bbybloop - Tumblr blog

[bbybloop]

SHOW ME YOURS | Matty Healy

Matty Healy x bandmate!OC

He lifts his hand, slowly tracing his fingers up her arm until they reach her face leaving goosebumps and a warm trail behind. Then he moves just his pinky finger across her cheekbone, dragging along until he pulls the stray strands of hair behind her ear.

She's silent, holding her breath as her eyes stay on him, only him, and he whispers, "Show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Playlist Famous Birthdays Incorrect Quotes

Act One: Antrichrist

chapter one... chapter two... chapter three... chapter four... chapter five... chapter six... chapter seven...

Act Two: Anobrain

chapter eight... chapter nine… chapter ten... chapter eleven... chapter twelve... chapter thirteen... chapter fourteen... chapter fifteen... chapter sixteen...

social media, one (2013)

Act Three: so far (it's alright)

chapter seventeen... chapter eighteen... chapter nineteen... chapter twenty... chapter twenty-one... chapter twenty-two... chapter twenty-three... chapter twenty-four... chapter twenty-five... chapter twenty-six...

social media, two (2014-2015) ...

Act Four: somebody else

chapter twenty-seven... chapter twenty-eight… chapter twenty-nine... chapter thirty... chapter thirty-one... chapter thirty-two... chapter thirty-three... chapter thirty-four... chapter thirty-five...

Act Five: the ballad of me and my brain

chapter thirty-six... chapter thirty-seven... chapter thirty-eight... chapter thirty-nine... chapter forty... chapter forty-one... chapter forty-two... chapter forty-three... chapter forty-four...

Act Six: be my mistake

chapter forty-five... chapter forty-six.... chapter forty-seven...

more chapters TBA...

[bbybloop]

Smash.

[bbybloop]

https://www.tumblr.com/marauderswithpalestineproject/744676585001648128/this-project-is-entirely-non-profit-and-all-money?source=share

Omg thank you so much for sharing this with me!! I’ll definitely be reaching out to see if they still need writers. ❤️ 🍉

[bbybloop]

ITS HAPPENING 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Threads ; part one

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Language, angst, anxiety? Let me know if there's more!

A/N 💌 Part one is finally here, thank you for all being so patient with me and I promise the future parts will be better!

Interaction keeps me motivated to write, so I would love to hear your thoughts!

Series Masterlist!

The Great Hall is thrumming with activity as the anticipation of the new school year sets in. 

Sunlight pours through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue onto the tables and cold walls. The clinking of cutlery melds with the lively chatter and bursts of laughter that permeate the hall. Students eagerly catch up with their friends after the summer break, their faces illuminated with excitement and anticipation for the year ahead.

"I don’t know if I’m quite ready for this year." You admit softly. Lily, seated to your left, casts a surprised glance in your direction. Your tone carries a hint of nervousness, a stark difference from your usual excitement for the new school year.

As seventh year begins, the reality of it all felt surreal, almost as if time had slipped through your fingers without warning. Contemplating life beyond Hogwarts seemed daunting, a foggy landscape you weren't quite prepared to navigate. The thought of a future without the familiar halls and comforting routines left you feeling unsettled. Questions about your path post-Hogwarts lingered causing anxiety to tighten in your stomach. The uncertainty of what lay ahead, and where your friendships would stand in the grand scheme of things, clouded your mind.

"Because this is the year you find your soulmate?" Marlene's question hung in the air, causing your stomach to sink even further.

Soulmates were tethered by a thread, an intangible connection that tightens with proximity, drawing them closer by an irresistible pull. As their 18th birthday approached, the magnetic pull between soulmates intensified, drawing them closer together in an undeniable bond. 

Even in their younger years, soulmates could sense the faint tug of their connection, though it often was difficult to discern between fleeting infatuation and the unbreakable bond between soulmates. However, as the milestone birthday drew nearer, the pull became unmistakable, a magnetic force guiding them to their soulmate. 

At least, that's what you've heard from those who have experienced it firsthand.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” You confirm, and Lily sends you an understanding look. Neither of you had found your soulmates, while Marlene had found her soulmate in Dorcas.

The timing of finding one's soulmate varied greatly from person to person. Some discovered theirs early on in life, while others didn't find theirs until mere days before their 18th birthday. It all depended on the person and how open they were to the connection.

"We'll be going through it together." Lily says, her smile soft as she bumped her shoulder against yours. It did offer some comfort. Lily Evans had been your best friend since first year, and the thought of her being by your side made the upcoming year feel a bit more bearable.

"What if James is your soulmate?" You ask, your tone laced with playful teasing. However, Lily's hopeful expression catches you off guard, prompting you to shift your gaze towards Marlene in shock. Across the table, Marlene and Dorcas appear just as taken aback by Lily's unexpected reaction. It's a stark contrast from the adamant denials she would have offered last year.

"Maybe he is." Lily says quietly, her tone nonchalant as she offers a simple shrug, as if what she just said isn't a big deal.

“Are you..When did this happen?” Dorcas asks, and you and Marlene eye Lily curiously.

Since the moment you met him, Lily had been skillfully evading James's advances, urging him to seek out his true soulmate rather than pursuing her. Despite Lily's dismissals, James remained steadfast in his belief that she was the one destined for him. Deep down, you sensed a potential soulmate connection between them, but you never brought up the subject with Lily, knowing she would vehemently deny the idea.

Lily looks up with feigned innocence, “What?”

Marlene sighs, “Lily Evans, don’t you dare play dumb. When did your feelings towards James change?” 

"I don’t know. Over the summer, I guess, I realized I’ve been a bit unfair to him," She sighs. "He’s been nothing but kind, and I’ve just blown him off. And honestly, he was on my mind most of the summer."

"Merlin, we've barely been here for two hours, and the soulmate bonds are already starting." Marlene grins, amused.

"I didn't say I thought he was mine!" Lily cries out.

"You said maybe. That heavily implies that you do." You chuckle at the panicked look on Lily’s face, fully aware that she's going to be teased about this relentlessly.

"Have you felt a pull with him?" Dorcas asks, and Lily's cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink.

“I mean, yes. But couldn’t that just be the annoyance I feel towards him half the time?” Lily asks.

"With that logic, you and Sirius are soulmates." Marlene interjects, her grin mischievous as she takes a sip of her tea, her gaze fixed on you over the brim of her mug. Your expression sours at the mere mention of his name, a subtle shift in mood palpable in the air.

“There is no way that Sirius Black is my soulmate.” You snark, the mere thought of Sirius causing your stomach to knot with intense emotion. Hatred, you conclude.

It's the mere mention of Sirius Black that tends to stir up the worst in you. His name alone triggers a cascade of emotions within you, igniting a visceral reaction that you struggle to contain. Just the thought of him is enough to set your nerves on edge, reminding you of past conflicts and tensions that still linger beneath the surface.

It's not as though you hadn't attempted to be friendly with Sirius. Shortly after your arrival at Hogwarts, James Potter had introduced himself to you and Lily in the Gryffindor common room. He was accompanied by Remus, and while James eagerly engaged Lily in conversation, you found yourself drawn to Remus, the two of you hitting it off. You chatted for what felt like hours, so engrossed in your conversation that you barely noticed Sirius and Peter entering the common room.

However, the moment your eyes landed on Sirius, it felt as though the air had been knocked out of your lungs. For a brief second you had wondered if he was your soulmate. Everything blurred into a hazy backdrop, your eyes unable to part from his figure.

Remus didn’t miss the way you seemed to drift away from the conversation, your gaze fixed on Sirius as he made his way over to where you all were seated. You and Remus occupied the couch, while Lily and James were comfortable in their own armchairs. Sirius and Peter hovered nearby, a curious expression etched across their features, clearly unsure who the two unfamiliar girls engaged in conversation with their friends were.

Remus had introduced you while James and Lily remained preoccupied, not yet noticing the two boys, "Mates, this is Y/n," Remus had said, his warm smile welcoming.

Peter had been friendly and eager, extending his hand with enthusiasm as he shared a bit about himself. But Sirius remained silent, his expression etched with a subtle frown. When you attempted to engage him in conversation, he responded with curt one-word answers, leaving you feeling increasingly self-conscious, questioning what you might have done wrong.

Remus had assured you that Sirius wasn't usually like that, and he promised that the next time you saw him, he would likely be more talkative and outgoing. You clung to hope, eagerly anticipating a change in Sirius' demeanor, only to be met with disappointment when his behavior remained unchanged. In the company of others, he exuded friendliness, cracking jokes and radiating outgoing energy. 

Yet, when his attention turned to you, he completely shifted, hardly communicating and barely sparing you a glance.

You couldn't figure out what you might have done wrong. From the moment you met Sirius, you had been nothing but friendly, offering a warm smile and introducing yourself with genuine enthusiasm. Lily, who shared many similarities with you, greeted Sirius in much the same manner, yet he responded to her without hesitation. It left you wondering: what had been so different about your interaction with him?

Over time, frustration crept in, and you found yourself growing increasingly sarcastic or curt in your interactions with him. Before long, your relationship devolved into incessant bickering and exchanging snide comments.

Any inkling that Sirius might be your soulmate was swiftly forgotten.

"Oi! Princess! You talking about me over there?" Sirius' voice cuts through the chatter, drawing your attention to the Marauders down the table. His cocky smirk meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if he overheard your conversation. But he's too far away to have eavesdropped, yet close enough to call out to you, and his voice effortlessly grabs the attention of quite a few other students at the Gryffindor table. 

The students in your year hardly flinch, accustomed to the heated banter that often erupted between you and Sirius. Observing the familiar fighting between you and Sirius was almost expected; it wouldn't have felt like the first day of school without it for some of the students.

“Not everything revolves around you, Black.” You retort, rolling your eyes at his arrogance. Anger begins to simmer within you, heat radiating through your body as frustration builds.

You assume he must have just noticed you, considering you've been had a peaceful morning so far. But little did you know, Sirius had fixed his gaze on you the moment he entered the hall, and he's been eager to get under your skin. Anything to capture your attention.

Sirius, undeterred, flashes a grin that seems to stretch from ear to ear. “So mean already. Didn’t you miss me? The months without you were unbearable.” He calls, his tone dripping with amusement, clearly deriving great enjoyment from riling you up.

“Do you really think I spend my free time thinking about you?” You're sending him an irritated frown, but your eyes are lit up with a fire that's reserved only for him. It's the same look you get every time the two of you fight, and he loves it.

"I think you do, princess. I think I drive you crazy.” He declares with that smug grin plastered on his face, igniting a burning sensation in your stomach.

You remain silent, too consumed by anger to muster a response. His words strike a chord because, deep down, you know he's right. He has a way of driving you to the brink of frustration. You have wracked your brain, relentlessly trying to decipher why he harbors such animosity towards you and where you might have gone wrong with him.

You're momentarily caught off guard, your mind racing to come up with a response that doesn't betray your irritation, much less let Sirius think he's gotten to you. Fortunately, Remus swiftly engages him in conversation, likely sensing the tension brewing on your face.

"I'm telling you, there's a connection there." Marlene insists, and you shoot her a glare, prompting a laugh to escape her lips.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

The initial night back at Hogwarts always proved the most challenging for you. It took a few nights before you could finally settle into the unfamiliar bed and drift off to sleep without difficulty. The weight of it being your final year lingered heavily in your mind, along with the daunting task of uncovering your soulmate.

Seated before the crackling fire, you enveloped yourself in the warmth of your blanket, captivated by the dancing of the flames. Your silent wish lingered in the air - that, perhaps, if you remained in this cozy atmosphere long enough, fatigue would gradually claim you.

"Up late thinking of me, princess?" Sirius's voice breaks the silence, causing your body to tense reflexively. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder as he settles into the floor beside you, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames instead of meeting yours.

"What are you doing?" You quip, your tone laced with irritation. Sirius glances in your direction, leaning back on his palms with a subtle smirk playing on his lips. Amusement dances in his eyes as he takes in your furrowed brows and the unmistakable look of irritation etched across your features.

“Warming up. It’s rather cold in the dorm,” He says, before glancing down at the blanket that’s wrapped around your figure. “Care to share? ”

“Get fucked,” You huff, pulling the blanket tighter around your figure, your gaze fixed on the fireplace as you ignore Sirius's laughter, “Why are you sitting here? Go somewhere else.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” You snark, your hopes of relaxing by the fire dashed by the unexpected disruption.

“And when are you?” Sirius's tone carries a teasing edge, and a mischievous grin tugs at his lips as he observes your bristling reaction. 

He longs for you to turn and meet his gaze, to shoot him the scathing glare he's so accustomed to receiving.

You turn sharply, your eyes narrowing into thin slits as you fix them on Sirius, a silent warning brewing in your gaze. There she is, he thinks.

“Go somewhere else.” You repeat, staring Sirius down.

“No.” He declares, shifting his position to squarely face you, leaving no doubt that he has no intention of backing down or leaving anytime soon.

“What’s your problem?” You grit out your words, and Sirius narrows his eyes at you as though you've struck a nerve. His reaction is swift, catching you off guard. While you and Sirius have always engaged in banter, he had never looked at you with such palpable hatred before.

“You.” He snaps, his voice dripping with disdain, devoid of its usual teasing lilt that never fails to irk you. Instead, his expression morphs into one of genuine animosity, a stark departure from the usual banter that fuels your frustration.

“Why? What have I ever done to you?” You're worked up now, your heart thumping with frustration as you pivot to fully face him. In your angered state, you miscalculate the proximity between you, and you're startled to find yourselves mere inches apart. Neither of you budges, both refusing to back away, as doing so would feel like conceding defeat.

Neither of you speaks, the air heavy with tension as you stare at each other through narrowed eyes, chests heaving with unresolved emotions. And in a heart-stopping moment, you feel it—the undeniable tug, the unspoken connection between you.

Your mouth parts in surprise, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment. Before you can truly react, Sirius rises abruptly and strides back to his room, leaving you sitting in stunned silence by the fireplace.

TAGS: @daisiesformylove @idkbbyx3 @dreamingofmarauders @siriuslyjanhvi @urmomw4ntsme @arwensloanebarnes @harahettania @kitchenbread @ghostheartbeat @dovahqueen22 @y0urm0m12 @thebiggestnaturaldisaster @opalesquegirl @galaxystern08 @scvtdy @123iloveyou456

[bbybloop]

dating is realising that every person you speak to is not remus lupin and going on a cycle of disappointment and giving up. forgetting the whole ordeal and ignorantly starting again, realising that every person you speak to is not remus lupin and

[bbybloop]

I NEED MORE I LOVE THIS OMFG

A Man With a Plan.2

prologue // p1 // p2

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: angst, smoking, mention of vomiting, Remus spiralling, Peter being v worried, James being a doting mother hen, Sirius being a cheeky bastard.

Remus didn’t stay in potions that day.

He gave Professor Slughorn a hasty excuse and beelined it from the room, earning him bemused stares from Peter, James, and Sirius. He couldn’t stay there – he couldn’t breathe the air you’d been breathing – it hurt, it burned, it was too much. 

“What the hell is wrong with me?” He huffed to himself as he shakily made his way to Gryffindor tower. He held his hand to his chest the whole way, heaving as if he was close to throwing up – he wasn’t fully convinced he that wouldn’t. 

As soon as he walked into (stumbled into) his dorm he flung the window open and shoved his head (most of his torso) out of the window – hungry for fresh air. The change in temperature and slight breeze did calm him slightly, but now he could hear Moony with renewed fervor. 

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. He seemed to be whimpering morosely. 

“She’s not yours.” Remus grumbled. That seemed to aggravate Moony somewhat, as well as piss himself off for talking aloud to...well...himself, sort of? 

He hated this. 

Remus sat half out the window drinking water and chain-smoking until his roommates returned from their final class. 

“What the fuck happened to you, Moons?” Sirius asked as he threw his book bag onto his bed before beginning to strip out of his uniform.

“Fucked if I know.” He grumbled, throwing the butt of his cigarette out the window. 

“You feelin’ alright?” James asked, brows furrowed as if Remus was a particularly difficult arithmancy problem.

“I think it’s quite clear that I’m not.” He spat as he pulled out another cigarette and lit it with the snap of his fingers.

“Blimey, Moony. Wasn’t the full moon last week?” Sirius asked incredulously.

It was too much, all of it: the nickname, the moon talk, their voices. The hearth in the room surged and then extinguished again; Remus was officially diminished to accidental magic like he was some kind of unruly toddler. 

“Shit, Remus. Relax, okay? We’re sorry.” James placated, watching his mate cautiously as Remus took some steadying breaths.

“What’s gotten into you mate?” Sirius asked quietly after Remus appeared to calm himself.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t feel like...myself.” He settled for, trying to drown out Moony’s pathetically forlorn howling in the back of his mind. 

“Alright.” James said. “That’s alright.” 

Remus wanted to vomit. Is that not what you had just said to him a few hours ago?

 “Do you need to go to see Pomfrey?” Peter asked.

“No.” Maybe.

“Alright, well we’ll bring you something up for dinner.” He offered with a smile. Remus felt like he should return the smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to try. 

Remus did eventually go to see Madame Pomfrey, though he kept the full extent of his current predicament to himself. He trudged through the halls, hating the fact that Moony seemed to pick up on your scent, signifying you had been down this hall yourself at some point during the day. 

Must go. Must go. Must go. Moony begged.

Go to Madame Pomfrey and then to bed. Remus mentally berated the wolf - the wolf growled in discontent. Remus was becoming increasingly worried about what he’d be like near the full when Moony was closer to the forefront of Remus’ control. 

Remus claimed nerves and a migraine as the cause of his request for sleeping draught for the night. The matron narrowed her eyes at Remus, clearly aware the boy wasn’t being entirely honest, but acquiesced to his request nonetheless. 

Remus supposed he probably should have requested a dreamless sleep potion instead.

His dreams were littered with images of you. Some were lovely – you and him walking hand-in-hand through bookstores and flower shops, sharing milkshakes and ice cream, snuggling up near the fire, as well as some...steamier dreams. But they were always chased away by horrible ones – you being chased by The Wolf, you finding out about him and running away terrified, you being bitten, you being killed. And those were always followed by his friends becoming disgusted with him, abandoning him, him ending up in Azkaban.

They made him sick.

Literally made him sick; he woke up with a start and bodied James on his way to the bathroom to eject last night’s supper out of his system. 

“Moons, what’s going on mate?” James asked quietly, clearly having been getting ready for a run before he was bulldozed by his mate, as Remus moved to the sink and readied his toothbrush.

“Please don’t call me that.” Remus moaned.

James seemed to consider him for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Is Moo- is the wolf giving you problems?” He corrected at the glare he was shot by Remus.

Remus sighed and nodded his head.

“Can’t be moon sickness? You’ve got three weeks.”

Remus finished brushing his teeth and rinsed his mouth out before turning to look at James.

“I don’t know. I think...” but he didn’t know how to finish his sentence. How did he explain that Moony has apparently become obsessed with and hyper-fixated on one of James’ best friends and was actively campaigning to have Remus throne into the psych ward at St. Mungo’s? “When you guys were researching on how to become animagi, you were first doing research on werewolves, right?” 

James responded by nodding his head in the positive.

“What’d you find? On werewolves, I mean.” Remus asked.

James grimaced. “Next to nothing, really; we found books and books full of anti-werewolf propaganda before we found anything even remotely helpful.”

“What book was it? The helpful one.”

“There was one line in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that said werewolves solely target human prey and are less interested in other animals as opposed to ‘true’ wolves.” James said.

Remus sighed and nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

“What’s going on?” James tried again. 

Remus just shook his head at this friend. “I don’t know yet, I’ll see what I find.”

“You don’t have to do this alone; you know? You’ve got us here.” James said as he followed Remus out of the bathroom.

“I know Prongs. I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Remus said with a tired smile. He was lucky, really, he knew that. He had wonderful friends – he’d do anything to keep them.

Which just meant keeping Moony away from you. 

Unfortunately for Remus, James had been right; the only useful information he could find in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that a) he didn’t already know or b) wasn't prejudiced or incorrect was the line James had referenced. 

“The main difference is in the way they behave; a werewolf is very aggressive in comparison to a true-wolf; they prefer and target human prey, seemingly uninterested in other animals. Though some rumours claim that werewolves will create bonds with animals and other wolves: ‘were’ or ‘true’.”

Remus was ready to give up when he noticed a footnote at the bottom of the page: 

(22) From an unknown author’s first-hand account of lycanthropy in Hairy Snout, Human Heart: 1737. 

He looked through the works cited section of the text and found the book, which appeared to be an autobiography of an unnamed wizard afflicted with lycanthropy from the 18th century. Remus knew the chances of him finding that book in the Hogwarts library were slim to none. Now I’ll have to wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend to try Tomes & Scrolls. 

Remus (unwillingly) learned a lot about you as he (impatiently) awaited for the next Hogsmeade weekend. 

You had a single dimple on your left cheek that only ever appeared when you smiled brightly. Granted, since you were generally soft around all of your edges, it didn’t appear too often. But it was almost guaranteed to make at least one appearance during every one of your interactions with James.

He hated the both of you. 

You hummed. A lot. Sometimes to the tunes of songs Remus could recognize, sometimes to tunes he was sure you’ve made up. It was always quiet humming, and only ever when you were focused intently on a task. It sounded lovely and was almost always accompanied by your tongue poking out slightly between your lips. 

He hated it. 

You always had some piece of nature on your person. Either grass from having been sat on the grounds, dirt on your hands from your time in the greenhouses, a flower tucked into a pocket or – God forbid – your hair. It was sort of adorable.

He hated that even more.

You made a soft tingling or jingling sound as you walked and moved on account of the many beaded bracelets decorating your wrists. It wasn’t just the sound of the jewelry – because Sirius was similar with his many pieces of silver jewelry decorating his person – but the sound was distinctly yours. And Remus Moony seemed to be able to pick it up from yards away. 

It was awful.

You also smelled heavenly. You were lavender blowing in the sea breeze, eucalyptus in a steamy shower, and the fresh grass you seemed to drag in every time you stepped outside. There was also something about you that smelled so distinctly you that drove him mad. He could pick up your scent anywhere.

And that was the worst part.

You were everywhere.

He’d been actively avoiding you since that fateful day in potions, and he still couldn’t escape you. Even if he couldn’t see you, he could hear you and your damned jingles or gentle giggles at something James said to you. And even if you weren’t there, he could still smell that you had been, and then he’d be stuck with Moony’s incessant whining for the rest of the day that they’d ‘just missed you’.

Remus hated it. He hated you for existing. He hated James for befriending you. But he mostly hated himself.

He hated that he got so angry about this; he hated that part of him blamed you for the horrible crime of having been born and that another part of him blamed James for the equally horrible crime of being kind.

He was the problem - Remus and his damned affliction. He just didn’t understand what Moony’s issue was; Remus (and Moony) had met many people throughout his life – Moony even had his own pack, for god’s sake! – what was so special about you to bring about this nonsense?

You seemed either completely unaware or completely unafflicted by Remus’ sudden coldness to you. There were times he’d stopped speaking midsentence when you’d show up or he would out-and-out walk away. James had clearly been annoyed with him about it, but you were still never anything but kind towards him. He was simultaneously grateful to you for it and peeved you were giving him more reasons to like you. 

James - still being slightly miffed with his mate for his abruptness towards you – was more than happy to leave him to search Tomes & Scrolls whilst he and Sirius and Peter went to The Three Broomsticks without him. Sirius shot him a confused look while Peter smiled at him sympathetically as they hobbled off after James.

They didn’t have the book he was looking for, but they were able to order it via owl and advised him they’d have it delivered straight to Hogwarts for him. 

Reluctantly resigning to his fate that he’d have to wait even longer to find answers, he exited the shop when he slammed into something with a solid oof.

He, being the lanky, larger-than-he-looks werewolf that he was, was able to shake off the collision with little-to-no effort.

You, on the other hand.

You.

Moony started howling in horror when Remus saw you leaning up onto your elbows from the cold cobblestoned road that Remus himself just knocked you into. 

“Oh, shit Y/N, are you alright?” He breathed as he hastily reached out his hand to help you up.

Big mistake.

Moony stopped howling and started nearly singing with joy when your skin met his. Prepared for the burning/cold/pain/joy/fear he experienced last time you made contact with him; he was surprised when he only felt peace wash through his person.

Time seemed to slow as you used his support to stand back up again and offer him a breezy smile. 

“I’m terribly sorry about that, Remus. Are you alright?” You asked as if you had just bodied him into the ground.

“I – uh, yes. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” He asked as he shook his head in confusion.

“Oh, I’m alright. I’m no stranger to spending time on the ground – I’m really quite clumsy you know.” You explained solemnly. He breathed a small laugh at your self-degradation. 

“Well, it likely doesn’t help to have a big oaf act as a brick wall when you’re only trying to shop.”

You smiled so sweetly that Remus, the damn sod, couldn’t help but return it. Lo-and-behold, your dimple made an appearance. Moony (and Remus, reluctantly) relished in the fact that he was the one to elicit that wide a smile from you. 

“That’s alright Remus. If you hadn’t, I might not have had a chance to apologize to you.”

Remus’ heart went to exit through his feet.

“Apologize? To me?” he asked. 

You nodded. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

It was weird that Remus could feel his heart crack painfully since it had already exited his body – but it stung anyway.

“You – you’re not... you haven’t done anything, Dove.” He said as he wiped a hand down his face, the pet-name slipping from his lips without his consent. “It’s me. I promise. I’m a freak.”

You offered him a simple smile, though your eyes seemed to ooze sympathy. “I’ve been told I’m quite odd myself.”

Remus chuckled. “Who told you that? Tell them I want to talk.”

You seemed slightly confused but laughed at his response nonetheless. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to figure out how to end this interaction while also mourning the coming loss of it. “Sorry for knocking you over, Y/N.” He offered quietly as he moved to walk away.

“Thank you for helping me up, Remus.” You responded with a smile as you entered Tomes & Scrolls. 

Moony whined at his loss of your company.

Remus whined at Moony’s input.  

True to the clerk’s word, a package arrived for Remus that week over breakfast in the Great Hall.

“What? Don’t you have enough books already, Moons?” Sirius asked with a smirk as he shovelled another spoon of cereal into his mouth. Remus responded with a (loving) two-fingered salute.

Remus had somewhat relaxed since your last encounter – there was no sense in punishing himself or you for Moony’s erratic behaviour, and he was sure he’d been driving his friends barmy with his mood swings. There was nothing for him to do except wait for more answers. And said answers were just delivered to him via owl.

“What are you reading now?” Peter asked as he tried to peer at Remus’ new book.

“It’s not a novel, Wormy. This is research.” He corrected.

“Gonna find out why you’re such a wanker?” Sirius snarked as he dodged a piece of bacon Remus threw at him.

“Okay, well, don’t waste food.” Peter chided quietly, looking disturbingly close to picking up said bacon from the ground. 

“Hanging out with the lot of you seems to have finally done me in, Pads.” Remus snarked back as he vanished the piece of bacon vexing Peter. 

James nodded solemnly. “Fair enough, honestly.” 

Remus quickly tucked his new book into his bag before moving to stand.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked as he looked at Remus with ill-hidden concern.

“To the library. Gonna do some research.” He answered plainly as he patted his book bag.

“Rem,” James called out to him, causing him to pause his retreat and turn to him. “you don’t have to do this alone, right?” he continued more quietly. 

Remus offered him a grateful smile. “I know Prongs, I’ll get back to you with my findings.”

Remus did noy know how he was going to report his findings back to his friends. This can’t have been it, can it? This isn’t what’s plaguing Remus? This can’t be real... There must be more...missing pages...

“...another version of lunar magic I’ve discovered in my travels - though extremely uncommon - is what some have called a ‘mating spark’. Along with the powerful lunar magic that drives the full-moon transformations and the surge of power it provides magical beings (wizards, witches, wix), there appears to be ‘soulmate’ magic involved with lycanthropy. Long been reduced to myth and lore within wizarding society, it appears the magic of soulmates may in fact be leftover knowledge from werewolf folktales.  “The initial ‘spark’ is reported to be painful and distressing. After the initial connection is made, the wolf will become fixated on their mate. The lycanthrope may experience longing, feelings of discomfort when apart and heightened senses surrounding their mate. It has been told to me that feelings of devotion towards the wolf’s mate does not go away, regardless of whether the lycanthrope accepts the bond or not.”

“Fuck.” Remus breathed as he dropped the book onto the table with a thud.

Mine. Moony huffed in response, as if wagging his tail singing ‘I told you so’.

This just won’t do. 

Taglist: @hanniejji @y0urm0m12 @c0nsc10usworld @aphrcdites @starsval @thepunisherfrankcastle @anuncalledbridge @the-maniac-fly @unstablereader @rai-strangebr @sherry-needs-therapy, @klazina-couch-potato @cancelledkaley @fandom-crashlanding @ttulipwritezz @boo8008 

[bbybloop]

A Man With a Plan.1

prologue // p1

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: mentions of bullying - only one description of it, but it's chill cuz James tells them to fuck off like the king he is? Descriptions of werewolf behaviour idk. Use of Y/N

Synopsis: Remus planned to never fall in love. Moony had other plans.

“Don’t you think she’s just the loveliest thing, Moons?” James spoke in reverence.

Remus needn’t move his gaze from his book to know that Lily Evans just walked into the library – so he didn’t. 

“Sure is, James.”

“Don’t be getting any ideas though.” James said as he nudged his friend. He was clearly trying to go for light and breezy, but Remus caught the nervous twinge in his voice.

“You truly have nothing to worry about, Prongs.” He muttered.

“What? Don’t like birds?” James asked, though he was still watching Lily make her way over to her friends.

“Who doesn’t like birds?” Sirius questioned as he appeared out of nowhere, swatting Remus’ feet off a neighbouring chair and taking the seat for himself.

“Remus, apparently.” Peter answered from behind his book.

Remus finally lowered his book to regard his friends. “That is not what I said.”

“He said he doesn’t like Lily.” James told Sirius, finally turning his attention away from this girl to look at his mate like can you believe this guy?

“I literally just said I agreed that she was lovely.” Remus guffawed.

“If you think she’s so lovely, why don’t you go ask her out then?” Sirius asked with a smirk, causing James to let out a strangled groan. 

“What! No, common that’s like, against the bro code. Oh! Hi Y/N!” James cut himself off as he spotted you entering the library.

“Hello, James.” You greeted serenely as you started towards him. “What has your aura so pink today?”

This caused both Sirius and Remus’ eyebrows to cock, though neither of them interrupted yours and James’ interaction. 

“We were just talking about how lovely Lily is.” James answered solemnly.

“Yes, I suppose that would do it.” You answered as you turned to follow James’ gaze. 

“It’s funny, her aura turns the same colour when she looks at you. I wonder what that could mean.” You said softly, completely missing the way James’ head reared back.

“Well, I must be off. I’ve been trying to check out a book all week, but each time I’ve come to the library I’ve ended up distracted trying to clear the nargles from the shelves. The library is just full of them!” 

Your voice was feather light as you bid a simple goodbye to James who returned it with an easy smile before you floated away.

James turned from your retreating form to see the bemused faces of his friends, sans Peter who still hadn’t raised his head from his book.

“What was that?” Sirius finally asked.

“What was what?” James asked as he furrowed his brows. “Y/N?”

“Since when are you friends with her?” Sirius continued.

“We have care of magical creatures together. She’s tutoring me, actually. She’s really quite nice.” James said as he picked up his own forgotten textbook.

Sirius, still not able to let it go, added, “She’s an odd little bird, isn’t she?” 

James only shook his head. “She’s harmless. People give her a harder time than she deserves.” 

“Perhaps...” Remus acquiesced. “But what the hell is a nargle?” 

“Oh, not a clue.” James answered simply before beginning to work on his Ancient Runes translation.

Remus and Sirius exchanged one more look before moving to their own homework.

It’s not that Remus didn’t know who you were – Hogwarts wasn’t a big enough school to not know the other students in your own year – but there had never been any interactions between your circles of friends. Namely, Remus’ friends and whoever you happened to hang out with never seemed to intertwine. Remus had to assume you had friends – even he had friends, and he was a monster – but he had no idea who they could be. 

Remus had to admit you were a cute little thing, if a little odd as Sirius said. James could be a lot of things, but he always saw the best in people; so, it really shouldn’t have surprised Remus that James had made a friend of you. 

What Remus didn’t yet know was what your newfound friendship with James would mean for him.

“So, what do we think? Does Lily here have some competition?” Marlene joked with a wicked grin as she threw her arm across Lily’s shoulders at the Gryffindor table.

“Competition for what?” Sirius asked around a mouthful of eggs from his spot across from Peter and Remus.

“James, of course.” Dorcas clarified.

Lily groaned. “I was never competing.”

“I mean, who needs tutoring in care of magical creatures? Don’t you just like, show up and feed them? Seems like a ruse to me.” Mary chuckled from her place.

Peter leaned into Remus before adding. “Does seem a little weird that James needs help in care of magical creatures, seeing as that’s exactly what he does once a month.”

Remus nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure. Apparently, he hadn't regained it quickly enough. 

“What’s so funny over there?” Lily asked as she narrowed her teasing-filled eyes at the two offending boys.

“Nothing at all, Evans. But trust me when I say you have absolutely nothing to worry about when it comes to the future Mr. Evans-Potter.” He responded easily. All the mirth left Lily’s face as she turned her gaze towards her breakfast, but both Peter and Remus noticed the faint blush dusting her cheeks. 

It was surprising to all, although not surprising at all (I mean, come on, James has been at this for seven years – it was bound to come about eventually), that Lily was slowly beginning to warm up to James’ advances. It probably helped that they were head girl and boy this year, it also probably helped that James was less annoying about it and far more polite with his advances, and it also probably helped that the rest of Lily’s friends really quite liked James. 

As if summoned, James accompanied by Lily’s competition, entered the Great Hall together. 

“I’d really like that, Y/N. Thank you!” James could be heard saying as the two of you approached his friends.

“It’s really no problem, James. I’m sure they’d love to have more visitors.” You responded softly. Remus noticed your smile was just as soft as your voice; he thought it was lovely. 

What the fuck? Stop thinking people are lovely, you git. He scolded himself immediately. 

“Who’s this little birdie introducing you to, Prongsie?” Sirius asked as he shot a salacious wink your way.

You furrowed your brows at him in confusion.

“Birdie?” You asked James softly. He smiled kindly as he turned to you. “A nickname, Y/N. The way Sirius just said it could be taken as a compliment.” 

“Or an insult if you don’t appreciate such brazen flirting.” Dorcas added which earned her an elbow to the ribs from said flirt. 

“Anyway,” James interjected, looking towards you somewhat awkwardly. “Y/N here was helping me study facts about thestrals when she told me she has befriended a wild herd not far from Hogwarts. She said she’d take me to meet them.”

“Meet thestrals? Can you even see thestrals, Prongsie?” Sirius asked inquisitively. 

“There are other ways to enjoy the presence of beings without being able to see them.” You offered simply, your tone remaining nothing but kind even as you corrected him. Remus couldn’t help but smile at you.

Stop smiling, dumbass. He mentally berated himself.

“Quite right. I’d like to try feeding them and petting them.” James said with a level of finality. “If you think they’ll let me.” He added hastily as he turned to you.

You offered the git a soft smile and patted his arm placatingly. “I’m sure they will, James. In fact, I think your voice might be the perfect hertz; the thestrals will love your lower tones.”   

The majority of the group just furrowed their brows at you, but Marlene began to cackle. 

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” She said as she wiped a non-existent tear from below her eyes.

James’ eyes turned stormy as he locked his gaze on Marlene, but his voice remained somewhat relaxed as he addressed you. “Thanks again, Y/N. I’ll see you in class.” 

You smiled politely at him before making your way over to your house table.

“How ironic is it that such a ditz was sorted into the house that values learning, wisdom, wit, and intellect.” She snorted, either missing James’ glare or ignoring it entirely. 

“Marlene, I love you, you’re one of my best friends, we grew up together, you’re my sister from another mister, I would die for you.” he started, making sure she was looking at him before proceeding. “Do not make fun of my friends.”

Remus was certain his eyebrows had flown right off his forehead as he exchanged a look with his friends. Sirius and Peter seemed to be in agreement that they’d never seen James so stern as he sat down beside Sirius and started filling his plate. Unbeknownst to the boys, Lily was looking at James with a small smirk a look of respect from her end of the bench. 

“So, boys,” James began, “I was thinking, for our next brilliant prank...”

And just like that, James was back to planning pranks with the Marauders as if he hadn’t just blown the entire Gryffindor table’s minds. 

The rest of the month went about the same; you and James could be found around the castle together, which Sirius was more than happy to take the piss about, and none of James’ friends made fun of you anymore - genuinely fearing James’ wrath ever since he hexed some Hufflepuffs who made a passing comment about you one day. 

Remus didn’t think you noticed any of it, however; at least it didn’t appear that way. He found that quite remarkable. He found you quite remarkable.

He hated that. 

It’s not that Remus was a prude, but he didn’t like liking you. It made him feel icky – out of control, like he didn’t have a say in any of it. Casual hookups were much more easy and comfortable for him, it was easy to roll over the next morning, say thanks, and carry on like nothing.

But just sharing a small nod of acknowledgment with you made him giddy. 

He hated that.

He certainly hadn’t agreed to liking you – he had rules. Rules like – having sex with someone was fine, having feelings for someone was not. And he didn’t want to have sex with you!

Okay, that’s not necessarily true.

He didn’t not want to have sex with you, but that’s not what drew him to you. You seemed ethereal; otherworldly; perhaps a touch too pure.

Certainly, too pure for a werewolf.

Which is why he had rules in the first place; he would not allow someone to get tangled up in his curse of a life, to suffer through loving someone as awful as him. It was painful enough being Remus, he wasn’t going to curse someone to loving him. 

So, Remus made a plan: he would ignore this friendship between you and James and pretend like you didn’t exist, only being as polite as humanly possible to stay within James’ good graces. 

That plan was fucked to shit in potions. 

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff 7th year class was finishing up as the Slytherin’s and Gryffindor’s entered for their own class. Remus inwardly sighed as he spotted you across the room heading for the ingredient supply cupboard. Remus sighed again when some of your fellow housemates chuckled watching you struggle to carry the many ingredients on your own, none of which offered to help. 

“Oh! Are you headed to the supply closet? Mind taking these too?” A snarky little witch (Remus replaced that W with a B in his mind) said as she placed another vial on top of your load without waiting for your response. 

Remus had to give you credit, however, as all you did was smile kindly as you reconfigured the many vials and jars in your arms. 

Remus sighed outwardly, and loudly, as he made his way to follow you into the supply closet.

“Here, let me help you with that.” He muttered somewhat petulantly like he hadn't just volunteered his help unprompted as he relieved you of some vials and jars.

You looked at him with a face of surprise which quickly morphed into one of gratitude. Remus loved hated it.

“Thank you, Remus. That’s very kind of you.” You all but sung to him. Your voice sounded like angels. Fuck. 

Remus scoffed. “Not quite as nice as you, cleaning up for everyone else.” He muttered somewhat darkly.

You bobbed your head back-and-forth noncommittally. “Oh, I don’t mind so much. They do plenty for me in return.”

He turned to you, genuinely interested to hear what exactly those knob heads ever did for you. “Like what?”

You smiled to yourself as you continued placing ingredients in their rightful homes. “Well, they’re always keeping me on my toes by hiding my things around the castle. They must know how much I enjoy a good treasure hunt.”

Remus’ hand stopped in midair as he watched you continue to work. Did he hear you right? Did you actually believe these people were being kind? Did you think of those people as your friends?

“Or perhaps they don’t know that. Then in that case, I suppose the joke would be on them.” You said plainly as you turned your attention back to Remus, offering him a slightly pursed smile – like you were trying to hide the full extent of your joy at the thought, though the dimple that appeared on your left cheek gave you away.

It actually surprised a bark of laughter from him as he forced his hand to resume its task. “I suppose so.” He concurred. 

Remus heard a small tinkling sound and a gentle ‘oh’ escape your lips as a vial rolled into his foot. You both bent down to pick it up, but Remus was faster. As he went to hand you the offending vial, your fingers brushed gently.

For Remus, you may as well have set off a bomb.

Remus swore he felt every neuron in his body firing at the same time, his blood cells turned to lava and his veins turned to ice, his feet felt like they were fully rooted to the dungeon floor below him while his heart thrummed and took off in flight from his body. 

And through all of this, Moony was going feral. 

“Pack. Pack. Pack. Pack. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. MINE.”

Remus ripped his hand away from you like it burned – and in some ways it did – but the newfound space between your beings seemed to hurt even more. 

Remus’ chest was heaving, and his heart was going a mile a minute while Moony continued howling inside of his head. He could barely hear the classroom behind him through the blood rushing in his ears.

Remus could count many worst parts about this whole experience, but at this very moment, the worst part was your face.

Your head was cocked to the side like a confused cocker spaniel as your brows furrowed ever so slightly. You peered at Remus with a concerned gaze and your entire being just oozed kindness and understanding.

As if you could understand the clamoring of the 13-year-old werewolf living inside his brain screaming at him to lunge at you, bow down to you, fold you up and put you in his pocked, to crack open his ribcage and place you inside of him for eternity. What the fuck was wrong with him!?

“Are you alright, Remus?” You asked, so, so, so softly. In fact, you said it so softly that Remus was sure if Moony hadn’t just decided to dial into the exact channel of your frequency, he would have missed it completely. 

“Yes.” He breathed as he shook his head no. “No. I don’t know. I-”

You nodded sympathetically, as if Remus had said anything coherent at all. “That’s alright.”

Remus willed his lungs to take a deep breath. Because, was it really? Was it really alright? Because it sort of felt like Remus was dying; like his life was over as he knew it. 

“Ah, Miss. L/N, you should be off to your next class now, quickly. Mr. Lupin, please take your seat.” Mr. Slughorn said, poking his head briefly into the supply cupboard before retreating in much the same way.

You nodded politely at the teacher before offering Remus a smile.

“Thank you again for your help, Remus.” You said gently as you moved past him to retrieve your bag before exiting the classroom. Remus Moony wanted to follow you, begged to follow you. He could still smell you – you were everywhere. Fuck, Remus needs to shower.

Remus leaned his head against the cool stone of the dungeon walls. “What’s happening to me?” He moaned miserably to himself.

If only he knew. 

Taglist: @hanniejji

[bbybloop]

Obsessed with this

Friends or What?

James Potter x F!Reader

A coming of age story in which Potter's Corner Shop has a funny way of bringing people together. Falling in love is daunting when everyone is watching.

Ao3 Link - Series Masterlist - Fourmoony's Masterlist

Chapter Warnings for Chapter Two -

Language. Internalised homophobia. Mentions of physical and emotional abuse. Smoking. Use of the word 'fag', in context to a cigarette (UK Slang)

CHAPTER TWO (4K) -

JAMES

Sirius is quiet in the taxi home. He’s quiet when they shuck their shoes off in the entrance hall of the Potter Estate. He’s quiet as he footers around the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He’s quiet while he and James stand side by side in their conjoined bathroom, brushing their teeth and washing their faces. He’s quiet, quiet, quiet, and James is starting to worry. The thing about Sirius is – is that he’s loud. In every possible way. Aged eleven, Sirius Black had come bounding into James Potter’s life with his boyish grin and loudmouth attitude, two middle fingers held up to the world and they’d been inseparable since.

James is loud like the sun. He’s funny and he’s charming in a warm, light, happy sort of way. He’s sturdy and reliable, he’s soft and he’s gentle. Sirius is loud like the laughter of a ten-thousand-man crowd. He’s abrasive and he’s obnoxious, he’s rough around the edges but he’s so fucking loyal that James never really stood a chance. He was destined to be Sirius Black’s brother, his best friend, his twin flame. Sirius is rebellious, he’s never been anything except what he wanted to be. He’s jagged and he’s loud and he’s James’ best mate in the entire world.

James knows Sirius like the back of his hand. So, he knows that quiet is not good. Sirius is complex. His past hasn’t been kind to him, and while he’s not the same sixteen-year-old boy that showed up on James’ doorstep seven years ago, battered and bruised, traumatised and a shell of himself, James still worries about him sometimes. Sirius talks about his family less and less as the years go on. James would like to think that, in a way, he’s healed from the trauma of Walburga and Orion Black. There are parts of Sirius that will never come back; his boyish innocence and the warmth he once exuded from his very soul, but James knows that Sirius is better. He doesn’t have nightmares anymore, he doesn’t hide himself away, he doesn’t stash bread and sweeties under his floorboards, he goes to therapy once a week and he’s making changes, for Christ’s sakes.

But James knows, he knows it deep into his fucking core, that the reason Sirius hasn’t told him about Remus, the reason he’s being so quiet, now, is because of his upbringing. It’s a subject he knows will have to be dealt with carefully, untwined with gentle fingers like plucking the thorns from a rose. One wrong word and James is scared Sirius will flee. He doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like lack of control, and if he’s kissing Remus Lupin for any other reason than to get under the poor bloke’s skin, then James is willing to bet Sirius is feeling an overwhelming amount of both.

So, he waits for Sirius to come to him. He sends him off to his own bed with a quiet ‘goodnight’ because he can wait. He will wait. Sirius isn’t ready and that’s okay. The two years James spent without Sirius were, by far, the hardest of his life. The Black’s decided this village was a bad influence, that it bred insubordination, was infecting Sirius’ mind with thoughts of growing up and doing anything but working in politics like the rest of his family. They moved to central London, in the borough of Islington, and that’s where things got really bad. Sirius doesn’t speak about London, much. Only to his therapist, which is fine with James. But he knows about all the stuff that happened when the Black’s lived in the village, he was there for it all; the broken bones, the bruises, the cuts, the scars, the rapid weight loss, he saw it happen, held Sirius through it, took the pieces of his own armour and filled in the gaps on Sirius’ because whilst Sirius is chaos, James is calm and he’s loyal, and he’s strong. And then Sirius left. And then Sirius came back to him. Then. Then, Sirius came home. So, James can wait. He can do it. Because James and Sirius tell each other everything, do everything together, but this is something that Sirius might just have to figure out on his own.

The house feels too quiet, the air around him too heavy, as James lies in bed. He tries to read, he fails, he polishes his rugby boots for training in the morning, and he fails. He can’t stop thinking about Sirius’ face; the frazzled, lost sort of look that plagued him when James had asked if he was okay, if he needed to talk about anything. James watched as Sirius fought and lost the battle of following Remus out of the Three Broomsticks and felt the pain heavy in his chest when he had to stop Sirius, himself.

“Not tonight. Let him cool off.” James had whispered, and Sirius didn’t have it in him to argue.

He tries to read, again, and he fails, again. He loves Sirius so much. He worries. He always worries. Because, sure, Sirius is a lot better, now, but he’s complex, he has trauma, and he’s visibly struggling. But James can’t help. Usually, he can always help Sirius. Sirius never shies away from asking for help. He’s on his own this time, scared and struggling and James can’t help him because he hasn’t asked and James refuses to push.

He tosses and he turns, and he sits up, he lies back down, he paces, he sits down, and eventually, he falls asleep, only to wake up when the bed dips beside him.

When his eyes open, he realises he’s fallen asleep with his glasses on because he can see the way the dawn breaks over the orchard outside his bedroom window. There’s frost on the grass and the sky is still a deep blue, getting lighter the further down he looks. Sirius is next to him. He doesn’t have to look over to know. James can tell by the pattern of his breaths, the smell of his shampoo, how far the bed dips. James Potter would know Sirius Black’s presence were he deaf and blind. He always will. He has a feeling Sirius, much like him, feels the weight that’s suffocating them.

He doesn’t look over, just waits for his best friend to say something. He can hear the cogs whirring behind Sirius’ pale blue eyes, the thumping of his heart against his ribcage. Sirius doesn’t speak for a long time.

“Do you –“ Sirius starts, but he falls short. He’s unsure, voice wavering, thick with anxiety. He swallows, coughs, tries again; “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

It’s not what James is expecting Sirius to ask. As his best friend, his first instinct is to say, ‘Of course I don’t’, but James knows Sirius Black like the back of his hand, the insides of his eyelids, the warm glow that burns in his chest. He knows how Sirius can be. He knows how cruel his tongue is, how his first instinct when he’s threatened is to go for the throat. So, James deliberates.

“I think you’re a good person who horrible things have happened to. Sometimes, you allow those things to control the way you act. But no. I don’t think you’re a horrible person, Padfoot.” James answers honestly.

He watches the breeze blow through the orchard trees as the sun continues to creep up between the branches. Sirius breathes a sigh of relief, shuffles closer to James so he can feel the warmth of him. He finally looks down at Sirius, head rested on the same pillow as James, and he smiles softly. Sirius smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks tired, lost, scared. James wants to fix it all so bad. But he can’t. He has to let Sirius do it, himself.

When Sirius ran to him seven years ago, James made himself a promise. Nothing, and no one, would ever harm his best friend again. Not over James Potter’s cold, dead, body. But he can’t stop this, can he? He can’t wrap Sirius up and protect him from his own heart, his own mind. He doesn’t have that much power and it’s killing him.

“Remus thinks I’m a horrible person.” Sirius says, voice so quiet James thinks he believes it. Like Remus’ word is final.

He sighs, rubs the tiredness from his eyes, “Did he tell you this?”

“No,” Sirius answers, voice a moment from sleep, his eyes closed, and his face so sad and soft James feels his heart splinter, “I see it in the way he looks at me.”

“You could prove to him that you’re not.” James advises, voice soft.

Sirius makes a humming noise of acknowledgement, but ultimately, James knows the conversation is over. He’s dead to the world ten minutes later, and James follows suit not long after.

-----

SIRIUS

When Sirius was ten, he realised what it truly meant to be a member of the Black family.

It was more than fame, or politics, or even money. It was more than presenting themselves as a prestigious, well-educated family. For the Blacks it was about one thing: Power. They have an ability to play games with people that don’t even know they’re a part of them, closing in, moving pieces, counting cards until finally, they win. The Blacks always win. For as long as he can remember, every conversation Sirius Black has ever had with another member of his family has held some sort of purpose. Manipulation, information gathering, seed planting. The list goes on.

When you grow up in that environment, carefully wrapping your lips around poisoned words, watching your back with every move, the thing is – it becomes hard to trust. It gets hard to distinguish the difference between someone trying to get to know you, and someone trying to learn every dirty little secret you have so they can use it against you.

So, Sirius was ten when he learned the hard lesson of keeping his mouth shut, keeping his secrets close to his chest. Because the beating he took for telling Mary Riddle that his mother nicknamed her husband, Tom Riddle Sr., ‘The Snake’, was unpleasant at best. Secrets, or spilled secrets, never end well. He likes to keep his secrets close to his chest. Perhaps that has more to do with Walburga than he’d ever be willing to admit – because while the Black’s liked to know everyone else’s secrets, not a soul alive could tell you any of theirs.

It took Sirius one year to tell James how bad things really were. Even then, it’s not like he had an option. Too many black eyes, too many sprained wrists and unhealed cuts. James Potter is one of the smartest people Sirius knows. It was only a matter of time before he figured it out. By then, Sirius knew he could trust James, could feel it in his chest. What they have is special, unheard of. Their souls are made of the same things. Sirius knew that just as sure at age eleven as he does, now, age twenty-three.

Sirius doesn’t know why he hasn’t told James, yet.

Honestly, he doesn’t.

He’s tried. Gods, has Sirius tried. But the thing about James is – is that he’s so observant when it’s the big things, the big moments, the bad days, but the smaller, more minute things? Things like Sirius asking him to go for coffee, have a chat – it goes over his head completely. Every time Sirius builds himself up, James bulldozes over his confidence with an enthusiastic rant about rugby, the weather, the shop, and Sirius deflates like a burst balloon. He can’t get angry with James. Not really. Because Sirius has a sneaking suspicion that he’s subconsciously grateful for James ruining the moment over, and over. If he was truly confident in letting his secret spill, he’d just bulldoze James right back. That’s how they work.

But, instead, Sirius says nothing.

Always nothing.

It’s becoming a problem, he’s aware. Especially with the way Remus is staring at him, now, expectant, and impatient. He’s just – he’s not good at opening up to people, at letting them in. There’s something there, though, with Remus. He feels it in the static buzzing between his ribs, the sparks buzzing at his fingertips. He doesn’t know what to do with the energy, doesn’t like the way it makes him feel. A loss of control.

It’s been a week since their… fight. In the Three Broomsticks’ beer garden. Remus called Sirius a pretentious prick, Sirius called Christopher a wet wipe. Remus’ lips felt so angry against his, so frustrated and raw, so. Nice. They haven’t spoken since. Not really. Not in any way that matters. Nothing other than the short, jabbing quips that once, were fun, but now are exhausting. Sirius doesn’t hate Remus. Not really. But he’s not sure he likes him either.

He’s scared and he’s confused, and Remus is looking at him like he should have all the answers and he doesn’t know what to do.

So, he shrugs, “I told you. I don’t know.”

Remus nods, he looks like he’d been expecting that answer. “I’m not just someone you can fuck around with until you figure out whatever posh boy gay crisis it is you’re having.”

Sirius has the nerve to scoff. The thing about Remus is. He’s incredibly good at giving what he gets. Sirius knows he’s cutthroat when he’s been backed into a corner. He has this evil monster in his head, in his chest, in the blood that thrums through his veins – it’s a by-product of being born a Black. Or maybe it’s just him. Maybe he grew up in a house so rotted, with a family so monstrous, that he never had any hope of being more than. But Remus is just as short, just as rude. It’s maddening. It inspires Sirius to challenge him, if only to feel the scorch of his lips, the electricity of his touch.

“I can’t do this right now.”

Remus flicks his fag across the road, pushes himself off the wall, “You’ve been saying that for as long as I’ve known you.”

“You don’t know me.” Sirius feels the need to remind Remus.

Because really, he doesn’t.

Remus Lupin knows jack shit about Sirius Black. Other than what he tastes like. What he sounds like. That he’s rotted and spoiled and probably a horrible person.

So, he knows a little.

But he’s never shown any interest in getting to know the good parts of Sirius. The loyalty. The unwavering fucking loyalty that Sirius gives out like rare change, but when you have it, you have it, and it never falters. The laughter, the jokes, the careful way he cares for each and every person he loves. He’s loud and abrasive, but Remus will never know he can be that way and not be an arsehole about it.

 Sirius won’t force him to see past what he wants to see. He’s accepted that maybe the reason Remus thinks he’s a terrible person is simple. Because he is.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Remus doesn’t say good-bye when he turns, yanks open the door to the shop and steps inside. Sirius hears the faint ringing of the bell, your voice calling out Remus’ name. He gives himself a moment. A moment to look at the door and hope that Remus will come back out and explain very plainly what it is he wants from Sirius. Because Sirius is at a loss. He doesn’t remember much about the night that he met Remus. Just the feeling of pure adrenaline he got from whatever haughty words they exchanged in the smoking area, the half-hearted scoffs and awkward chit chat of getting to know someone you really shouldn’t have any interest in getting to know. Remus was charming. He was quiet and mysterious, and he was rather blunt. Sirius didn’t mind. He likes to talk, likes to push, likes to know everyone’s secrets.

Power. Games. He never really got away from that. Just them.

He doesn’t remember how it got so heated, how they ended up millimetres away from each other’s faces, their breaths mingling and the static electricity winding its way around Sirius’ ribcage. But they did. And Remus’ lips. They were so rough, so demanding. So lovely. He remembers the way it overpowered him, the kiss, shook him to his core and turned his entire fucking life upside down. The thing Sirius can’t shake, though. The thing that tears him up inside – which he refuses to look at too deeply – is the look on Remus’ face when Sirius broke the kiss, took two steps back, announced that he wasn’t gay, and essentially took off running.

The thing is, Sirius isn’t gay.

At least, he’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s not.

He can’t be. He won’t be.

When Sirius is positive Remus isn’t coming back out, he leaves.

----

The bell dings above the shop door and Remus returns in a flash of fury. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted. It pulls at the scar on his cupids bow, makes it an angrier shade of red than it normally is. Usually, after a smoke break, Remus returns more relaxed, calm, a more pleasant version of the boy you’d originally sent outside to cool off after he kicked a box of freddos across the storeroom twenty minutes ago.

He stalks up to the till, doesn’t even check if there’s any customers present before he announces that, “Sirius Black is a fucking prick.”

You’re perched on the edge of the counter, flipping through a magazine. Sundays are generally slow days. All the week’s deliveries have arrived, the pull forwards have been done, the cleaning is done. All that’s really left to do is sit around and wait for customers to show up. Remus must not be expecting you to reply – probably because you never do when it comes to Sirius – because he huffs a breath before continuing through to the storeroom, likely to take his anger out on another unsuspecting box of chocolate. The door squeaks awfully behind him.

A head of Black hair flashes past the window, barely visibly above the promotion signs James is always tacking up. But it’s there. You see it. Sirius is stalking off in the direction of the Leaky. Remus’ frustration suddenly makes sense. Not saying anything to Remus about what you and James witnessed last night has been torture, especially when he’s been a moody sod all day. Sirius and Remus don’t make any logical sense. But then, you’ve never really given it much thought. Until last night, you were under the impression they’d sooner knock each other out before going at it like horny teenagers in the beer garden.

But you promised James you wouldn’t say anything. So, you don’t. You allow Remus to sulk and fume and take his frustration out on a box of freddos. Because that’s what friends do, you suppose.

Remus returns five minutes later looking cool, calm, and collected. He doesn’t offer an explanation nor an apology for his outburst. Instead, he travels around the counter to stand behind you and be ready to serve, should anyone come inside. You doubt they will, most of the village residents barely leave their homes on a Sunday, let alone past five in the afternoon. The silence is weighted. But then, you think, that’s probably because you know more than you should. Silence with Remus is usually comfortable. It sticks to your skin like humid air and makes you restless, unable to enjoy flicking through your magazine.

“What did he want?” You ask, eyes pointedly focussed on the article about this week’s fashion trends.

You’ve got one leg kicked up on the counter, balancing your magazine, and one dangling off the side, facing Remus, but you refuse to look up; terrified he’ll be able to see right through you.

He hums, “Who?”

“Sirius.”

Remus doesn’t respond for a minute. You imagine he’s trying to piece together how you know he was outside.

“Saw him stalking off towards the Leaky after you came in.” You offer.

“Right.”

“So?”

“So, what?” He asks.

You finally look up; Remus is already staring at you with nothing short of frustration written across his face. He purses his lips, shrugs a non-committal shrug, “The usual. To be a prick.”

“Right.”

“Why does it sound like you don’t believe that?” Remus asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

It’s your turn to shrug. You flip the page of your magazine, eyes downcast. “Just doesn’t seem like Sirius to go out of his way to be a prick.”

Remus scoffs but doesn’t say anything else.

The rest of the shift passes in silence.

James comes to lock up because you forgot your keys at home, this morning, and Monty offered to send James before he left earlier on. It feels like walking on eggshells when he shows up, asks how the day went, and Remus is still in his horrible, sulky mood. You avoid eye contact as you clear lottery tickets and scratch cards from behind the till, making polite conversation as James counts the money inside the tills. He knows you hate numbers – he does it without asking.

Remus doesn’t offer much of a goodbye when he leaves, just tells James he’ll see him on Wednesday and goes. You deflate when the door closes behind him, tension seeping out of your shoulders. James frowns after him, “What’s up with him?”

“Sirius stopped by, earlier.” You fiddle with the clipper display, moving the lighters around as though you have a particular order that you’d like them to be in.

“What did he want?” James asks, locking the till.

You shrug, “They were outside. Couldn’t hear. But Remus has been in a right mood since he left.”

James doesn’t say anything, just sighs and rubs his hands across his face.

Then, “I owe you an apology. For last night. I shouldn’t have been so forceful with you not telling them you know. Sometimes I forget Sirius is an adult who doesn’t need to have his feelings protected.”

He looks earnest, sincere. You hadn’t really thought any bad of James for cornering you the way he did. Honestly, you’d admired how much he cared about Sirius in that moment, how he didn’t think, just reacted in the best possible interest of his best friend.

“S’okay.” You nod, offering James a kind smile.

It’s weird, to have a normal conversation with no one watching, no flirting, no innuendos. It’s nice.

James shakes his head, his half-damp hair moving with him. He looks freshly showered, probably is, you know he had rugby practice today. He’s wearing his rugby hoodie and his gym shorts. He looks boyish and cute, and when he offers you a lopsided smile your heart stutters.

“It’s not. I felt the way you tensed when I grabbed your wrist, I shouldn’t have done that.”

You laugh a little breathily, “That-“ You try, stop, try again, “That wasn’t because I was scared or, or anything. It was just,” You trail off, hoping James accepts that as answer.

How incredibly embarrassing would it be to tell James that you’d been so tense because his touch felt like blazing fire against your skin, made your heart stop, your head spin, your stomach grow butterflies. Pathetic, really.

James looks lost but nods slowly anyway.

“Right, well. That’s us done, so you’re free to go. I’ve a few things to grab from the office and I’ll lock up on my way out.”

“Right, cheers. See you tomorrow, Jamie.”

James’ face brightens at the nickname, his smile wide and teasing, “Tomorrow.”

[bbybloop]

I’m so in love with how you write them all

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader

James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you." 

He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.

"It's not about irritating me," you say. 

"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet." 

"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?" 

"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose." 

What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed. 

James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs. 

"You alright?" the smoother asks.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 

"And what do you do?" you ask him. 

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.  

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 

"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick." 

[bbybloop]

So excited for the next friends or what update

stop, I'll cry!!!!! next update will be Tuesday (hopefully)

this is so sweet, thank you <3

here's a sneaky wee peek just for you:

Remus Lupin knows jack shit about Sirius Black. Other than what he tastes like. What he sounds like. That he’s rotted and spoiled and probably a horrible person.

So, he knows a little.

But he’s never shown any interest in getting to know the good parts of Sirius. The loyalty. The unwavering fucking loyalty that Sirius gives out like rare change, but when you have it, you have it, and it never falters. The laughter, the jokes, the careful way he cares for each and every person he loves. He’s loud and abrasive, but Remus will never know he can be that way and not be an arsehole about it.

Sirius won’t force him to see past what he wants to see. He’s accepted that maybe the reason Remus thinks he’s a terrible person is simple. Because he is.

[bbybloop]

Friends or What?

James Potter x F!Reader

A coming of age story in which Potter's Corner Shop has a funny way of bringing people together. Falling in love is daunting when everyone is watching.

Ao3 Link (chapters will be uploaded here the day before Tumblr).

CW: For Chapter One, the content warnings include: Use of the word 'fag', but in context to a cigarette (UK slang) Foul language A minor using the word 'shagging' Smoking/Drinking alcohol A comment about hoping someone chokes Threat of caving someone's head in with a baseball bat (it's lighthearted, I swear) Implied internalised homophobia Mentions of fighting

Please be aware that this fic will contain multiple hard to read scenes, and I completely understand, if because of this, you choose not to read :) it's a coming of age fic, while there'll be lots of fluff and happy moments, there'll also be lots of hard, uncomfortable moments, too. Please, please, do not make yourself uncomfortable.

CHAPTER ONE (7k) -

Sirius is stocking the fag drawers, behind the counter, when you come in through the shop door. The little bell above the wooden frame dings to announce your arrival. Sirius doesn’t turn upon hearing the bell, nor does he acknowledge there’s even anyone in the shop. You follow his lead, heading up the sweetie aisle, wiggling your fingers as you go, lips puckered in anticipation as you search of the cherry lollies you know were delivered this morning. Whether or not Sirius has bothered to unload the pallet yet is a strong factor in whether you’ll find them sitting where they’re supposed to be. Your eyes scan the shelves, there are no cherry lollies to be found. No worries, you think, picking up a fashion magazine as you pass the stand.

You walk the loop of the shop, hear the bell ding in the distance signal someone else has come in. It smells like newspapers and the inside of the fridges that line the back wall of the shop; the radio crackles through tinny speakers, playing the UK Top 40 and you just know Sirius is hating every minute of it. When you approach the till, Sirius still has his head in the fag drawer, whistling along to his own song, radio be damned.

“You didn’t put the cherry lollies out, lazy arse,” you say.

Sirius jumps, turns as though you might be standing there with a balaclava and machete, ready to demand he open and empty the till. He rolls his eyes when his brain catches up with the situation, head bobbing to the left where the storeroom door sits, a pale blue, creaky thing that drives everyone insane on stock days with its constant whine every time it opens and closes, “Help yourself.”

The storeroom is cold and dark, but spacious, with piles of overflow stock lined up against the walls, organised into specific sections. It’s almost scary how neat it is. There’s a pallet in the middle of it all, wrapped in black plastic that’s been ripped at the top; likely Sirius taking the fags out. You scan the pile with a frown, knowing it’ll be an annoying game of Jenga trying to find the lollies without pulling everything else down with them. It takes a while, and a bit of rearranging, but you find the tub and return to Sirius with a triumphant smile. The customer that followed you in is filing out the door, so you allow Sirius to scan your items and give him the money.

“You should be about halfway through that pallet by now, it’s gone one in the afternoon, you know.” You chastise Sirius playfully.

He scowls when you sit on the counter beside the till one leg curled up and tucked underneath you, the other swinging back and forth, kicking and wobbling the specials display underneath the till. He knows he’s not getting rid of you any time soon when you flip open your magazine, unwrap your lolly, and stick it in your mouth.

“It showed up late. Problem with a road closure, or something.” Sirius replies, turning back to the drawer.

He rips open a packet of Sterling Duals and starts stuffing them into the drawer. You hum, amused, “That what you’re going to tell Effie?”

Sirius scoffs, an air of arrogance to him when he looks over his shoulder, long, black hair flicking with the movement, “It’s the truth. Plus, Effie never shouts at me. You know this.”

“Perks of being the boss’s son.”

Sirius seems to preen at your jab over his nepotism. He’s always very happy to be known as Euphemia and Fleamont Potter’s son. You don’t know much about his situation, just that the Potter’s took Sirius in when he was sixteen and none of them ever looked back. He’s happy and he’s cared for, and he seems to love being their son. So, you don’t ask. It’s none of your business, anyway.

The bell dings again and you and Sirius both look over out of habit. You have to lean past the roll stand to your left to fully see who’s came in, but when you catch sight of James, your grin grows wider. James Potter is Euphemia and Fleamont’s son. Biological son. Granted, that doesn’t matter with the way Effie fawns over Sirius like he was the biological one. She claims to love them the same. You secretly think Sirius is the favourite, though you have no idea why. He’s an insufferable shit, most of the time. James is nice. He’s bright and always happy, a proper ray of sunshine which, on the bad days, can be a little annoying.

It’s rather hard to be angry at the world when James Potter is standing there with his stupidly pretty grin and his big brown eyes, spouting such optimism into the world that things just start to feel better because he says they will.

“Delivery came late, mate. Just got it half an hour ago.” Sirius doesn’t even greet his best friend with a ‘Hello’, just moves straight onto damage control over the fact he’s still restocking the fag counter at one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Don’t listen to him, Jamie,” You say, popping the cherry lolly out of your mouth to talk properly, “He’s a dirty liar. Lazy arse, too.”

James laughs, approaches where you’re perched on the counter and stands so close you can smell his aftershave. It’s a bit of a cliché, honestly; fancying your boss’s son. Well, really, he’s your friend before he’s Effie and Monty’s son. You’ve always been friends. Since before you started working at the shop. Since school, really. But still. The cliché sits a little clunky in your chest sometimes. Especially when he looks as handsome as he does, today. He’s wearing his rugby jumper and a pair of joggies. Really, it’s nothing special. But he looks so soft. So cosy. His hair is all mussed up from the wind and his glasses are a little squint.

You reach out a manicured finger to push them further up his nose and he smiles down at you. Yeah, you think, pathetic.

“Are you here to work or cause trouble?” James asks with a teasing smile whilst Sirius sputters at your accusations.

“I can multitask, you know,” is your reply, words sweet as honey, “But to answer your question, no, sadly I am not here to work.”

“And yet you’re still here, annoying me with your presence.” Sirius mumbles.

You roll your eyes, turn to James with pouted lips, “See the way he talks to me?”

In James’s defence, he plays the game. See how far you can push each other before the other gets flustered and has to walk away. Last week he gave you a taste of your own medicine so bad that you had to stand in the stock room like an idiot for five minutes counting tins of beans until your face returned to its normal colour. You’re good at putting up a front, acting like whatever the two of you are doing doesn’t effect you, that you’re cool, calm, and collected about the whole thing. But the tins of beans in the stock room would tell a different story, could they talk. You’re glad they can’t, as silly as that thought is.

James, bless him, humours you – much to Sirius’ dismay – and coos, brows furrowed in mock-sympathy, “Poor soul.”

“Okay, fine, if this was your plan to get me to do the pallet, I’ll go.” Sirius finally breaks, hands held up in surrender.

It wasn’t your plan, but you watch him leave with an amused smile.

“The road into the village was shut, I know the delivery was actually late.” James laughs to himself.

“Hm,” You hum, ditching your magazine to the side and swinging your legs over the counter until you’re standing behind it, “Me too.”

“Thought you weren’t working today.”

You shrug, picking up where Sirius left off with the fags, your back turned to James, “I’ll do these and then I’ll be off.”

“Thanks.” James rounds the counter the normal way, punching his clock in card on the machine beside the till.

You look up, find him leaning against the counter by his hip, a small smile on his face. He’s so charming, you think.

“Don’t thank me,” You warn, the ghost of a mischievous smirk dancing across your face, “I’m putting them all in backwards, so he has to redo them all.”

“You know how he gets about the fag drawers,” James groans, because he knows he has to spend the rest of the day listening to Sirius gripe about whatever it is you’re about to do. “They’re his… area.”

“Yeah, well,” You shrug, “He didn’t put the cherry lollies out.”

James doesn’t have an answer for that. He just huffs a laugh and reaches for a packet to open and starts to pass you them.

-----

‘The Saturday Girls’, or so they’re nicknamed, are nice. They’re so coined because they only work Saturdays to help with unloading the bulk of the delivery that comes that morning. It’s a weekend job, perfect for them because they’re still in school, and it offers them a bit of pocket money. It would’ve been a dream job for you at fifteen, but Shauna and Lisa sometimes seem like having to work a shift in Potter’s Corner Shop is the bane of their entire teenage existence. Like now, Shauna stands leaning up against the end of the third aisle, passing Lisa packages of toilet rolls off the trolley with a sardonic look on her face.

You can hear them talking about a girl in their form class, how she’s after Shauna’s boyfriend and it brings unwanted flash backs of being that age, that naïve, when the idea of someone stealing your boyfriend felt like the end of the world. Really, they should have a trolley each, working on separate aisles. But you don’t get paid enough to boss them around; and if Shauna’s insults to whatever girl is trying to steal her man are anything to go by, you don’t actually want to be on her bad side.

Sirius has taken a falling out with the fag drawers since your ruin of them, yesterday, and so you’ve spent the better part of the morning facing them all the correct way. There’s a box of clipper lighters on the floor at your feet to be unloaded, too.

“I’m too scared to tell them that putting toilet roll on the shelves isn’t a two-woman job,” James appears behind you following the nerve grating squeak from the storeroom door, leaning on the counter with a lopsided smile.

He’s placed the clipboard with all of today’s stock details on the counter, pen tucked neatly under the clip of it. You know he’s here for your signature, cutting the job in half for you by doing the inventory himself. He likes numbers, you hate them, he’s happy to do it so long as he doesn’t have to fix the mess you created in the fag drawers. Besides Sirius, you’re the only person to be trusted in Sirius’ sacred area. Ironically enough. You pick the pen up with a hum, scribbling your name to state you were here when the delivery arrived this morning, “Some poor girl in their form is getting it tight, today. Shauna thinks she’s after her man.”

James laughs airily, “So I shouldn’t go over there and intervene?”

“Best not. I’ll come up with something I need help with in five, ask her to help me. Just need to finish these, first.” You say, waving a packet of JPS Red around so James knows what you’re talking about.

“Thanks,” Is James’ reply, “For the signature and for saving me from getting called a daft bint, or something, behind my back.”

Your laugh is bubbly and comes out of your mouth so fast you don’t have time to be embarrassed about it. It makes James laugh, too, low, and throaty as he taps the pen against the clipboard. He shakes his head and makes his retreat to the office at the back of the storeroom, likely to file the inventory sheet for Monty to look over on Monday. It only takes you a few more minutes to fix the rest of the fags, all in their correct places, all facing the correct way. The clippers are unloaded haphazardly into the tub in the bottom drawer, and then you’re off, on the hunt for Shauna.

She and Lisa have made it to the baby wipes when you come down the aisle that they’re in. Shauna is leaning against the trolley now that she doesn’t have the wall at the end of the aisle to lean on, and she’s passing Lisa the packets one by one. Lisa has her head ducked into the shelf to reach all the way to the back, but Shauna straightens up when she sees you round the corner.

“Hey, you okay to help me build some stuff up in the storeroom to get it off the pallet?” You ask.

There’s an empty box on the trolley that you reach for, pulling it apart until it’s flat and you can stick it inside the bag on the back of the trolley. Shauna gives a longing glance to Lisa, as though being parted from her will bring her physical pain. It’s quite comical, really. A small part of you misses being so young and carefree. Shauna nods, following you to the storeroom.

James is holding the door open on your way past, “I’ll keep an eye on the till.”

You thank him and Shauna follows you through. There’s not much to be unloaded, really. You and James got the majority done this morning when it arrived, and so its overstock that’s left. Shauna follows your lead, knowing by now where everything goes. There’s cereal and biscuits, teabags and coffee jars, there’s alcohol and fizzy juice. Shauna doesn’t talk much while you work, which isn’t surprising. She’s rather quiet and subdued with the rest of the staff, most of the time. Without Lisa to bounce off of, Shauna doesn’t usually say much.

“How long have you and James been together?” Shauna asks out of nowhere.

It’s less surprising to hear her starting conversation than the question she’s actually asked, which is saying something. The box of ready salted crisps in your hands go toppling backwards from where you’d been reaching to put them on top of the pile as you twist to face her, eyebrows somewhere near your hairline. The girl looks nonplussed, lifting a crate of Red Stripe and placing it with the other alcohol against the wall closest to the door.

“Sorry?”

You can’t quite find the words, brain reeling at a mile a minute because have other people noticed whatever game you and James are playing and assumed you’re together? That’s incredibly embarrassing and unprofessional. Shauna doesn’t seem to notice your confusion as she barrels on, seemingly in her own world, “It’s just cause, me and this boy from school have been going out for, like, a month, yeah?”

She doesn’t actually wait for your response as she picks up another crate of beer and sticks it on top of the pile she’s created, “And this girl from my form keeps trying to text him. He’s told me he’s ignoring her, but I dunno if I believe him.”

“Right.” You say, a bit dazed, trying to keep up with what she’s saying whilst trying to put together what this would have to do with you and James.

“I guess I’m just wondering what you’d do if it was another girl trying to get with James. Like, would you go barmy?” Shauna asks, and you can tell there’s a hint of insecurity in there somewhere.

Picking up the crisps you’d dropped rather ungracefully, you tell her, “Well, James and I aren’t together. Like, at all. But if it was someone I really liked, I’d be a bit upset, I suppose. If he says he isn’t replying, I’d believe him until he gives you a reason not to.”

Shauna seems pleased with that answer, but feels the need to add, “Anyone would think you and James are together. Or, at the very least, shagging.”

There’s really nothing you can say to that, is there? It knocks the wind out of you, flusters you, and concerns you all at once. What do fifteen-year-olds know about shagging? Well, you suppose it’s all your friends wanted to talk about at fifteen, too. But. Well. No. Just, no.

“Right,” Shauna breaks your flustered silence by dusting her hands on the side of her trousers, “That it, then?”

Right enough, the pallet is empty. You open your mouth to talk but find nothing will come out, so you close it and nod. She files out of the storeroom after shooting you a weird glance but doesn’t feel the need to add anything more. You count tins of beans until your brain decides it can function again.

“The Saturday Girls have got to go.” You tell James when you slip behind the till ten minutes later.

He breaks his focus from the screen the security camera’s run on, eyebrows narrowed in concern, “She said something?”

You wave your hand, 'nothing too bad', it signals, “Asked how long we’ve been shagging.”

James promptly chokes on air, pounds his chest a few times with wide eyes. You wonder if you should be offended, or if he’s just genuinely surprised Shauna was so brass necked about the whole ordeal. You settle on a nod and a placating look, exactly, you think.

“She’s like, twelve.”

Huffing a laugh, you correct him, “Fifteen, actually. But still, I dropped a box of crisps, nearly toppled the whole tower I was so gobsmacked.”

“What,” James laughs after, “at the suggestion of shagging me, or her boldness?”

If there’s one thing James Potter knows how to do, it’s get under your skin. He’s wearing that signature knowing smirk, the one he wears when he’s thinking something mischievous, or he knows exactly what you’re thinking, feeling, like he can see right into your soul. He’s a prick, you decide. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The thing is: this game is slowly spiralling into more than you can handle. It’d started as an easy way to irritate Sirius, then an even easier way to make the boring shifts go in quicker, then it was just fun. Watching the way his tongue pokes the side of his cheek when he’s considering a rebuttal, or trying to hide a smile, the way his jaw clenches when you come in on your days off wearing tight clothes, only to perch yourself on the edge of the counter and promptly tease him all day. It’s fun. But now it’s too much. James is too much. Because at the start, he’d get shy and flustered, brush you off in a polite manner. But now. Well, now he’s an evil shit who likes to make you weak and hot and bothered and all of the in-betweens every chance he gets.

“Jamie,” You smile, sweet as honey, eyes doe-like and offering him the challenge, “You couldn’t handle me.”

The minute James shakes his head, hair flopping to the side, tongue pushed into his cheek, you know you’ve won this round. He slinks off to find another job for Shauna to do, who you can see on the security cameras has gone back to passing Lisa things off of the trolley.

Twenty-six tins of beans. There are twenty-six tins of beans in the storeroom.

-----

The rota goes like this: Monday: Monty, open. You and James, close. Tuesday: Sirius and James, open. Remus, close. Wednesday: Effie, open. Monty, close. Thursday: Remus and James, open. You and Sirius, close. Friday: Sirius, open. Effie, close. Occasionally James, close. Saturday: You and James, open. Effie and Monty, close. Sunday: Monty, open. You and Remus, close.

The open shift runs from seven o’clock in the morning, until two in the afternoon, and the close shift runs from two o’clock in the afternoon, until ten o’clock at night. Potter’s is the only shop in the village open until ten, and it’s a busy shop because of this. Probably, also, because the Potters are well known, well liked, and well respected.

But the main thing to note about the rota is that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are never scheduled to work a shift together. Ever. The simple reason is because they don’t get on. Like, despise each other for a reason that is unbeknownst to you, and even James, who is Sirius’ best friend in the entire world, his brother. Personally, you think their beef is pointless. But the delivery driver who dropped off the Saturday pallet five months ago and ended up having to break up a petty argument between the two would likely disagree. Apparently, some harsh words had been said between the two, and after the Potter’s decided Sirius was just as much an instigator as Remus was easy to snap, and that both of them were irreplaceable as workers, the new rota was made, stapled to the office wall, never to be changed, and with their names never beside each other.

It’s strange, to you, because Sirius and Remus are both lovely. You enjoy working with both of them. Separately, of course. They seem to know that in the situation of their hatred of each other, you and James are both Switzerland. You’ll listen to them rant about each other, sympathise with their feelings, but ultimately add nothing of note to the conversation. Sometimes you think that bothers them more. Unfortunately, there’s no avoiding their hatred of each other every Saturday in the pub, but they’ve become increasingly better at tolerating each other’s presence. It no longer ends in one or the other storming out of the pub or offering to meet each other outside for a scrap. Small wins. You’ve no idea where they get the energy to put so much effort into their animosity towards each other. A small part of you actually thinks they enjoy getting each other riled up to the point of snapping, the same way you and James do, just with more insults and less innuendos. Each to their own, you suppose.

Remus has his foot kicked up against the wall with a fag in his hand when you near the shop door. He’s staring across the road at the small play park, looking rather lost. There’s a group of kids on the swings, laughing and chatting away. They’re young looking. Ten, maybe eleven. When he notices you, Remus seems to snap out of whatever daydream he’s in, eyes softening and his lips turning upward into a smile. It pulls at the scar slicing across his cupids bow, taught, but paling out at the stretch. There’s a number of scars that litter Remus’ skin, the product of a nasty car crash he was in as a child. You don’t notice them as much, now, as when he first started working at Potter’s. They’re just part of who he is, and they make him no less handsome.

“Here even on your day off,” Remus tsks, passes you the cigarette.

You have a draw, blowing out the smoke with the ghost of a teasing smile on your lips, “Someone’s got to mind the till on your eighteen fag breaks.”

Remus laughs, accepting of the jab, “Monty’s in today. Shops not totally unmanned.”

“Ah,” You hum, passing him the fag back, “Unusual for him. He usually runs off the minute his shift finishes.”

He nods, sandy hair flopping in a mess of curls on top of his head. “Something about having to find a new supplier, the drivers for Zonko’s are complaining about having to drive into the village.” Remus speaks through an exhale, the wind carrying the smoke along the street.

He flicks the fag to the ground and follows you inside, finding his place behind the till whilst you meander down the aisles, still content in having the conversation, “That’s ridiculous. It’s only fifteen minutes off the motor way.”

Remus makes a noise of agreement but doesn’t say anything else until you return to the till with a cherry lolly and a magazine. He looks at your purchases with an enhanced non-surprised glance, eyes flicking up to ask with a simple look if you could be any more predictable. You shrug, hand him a fiver, and he passes you your change.

“Think they’re just annoyed because the only road into the bloody place is always closed because that daft Mr. Filch keeps forgetting to shut his gate and the cows always escape.” Remus comments, closing the till.

You take up your usual space, to the left of the till, leg tucked under you, subconsciously kicking the specials stand with your free foot. The customers are never surprised to find you sitting here. Most of them often comment that you’re like the store’s very own cat. Always lurking, happy to sit, and watch the people go about their days. Really, you just like to annoy whoever is working. Unless it’s Effie or Monty. They usually put you to work if you hang around for too long.

“They should really just bolt that bloody fence shut. He’s always losing his cows.”

“He does it on purpose. I don’t know why, yet, but he does.” Remus theorises, his brows furrowed as though it’s some great mystery as to why old Argus Filch is always letting his cows run free, as though he has some ulterior motive.

Perhaps he does. You’ve never given it much thought.

“They should switch to Ollivander’s, anyway. I’ve been telling them for months that they’re better priced. Plus, they’re closer, the delivery charge wouldn’t be as much.” You say, eyes scanning the pages of your magazine.

The cherry lollypop rattles off your back teeth, something you know drives Remus insane. You don’t stop.

“They don’t stock Pettigrew’s butcher meat, though.” Remus counters.

Pettigrew’s Butchers is the most sought-after Butcher meat in the village, and Potter’s is the only place that stock it. It’s what drives in most of the customers, you’d argue. It’s good meat. You’ll give them that. It’s why Effie and Monty have been hesitant to drop Zonko’s as their distributor because they’ll lose their access to Pettigrew’s. Truly a conundrum in the eyes of the village. You flick to the next page, shrugging, “It’s only a forty-minute drive out of the village. Wouldn’t Pettigrew deliver it himself?”

“What, every morning?”

You sigh, long and suffering. This conversation is, truly, boring. You love Remus. You do. Really. But you miss Sirius. Or James. Remus seems off, today. He’s less humorous, less sarcastic. You won’t push. You know he doesn’t like that. But you shouldn’t have to suffer the world’s most boring conversation because of it. Perhaps that’s selfish of you.

“Zonko’s doesn’t even deliver to us, every morning. Just have Pettigrew's tie in with the days we get from Ollivander’s.” You suggest, though, you know there’s nothing Remus can do about it.

It’s a conversation best had with Monty or Effie. Even James. But they’re smart. They’ll likely figure it out on their own. You hop off the counter, pulling the lolly from your mouth as you go, “Either way, it’s going to be a shit few weeks if we don’t have a distributor. I need to go, meeting Sirius for a cuppa at the Leaky.”

You wince as soon as the words come out of your mouth, watching as Remus’ expression falls.

“Hope he chokes on his cuppa.” Remus mutters, though a saccharine smile comes across his lips.

You roll your eyes, pointer finger already aimed at him, “Behave!”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, though you know behaving is the last thing Remus Lupin will ever do when it comes to Sirius Black. It’s ridiculous.

“Give Monty my love.” You say in ways of a goodbye and Remus waves you off.

You pretend not to hear when he tells you to give Sirius the middle finger for him.

-----

“You’re a genius, you know.” Sirius says, sitting your drink down in front of you.

The pub is, strangely, quite quiet. There’s a family of four in the far corner, eating a meal in stoic silence – awkward – and a group of older women by the bar, a bottle of champagne in an ice cooler on the table and bubbling glasses in each of their hands. Of course, you and Sirius were the last to arrive, meeting the rest of your friends at the only large table the Three Broomstick’s own, which lead to him shooing you off to get a seat and buying your drink for you. You won’t complain. Your regular table is already a mess of empty pint glasses from James, Remus, and Frank, and two empty wine bottles from Lily, Mary, and Marlene. Alice is on nightshift at the police station, a lucky feat for everyone because it means there’ll be no tequila shots tonight. Fine by you.

It’s a long table that you all occupy, with two benches running along either side, and no matter how busy the pub is, people always seem to know not to sit there. None of you would mind if they did, really. But it’s just something people don’t do. Your group has been coming to the Three Broomsticks since you were seventeen (not that Rosmerta, the owner, knows that), minus Remus, who moved to town seven months ago, wandered in for a pint one night, and unfortunately for him, got stuck with you lot.

“Mm,” You hum, cheeks puffing out in your pleased smile, “I know. Do feel free to tell me why, though.”

Sirius guffaws, rolling his eyes at your theatrics – as though he isn’t the carbon copy of you, just in male form – “For the Ollivander’s idea. Well, tying it in with Pettigrew’s, at least.”

“What?”

You hadn’t told anyone about that idea. Anyone other than Remus, at least, who looks incredibly sheepish when your eyes flick to him further along the table, conveniently out of arms reach of Sirius. James, who swallows a gulp of his pint before he speaks, looks incredibly cheerful when he says, “Yeah! Dad loved that idea. He didn’t even consider asking Pettigrew’s for a private contract. He didn’t think they’d be up for driving into the village, but turns out the son, Peter, delivers to the next town over twice a week, anyway.”

“Right.” You nod, taking a sip of your drink to wash the awkward feeling that’s settled over you away.

Really, you hadn’t meant to form some type of master plan.

“Sorry.” Remus winces.

“Why’s he sorry?” Sirius is quick to question, ever the one to start an argument, “What’s he done now?”

Remus scoffs, “Funny you think I’ve done something.”

“Well, you were the one apologising.”

“He’s not done anything, Sirius. Give it a rest, both of you.”

That shuts them up.

“I told Monty about her idea after she left on Tuesday.” Remus admits, looking rather sheepish.

Sirius seems placated enough with his answer, so he shrugs and enters into a conversation with Frank and James, who lost interest the minute Remus and Sirius started bickering. You assure Remus that it’s okay, waving him off before nudging your head further down the table, inviting him into the conversation with Lily, Mary, and Marlene.

Lily is complaining about her job in the council office. She’s pretty high up, though, you couldn’t for the life of you tell someone what it is she actually does, had they asked. Something to do with the local MP. There’s a shit tonne of paperwork and multiple people who Lily thinks are, in her words, so far up their own arse, they forget they’re civil servants and not, in fact, the be all and end all of the world. Her job is highly stressful, as is obvious by the empty bottle of wine in front of her, even though it’s not long gone five o’clock. Lily Evans worked incredibly hard to be where she is, though, the fireball of a human that she is, and she’ll be damned to ever give up, now. You admire her, really. She grew up in the village, like all of you except Remus, noticing the prejudice it held, the unfair situations people lived in, the real issues the place held, rather than what every other member of the council saw as ‘issues’, and she went to University, got her degree, came right back, and got to fucking work. She hasn’t solved world hunger yet, but you’re sure she’s well on her way to it. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’ll be Lily Evans.

Mary and Marlene are listening intently, especially Mary, who’s been begging the council to fund the one primary school the village has, Hogwarts, more substantially than it has in previous years. She’s a teacher there, and she loves it with every bit of her being, but the school is incredibly underfunded, so she and Lily have been working on a campaign to bring it to the Council’s attention. They’re making progress. But not as quick as Mary would like. That much is obvious in the way she rants about Lucius Malfoy and his pretentious, pompous, personality. He is a bit of a prick, honestly. He’s the head of the school board committee for the village, and he’s the main reason the school hasn’t received the funding it’s needed in almost ten years. He’s a toad.

Marlene, even though she couldn’t give less of a shit if she tried, is listening, anyway. She’s a good friend, Marlene, but past her friends, her family, and music, there isn’t much Marlene McKinnon really gives a toss about. You commend her for it really, her no-fucks-given attitude towards the world, the way she���s so carefree, and lives her life how she wants, no matter what. She’s laid back and honestly, doing better than the rest of your friends in adulthood. She’s the only one out of the lot of you who hasn’t had a full-scale meltdown, so far, this year. Or ever actually. You don’t remember the last time you saw Marlene truly upset about something.

“Honestly, Mary, you’d think he’d give more of a shit about funding things like the school’s library, considering his wife’s due any day now and his kid will likely attend Hogwarts.” Lily seems truly frustrated, her shoulder slumped, her index finger circling the rim of her wine glass.

“He’ll probably send his little demon spawn to some posh boarding school, knowing him. More money than bloody sense.” Comes Mary’s equally frustrated response.

She necks the rest of her glass in one gulp, shivers, and then sends Marlene off to procure another bottle. She goes without complaint, so you assume it’s her round.

“Surely it’s not legal to withhold funding from a school in such dire need of it.” Remus comments, ever the pessimist.

He thinks the worst of everyone. Especially Mr. Filch and his disappearing cows. He thinks he has an ulterior motive and he’ll die on that hill.

“Apparently there is no funding. And he won’t even push for any, either. It’s like he doesn’t give a shit that the school under his jurisdiction is struggling, majorly.” Lily replies, rolling her bright green eyes at the mere idea of Lucius Malfoy.

“There’s something not right about that.” You add, frowning.

Surely, he’d want his school to thrive. Apparently not.

“You’re telling me.” Mary pipes up.

“Anyway, enough work talk,” Lily says around a gulp of wine, waving her hand like it’ll banish all of the negative vibes Lucius has caused by simply existing, “How’d your date go with the handsome paper boy, Rem?”

Remus grimaces, “Don’t call him a paper boy, it makes him sound twelve years old.”

The story goes: Remus thought that someone was trying to break into his house, last month. Upon inspecting the situation with a baseball bat that everyone knows for a fact Remus does not know how to use, he met a rather startled, rather handsome paper boy named Christopher. Of course, Remus only learned this after he tried to cave the poor bloke’s head in with said baseball bat, only to find out that it was Christopher’s first day on the job and he had delivered the paper to the wrong house. After copious amounts of apologies, Remus had claimed he was fine with never seeing Christopher again. Until he realised that the paper’s he was delivering came directly from Potter’s. A travesty, really. Sirius howled with laughter, much to Remus’ dismay, and Effie had slipped an extra fiver into Christopher’s wages in ways of an apology. Turns out, no apology was needed, because Christopher, for whatever reason, took a liking to Remus and asked him out for coffee.

“Okay, your date with Christopher, then.” Lily corrects with a smirk.

“Wasn’t a date,” Remus singsongs, because he’s insecure and adamant that no one could ever fancy him. Even though you’ve already promised him that if he wasn’t painfully gay, you’d shag him. Lily had then felt the need to add in that if she wasn’t painfully gay, as well, she’d shag him, too. Still, he lives in denial. Idiot.

“Was too.” Marlene says, rather bluntly, returning with the wine which she passes to Mary.

She’s brought a glass for you, too, bless her. You finish the dregs of the drink Sirius bought you and accept the glass of wine Mary passes you with a ‘thank you’.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about.” Remus argues.

“Christopher. The hot paper boy whose skull you nearly caved in with a bat. Keep up, Remus.” Marlene winks at Remus, who simply huffs in defeat, taking a long swig of his pint.

“So?” Mary follows up, never one to let Remus catch a break. She’s almost as bad as Sirius, except she does it in a much more loving, much less spiteful way.

“It went well. We chatted about books.” Remus bobs his head, swallowing thickly.

Sirius is eyeing him from the other end of the table, lips twisted into a mean looking frown. It doesn’t last long before Frank is asking him something to do with motorbikes, and Remus is long forgotten. No one else catches it, so you ignore it.

“Books?” Marlene asks in disgust.

“You spoke about books.” Lily repeats, clearly trying to find some hidden meaning she’s not going to find. You know Remus well enough to know he likely did spend the entire date-that-wasn’t-a-date nattering on about books. He’s a bookworm at his core.

“Yes,” Remus confirms, slightly agitated, “We spoke about books.”

“Right,” Marlene sounds a little deflated, always one for the seedy stories, “Lovely.”

“It was, actually.”

“I’ll bet.”

Remus huffs a laugh and excuses himself under the premise of a cigarette. No one bats an eye, and you watch him leave. It takes Sirius approximately two minutes to excuse himself from his conversation with James and Frank and follow Remus straight out the door to the smoking area. James and Frank continue on, too engrossed to realise the shit show that’s likely to unfold any minute. Lily, Mary, and Marlene fall into a conversation about whatever show the three of them are watching and you stand up, walking around the table until you’re sitting next to James.

He smiles warmly when you sit down, shuffling a little so he can face both you, and Frank who’s across the table.

“Alright,” Frank greets, head tipping forwards.

“Hiya, Frank. How’s Alice?”

Alice is Frank’s wife. They grew up together but didn’t ever get together until they both attended Tulliallan when training to become police officers. They’re sickly in love, it’s actually kind of nauseating at times, but sweet, nonetheless. They’d been daft for each other since they were thirteen.

“She’s good. On nightshift, tonight.”

You hum, sympathising with her. Nightshift is no joke, especially in a village as quiet as yours.

“Uhm,” You turn to James, “Sirius and Remus are in the smoking area. Together. Alone.”

James sighs, takes a swig of his pint, and is up like a shot to stop whatever fight is likely happening in the Three Broomsticks beer garden. He squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he goes, offering you a smile he only ever seems to give you. You can’t read it. But it’s soft. Not the teasing smile he has when you’re flirting merciless with him, or him, you. It’s just. A nice smile. For you. You watch him go; head turned, the ghost of a smile on your own lips. He pushes open the wooden door and it swings shut behind him.

“How longs that been going on then?” Frank asks, nodding his head towards the door James just went through.

“Pretty much since they met, I suppose.”

Frank laughs, which causes you to frown, and then he shakes his head.

“No. You and Potter.”

“There’s nothing going on.” You say, though your face heats up all the same.

“I can keep a secret, you know.”

“Why does everyone think I’m shagging James?” You ask, rather loud for how empty the pub is.

Your face is flames when Lily, Mary, and Marlene fall silent and look over at you, biting back laughs and whatever comments it is that are sparkling behind their eyes. You groan, embarrassed, and turn to follow James out of the door. For a moment, you think he’s allowing a full-on fight between Sirius and Remus occur. He’s standing not far from the door, sheltered by the wooden terrace that leads out to the concrete of the smoking area. It’s dimly lit in comparison to the rest of the beer garden. You frown on approach, confused as to why he’s just standing there.

It takes all of two seconds for you to see what he’s seeing. Remus has Sirius crowded against the wall, caged in like some sort of animal, and he’s kissing him so violently, so aggressively, that they actually could be fighting. In some sick, twisted way.

“Holy shit.”

James’ eyes snap to yours, moving into action to pull you back inside before Sirius and Remus realise they’ve been foiled. His hand burns like fire against your arm, his eyes steely and sharp as he looks down at you, “You cannot tell anyone what you just saw.”

“You knew?”

James shakes his head, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He has you pushed up against the wall, much like Remus did Sirius, and your cheeks heat at the thought. Jesus, they’re more messed up than you thought.

“I suspected.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“It’s not my place. Look, Sirius is – he’s complicated, okay? I don’t know if he even knows he’s – just don’t say anything, okay?” James is flustered, panicked.

You get it. Sirius has never mentioned being gay, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that perhaps, being gay isn’t something that was on Sirius’ radar until Remus popped up out of nowhere and sent his perception of himself tumbling. Okay. Fine. You get that. You can relate. Not entirely. The situation is different. James Potter is a boy you never paid any interest to, growing up. Not romantically, at least. Until he went away to Rugby camp one summer and came back looking like sin incarnate. Well, then you’d noticed, and everything you thought you knew about him came tumbling down. So, not exactly the same, but you get it.

“I won’t, James. I won’t say anything.”

“Not even to Sirius. Or Remus.” James looks panicked, like one wrong move in handling this situation will blow it up royally.

“Promise.”

James nods, seems to realise that he’s still got an iron grip on your arm, and drops it like you’d been the one scalding him. The door opens, washing you both with cool air, and Sirius storms back inside, halting when he sees the way James has you pushed up against the wall.

“You two shagging then?” He asks, a hint of annoyance in his tone you can only assume was brought about by whatever the fuck just happened between him and Remus.

“Jamie wishes,” You plaster a sickly-sweet smile on your face, “He couldn’t handle me.”

With that, you leave them to it, returning to the table and finishing your entire wine in one gulp. The girls are kind enough not to say anything, but Lily gives you a sympathetic glance and refills the glass for you. Frank laughs to himself, you flip him off.

Remus returns a moment later, dodging Sirius and James who are still huddled where you and James just were. He takes a seat, finishes his pint, and calls it a night without another word.

You don’t miss the way James has to grab onto Sirius’ wrist to stop him from following.

--

Ahhhh! The first chapter is out!

I sincerely hope ya'll enjoyed :) Let me know your thoughts.

[bbybloop]

By far one of the most talented individuals ever

i think somebody’s said this not too long ago, but i was re-reading some of your steve stuff, and it amazes me every time how much i’m able to visualise all of your writing. like you’re so good at describing exactly how people are positioned if that makes sense? it makes it so much easier to read and visualise and like connect with it?? idk lmaoo <33

thank you, this is so nice to hear! i worry about like over describing where everyone is but like the position you're in with someone else can be so important to show your relationship and I'm not good at waxing poetic so falling on body language is my go to 😅♥♥♥♥ tysmilysm

[bbybloop]

THIS WAS INCREDIBLE

Instrument Of War | Steve Harrington x F!Reader

| Word Count — 20k |

| Series Summary — Steve Harrington is in love with you but is convinced you're out of his league and refuses to acknowledge his feelings. But when Dustin Henderson returns from summer camp with a secret Russian code, your lives change completely. |

| Warnings — Use of female pronouns, graphic depictions of violence, d3ath, bodily harm, bl00d, forced dr*g use. All warnings come from what occurs during Season 3 and the Russian base. [Y/N] endures experiences that can be found triggering. If you would like an in-depth warning list, you can message me! Please inform me if I missed anything. |

| Author's Note — This is the first chapter of a series. It contains all of Season 3, which is why it's incredibly long. The series will eventually contain smut. It is a reader insert written in the third person, therefore there will be no physical descriptions such as weight, eye/hair/skin color. And it's for those who want to be the main character and It-Girl so enjoy. |

[Y/N] moved through the effervescent crowd brimming the Starcourt Mall, the smell of deep-fried corndogs and the overwhelming fragrance of perfume samples filling the thick air. She stepped inside the parlor, pushing aside the blushing and giggling teenagers, disregarding their harsh glares and low whispers. She stopped at the counter, her ocean-blue uniform tightly squeezed in her closed hand as she breathed heavily. Steve whirled around, prepared to recite his required greeting when his jaded eyes widened and landed on the glittering gaze of [Y/N]. She was early for the beginning of her shift, earlier than she’s ever been, and he furrowed his eyebrows together as she expelled a heavy sigh and hesitantly peered over her shoulder. He stealthily glimpsed at the damp skin of her heaving chest, the edge of her cream-colored bra peeking from her tight blouse. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for five minutes,” The desperate plea fell from her glossed lips, the flushed pink of skin as she leaned over the polished counter distracted him. “I’ll explain later.” She moved around the counter’s edge, urgently grabbing his arms and loosening them as she forcefully wrapped them around herself. His hand brushed against the smooth skin of her lower back, his fingers touching the fabric of her skirt, and her breasts were pressed against his clothed chest but he could feel the warmth radiating from her. 

A teenage boy accompanied by a group of his friends stepped inside the parlor and his youthful expression fell as he witnessed [Y/N] in the warm, and extremely stiff, embrace of her supposed boyfriend. She smiled as she stood on her toes, pressing a delicate kiss to his blushing cheek as she softly moved a loose strand of his dark hair. The gesture was soft, unfamiliarly intimate as her polished nails moved behind his ear. He blinked owlishly, his softened eyes resembling warm honey as he thought of the sweetness of her gaze. This was nothing but an unexpected and temporary facade, he forcefully reminded himself; completely and unfortunately fake. The teenage boy glared poisonously before storming outside of the parlor. “He’s gone,” Steve’s voice was hoarse as the words fell from him, swallowing a lump in his throat as she backed away, the sweetness of her perfume fading. “Not that I mind, but what was that?” 

[Y/N] walked inside the back room, slamming the swinging door and sliding the moving windows close. From the blurred and textured glass, he could see her remove her small blouse, the clasp of her cream bra barely visible through the glassy haze. She always claimed she wouldn’t wear the dreadful uniform outside of the parlor, so she brought the uniform tucked inside her purse and changed in the back room. Robin didn’t mind and Steve definitely didn’t mind, but the only issue was refraining from sneaking a glimpse. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried telling him I was meeting my boyfriend, but he kept following me. That’s where you come in.” 

The young woman was blessed with the appearance of someone plastered on movie screens, painfully attractive and she always was the center of scrutiny whenever she stepped outside of her house. Everyone stared at her and it was a constant and unwavering occurrence. The issue with looking like her was the occasional creep who was convinced their persistence was going to give them a small chance of receiving her attention. But she didn’t have a boyfriend, which Robin couldn’t understand or entirely believe, but she used the boyfriend excuse constantly and normally the fabrication worked, but there was always the uncommon deviation. 

[Y/N] slid the window open, the warm lighting of the parlor illuminating the sleekness of her hair as she gave him a heart-stopping grin. He leaned against the back counter attached to the sliding window and she peered upward at him through the thick rim of her lashes. She wiped the faint lipgloss stain from his cheek with her thumb. “Sorry, it had to be believable.” The apology was barely heard as his knuckles blanched from squeezing the counter. His mouth opened and closed as she closed the window, disappearing from sight. Steve smelled the fading softness of her perfume and closed his eyes with defeat. She appeared from the back, grabbed the clear trash bag from the overflowing trash can, and disappeared from the parlor without another word. Throwing away the trash was an idle task she did whenever she didn’t want to help any customers. 

There was a small thud as Robin placed the whiteboard on the back counter. “Another one bites the dust,” She said, writing a tally on the ‘You Suck’ section of the whiteboard. “You are oh-for-six, Popeye.” 

Steve sighed heavily as he whirled around on his sneaker’s heel, crossing his arms with an exasperated glare. “Yeah, yeah, I can count.” He said, unamused by her antics. Each tally unfortunately represented another failed attempt or missed opportunity of scoring his dream girl—you. It was embarrassing having every failure on display, having to explain a poorly formulated lie as [Y/N] asked what the tallies meant, and having Robin make teasing remarks every time Steve froze and couldn’t string a sentence together whenever there was a shift in the energy between them.

Robin glanced at the black tally mark. “You know that means you suck.”

Steve nodded languidly. “Yup. I can read, too.”

She raised her thin eyebrows. “Since when?” 

He expelled a slow breath. “It never used to be like this.” He thought of his experiences during high school and there was an ache as he reminisced. He was always the guy taking girls’ breaths away, leaving them on their bedsheets feeling like their hearts were going to tear through their dresses. It used to be easy, a simple adrenaline rush, but now all [Y/N] had to do was breathe beside him and he was putty in her unaware hands.

Robin didn’t understand his cluttered thoughts. “You know, it’s a crazy idea, but have you considered just telling her the truth?” 

Steve scoffed at the sarcastic suggestion. “And risk our friendship?” He had thought about the possibility of revealing the depth of his feelings, he thought about it often, but the overwhelming dread consumed him and he was overcome with the likelihood of their friendship shattering. He didn’t mean for the words to be adorned with the intensity of his emotions, but when Robin’s lighthearted expression faded, he knew he had revealed just how much he cared. There was a moment of silence, or as silent, as an occupied shopping mall could be, and he stared at the streaks on the glass panels. “Or worse, she would tease me about it forever. That would so go to her head.” He joked, attempting to ease the saturation of the conversation, and although Robin chuckled, she knew that there was a thumping heart inside him that wasn’t calloused from high school. 

Robin knew when Steve was focused on conversing with a group of girls, displaying a swoon-worthy smile as he scooped through the variety of flavors. He was moments from earning a tally mark on the ‘You Rule’ and those girls were blushing with rosy cheeks, absorbing his smooth words, but she walked inside the parlor. [Y/N], blissfully unaware of the warmth glowing from Steve’s softened gaze, stepped inside with a verdant green, fur-lined blouse and a noticeably tight and small black skirt, her smooth legs barely visible through the black pantyhose and knee-high boots. Her hair was lazily thrown up, strands framing her grinning face. 

The words falling from Steve’s mouth disappeared into nothingness as she walked toward the counter with a smile that could have stone-cold men collapse to their knees. His eyes followed her, watching as the sunlight poured inside the parlor from the ceiling window and made her glow with golden warmth. His hand loosened and the scooper fell on top of the vanilla ice cream, disregarding the peeved questions from the girls. Robin knew when Steve easily overlooked a group of girls drowning him within their giggling attention as soon as [Y/N] arrived. Robin had never seen him look at anyone like that and he didn’t even seem to care that the group rolled their eyes and departed without another glance. He spoke with pretty girls every day, but not a single one had him ready to throw everything away for a single glance from her. 

When [Y/N] returned, the lingering conversation dissipated and they continued with their tasks. She organized the clear containers of sprinkles and cookie crumbs, meticulously labeling them with a permanent marker. She tossed a cookie crumb inside her mouth, doodling a dainty heart beside the pink sprinkle’s label. Steve languidly swept the back room’s marble floor with a rickety broom. There was a comfortable silence between them as they listened to the faint music that played throughout the mall’s speakers. As she scribbled another drawing, a familiar voice spoke from the register. “I’m Dustin,” He said and [Y/N] froze, a crooked line appearing across the clear container as she listened. Steve’s lazy movements paused suddenly, accidentally spreading the pile of dirt he managed. “Pleasure to meet you. Are they here?” The question broke them from their unsure trance and they disposed of the marker and broom, rushing to the door. 

Steve’s sneakers squeaked as she roughly pushed him aside, choosing to ignore his groan as he slammed into the door frame. He hastily grabbed her shoulder, smushing her face as he moved through the swinging door. His hands were raised in the air, unfiltered elation written on his pale face. “Henderson,” He exclaimed and Dustin laughed, pointing at him with a childlike eagerness. “Henderson! [Y/N], he’s back!”

His arm moved toward the bright logo. “You got the job!” 

Steve was moving with unseen energy. “I got the job!” He yelled with wide eyes, imitating him playing the trumpet before throwing himself into the personalized handshake they made. They made childish lightsaber sounds, pretending Steve’s intestines fell from his stomach as he was supposedly impaled. 

Robin watched the strange scene unravel from the other side of the register. “How many children are you friends with?” She asked, an amused smirk rising on her dark pink-stained lips. 

[Y/N] pushed the swinging door open and purposely shoved her shoulder into Steve’s arm as she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around the younger boy. Dustin was the aggravating sibling she didn’t have, a pesky bundle of unchecked energy she grew fond of. Encircled beneath her embrace, he blushed and his smile widened as he immediately hugged her back. Pulling away, she rushed behind the counter. “Tell me everything!” She listened as he recounted his mind-expanding experience during his summer camp retreat, the prototypes of his inventions, and the budding relationship with a girl named Suzie. She occasionally chimed in as she scooped unusually large scoops in the largest bowl they offered, throwing every topping she knew he would like, and intricately placed three soft waffle cones pieces through toothpicks and tossed a handful of bright red cherries.

She placed the makeshift ice cream boat across from Dustin on the rounded table where the cushioned booth was. “She’s brilliant, too. And she doesn’t even care that my real pearls are still coming in. She says kissing is better without teeth.” He shoved a spoonful inside his mouth, the corners of his mouth stained with different colors. Steve nodded slowly with a slightly disgusted expression, processing the revelation, and she feigned a bright smile.

“That’s really…romantic!” She replied after an unsure pause. A group of customers entered the parlor, and the children’s overexcited voices bounced off the walls. From behind the counter, Robin wordlessly pleaded for some form of assistance. “I’m gonna help out Robin and I’ll be back.” Dustin smiled thankfully as she scooted from the booth and slid the ice cream moving panel open. 

He motioned to the large plastic bowl of ice cream. “So do you really just get to eat as much of this as you want?” 

Steve, resting his forearm on the outer edge of the red booth, nodded. “Yeah, it’s not really a good idea for me, though.” He began, chancing an awkward glance where [Y/N] moved across the room. “I gotta keep in shape for the…ladies.” He explained with a feeble pause. There were no ladies and hasn’t been in quite some time and they both knew this. It wasn’t as if he didn’t try, because he did, but each failed attempt with earning a night out with a pretty girl that walked inside Scoops Ahoy sent his dwindling confidence further a downward spiral. His apprehensive eyes moved toward the smudged glass panel that protected the products from contamination, watching as she scooped a large ball, much larger than the designated size, and smiled as she spoke with a mother and her children. It never made sense to him how easily she charmed every customer like it was second nature, with complete and total ease.

Robin threw an empty cup away near the booth. “Yeah, and how’s that working out for you?”

Steve rolled his eyes at the remark. “Ignore her.”

“She seems cool.” 

“She’s not.” 

[Y/N] removed her sailor’s cap and shoved Steve aside, casually perched beside him as her exposed thigh beneath the uniform rubbed against his knee. There was nothing remotely romantic, or even sexual, about the careless touch, but it was more than enough to have him distracted by the closeness between them. Dustin sneakily watched as Steve glimpsed at her smooth skin caressing him, swallowing the mouthful of words. “So where’s the rest of the team?” She asked, finally noticing the lack of obnoxious teenagers.

Dustin’s eyes closed with a weary sigh, thrusting the spoon inside a sliced banana piece. A flicker of sorrow flashed across his face. “They ditched me yesterday,” He spat, scooping the ravaged banana slice and shoving it inside his mouth. “My first day back. Can you believe that shit?” Although she could completely believe that, she didn’t express the thought. They were all relishing the summer warmth alongside their boyfriends and girlfriends, holding each other’s sweaty hands and stealing quick kisses in the darkness of the movie theaters. “I swear to God. They’re gonna regret it, though, big time when they don’t get to share in my glory.” 

She plucked a cookie chunk from his banana boat. “Glory?” She questioned, crumbs falling against the corners of her mouth. 

There was a glint in the lightness of his eyes as he scooted closer. “So, last night we’re trying to get into contact with Suzie and…” The words faded as he nervously glanced around the parlor and brought his hand to the side of his mouth, mumbling a cluttered sentence of unintelligible words. 

Steve furrowed his thick eyebrows together, leaning closer. “What?” 

Dustin clicked his tongue against his teeth, glancing around the parlor once again before inhaling deeply. He not-so discreetly covered his mouth again, barely whispering. Her brows drew together as her eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you’re saying right now,” [Y/N] said.

“I intercepted a secret Russian communication!” 

Her head lowered. “Oh, why didn’t you just say that, then?” She paused, processing the declaration. “I still don’t know what that means.” 

Dustin sighed impatiently, unzipping his overflowing backpack. He shuffled through the contents, placing a weathered book on the tabletop. “I just need your help translating.”

[Y/N] grabbed the tattered book, casually flipping through the yellowed pages. The distinct smell of aged paper flooded the air. She stood from the leather booth, her white sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, and she motioned for them to follow behind her. They moved through the counter and stepped inside the back room, disregarding the confused glance from Robin as Dustin trailed after Steve. He dumped his backpack onto the tabletop designated for employee breaks and retrieved his silver recorder, pressing the button on the side before a robotic male voice began reciting a message. The man repeated the message without a waver in his monotone voice. [Y/N] scribbled possible words on a yellow notepad as audio played, again and again, listening to the foreign words as she flipped through the translation book. 

There were a handful of pages discussing the Russian alphabet and they screwed the cap off an erasable marker, transcribing the foreign symbols onto the freshly cleaned whiteboard. Dustin pressed the pause button. “So what do you guys think?” 

Steve, with a thoughtful expression, peeled a banana and took a large bite as he rummaged through his thoughts. “It sounded familiar,” He eventually said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The music right there at the end.”

Dustin’s mouth snapped shut as he watched Steve casually munch on a banana, his patience dwindling. “Why are you listening to the music, Steve?” He asked, his voice rising as he jutted an index finger at the recorder. “Listen to the Russian! We’re translating Russian!”

Steve’s cheeks extended as he spoke, his mouth full and muffled. “I’m trying to listen to the Russian, but there’s music—”

The swinging door flew open as Robin appeared, her freckled cheeks flushed with glaring frustration. “All right, babysitting time is over. One of you needs to get in there.” She aimed a scooper at them accusingly before her eyes narrowed when she saw the information of restocking on the whiteboard was erased and replaced. “Hey, my board! That was important data, guys!”

Dustin shrugged nonchalantly, unbothered by the sudden outburst. “I guarantee you what we’re doing is way more important than your data.” 

She quirked an unimpressed eyebrow, cocking her head to the side. “Yeah? And how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyway?” 

The younger boy’s eyes widened, peering upward at Steve who stiffened beside him. “How does she know about the Russians?” Steve merely shrugged his voice a garbled mess from the fruit. “You told her about—”

“Why do you automatically assume it was me?” Steve questioned, pointing an accusatory finger at [Y/N]. “Maybe it was [Y/N]!” 

Her glossed lips fell slack. “Of course, you’d find a way to blame me—”

“Hello, I can hear you.” Robin interrupted, her arms crossed. “Actually, I can hear everything you say. You three are extremely loud. You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country, on tape, and you’re trying to translate, but you haven’t figured out a single word because you didn’t realize Russians use an entirely different alphabet. Sound about right?”

[Y/N] glanced at the pink ink seeping through the notepad, some of her translations circled and crossed. “Not completely right,” She muttered, circling a single word with the glitter pen. “I’m pretty sure this says yellow!” As enthusiastic as she was for the only translation she managed to complete, she wasn’t completely certain that it was correct.

Robin’s harsh glare softened as the corners of her lips curved. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” She said, but there was no mistaking the lightheartedness behind her words. [Y/N] grinned, knowing it wasn’t entirely a compliment, but she never complained when someone mentioned her appearance. Robin hastily reached forward, barely missing the recorder before Steve snatched the device away. “I wanna hear it. Maybe I can help. I’m fluent in four languages, you know?” 

“Russian?” Dustin asked, hopeful.

“Ou-yay are-yay umb-day.” The three of them proclaimed, impressed with the foreign sentence. She rolled her eyes. “That was Pig Latin, but I can speak Spanish, French, and Italian, and I’ve been in band class for twelve years. My ears are little geniuses, trust me.” She pulled a chair beside [Y/N] as the silver bell beside the register rang through the silence. “Come on, it’s your turn to sling ice cream, my turn to translate. I don’t even want credit, I’m just bored.” Steve reluctantly took the scooper from her grasp and gave her the recorder.

The emptiness of the Starcourt Mall was unsettlingly quiet. Most, if not all, of the other shops, were cleaned and closed for the night, but there were four people remaining inside an ice cream parlor. The bright lights were still on, the only source of life inside, and almost every counter was wiped and the floor was swept. “The week is long, the silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west.” The four of them read the unusual sentence aloud, but there wasn’t even a flicker of understanding in the depths of their minds. “See, I told you yellow was in there!” Dustin gave an unimpressed side-eye before grabbing his duffle bag and stuffing his torn book inside.

The four of them were exhausted, their thoughts echoing with the Russian recording, and their supposed translation didn’t make sense. “It just can’t be right,” Steve said, pulling the metal gate over the entrance of the parlor and securing the lock. 

“Honestly, I think it’s great news,” Dustin said, walking ahead. 

Steve, with an unnecessary force, dropped the lock. “How is this great news?” He chuckled humorlessly. “So much for being American heroes. It’s total nonsense.” He knew he was behaving slightly dramatically, but the promise of becoming something more was enough for him to throw his entire self into the task. And maybe, just maybe, [Y/N] could have seen him as something more. 

They moved through the desolateness of the mall, occasionally glancing at the locked stores. “It’s not nonsense. It’s too specific. It’s obviously code.”

Steve thought about the suggestion for a moment. “What do you mean code?” He asked.

[Y/N] intently examined a bright pair of heels displayed on the other side of a glass window. “Like a super secret spy code in the movies?” 

Steve rolled his eyes as he lightly bumped his shoulder with hers, unconvinced with the possibility. “That’s a total stretch.” 

Robin half-shrugged, humming. “I don’t know.” She began, “Listen, just for kicks, let’s entertain the possibility that it is a secret Russian transmission. What’d you think they were gonna say? ‘Fire the warhead at noon’?” 

“Exactly, that would defeat the purpose of being a secret,” [Y/N] said, “So maybe it is some kind of weird code and they’re specifically using weird words to hide their true message. Only people who have something to hide would use code to mask their message.”

Dustin high-fived her. “Exactly! You’re on a roll today, [Y/N].”

“So I guess that confirms your suspicions,” Robin said, clutching the strap of her helmet. 

Dustin gave her a knowing look. “Evil Russians.”

Robin smiled, gobsmacked that everything they were saying was making sense. “I can’t believe I’m about to agree with this strange child, but, yeah, totally evil Russians.” She giggled.

The four of them slowly walked through the mechanical animals. “So how do we crack it?” 

“I guess we translate the rest and hopefully a pattern emerges.”

Dustin’s expression grew serious. “Maybe ‘silver cat’ is a meeting place.”

“Or a person.”

“Or a deadly weapon.” [Y/N] paused, throwing a mischievous glance behind her shoulder, but Steve wasn’t there. Her smile dwindled. “Wait, where’s Steve?” She turned, furrowing her brow as she found him. He was standing beside the mechanical horse, digging inside his uniform’s pockets. He pulled a small handful of coins, some clattering to the floor as he searched for a quarter on his palm. “What are you doing?” 

Steve moved the coins around, shaking his head softly. “I need a quarter. Do any of you have a quarter?”

[Y/N]’s eyes crinkled with a light smile as she jogged toward him. “I want a turn!” 

He ignored her, motioning for the rest of them to quicken their slow place. “Quarter!” Robin chuckled but threw him a coin regardless. He placed the coin inside the metal slot and the plastic horse began moving, a child-like tune playing. He shushed the three of them as they laughed at Robin’s muttered joke. “Will you guys shut up and listen?” 

There was a moment of silence as Dustin’s wide smile fell, realization dawning upon his face. “Holy shit. The music,” He shrugged off his bag and unzipped it, hurriedly pulling out the recorder. “It’s the same exact song on the recording.” The Russian man’s voice played from the recording and the music was the same.

Somewhat unconvinced, Robin shook her head. “Maybe they have horses like this in Russia?”

Steve, crouched by the mechanical horse, pointed at the coin slot. “Indiana Flyer? I don’t think so,” He said, “This code didn’t come from Russia. It came from here.”

Steve appeared from behind a bush of large green leaves, a pair of black binoculars pressed against his concentrated eyes as he surveyed the crowded mall, with Dustin beside him. He wasn’t certain how inconspicuous they were being, especially with how noticeable his bright uniform was. “Do you see anything?” The younger boy questioned, peeking from the crevices of the leaves.

Steve moved his gaze across the food court, watching as people chewed their grease-filled food, then where a group of middle school girls gossiped at the water fountain. “I guess I don’t totally know what I’m looking for.” As soon as the midafternoon began to slow at Scoops, the three of them began investigating the bustling crowds roaming the inside of the mall. But, something that the younger boy seemed to forget, neither of them knew what exactly they were searching for.

Dustin peered over his shoulder. “Evil Russians. Tall, blond, not smiling.” He answered simply as if the answer was glaringly obvious. “Also look for earpieces, camo, duffle bags, that sort of thing.”

He hummed a distracted response before his eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Steve declared, blinking repeatedly as if the twisted sight before him was an unfortunate mirage. “Anna Jacobi’s talking to that meathead Mark Lewinsky. Jesus Christ, whatever happened to standards? Lewinsky never even came off the bench.” He said, watching with disgust as Mark pretended to throw a basketball, smiling with pride as Anna giggled.

Dustin narrowed his eyes. “Dude, you are the worst spy in history.” He yanked the binoculars from his grasp and shook his head disapprovingly. “Besides, I don’t get why you’re looking at girls. You have the perfect one right in front of you.” He said, pressing the binoculars against his face as he motioned across the food court. 

Steve sighed exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, if you say [Y/N] again—”

“[Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N].”

“Stop, no. No!”

“[Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N].”

“No.”

“[Y/N].”

“No.”

Steve chanced a softened glimpse where [Y/N] was casually perched between a cushioned booth, drinking a milkshake through a thick straw as she cautiously glanced around the area. This, although it was simple and didn’t require any exertion, must’ve been agony for her. She always said she would never wear the sailor’s uniform outside of the ice cream parlor, but she made the ‘sacrifice’ for them, as she said. So there she was, sipping her milkshake with a displeased expression as she searched for anything that wasn’t supposed to be there. But, as she soon realized, there were many strange people inside Hawkins and she wasn’t given specifics on characteristics to be searching for. And Steve, who was watching her with rose-colored glasses, didn’t bother disguising his blatant staring. He also watched with distaste as several guys purposely roamed the area, speaking in hushed whispers as they watched her from a distance. “Dude, no. I’m not her type. I’m nowhere in the ballpark of what her type is.” He dismissed the idea, but Dustin could hear the gloom laced in his words. 

Although the words weren’t explicitly expressed, Dustin knew that was as close to a verbal confession he was going to receive. Steve, though his friend, wasn’t acknowledging his feelings for her and Dustin wasn’t completely certain as to why. “So, what you’re saying is you’re not her type, but she’s your type?” The question was a simple and straightforward one, and easily could have been answered, but Steve hesitated.

That’s exactly what Steve was saying and that was the underlying reason he wouldn’t acknowledge his feelings. Because acknowledging he knew he wasn’t what [Y/N] wanted would only confirm he wasn’t good enough for her and he wasn’t sure he endure that feeling again. “Look, I missed my chance back in high school,” Steve eventually said, deciding that answer was more than enough for the time being. “She could have any guy she wants. She’s got a line waiting for her. Literally, there are, like, seven guys waiting to make a move on her as we speak. I lost what I had back in school. She’ll never go for me.” 

Dustin removed the binoculars and gave him a pointed look. “Now that you’re out of high school, which means you’re technically an adult, don’t you think it’s time to move on from primitive constructs such as popularity?” He didn’t understand where the obsession with popularity and social acceptance came from, but he knew where it was supposed to end and it was supposed to have ended when he crossed the stage with his diploma.

The bitterness from Steve’s expression dissipated as the question fell from his mouth. “Oh, primitive constructs?” He mocked, “That some stupid shit you learned at Camp…Nothing?” 

Dustin, entirely aware he was deflecting, rolled his eyes. “Camp Know Where, actually.” He corrected, “And no, it’s shit I learned from life. Instead of thinking you’re never gonna have a chance with her because you’re not the cool guy in high school anymore, why don’t you just forget about high school popularity and leagues, and be with somebody you actually like? Like me and Suzie?”

Steve despised knowing every word he spoke was undeniably true, he despised knowing the words of wisdom were coming from a thirteen-year-old middle schooler whose girlfriend probably didn’t even exist. He feigned an agreeing nod. “Oh, yeah! ‘Hotter than Phoebe Cates’ Suzie? And let’s think about how exactly did you score that beautiful girlfriend? Oh, yeah, with my advice. Because that’s how this works, Henderson. I give the advice, you follow through. Not the other way around, all right, pea-brain?”

Dustin rolled his eyes, disregarding the name-calling, and continued looking around the mall, his gaze moving across each and every face. It wasn’t long until he found someone matching his description. “Target acquired.” He said, watching the tall man with long blond hair push through the crowd with a dark blue duffle bag and sunglasses. “Ten o’clock. Sam Goody’s.”

Steve grabbed the binoculars, brown eyes widening as he saw the man walk with a stoic expression. “Shit,” He didn’t know any Russians, but that man was the exact image Dustin had listed earlier. He stood, whistling a specific sound and [Y/N] froze, looking up from her milkshake and meeting Steve’s flailing arms. She sipped a large gulp from the straw before throwing it away, rushing to the boy’s sides. “Let’s go!” 

He grabbed her hand, an unnecessary gesture, and pulled her through the conversing crowd and up the escalator, nearly tripping on her stained sneakers. She mumbled a string of apologies as some people yelped as they were pushed. “Slow down,” Dustin demanded, struggling to keep up with Steve’s speed. “You’re getting too close.” His shoulder bumped into a man, mumbling an apology as the guy yelled at him but the man they were following stopped, hesitantly peering over his shoulder at the ruckus. The three of them moved from his line of sight. Dustin grabbed the payphone, feigning a monotone conversation, and [Y/N] and Steve moved behind a large potted plant. She lowered her head, the fabric of his uniform caressing her cheek as he watched behind the leaves for the man to turn around. She could feel the buckle of his belt pressed against her stomach and the sudden warmth of him seeped through his clothes. Her unsure eyes moved upward, watching as his jaw clenched. Steve, noticing the softness of her lips inches away from him, glimpsed down at her, suddenly aware of how close she was to him. His mouth became dry as she stared at him with those gleaming eyes. “Steve, not now!” 

They blinked before continuing with their mission. They trailed him to a Jazzercise store and watched from behind a pillar as he dumped his duffle bag on a counter, unzipping his bag to reveal a stereo. “All right everyone, listen up!” He shouted, “I just have one question for you. Who is ready to sweat? That’s right!” The group of brightly dressed women cheered excitedly as he unzipped his jacket, revealing his muscular arms. “Let’s start it nice and easy. Let’s move our thighs. Yeah, ladies, warm it up! Come on, ladies, show me what you got!” The music began playing and Steve’s mouth fell slack as the women wearing tight spandex moved their hips slowly. 

[Y/N] rolled her eyes, smacking his shoulder. “Let’s go.” The walk back to Scoops was filled with bickering between Steve and Dustin. As they stepped inside, the smell of sweetness and floor cleaner filling their noses, Robin sprinted outside, jumping on the edge of the fountain. She circled in one spot, mumbling to herself. [Y/N] raised her brow. “Robin, what are you doing?” 

She smiled. “I cracked the code.”

“Are you serious? I just did my hair.” [Y/N] could faintly hear the sound of her displeased voice through the pouring rain and crackling thunder. She zipped her waterproof jacket and threw on the hood, pulling the two strings as far as she could manage. The gravel crunched beneath their sodden shoes as they slowly moved across the mall rooftop. Their wary eyes checked the surrounding area for any late-night employees. “So we’re looking for Imperial Panda and Kaufman Shoes?” She asked, elbows perched on the edge of the roof. 

  Dustin uselessly wiped the glass lens of the binoculars with his drenched sleeve. The air was unusually cold and each breeze chilled her skin, goosebumps rising. “They’re with that whistling guy, ten o’clock.” He said, subtly pointing at the man wearing a yellow raincoat, pushing a red cart with large boxes. The Imperial Panda logo was printed on the sides.

Steve rubbed his palms together, his attempts at warming them were futile. “What do you think’s in there?” 

“Guns, bombs?”

“Chemical weapons?” Robin suggested as a crack of thunder and lightning tore through the sky. 

[Y/N] ’s bottom lip quivered as another breeze crashed against her. “Whatever it is, they’re armed to the teeth,” Dustin said, eyeing the large weapons clutched in their hands.

Steve wiped the heavy droplets from his face. “Great,” He mumbled, “That’s just great.” The thunder rumbled within the darkness of the clouds and [Y/N] instinctively shifted closer to him, her shaking hand squeezing his crouched knee. Her quivering touch, although ice-cold, ignited a flash of warmth through him. There was something comforting knowing she searched for some form of release within him. 

An armed guard unlocked the large double doors. “What’s in there?” Robin asked, unable to decipher much of anything through the downpour. 

“It’s just more boxes,” Dustin answered. 

Steve reached over and attempted to snatch the binoculars from him. “Let me check it out.” 

“No, I’m still looking.” The binoculars were tugged between them, both of the boys muttering profanities. They both lost their grip on it and it slammed onto the metal tube they leaned against. An echoing slam reverberated through the truck’s delivery area. “Duck!”  

The four of them tossed themselves onto the gravel of the rooftop with the backs of their head pressed against the brick of the roof’s edge. [Y/N] smashed her soaking cheek against Steve’s raincoat, interlacing her hand with his. They breathed heavily, their frightened eyes wide as the thunder rumbled. From the double doors, a guard screamed something in Russian. She blinked away the raindrops and glanced at their quivering hands. “We need to get out of here.” She said over the rainfall. They all nodded in agreement, rushing to the rooftop entrance.

Their footsteps echoed throughout the descending staircase, the bottom of their sneakers squeaking from the water as they pushed open the employee’s entrance open. The warmth of the corridor enveloped them like a heated blanket. “Well, I think we found your Russians, Dustin.”

[Y/N] scrutinized the polish on the table as she listened to Dustin speak. “The keycard opens the door, but unfortunately the Russian with this keycard also has a massive gun,” He explained the information he uncovered when he returned to the rooftop the following morning. She had scolded him as a mother would, even providing the dreadfully disappointed expression, when they were fueled by anger. “Whatever’s in this room, whatever’s in those boxes, they really don’t want anybody finding it.”

Robin fiddled with her ice cream scooper as Steve spun his sailor’s cap with his index finger. “But there’s got to be a way in.” She said, mostly to herself, as she considered the possible options. There couldn’t be one entrance and if there was, that would’ve been a severe fire hazard. 

Steve casually tossed his cap onto the table. “Well, you know, I could just take him out.” He nonchalantly suggested. And that was an egotistical portion of Steve speaking—a portion of him that was also stupid.

[Y/N] stopped messing with the silver chain of her necklace. “Take who out?” She knew she shouldn’t have asked the question because, although removing the guard from the equation would’ve been a good idea if one of them were bulletproof, she knew he was being sincere. 

“The Russian guard. Haven’t you been listening?” 

She squeezed her eyes closed, an incredulous smile curving her lips. “Yeah, I’ve been listening. Just trying to process this amount of stupidity.” 

“Oh, come on. I sneak up behind him, I knock him out, and I take his keycard. It’s easy.” And it was because of the delusion he made, entirely convinced he was some Terminator that could overpower a trained Russian guard, that she couldn’t help but laugh at him. 

“Stevie, I think you’re forgetting the part where he has a massive gun and you’re not bulletproof.”

His expression deadpanned. “No, [Y/N], I remembered that part. That’s why I would be sneaking.” He slowly moved his two fingers as if they were a person creeping around the corner. 

Dustin narrowed his eyes, his forearms crossed over each other. “Well, please, tell me this, and be honest, have you ever actually won a fight?” There was a silence for a moment as the three of them thought of when they had pressed an ice pack against the flushed bruises blossoming on his face and throwing away bloodstained tissues. 

“Okay, that was one time—” 

[Y/N]’s eyebrows rose at the understatement. “Twice with Jonathan.” She interrupted.

He rubbed his forehead. “That doesn’t count.” 

Her face was screwed with confusion. “That definitely counts because, and I’m sorry to break it to you, he kicked your ass. Like, definitely beat the shit out of you.” Steve attempted to protest, but she continued. “You had a busted lip and your eye was swollen and there was a gross amount of blood—” 

Robin’s eyes gleamed as she constructed an idea as the three of them bickered. She stood from her chair, the metal scraping against the floor, and grabbed her belongings. She pushed the back room door open and shoved her hand inside the clear tip jar. “What are you doing?” [Y/N] asked, watching as she jogged outside the parlor with a handful of cash. 

Robin paused. “I need cash!” 

Steve’s expression drooped as he saw the cash in her palm. “Well, half of that’s mine!” He nearly whined. “Where are you going?” 

She placed her helmet on, clicking the strap on. “To find a way into that room. A safe way.” She shouted from across the room. “And in the meantime, sling ice cream, behave, and don’t get beat up. It’s her day off, she’s not allowed to help you, dingus!” 

“It is fascinating what twenty bucks will get you at the County Recorder’s Office. Starcourt Mall. The complete blueprints.” Robin said as she unrolled the blueprints, flattening the blue and white paper on the table. “So, this is us, Scoops, and this is where we want to get.” She said, dragging her finger across the table. 

Steve examined the detailed outline, shaking his head. “I don’t see a way in.” He said.

“There’s not if you’re exclusively talking about doors.” She removed the top layer of the blueprint, revealing the mall’s ventilation. 

“Air ducts,” [Y/N] mumbled to herself.

Robin smiled brightly at her. “Exactly,” She said, grabbing a red marker from her whiteboard. “Turns out, this secret room needs air just like any old room. And these air ducts lead all the way here.” She traced a specific duct with the bright red ink, circling their final destination.

Steve grabbed the metal latter, firmly pressing it beneath the air vent near the ceiling. He accepted the screwdriver from [Y/N] and hurriedly unscrewed the screws securing the metal sheet. “Flashlight,” He said, extending his hand outward as he placed the ventilation sheet aside. He pressed the button and the air duct was illuminated with yellow light. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think you can fit in here. It’s like super tight.”

Dustin seemed unphased. “I’ll fit. Trust me,” He said as Steve descended the latter. “No collarbones, remember?”

Robin scrunched her face with confusion. “Um, excuse me?” 

Steve hopped off the latter. “Oh, he’s got some disease. Uh, Chry-Chrydo…something. Yeah, I dunno. He’s missing bones and stuff. He can bend like Gumbo.”

Robin gave him a dirty look. “You mean Gumby?” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s Gumbo.”

Dustin shouted from the vent, his voice echoing. “Steve, shut up and push me!” Steve rolled his eyes and stepped on the bottom step of the latter, pushing the bottom of his feet. “Not my feet, dumbass. Push my ass.”

“What—”

“Touch my butt! I don’t care!” Steve groaned with disgust as he climbed higher, apprehensively placing his palms on Dustin’s butt. “Come on! Harder! Push harder! You’re playing with my legs.”

Steve tossed his legs over his shoulder. “I’m not playing, I have terrible footing.” Dustin screeched with frustration as there was hardly any movement. “I’m just gonna shove you, okay? One, two…” And he shoved him, but there was only a creak in the vent.

Robin and [Y/N] watched the spectacle with disappointed expressions. From the register, the bell dinged repeatedly. “Ahoy, sailors! All hands on deck.” Erica pushed the small button on the bell over and over, motioning for someone to come around the counter. “Get over here and serve me some samples.”

[Y/N] and Robin shared a knowing look before dragging the little girl to the back. She protested, exclaiming she was going to tell someone to fire them, but once she saw Dustin descending the latter, she was intrigued. He handed her the flashlight and she stepped on the latter, climbing until she reached the top. The beam of light filled the vent as she briefly examined it before climbing back down. “Yeah, I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know if you can fit?” [Y/N] asked.

Erica’s face screwed with annoyance. “Oh, I can fit. I just don’t know if I want to.” 

“Are you claustrophobic?” Robin asked, unamused. 

She snickered. “I don’t have phobias.”

“Okay, what’s the problem?” 

She slammed her palms on the table. “The problem is I still haven’t heard what’s in this for Erica!”

Erica was easily convinced if she were given free ice cream for the remainder of her life, which they readily agreed because they were only going to have this job for the remainder of the summer, and memorized the outline of the ventilation blueprints until the Starcourt Mall closed. The four of them rushed to the rooftop, leaving Erica in the Scoops Ahoy back room. The radio static popped from the walkie-talkie as Robin pressed the button. “Erica, do you copy?” 

The young girl hummed in response. “I copy,” She responded, “You nerds in position or what?”

The four of them leaned against the rooftop’s edge, intently watching the loading dock and delivery area. “Yeah, we’re in position. It’s all quiet here, so you’ve got the green light.” Robin said softly. The loading dock where the group of armed guards was the other night was ominously empty. 

“Green light, roger that.” Erica said, “Commence Operation Child Endangerment.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Can we maybe not call it that?” 

“See you on the other side, nerds.” [Y/N] sighed as the bottom of her sneakers scraped against the gravel of the rooftop. The fabric of her black bellbottom jeans was stained with dust as she scooted beside Steve. The minutes progressed and there still wasn’t a response from the young girl. The child endangerment possibility was becoming glaringly conceivable and the anxiety was coursing through. “All right, nerds. I’m there.”

Robin’s tense expression eased. “Do you see anything?” 

There was a pause. “Yeah, I see those boring boxes you’re so excited about.” 

“Any guards?” 

“Negative.”

“Any booby traps?”

There was another pause, almost deadpanned. “If I could see them, they’d be pretty shit traps, wouldn’t they?” 

Robin, knowing Erica was right, only slightly smiled. “Thank you for that.”

There was a loud bang, a grunt escaping her lips as she kicked the ventilation sheet from the wall. “I’m in.” Steve ran both of his hands through his hair as he breathed out a nervous breath. There was an alarm signaling the double doors were moving and Erica appeared from the room with a satisfied smirk. She placed a hand on her hip. “Free ice cream for life.”

They rushed to the delivery area and glanced around, ensuring there weren’t any wandering guards in the shadows, before closing the double doors behind them. Steve pulled out a pocket knife, flipping the blade out and slicing the tan-colored tape on the boxes. He yanked back the box flaps and opened it, revealing a strange metallic box with a handle with a small engraving that showed to twist it clockwise. Steve expelled a breath before twisting the handle, a low hiss escaping with a light fog flowing in the air. There, inside, were four smaller handles. “That’s definitely not Chinese food.” He glanced at the five of them. “Maybe you guys should stand back.” Robin rolled her eyes but moved away regardless of the theatrics with Erica beside her. Dustin remained put. “Dude, just step back.”

“No.”

“Step back.”

“No.”

“Seriously, step back.”

Dustin smacked his hand away. “No!” He shouted assertively. “If you die, I die.” The spectacle was theatrical, somewhat endearing as the younger teenager glared with an acute finality, but also unnecessary. 

[Y/N] pushed Steve’s hand aside. “So dramatic,” She mumbled, interlocking her hand around one of the handles and pulling it out, another hiss emitting. When the item was fully out of the box, it was a thick glass vial with a neon green liquid inside, almost moving within. “What the fuck is this?” 

There was a menacing rumble as the hinges and screws creaked as the small room shook. The five of them paused, glimpsing around the room as if there were something going to emerge. “Was that just me, or did the room move?” Dustin questioned, nervous shifting his weight on his feet. There was a thunderous mechanical whirring as the room rumbled again.

Robin’s expression was plastered with unease. “You know what, let’s just grab that and go.” She demanded, snatching the green vial from [Y/N]’s loosening grasp, and moved toward the double doors. Dustin flipped open the control panel, pressing the glowing blue button that said ‘Open Door’. He pressed the button again when there wasn’t an immediate response. The doors didn’t open.

The room filled with an obnoxious clicking sound as he repeatedly smashed the glowing button. “Which one do I press, Erica?” 

She glared at him as if the answer was obvious, which it was. “Just press the button, nerd.”

He pressed the button once again. “Which one,” He blinked, wondering if he was seeing things incorrectly. “I’m pressing the button, okay? I’m pressing ‘Open Door’.” 

Steve, exasperated with the lack of any progress, shoved him aside. “Press the other button!” He demanded, pressing his thumb against the same button as earlier.

[Y/N] appeared by them, pressing the glowing green one. “Maybe it’s this one?” 

He gave her a look of disbelief. “That says ‘Close Door’, why would it be that one?” 

She tore her harsh gaze from the control panel and glared at him. “I don’t know, Steve, maybe the Russians got confused with the translations!” She moved to press the wrong button again, but he gently smacked her hand away from the panel. “Would you just let me do it?”

“No, you clearly don’t know what you’re doing—” Steve slammed his palm on the smallest button in the middle of the panel and the double doors were barricaded by a scarlet-red barrier. The fluorescent lights flickered before a mechanical whirring trembled the room. There was a stomach-churning drop. This was an unfamiliar speed, something from a rollercoaster, and there weren’t any restraints. “We’re going down! We’re doing down!” Steve screamed, covering [Y/N]’s cowering figure.

She crouched beneath his shrouding arms, her hair flowing upward. “Really, Steve, what gave you that idea?!” Her back was pressed against the metal shelves as Steve enwrapped his arms around her as much as he could. Her hands crumpled his uniform as she gripped the fabric tightly. 

Dustin slammed the random buttons. “Why don’t these buttons work?” He screamed, his voice frightened and high-pitch.

Erica rushed forward. “Push the button!”

“What do you think I’m doing?!”

The room jolted with a shattering finality and the five of them collapsed onto the floor with a pained scream. [Y/N] shrieked as she landed on top of Steve, her knee accidentally shoving into his crotch. He groaned, his pale skin reddening as her forehead bumped into his. “My groin,” He strained out, “You fell on my groin. I need you to get off me, please.” If the situation were different, and they weren’t locked inside a Russian base’s elevator, Steve would savor the weight of [Y/N]’s body on top of him, her hair brushing against his face, and have her lips inches away from him. But, the dull pain of his groin being squished clouded his thoughts. 

She glanced down where her knee was pressed against and scrambled off of him. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” He released a strained groan as she stood, carefully pulling him from the floor. “Are you okay?” 

Steve grimaced as he straightened, concentrated ire on his face. “Yeah, I’m great, now that I know Russians can’t design elevators!” He charged ahead and quite literally tossed Dustin aside, slamming the control panel open with a bang.

“I think we’ve clearly established those buttons don’t work,” Robin said, her chest heaving as she wiped the dampness on her forehead with the back of her hand.

Steve threw his arms into the air. “They’re buttons. They have to do something!” 

“Yeah, if we had a keycard!” Robin interjected, “It’s an electronic lock. Same as the loading dock door. If we don’t have a keycard, it won’t operate.”

[Y/N] examined the thick wall concealing the double doors warily. “Meaning we’re stuck in here.”

Erica stepped forward. “Just so you nerds are aware, I’m supposed to be spending the night at Tina’s, and Tina always covers for me. But if I’m not home for Uncle Jack’s party tomorrow and my mom finds out you four are responsible, she’s gonna hunt you down, one by one, and slit your throat.”

Steve, unconcerned by the blatant threat and whining of the small girl, slammed his palms onto the discarded cardboard boxes. “I don’t care about Tina or Uncle Jack’s party! Your mom’s not gonna be able to find us if we’re dead in a Russian elevator!” He shouted with a glower. 

Erica recoiled from the severity of Steve’s tone and Dustin jutted an index finger at the evacuation hatch on the ceiling. “What if we climbed out?” 

Steve chanced a small glance where [Y/N] spoke with Robin across the elevator, the exhaustion swirling inside her droopy gaze as they analyzed the control panel. He couldn’t decipher exactly what they were whispering in hushed tones, but there was a glimmer of hope they were talking about him. He caught Robin leaning close to [Y/N]’s ear, stealing a noticeable glimpse toward him when she thought he wasn’t looking. He couldn’t see [Y/N]’s reaction to whatever was said.

He stood from the floor, wiping his palms on the fabric of his uniform, before climbing the shelves beside the evacuation hatch. As he neared the opening, he could hear Dustin speaking into the walkie-talkie and repeating the same sentence he had been saying for an hour. “Gotta take it easy on that thing. You’re going to drain the battery.” 

Dustin whirled around, facing Steve’s ascending figure. “The mall just opened. Someone can be in range.”

His face scrunched with annoyance. “What do you think? Petey the Mall Cop is gonna rappel down here and save the day?” The metal of the elevator creaked as Steve swung his leg over the opening and stood on his feet. 

The younger boy scowled at the harsh sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Why are you such in a bad mood after getting to spend the night with [Y/N] ?” 

Steve’s eyes widened as his voice traveled between the walls. He brought his index finger to his mouth and shushed him loudly. “Jesus Christ, will you stop trying to play matchmaker? It’s never happening.”

“I heard you guys talking all night,” Dustin said much quieter, unphased by the theatrics.

“Dude, you were listening in on our conversation? We were just trying to figure a way out of here.” He corrected, slowly maneuvering his way over the elevator’s wires. Which wasn’t a complete lie, just not the entire truth. “After eight hours, we’re still exactly nowhere, which is probably just a little bit of the reason I’m feeling just a tad cranky.” He hopped, undoing his belt and unzipping his shorts. 

Dustin’s eyes widened with horror. “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice echoing.

Steve peered over his shoulder, eyebrows pressed together. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking a leak. Look away!”

[Y/N] and Robin spoke in hushed whispers as they tried analyzing the control panel. [Y/N] spun around, handing her Steve’s switchblade that fell from his pocket. Across the elevator, a stream of liquid poured down the wall. She narrowed her eyes with confusion, then disgust. “Move your dick over there, your pee is gonna leak onto the floor!” The trickle of urine moved in away in a jagged line. A clanking sound filled the room and [Y/N]’s eyes widened as Erica was attempting to crack open the green vial. “Are you trying to kill us? We don’t even know what that is!” 

Robin snatched the tube from her hand. “Exactly. It could be useful.” Erica protested. “We can survive down here a long time without food, but if the human body doesn’t get water, it will die.”

“Thank you, Erica, but I took third-grade science, and drinking this will probably kill us faster. It’s obviously not water.”

As the two girls bickered about the science of water consumption, Robin noticed a distant electrical humming approaching. She pressed her ear against the metal wall, her eyes widened as she heard the faint sound of voices. “We’ve got company,” She whispered, the three of them rushing to the hatch. Upon noticing their concerned expressions and quickened pace, Steve pulled them up, hurriedly closing the hatch before the elevator’s door opened. Two men entered, sniffing the air as they spoke in Russian. One of them blew a puff of smoke from his cigarette as they grabbed and moved some of the Imperial Panda boxes. As they returned back onto their small car and drove away, Steve yanked the green vial from Erica’s grasp and jumped down the hatch, throwing himself onto the floor and placing the green vial between the floor and closing the elevator door.  

“Hurry up, let’s go!” He tossed Erica’s backpack under the small crevice, pushing her by the bottom of her shoes, doing the same with Dustin and Robin. But as [Y/N] scooted beneath the elevator door, elbows rubbing against the floor until they burned, the green vial began to crack. Steve gave her one more shove and she rolled over onto her stomach. Pushing herself onto her knees, she pulled Steve’s arms and successfully got him out before the vial shattered with a hiss. A green ooze splashed as the glass splintered into pieces, burning the floor with smoke. Whatever was inside the vial was extremely acidic and seeping through concrete.

“Holy mother of God,” Dustin mumbled beneath his breath and they turned to face his direction, expressions frowning as the only path was a long corridor and they couldn’t see the end. The corridor was illuminated in blue fluorescent light, making it much more ominous.

Their skins were damp with sweat as they trudged forward, the blue light enveloping them as they moved forward inside the long stretched hallway. They all spoke about a variety of different topics as they walked through the corridor that didn’t seem to end. But it wasn’t until they began speaking about why Hawkins was chosen for some secret lab, that Steve, Dustin, and [Y/N] realized this might have been connected with the Upside Down.

Hours must’ve passed after they fastened their pace, somehow approaching the end where the corridor split into two different directions. Steve stepped forward, moving around the corner of the wall before someone drove past in a small vehicle. He quickly disappeared from view and pushed them behind a small storage unit, hiding from sight. They waited until the vehicle’s engine disappeared into nothingness before Steve peeked around the unit, motioning for them to follow him. “Okay, clear.” He whispered, “Come on, let’s go.”

“That was close.” Robin breathed out.

“Too close,” Dustin whispered.

Steve, although distressed from the close encounter, eased their concerns. “Relax, nobody saw us…” His voice trailed off as they turned around a corner, their breaths hitching as their adrenaline spiked. There, merely a few feet away, was what appeared to be the center of the underground lab, suffused with armed guards and scientists with pristine lab coats. The voices echoed through the large space, everyone wearing some form of uniform as they moved with casualness. When a guard on the upper section glanced their way, his hands wrapped around a large gun, they threw themselves behind a red cart. 

[Y/N] crouched behind the cart, her face inches from Steve’s as they slowed their panicked breathing. “I saw it. First floor, northwest.” Erica whispered, “The comms room.” 

[Y/N] slightly peeked around the handle of the cart. “Are you sure?” She asked, trying to find something that resembled what she was picturing as the comms room. She couldn’t see much through the roaming scientists and guards.

Erica nodded. “Positive. The door was open for a second and I saw a bunch of lights and machines and shit in there.”

“That could be a hundred different things,” Dustin whispered, incredulous.

Robin swallowed nervously. “I’ll take those odds.” 

They peered around the corner and once they all knew where the location was, they moved back. “We’re gonna move fast, we’re gonna stay low,” Steve whispered and they all nodded in understanding. Crouching, they nearly crawled behind a large metal crate, waiting as the Russian voices walked across the room, then behind a bulky machine. A scientist unlocked the door and ignorantly walked away, his eyes focused on his file. Steve waved the five of them over. “Let’s go.” He shoved his hand between the door and successfully prevented it from closing. He silently closed the door as soon as they were all in behind him. 

A guard swiveled around and his eyes widened as he saw them inside the room, tearing off his thick headphones. He stood on his feet, confused eyes moving between the five of them. His hand hastily encircled around his holster. Robin instinctively rushed forward, her palm extended outward, shouting something in Russian. [Y/N] recognized the Russian words from the message they decoded. The man froze, responding and appearing even more confused. Robin tried again, the desperation evident on her flushed face but the guard wasn’t convinced by the nonsense she was spewing. He unbuttoned his holster, yanking his gun out.

Steve moved before he could even process what his body was doing. He shouted an animalistic sound, sprinting forward at full speed and wrapping his arms around the guard, slamming him into the counter where he was working. The guard pulled him off his waist and tossed Steve onto the table beside them, throwing a heavy punch Steve barely dodged. The man latched onto fingers onto Steve’s uniform, throwing him onto another table. Steve shot his elbow out into his rib, grabbing a metallic phone before smoothly moving it to his hand and colliding it against the guard’s temple. The man groaned as he fell back and smashed his head onto the table behind him, blood staining his skin as he collapsed onto the floor. 

Steve breathed heavily as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Dude! You did it,” Dustin yelled with a wide grin. “You won a fight!” The exhilaration was flowing through him as his body ached and his chest burned with every breath. He didn’t even process Dustin’s exclamation until he tore his exhausted gaze from the unconscious guard. He expelled a heavy sigh as he took in the wide-eyed sight of [Y/N] . And as she rushed toward him with a small, yet amazed, smile, he knew it was worth it.

Dustin stole the keycard from the guard’s belt and [Y/N] inspected Steve with worried eyes. Her shaking hands checked his face, pushing his hair away as she analyzed him as Erica and Dustin argued. “Are you okay?” She asked, still unconvinced there was some injury. 

Steve grabbed her wrists gently. “Yeah, I’m okay. I promise.” He couldn’t contain the small smile at her concern.

Robin nearly tripped down the stairs from across the room. “Guys, there’s something up there!” They ascended the staircase and a bright, flickering blue glow seeped through the square window on the door. Steve opened the door and they slowly entered after him. 

The sight was something pulled from a sci-fi movie; a huge glowing machine that hummed loudly as it spun, scientists wearing lab coats and radioactive gear walking around the machine as they inserted the green vials into the crackling machine, and it oozed with electricity as a bright beam shot at the concrete wall, a portal tearing through. “It’s the gate,” [Y/N] mumbled, closing her eyes as terrifying reality hit her; the Russians were opening The Gate. “We need to get out of here.”

There wasn’t any objection from any of them as they opened the door and descended the staircase. “I don’t understand. You’ve seen this before?” 

“Not exactly, just know this isn’t good.” [Y/N] could feel the familiar fear coursing through her as she nearly tripped on the last step. “We need to do something. A lot of people are going to die if we don’t!” She shouted, her quivering hand squeezing Steve’s shoulder.

“And you know about this how?” 

Erica glimpsed at the area where the guard lay unconscious and all there was left was a blood stain. “Uh, Steve? Where’s your Russian friend?” 

As soon as the words were said, an alarm blared and a flashing red light filled the room. Steve cursed, sprinting to the door and opening it. Across the room, a group of armed guards huddled around the stumbling and bleeding man. They screamed as they noticed Steve from the doorway. He slammed the door closed. “Go! Go! Go!” They sped up the staircase and stormed the portal room, ignoring the questioning glares they earned from the scientists. 

The guards shouted at them as they chucked the scientists aside and followed the five as they ran along the machine’s walkway. They could feel the heat of electricity crackling and they could barely hear anything over the blue beam shooting into the wall. “HOLY SHIT!” Dustin screamed as he nearly stumbled off the pathway before [Y/N] yanked him back by his collar. 

Steve circled around, spotting another path down a small staircase. “THIS WAY!” They thoughtlessly followed him as he shoved a guard over the railing. A pair of guards appeared from an entrance and [Y/N] screamed, slamming her body into a pile of metal barrels at them. The barrel collapsed onto them and they were squished on the floor. Steve pulled her to her feet and they continued sprinting until they poured into an empty room. Steve planted his sneakers on the floor, struggling to keep the guards from opening the door. 

Dustin and Erica lifted a loose panel on the floor, revealing a small escape route. [Y/N] pressed her back into the door, her boots squeaking as the force of the pounding guards was slowly pushing her. “Guys, let’s go!” Dustin shouted, helping Erica and Robin into the secret passage. 

“No! Get out of here!” 

“Steve, come on!” 

Steve exchanged a worried look with [Y/N], who was moments from being thrown from the door, and she frowned, nodding. “Just go get some help!” Dustin hesitated but jumped inside the passage and yanked it closed. As soon as they disappeared from view, the guards gave one final shove and the two of them were thrown onto the floor. They barreled in, aiming a variety of weapons at them. [Y/N] attempted to shove her face into Steve’s arms, knowing it was futile and it wasn’t going to help them, but a guard grabbed her hair, dragging her away from him. She screamed, scratching at his hands but his grasp only tightened. Steve lurched forward, but a guard’s boot kicked his jaw.

Specks of blackness clouded her blurred vision. The pain was unbearable as they jabbed [Y/N]’s stomach until the air was seized from her lungs, punched her face until saliva and blood trickled down her chin and stained her clothes, and slapped her until there was a red handprint bruised on her cheek. She knew she should have answered their questions, she should have explained this was an entire misunderstanding, but something told her she wasn’t going to leave regardless. They interrogated her until the questions were seared into her brain and she flinched as soon as the man inched closer. Tears streamed down her bruised cheeks, mixing with the dripping blood. She sobbed, each erratic breath felt like she was breathing in burning flames. She didn’t know how much time had passed when she grabbed her arms, pulled her from the chair, and dragged her down a hallway. To scream and plead seemed useless as they all continued with their idle tasks as she wept.

They opened a door, carelessly releasing her limp body onto the floor with a harsh thud. She struggled to breathe as her face collided with the floor and her restrained hands were raw from how much she uselessly tugged on them. Beside her laid Steve, bloodied and unconscious. She groaned as she pushed herself off the floor, crouching close to his face she tried nudging him. “Steve? Steve, come on, wake up.” Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, the desperation for him was seeping through her. She had never experienced this intensity of fear as she attempted to nudge his limp body again. He wouldn’t respond, his eyes were swollen and unreactive. She was hoping he would rustle awake, and mutter something about her breath smelling horrible, but he didn’t move. She couldn’t even check his pulse.

A loud buzzer was heard as the military-grade door opened, revealing an older soldier. The way he entered the room and the medallions were sewn into his uniform told her he was dripping with power. She glared at his approaching figure with undiluted hatred. “What did you do to him?” The words burned her throat as she screamed at him and he was momentarily surprised she finally spoke. But he eyed her as if she were nothing but a speck of dust, an inconvenience. She groaned as he backhanded her, ordering the two guards behind him and besides the doorway.

Two small chairs were swiveled to the middle of the room and the guards clumsily placed them both on the seats, back to back, and fastened a secure restraint around them. [Y/N] tried to wiggle free, but she could barely move her own limbs. The older soldier gripped Steve’s damp hair, pulling his bloodied face upward. “Don’t you fucking touch him!” She sneered with venom. The crimson blood stained her teeth as she bared them. He tsk’d and shook his head disapprovingly, releasing Steve’s hair. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood and sweat from his hand. “Steve, Stevie, can you hear me?” 

“I think your boyfriend needs a doctor. Good thing we have the very best” The soldier said, circling around to face her. He rested his palms on his knees, leaning inches away from her face until she could smell the tobacco from his breath. “I’m so glad you choose to speak now.” [Y/N], although barely functioning from the pain, spit on his face. She watched with hazy satisfaction as the bloody saliva trickled down his face and stopped his cruel laughter. He wiped away the mess from his face with the white cloth, his wrinkly eyes flaring with fury. “You’re going to regret that, little bitch.” A wide and twisted smile rose on his thin lips as he straightened and exited the room without another word, locking the door behind him.

Her breathing was slow and deliberate as she looked around the desolate room, faintly wheezing with each exhale. The warm blood cascaded down her bruised skin. There was a silver tray across the room beside the examination bed and a moveable lamp. As she glanced around, evaluating the large locks on the door, she was overwhelmed by the hopelessness coursing through her. She couldn’t move with numbing restraints and each movement ignited a blistering ache. Her eyes glistened as she smelled the copper stench from behind her as Steve’s loose mouth leaked. She squeezed her eyes closed, the tears streaming down her face. She remained like that for what felt like hours but must’ve been minutes, and leaned as close as she could to him.

There was a faint shuffle behind her. “You okay, princess?” Steve mumbled.

Her eyes flew open at the unexpected sound of his low voice and gasped with relief. “Steve, Oh, my God,” Her soaking tears fluttered as she tried peering over her shoulder to see him. The agony was still rampant, unwavering, but something eased within her knowing he was okay. “Are you okay?” 

His breathing hitched as he listened to the hoarseness of her voice. “My ears are ringing, and I can’t really breathe, my eye feels it’s about to pop out of my skull, but you know, apart from that, I’m doing pretty good.” He knew there was something seriously wrong if she was sobbing behind him, quivering as if the room were filled with ice, and the potent stench of blood filled the air. 

She chuckled, choking back a threatening cry. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” She said, but she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. “They’re calling us a doctor.” She informed sarcastically, almost laughing despite the severity of the situation. 

Steve swallowed, glimpsing around through the blur. “Is this his place of work?” He asked, chuckling at his own joke. “I love the vibe. Charming.” 

She laughed, which sounded more like a huff of air, and realized how much she needed to hear him. The unknowing of his well-being, wondering even for a split second if he was even alive, was the worst terror she had ever experienced. But they weren’t going to survive here, so they needed to escape. “What I’m about to suggest is going to hurt, but we’ve gotta work together. There’s a table to your right and there’s a pair of scissors, if we move at the same time, we could maybe get over there and knocked them onto your lap or something.”

“And I could cut the binds.” 

She struggled to smile at the vitality in his voice. “Exactly. See, you’re not just a pretty face.”

“Those morons left scissors in here?” 

“Definitely morons.” She wheezed a small laugh, and she coughed a thick blood clot, not bothering to care about the blood dripping down her face. “Okay, on the count of three, we’re gonna hop.” 

Although she couldn’t see him, she could feel him nod to himself. “Okay, good, hop on three. I gotcha.” 

“One, two, three.” They used their remaining strength to hop and inch to the side. “Okay, that worked! Let’s do it again. One, two, three. Holy shit, it’s working! Again.”

They hopped, but the weight was unbalanced and they landed wrong. The chairs slipped and they collapsed onto their sides. [Y/N] groaned as her temple smacked the concrete. Steve breathed out a wavering sigh and she choked on the threatening sobs. He froze, struggling to peer over his shoulder. “It’s okay, princess.” His soft voice reassured her. “Don’t cry.”

A small puddle of blood pooled beneath her cheek. “It’s not okay, I’m practically choking on my own blood here, we don’t even know if the kids and Robin got out, and we’re going to die in this fucking secret Russian underground base.”

His eyes closed as he listened to the bleakness behind her words. “We’re not gonna die,” He said, but he wasn’t certain he believed his own words. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? I promise I’m going to get you out of here.” This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be American Heroes, plastered on the newspapers for saving the country, but [Y/N] was broken and bleeding. The only woman he’d ever known to literally radiate sunshine was shattering beside him. 

A soul-shattering weep tore through her, the putrid smell of her own blood seeping into the air. She tried to slow her breathing, focusing on her thoughts and memories instead of the blinding pain. “Do you remember our first conversation back in sophomore year?” She apprehensively asked. He muttered something beneath his breath. The question was random, but he knew she was asking to tether herself to reality. “You were at basketball practice, I was at cheerleading practice, and you guys kept throwing the balls in our section of the court. I think you guys were trying to get our attention, but you only pissed us off. I yelled at you, calling you every name I could think of and all you did was smirk and tell me to go back to shaking my pom-poms. You were such an asshole around your friends.”

Steve closed his eyes, listening to the story. “I know.” He said softly.

“But it didn’t even matter because you showed up at my locker the next day and apologized. You, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, waited all morning by my locker so you could say sorry.” The slice on her lower lip stung as she smiled, remembering the spectacle of Steve Harrington casually against her locker with all the confidence in the world. “I told you to go fuck yourself and you still cheered me on during my cheer solo at the game. I don’t know how we became friends, but I think it was because you liked that you didn’t have to be so uptight with me. You got rid of your ‘King Steve’ facade and you were just my Stevie. You weren’t concerned with all that popularity shit and you were just you.” 

Steve didn’t speak immediately, only remembering the words Dustin had told him earlier. He was enthralled with his appearance, his clique, and basketball that he didn’t even consider anything that made him genuinely happy. “It just baffles that everything that people tell you is important, everything that people say you should care about, it’s all just bullshit. But I guess you gotta mess up to figure things out, right? ” He chuckled humorlessly. “I wish I wasn’t such an asshole to you back in high school because maybe, just maybe, we could’ve become friends sooner and things would’ve been different for both of us. I needed you to shake me and yell in my face, ‘Steve, none of this shit matters. Get your life together and maybe instead of being here, I’d be on my way to college right now.”

He could hear the curve of her lips as she spoke. “And I’d be in fashion school and wouldn’t be scooping ice cream with some asshole.” 

Steve laughed, ignoring the sharp pain. “Gotta say, though, I liked being your Stevie. It was fun while it lasted.”

Her smile wavered. Your Stevie. She hadn’t even considered how much she liked hearing him say that. “It was.” 

The buzzer rang through the room and the door unlocked, revealing the older soldier. He examined them laying against the floor and chuckled at the sight. “Where were you two going?” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. The two goons easily picked them up from the floor, returning them back to their original position. He leaned closer to Steve’s bruised face. “Try telling the truth this time, yes? It will make your visit with Dr. Zharkov less painful.” He nodded for the doctor to commence with whatever their plans were. He stepped aside, moving closer to where [Y/N] was seated, and cocked his head menacingly. “You can sit and watch this time. You are too sick.”

She didn’t even have time to process what he’d meant by ‘too sick’. A man wearing white medical attire raised a gun-like machine, displaying a large needle with a vial of blue liquid. Steve screamed as the man punctured his neck, the vial injecting into his bloodstream with a hiss. “Honestly, I don’t feel anything.” He blinked away the dwelling tears away. “I feel kinda good. Morons messed up the drug” He revealed, erupting in a fit of giggles.

His cheeks began to throb from how much he was laughing. A wave of nausea overcame her as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “Something’s wrong,” She muttered, licking the dried blood from her lips. The buzzer sound came and the door unlocked, revealing the same crew. The doctor slammed a black bag onto his table, removing the contents one by one. 

The soldier glared at Steve, his hands behind his back. “Let’s try this again,” He said, “Who do you work for?”

“Scoops,” Steve struggled to keep the laughter inside. “Scoops Ahoy.” 

“How did you find us?” 

Steve chuckled. “Totally by accident.” The soldier spat something Russian and Dr. Zharkov retrieved a tool from his array and attached the end to Steve’s fingernail. “Wait, whoa, wait, wait!”

“It was a code!” [Y/N] shouted, “We heard a code! ‘The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. You can’t be surprised someone overheard that stupid shit because you broadcast it all over town and we cracked your dumb spy code in a fucking day! How does that make your ego feel knowing a couple of stupid kids who scoop ice cream cracked your code and now, people know you’re here!”

His face flushed with rage. “Who knows we are here, little bitch?”

She sneered, sweat beading around her forehead. “Guess you’ll find out, you cunt—” Dr. Zharkov embedded a small makeshift knife into her thigh. She screamed like a wailing banshee as the blade tore through her skin and her eyes were blinded with darkness as the suffering was unlike anything she’d ever felt. The blood trickled down her skin, and the fabric of her clothes was damp with her own blood. 

“Who knows we are here?!”

Steve glanced over his shoulder with wide and paranoid eyes. “Dustin knows,” Before she could strain through the black specks overcoming her and scream for him to keep his mouth shut, he continued. “Dustin Henderson knows”

“Dustin Henderson,” The soldier said, his accent thick. “It is your small, curly-haired friend?”

“Oh, curly-haired. Great hair. Small. Kind of like a ‘fro.” Steve knew all of this was wrong, but he couldn’t stop talking. The words were barely forming inside his jumbled head before they escaped him like vomit.

“Where is he?” 

“He’s long gone, you big asshole. And he’s probably calling Hopper, and Hopper’s calling the US Cavalry. They’re gonna come in here, commando-style, guns a-blazing, and kick your sorry asses back to Russia. You’re gonna be two pieces of toast.” An emergency alarm began blaring throughout the base, a flashing red light catching their attention. The soldier straightened at the blinking lights and his expression hardened before he disappeared out the door. 

Moments passed when the door was slammed open and Dustin sprinted inside, shoving an electric stick into the chest of Dr. Zharkov. He convulsed before collapsing onto the floor. “Henderson!” Steve exclaimed, “That’s crazy, I was just talking about you. Look, you gotta help [Y/N].” 

Robin appeared from the doorway, her eyes widening with fear as she took in the twisted sight of [Y/N] soaked with blood, bruised, and basically broken. She collapsed onto the floor, hastily undoing her restraints. Erica stepped inside the interrogation room and the constantly annoyed facade dropped as she saw Robin’s shaking hands covered with dark scarlet. As soon as the restraints around her hands were removed, [Y/N] brought a weak hand toward the blade protruding from her thigh. She weakly wrapped her hand around the handle, squeezing her eyes tightly until the tears streamed down her face. Before she could begin thinking of the pain, she yanked the blade out and screamed until her throat ached. “We’re gonna have to run, okay?” She could barely hear Robin speak over the constant thumping in her head. She latched her loose arm around her shoulders, guiding her through the maze of corridors. The walls were blending together, a dark and hazy mush as she limped.

Dustin struggled to keep Steve upright as they rushed through the flashing red light. Robin gripped onto [Y/N] tightly, her hands slipping from her grasp occasionally as the blood made it slippery. She whispered reassuring nothings as they moved through the corridors, telling her they were only a couple of feet away and to keep her eyes open. She stopped moving as they neared the small vehicle they had stolen, carefully opening the back door and placing [Y/N] inside. Dustin, however, tossed Steve into the back of a red vehicle and didn’t waste any time driving as quickly as they could. 

[Y/N] brought her clenched fist to her mouth to refrain from screaming out as they jolted against the metal barrier on the back of the vehicle. “Jesus, slow down!” Steve slurred. 

“Dustin, watch out!” Erica shouted as he crashed the vehicle into a pile of barrels. 

[Y/N]’s head clashed against the metal barrier and she groaned as she leaned into Steve’s chest. The three of them hopped off the vehicle and unlocked the door. “Come on, let’s go!” Dustin shouted, confused as to why Steve wasn’t in any rush to leave.  He yanked on Steve’s ankle, dragging him out and Robin carefully pulled [Y/N] from the back, nearly slipping on her blood. “Here goes nothing,” Dustin muttered to himself as he shoved the keycard into the slot for the elevator. The light turned green and the elevator door opened. The five of them hurried inside and the room immediately began jolting upward.

Steve stood on a metal platform with wheels on the bottom, struggling to balance and remain upright. “Dustin, I’m surfing!” The three of them ignored Steve’s antics as Robin pressed onto her thigh, apologizing as she applied pressure. Erica pulled a sweater out from her My Little Pony backpack and Robin swiftly cut the fabric with Steve’s pocketknife. She wrapped the fabric around her thigh, pulling tightly and making a tourniquet. 

“This is ridiculous! You’re still so pretty even all bloodied and bruised. That shouldn’t be possible.” Steve spoke, confused as to what was even happening. Everything was moving quickly and he couldn’t think properly.

[Y/N] struggled to move closer to the elevator wall, a wave of nausea moving through her. “You got a thing for blood and tears, Harrington?” She questioned through clenched teeth, avoiding looking at the bloodied wound.

He giggled. “If it’s on you, then yeah.”

Erica watched him behave erratically. “He seems drunk.” She commented.

Robin wiped the blood from her hands as much as she could manage. “Why would he be drunk?” She asked absentmindedly, her attention centralized on the redness stained on her skin. He misplaced his footing on the moving platform and he slipped off, collapsing onto the floor with a thud. Robin kneeled beside him, placing her hand on his forehead. “He’s burning up.” 

Steve didn’t even seem to be understanding the severity of the situation. “How am I burning up? She’s the hot one!” His limp hand pointed at where [Y/N] leaned against the wall, breathing shakily. Her skin was blanched, damp with sweat as she struggled to keep her eyes open. But she chuckled lightly at the delirious remark.

Dustin leaned beside him, ignoring his complaints as he pried his hands away and forcefully pulled his eyelid upward. “His pupils are super dilated.” He said. Steve booped the tip of his nose as Dustin slightly slapped his cheek. “Come on, knock it off.”

[Y/N] gripped Robin’s hand, her weak grasp wavered as she released a shaky breath. “He was drugged.” She mumbled, her mouth suddenly felt dry. “They injected him with something.”

“How many times, dad? I don’t do drugs. It’s only marijuana.” Steve slurred, struggling to blink normally.

Robin swiped the beads of sweat on [Y/N]’s pale forehead. “I think she’s internally bleeding.” She commented and the harshness of their reality intensified as she realized her friend was slowly dying on the floor of a Russian elevator.

Steve smiled widely. “That’s good! That’s where the blood’s supposed to be.”

The amount of crippling stress flowing through Dustin wasn’t something a thirteen-year-old boy was supposed to experience. One of his best friends, someone he even considered an annoying older brother, was drugged and could possibly overdose. Another one of his best friends, someone he thought of as an older sister who would do anything for him, was bleeding out on the floor and there wasn’t anything he could do. He shook his head. “They’re going to be looking for us up there, so we need to know where you parked your car.” He asked Steve.

Steve booped his nose again. “Can we make a pit stop at the food court?” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You can have as much food as you want, but only if you tell me where you parked your car.”

Steve’s face fell. “The Russians took my car keys,” He said, emptying out his pockets to reveal nothing inside them.

“Shit.”

There was only one rule Steve was given: watch the premiere of the movie and don’t go anywhere. Dustin and Erica were supposed to be babysitting him, perched only a row away from him, while Robin tried to clean [Y/N] as much as she could inside the restroom. But when Robin apprehensively left her alone to call for Dustin’s assistance, Steve inevitably became bored with a movie he didn’t understand. He stole a small glance where the three of them spoke in hushed whispers and when he saw they were distracted, he snuck out of the movie theatre. It wasn’t until long before the blinding lights and nausea overpowered him and he could feel the chunks of popcorn threatening to come out. He sprinted inside the bathroom, completely overlooked [Y/N]’s near-unconscious body, and vomited inside the toilet.

As he flushed the chunks of throw-up, he flopped onto the floor and rested his head against the bathroom stall. “Did you puke it all up?” [Y/N] questioned, propped against the tiles of the bathroom wall. She watched as he wiped the vomit away from his mouth with a piece of toilet paper.

When his sober gaze landed on her, a wave of blinding rage and concern crashed through him. He had seen her condition when they were in the back of the vehicle, zooming through the base’s corridors and bumping their skulls because of Dustin’s driving, but he was barely registering everything. “I don’t know,” He mumbled, his eyes moving across her. She was pale, her eyes sunken eyes were bloodshot and smudged, her face bloodied and bruised. There was a large handprint across her face, her bottom lip split, and there was so much blood staining her skin.

She swallowed the lump lodged within her throat. “That bad, huh?” She whispered, briefly closing her eyes. She had never seen him stare at her with such emotion before.

“You’ve never looked better.” It was such a blatant lie, horrifically untrue, but she was so thankful for the moment of normality. 

She clutched her side pathetically. “I don’t think you threw up all of that drug.” She said, the corners of her bloodstained lips rose.

He pushed himself from the tiles of the bathroom floor and scooted across the small distance, sitting beside her. She placed her temple on his shoulder, leaning against him as she encircled her arm around his. “Test it out yourself. Ask me anything.” He didn’t know where Robin or Dustin was, probably trying to devise a plan where they could escape alive, but he knew he was all she had at that moment.

He was expecting a lighthearted question, something to distract her from this unfortunate reality while they waited, but as she glanced upward at him, peering at him with her doe-eyes and exhaustion, she asked him something he didn’t think he would have to answer: ‘Have you ever been in love?’ 

Steve thought about the question. The answer was simple: Of course, he had and everyone knew of his heartbreak when she chose another guy over him. So he sighed and interlaced his hand with her bloodstained one. “Yeah, Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” Thinking of the memories with her, it felt like lifetimes ago. 

And she asked the question he didn’t even want to think of: ‘Are you still in love with Nancy Wheeler?’ He thought and the revelation was like lightning coursing through his veins. He could feel the depleting warmth escape her hand as she held him tightly as she waited for his answer. He glanced down at her and it was like he was seeing her for the first time, and despite being covered in darkening shades of lilac and green, the darkness of her own blood drenched on her skin, she was painfully beautiful and his stomach lurched. He didn’t love Nancy Wheeler anymore. So he answered truthfully. “No.”

Her dazed gaze appeared almost expectant. “Why?” 

The question was simple and he already knew the answer. He had known the answer for years and it was looking straight at him. “I think it’s because I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.” He reluctantly admitted, “Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying, ‘You know, you’ve gotta make a move. You gotta make a move.’ And the girl I like is someone I never would have talked to in school because she was so out of my league. And I didn’t, I crushed on her from afar, until she cussed me out at basketball practice in front of all my friends and I was a goner. I never should have tried to move on from her with Nancy. I should have just made a move with her.

Because she’s so funny. I feel like, this summer, I have laughed harder than I have laughed in a really long time. And she’s brave, way braver than me. She took a beating from a Russian soldier and cussed him out after. And she’s so pretty and when she looks at me, I forget how to breathe. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.” He glanced down at her, eyebrows furrowing with concern when he noticed her eyes were closed. He shook her gently. “[Y/N]?” A flicker of concern flashed through him. 

Her eyes fluttered open at the movement. “I was listening, just trying to stop the room from spinning.” Her voice was soft as she spoke and she carefully laid her head against his thighs, whimpering through clenched teeth at the pain the small movement made. “I think this guy is on Russian drugs and isn’t thinking straight.” 

Steve smoothed the loose strands of hair on her head. “Really? Because I think he’s thinking a lot more clearly than usual.” This wasn’t exactly how he wanted this conversation to happen. If he ever did manage to discover the courage to reveal his feelings for her, he didn’t think it would happen because she was slowly losing consciousness after being beaten by Russian soldiers. 

Her eyes slowly blinked as she breathed a shaky breath. “You’re unbelievable, Steve Harrington.” She mumbled, focusing her bleary gaze on the stitching of his stained uniform. She squeezed his hand as tightly as she could manage and chuckled breathlessly. “You’re going to tell me this all over again when we get out of here, okay? You’re going to pour your stupid heart out to me when I’m not dying on a bathroom floor.”

He smiled, ignoring the sharp pain from his split lip. “I’ll write it down and everything.” 

She opened her mouth to respond, but the nausea was intense and she quickly straightened, wincing as she hastily crawled against the floor to the toilet. Leaning against the porcelain of the toilet seat, she vomited. She gagged violently, tears stinging her eyes as the water sloshed around. Steve rushed ahead, gathering her hair from her face, and soothingly rubbed her shoulder as she continued throwing up. She yanked a strip of toilet paper, wiping the remnants off her skin. Her eyebrows pinched together with confusion as the stains on the paper were tarry, unusually dark. The chunks inside the toilet were black, unlike anything she’s ever vomited before. 

The bathroom door slammed open and Dustin, Robin, and Erica appeared in the doorway. Steve peered over his shoulder, his wide-eyed expression fully indicating something was wrong. [Y/N] flushed the toilet as she turned to face the three. “I’m internally bleeding.” She informed them confirming Robin’s suggestion from earlier, remembering the pictures she had seen in her health textbooks. “And judging by my throw-up, it’s really bad. I’ve got a few hours.” She shuffled her weight as she struggled to stand on her wobbly legs. The wound on her thigh throbbed, feeling like a splinter as she tried to steady herself. Steve immediately grabbed her arms, gently helping her stand.

The worry on their faces was evident as Dustin nodded firmly, a newfound determination moving through him.  “Okay, we need to get out of here, let’s go.” He carefully opened the door, peering outside at the wandering crowds departing from the finished movies. “Blend in.” They stepped outside, [Y/N] subtly clutching onto Steve’s arm for balance as she tried to conceal her limp. “We just have to get on the bus with the rest of these plebes, and home sweet home, here we come.”

Steve’s face blanched. “Uh, Dustin,” He hesitantly said, “We might not wanna go to your house. I might’ve told them your full name.” 

Dustin’s eyes widened as he turned to glare at him. “What is wrong with you?” 

“Dude, I was drugged.”

“So?”

“So?!”

“So, you resist. You tough it out. You tough it out like a man.”

[Y/N] gnawed on her lower lip to restrain the threatening whimpers as she teetered through the crowd. Everyone was enthralled in their own conversations about the movie, accidentally bumping and shoving her arm as they walked towards the mall exit. As they walked around a corner, there was a line by the entrance as a group of men examined everyone’s ID. “Guys,” Robin said, stopping Steve and Dustin from continuing onward. One of them locked eyes with them and started walking toward them.

“Abort,” Dustin said, whirling around and sprinting in the opposite direction. The five of them ran toward the escalators, cursing as the escalators were blocked by a velvet rope and no longer in service. Robin slipped in between the slide-like sheet between the escalators, sliding down with ease. They all mimicked her, Steve helping [Y/N] step onto the platform.

As they landed on the bottom of the escalators, they moved as quickly as they could behind a counter of a pizzeria at the food court, pressing their backs against the compartments behind the counter. [Y/N] squeezed Steve’s hand as she perched beside him, trying to calm her erratic breathing as the Russian guards spoke into his device. The five of their knees were pressed against their chests as they listened to the sudden silence. 

The display car near the center of the mall alarm wailed, honking in a pattern as the metal creaked as it shook in place. The guards spun around, weapons aimed at the shaking car before it was thrown across the food court, colliding with the group of Russian guards and shattering everything it was thrown into. The five of them apprehensively peered over the countertop as the car hissed, glass shards collapsing onto the floor as the guards bled out. There, on the top floor, was the rest of the group. 

[Y/N] sighed with relief as they moved around the counter, limping towards the approaching group. Dustin sprinted toward El, a wide smile on his face. “You flung that thing like a hot wheel!” He wrapped his arms around Mike and El.

Erica furrowed her eyebrows with bewilderment. “Lucas?!”

Lucas mimicked her reaction. “What are you doing here?!”

She jutted her thumb towards the three older ones. “Ask them. It’s their fault.” 

Steve gently placed [Y/N] on one of the food court’s benches. “True, yeah. Totally true. It’s absolutely our fault.”

Robin glanced between the upside-down car and the group. “I don’t understand what happened to that car.”

Dustin pointed at Eleven. “El has superpowers.”

“She threw it with her mind. Come on, catch up.”

“Who’s El?” 

Nancy inched forward, eyeing Robin with uncertainty. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Robin, I work with Steve and [Y/N].”

“She cracked the top secret code.”

[Y/N] tightened the cloth around her oozing thigh. “Which is how we found out about the Russians.” She breathed out, cleaning her stained hands with the napkins on the tabletop.

Jonathan glanced at her with confusion. “Russians? What Russians?”

“Those were Russians?” Max asked, looking over where the dead men laid.

“Didn’t you hear our code red?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah, and I couldn’t understand what you were saying.” 

“Goddamn low battery!”

“How many times do I have to tell you about the low battery?” Steve exclaimed, slapping his hands together.

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Well, everything worked out, didn’t it, Steve?”

Erica extended her arm toward [Y/N]. “Worked out? [Y/N] is literally dying.”

[Y/N] covered her mouth with her trembling hand, losing the remaining strength she contained, and collapsed onto the floor. Her knees crashed against marble flooring and she braced herself with her hands. She hurled, tarry chunks of vomit spreading across in a muddy puddle. The group rushed toward her, avoiding the vomit, and Steve gripped her hand. She fell to the floor and Steve cradled her in his arms. “What the hell happened to her?” Nancy said, pressing her two fingers against her wrist. Her pulse was there, faint and she missed it the first time, but still there nonetheless.

Nancy had never seen her as anything other than annoyingly perfect, but here she was, deathly pale and barely lucid as she mumbled something beneath her breath. The chilling spectacle was nerve-wracking and she was overcome with the sudden possibility that she was going to die in Steve’s arms. 

Steve moved the hair from her damp forehead. “She was tortured by the Russians,” He stuttered, remembering the words she had uttered earlier. “She said she had internal bleeding.”

Robin tucked her hair behind her ears. “She was bleeding out from her thigh. I tried putting a tourniquet around it.” 

Nancy pressed the open wound on her thigh, grimacing as the blood oozed between her fingers. Her blood was warm, but her skin was unusually cold. “Shit, she’s dying from blood loss.” Steve didn’t even think about the possibility of blood loss, but as he thought of it now, it was glaringly obvious. She was brutally beaten and he didn’t even know how much blood she lost during that and her thigh was seeping the entire time they escaped the Russian base.

Jonathan examined the pulsing wound, barely noticing something inside. Whatever she was impaled with, a piece of it was still inside her. He pushed himself off his knees. “Keep her talking. Keep her awake, okay?” He gave one final look at the girl, sprinting across the food court without another word. 

[Y/N]’s eyes drooped as she struggled to breathe. “Hey, hey, hey, stay awake, [Y/N]. You gotta keep your eyes open.” Steve’s voice wavered as he caressed her cheek, eyes dwelling with burning tears as he shook her head. Her eyes temporarily fluttered open at the sudden movement and she blinked repeatedly, trying tyo stay awake.

Jonathan appeared, crouching to the floor, and grabbed her leg. “[Y/N], there’s still a piece stuck inside your leg and this is gonna hurt like hell, okay? But I need you to stay still.” He applied plastic gloves and gave Steve the wooden spoon. “You’re gonna want to bite down on this, okay?” The group watched the frightening scene unfold, their hearts racing erratically. 

Steve placed the wooden spoon between her teeth. Jonathan grabbed the handle of the heated knife and brought the knife’s edge toward her skin before he hesitated, glancing at [Y/N]’s near-unconscious expression. He closed his eyes before he sliced the skin wide enough for his two fingers and [Y/N]’s eyes shot open, screaming loudly at the searing pain. When the wound was large enough for him, he shoved his gloved fingers inside. [Y/N]’s nails dug into Steve and Robin’s hands as she screamed as the tears streamed down her face. His fingers slid around as he tried to find the shrapnel of the blade she was stabbed with and [Y/N] was certain she was seconds from blacking out. After a few seconds, which she was convinced was an eternity, he retracted his hand from beneath her tissue and tossed the piece of the snapped blade onto the floor. 

When [Y/N] awoke, she was carefully placed on the back of Nancy’s station wagon and surrounded by concerned children. Her eyes slowly blinked open, revealing the bright neon lights around the Starcourt Mall. She weakly glanced around as the doors closed, Nancy and Jonathan in the driver and passenger’s seats. “Where’s Steve?” She whispered, her mouth dry.

Max grabbed her feeble hand, squeezing reassuringly. “He’s taking Robin, Dustin, and Erica to Dustin’s radio thing. We’re all going to meet up later at Joyce and Hopper’s friend’s house.” She looked down at her thigh it was properly bandaged with clean gauze and the bleeding seemed to have ceased. Max noticed the questioning glance. “Jonathan cauterized it. It was the only way to stop the bleeding. You’re going to have a badass scar.” 

Nancy twisted the key inside the ignition but the engine pathetically sputtered. Her eyebrows puckered together and she tried again but to no avail. “What’s wrong?” Jonathan asked as he watched her twist the key again and again.

“You can’t be serious. Come on!” Nancy exclaimed as the engine fizzled.

“Didn’t your mom just buy you this car?” Lucas apprehensively asked.

“Yes! I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Did you leave the lights on?” Will asked.

“No.”

“Do we have gas?”

“Yes!” She twisted the key again. “Come on!”

Jonathan stopped her, yanking her hand from the ignition. “Stop! Pop the hood.” The two of them quickly stepped outside the car, lifting the hood as they inspected the inner workings. [Y/N] pressed her temple against the glass of the window, her gaze moving to the sudden light across the parking lot. The headlights of a car in the distance flashed on as the engine revved almost tauntingly. 

Nancy slammed her palm against the window, demanding them to leave the car and rush back inside the building. She yanked open the door and pulled each of the children from the backseats, ushering them inside through the entrance. She grabbed [Y/N]’s arm, threw it over her shoulders, and helped her inside. Once back inside the empty mall, she placed her down on a bench. They all began with their own personal tasks; Mike attempting to reach Steve and Dustin over his walkie-talkie, Nancy finding a suitable gun on the dead guards, and Lucas readying his slingshot. Will gave [Y/N] a water bottle, figuring she must’ve dehydrated, and opened the cap for her. She smiled at the gesture and accepted the bottle. 

Jonathan called him over to where they all stood behind the damaged display car. They were going to try and flip it on its side and take the ignition cable from beneath the hood. They all groaned as they pushed with all their strength. The car did move, but not enough to make a difference with its position. El stepped forward, extending her hand outward but nothing happened. Horror transformed her face as she realized her powers were gone.

Mike made the suggestion they use the golden poles from the velvet ropes blocking the escalator to push the car’s side. When they all pushed at the same time, the car flipped over. Nancy popped open the hood with the hatch beside the steering wheel and Jonathan searched for the cable. Will nervously touched the back of his neck and glanced around, feeling the Mind Flayer’s presence. 

From outside of Starcourt mall, there was a distant rumbling as if heavy footsteps were shaking the building. [Y/N] struggled to stand from the bench, peering upward at the large glass windows from the skylight of the mall. There was a dark figure approaching the windows, the glass cracking from the weight of the figure. The figure’s face loomed closer, revealing the distorted image of The Mind Flayer. [Y/N] grabbed Mike and El’s hand, who also dragged Max, pulling them away from the cracking skylight. She disregarded the throbbing pain with each step she took and pushed them behind the counter of one of the food joints. She threw her body over them like a protective veil as the Mind Flayer collapsed through the skylight and landed in the center of the food court. Small shards of glass landed on her clothed back as the rumbling thump shook the floor. She closed her eyes tightly as the thunderous snarl from the creature echoed through the walls.

She could hear Dustin from the discarded walkie-talkie, requesting they inform him of their safety, but the Mind Flayer grabbed the device with its tentacle protruding from its mouth, roared, and threw it against the car where it shattered into pieces and the transmission garbled. The Mind Flayer stomped across the food court, nearing the counter where she was covering the kids. She could hear the vulgar sloshing of its flesh as stopped, scrutinizing the area as its opened mouth dripped. The squelching of its footsteps dissipated as it stomped away, moving across the room as it tossed the corpse of the guard.

Mike carefully peered over the counter before falling back. “It’s turned away. If we go up the stairs now, we’ll make it.” He whispered, pointing to the escalator. 

Max shook her head. “No way, not with their conditions.” 

“We have to try—”

El latched her hand onto Mike’s forearm. “There’s another way to get out,” She whispered, “Through The Gap.” [Y/N] searched for the clothing store and upon seeing how close they were, she nodded. Max gripped her arm, pulling her from the floor and they rushed across, silencing their footsteps. As they stepped inside the entrance of the store, El crashed into a display. The display collapsed onto the floor, the thud echoing. The Mind Flayer roared and stomped toward The Gap, its thick leg blocking the entrance and clawed tentacles protruding from its flesh. They moved close to the floor as they searched for them. There was a deafening shriek as the monster latched onto a mannequin, tossing the plastic figure aside when it realized it wasn’t a person.

[Y/N] concealed them as much as she could manage behind the register counter, tears streaming down her cheeks as she heard the smaller screeching from the tentacle approaching where they were cowering. She could smell the rotten flesh as the squelching became louder. But, Lucas with his slingshot, popped a balloon in the distance. The Mind Flayer shrieked before stomping to find the source. [Y/N] ushered them to the employee corridor behind the register once the creature was far away enough for them to move.

They navigated through the employee corridors and [Y/N], who never would thought she would admit this, was grateful for taking the position at Scoops Ahoy because she never would’ve known where the emergency exits were if she hadn’t been through here before. She pressed the emergency door open, keeping it open as the three younger teenagers barged ahead. They exited the mall and through the gate that prevented non-employees from entering. [Y/N] stopped them, throwing her arm out as Billy glared at them from across the parking lot. His skin was covered with throbbing black veins and he was sweating from the heat of the flames escaping from beneath his smashed car’s hood. “Get back inside,” She demanded, pushing them away from the opened gate. 

[Y/N] slammed the glowing red button beside the gate which commenced the whirring of the gate, slowly closing as she turned back around and limped inside. The lights of the employee corridors flickered as they moved as quickly as they could manage. They eventually stopped at the elevator and Mike repeatedly pressed the button on the bottom of the panel. El leaned against the wall, taking the weight off her injured ankle. 

“Billy, you don’t have to do this.” Max pleaded from the corridor. Her eyes watered as she tried to bring him back from the Mind Flayer’s influence. “Your name’s Billy Hargrove. You live on 4819 Cherry Lane. Billy, please, I’m Max, I’m your sister—” He backhanded her with a shocking force and she fell to the floor, immediately unconscious. Mike, in a moment of panic, rushed forward with closed fists but he was easily thrown aside, dropping to the ground as he crashed against a wall of pipes. [Y/N] stood before El, covering her as she lurched forward, Steve’s pocketknife displayed. She sliced his arm before he grabbed the blade from her hand and studied the slash on his skin curiously. He cocked his head as his blank gaze returned to her. His black-veined hand wrapped around her throat and slammed her against the elevator door. She choked on her depleting breaths. In one fluid movement, he stabbed the bruised skin of her abdomen. She inhaled a strangled gasp as the blade tore through her flesh and his vacant stare never wavered from hers as he twisted the blade.

El screamed as she saw the darkness of her blood flow between Billy’s fingers before he yanked the blade from her stomach, releasing his tight grasp on her neck. [Y/N] fell to the floor with a whimper as she landed on her own bloodstains. Billy stepped over her limbs as if she were nothing but an inconvenience and merely slapped away El’s hand, smashing her head against the wall before throwing her unconscious figure over his shoulder and leaving the elevator room.

[Y/N] brought her trembling hand to the gushing wound, her drained gaze flooding with warm tears as she saw the redness coating her fingertips. From her peripheral vision, she could see the puddle of blood expand beneath her and the warmth seeped through her clothes, expanding and covering her like a scarlet blanket. 

She thought of everything leading to this moment; from the cheerleading practice she endured where she was introduced to Steve Harrington, the Upside Down nearly destroying her town, and the unbreakable bond she formed with the pesky group of teenagers that she loved as if they were own blood. She never thought that cussing out Steve for throwing basketballs at her squad would’ve brought her to her death. But, despite feeling her life drain from her, she wouldn’t have changed a single thing. 

She closed her eyes and listened to the thunderous explosions from the fireworks, wondering what the bright colors looked like as they exploded against the Mind Flayer, and allowed the darkness to comfort her.

Steve Harrington descended the escalator as the Mind Flayer collapsed onto the floor, lifeless as The Gate closed. Smoke from the extinguished fireworks clouded the air and scratched his throat as he breathed. He knew the monster was dead, but he still avoided the corpse as he walked beside Robin and checked the surrounding area. Billy was dead, bleeding black ooze, Max was wailing in El’s reassuring embrace beside her brother’s corpse and Mike’s exhausted figure, and the remainder of the group was on the upper level of the mall. “Where is she?” He questioned, glancing around the rubble and debris with concentrated eyes. He couldn’t see her and he knew she had to be around here somewhere. “Guys, where is she?” He was confused. She should have been right there with them.

Mike hesitantly removed his gaze from the puddle of inky blood soaking Billy’s clothes and his sympathetic eyes connected with his. Steve furrowed his eyebrows as Mike didn’t speak, but as he closed his eyes tightly, a teardrop dripping down his cheek, his silence told him everything he needed to know. Steve fought back the crashing wave of tears as he softly shook his head, his broken expression shattering as he refused to believe that she was gone. She was just here an hour ago, barely alive, but alive nonetheless. Robin wiped her damp cheeks as she wept at the revelation. She backed away, nearly stumbling into a large piece of debris as she clutched her aching chest.

The remainder of the group descended the broken escalators and tragic words weren’t necessary to reveal the loss they experienced. Nancy apprehensively loomed closer, softly touching his shoulder. “Steve…” She whispered gently. 

Steve whirled around, pushing her hand away from him. “Don’t.” No one, not even Nancy, had ever seen him like this before. This wasn’t just mourning, it was hatred and crippling guilt and torment. “You’re not dead, you’re not dead.” He mumbled to himself as if he said the words enough they would become true. He glanced at Mike’s crying figure. “Where is she?” 

Mike reluctantly made eye contact with him. He shook his head softly. “Steve, I don’t think you wanna see her like that.” Because he didn’t want to see her like that but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to see the woman who babysat him and his friends as he grew up lifeless and surrounded by a pool of her own blood. But as Max woke him up and the first thing he saw when his droopy eyes opened was his friend dead. That unfortunate image was seared inside his cluttered mind. 

Steve nearly collapsed onto the floor at the words. “Where is she?” His voice cracked and his bottom lip quivered. Mike didn’t speak, only peered over his shoulder where Scoops Ahoy’s broken sign flickered. Steve sprinted inside the parlor and pushed through the employee corridors, frantic eyes searching every section. 

When he stepped inside the elevator room, the warm air was pulled from his lungs and he could smell the distinct smell of copper. He always thought dead bodies were supposed to be brutal and grisly, enough to make his stomach churn from the sight, but she still looked like [Y/N]. She looked almost peaceful and if he closed his eyes enough, she could have been sleeping on a bed of roses. But she wasn’t sleeping and the crimson wasn’t blossoming roses. He couldn’t stop the burning tears from streaming as he collapsed onto the floor beside her corpse. Her dark blood stained his knees and his socks as he kneeled. Apprehensive, he carefully touched her cold skin and pushed her hair away from her face. He sobbed at the undeniable truth beneath his shaking touch. He should have been there for her. He loomed closer, pressing a small kiss to her pale temple. He wrapped his arm beneath her legs and his other steadied her back. Her lifeless arm dangled as he carried her bridal style through the flickering corridor. Soon he was crossing the ice cream parlor and the food court where the remainder of the group waited for him. 

The helicopters and military stormed the debris of the Starcourt Mall. They escorted him from the premises and brought him where dozens of military troops were stationed outside in the parking lot, ambulances with EMTs preparing IV bags, and some media and news reporters flashing their cameras. But Steve didn’t care. Everything was a blurred haze as he stepped outside of the mall with the woman he loved lifeless in his arms as the sky cried for the earth’s loss.

Someone pulled her from his grasp and a flash of ire coursed through him. He tightened his hands around her, spewing a string of curse words at the person. Robin rushed beside him, a fuzzy blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and muttered something to him about calming down. And he knew he shouldn’t have become angry at the concern she was giving him, but how was he supposed to calm down? She was gone. She died alone. She bled out alone and he should have been there. None of this should have happened. She was supposed to go to fashion school and listen to him pour out his stupid feelings for her after he wrote it all down.

Sam Owens appeared from the drizzle of the rain, the helicopter’s spotlight illuminating him as he stopped where Steve stood. “Come on, son. You’ve got to let her go.” He couldn’t, though. Because releasing her would mean this wasn’t some vivid nightmare and he wasn’t going to wake up and throw on his uniform and start throwing ice cream scoops into waffle cones as she teased him about how bad he was at pouring the sprinkles. “We can help her, but you’ve got to let her go.”

So in a moment of fiery guilt, he let her go.

[bbybloop]

Ever think the reason they’re on anonymous is because they’re cowardly and would never actually say this shit to someone’s face? Ever think about the words you type out and whether they’re necessary? Ever think about the fact that shit like this makes people really dislike themselves at times and that can have really harmful consequences because you decided it necessary to put your invalid, unwanted opinion into some harmless creators inbox one day? Get a fucking life and move on, if you don’t like it, don’t look at it.

Ever think the reason your single is bc ur 27 and write shitty ass fanfiction about a man who will never know you exist?

Ahaha. Wow fuck you.

[bbybloop]

The way I’d bake and birth all six nuggets of Steve Harringtons

[bbybloop]

steve harrington breeding kink confirmed.

[bbybloop]

I thank you for your service once again 🫡🫡🫡

Hello I hope it’s alright to request something!!! Could u do something with either Eddie or Steve (whoever u think works best) where they are best friends and reader asks him to give her a hickey cause she wants to know what it feels like??

this has haunted me since you sent it i love best friend steve <3 (and eddie too but steve for this one in particular haha)

Steve's talking about his last date. "I thought she was trying to eat me at first. Props for bravery, though, I don't think I've got a hickey on a second date before. It might've been nice if she didn't bite so hard." 

"She bit you?" you ask, horrified. 

Steve perks up from where he's slouched in the driver's seat. You knock your knees together, feet on the dash, reaching over to turn the radio down.

"I mean, yeah?"

"What?" you ask, lips pulled down in concern. 

"What do you mean, ‘what?’"

"Why did she bite you?" 

Steve goes from incredulous to more genial, the soft version of him that you don't often see. 

"You've never had one?" 

You shove your hands between your thighs and don't answer.

"When you give someone a hickey, you can bite down. You know, not to break the skin or anything. It feels nice," Steve explains, taking your silence instride. He's lying against the reclined seat, half his face hidden by leather. "You really never had one?" 

"No," you mumble, eyes resolute on your knees. 

"Hey, don't be shy about it." His fingers twitch towards you. "I'm serious, babe, it doesn't matter. You're not missing out half the time. And some people don't like them at all." 

"Do you like them?" you ask.

You can't believe you've asked him but Steve never makes you feel stupid about anything. 

His lips part like he's weighing his words before he says them. "Yeah, I like it. It's hard to explain. And not just getting one, giving them is…" 

You brave a glance at him. He's not looking at you but your hands where they're squished between your legs. 

"I don't know. It's good. It's like a weird hug," he says finally.  "I think you'd enjoy them." 

That draws a startled peel of laughter. "You think?" 

"Yeah. You're cuddly. And you get embarrassed easily. I think they'd honest to God melt you." 

He laughs. The sound is rich with sweetness. 

"Oh," you murmur. 

"Oh," he says agreeably. "Shit, the sun's going down. What time is it? Do you need to go home?”

“No, it’s okay. It’s not that late. Nine something.”

He kicks up in his seat but doesn't incline it, digging around in the footwell for his soda. 

You take your feet off the dash and try to ignore the way his mouth moves, the bob of his neck as he swallows. 

"You know," he says, wiping his lips with the side of his hand, "I don't know why we didn't get something to eat. Are you hungry? Cheeseburgers, right?" He does a double take at your expression. "Regular burgers? Babe, what does that face mean? Throw me a bone. Chicken nuggets?"

"Um…" You laugh at yourself, scared to say it, almost not quite joking. His description of them… you want to know how it feels. "Will you give me one?" 

"Of course I will. Did you forget your purse?" he asks. 

"A hickey." 

It takes him a few moments to understand. "You want me to give you a hickey?" 

"Would you want to?" 

Steve looks at you funny. Too serious for him, long seconds of his eyes on your face like he's searching for something. 

"I'll do whatever you want me to," he says. 

You've barely any time to come to terms with what that means when he's leaning back in his chair. "Come here," he says. He must gauge your surprise, because he explains, "I'm not gonna be able to lean over. You'll like it more like this, trust me." 

And you do trust him, inexplicably. "Okay," you say. 

Steve smiles at the clear nervousness in your voice and holds his hands out. You've hugged a lot of times and that helps ease the awkwardness as you climb over the console and onto his lap, the back of your thighs pressed to the tops of his, his hands more than respectful at your sides. 

He's languid beneath you. 

One hand travels to the small of your back and stays there. 

"You wanna start with a hug?" he asks. 

You nod vehemently. This you can do. This you're good at. You go to tuck your hands over his neck and he takes them into an almost stern grip. "You go under." 

You wrap your arms around his waist and try to listen to his breathing as he pushes your head over the juncture of his neck. 

His arms work around you in turn, one around your shoulders and one over, his hand finding the back of your head. He rubs your back lightly. 

"You're really warm," you say. 

Steve's hand moves from the back of your head to your neck. His pinky finger glides over the side of your face, strokes over your hairline as he encourages your head towards your shoulder, baring your neck.

"You're not warm." The heat of his breath fans over your skin in a wave. "You're on fire," he murmurs. 

"It's summer." 

"Listen," he implores. "If I do something you don't like, or you want me to stop, you have to tell me." 

"I will." 

"I'm an excellent kisser, but it's like I said; some people don't like it." 

"It's alright, Steve. I'll tell you. 

"Yeah, yeah. Stay still then," he says, and kisses you. 

He starts with the smallest pressure, a dry press of his mouth. His lips slowly part. You gasp at the new feeling, a damp silver of warmth, a half-crescent of ticklish heat. He slides his hand between your neck and your shoulder, the tip of his index finger brushing your ear lobe. 

You shudder. 

"Okay?" he asks. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," you whisper. 

His bottom teeth scratch over your neck and you inhale fast. He shushes you so gently you feel yourself go to jelly in his hands, worse when he kisses you in a way that juxtaposes his sloven touches and demeanour; rough, open-mouthed. He sucks your skin until it burns. Then, the barest hint of teeth. You're startled enough by the new feeling to try and pull your thighs together over his lap. 

He chuckles into your skin and pulls back, brushing his hand over the quick-forming contusion carefully. 

You brace your hand on his shoulder to look at him, your enjoyment obvious. 

“That was it?" you ask.

"No, that wasn't it," he says, suddenly loud. He drops his head back against the chair and drags a hand through his hair. 

"I just thought-" you begin, swiftly cut off by a glare with no real malice. 

"I'm warming you up, 'cos you've never had one," Steve says all in a rush, rolling his eyes. He starts to pull you forward again. 

"'That was it?'" he repeats, teasing. "Shut up. I can feel your heartbeat, you know that?" 

"What?" 

"I can feel it," he says. "When I kiss you." 

He kisses you again, a love bite, a scraping of teeth against your pulse point. You tighten your arms around him and whimper. 

When he's decidedly finished he pulls back. "S'nice sound… wanna make it again?" 

You nod vehemently. He grins, lips shining, and dives in for another.