,” Robin groused as she fell in step with Steve.

Eddie brought up the rear. He kept looking behind them as though he could feel something out there watching them. Or rather watching him.

~

Once they were safely out of the watchful ‘eyes’ of the demobats, Eddie relaxed his shoulders. But the downside to relaxing after an ordeal like that one is that the adrenaline wears off.

“Fuck!” Steve hissed putting a hand on his side and it coming back covered in blood.

“Shit, baby!” Eddie said, moving him to sit on a nearby rock. “That looks bad.”

“What if you get rabies?” Robin asked panicked. “Do Upside Down creatures have rabies?”

“Shut up, Robin,” Steve asked, leaning his head back and gripping his hair to fight back on the pain, “or I swear to god I will hit you!”

Robin hiccuped and then smiled. “At least your humor is intact.”

“Move,” Nancy said, the pieces of the bottom of her shirt in her hands. “We need to wrap that up so it doesn’t get infected.”

Eddie snorted. “Do you know first aid, Nance?”

“Well...” she muttered, chewing on the bottom on her lip. “I mean a little.”

“Well I know a lot,” Eddie said, yanking the strips from her. “Wayne was an army medic and I got into a shit ton of scrapes the first year I was living with him. So if anyone is going to treat Steve it’s going to be a Munson and as Wayne ain’t here, it’s gonna be me.”

Nancy stepped back to stand with Robin, her arms crossed over her chest.

Eddie looked up at Steve and gave his hand a squeeze. “This is gonna hurt a lot, but this is just to stop the bleeding until we can get you somewhere where we can do a proper job of it, okay?”

Steve nodded. “Just do it. I trust you.”

Eddie gave his hand another squeeze and started to wrap the wounds around Steve’s stomach and sides, neatly tucking the ends under the bandage to keep it in place.

“We need to get up high to see where we are so we can get out of this hell hole,” he said with a grimace as he got to his feet.

He looked around him and found a suitable tree and began climbing.

“Just don’t step on the vines,” Nancy warned. “They’re connected to Vecna.”

Eddie turned around to see that the tree was covered in them and he had somehow missed them on his way up. “Shit.”

“Remember when I said the demodogs where connected to a hive mind?” Steve asked as Eddie tried to figure out a way to get down. “Apparently all things in the Upside Down are connected to the rat bastard.”

“Great,” Eddie growled. “Just fucking great.”

“We need to get to my house,” Nancy said, “I have two guns in my bedroom, and I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Eddie hopped down. “You, Nancy Wheeler, have guns, plural, in your bedroom?”

“I know, right?” Robin said gleefully, “She such a badass.”

“I have two,” Nancy said with smile. “I have a Russian pistol and an old revolver.”

Steve scoffed and grinned. “You almost shot me with that one.”

Nancy grinned back. “And you almost deserved it.”

THWUMP!

“For your modesty, Stevie,” Eddie growled, with a glare.

Steve realized that he was now holding the battle vest in his arms. He smiled up at Eddie. “Thanks, love.”

Just then an earthquake hit, throwing Nancy into Steve’s arms and Robin and Eddie to the ground. Once it stopped, Steve made sure Nancy was steady enough and then he began to walk in the direction he was sure Nancy’s house was.

Eddie expression softened as Steve happily put on the vest and then yes, he admired his boyfriend’s ass. Sue him, he loved that ass. He hopped to his feet and dutifully followed Steve out of the forest.

Nancy pursed her lips together and bit her tongue. Ducking her head to hide her smile, she fell in step with Robin.

~

Tag List: EIGHT SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @beelze-the-bubkiss @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @themoonagainstmers

9- @steddieislife @chaotic-waffle

[diushek]

The Shen Yuan that dies - really dies. He actually dies and doesn't transmigrate, but well, you know, death is a timeless thing and the flow of time itself in the world of the dead is so weird lol So, well, let me make up that all the demons and ghost kings and cultivators inhabit this powerful timeless space where the dead also go, and oh, there's Shen Yuan now -

So, Shen Yuan is just a silly ghost fire filled with pent-up rage, damn shitty novel, damn shitty author. Is he “alive” for something? Because of how much he hates PIDW and its fucked up ending. Get a lower-ranking ghost body because he's just... angry at Airplane. His new form is, ah, well, different and weird, but he can grow his hair to go unnoticed, and can steal some robes.

Get a small job eventually just because he was bored and although he don't need to eat, it would be nice to have extra money - and the tea house owner doesn't care if he's a human or a ghost as long as he's not creepy with the customers and serves their tables. It's a routine that gives him the quick financial support to get bad books, complain more - and maybe he's getting stronger because of it? Because of his anger at mediocre authors and repressed anger? Does it even make sense?

At some point, Tonglu opens. Shen Yuan has headaches and the desperate feeling that he must go, as if he summoned. He tells his boss he's going to be out for ghostly reasons - his boss is like, oh, you needed a vacation anyway. And Shen Yuan goes.

It's a massacre, of course. A mix between the Hunger Games and the Purge, but Shen Yuan has something they definitely don't: a lot of knowledge in shooting video games. And he doesn't have a gun, but hey, he can shoot resentful spiritual energy and it works like bullets or something - he soon discovers that the more ghosts he overcomes, he becomes stronger. He has more power to throw, more skills, a stronger body.

Go to the kiln. Have bloody fights. At some point he gets a sword and it takes him forever and nothing like a training sequence to use it properly. And finally, the kiln opens and Shen Yuan comes out looking... Well, stronger.

He returns to the teahouse to change and take a bath. The owner tells him that it's been thirteen years, what the hell, but lets him in and gives him hot water and clothes.

Shen Yuan's new body and new abilities are strange to him. He notices himself taller. Stronger. His hearing and smell have improved. His abilities seem to be more wordy, as if he could persuade people if he spoke to them in a specific tone, as if his words could bind them. Well, it's not a bad way to be dead.

Shen Yuan tries to continue working at the tea house, but the humans are clearly terrified by the powerful ghost king aura in their area, so there are hardly any customers. Shen Yuan just sighs and decides to leave. He has some savings anyway.

Ghosts run away from him. Humans either try to kill him or hide. Shen Yuan is fed up; no matter if it is in the mortal world or the ghost world, people are gossiping about him and how he has not taken a Territory, about how unorthodox he is, about how they are waiting for him to start his killing spree one day.

Shen Yuan learns to change his appearance from creepy ghost to normal human, hide his resentful energy, and camouflage himself in the human world. It's a long way from his old tea house, and so many years have passed that the kind owner has probably already died, so Shen Yuan gets another job at a bookstore. Nothing unusual. Just a boy who was once from a wealthy family and was disinherited when his older brother took over the family leadership because of their bad relationship. Now he must work to live.

People swallow that story like a good meal, some even feel sorry for him.

And Shen Yuan is having a decent afterlife. Boring, mostly, but with good days. He reads a lot, gets angry a lot, writes authors letters that reach their desks without them even realizing how the hell did this crazy guy find his addresses. Let's just say he's having an interesting life.

Then one day, he meets Luo Binghe.

He... He literally knows that he's Binghe. It couldn't be anyone else but Luo Binghe. He does his investigations, and apparently, Emperor Luo Binghe exists, he has been there all along. It's not like Shen Yuan knew it; the ghost realm and the human-demon realm are divided, and even if they have a common mortal ancestor, demons and ghosts don't usually meddle in their own things.

Not that Shen Yuan wants to be cannon fodder anyway; he keeps his distance in Binghe, works at that bookstore, gives friendly greetings to his customers, and keeps sending angry letters to authors.

And one day Shen Yuan receives a direct visit from Luo Binghe at his door. With a letter in his hand.

"This letter was on my Second Wife's desk," Luo Binghe says, with a fake smile. "No one but her can open or read it, so this Lord wonders after discovering the resentful energy signature on the paper, what missives does this Ghost King exchange with one of the Emperor's wives?"

Shen Yuan is not surprised that Luo Binghe knows who he is - ever so OP the Protagonist! However, it is more difficult to explain that his wife actually writes cut-sleeved novels that the fact that Shen Yuan was reading and criticizing them in the first place.

Well, he's been dead for over a hundred years, really denying that he's at least bisexual at this point in his life...

[silentplanetcat]

Fuck….I forgot about Jeff Dunham. I remember seeing a clip of him somewhere as a little 9 year old. This is actually bringing a lot of stuff back. I was in a very different area (namely, New York) and I was 3 when the attacks happened so I remember nothing. My first memory of the time was a WILD conversation that took place between my dad and me in 2003ish. Let me set the scene. I am a gangly little 5 year old with terrible hand-eye coordination, crooked glasses, pigtails that stuck out of my head and 2 years of 40-hour-per-week ABA therapy under my belt. I am going through something of a questioning phase as I try and figure out how the world works. Notable questions included “Mommy, how did you and Daddy meet? Are you siblings?” “Is George Washington Still the President?” “Do *all* boys named George become the president?” etc.

My dad and I are walking in New York. I had just finished reading a children's book about World War 2 and I have a lot of questions about it. This is how the conversation begins. Me: So World War 2 was started by Germany trying to take over the world...

Dad: Yes honey

Me: Did they want to take over America?

Dad: Well they didn’t get that far, but they probably would have tried. Me: Are we in any wars right now?

Dad: [considerate pause. Glances to his right. We are currently passing by the Iraqi Embassy, I shit you not.] Well…yes..yes we are.

Me: Who are we fighting?

Dad: Two countries you haven’t heard of. One is called Iraq. That’s its flag right there. Me: Whoa! What’s the scribble on it?

Dad: That’s writing in their language. Me: Do they speak…Irakian?

Dad: No. Their language is called Arabic and it has a different alphabet from us. Me: Are they trying to take us over?

Dad: …no Me: Then why are we fighting them?

Dad: Well Iraq is ruled by a very, very mean man named Saddam Hussein. We think he has weapons that could hurt a lot of people. Like I said, he’s a very bad man. So America is going to try and stop him from doing bad things.

Me: Like we’re gonna put him in a time out?

Dad:…something like that.

Me: Is the President gonna put him in a time out?

Dad: Well the President has to stay in America, so he’s going to send some very brave men and women to put Saddam Hussein in a time out.

Me: Wow! [Pause] You aren’t going to fight Saddam Hussain, are you? Dad: No, don’t worry honey.

Me: Ok. Good.

After this, I start getting interested in reading the newspapers my parents get every morning. I don’t know if they’re on the Internet. I only use the Internet to play flash games on the American Girl Doll website (RIP Flash Plugins). It starts with me looking at pictures and asking what’s happening in them. Then I move on to reading captions, then shorter articles, then longer articles. The New York Times and NPR become my foreign policy teacher—but I know not to listen too much to NPR because dad says sometimes they’re a bit crazy. My understanding of America is very…liberal. I know we are the Best country in the world with the best and nicest army in the world. I know that when I see someone in a soldier’s uniform I’m supposed to go up to them, look them in the eye and thank them for their service. I know that my classmates talk about these buildings that don’t exist anymore called the “Twin Towers,” but mom and dad won’t tell me what they are until I’m 9. I know that Saddam Hussein is a bad man with a very silly-looking mustache and that he hates freedom, children and America and we need to stop him. I also know about another bad man named Osama Bin Laden. He wears a hat and has a long beard, like Santa, but its black instead of white. I know he hates America and Freedom too and that we’re trying to find him so we can put him in a time out with Saddam Hussein. I am shielded from a lot of the homophobia and rape culture. When I find out the gay couple that introduced my parents to each other aren’t married, I’m very confused because I don’t know why the President or Congress would make a law against Uncle [Redacted] and Uncle [Redacted] from getting married. I’m also a bit peeved because I want them to make me their flower girl, but mom and dad say that they won’t have a big wedding because they want to do it quickly in case the government of Massachusetts changes their mind. The rape culture doesn’t become apparent to me until I’m 10 and learn what rape in my Catholic School bible study class. By the time I’m able to appreciate it at 12, it’s 2010 and the decade is over. Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein are dead. We’re still in Iraq and Afghanistan and nobody knows when we’ll leave. The economy is collapsing and a lot of my classmates are moving away. The rumblings of oncoming fascism are there, but Mom and Dad say everything is gonna be ok. I believe them. Then I’m in my college’s dining hall in 2016 watching the election, the results come in, a collective wail erupts from the crowd of students staring at the screen and a thought occurs to me that I’ve never really considered. What if Mom and Dad are wrong?

…I’m asking this as a younger queer person who was busy with other things during the 2000s (namely being a toddler/very young child)…what was being queer teen in the early 2000s like? Also, before I go interrogate the first willing 40 year old I find at the LGBT Center…do you know of any books or articles about this time period?

it was a lot of being forced through abstinence only sex education, getting hate crimed, being super eating disordered and that being completely normalized and even considered healthy, having classmates die of a mix of eating disorders & drug use, rampant teen pregnancy, both teachers and students getting into fistfights, being sexually harassed literally all the time, the one trans kid having to take school online so he wouldnt kill himself, 25 year olds hanging out around the school giving girls cigarettes and sexually assaulting them, working a part time job at the mall for 5.50 an hour then driving home to find your mom watching bill oreilly ranting about how people like you are evil and disgusting and next thing jeff dunhams on the tv doing jokes about dead muslims. cant tell you just how ambient and everywhere both violent homophobia and rape culture were like it was omnipresent. lotta slurs too. lots of teens getting black out drunk all the time and puking and getting into situations. what resistance to the wars i got to see in my small ish city was a few rallies of a few dozen people and some protest signs tied to highway overpasses, but otherwise american flags and jingoistic propaganda were everywhereeeee, on every minivan window and classroom etc. nobody spoke up for gay people that wasnt gay and everybody hated women and were so so anti black

the internet was a lot better though.

[g3tinl0ser]

Masterlist

🦇

im not really sure how i feel about this chapter. i feel like I just rambled on but maybe its good? i kept getting discombobulated. LMK

<<<Previous

The warehouse was dimly lit, the flickering overhead bulbs casting long, jagged shadows along the cracked concrete floor. The air was thick with the scent of oil, blood, and something distinctly rotten. And at the center of it all was you, on your knees, the Joker’s arm curled around your shoulders like a twisted embrace, his knife pressed cold and sharp against your throat.

Batman stood a few yards away, every muscle in his body coiled like a wire stretched too tight. Nightwing and Robin flanked him, their usual unwavering confidence shaken. This wasn’t just another hostage situation—this was you.

The Joker cackled, the sound grating and wild as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, Batsy,” he cooed, twisting the knife just enough to make you inhale sharply. “I can feel how mad you are. This is delicious.”

Batman didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. But under the cowl, behind the cold steel of his voice, he was afraid.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were never supposed to be caught in this world.

“Let. Her. Go.” His voice was a razor’s edge, controlled but deadly.

The Joker sighed dramatically, tilting his head. “Oh, come on, you don’t even wanna hear my big reveal? I mean, I worked so hard to put this little puzzle together. Had to do so much digging.” His grip on you tightened, making you wince. “But I know, Batsy. And so does she.”

Robin—Jason—shifted beside him, his fists clenching at his sides. His father’s tension was infectious, sinking into his bones.

“Ohh, Little Bird,” the Joker grinned, eyes flicking to Robin. “Don’t look so tense! This must be fun for you, right? Seeing Bats all desperate for once?”

Nightwing took a slow step forward. “Joker,” his voice was smooth, steady—practiced, “if you know who he is, then you know you’re not walking out of here tonight.”

The Joker grinned wider, his grip tightening on the knife. “Ohhh, I know that,” he purred. “But the real question is… what’s he willing to do to stop me from spilling?”

Batman didn’t react. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Because the moment he gave anything away, it was over.

Joker laughed again, shaking his head. “See, that’s the thing. You can keep playing pretend all you want, but she—” he yanked you closer, your hair in his tight grip, making you suck in a sharp breath, “—she already knows. She’s seen the man under the mask.” He turned his head slightly, whispering against your cheek, “And tell me, sweetheart… is he as good as everyone thinks?”

The knife pressed just a little harder, a single drop beading at your skin and Batman moved.

It was a blur, faster than the Joker expected—faster than anyone expected. His hand shot forward, grabbing the Joker’s wrist in an iron grip, twisting it back at a sickening angle until something cracked and the knife clattered to the floor.

Joker howled in pain, but his laughter bubbled up beneath it, delighted and manic.

“Touched a nerve, did I?” he wheezed.

Batman didn’t answer. He tore you away from the Joker’s grip, pulling you behind him with a gentleness that betrayed the rage boiling just beneath his surface.

The moment you were safe, the boys moved.

Robin struck first, his blade flashing as he kicked the Joker’s legs out from under him. Nightwing followed up in perfect tandem, slamming a fist into his jaw with enough force to send him sprawling.

Even as he lay there, groaning in pain, the Joker laughed.

“You know I’m right,” he cackled, looking up at Batman with bloodied teeth. “This changes everything.”

Batman loomed over him, fists clenching at his sides.

Then, slowly, he crouched down, his voice dropping to something only the Joker could hear.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

The Joker’s grin faltered for just a second before it was wiped away by Robin’s boot slamming into his ribs.

The fight was over. The GCPD would be here soon.

But as Batman turned to look at you—shaking, gripping the place on your neck where the knife had been—he knew the damage was already done.

This was the first time his two worlds had truly collided.

And it terrified him.

The room was silent as the video ended. The grainy security footage of that hellish warehouse flickered off the screen, leaving only the tense air that settled over the Avengers like a heavy weight.

Natasha’s jaw was tight, arms crossed over her chest as she processed what they had just seen. Steve exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face, while Sam and Bucky shared a look. Thor’s grip on Mjolnir tightened.

And then, of course, Tony broke the silence.

“Well. That was interesting.” He turned away from the screen, pacing slightly before spinning on his heel and pointing at the blank monitor. “She knows who Batman is.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “That’s what you got from that?”

Tony scoffed. “It’s not just that she knows, Red. It’s that she’s obviously close to him. Very close. And let’s not forget who she’s married to.”

Steve frowned. “You think she betrayed Bruce Wayne?”

Tony threw his hands up. “I’m saying it’s convenient, don’t you think? Wayne’s wife gets taken hostage, and Batman just happens to show up? He’s willing to work with us because of her? Maybe Batman has a little soft spot for Mrs. Wayne, huh?”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Watch it, Stark.”

Tony let out a humorless laugh, turning back to her. “Oh, come on, Natasha. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it! She clearly knows exactly who’s under that mask, and you’re telling me that doesn’t strike you as suspicious? She gets taken, Joker hints at knowing Batman’s big secret, and suddenly the League is playing nice with us?” He tilted his head. “You sure your friend isn’t playing both sides?”

The slap of Natasha’s hands hitting the table echoed through the room. “You really wanna test me right now, Tony?”

Tony arched a brow, unbothered. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re just talking out of your ass,” Natasha snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t know a damn thing about her.”

“She’s married to Bruce Wayne!” Tony shot back. “You know—the guy funding half the League? The billionaire playboy who’s never been tied down? And yet she’s got some deep connection to Batman? That doesn’t scream a conflict of interest to you. Its not like it would be out of her wheelhouse to sleep above her job station.”

“You are so damn arrogant,” Natasha seethed. “You think you can just say whatever you want and not deal with the consequences? She has been my friend for years. She’s a good person, Tony. Better than you on your best day.”

Tony’s jaw clenched. “All I’m saying is, if she knows, then she’s keeping secrets from her husband. And if she��s keeping secrets from him, then what’s stopping her from keeping secrets from us?”

Natasha’s hands curled into fists, and for a moment, it looked like she was going to lunge at him.

Steve finally stepped between them, holding up a hand. “Enough.” His voice was firm, cutting through the tension. He turned to Tony. “We’re not jumping to conclusions. We don’t have the full picture, and assuming the worst is only going to make things worse.”

Tony shook his head, muttering under his breath as he turned away.

Natasha wasn’t done, though. She stepped forward, her voice lower but no less venomous. “You don’t get to talk about betrayal, Stark. Not after the way you treat people. Not after the way you treated HER! If she’s keeping a secret, it’s for a damn good reason. And I trust her a hell of a lot more than I trust you.”

Tony didn’t reply. He just stared at the blank screen, his mind turning.

Because no matter what anyone said, one thing was crystal clear—

You knew who Batman was.

And Tony Stark was going to figure out why.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you stood in front of the gathered Avengers, all geared up like they were about to storm an enemy stronghold. Well—except Bruce. At least one of them had some sense.

Still, the sight of Tony Stark standing there, smug as ever in his suit, made your blood boil. If it weren’t for your duty to Bruce, you wouldn’t be here, playing glorified chauffeur to people you could barely tolerate. But this was part of the deal. Part of your responsibility.

Didn’t mean you had to like it.

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms. “Alright, children, listen up. Everybody grab a hand and hold on tight. No letting go, no wandering off, and maybe hold your breath unless you want to find out what interdimensional travel feels like in your lungs.”

Sam frowned. “Wait, what?”

But before anyone could protest further, you activated the transport. The bright flash of light engulfed you all, and a second later.

You landed in the Watchtower, you had to plant your feet firmly on the ground to keep from swaying. You’d done this jump enough times that the nausea barely registered, but some of the Avengers weren’t as lucky.

Bucky gripped the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright, Sam muttered something about “never getting used to this damn space magic,” and even Steve looked like he was recalibrating his balance. Thor adjusted quickly—because of course he did—but Tony, ever the loudest in the room, groaned dramatically.

“Jesus, remind me why we couldn’t have taken a nice, normal Quinjet?”

"Sorry," you said lightly. "I'd say you get used to it, but… sometimes you don't."

Once everyone had straightened up, you turned to lead them toward the meeting room. They tried to take in as much as they could, their heads turning as they walked, but the Watchtower wasn’t designed for easy prying eyes. The halls were clean and sleek, giving away nothing, which clearly frustrated Stark.

“So,” Tony said, falling into step beside you, voice laced with faux curiosity. “Where’s your husband, Mrs. Wayne?”

You knew that tone. He wasn’t just asking where Bruce was—he was implying something. You could feel the weight of everyone’s attention shifting toward you.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.

"Why?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

Tony smirked, but his eyes were calculating. “Just wondering how much Mr. Wayne knows about how close you and Batman seem to be.”

There it was.

Bucky’s gaze snapped toward Stark, his expression darkening. Natasha inhaled sharply through her nose, already bracing for your reaction. Sam muttered something under his breath, shaking his head. Even Steve looked uncomfortable.

You, however, just smiled.

"You mean the Batman who’s saved my life more times than I can count? The one I work closely with because my husband is a major financial backer of the League?” You tilted your head, voice calm but sharp as glass. “Tell me, Tony, do you get this weird about Pepper working with superheroes, or is it just me?"

Tony’s smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered. “Hey, I just call it like I see it.”

"And I call it like I see it," a deep voice rumbled from up ahead.

Arthur Curry—Aquaman—stepped into the hall, golden eyes locked onto Stark with clear disapproval.

“Is he bothering you?” Arthur asked, voice casual, but his glare anything but.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Relax, Fish King, just having a friendly chat.”

Arthur’s gaze didn’t waver. “Should I toss him in a tank or out an airlock?”

You smiled sweetly. “As fun as that sounds, let’s save it for later.”

Arthur grunted but didn’t back down, still staring at Stark like he was weighing whether or not he was worth the effort.

You patted Arthur’s arm before turning back toward the meeting room. “Come on. The faster we get this over with, the sooner you all stop testing my patience.”

Tony scoffed but didn’t push his luck further.

Natasha, however, smirked as she followed you. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

The doors slid open, and you strode into the meeting room ahead of the Avengers, your patience already thin from the trip up here. The Justice League members were already gathered around the large circular table, the Watchtower’s vast windows making the space feel both open and imposing.

You made a beeline for Black Canary, who was standing near Green Arrow, arms crossed and looking only mildly interested in whatever was about to happen. This was only her second time here, and you could tell she was still adjusting. You gave her a quick smirk.

“Welcome to the madness,” you murmured.  “You should have seen them when they landed. Half of them nearly lost their breakfast.”

She huffed a soft laugh. “I’ve been in fights that were quieter than this.” her arms crossed, expression amused as she took in the sight of the Avengers in full battle gear.

Before you could say anything else, a rich, melodic laugh echoed through the room.

Diana.

She leaned against the table, arms folded, wearing a simple fitted sweater and dark jeans—practical, casual, comfortable. Like many of the League members in attendance, she was dressed as a civilian. Only those who protected secret identities were in full gear.

Her gaze swept over the Avengers before settling on Steve, her lips twitching. “Tell me,” she said, tilting her head, “why are you all in battle armor when the world already knows who you are?”

She, like many of the League members, was dressed down—jeans and a soft sweater, looking entirely at ease. Only those who had secret identities—Batman, Robin, and a few others—were in uniform.

The Avengers hesitated.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. Bucky just sighed. Steve looked vaguely embarrassed but stood tall.

Tony, of course, had to open his mouth. “Well, excuse us, Princess—”

“I’d advise against finishing that sentence,” you muttered under your breath, but he ignored you.

“—but we actually like to be prepared. Unlike you guys, some of us don’t have fancy alien muscles or magical lasso tricks to back us up.”

Diana raised a single brow, entirely unimpressed.

Diana arched a brow, utterly unimpressed. “The world knows who we are. There’s no need for theatrics.”

Arthur snorted. “Yeah, because Iron Man is completely defenseless.”

Before the conversation could spiral, a deep voice cut through the chatter like a blade.

Batman, standing at the head of the table, didn’t so much as flinch at the growing tension. He merely leaned forward slightly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

“Enough.”

The single word carried weight, and the room silenced.

Bruce’s eyes locked onto Tony’s. “You wanted a meeting, Stark. Get to the point.”

Steve looked frustrated, arms crossed over his chest as he turned to glare at Tony. “You told us Batman called this meeting.” His voice was tight, barely restrained. “That he had stipulations to wanting to work with us.”

Tony shrugged, looking completely unbothered. “Yeah, well, I might’ve embellished a little. But come on, Cap, you think Gotham’s very own cryptid would willingly reach out first?”

Steve’s jaw tensed, but before he could argue, Tony continued, his tone shifting to something far too casual. “Honestly, while we’re on the subject, I don’t think there should be secret identities. We’re all supposed to be on the same side, right? We fight for the same things, so why the hell are some of us still playing hide-and-seek?”

A few murmurs spread through the room, some from the League, some from the Avengers. Diana sighed, Oliver muttered something under his breath, and J’onn simply observed.

You, however, were already shaking your head. “No.”

Tony turned to you, brows lifting in mock surprise. “Oh, here we go.”

You took a step forward, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “I didn’t help broker this agreement between the League and the Avengers just for you to come here and stir up drama, Tony. You agreed to this alliance, so act like it.”

He scoffed, throwing a hand in the air. “Oh, please, don’t act like I’m the bad guy for saying what everyone else is thinking. If we’re really working together, then we should all be honest with each other. No masks. No secrets rendezvous`. No—”

CRACK.

The sharp sound of Batman’s gloved hand slamming against the table echoed through the room, cutting Tony off mid-sentence.

Tony froze. Everyone did.

Then, slowly, Batman stood.

The room seemed smaller with him standing. His cape barely shifted, but his presence alone felt heavier, darker. He wasn’t raising his voice, wasn’t even looking at Tony directly—just through him.

“You don’t get to make demands here,” Batman said, voice low and cold. “You don’t get to dictate how the League operates.”

Tony, for all his bravado, hesitated.

Batman leaned forward slightly, placing both hands on the table, his cowl casting shadows over the lower half of his face. “If you have an issue with how we do things, then you’re free to leave.”

Silence.

Tension crackled like a live wire.

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it.

No one moved.

And then, finally, he scoffed, looking away with an eye roll. “Jesus. Fine.” He threw himself back into his chair, arms crossing. “No need to get all batty about it.”

Batman didn’t sit. He didn’t even acknowledge the attempt at humor. He just stayed exactly where he was—looming, unyielding.

And just like that, Tony didn’t have another word to say.

As the meeting wrapped up, patrols were assigned, and territories marked for joint operations. The League made it clear—there were other heroes, other forces at play—but trust had to be built before the Avengers would be privy to anything beyond this initial partnership.

Batman sat motionless, absorbing every word, yet his gaze never wavered from Tony. He processed the strategies, the schedules, but underneath it all, he was planning. Scheming.

Because Batman couldn’t deal with this right now. Not like this. Not in this setting.

But soon, Bruce Wayne would handle it.

The Avengers began to break into their own conversations as the tension in the room dissipated. Natasha and Bucky had drawn you into a quiet conversation about their wedding—Nat smirking, Bucky shaking his head as you laughed.

Across the room, Diana’s melodic laughter echoed as Thor animatedly spoke with her, likely attempting to make amends for the battle gear comments earlier.

Meanwhile, Steve hesitated for a moment before finally making his way toward Batman.

“I shouldn’t have let it get to that point,” Steve admitted, standing beside the chair Tony had vacated. “Tony’s…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s Tony. He thinks he’s helping, even when he’s making things worse.”

Batman didn’t move.

Steve continued, keeping his voice low. “I just wanted to say—I appreciate you hearing us out. And I get it. Trust takes time.” His eyes flicked over to where you stood, listening intently as Natasha showed you something on her phone. “But… I hope this alliance can work. That we can work.”

Batman finally turned his head, just enough to glance at Steve. “That depends on Stark.”

Steve let out a quiet breath, nodding. “Yeah. I figured.”

Batman gave nothing else. No reassurance, no confirmation—just an unreadable stare before shifting his gaze back to the room.

Steve didn’t push for more. He’d done what he came to do.

As the Avengers prepared to leave, Batman remained exactly where he was, unmoving. His mind was already elsewhere, already planning the next step.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Leading the Avengers back into the hall, you kept your head high, ignoring Tony’s grumbling and Wanda’s amused side-eye. You just wanted to get this over with.

But then you made the mistake of glancing back.

Bruce was still at the table, leaned back in his chair, manspreading like he had no care in the world. His thick, delicious thighs were tense beneath his suits, one hand gripping the armrest tightly, the other lazily propping up his head as he watched you.

Heat curled up your spine.

You should care. You should worry about what the others were going to say, about the way they’d been side-eyeing you both throughout the meeting. But you didn’t.

Because you saw it.

You saw the way Nat smirked knowingly, the way Wanda’s eyes flickered between you and Bruce, the way Bucky and even Steve had stolen glances at your man.

And Bruce? He didn’t even pretend to hide it—his sharp, burning gaze locked onto you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

“See ya later,” you said sweetly, watching his lips twitch and his eyes soften just a fraction.

The doors shut behind you, and as soon as they did, Nat and Wanda pounced.

“Oh, you are in trouble,” Wanda teased, linking her arm through yours.

“Did you see the way he was looking at you?” Nat smirked. “Like he was starving.”

You giggled, warmth still lingering in your chest as you led them away, already knowing this was going to be a very long conversation home.

As soon as the doors slid shut behind the Avengers, the room was silent for a beat. Then, Arthur let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mused, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Out of all of us, you were the biggest worry, Bats.”

A few others murmured their agreement, smirks and knowing glances passed around the table. Even J’onn, normally unreadable, looked faintly amused.

Bruce exhaled through his nose, unimpressed but unsurprised. He slowly stood, “I’ll be fine,” he said simply, his voice calm and measured. “As long as Stark is respectful of the League… and respectful of my wife.”

The weight of that word settled over the room. His wife.

Diana smiled knowingly, her arms crossed as she watched him. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say it like that in the suit.”

Bruce didn’t acknowledge it. He just pushed his chair in.

“If we’re done here,” he said smoothly, “I have somewhere to be.”

Barry snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Go home to your wife, Bats.”

Bruce didn’t dignify that with a response. But as he turned to leave, there was a slight curve to his lips, the closest thing to a smirk they’d seen from him in years.

The Batcave was dimly lit, the glow from the monitors casting sharp shadows across the space. Bruce sat in his chair, dressed down in sweats and a fitted black shirt, his socked feet resting on the edge of the console as he watched the feeds from patrol. Jason and Dick were out, their voices crackling through the comms as they bantered back and forth. It was a quiet night.

Still, you could tell he was wound tight. His jaw was clenched, his fingers tapping against the armrest in agitation.

Without a word, you climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the crease in his forehead. He groaned, exhaling heavily as his arms instinctively curled around your waist.

“I hate him,” Bruce muttered, tilting his head back against the chair.

You giggled, fingers brushing through his hair. “You hate a lot of people, babe.”

“This is different,” he grumbled. “He’s obnoxious.”

You hummed in agreement, but as you thought back to what Tony had implied earlier, your amusement faded. Your fingers traced the seam of his shirt absentmindedly before you finally sighed and fully sat on his thighs.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Bruce’s grip on your thighs tightened slightly, his thumbs moving in slow, soothing circles. “What is it?”

You swallowed, hating the way your chest tightened. “Tony was insinuating that I was cheating on you.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“With Batman,” you clarified, voice thick with frustration.

His hands stilled. “He—”

“He doesn’t know, I know..” you cut in quickly. “But he thinks I’m sneaking around behind Bruce Wayne’s back with Batman, and that’s why the League is willing to work with them.”

Bruce inhaled sharply through his nose, trying to stay calm, but you could feel the tension rolling through his body.

You shook your head, voice cracking slightly. “Like I’m just— Like I knew he was engaged when I got pregnant.” You clenched your fists against his chest, willing the burn in your eyes to go away. “I didn’t know. I didn’t do anything wrong, and yet somehow I’m still the one who—”

Your voice broke, and Bruce was quick to reach up, gently wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know you didn’t.”

You leaned into his touch, exhaling shakily.

Neither of you noticed the small figure standing just a few feet away, listening.

Damian had come down quietly, drawn by the sound of your voice. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as he stood in the shadows, hearing your pain—he felt something in his chest tighten.

He’d always known the facts about his biological father. But hearing you like this? Hearing the weight of it in your voice?

He turned on his heel and left as quietly as he had come, fists clenched at his sides.

Tim barely had time to react. One second, he was hunched over the open hood of the car, adjusting a few components. The next, a weighted ball came hurtling through the air straight for the windshield he had just replaced.

“Shit!” he yelped, diving to the side, barely catching it before it made impact. He landed on the concrete floor with a grunt, holding the ball against his chest as he blinked up at the ceiling in disbelief.

Stephanie, who had chased Damian out to the garage, winced. “Okay… that was a bit of an overreaction.”

Tim pushed himself up onto his elbows, narrowing his eyes at Damian. “Dude, I just replaced that.”

Damian stood a few feet away, his chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. His face was flushed from the effort of his throw, but more than that, he looked angry—his eyes wild, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

Tim sat up fully, tossing the ball to the side before he slowly dusted himself off. “Alright,” he muttered. “What’s your problem?”

Damian didn’t answer.

Stephanie crossed her arms, taking a slow step closer. “Come on, Dami. Talk to us.”

“Why?” Damian snapped, voice sharp and bitter. His hands clenched even tighter, nails digging into his palms. “Why should I? It doesn’t change anything.”

Tim sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d seen Damian upset plenty of times before—but this? This wasn’t just anger. This was something deeper. He kinda wished Jason was here.

“What happened?” Tim asked, this time gentler.

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose. He turned away, gripping the edge of the nearest workbench so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“I heard her,” he muttered.

Stephanie and Tim exchanged a look.

“Heard who?” she pressed.

Damian’s jaw tensed. “Mother.”

Realization dawned on Tim’s face, he must had overheard you talking about something private, that wasnt meant for him for a reason. His expression softened as he carefully placed the wrench he was holding onto the table.

Damian swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the wood. “I heard her talking to Father about him.” His voice dropped, but they could still hear the anger simmering beneath it. “About how Stark is spreading lies. About how he’s making it seem like she did something wrong—like she knew about his engagement. Like she’s cheating on dad—” He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “She didn’t even do anything, and she’s the one being judged for it.”

Stephanie frowned, stepping closer. “And that’s what’s bothering you?”

Damian whirled on her, eyes burning. “Of course it is!” he shouted, his voice cracking slightly. “Why does MY MOTHER have to justify herself when he was the one who abandoned us? Why does she have to suffer for a mistake that wasn’t hers?”

Stephanie’s heart ached for him.

Tim was quiet for a long moment before finally sighing and stepping forward. He reached out, gripping Damian’s shoulder firmly.

“For what it’s worth, you’re not wrong,” he said. “And I know it doesn’t fix anything, but you’re allowed to be upset.”

Damian’s jaw tightened, his breathing still heavy.

Stephanie gave him a small, reassuring smile. “For what it’s worth, I like your mom. She’s probably one of the best things to ever happen to me. And I don’t think anyone who actually matters would believe anything Stark has to say about her.”

Damian swallowed, looking down.

Tim gave his shoulder a small squeeze before stepping back. “Come on, Demon Spawn. Wanna help me with the car? I could use an extra set of hands.”

Damian hesitated before nodding stiffly. “Fine.”

Stephanie grinned. “And then after, we can make cookies. That always helps when I want to punch something.”

Damian let out a small huff—almost a laugh. Almost. But that was good enough.

The morning was unusually quiet. Too quiet.

The Wayne family was rarely loud—years of training and vigilant habits ensured that—but there was always something filling the air. Jason grumbling about being up too early, Tim sleepily stirring sugar into his already over-caffeinated coffee, Stephanie trying to prank Damian. Even Bruce, when he was home, had a way of filling a room just by existing.

But this morning, the silence was heavy.

You stood at the stove, your back to them, flipping pancakes with careful precision. The sleeves of Bruce’s oversized sweatshirt hung past your fingertips, and your hair was hastily tied back, as if you hadn’t had the energy to do more than shove it away. The boys could see it—the pinkness in your eyes, the exhaustion in your movements.

Jason’s grip tightened around his fork as he shot a glance at Damian. The younger boy was unusually still, his hands resting on the table rather than reaching for his utensils. He wasn’t eating. Wasn’t speaking. Just watching.

Bruce, on the other hand, was attached to you. He hadn’t stopped touching you since he came downstairs. A hand on your waist, fingers ghosting over your wrist when you passed him a plate, pressing a slow kiss against your temple as he reached for his coffee. His voice was soft, murmuring something just for you, his eyes darker than usual with unspoken concern.

When you finally turned to the boys, your smile was small but genuine. “I’m staying home today,” you said gently. “Just wanted to see you all off and wish you a good day.”

Tim hummed around his coffee mug, pretending not to stare too hard.

Jason frowned, his stomach twisting. Like hell he was leaving you alone today. He was already cycling through excuses in his head, trying to find the perfect way to get himself out of school. Fake a fever? No, Alfred had thermometers everywhere. Stomach bug? No way they’d buy that with his appetite.

Damian, however, was watching him.

Jason didn’t say it out loud, but they all knew—Jason hated leaving when you were upset. His separation anxiety was quieter these days, but it still lingered, clawing at him whenever something felt off.

And Damian? Well, Damian wasn’t one to let things sit.

By the time breakfast was over and Jason was still fumbling for a plan, Damian had already made his decision. Jason was wicked smart.. But Damian is genius level theres nothing he cant plan out. 

So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone when, hours later, a taxi pulled up outside of Stark Tower.

And out stepped Damian Wayne

Tony let out a low whistle, setting his drink down on the glass table beside him as Damian Wayne stepped into his office. “Confidence. I like it. Arrogance? Even better. You must be a real hit at school.”

Damian didn’t so much as blink. “I’m not here for pleasantries, Stark.”

Tony leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Yeah, I figured. You look about five seconds away from either throwing a tantrum or throwing a punch. I gotta warn you, though—throwing punches usually doesn’t end well for people in this lounge.”

Damian ignored the jab. He stepped closer, placing both hands on the table between them and leaning in slightly. “I heard what youve said about my mother.” His voice was low, controlled—but there was a storm brewing underneath it.

 Tony had seen the kid before—at the gala, hovering near Wayne, sharp brown eyes taking in everything. There had been something familiar about him even then, something Tony had pushed to the back of his mind, locking it away behind sarcasm and ego.

But now? Now the kid was standing in front of him, fists trembling, voice steady but furious, and Tony couldn't ignore it anymore.

“You’re a coward.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to lean back in his chair, forcing himself to be unbothered. “Oh? Do tell.”

Damian’s eyes burned. “You abandoned us.”

Us.

There it was.

Tony felt his stomach drop, but his face didn’t change. He had spent a lifetime perfecting that. So instead of letting the words settle, instead of acknowledging what they meant, he scoffed. “Look, kid—”

Damian took a step closer. “You didn’t know she kept it. Fine. But instead of facing that truth, you’d rather paint her as some kind of liar. As if she knew about you, as if she chose to interfere in your life. You insinuated she betrayed Bruce, that she was unfaithful. You tried to drag her through the mud just to protect your own ego.”

Tony exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. His fingers itched for a drink, but he curled them into a fist instead. “Okay, first of all—”

“Don’t.”

The command was sharp, almost authoritative, and Tony shut his mouth before he could stop himself.

The kid’s hands were clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, his breathing controlled but measured, like he was fighting to keep himself still. “You will listen to me,” Damian said, his voice deadly quiet. “You don’t get to talk your way out of this. You don’t get to charm your way out of being a coward not to my mother.”

Tony wanted to snap back, to deflect, to turn this into something he could handle.

But all he could hear was that single word, us, rattling in his skull.

Damian took a slow breath, grounding himself. “My mother raised me. She didn’t ask for anything from you. She never came looking for you. And now that you know the truth, she still hasn’t asked for anything. But you?” His lip curled slightly, his next words dripping with quiet disgust. “You’d rather slander her than face what you did. That isn’t just weak, Stark. It’s pathetic.”

For the first time in a long time, Tony didn’t have a comeback.

He just… stared. He swore his father was standing in front of him.

Because no matter how much he wanted to deny it, no matter how much he wanted to bury the thought, there was no ignoring the way the kid’s brown eyes burned with the same fire he had seen in the mirror.

And for one, stupid second, he wondered.

Tony blinked, the words catching him off guard. For a moment, his mask slipped, but he quickly covered it with a dry laugh. “Oh, I get it now. You’re one of those kids with a chip on their shoulder, huh? Daddy issues? Sorry, not my department. Bruce Wayne’s the one with the orphan trauma kit, isn’t he?”

Damian’s expression didn’t waver. He simply took a step closer, his sharp green eyes cutting through Tony like a scalpel. “Bruce doesn’t know I’m here,” he said, voice steady, deliberate. “This isn’t about him. This is about you.”

Tony’s grip tightened around his glass, but he forced himself to keep his face neutral.

Damian tilted his head slightly, watching him. Calculating. “You had doubts,” he said, quieter now, almost like he was speaking to himself. “At the gala. I saw it in your face when you looked at me.”

Tony scoffed. “Kid, you’ve got a hell of an imagination.”

But Damian didn’t stop. “You saw it, didn’t you? The resemblance.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression locked down, kept the smirk in place, even as something uneasy settled in his gut.

“Whatever fantasy you’re spinning, it’s—”

“I did, too.” Damian cut him off effortlessly.” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply through his nose. His hands curled into fists. “I see it now. I see it in the way you deflect instead of confronting me because you realize that im just as intellegent as you, I do the same with my father. In the way you’d rather joke your way out of something than feel it.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Well, congratulations, kid, you just described half of Manhattan.”

Damian didn’t laugh. “I don’t need anything from you.” His voice was cold, precise. “Not your name. Not your wealth. Not your approval. But you will stop.”

Tony leaned back, rubbing his temple, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “And what, exactly, do you expect me to do?”

Damian straightened, adjusting his posture with the kind of poise Tony had only ever seen in people who had been raised to command a room.

“Be better.”

For a second—just a second—Tony felt something crack. But then the walls slammed back up, and he forced out another laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Cute speech, really. You practicing for debate team? Because I gotta say, the dramatics are a little over the top.”

Damian stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head, a quiet sort of disappointment in his gaze.

“I expected as much,” he murmured, more to himself than Tony. “I hope you can grow up.. For your daughter.” Damian nodded to a picture on the wall as Tony froze.

As the elevator doors slid open, the hairs on the back of Tony's neck stood up. There, standing in the doorway, was Bruce Wayne. His gaze immediately locked onto his son, and Tony could practically feel the weight of the moment shift in the air.

Damian stiffened for a moment but didn’t say anything. Bruce’s eyes softened when they met his son’s, but there was a sharpness there—an edge that made Tony pause. Bruce stepped forward, and without a word, he knelt down in front of Damian, his movements controlled, as always.

“I understand why you did this, Damian,” Bruce said quietly, his voice low and steady. “But I’m disappointed you disregarded your safety so easily.”

Damian said nothing, his jaw tight, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes was enough. Bruce reached out, pulling him into a hug. A firm, strong embrace. There was no hesitation, no anger—just a quiet understanding between father and son.

Tony stood frozen, unable to look away from the scene. The sight of Bruce holding his son in such a rare, intimate moment hit him harder than expected. He hadn't seen that kind of tenderness in a father before, and it struck him with a wave of realization.

For a moment, it was like he wasn’t even there.

“I want you to wait in the car,” Bruce said softly, pulling back just enough to meet his son’s gaze. Damian didn’t protest, simply nodding, his expression unreadable as he turned toward the elevator.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Bruce’s expression shifted, his face morphing into something darker—fury burning in his eyes. The calm, composed facade he'd worn for so long, especially in front of Tony, crumbled in an instant. The tension in the room thickened, and Tony could practically feel the weight of it settle over him like a storm cloud.

Without a word, Bruce pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he sent a text. His jaw clenched, his gaze flickering to Tony only briefly before he started walking toward him. Every step was deliberate, every movement a reminder of the man he was—calculated, precise, and more dangerous than anyone realized.

Tony straightened slightly in his chair, trying to project an air of confidence, but it was clear the mere presence of Bruce in full boss-mode’ rattled him. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of that look—the one that could tear apart the bravado of even the most powerful people. He usually is on the receiving end of the god I hate that Im breathing the same air as you, you annoying fuck look.  And yet, as much as he wanted to push back, he could feel the knot tightening in his chest.

Bruce stopped just a few feet away, his posture rigid, eyes locked onto Tony’s. There was nothing friendly in his gaze.

Tony's frustration reached its peak, as he desperately tried to manage the chaos unfolding around him. The noise from his phone ringing, the continuous alerts flooding in, and the endless barrage of messages, all grew louder. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him as panic began to take root. He swiped through his devices, trying to make sense of what was happening, but nothing made sense. All of his stocks were plummeting, people were demanding answers, and the door to his office was being hammered with urgent knocks.

"What the fuck... WHAT THE FUCK?!" Tony cursed, his voice rising with each new blow to his empire. His fingers moved frantically over his phone and tablet, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, but the more he tried, the worse it got. The magnitude of the crisis unfolding before him was suffocating, and he couldn’t understand how it all came crashing down in an instant.

And then, through the whirlwind of chaos, he looked up. His eyes locked onto Bruce, who was sitting across from him, a smug, almost amused expression on his face. Bruce wasn’t even fazed by the whirlwind surrounding them. He wasn’t scrambling or flustered. Instead, he just sat back in the chair, completely calm, and it drove Tony crazy.

Tony’s jaw tightened, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What the hell do you want, Bruce?" he spat, his voice strained from the pressure.

Bruce's lips curled into a knowing smile. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching Tony squirm as his world fell apart. And then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he raised his phone and held it up in front of Tony.

"Want to fix it?" Bruce asked, his voice smooth, confident.

Tony's eyes narrowed, disbelief mixing with rage. His gaze dropped to the phone in Bruce’s hand, and for the first time, he saw what was really happening. There, on the screen, was evidence that Bruce had orchestrated this entire mess. It was a simple text—one that Bruce had sent to the right people at the right time, carefully and strategically—and it was enough to collapse everything Tony had spent years building.

The realization hit Tony like a ton of bricks. He was in no position to fight this. 

The frantic phone calls, the screaming, the utter chaos—Bruce had planned this. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Tony opened his mouth to protest, to somehow deny what was happening, but Bruce’s smirk deepened, and the glint in his eyes told Tony all he needed to know.

"You want me to fix this, Tony? Then maybe it's time you start acting like you actually have something to protect," Bruce said quietly, each word deliberate. "But don’t worry... I’m sure we can work something out. After all, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans."

Tony clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as the situation dawned on him. The tables had turned in a way he never saw coming, and now he had to decide either to play by Bruce’s rules or watch his empire crumble further.

He exhaled sharply, hands running through his hair as he tried to steady himself. But deep down, he knew the real question wasn’t about fixing it—it was about whether he could ever get out from under Bruce’s thumb.

The tension in the room was thick, the power dynamic shifting irreparably. And Bruce? Bruce just waited, a calm presence amidst the storm, as if he already knew exactly how this would play out.

The air in the room thickened, a suffocating weight pressing down as Bruce finally leaned forward, planting his hands firmly on Tony’s sleek, high-tech desk. His shadow stretched across the space between them, swallowing Tony whole. The easy smirk Tony usually wore was gone now, replaced by something tight, something wary.

Bruce’s voice was low, almost gentle—but there was nothing soft about the words that followed.

“You’re arrogant. Careless. A man who never learned the difference between power and responsibility.” His eyes, cold as steel, locked onto Tony’s, pinning him to his chair like prey caught in a trap. “You think your money, your tech, your goddamn wit can keep you untouchable. That you can say whatever you want, do whatever you want, and walk away without consequence.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, studying Tony as if he were something small. Insignificant. “You know what the real difference between us is, Stark?” he continued, his voice still disturbingly calm. “You play at being untouchable. I am.”

Tony swallowed, shifting in his seat, but Bruce didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“If I ever find out that you so much as whisper my wife’s name, if you so much as breathe about my son —” His voice dropped lower, turning into something darker, something lethal. His fingers curled slightly against the desk, the tension in his arms coiled like a predator waiting to strike.

“I will dismantle you. Piece by piece. You think this is bad?” He gestured vaguely at Tony’s still-vibrating phone, the frantic pounding outside the door. “This was me being polite.”

Bruce leaned in even further, his presence swallowing every inch of the room, and for the first time in a long time, Tony felt truly small.

“You won’t even see it coming,” Bruce murmured, his voice now barely above a whisper. “No headlines. No explosions. No grandstanding. Just one day, you’ll wake up and everything will be gone. Your company. Your empire. Your reputation. And you’ll know it was me. But you won’t be able to prove it.”

Bruce let the words settle, let the silence stretch between them until it became unbearable. Then, as if a switch had flipped, he smiled.

A perfect, dazzling, Wayne Enterprises CEO smile. The kind that graced magazine covers. The kind that fooled entire boardrooms into thinking he was nothing more than a polished businessman.

“So,” he said pleasantly, straightening his suit jacket as if he hadn’t just promised to rip Tony’s life apart at the seams. “Do we have an understanding?”

Tony exhaled sharply, barely aware he’d been holding his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins.

Bruce watched him expectantly, waiting.

Tony forced himself to nod. Just once.

Bruce’s smile widened just a fraction, a glint of something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

“Good.”

And with that, Bruce turned, adjusting his cufflinks as he walked toward the elevator. He didn’t spare Tony another glance as he pressed the button, the doors sliding open in eerie silence.

But just before he stepped inside, Bruce hesitated. Just for a second. And then, without turning around, he delivered his final warning.

“Oh, and Stark?”

Tony barely managed to lift his gaze.

“Be a coward all you want. I got it.”

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing Bruce and his smirk away, leaving Tony sitting there—pulse pounding, body rigid, and for the first time in a long, long time... utterly speechless.

[respectthepetty]

The Heart Killers' Colors? - Ep. 11

I saved over 100 images for episode eleven of The Heart Killers’ so writing “I’m in my feels” in an understatement, and this episode beginning with this beautiful shot of the boys at descending heights, Style being the highest in pink, and the lovers reuniting at the center really emphasize this is a love story.

Style's shirt even says "love" and I need the GMMTV wardrobe department to get a raise!

However, I’m still pissed that the boys did not kill this man!

Liliana, I thought you raised them better!

But now that Black Brooder Fadel and Red Rascal Bison have found love, they are done killing (even if they should still take the shot).

And Style, the biggest lover of them all, makes perfect sense because I, too, would be acting a whole damn fool for this beautiful man and begging him to give up the hitman life since Style knows it doesn’t actually make Fadel happy.

So even though I’m already thinking about how good Joong and Dunk are going to look in Dare You To Death since this will be their aesthetic, I’m also very pissed that this white man is about to break up the these partners (in crime) since he doesn’t understand this Black Brooder and Red Rascal are in a LOVE STORY (with two possible Blue Boys, but I'm not here for those lies)!

Thankfully, Style’s dad understands what genre his son is in because even if I’m not sure about Style’s color, we all know he is deeply in love with his Black Brooder (who is wearing the hell out of that tank *bites bottom lip*), so it’s time he puts a ring on it, and makes Style Mr. Hitman’s Husband.

Even Kant understands this! I don’t think he even knows his color, but he knows he is in love with a quick-tempered and aggressive Red Rascal, so an exhibit about a volcano killing everyone is the perfect place to propose a proposal to him.

It’s also the perfect place to have these adorable inflatable suits with red (and blue . . . Kant, what is your color, bro!) on them.

But we all know the only reason for the suits was so the show could introduce this line into the mix. Kant and Bison have said the freakiest stuff in this show, and I appreciate First and Khaotung getting an opportunity to be play characters who are weird about each other.

Fadel can’t allow that though. He must out-weird everyone. But first, let me enjoy this scene.

Okay, now for my emo kid to show just how “weirdly romantic” he is.

I know Black Brooder Fadel is super duper emo (Paramore’s “The Only Exception” plays in the distance), but Style is just so in love with him that their perfect emo love story is healing my heart. Style is Death Cab for Cutie’s “I’ll Follow You into the Dark” (Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind. I'll follow you into the dark) and I love that Style continues to prove that Fadel’s darkness does not scare him, but is the reason he loves him.

I LOVE THEM!

And now they are going back to the support group to share their fears leading to Style basically proposing. That’s my boy! He doesn’t need to wait for Fadel. He can propose!

And seal it with a kiss. They are my OTP!

Fadel is giving Style is heart pin, and that is a reversal proposal. He is giving him his heart. I feel the tingle of a tear of a forming in my right eye!

And now a romantic dinner after cooking together! This is “peaches and plum, motherfucker.” This is “In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.” This is “we deserved this domestic happiness, but even if we don’t have it, I’ll still love you in every version of us” and I’M UNWELL ABOUT IT!

Of course Kant is looking like an angel surrendering his tools, so Bison can claim him with a tattoo.

They are beautiful, and this calming blue light is physically hurting my feelings because now my left eye is tingling with a tear.

Fam, I’m going to be honest, I’m not doing too hot. I don’t give two effs about the colors right now. This hurts way more than I expected.

AND NOW KANT IS CRYING! Don’t have First cry because then my bitchass starts crying. Don't look at me!

FUCK!

FUCK!

Jojo, don't you hurt me like this. This is not HIStory 3: Trapped.

FREE MY BOYS!

[brainrotbee]

Payneland Prompfest Day 3: Exchanging rings

~

Charles fiddled with the handle of his cricket bat nervously as he scanned the woods for any sign of movement. "Hurry up, Edwin," he muttered. He didn't know how much time they had before the crazy dryad was going to return to her hut and find two dead boys rummaging through her things.

"I'm almost done," Edwin promised. Charles huffed. He knew that was a lie just like he knew the dryad hut was filled with all sorts of magical items Edwin would want to nick.

"Well move quicker." Charles didn't like being in the dryad's element. The forest wasn't a very good place to fight anyone, especially someone who could force the trees to obey her will.

"Finished." Edwin exited the hut and pulled out the thing they had been searching for in the first place: a map to a wishing well that had gone haywire.

"Bang up job," Charles said. "Let's get moving." He started to walk away before Edwin grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Wait." Edwin reached into his pocket and pulled out a circular object. "It's an elemental ring," he explained, placing it in Charles's outstretched hand. "I'm not quite sure how It works yet but from what I've read, it can be quite powerful."

Charles turned the ring over. It looked harmless, aside from the runes carved on the inside. As he held it up to the light, an idea came to him. He slipped it on and grinned at Edwin. "Didn't know we were at that point in our relationship."

Edwin frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know, it's customary to ask the question in addition to giving the ring."

Edwin put his hands on his hips, being careful not to crumple the map. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

Charles held up his ringed finger. "I guess you already know that if you asked me to marry you, I'd say yes."

Edwin's jaw dropped as he struggled to recover his ability to speak. "That is not what--you-" He looked away. "Please focus on the case."

"I am," Charles insisted innocently. His worries about the dryad had completely vanished. Teasing Edwin took top priority. "You're the one who decided to spring a marriage proposal on me out of nowhere."

"Stop it," Edwin scolded. "I only took the ring because it sounded like something that could be of use."

"Are you sure that's the only reason?"

Edwin turned on his heel and began marching away. "You know I am not ready for that sort of thing," he said over his shoulder. Charles caught up to him easily.

"Yeah," Charles admitted. They continued walking in silence. With luck, they'd avoid the dryad entirely and make it to the wishing well before dark. "I just like seeing you all flustered."

Edwin stopped in his tracks and chill went down Charles's spine. Was something wrong? Had he seen the dryad? Before Charles could really start worrying, Edwin grabbed him by the collar and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Who's flustered now?" he whispered, a wicked grin crossing his face. He let go of Charles and continued walking through the forest as if nothing had happened. Charles didn't know what to do besides follow.