#yes lucas is in here sorry

[mattzerella-sticks]

Marvel, X-Men, whoever - I'm begging you.

Let these two (Wolverine and Bishop) get together.

[bluevelvt]

obikin where a good handful of padawans end up having a small crush on their master in the way of having a crush on a hot teacher where you know it can’t really go anywhere but it’s still there, anakin is one such padawan

obi-wan is somewhat aware of this, he’s not oblivious and he was once a padawan and there were definitely “who has the hottest master” talks with other teenage padawans, so he’s not judging anakin for being a little too into sparring matches where obi-wan ends up pinning him to the ground

he has also known his padawan would be and is attaractive, but it has always been in the context of “that girl we met on our mission was clearly flirting with you” and similar sorts of teasing

once the aotc kicks off and anakin reunites with padmé, he’s thinking “this could be an absolute disaster, but i really like her and i can actually be with her” and the he has crush on obi-wan fades away

skip ahead to anakin being knighted, where he is no longer obi-wan’s padawan but his equal, his brother as obi-wan says

this changes things, as much of the resentment(? don’t know how to best describe it) anakin had towards obi-wan is gone and obi-wan feels like he can truly be friends with anakin now that he doesn’t have to be his master and guide him

their bond becomes much closer and after anakin has his lada wan braid cut, grows his hair out, and starts looking like a jedi knight and not a padawan, the way obi-wan acknowledged that anakin is objectively handsome has changed into a much more subjective “fuck, he is really attractive”

and obi-wan just starts noticing more things about anakin that he found charming in him before but now it’s in a different manner and he feels like a silly teenage padawan with a crush now and not anakin

anakin has had a similar kind of realisation, where the things he loves about obi-wan haven’t really changed and has only grown to appreciate more and certain things he didn’t like before have started to grow on him now that they are equals in their relationship and he was still going to think obi-wan is hot no matter what

eventually, the crush he had on obi-wan starts to pop back up, even stronger this time and unlike before where obi-wan was unattainable, it’s slightly more possible that anakin could actually be with him

so they’re left both secretly crushing on each other, feeling like their sixteen again and trying to avoid thinking about it but hey… they’ve been a somewhat unusual pair with a very close bond so maybe, just maybe, something could happen

[kennahjune]

Steddie

I’m joining the s3 steddie train :D

…

Steve was late. He was so late and so dead. Robin was going to kill him— he’d never make it out of Scoops Ahoy alive.

This was his thought process after dropping Will Lucas and Max off at Mikes. This was also his thought process the entirety of the way to Scoops while he shoved his way through the mall.

The moment he entered the small shop Robins eyes locked on him in a glare. Steve barely gave her a second before he was going to the back room to get ready for his shift.

He heard the back room door open behind him.

“You’re—“

“24 minutes late I know,” he said as calmly as he could while trying to relax his breathing.

“Yeah and—“

“And you get an extra 25 minutes for your break, yes Robin I know!”

Steve finally closed his employee cubby and turned to look at Robin. “Look. Im sorry I was so late today but Will, Lucas and Max are assholes when they’re being petty and they needed a ride to Mikes cause all the others were busy! I’ll take closing shift today to if you’re really that mad.”

Robin stared at him angrily from the doorway. “Fine.” She uncrossed her arms. “And yes, you will be taking the closing shift tonight. I have a study date with a friend that I can’t miss.”

“It’s summer vacation?”

“Shut up!”

Steve shrugged when the door closed.

He closed the door to his employee locker with a little more force than necessary. He had a migraine building and the bright, florescent lights of the mall weren’t helping in the slightest.

He walked out and began his shift.

…

Eddie wanted to enjoy his day off. Preferably by himself. But Gareth and Jeff decided that his personal life was their personal life. So here they were.

He had wanted to spend the day away from the mall, considering that that was where everyone seemed to be nowadays. But the guys were insistent.

So they were walking around. It wasn’t too bad, considering Eddie had gotten himself a new record and tape with his newest paycheck. They were sitting at the fountain when Gareth shouted right in Eddie’s ear:

“HOLY SHIT!”

Eddie just about punched him with how hard he jumped. Jeff spit out his Pepsi all over Eddie.

While Eddie was worrying about getting the sticky drink off of his skin, Gareth continued with; “is that HARRINGTON in Scoops?”

Well. Now he has Eddie’s attention.

Sure enough, just in Eddie’s line of sight, was Steve Harrington in a sailors uniform and a dorky hat.

A dorky hat that was soon snatched up by his current customer, Billy Hargrove.

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder and leaned over him to get a better view. “Is that Hargrove?”

“Yep.” Eddie popped the P.

“It looks like he’s messing with Harrington.”

“Yep.” Another pop on the P.

“And Harrington looks like he’s gonna fucking explode.”

Eddie agreed. Harrington was red in the face and not in the cute blushy-way he usually gets (don’t ask why Eddie knows that). He was talking back to Hargrove, probably something bitchy and sarcastic in typical Harrington-fashion based on the way Hargrove seemed to recoil for a moment before jumping back.

“Should we do something?” Gareth asked skeptically. Jeff shrugged where he was pressed against Eddie’s back.

“I’m going in.” Eddie stood and nearly knocked Jeff down in the process.

“Hang on—“

“Nope! Wish me luck, boys!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder while he dashed over. He heard them both get up and follow him.

…

Steve wanted to cry.

His head hurt so fucking bad and his back was killing him and he had ran into a shelf earlier and had a killer bruise on his arm and leg from it and everything was too fucking much.

Then, in all his asshole and dick glory, in came Billy Hargrove.

At this point, Steve would rather take another plate to the head then have to deal with his annoyingly aggravating voice. Hargrove came in, probably expecting Robin to be there, but got Steve instead. And honestly Steve would rather deal with him then leave Robin with him.

So he’s been enduring it, giving his own comments and comebacks but overall hating his life and just wanting to curl up and die.

Then his savior showed up. In all his black leather and chains, Eddie fucking Munson.

Hallelujah.

Hargrove seemed to back down the moment Munson showed up. Which wasn’t too strange considering that Munson supplied over half of Hawkins’ weed supply. Including Steve’s own for a while. He hasn’t bought in a while cause of the brat brigade.

But not the point.

Hargrove nodded to Munson. “Munson.”

Wow. Real cool, Billy. Steve held back a snicker.

“Heeyyy, Hargrove!” Munson cheerily greeted. But there was something about his smile that was off, to Steve. It seemed tighter than usual, his eyes not crinkling with the motion like normal. Don’t ask why Steve knows this.

Munson’s eyes seemed darker, too. Like he was angry. Maybe Hargrove didn’t pay him? Steve couldn’t bother to care with how bad his head started to pound.

He shouldn’t be at work with this migraine. He knows that. His doctor’s told him this multiple times. But he owes it to Robin for being late so much and he needs to prove to his dad that he can take care of himself.

“So what brings you here, Billy?” Munson asks casually, stepping farther into the shop. Steve seems to finally be forgotten about, and he places his head down on the counter. The cooled surface definitely helps with the spinning room.

He hears Hargrove say something back, but he isn’t paying attention anymore. His eyes are stating to go blurry and he really needs to sit down. But then Munson says something that catches his attention:

“Just leave Harrington alone, man. Last I checked he did nothing to you.”

What the hell? Steve wished he could lift his head and see what Munson was doing. What he looked like when he said that. If he looked as mean as he sounded.

Steve only lifts his head a few moments later when he feels a hand on his back. He shoots up quicker than he intends, and nearly falls back down if not for the hands still holding him up.

“Shit,” he grumbles quietly to himself, whining even quieter at the sudden rush of pain and the black dots in his vision.

“Easy there, your highness.” Munson.

Steve blinks slowly, letting Munson set him down in a booth. He doesn’t remember walking over but he’ll take it. He puts his head back down and intertwines his fingers behind his head. He groans quietly again, the pounding slowly receding.

“Hey man, is there something we could do? Do you need anything?” He heard Munson ask.

We? Steve wants to ask, but finds himself not caring. “Water, and my bag from the back please,” he rasps out. Talking makes the pounding worse.

He hears someone rush off to the back and a moment later a hands on his back again and is helping him sit up.

“Here ya go sweetheart.” Munson slides the glass of water and bag over to him.

Steve silently reaches into his bag and pulls out his small “to-go” med-kit. He carries it around mainly for the kids. Mike tends to be clumsier than he comes off as and Max is always trying out some new skateboarding tricks. From inside the kit he pulls out a pill bottle and swallows 2 with the water and goes for another 2 before a hand stops him.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take more than 2.” This voice is new but familiar. Steve squints past the blurriness and makes out someone he recognizes from school; Gareth Emerson.

“4,” Steve manages past the lump in his throat. Munson, Emerson, and someone else Steve doesn’t quite know look at him. Munson continues to hold Steve’s hand on the table, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. It weirdly intimate but the comfort is very welcome.

“4 what?” The other guy asks.

“4 pills. I usually take 4.”

Munson and Emerson both wince. The third guy looks at him like he’s insane. Steve finally recognizes him as Jeff,… something. He actually never got his last name.

“Dude— are you trying to overdose!?”

Steve winced at the sudden loudness, whining quietly. Munson shushed Jeff and Steve heard him rush out an apology.

The bell over the door dinged at that moment, and Steve found himself face to face with Max, Mike, Will, Lucas, and— for some reason— Jonathan.

“Uh— hi?” Steve attempted for a greeting.

“‘Hi!?’” Mike yelled. “Hi yourself man! We called your walkie at least 4 times!! What the hell?”

“Are you ok? Why didn’t you answer?” Will asked in a much quieter tone.

Lucas and Max wasted no time before slotting themselves in the booth with Steve. Munson remained across from Steve, and Emerson and Jeff now hovered farther away, but Lucas slid right in next to Munson and Max next to Steve.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” Max demanded. But she clung to his shirt tightly.

“Language, Mayfield,” he reprimanded quietly.

Mike paused where he stood. “Why are you talking so quietly? Shit— do you have a migraine?”

Suddenly 4 pairs of little eyes were gazing at him with unmasked concern. Holy shit was this overwhelming.

“Guys—“

“Why didn’t you say that, Steve?” Lucas asked.

“Are you ok? How long has it been going on for? Asked Will.

“Why are even here if you’re not able to function properly?” Mike reprimanded in his own caring-ness.

Max clutched to him tighter. “Why aren’t you at home? You could’ve called in sick or something!”

“Shhh!” Mike shushed her.

“Don’t shush me—“

“Shut up!” He whisper shouted. “You have to be quiet and try to control your temperature while resting in a dark, quiet room to try and help with migraines. Pain killers help to but no more than 3.”

Everyone stared at him. He went a little pink under the sudden attention.

“Nancy gets migraines a lot from reading in the dark.”

Jonathan came over right then. Steve was suddenly overwhelmed by all the people surrounding him.

“Uhm—“

“Hey,” Munson called. Steve forgot about him for a good moment. “This is cute and all, but maybe we should not surround him? Poor boy looks like he’s gonna cry.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Tears had— in fact— sprung to his eyes.

“Sorry!” All the kids rushed out quietly at the same time. Max climbed out of the booth and Munson and Jonathan both assisted with helping Steve to the break room. Jeff and Emerson stayed with the kids, but Mike came with them since he seemed to know what he was doing better than the 3 of them.

On their way back to the room though, Steve’s legs nearly gave out from under him. Shit. It’s one of those days. Munson just barely managed to catch him under the armpits while Jonathan got him by the waist.

“Woah there, sweetheart.” Munson grunted.

“Careful, Steve,” Jonathan said quietly.

“Sorry. Spinning.” Steve exhaled shakily.

Mike came rushing back after realized they weren’t with him. “Damn. Spinning? Are you able to walk? Or are they gonna have to carry you?”

Jonathan looked up at the mention of having to carry Steve. “Yeah— I’m not able to carry him. I am so not strong enough for that.” He had the decency to look apologetic.

Munson chuckled quietly and the sound reverberated through his chest where Steve’s head was. It was soothing.

“Don’t worry Big Byers. I’ve got him no problem.”

Steve was given no warning before he was being picked up in a bridal carry. He winced sharply and laid his head on Munson’s shoulder. Jonathan whistled lowly from somewhere beside them and Steve blindly kicked his leg in his direction, scoring in kicking him in the arm. Jonathan snickered.

…

When Munson chased off Hargrove he didn’t expect for Harrington to all but collapse in on himself and try to fucking overdose on like 5 pain killers. He also hadn’t expected to be bombarded by 4 kids and 1 Jonathan Byers. Least of all did he expect to be carrying Harrington bridal style to the break room of Scoops Ahoy.

Somewhere behind him, Gareth turned the sign on the door to closed. Eddie silently thanked him.

The kid— who he vaguely remembers as Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother— opens the door and startles a half asleep Robin Buckley.

“Hello,” Jonathan throws her way before pulling a chair out for Eddie to sit on.

“Uh— hi? What the hell—“

Eddie takes the seat with Harrington in his lap. Robin looks dumbfounded.

“Migraine,” Jonathan helpfully supplies.

“Really, really bad migraine. Vertigo included. Full package tonight, folks.” Mike adds.

“Ok— um, is he ok? He doesn’t look ok. If it was so bad why didn’t he just call in sick?”

“That’s a good question,” Mike retorts quietly while rooting around in a freezer.

“What are you looking for”, Robin asks.

“Ice pack. The dumbass has everything in that first aid kit of his except a damn ice pack.”

“Language,” Harrington reprimanded quietly from where his cheek was against Eddie’s chest. Eddie chuckled quietly when Mike retorted with a half-assed “sorry”.

Eddie couldn’t help but admire the now sleeping Harrington in his lap. He bent in half like a shrimp, his knees just about to his chest, and his hands gripping tightly onto Eddie’s still-Pepsi-soaked t-shirt. But he looked so at peace while asleep. Like he hadn’t just had the worst migraine Eddie’s ever seen and wasn’t just about to pass out on his feet. Eddie smiled.

Mike comes over silently, managing to sneak up on Eddie and make him jump slightly and causing Harrington to whine. He’d been whining a lot today. And under “different circumstances” Eddie would’ve found it hot as fuck.

“Sorry,” Mike whispered. He seemed to be able mellow out a lot when he actually tried. He seemed like such an asshole out at the booth but now he seems quieter. These kids really cared about Harrington, huh?

“Here.” Jonathan helped him out and gently picked up Harrington’s head. Eddie caught Harrington actually kind of leaning into his touch. A strange but endearing friendship. Mike placed the ice pack— now wrapped in a cloth— on Eddie’s chest where Harrington’s head lays.

Harrington lays back down and is out like a light soon enough.

Eddie zoned out until there’s a very, very soft knock on the door. When he looks up, Jonathan is letting the other 3 kids in while Jeff and Gareth stand in the doorway.

“Is he ok?” Asks Jonathan’s little brother.

Jonathan nods and pats his head. “He’s ok, Will.”

The redhead walks over and takes a silent seat next to Eddie so she’s next to Harrington. She takes Harrington’s hand in hers and proceeds to just sit there and hold it.

“He’s ok, Max. Just a migraine,” the third kid, Lucas he thinks, reassures with a hand on Max’s shoulder.

“That’s what he said before. And then he was in the hospital.”

Woah, what?

“Hm?” Lucas looks at him.

Oh. He said that aloud.

“Wait what?” Robin asked quietly.

Jonathan’s whistled lowly. It seems to be a bit of a tic for him. “Yeah uh— funny story. Hargrove broke a plate over Steve’s head last year and nobody realized how bad it actually was until he passed out after claiming it was only a migraine.”

“He ended up in the hospital for like 2 weeks,” added Lucas.

“He needed several stitches on the side of his head.” Max unhappily supplied. Lucas squeezed her shoulder.

“It was a stage 4 concussion,” muttered Will and Mike put his head on his shoulder.

Eddie caught Gareth and Jeff’s eyes across the break room. Huh.

The Will kid came up to Eddie suddenly. “Thank you. For uh— helping with Steve. It means a lot to us. He means a lot to us.”

Mike, Max, and Lucas all nodded.

“Hang on,” Lucas piped up. “Who are you?”

…

So uh— set myself up for a part 2 there :’D

Part 2

[rottenaero]

Ao3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 3 of the roommate idea

Steve declines the hellfire invitation from Dustin, making up a pretend date, because otherwise he was not getting out of that one. He checked the time on the wall.

2:27

Yeah, alright.

He waited a few hours before getting ready and heading to the school.

The game starts in thirty minutes so they should be-

Steve grinned as he watched the back of Dustin move into the drama room.

Perfect.

He waited a minute, listening into their conversation before deciding that he didn't need to wait for them to stop because if they stopped that meant they were starting.

He slammed open the clubs door, making a couple people in the room jump.

“Steve! What are you doing here?" Eddie asked from his place on the throne. "DnDs over, pack up your shit.” He stated, leaving no room for argument.

Well, apparently a little room.

“What!! Why?! Last campaign of the semester, Mike leaves for Cali tomorrow!"

Steve furrowed his brows, and put his hands on his hips, Gareth, Grant, and Jeff weren't arguing, they knew he was serious, good.

“It can wait till he gets back, why would you even plan this a day before he leaves?”

“Why do we need to pack our shit?!”

Steve pinched his nose, "We're going to Luca’s basketball game.”

“What?!?”

“That traitor-"

“Stevie, darling, you can't be-”

“Why?!”

“You two know each other-”

Steve grimaced, a migraine starting at the fore-front of his mind.

“Please shut up, Christ.”

Eddie winced and immediately shushed everyone.

“We're going to this game, because even if Lucas doesn't get to play, we still gotta support him. Dustin, Mike, you guys have only gone to one of his games, his first one.”

He turned the other group, "Grant, Gareth, Jeff, fuck Eddie. None of you have gone to a game, I know it's not your usual shit but you gotta come. Hell, Erica, you're his sister, I mean, you’ve done an amazing job at showing up at the rest, so I can’t really complain about you.”

Dustin winced, “ Sorry Steve, but why does this matter so much to you? It's not the end of the world.”

Steve rubbed his arm, “ He needs someone to be there for him, even if he doesn't win. You can just do the damn campaign at Eddie's when Mike comes back.”

Mike, in question, scoffs, “And since when do you make the rules.”

Steve ignores him, reaching forward and grabbing Eddie's arm, and Erica’s shoulder. "Suit yourselves, but kinda hard to play DnD without the Dungeon Master, and Eddie and Erica don't have a choice.”

They make their way to the gym, a reluctant group of Hellfire in tow, and sit across the top of the bleachers. Steve waves at Robin from where he sits and then turns to Hellfire. “ Thank you guys for being reasonable."

Gareth scrunches his nose, “You cannot just keep stealing Eddie randomly.” Steve purses his lips, and leans into the man in question.

"Not stealing if he's okay with it, right Eds?” Eddie looked between the two, “ I'm sensing I should say yes?"

Steve grinned and patted his cheek. “Good boy."

Dustin turned to them, "Was Eddie the date you were talking about earlier? You tell seem awfully friendly."

Eddie flushed, and let's out an awkward laugh. " Steve wishes he could date me."

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: *is now lying on the floor with a dagger at her neck after Luca accidentally mistakes her for an anomaly*

Luca: Who are you?

MC: They haven't assigned me a name as a test subject yet, so you can just call me MC. That's my name.

Luca: *his eyes widened when the realization hit* *immediately pulls away*

Luca: I'm sorry! *helps her to get up*

MC: It's fine. My head's still intact.

Professor Nicolas: M-MC... You should rest for now...

MC: You mentioned that these documents need to be completed as soon as possible.

Professor Nicolas: That's true, but you must have been shaken up by the incident earlier—

MC: Nothing can unsettle me, except my chronic back pain.

Professor Nicolas: ...

Professor Nicolas: *sighs, then smiles in defeat*

MC: Here, professor. *hands him the documents*

Professor Nicolas: Thank you, MC.

Kaito: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!! YOU ATTACKED A LADY?!!!!

Luca: I didn't mean to. And she forgave me.

Kaito: But that doesn't make it right?!! Who is it?! Is she a beauty?!! Gahh! You're stupid, Luca!

Luca: She's a test subject for curse research.

Kaito: Test subject...?

Luca: She was pretty calm, and yes—She's a beauty too.

Kaito: ...

Kaito: GAHHHH!!! I WANT TO MEET HER!

[writerfromshikahr]

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

A Bloody Proposal - Lucanis X Rook

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

The contract had derailed from the very beginning. The target, a massive brute of a man, turned out to be far more resourceful than anticipated. Lucanis felt compelled to take actions he wasn’t proud of, while Rook… well, she was sitting on the cobblestones, a bloody nose and a hand pressed against her ribs, gasping with laughter.

“Will you stop laughing?” Lucanis muttered.

“I—” Rook tried to respond but dissolved into another fit of giggles, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “I’m sorry! But every time we try to roll him, he just—” She gestured helplessly at the target’s oversized body, which had stubbornly refused to cooperate with gravity. “I'm pretty sure the arsehole broke my nose by the way.”

Lucanis sighed, crouching down beside her, his boots squelching in the puddle of blood they’d created. “We’re supposed to be professionals,” he muttered, grabbing the man’s shoulders again. “Help me, Rook.”

“I’ll try. But he’s so big! What was this guy eating? Wyvern steaks?”

“Dragons. He was eating dragons. Had to be,” Lucanis said in a deadpan tone, which only made her laugh harder.

They managed to shift the body a few inches closer to the edge of the canal before she lost all strength in her arms again, doubling over and clutching her stomach in laughter, again.

“Rook,” Lucanis said, his voice a mix of a growl and a sigh.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said breathlessly, wiping tears from her eyes. “Give me a second.”

Lucanis sat back on his heels, bloodied and exhausted, watching her with something between fondness and resignation. And then, the thought came to him: This is it. This is my life now. And I want her in it, always.

Before he could stop himself, the words were out. “Marry me.”

Rook froze, her eyes snapping to his. “What?”

“I’m asking you to marry me,” he said, his tone resigned to the absurdity of the moment. “Here. While we’re covered in blood, trying to dump a body into a canal.”

Her expression shifted from shock to incredulous amusement, her laugh breaking free again. “Lucanis, you can’t propose while we’re—”

“I just did.” His mouth quirked into a crooked, sheepish grin. “Perfect timing, really.”

She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide if he was serious. Then she shook her head, still laughing softly, and reached out to help him with the body. “Get this guy in the water first. Then we’ll talk.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You really want to marry this?” she asked him.

“Preferably with fewer bodily fluids, and no dead guy at your feet.” His voice softened slightly as he added, “Marry me, Rook.”

“We’re terrible at this, being normal.”

“You’re terrible at this,” he corrected, motioning to the body that remained stubbornly sprawled on the cobblestones. “I’ve been doing all the work.”

Rook snorted, wiping at her bloody nose with the back of her hand. “Sure, Dellamorte. You’re the one who decided to propose mid-mess.”

Lucanis sighed dramatically, planting his hands on his hips. “If I waited for a clean, quiet moment with you, I’d be waiting forever.”

“Romantic,” she said with a grin.

“You still haven’t given me your answer,” he said, his voice strained as he shoved the body again. It shifted slightly, rolling just a few more inches closer to the water’s edge.

Rook huffed, crouching down to help. “I thought my laughing and inability to function under pressure was answer enough.”

“This isn’t the clarity I was hoping for.” He glanced at her from the side, his hands tightly gripping the dead man’s shoulders.

“Well then,” she said, adjusting her grip on the target’s boots. Her expression softened for a fleeting moment before her grin returned. “Yes, Luca. I’ll marry you.”

With a final heave, they rolled the body over the edge and into the water with an unceremonious splash. Both of them stood there for a moment, catching their breath.

Lucanis exhaled sharply, though whether it was relief or exasperation, he wasn’t sure.

“Good. Because it would’ve been embarrassing to shove this guy into the canal alone after you turned me down.”

[ranchic]

They sit in silence. Evan — Buck — came here on his own volition, so Tommy waits for him to speak.

When he speaks, it's…

“I don't know what I need to say to you. Everyone was telling me that I have to come, apologize for rushing into things, for not seeing the real you, for putting you on a pedestal,”

Tommy flinches. It feels like needles in his fucking heart.

“Lucy said that, Chimney said that, Sal said that...”

“Sal? Sal de Luca? When did he call you?”

Evan turns to Tommy, and Tommy swallows all words and all sounds. Evan looks… He doesn't look like a person who came to fight for the future. He looks… Pissed, actually.

Tommy has never seen him angry. Really angry, the kind that burn alive you and all people around.

“They all said that I have to come to you and make you come back. But what the fuck, Tommy? What else can I say to you? I already told you that I want future with you. Living together, marriage someday. I fucking told you that. The only person in all thirty years that I have seen future with. The only person who I believed can love me for all I am and not get tired in ten years. Yeah, should have asked Eddie to remind me that I'm an idiot.”

“Evan, you are not…”

“Why do I need to convince you to be with me? To believe me when I literally say that I like you and admire you and want to be with you? Because I, a fucking idiot, was thinking that I already did all of this, for half a year. Six months, Tommy. Six months of my life. What did you think we did for those six months? Oh, yes, sorry. You thought that I was just playing with a new, shiny toy. Because I'm an idiot and a child who doesn't know what he wants. Who doesn't think that his boyfriend of six months play some role or wear some... Some sort of mask. Who hides like all of his actual personality and fears. Who doesn't know that he can't just believe this boyfriend's words and actions. That he needs to pry and dig to find out the real Tommy. I didn't know that for six months I've been failing this fucking quest, so, yes, I'm so sorry for that.”

Tommy wants to say something. To scream back. To defend himself — he never said that, he never asked for that, he never meant that.

Except…

Except.

“I don't know why I'm here,” Evan rubs his face, stands, breathes deeply and shakily. “Peer pressure, I guess. Everyone was telling me that I have to speak to you and we can make up. But then I saw you and I remembered what you said, and I got angry. So angry.”

“You can be angry.”

“I didn't ask you for permission!” Evan literally barks back, and Tommy shuts his mouth.

He has never seen Evan so angry. So angry that he is ready to bite, to hurt back. He thinks, for the first time since the break up.

What if Evan is not the only one who has never seen the dirty and unpleasant sides of his boyfriend?

“I wanted a future with you, Tommy. Want. Wanted. Whatever. But I also have some scars from love. And these scars taught me that I shouldn't beg people to love me. To never leave me. That I shouldn't waste myself for their improvement. So. So.”

He shakes all over, but his eyes are dry.

“This is me telling you that I'm not coming here again. I'm not going to call you or ask you to talk, and I'm not going to ask for forgiveness. All that I did was loving you, and if I did it wrong it's not my fault, because you never said how you needed to be loved. And I already told you what I want from you. So. You need to decide what you want from me and how you want to get it. If you want it.“

Evan falters. His fire turns to embers, his anger turns to mist sparkling in his eyes. It's Tommy's turn to shake — from the want to reach out, soothe, make everything better.

Tommy was shaking from this want for weeks since the break up. Is it too late?

Evan is going to the door. Evan is leaving.

Tommy reaches for his hand.

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

— POSTPONED — info

*sighs*, kinktober. what a fun excuse to actually finish all the fics i started and never finished... and start new ones... and just get motivated again. yippie! we could also call it recyletober. okay, sorry, that was so bad. anyway.

this time it's not gonna be as kink-oriented as last time... but that's okay! i just have some ideas that were brewing in my notes app and were not being attended to... also, as stated before, i am chronically addicted to character.ai. please don't download it or you will end up with 45h screentime a week JUST ON THAT APP. but it works great for inspo.... to not follow up on... until now!

also, this year we have multiple groups (3)! because hoshi (🤤) and riize have been all up in my business again. and yes, i started planning this at 5am.

also, yippie, i'm alive???

sorry, i love yapping. let's get to it:

october 1st: park wonbin (riize): read here!

october 7th: kwon soonyoung / hoshi (seventeen): read here!

october 10th: mark lee (nct 127/nct dream): pending...

october 13th: lee donghyuck / haechan (nct 127/nct dream): dick pic. thought it could be funny *shrugs*

october 16th: kim dongyoung / doyoung (nct 127) & huang renjun (nct dream): the most awkward threesome ever (?)

october 19th: wong yukhei / lucas (solo): "my ex broke up with me and i dare myself to fuck lucas" as aforementioned, it is my favorite concept. god, i love lucas so much i could die rn.

october 22nd: lee sohee & lee chanyoung / anton (riize): and they were roommates! canceled due to recent events

october 25th: huang renjun (nct dream): f-feet.. 😔 i'm so sorry...

october 28th: nakamoto yuta (nct 127): as a gender studies professor, he should really know better than to sleep with his student... but he will because this is my fic.

october 31st: lee jeno (nct dream): alpha! jeno... thank you, jeno, for ripping off your shirt on may 4th... and thank you anon for the ask... i started writing it right away and got distracted by depression. 💓

more infos tba! also, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @rjreins @meowniee @deezbin @ant-onie @ablackbtsstan @gacktsa

[prettiestgrlinthemorguexo]

Swipe (Lucifer Morningstar x reader) part 2

Description: after talking to a man name Luca for a few weeks, during your first date your greeted my a unsuspected man…

RAHHHH

Am I starting this legit like 2 hours after posting the first chapter yes

I genuinely love this story and I can’t wait for this part

Next chapter is a smut ;)

Warnings: lying, apologizing for said lying, first date, angst (like 0.0001%), make out sesh

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

Lucifer’s POV

I was hesitant, why was I so nervous? I stood outside restaurant, looking at the door. This was a mistake…I was getting ready to leave when I felt a Buzz in my pocket. I pull my phone out to see a message from you.

Y/N - Hey! I just sat down! We have a really nice table, are you almost here? :)

I staired at the message Y/N sent, I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing until I finally let out a breath, a raspy sigh left his lips “you have to do this..” i said quietly before walking inside the establishment. The moment i walked him all eyes were on me, considering I’m not out in public much so it is expected. I made my way over to hostess stand to see the host staring at me, she looked terrified.

“Hi I have a reservation, my party member should are ready be here.” She staired at me for a few seconds longer before being dragged back to reality, “of course! Come with me!” She said as the rounded the corner to the bustling dining room, almost immediately eyes are on me, now more then ever was I happy I reserved a more private area, she let me to the archway leading to a separate and smaller dinning room, “right through this door sir please enjoy!” She said as quickly as she left. I let out a breath before walking through the archway, and there they were…

It felt as if time had stop, this was really happening. All of a sudden a wave of nerves washed over me, but through the nerves I spoke. “sorry I’m late..” I said, my voice full of nerves. When I spoke their eyes left their phone, when they saw me their E/C eyes sudden slightly, their posture changing from casual to nervous.

No ones POV

Y/N looked up to see the face of the king of hell it’s self. They had a wave of nerves wash over them, the air felt thick. “Hi um,” Y/N started to say, clearly nervous. “Sorry I think they sat me at the wrong table I’m sorry your-“

“No your not” Lucifer said as he sat down at the table. Y/N still looked confused, why was Lucifer sitting across the table from them? Before they could get a word out to question him, Lucifer spoke, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, just let me explain...” he started, clearly nervous.

“I…” Lucifer stopped for a moment, hesitating, “I know this isn’t easy to explain but I need to come clean and apologize. A few weeks ago I started to reconnect with my daughter Charlie, and she wanted to help me meet someone…so she signed me up for Viva…and..” he said moving his eyes up to meet theirs, trying to read a reaction as the continued. “I lied about who I am..being the king of hell on a sight like that, who in the hell knows what would happen, so…I used a fake name.”

Lucifer was watching Y/N’s eyes, seeing a lot of shock, he understood where they were coming from. Lucifer looked at their eyes, Y/N stated quite for a few more seconds before speaking up. “So…the whole time I was talking to you?” They asked quietly. Lucifer swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Everything clicked in Y/N’s head, it was so obvious. L.M, having a daughter named Charlie, his divorce being at the same time. As Lucifer’s and Liliths. Y/N stay quiet, the room had a uncomfortable silence before Lucifer broke it, “I know it’s wrong now and I shouldn’t have done that, and I understand if you don’t wanna talk to me again but you have a right to know.” Lucifer said quietly, clearly preparing for the worst. Y/N face went from surprised at the facts to a warm smile “I’m not mad, I’m happy you told me early on..” they said, reaching over the table taking his hand in theirs

Lucifer’s eyes widen and lit up see their hands touch his, the nerves washed away, he couldn’t help but smile. “But, everything else you said was true right?” Y/N asked with a small laugh. “It was the only thing I promise!” Lucifer almost blurred out in reassurance. Y/N laughed as his reaction, they loved how dorky he was.

The rest of the date went off without a hitch, he was such a gentleman. They talked about everything, their interest, their family and passions. Along with the amazing food, Y/N could happily say this was the best date they’ve been on, love or dead. Lucifer couldn’t help but be infatuated with every word that left their mouth, they were perfect…the apple of his eye.

Soon it turned late into the night, the red sky turning a dark crimson, soon they were both outside on the now dead street. “I had a great time tonight.” Y/N said to him turning to face him, Lucifer felt his heart skip a beat. “Anything for you dove” Y/N face got flushed at his little name. Lucifer stepped closer, their bodies inches apart. “So, you’re not mad right?” Lucifer ask them softly.

Y/N knew he needed that reassurance, Y/N took his hand his in theirs intertwining their fingers. Their face had a soft expression fully of love. “I’m not…I could never be mad at you..” Y/N said their eyes moving their eyes from their hands to his eyes, seeing the gloss in them…his eyes could illuminate a room. They staired at each other for a few seconds before he moved in closer. Lucifer’s eyes were begging for permission.

Y/N smiled before closing the distance, their lips finally connecting, It was a sweet passionate kiss. He was quick to wrap his arms around their waist, pulling them closer. Y/N’s hands made their way to both sides of his face, feeling his soft skin and perfect hair, It was all perfect.

After what felt like an eternity, their lips a few inches apart. They could feel each others breaths, Y/N pulled him in closer burying her face into his neck. “Take me home with you..” they said quietly. Lucifer’s face when crimson red and those five words. He didn’t say a word, the tighten the grip around their waist as red smoke in golfed them both…disappearing.

TAG LIST

@reverse-soe @kazurami14 @netheris @musicb33nsstuff @rainycloud858 @yaimlight @erissco @aarkhamkknight

[lafleshlumpeater]

Luke Castellan x Daughter of Dionysus reader? The show version of Dionysus was funny and I just want to know how the whole interactions would go

i loved this request, thanks sm for sending it in!! i actually haven't watched the show, so if this is inaccurate i'm v sorry </3

warnings: mentions of eating and drinking (no alcohol), fem!reader, established relationship, mild PDA, nickname

luke castellan masterlist

Your boyfriend lovingly nuzzles his nose into your temple from where he's sitting next to you. “Your dad is giving me looks,” he whispers. Your lips pull upwards at Luke’s antics, rolling your eyes and looking over at your father at where he’s sitting next to Chiron. He’s trying to be subtle, you’ll give him that, but there’s nothing implicit about the way he’s eyeing your boyfriend in an attempt at being suavely menacing. With his leopard- print shirt, pot belly and an aluminium Coca- Cola can he’s gripping so hard it’s beginning to crumple, it’s not working.

You take a bite into your wrap. “He is.”

“He’s scaring me.”

This elicits a snort from you, choking slightly on a cucumber chunk. “Luke Castellan, one of the most intimidating campers at Camp Half- Blood, is scared of my dad? The god of wine?”

Luke whines in protest through a sip of water. “Yeah, the god of wine. Imagine, if, like, he got drunk and… I don’t know, whacked me around the head with a baseball bat.”

You snort. “What? Babe, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know your name.”

Your boyfriend pouts. “That makes me feel so much better.”

“Baby.” Luke rolls his eyes playfully, relishing in the banter the two of you have managed to maintain throughout your relationship. But his momentary glee is cut short when he realises Dionysus has risen from the table, disposing of his empty can and making his way over to where the two of you are sitting. Panicked, he nudges you.

“He’s coming,” Luke indiscreetly whisper- screams, as if you hadn’t noticed already.

“Relax, nothing’s gonna happen,” you murmur back. You were sure of it. Mostly.

“Luis,” your father greets, suddenly next to the two of you. Luke swallows, afraid to correct him. You’re milliseconds from letting out a laugh aloud.

“Dad, it’s Luke.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Yes. Lucas. That’s what I said.”

You can’t help but purse your lips, both from suppressing an entertained chortle and half in contempt for your father’s annoying penchant of feinting at carelessness for every camper who wasn’t you. Honestly, you were surprised he didn’t give you the same treatment sometimes.

“Well, Lucas, it has come to my attention you are dating my daughter.” He nods towards you; you cringe. If he was about to give Luke the ‘take care of my daughter or else’ talk, you were going to run away and never come back.

Luke nods, gulping. “Yes. Sir.”

Trying to save him and yourself from embarrassment, you intervene. “Dad. Please.”

“Oh no, no,” he insists. “I just wanted to have a quick word and say that… the two of you look quite happy. And I’m proud of the two of you.” He turns to the shell- shocked boy beside you. “But I have to mention, young man, if anything changes-”

“Okay dad!” You shoot him a ‘please stop’ look disguised in a beaming grin which he’s on the receiving end of too many times to be oblivious to. “Thank you! You can go now!”

Finally, he wanders off again, muttering under his breath. You catch little of it, something about how ‘teenagers nowadays’ and ‘so ungrateful’.

You turn to Luke; he’s already looking at you with an incredulous look on his face. “What… just happened?”

Like a ticking time bomb, your laughter finally escapes, Luke quickly joining you.

Dionysus looks on, back in his seat next to Chiron, hiding a satisfied smile behind a glass bottle of Coke.

taglist: @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @explosiongamora @brutal-out-here @absolutely-existing @quickslvxrr @bibliophile-dendrophile

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

[mc-i-r]

Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

[ataliagold]

I Just Wanna Get To Know Ya

For @astrangersummer week 9 prompt 'different meeting au.' Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson (pre-relationship)

Rating: T

W/C: 1281

Tags: Pre-Steddie, alternate meeting, modern au, no upside down, Steve's an indoor climbing instructor, it's love at first sight for Eddie, flirting, fluff, Eddie's horny af

Summary: Dustin convinces Eddie to drive them to the indoor climbing gym where his old babysitter works. Eddie's reluctant at first, but changes his tune when he lays eyes on the instructor...

___

It’s barely nine am when Eddie’s phone starts vibrating beside him, buzzing along his bedside table.

He groans, slaps at it, tries to shut it the fuck up because surely it was too early for his alarm to be going off?

Looking at the display, he blinks several times, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his brain.

It isn’t his alarm - it’s Dustin calling.

“What, Henderson?” Eddie snaps into the phone, flopping back against his pillow.

“Can you take us bouldering?” Dustin’s voice, loud and imploring, hits Eddie’s ear.

“Huh?”

“Bouldering,” Dustin repeats, slowly as though talking to an imbecile. “Can you drive us? This guy Steve, he was meant to take us, he used to baby sit me and he works there and he said we’d need to do the normal climbing wall first but then we could try bouldering but he had to go in early to cover a shift and he couldn’t pick us all up in time, so…”

Eddie takes a moment to process the info dump from Dustin.

“You…want me to drive you somewhere?” He finally catches up.

“Yes,” Dustin says, exasperated. “You’re not busy, right?”

“Well…”

“Eddie, it’s a Saturday morning, I know you’re not busy.”

And ok, a little rude, but…Dustin was right.

“Fine, whatever. Where am I taking you?”

“Bouldering. In Bloomington.”

“What the fuck is bouldering?”

“Like rock climbing. But this one’s inside, it’s like a climbing wall, Lucas has been before and he convinced us it might actually be fun and Steve said he could get us in for free.”

“You want to go…climbing? In this heat?”

“It’s inside,” Dustin repeats, “and there’s good AC.”

Eddie sighs. It’s too damn early for him to have the energy to argue with Dustin. “Whatever, but you little shits are giving me gas money.”

“Thanks Eddie! See you in…twenty minutes?”

Dustin ends the call, and Eddie scrambles out of bed, cursing, barely with enough time to brush his teeth.

*****

Thank fuck he brushed his teeth, was Eddie’s first thought upon walking inside the climbing gym.

Because the kids are waving at a guy standing by one of the walls, Dustin calling “Steve!” and when he turns around and grins and gives a goofy little waggle of his fingers in greeting Eddie’s brain short-circuits.

Steve is fucking stunning, and Eddie can think of little else but getting his mouth on any part of him.

Steve is tall, he’s wearing a white tank top with those low holes that dip down and expose tanned skin over a lean torso. His hair is artfully mussed in several directions, all soft and golden and perfect for Eddie’s fingers, he thinks. He’s got a beautiful smile and enormous hands and don’t even get Eddie started on the harness clinging sinfully to his thighs and ass.

Eddie swallows before he can literally dribble.

“Hey guys, glad you could make it! Sorry about that,” Steve was saying to the kids. “Here, let me show you how to get your harnesses on, I’ll get you guys to start on the normal wall first and then we can look at moving you on to bouldering...”

Eddie forces his feet to move. Steps closer to this fucking god of a man, brings himself into his orbit and tries to kick-start his vocal chords again.

Steve looks up. Smiles wide at Eddie, eyes twinkling and Eddie thought that was something that only happened in books but this guy’s deep brown eyes are actually shining and Eddie doesn’t think any of this is very fair.

“Hey man, I’m Steve.” He sticks his hand out, and Eddie’s eyes lock on the veins in his wrist and the sheer girth of the man’s fingers, and he feels his brain stumble again. “You gave these little shrimps a ride? Appreciate it, sorry if it messed up your plans or anything.”

“No,” Eddie squeaks, writhing internally. “No plans, nope. S’fine. I’m, ah, I’m Eddie.”

Steve’s hand is still awkwardly outstretched. Eddie takes it, squeezes maybe a little too firmly and god his hand is big and warm and there’s callouses on his fingers and Eddie is fucked.

After a moment, Steve takes his hand back. Brushes it against the back of his neck, right where Eddie sort of wanted to sink his teeth in.

Get your shit together, his brain hisses.

“You, ah…you want to climb, too?” Steve asks, gesturing to the wall.

Eddie glances up, takes in the sheer height of the thing, the multi-coloured grips, watches as some kid near the top slips off and is yanked upwards by his harness. On the other side of the room, someone is scaling a wall without a damn harness, the floor beneath them soft and padded but Eddie really wasn’t sure about that…

“Eddie doesn’t do physical activity,” Mike pipes up, waiting while Lucas helps him with his harness. “He complained the whole way here, he didn’t even know what bouldering was.”

Eddie could murder the kid.

Steve smiles, a little sheepish. “That’s ok. You can watch, if you’d prefer.”

“I want to try,” Eddie blurts.

Steve’s face lights up again. “You do? Cool, let me just…yeah this one’ll do, c’mere, I’ll help you.” Steve selects a harness, briefly adjusting the straps, and then he fucking kneels down in front of Eddie.

Eddie’s heart slams in his chest. He’s only a man, a very gay man, and Steve’s crouched down there and looking up at him with liquid-honey eyes through heavy lashes and what the fuck is he supposed to do?

“Um…I need you to step into these loops,” Steve prompts, wiggling the harness a little.

Eddie breathes out. Sees Dustin a short distance away rolling his eyes at him, catches Max smirking.

Those two were going to be banished to the back seat on the way home.

Eddie does as he’s told, but then Steve’s fingers are scraping against his thighs as he pulls the harness up, delving dangerously close to the current center of Eddie’s bloodflow and fuck if he gets any closer then Eddie’s probably going to get himself permanently banned from this place because there’s children around…

Steve stands up. Places his hands over the loose straps at Eddie’s hips, yanks them tight, Eddie stumbling a little bit as he does.

Instinctively, he reaches out, grasping at Steve’s waist with one hand to steady himself and oh god that was nice – he’s firm and warm and solid under Eddie’s grip, and Eddie finds his hand lingering, thinks about how nice it would be to trace his fingers across soft skin rather than white cotton…

Steve looks down at him, throat clicking as he swallows, lips slightly parted. Is he…blushing? Just a little, Eddie thinks, Steve’s blushing with Eddie’s hand on him…

“Just gotta…tighten this last one up,” Steve breathes, and reaches around behind Eddie to tug on a buckle resting above his ass.

Eddie never thought he’d find heaven in a gym, but he thinks maybe he’s died and gone there.

“Ok, you’re all ready,” Steve says, stepping back a little, Eddie’s hand slipping mournfully from him.

Eddie’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip, wetting it.

Finally, he finds his voice.

“Maybe you could…give me a little demonstration first?” Eddie asks with a small smirk. “The wall is really high, and I just wanna see how it’s done.”

Steve bites his lip, returns Eddie’s smirk, leans in a little to say, “Sure thing, Eds.”

Steve’s halfway up the wall, Eddie’s eyes glued to his ass, when Dustin leans over and stage-whispers, “You happy you came along now?”

“Henderson,” Eddie says appreciatively, “this might be the best Saturday morning I’ve ever had.”

___

[turcott3]

greedy

ethan edwards x fem! reader

warnings?: alcohol, cursing, fluff fluff FLUFF, and one kiss!

masterlist

-

you found yourself dancing with a drink in your hand, in the living room of none other than, the hockey team.

of course you were looped in with them pretty well, being close with some of the girlfriends, class with some of the guys and one of them you were particularly close with.

the one who got teased for being the only singleton besides luca, but luca was mostly left out of the mess with his dating history. not that it was bad, he just dated one of their sisters and now they want him single, leaving no one else other than ethan.

you danced in the close quarters, hoping and praying that somehow the crowd would push you and ethan closer together so you could finally talk to him. almost instantly, you were pushed along running into him, like your wish was granted.

“oh hey y/n, you look amazing.” ethan says eyeing you up and down. the two of you had a little something going on that you kept a secret, almost against your will. it hadn’t been very long though, you hadn’t even kissed him before.

“hi ethan, thank you.” you reply smiling as the small talk flowed naturally for a few minutes. ethan grew irritated as the guy behind him kept stepping back and leaning on him, you could tell his annoyance was growing by the second.

“hey dude, could you fucking stop.” ethan says loudly. suddenly the guy turns, elbow flying straight into ethan’s nose.

“oh sorry didn’t see you there.” he says in a mocking tone, turning back around. once ethan finally removed his hands you saw the blood start to drip.

“fuck ed, you’re bleeding.” you say tilting his chin up to keep it from dripping onto his white shirt.

“i am?” he asks.

“yes babe, come on.” you reply as you grab onto his hand, pulling him up the stairs and into his bedroom, which conveniently had a bathroom. you shut the door behind you quickly and looked around.

“can you sit on the bed for me? and keep your chin up please.” you shout from the bathroom.

“yes maam.” he teases from a few feet away, a red blush flushing over your features. you rolled up a few sheets up toilet paper and stuck it in his nostril to soak up the mess that could’ve been made.

“that guy was such a dick, did it hurt?” you ask, standing in front of him.

“it happened too quickly i’m honestly not even sure, but it does hurt a little now.” he says, observing that it’s definitely not broken.

“he’s a pussy, he couldn’t even break it.” he laughs. a few minutes go by allowing the blood to dry. carefully you pull the tissue out and toss it to his trash can, handing him one more sheet.

“make sure you’re all done.” you say and he nods, wiping the dried blood from his nostril.

“all good.” he says, setting the tissue on his nightstand.

“good, i kept your shirt from a stain.” you smile as you place your hands on either side of his face, his arm wrapping around your hips and pulling you between his legs.

“thank you for cleaning me up y/n.” he says lowly.

“yeah of course, it’s no problem.” you reply locking eyes with him.

his face inches forward quickly with a smile on his face.

“can i kiss you?” he asks still moving forward, his grin growing wider.

“no, not here ethan, not now.” you giggle, turning your head to the side, his lips hitting the corner of your mouth.

“fuck, you’re better at this than i am.” he sighs, a glimmer in his eye. you wrap the boy up in a tight hug, one of your hands toying with the hair on the back of his head as he presses sweet kisses from your neck all the way across your collarbone to the tip of your shoulder. you smiled as you sighed, loving the intimate moments you shared with him. he kisses left hot impressions on your skin without question. they made you wish you could just make him yours in a house full of people, but you wouldn’t dare. especially not with the door unlocked.

“you’re so damn cute right now, you know that?” he says pulling away, his hands unwrapping from your back straight to your waist.

“thank you handsome.” you say, your arms wrapping back around him as you pressed a handful of kisses to his cheek. you could feel the smile on his cheeks as you hugged onto him, never wanting to let him go. his arms were now one of the few places you really felt comfortable.

“it’s getting late, should i walk you home?” he asks, pulling away for the last time.

“if we can sneak out unnoticed, yes.” you smile as he nods, opening his bedroom door for you.

the two of you made your escape with ease, everyone too drunk to realize you were even still there in the first place. you and ethan remained buzzed, but far from drunk. you walked around the neighborhood for what seems like hours before you finally made it to your front porch.

“this is it isn’t it?” he asks, dropping your hand as you walked up the steps to your front door.

“yep.” you sighs, wanting nothing more for him to just kiss you in this moment. you were alone and far from any possible spies.

“i’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, placing light hands on your waist, preparing to hug you again.

“of course.” you smile lightly as he pulls you in for one of the warmest hugs he’d ever given you. slowly, he pulls away locking eyes with you before leaning in and locking his lips onto yours.

finally.

his lips fit on yours like a perfect match. they were soft and sweet just like you’d imagined in all the fake scenarios you’d created in your head to make you feel better about your situation. his grip on your waist squeezed one last time before pulling away with a smile on his face and his eyes shut, looking straight at the ground.

“what?” you giggle.

“nothing baby, it’s nothing. god you don’t understand how long i’ve been waiting to do that.” he sighs out in relief.

“well if you were wondering, it was amazing but i think i need a few more to really give you a good review.” you smile, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as he pulled you flush against his chest for another one. this kiss more natural and loving, even better than the first.

“i guess i should be getting back now.” he frowns as the two of you pull away, pressing a kiss to your hand before turning his back to you.

“eddy wait.” you call out to him.

“yeah?”

“i don’t want you walking all that way by yourself,” you half lie, “why don’t you stay with me? my parents aren’t home.”

“are you sure?”

“yes baby, come on.” you reply waving him back, tugging him into your front door by his shirt.

the next morning, you were finally able to wake up by his side for the first time. your eyes fluttered open as the brunette laid peacefully asleep next to you. you took it all in as you both laid there, your fingers raking through his soft hair. he groans after a few strokes, yawning as his eyes flickered open

“good morning sleepy head.” you giggle.

“good morning pretty girl.” he smiles lightly, pulling you to his chest as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

if you could never leave this moment, let alone the last 24 hours, you wouldn’t. you wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever if you could. and maybe you could even finally tell your friends about him.

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!chef reader | social media au - part three: living together

a/n: i know it's been a minute and i'm desperately willing myself to write the luca sequel... for now... enjoy another installation of make my heart surrender as a social media au.

you can see part one and part two here. or read the story here.

liked by marcusmakespastries, carmyberzatto and others

thesustainable.chef: james beard awards 2023

congrats to @/chefsyd, our rising star, for the win! i owe you breakfast.

marcusmakespastries: LET IT RIP

poursomesugarnatalie: cuties!!

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liked by carmyberzatto, fakattack and others

thesustainable.chef: date night at home with my love @/carmyberzatto.

carmyberzatto: love you

maya.kaz: omg YUM!

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liked by chefsyd, philipKrich and others

thesustainable.chef: some r&d with the best of the best, @/marcusmakespastries

marcusmakespastries: yes chef 🫡

chefsyd: DAMN

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liked by callmeUNC, poursomesugarnatalie and others

thesustainable.chef: 🎈 it's a boy! @/carmyberzatto and i adopted a cat and now we call him aioli. welcome to the family, sweet stinky boy.

chefsyd: LOL. not stinky baby ➡ thesustainablechef: a sweet stinky baby!! ➡ chefsyd: you're just gonna out your SON like that tho? 👀

poursomesugarnatalie: can't wait to meet my nephew!! tell carmy to return my call. ➡ thesustainable.chef: lol. sorry, nat... getting on that asap.

fakattack: hey @/carmyberzatto. think aioli and the ralphs could meet? ➡ philipKrich: fuck off

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[satansapostle6]

Love The Sinner | Dexter Morgan

Dexter Morgan, a vigilante serial killer hiding in plain sight, loses sleep for the first time in his life when he’s met with the very last thing he expected: a kindred spirit.

Warnings: Violence. Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Part One.

Part Two. Innocent Until Proven Sexy.

Johnny Bertelli, in the many long months of my murder trial, became my favorite fucking person. The jury thankfully didn’t really see it that way, but we were running circles around the prosecutors. Our claim was naturally self defense, and I have to admit, it was a fucking good one. Story goes, I entered George Randall’s house to confront him, for causing my daughter’s suicide. I got angry, and things got heated, with neighbors to attest to the fact that we were both yelling. George got angry, and attacked me. And I defended myself. The story’s so good, even I believe it.

Technically, I did come to return George’s dishes to him, and he did get pretty heated with me when we argued, so really, we weren’t telling too many lies here. As far as George’s various embellishments, this case was pretty clean. I would say the only challenge Johnny and I faced in court was spinning my obvious lack of remorse when I was arrested. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Johnny take on a real challenge. It really is funny to watch this giant Italian guy pacing about the court during his addresses to the court while he’s built like Luca Brasi.

At the moment, I’m sitting up on the stand beside the judge, while the entire courtroom scrutinizes my every move and micro expression. There are about fifty pairs of eyes on me, but right now, I only care about one. A pair of sharp green eyes, that I still recognize from when I couldn’t work that goddamn phone. But I quickly snapped out of it, bringing my attention back to Johnny, and the trial. Somehow, this felt less interesting.

“So. Nicole, I know you’ve been through a lot in the past year or so, so forgive me,” my lawyer began, evoking sympathy from the court, “But did you have any intention of murdering George Randall when you knocked on his door?”

I took a moment, almost chewing on the question as I reluctantly relished its bitter taste.

“No.”

One thing good lawyers tell you: never answer more than the question you’re being asked. Even if you think it makes you sound better.

“Now, Nicole… I’m sorry that we have to go through this… Frankly, hurtful line of questioning. If you need to, just focus on me, alright? For now, this is between us. Not the court.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Johnny nodded kindly. God, we were fucking good at this. I was so close to nominating us both for Academy Awards.

“Can you tell me what you were thinking, as you knocked on George’s door?”

I thought for a moment, calling back to our preparations for this trial.

“I… I was naturally angry, and disgusted, when I read my daughter’s suicide note, stating that George Randall had…”

I did genuinely choke on the word.

“Raped… my daughter,” I told Johnny. “I was appalled, but… More than anything, I wanted answers.”

Johnny looks at me curiously. “‘Answers’?”

I cleared my throat. “I… I just couldn’t understand how someone, a human being, could be capable of that sort of evil. I mean, to rape a child? To cause a twelve year-old girl, my little girl, to take her own life? What kind of monster does that?”

Johnny nods, agreeing with me. “Yes. It’s unthinkable. That’s what it is, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, unthinkable, and unspeakable… But unfortunately, my client, Nicole, does not have the luxury of being able to ignore what this man did… Because this man’s evil claimed two lives; not only the life of twelve year-old Isabella Carvalho, but Nicole Carvalho’s as well, if the prosecution prevails,” he says harshly. “That is the truth; if the prosecution succeeds in wrongfully convicting Nicole Carvalho of murder, she will receive a prison sentence, or God forbid, the death penalty, for defending herself against the man who attacked her, the very same man who raped and drove her daughter to suicide at only twelve years old.”

Johnny nods solemnly, looking at me gratefully before turning to the court.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I believe that this is a crucial factor in this case; George Randall may be dead today, but the fact remains, he was neither murdered, nor a victim. He raped a twelve year-old girl.”

A harsh wave of silence washes over the court, as most hold their breath.

“He raped a twelve year old-girl, driving her to the irreversible act of suicide at the young age of twelve, not even a teenager yet, and when that girl’s mother knocked on her door, he couldn’t handle it, and lashed out at her!”

The jury seemed just as disturbed as they should’ve been at this. I sat quietly on the stand, not having to say a word. Johnny was working the court. Together, we were such good liars, I think we even believed ourselves, on some level. As Johnny continued his argument, highlighting me as the victim in our perfect narrative, I looked around the room with a deep sadness in my eyes. I really was thinking about my daughter. I felt like I was living in some dystopian world, a world where my daughter was dead, and I had become a murderer.

Everything around me felt so distant and surreal, but then, I looked into his eyes. The man I had hardly noticed before, because he looked like every man. It was him, watching my trial, next to another man he’d come with, a short bald man. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but it really was him, the man who had helped me with the phone at Miami Metro all those months ago. It was him, I was sure of it, sitting there lost in the crowd watching the proceedings of my court case with his eyes darting back and forth like at a basketball game. I looked right into his cold green eyes, and suddenly, reality hit me again.

I was no longer lost in my melancholic fantasy. I was brought back to real life, in all its delicious violence and passion. I didn’t believe in God, but this man had the presence of an angel. Not, like, a cartoonish cherub with tiny wings and a halo, but a real, biblically accurate angel. I looked into his cold, icy eyes that seemed to watch me with an almost inhuman precision, and I felt so strange. This feeling was like nothing I’d ever experienced before with any other stranger. I looked into his eyes, felt his austere gaze on me, and I could’ve sworn it was like all the blood drained from my body.

I looked into this man’s eyes, and I felt more things in that one millisecond than I’d ever felt in my life. This man looked to me like an angel. Not because he was so soft and comforting, but because I could’ve sworn I looked into his hawklike eyes and heard a voice tell me ‘do not be afraid’. It felt just as surreal as a human in the bible encountering a real angel, in all its terrifying glory. In that moment, I had no idea what came over me, but when our eyes met, I looked at him for a moment, no longer lying, or playing a character. I looked at him from across the room, electrified, and for a split second, I smiled. I don’t know why, I couldn’t help it.

I risked my entire court case just to look at this strange man across the room, and I just smiled, with no remorse or concern for anything but my own appetites. What was even stranger was that he looked at me, saw my flirtatious smile, and returned it, for so short of a time that afterwards, I couldn’t even be sure if it was real.

*****

After today, I left the court room with Johnny in tears. Real tears. Not many of them, but enough to warrant sunglasses. I was still emotional about Isabella, given that she was practically murdered, and it just so happened that it came out from time to time in public. After walking out of the courthouse with Johnny, with his hand on my back as we ran past the journalists trying to get interviews and photos, I wiped away the last of my tears, brushing mascara clumps off of my fingers.

“You did good, kiddo,” Johnny promises me.

I just smile, nodding. I love this man, because he talks to me like we’re on The Sopranos. I hurry down the street with him in my Jimmy Choos, rushing to our cars just as I accidentally bump into a man on the street.

“Oh, sorry—!” the man exclaims, as his companion turns.

I suddenly stop as, right there on the street, the man from Miami Metro and his bald friend stand right in front of us. Johnny is somewhat confused by my lingering, but waits with me. The bald man looks at me like he’s seen a ghost, staring at me like he’s starstruck. Fuck, I think, he must recognize me. I thought he was about to panic, or act like I have something contagious, given about half of society currently sees me as a murderer, but he seems to have a completely different reaction.

“O-Oh my God!” the little bald man exclaims, as the other man just smiles at me uncomfortably. “You’re—You’re—”

He seems incapable of finishing the sentence.

“Nicole Carvalho,” I finish the sentence for him.

“…Miami MILF!” he exclaims, before I can finish. “Murderer I’d Like to Fuck!”

I frowned, not really expecting that as Johnny chivalrously comes to my defense.

“Hey, pal…” my lawyer begins, before I cut him off.

“Johnny, it’s alright,” I turned to him, not threatened by this man.

The bald Japanese man scrambles before just handing me his coffee cup. “Do you think you could sign this?!”

As far as strange interactions after I became a household name, this honestly wasn’t the worst.

“You… want me to sign this?” I question, needing confirmation as he hands me the mostly empty coffee cup.

He nods. “Yeah!”

But before this can go any further, the man from Miami Metro intervenes, taking the coffee cup from me as an act of courtesy.

“Okay, Masuka,” he says responsibly, “I don’t think we need to do that—”

I take the cup back, smiling as I fish for a pen in my purse. “It’s alright,” I promise them, deciding to just sign the cup, “I’ve always wanted to give an autograph, albeit, under different circumstances… What’s your name?”

The bald man practically jumps for joy as I sign the cup. “Vince. It’s Vince.”

Honestly, his morbid fascination with me was somewhat… well… fascinating. I was probably a murderer, or at the very least definitely a killer, but he didn’t seem to care, because I looked good in a pencil skirt. God, the halo effect is real.

“Okay, great, I’ll make this out to Vince:”

“Thank you!” Vince says far too enthusiastically.

I nod. “Mm-hmm.”

The man from Miami Metro just stands there, awkwardly, frowning sympathetically as I sign and give back the paper cup.

“Here you go,” I say charismatically, “Just… Promise not to lift it for prints, okay?”

This makes even the sandy-haired guy from the police station chuckle, before Johnny chimes in, with perfect comedic timing.

“She’s kidding, of course,” Johnny says quickly, smiling, “You wouldn’t find much if you did.”

I smile as I seem to have made the bald man, Masuka’s, day.

“Thank you,” the sandy-haired guy says sheepishly, “And sorry…”

“Not a problem,” I offer, “At least I get to feel like a celebrity for… two seconds.”

“Oh, come on,” Vince Masuka says, “I’m sure guys ask you for autographs all the time.”

I smile awkwardly. “Surprisingly, no.”

“Really?” he thinks. “Huh. Well, they should, because… All due respect… You’re a dime piece.”

I smile. “Well, that just brightens up my day….”

He laughs a laugh that I can only describe as Beavis and Butthead-esque.

“Alright, well… Thank you for your time,” the Miami Metro guy thanks me politely and apologetically. “Vince… let’s leave the nice woman alone,” he prompted, seeming desperate to get away.

But why? Why was this man who had been watching me for days suddenly so keen on getting away? He must’ve wanted some semblance of distance from me… To watch me in the shadows, without me knowing he’s there. He was trying to get away, but I didn’t let him. I just couldn’t. He was like a fly stuck in my trap.

“I’m sorry, what was your name?” I ask him.

Forget the cat, curiosity was killing me.

“Uh, Dexter,” he says in a friendly manner, shaking my hand.

“Dexter,” I smile, as if trying it out.

Of course it had to be something like that. I considered that maybe he’d given me a fake name, but given that he had a friend with him, I supposed it probably wasn’t.

“Well, Vince, Dexter, it was nice meeting you,” I wave as I walk away with Johnny.

Vince looks at me like a lost puppy, waving hopelessly as I walk away. Dexter, on the other hand, gives me a tiny wave before the friendly smile on his face disappears, revealing a colder, smarter mind beneath the surface, if only for a second. I had no idea who this man was, or why he was really so interested in my case. Logic told me he could’ve been just as pervy of a fanboy as his friend, but something told me it certainly wasn’t that. I didn’t know what his fascination was with me, but I knew it was something dark. There was something just so present, and unnerving, in the way he looked at me, even just as he waved goodbye to me on the street.

I just couldn’t quite place it, and it was killing me. I racked my brain, but still, I couldn’t think of just one instance where somebody looked at me the exact same way this Dexter character did. It was strange. However, there was one memory of someone in particular that wasn’t exact, but a close match. The closest thing to the look I saw in Dexter’s eyes was the look in George Randall’s eyes, right before he died, somewhere between the tenth and eleventh stab wound.

-

Part Three.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Let Me Help

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fostered!SWAT!fem!reader

Summary: When Los Angeles is hit with a freak cold front and your apartment loses heat, you don't ask for help. Luca sees how sick you are and pays you a visit which ends with him taking you back to his house to heal.

Warnings: reader was a foster kid, angst, sickness (pneumonia), fluff and comfort! there's also several Batman references. oops.

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

In hindsight, becoming a member of S.W.A.T. may have been a mistake. Not because you don’t enjoy the work or get along with your team but because your past makes certain things hard for you. Growing up in the foster system is a lot of things, and it caused you to be incredibly self-reliant. You learned to be responsible and take care of yourself at a very early age. More than that, you were led to believe that no one would ever want to help you. So, now that you are an adult, you find it hard to ask for help. No matter who it is, asking for assistance or backup is not easy, which makes it hard to be a member of 20-David sometimes.

When you’re in the field, you can switch that part of your brain off, and become a S.W.A.T. officer rather than a foster kid. But the moment you get back to HQ and need your teammates’ help, the words seem to disappear, and you forget how to ask people to be there for you, even those closest to you.

Joining 20-David, however, saved your life. Before S.W.A.T., you were, for the most part, alone and lost. They gave you a home, a family, and everything else you never had before. While every team member cares about you, Luca shows you what it is like to be loved and appreciated.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s freezing out there,” Hondo complains as he enters HQ.

“Coldest winter in history according to the news,” Street replies. “Which means desperate, cold people and more calls for us. Any chance this is like Batman, and Alfred can make us special winter uniforms before the first one?”

“Sure,” you answer. “I’m sure that’s precisely what Hicks is doing right now.”

“What am I doing?” he asks as he rounds a corner.

“Nothing,” you and Street answer together.

“Alfred,” Street whispers to you.

You press your lips together to keep yourself from laughing while suppressing a shiver. It is certainly cold, and the heat in your apartment complex went out in the middle of the night. Most people then left and found somewhere else to stay, but hotels are booked, and you can’t find the right time or words to ask your team to lend you a hand or a place to stay.

“Sorry I’m late,” Luca says as he joins your side.

He rubs his hands together to warm up and smiles at you. Hicks gives you information on a fugitive warrant and pulls up a blueprint of the man’s house. There are several points of entry, but the man knows how to barricade all of them, so your team will have to take a unique approach.

“Cut the power and wait for him to get cold,” Deacon suggests.

“Man, what do you have to complain about?” Hondo asks. “You’ve got a wife and four kids to keep you warm.”

“Really?” Hicks asks. “You wanna bring up body heat, playboy?”

You chuckle and stick your hands farther into your pockets. Luca shakes his head beside you before lowering his voice to ask how you are.

“I’m alright. Ready for sunny Los Angeles to get sunny again,” you answer. “What about you?”

“I’d have to say the same. If you want to come over for my world-famous hot chocolate tonight, feel free,” Luca offers.

“Hot chocolate?” Street asks.

“That got his attention better than I ever have,” Hicks grumbles.

“Luca’s hot chocolate is like Christmas and happiness and pure warmth in a cup. And I do pay attention to you, Commander, but my eyelids are frozen shut.”

“Just, go execute the warrant and get back. It’s going to be a long week with this cold front,” Hicks interjects.

“Yes, sir,” Hondo replies. “Let’s roll.”

When you open your locker and realize you forgot your second long-sleeved t-shirt at home, you lean your head against the locker door.

“Here,” Luca says as he extends a jacket to you. “It’s an old one, but I accidentally picked up both.”

“I can’t accept that,” you begin.

“I don’t need it. Seriously, I’ll feel better knowing you’re warm. Work with me?”

Luca smiles, and you accept the jacket with a smile. It’s warm and smells like Luca’s cologne, so, once it’s on, you regret arguing against it. If you could live in this jacket, you would.

“We got this,” Luca reminds you as he walks by your side to Black Betty.

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, when your alarm goes off, you feel like you can’t wake up. Your apartment is still without heat, and the permeating cold sucks the energy out of you. When you finally pry your eyes open, you remember that you are still wearing Luca’s jacket, and that gives you the surge of energy you need to get out of bed and get ready. You’ve been sleeping in too many layers, and with each one you strip off, you feel the cold settle further into you. Your joints are stiff, your nose is runny, and you can’t shake the tiredness caused by the dropping temperature. Something needs to change, but you don’t know how to fix it. There has to be a trick to surviving this without help… if only you knew what it was.

In the warm locker room, you scroll through your phone in a sad attempt to find a hotel or rental house you can afford. They’re all booked through the end of the week or ridiculously overpriced, so you turn the phone off and lean back against the bench.

“How are you?” Luca asks when he enters. “The jacket looks good on you.”

“Oh, do you need it back?” You sit up as you ask, but Luca smiles and waves you off.

“No, keep it as long as you want. Can’t remember the last time I wore it. Everything okay on your side of town? Some of the buildings in my neighborhood lost heat during the night.”

You shake your head as you prepare to lie. “Everything’s good.”

Luca nods but glances over when you sniff. The cold can be blamed for some of what is happening in Los Angeles right now, but Luca suspects there is something that you aren’t telling him. He’s repeatedly told you he’s here for you, but Street explained that foster kids aren’t great at reaching out, no matter how close someone is. So, Luca will wait for you to come to him, and his arms will be open when you do.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the week, you are miserable. The cold front has stalled, so meteorologists have little idea about when it will warm up again, and your apartment is getting colder every day. You’ve been able to sleep despite the conditions, but each morning, waking up is harder than the day before. You’re constantly tired, and your sniffles worsen, becoming an ache in your chest. The joint pain has worsened, and while it eases at work, it only intensifies each night you return home.

Luca keeps a close eye on you and can tell you’re tired, but he doesn’t want to push you to talk. If he could convince you to tell Street what's up, maybe you’d be more open, he thinks. You interrupt his internal debate with a deep cough. It rattles your chest and hurts your body as it escapes.

“That does not sound good,” Luca says as he turns toward you.

You’re shivering and can barely keep your eyes open, but you shake your head and reply, “I’m good. The cold is just bothering my allergies, I think.”

Hondo yells for you, and you stand quickly, ignoring the pain as you do so. Luca watches you go and grows more concerned for you. He asks Deacon if he’s noticed you acting differently and Deacon immediately answers that he is nearly certain you are getting sick. They both know you won’t tell anyone, preferring to risk your safety at work rather than asking for assistance. It’s part of your personality, even if it worries them.

Out of stubbornness and not recognizing that your team is worried about your well-being, you brush off their questions and concerns about your health. You’ve been living in the cold for nearly a week now, and you are sure the heat will be fixed soon (even if you have to figure out how to repair it yourself). So, you return home to a freezing apartment and silently hope you wake up in the morning.

✯✯✯✯✯

Not only do you wake up, but you wake up while it’s still dark out because you’re coughing and shaking. You’re burning up, which is the first of many clues that you are not okay. After picking up your phone, you find Luca’s contact and sit with your finger positioned over the call button. He would happily come to get you and let you rest in his heated house, but when you imagine him answering, you no longer want to admit you need help. So, you get up and slowly get ready before driving to S.W.A.T. HQ. At the least, you can sit in a warm room before your shift starts.

When you enter, Rocker’s team is about to start a training exercise and invite you to join. You have an hour before you have to be in uniform, so you agree, mostly so they don’t get as suspicious as 20-David already is.

At the end of the exercise, you are holding your coughs in and fighting to hide how hard your arms and hands are shaking. You feel terrible, and anyone who looks at your target from the shooting range will be able to see that it’s affecting your work.

You don’t notice Luca standing at the edge of the rink, and when Rocker knocks you to the mat with a single hit, he jumps onto the mat beside you.

“Hey,” he calls as he gestures for Rocker to step back.

His words don’t reach your ears over your coughing, but you see him and force yourself to calm down. Luca and Rocker stand over you, clearly concerned, and you smile as you accept their help.

“I’m fine,” you promise. “Just wanted to see if Rocker would pull his punches for a girl.”

“The fist of justice is unisex,” Rocker replies sarcastically.

“You and Street should have a Batman marathon,” you reply as you follow Luca to the locker room.

“I’m just going to be direct,” Luca begins once you’re alone. “I’m really worried about you.”

“Luca, I’m just not doing well with the cold. I’ll be fine, though. I appreciate the concern, but it’s unnecessary.”

You stand, and Luca says your name. Stopping, you can’t decide if you want to let go and tell him everything or push him away like you normally do.

“Luca, I am fine.”

“You clearly are not.”

“I know that you care, but leave it alone, Luca.”

You walk away before he responds. As you pass Deacon, you realize that Luca touched your skin, so he probably suspects you have a fever. However, your conversation with Luca makes you feel worse, so you decide to power through the day and then call your landlord about your heater. Again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Luca watches you leave the minute your shift is over. You don’t change or wash up, and he decides that he can’t leave it, or you, alone any longer. As he drives to your apartment, Luca plans to remind you that you need to rest and take care of yourself, especially in this weather. He sees a drugstore and stops quickly to gather a few things he thinks may help you feel better. Maybe you’ll surprise him by accepting his offer to help you care for yourself.

When Luca pulls into the parking lot of your apartment, he’s surprised to find it nearly empty. He parks behind your car and rushes to your door. His concern grows with each moment he waits for your answer.

✯✯✯✯✯

You continue to shiver painfully despite being dressed in your tactical uniform, plus several sweatshirts, Luca’s jacket, and a blanket around your shoulders. Someone knocks on your door, and the only reason you force yourself off the bed is out of hope that it is the heat repair guy. When you open the door, you can’t decide to be happy or disappointed that it’s Luca.

Your voice is broken up by your harsh shivers as you ask what he’s doing there. Luca immediately feels how cold your apartment is and pushes inside. He sets a plastic bag on your counter before walking into your bedroom. He moves silently around your home like he belongs there and gathers your things as he goes.

“What are you doing?” you ask quietly.

“Are you out of your mind?” Luca replies. Despite the harshness of his question, his voice is soft, if a little annoyed. “How long has your heat been out? You said the cold was getting to you – because you let it in. Living like this is the reason you are sick! You should have told me, any one of us, so that we could help you. My house is always open to you, you know that.”

You get confused watching Luca gather your things while ranting about how you should have told him something. He reprimands you and helps you at the same time, it seems.

“Let’s go,” he says as he puts the bag he brought in your stuffed backpack.

“Where?” you inquire as you pull the blanket tighter around you.

“My house. Someone has to help you overcome the pneumonia you probably have.”

“But-“

“No more buts,” Luca declares. “I’m not asking, babe.”

The pet name catches you off guard, but you take Luca’s offered hand without question. You didn’t ask for help, but accepting it isn’t necessarily easier than asking for it. Once you’re at his house, he makes you comfortable on the couch before bringing you a warm drink and some medicine. His requests are soft-spoken, and you obey wordlessly.

“Thank you,” you murmur when he finally sits beside you.

Luca shakes his head and clenches his jaw quickly. “I’ll always be here to help you. I enjoy protecting you, caring for you, all of it. But you have to stop acting like it’s an imposition.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sappy or are just really annoyed with me.”

“Both!” Luca exclaims. “Look, I can understand being independent to a degree, but living like that could have been so much worse than this, and this is bad.”

You nod and look down at the blanket. “I have trouble asking for help,” you admit. “Growing up, I didn’t have people I could ask for help. The few that I did ask wouldn’t help me, so I just learned to do everything by myself. Finding the words, the opportunity to ask… it’s hard.”

Luca’s eyes soften as he lays his hands over yours. “I promise that I will always be here. I will always be ready, able, and willing to help you. I want to help you because I care about you.”

“Why am I so important?” you whisper as you look into his eyes.

Luca licks his lips before deciding to tell you a version of the truth. “Because I care about you. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone before.”

He says care, but he thinks love. Maybe after he’s gotten you healthy again, you can have an open and honest conversation with one another. For now, though, you close your eyes and lean against his shoulder, warm and happy. 

“I care about you, too. More than I should,” you mumble against Luca's shirt before falling asleep.

Luca smiles and tugs the blanket tighter around your shoulders before kissing your forehead. He will help you until he can’t help you anymore and love every moment of it, he thinks.