#this is probably not what you wanted but it's what my brain kept chewing on like a puppy with a chew toy so... ba-daaah

[innytoes]

I don't know if you still accept prompts but: willex + conman falling in love for real AU?

When Alex made it back to the van, his backpack full of the contents of Covington's safe (bonds, diamonds, some gaudy watches, incriminating paperwork, and something Alex was pretty damn sure was a vial of arsenic), he urged Bobby to drive.

Bobby did without comment, but Alex wasn't as lucky with his other two partners in crime.

"Um, what the fuck," Luke said.

"Oh my god it's so nice to finally meet you!" Reggie beamed.

"Hi," Jay said, a little overwhelmed. He was clutching his skateboard to his chest like it was a security blanket. It was the only thing he'd brought with him.

"I can explain," Alex said, trying to ward off Luke's glares.

Except, could he really? His job had been to infiltrate Covington's operation, and to slowly snoop around without being noticed. It wasn't too hard, Covington didn't have time for the lowly accountants who did the legal side of his business. Or, well, semi-legal. Alex was pretty sure at least half the deals that guy struck bent some kind of rule.

Not that he understood most of what was happening on his screen. Reggie seemed to enjoy himself, though, taking over his computer from the van and doing all the actual work while Alex snooped around and ingratiated himself with the right people. He seemed to have done well for himself, given that after only six months Aaron Miller had earned himself a performance bonus.

It was a shame he'd never be able to cash that paycheck.

He hadn't meant to fall in love with the very pretty intern that also seemed to never be at his desk. The one who actually vouched for him to the security staff when he was on a floor he shouldn't have been on. Sure, Jay had thought he snuck up there to steal some of the fancy lunch the C-suite had catered, but still. They swiped a bunch of fancy salmon and sandwiches and pastries and went up to the roof - another place they were not supposed to be - and talked.

And talked. And talked. And flirted. And talked. Over the months Alex had been with the company, he learned that Jay wasn't just an intern, he was Covington's... well, ward, for lack of better term. Not quite a son. Not quite a servant. But definitely under his control in the worst way, being groomed to take over the company, or at least act as a figurehead while Caleb really ran things from the shadows.

"This is Jay, he's the love of my life," he finally said, and Reggie squee'd happily. Luke just stared at him. "He helped me crack Covington's safe. And he's coming with us."

"That's all well and good," Bobby said. "But we don't have a fake passport for your new beau, or an exit plan for five people."

"Actually, we do have that first one," Reggie said, not looking guilty at all. Of course the hacker had been listening in to Alex' earbud all day while working. "You look like a Willie to me," he told Jay, handing over an excellent forgery.

"I like it," Jay, or now Willie said, looking at the passport. Alex didn't fail to notice that Willie had the same fake last name as the one that was in Alex' go-bag. "And speaking of ways to get out of the country, um, I stole the keys to Caleb's yacht?"

"The yacht has a tracker in it," Luke said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, his regular one does," Willie agreed. "But not his super secret evil villain yacht that he uses to do illegal stuff in international waters."

Even Luke looked impressed at that one.

"I knew rich people did weird stuff like that," Reggie muttered to himself as Bobby made a U-turn to head to the marina instead.

"Well," Luke said thoughtfully. "Welcome aboard, Willie. Or whatever you want to be called from now on, we'll get Flynn to make you a new one the next time we're in London."

His boyfriend smiled. "I think I'll stick with Willie."

[nataliasquote]

Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[ashwhowrites]

could you do a Robin fic where reader forgets her diary at Robin's house after a sleepover (they're childhood best friends) and Robin decides to take a peek when she sees what reader wrote about her and all the things reader wants Robin to do to her, and then Robin does those things to her. Idk if this is a good request so if you don't like it don't do it. Anyways, love your fics!! 🩷

I love my baby Rob

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Dear diary

YN and Robin had been best friends for years. They met in elementary school and haven't been apart since. They told each other everything and nothing was a secret when it came to each other. Except for one little thing, Y/N never told Robin. Y/N never came out to Robin or told her she was in love with her. Y/N knew Robin liked girls, she knew before Robin told her. Y/N wished she had come out when Robin did, but she was scared.

Watching Robin grow into an attractive and mature woman was hard for Y/N. She always wanted to call it a small school crush, but it was past the crushing level.

Y/N didn't have other friends she wanted to share the information with, so she wrote it in her diary.

After the sleepover Y/N had with Robin last night, she had a lot to write about. She unpacked her bag and kept an eye out for her diary. She felt panic seep in her bones when the bag was empty and the diary was nowhere to be seen.

~

"I'm always amazed by how blue her eyes are. It gets hard to follow what she says because she is so distracting."

"We watched another movie tonight. It was her pick so I didn't understand the movie. But I loved listening to her reviews."

"We walked through the rain and I only thought about kissing her."

"I need to stop buying her rings. It's getting too attractive."

"I love the way she holds my hand through the store."

"I love it when she picks on Steve, sometimes he deserves it."

"I wish she'd kiss me."

"I wish she'd rent a horror film and let me hide in her arms. Baby me and slip me on her lap and take my breath away with her body."

Robin slammed the diary shut as she felt guilt rushing through her. She knew all of her best friend's deepest thoughts. Stuff she never guessed Y/N thought about. But Robin couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach. Her best friend liked her, and really liked her.

Robin chewed at her bottom lip as she weighed out her options. She wasn't sure if she should admit she read it or not. Would Y/N be pissed?

Yeah, probably Robin! You read about her secret crush on you

Robin jumped as she heard the phone ring. She set the book down on her bed and walked out to the kitchen. She answered and tried to keep her breathing normal.

"Hey Rob, did I leave a book there?" Y/N asked, nervously chewing on her nails. She hoped Robin didn't open it, or noticed that it was a diary not just a book.

"Um yeah, it...was on my floor! Yeah right there on the floor. Do you want me to bring it to school tomorrow? Or I could bike there right now. I think it might rain but I ha-"

"Tomorrow is fine, Rob. I'll see you in the morning," Y/N laughed as she hung up. She was used to Robin's rambles so she didn't think twice about it.

"I'm fucked," Robin said to herself as she slammed the phone on the wall.

~~~

Robin burned fire on her driveway as she paced. Y/N would be here any moment and Robin was horrible at seeming nonchalant. Her brain kept seeing the words written on the paper.

Robin took a deep breath as Y/N pulled up. She got in the car and tried to focus on being calm.

"Morning, Rob" Y/N said with a smile

Robin sent her a smile and handed over the book. Robin felt her stomach get tight as Y/N looked up and stared into her eyes. Was she thinking about how blue they were?

"What is it? It doesn't have a title or anything" Robin asked, not sure if she was making herself suspicious or in the clear

"Like a little journal. Nothing important in it," Y/N shrugged and tossed it in the backseat.

Robin nodded and left it at that.

~~~

Now that Robin knew about the crush, she wanted to do something about it. She has had a crush on Y/N since she could remember.

"Horror? for Y/N? Since when?" Steve asked as Robin checked out the film.

"She happens to want to watch one," Robin said, as she rolled her eyes. "Which I know because I'm her best friend. Just two girls watching a movie...together as friends. Sure, we might hide under a blanket but it's all just as friends!"

"You okay?"Steve asked, he eyed Robin with suspicion. He watched as her face got red and she stuttered a little more.

"What is with the investigation? It's a movie date! Not a date! It's not a date, just a movie with a friend"

"Movie with a friend sounds fun," Steve said, still worried about the girl as she raced out of the shop.

~

Robin might have covered her fingers in pretty rings. And she might have applied a clear gloss and sprayed perfume on her neck.

"Steve recommended this movie so I thought we should give the dingus a shot to be right for once," Robin said as she clicked play on the film. Both girls under the same blanket as Y/N picked at the bowl of popcorn.

Y/N laughed at the dig at Steve, but she was excited it was a horror film.

As the movie played, the closer Y/N got to Robin's warm body. The bowl of popcorn was moved to the table as Y/N launched herself into Robin's arms and hid her face in her neck.

Y/N silently purred to herself as she smelt the perfume on her skin. She smelled addicting.

"You don't have to be scared, I got you, sweetheart." Robin cooed as she wrapped her arm around Y/N.

Y/N felt her heart race, she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

"Thanks," she whispered shyly

"Just a movie, I'll protect you," Robin said, she looked down but couldn't see her face. "Would you want to...sit in my lap?"

Robin felt herself hold her breath as the question hung in the air. She prayed Y/N wouldn't think too hard and connect the dots.

Before Y/N could answer, Robin's arms were already yanking her over. Y/N felt her stomach flutter as she slipped on Robin's lap. She sat face to face with Robin, the movie lost in the background.

"What are you doing?" Y/N whispered, her eyes lost in the ocean blue of Robin's eyes.

"Taking your breath away," Robin whispered as she leaned in

Y/N felt pounding in her chest...and in between her legs as Robin cupped her face. The coldness of her chunky rings sent shivers down her spine.

Y/N held her breath as Robin closed the space between them. Her glossy lips were delicately pressed against hers. Y/N moaned as she kissed Robin back. Y/N's arms moved up to wrap around Robin's neck, deepening the kiss.

Robin kept one hand on her face and the other one moved down Y/N's back and slipped underneath her shirt. The feeling of Y/N's bare skin on her hand made Robin burn with desire.

Robin licked Y/N's bottom lip, asking to take the kiss to another level. Y/N happily agreed, opening her mouth as their tongues touched.

Y/N couldn't help but rock her hips against Robin, her hands moved into Robin's hair. She yanked and tugged as Robin growled.

Needing air, they pulled back. They panted as they looked at each other. A shy smile on Robin's face as Y/N looked shocked it all happened.

"I read your diary. I know that it was wrong, but I read too much. I know you like me and I like you too. I'm sorry for invading your privacy but I couldn't ignore what I read. I've liked you for so long and never had the right words to say." Robin explained, still a little breathless.

"I feel like I should be mad, but I got what I wanted." Y/N smiled

"I've always wanted to kiss you too," Robin confessed, her thumb softly pulling on Y/N's bottom lip.

"What do we do now?" Y/N asked

"I ask if you want to be my girlfriend? I think? I'm not sure most of Steve's stories end at the kiss and he doesn't see them again." Robin said

"Girlfriend sounds perfect," Y/N smiled

They shared a smile before their lips smashed together.

Maybe Y/N should leave her diary around more often.

[darkmajesty-xo]

Ready Player 1 ? - Shigaraki x reader

18+ MDNI | masturbation, praise , video chats, crack-humor

most would consider it unwise for a girl like you to be in these chat rooms due to the questionable discourse and rather infamous patrons, but girls just wanna have fun right ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: saw an old couple today, could be me and shig but he’s playing ☹️

user2345: i think you mean planning* as in planning world domination and torment of quirkless losers like you.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh sweetheart you’ll never get any pussy if you keep acting like one

user3333: damn bro, you gonna take that ?

user2345: who gives a shit about some villain groupie ?

user2345: she keeps her mouth so full of cum that it’s starting to affect her whore brain.

user2345: do you really think the true leader of the new world would make time for some dumb cunt like you ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: there’s probably a higher chance of tomura shigaraki and i living happily ever after than there is of ANY woman even looking in your direction.

this was a normal friday night, you simping over shigaraki in the forums and clapping back at the misogynistic incels that hid behind their keyboards in their mothers’ basements. but there was one guy that always stood up for you whenever the idiots got too out of hand. he was also a moderator so he had no problems blocking them.

the two of you would dm off and on about life , thoughts on hero society, hobbies , etc. from your chats you gathered that he didn’t walk that straight and narrow but that didn’t mean much to you. he would sometimes tease your about your crush on shigaraki and your general taste in men.

finalboss: honestly, what kind of girl likes a criminal?; who knows what kind of twisted shit the guys into— you’re not even a villain.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you know nothing jon snow

finalboss: that reference just confirmed btw

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i’ll have you know that my beloved is a certified otaku fantasy nerd.

finalboss: oh yeah ? and how’d you obtain such info ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i run 3 stan accounts on twitter and i belong to a shiggy fan club 🥹

finalboss: 😃

finalboss: seek help

finalboss: 😃

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you wound me ☹️

finalboss: i’ll just leave that too your Prince Charming lol

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh lord , did you see the footage of his latest attack ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: he was dressed like a whoreee 😩😩

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: tits just out for my viewing pleasure

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: shigaraki is my shepherd, he know what i want.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: wanna suck on those sugar nips and call him mommy

finalboss: you get weirder and weirder every time we chat

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: that means we’re becoming besties ㅤ♡ ︎

finalboss: ♡ ︎

it was nice having someone to talk to about your secret obsession, it’s not like your “real life” friends would understand. the two of you had carved out your own little piece of the internet to goof around in. he never disclosed much information about himself and typically kept the conversations focused on you, but you still felt an undeniable bond to this faceless stranger.

then he ghosted you.

weeks went by without a word from your friend. he no longer defended you in the forums and he didn’t respond to any of your dms. you’d started to get worried that he may have been arrested or worse. and at the three month mark you’d finally given up hope that you’d ever hear from your friend again. but then the unexpected happened.

finalboss is requesting to video chat.

this was completely out of character but after months with no word, you were desperate to hear from your friend.

you were prepared to chew him him out for abandoning you. thinking of all the ways you could insult him while simultaneously expressing your need for his comfort and company. but your mind went blank when the grainy screen loaded into the pixelated image of your companion.

whispy tendrils fell from his bun, framing the sculpted planes of his handsome face. his lips were dry, slightly chapped, with the only lubrication being the sheen of saliva left by the slow drag of his tongue. bloodied eyes bore into your own leaving you breathless and dazed.

“hey bestie”

his voice was low and raspy, almost like a whisper. a deep rumbling that echoed in your ear drums. it was oddly hypnotic. he was absolutely mesmerizing.

tomura chuckled into the camera, showing flashes of perfectly white teeth. he leans back into the chair, a hand on the back of his neck showcasing a broad chest and toned abs.

“didn’t expect you to be this quiet, bestie. is my outfit not slutty enough for you ? i could always take these off…” his hand fell from his neck to rest and the waistband of his black jeans.

you remained speechless, eyes glued to the light dusting of hair below his belly button.

more laughter and shifting. now you were met with the glorious girth of shigaraki’s cock clenched tightly in his fist. the darkened tip oozed a sparkling trail of pre that spilled down his length. his thumb swiped the fluid to spread over his veiny member.

“c’mon , doll. don’t leave me hanging” he teased, squeezing his fist upwards to produce more pre. “i thought you wanted to be my ‘mc’ ? seems more like an npc if you ask me”.

“y-you’re him” you stammered, eyes following the slow drag of his fist. “you’re tomura shigaraki”.

“in the flesh” he teased, shooting a wink that went directly between your legs. “well kinda, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. sorry i’ve been away so long, but you’d wait forever for me won’t you , perfect girl ?”

your nod was automatic. robotic even. you’d moved closer to the screen, completely engrossed by his ministrations.

“anything for you beyon—shiggy”

you both laughed at that. he appreciated your humor, especially with all the drama in his day to day. even in def con simp mode and being ghosted didn’t stop you from being undeniably you. that’s probably why he was as obsessed with you as you were with him.

“i know we probably have alot to discuss but todays been kind of shitty and i’d really like to explore our final fantasies”.

you snorted, “that was really bad , shig”.

he shrugged, “i’m a villain, not a comedian, beloved. “now show me that perfect little pussy”.

[agoodroughandtumble]

None of Those Girls Are Me Part 2 - Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is completely oblivious to Zoro’s feelings Warnings: 18+, Language, might be smut or implied smut in further chapters 

You had remained next to him for the rest of the night – completely unaware as to how grateful he was that you had given up on your random flirtations. Unsurprisingly, the more you drank the more animated you became – increasingly excited about every topic of conversation, laughing without a care in the world and so, so oblivious to the way Zoro was looking at you. He was grateful for that too. He could let himself indulge, just a little, safe in the knowledge that any lingering looks that could give him away were far from your radar.

The bar lights reflected in your eyes, emphasising their own brightness lit up by your smile. Zoro couldn’t help but think that the stars themselves were dancing in those eyes, and only for him. This delusion was only exacerbated by the way your thighs were touching his and the ease at which you invaded his personal space, as if you already knew he had made room for you behind his walls months ago.

He was too busy allowing himself to relax against your hand on his forearm that your question threw him completely off guard.

“So what sort of girls do you like?” You were looking at him expectantly, as if he was supposed to respond with anything other than “You, obviously”.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I told you I’m not really into the one night stand thing.”

You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly. “I know. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking in general. Oh!” You wiggled your fingers, trying to think, “Who was that girl? Urgh,” fingers increased speed as you wracked your brain. “Toshiko? The marine, with the swords. You liked her.”

Zoro’s eyes studied your carefully. “Tashigi. She’s a pain in the arse.”

You smiled wryly at him. “Uh huh.”

He wasn’t quite sure where you were going with this, but was definitely sure he wasn’t going to like it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zoro watched as you chewed your lips, trying really, really hard not to think what those lips tasted like. Probably alcohol at this point, his probably did too. Which was more than find since he could blame said alcohol for his inability to stop staring.

“Well,” you shuffled almost impossibly closer, “Just in my experience if someone gets under your skin that much there’s a reason why.”

He let out an amused sigh and tried to force the upturned corner of his mouth back to neutrality. The irony of you saying that to him was surely the universe’s biggest “fuck you” yet.

You had noticed the change in his expression. “I knew it!”

Oh fuck. He prepared himself for the onslaught of questions, the feigned disbelief because obviously you had to be aware, and, lastly, he prepared himself for the “gentle” let down that while you liked him, it wasn’t in that way but you still wanted to be friends – for the sake of the crew, and all. He hadn’t prepared himself for the triumphant way you clapped your hands together, eyes lighting up almost too brightly.

“You do like her!”

The fuck.

He took a sip of his drink. A rather long sip. More of a downing if anything. Thankfully the bar was so busy that whenever one of you went to get a round you came back with multiples to save the constant queueing. So he kept drinking. It was almost as if his brain had short circuited. If he said he didn’t, you would just tease him about denying his feelings. But he couldn’t say he did because obviously that was a lie. You were clearly expecting some sort of reaction, and him just downing drinks wasn’t exactly giving off the impression that he Did Not Care. So, in a last act of desperation he did something completely out of character that he was surely going to regret, but he’d found himself digging such a hole the only way out was to blow the whole terrain up. He set his drink down and turned to face you, trying to show some semblance of indifference. “Say if I did like anyone, how do I…” he sighed. This was the worst idea but the only one that wasn’t screaming from the rooftops. “Do that.”

The smile on your face was almost maniacal. He would find it adorable if it didn’t instil him with fear. You were clearly not going to let this go. “Are you asking me for dating advice?” You laughed and his heart twinged. “The great Pirate Hunter Zoro is afraid of telling a girl he likes her?”

Obviously yes. But you didn’t have to spell it out. You could have afforded him that dignity at least. But his mouth spoke before his brain engaged and said the worst possible thing. “No, just tell me what girls like. What you would like.”

You smirked and picked up your drink offering a toast. “Oh, I’m going to get you so many girls.”

[sherwees]

ten times – lee ten

cw : dubcon and literal bickering at some point + this was rushed

extra note : this has been in the drafts since June/July...yeah..

“We might have to get used to this—” Ten says whilst forcefully locking your hands behind your back, causing a slight strain on your forearms with that weird friction against your hipbone. Not even caring on the also fact that your cheek may have a bruise from the intense impact from the desk..

“Ten—”

“So now you know my name so suddenly?”

He snaps back before you could even get to the fact that you're about to fuck in some random vacant classroom right before your lecture starts.

Presumably..

10 minutes.

COINCIDENTALLY TEN FUCKING MINUTES?

“ WE'RE IN A FUCKING CLASS—” He sighed and you even felt him weigh you down more, your breasts became tender at the contact. You can imagine him just rolling his eyes at your comment. Non chalantly, he continues slowly grinding against your bunched up skirt; his tip bobbing slightly against your thigh with accompanied shallow breaths with every slight rock of the desk just ignoring your alarming comment.. Hoping that somebody won't eventually be snoopy like yangyang and just barge in.

This only started because you kept on calling him, “Fifteen” “Nine” “Ten½” “5 times 2” and whatsoever but he took it seriously. It wasn't even that serious.. The fear of somebody walking in rushes to you again—but actually it could be anybody.

And that anybody could tell everybody.

“I don’ care.” Ten says with an unfazed tone, he hassles your body around finally seeing his blown out eyes; lips parted as slight drool slips through his parted lips.

“I really don't give a fuck.. Like actually.” He only chews the gum (that you now notice) slightly faster.

“I wish that you could stop chewing that same watermel–”

“Or FUCKING WHAT, Y/N?” You flinched at his sudden outburst only leaving silence around. You take this moment to slide away once more from his unrelenting grasp.

His grip slight loosen as you attempt to wriggle away until you realized it's completely useless so you just huff and lay there, accepting defeat. Your breathing starts to sync together, you're starting to notice the little sweat beads forming on the start of his hairline. You could obviously tell he's trying to avoid kissing you with the hesitation scrunch in his eyebrows with a clench to his jaw–it's kinda sad but you get the fact that he doesn't want nothing serious..

Sometimes you'll take a glance or two at his crescent lips every once in a while unconsciously. You've always wondered how they felt anywhere and everywhere.

He's noticed once actually.

“y/n, you're sure interested to what I'm saying hm?” He said teasingly; swishing his drink around, toying with the straw with his tongue.

Fuck.

Or his little perked nose—

“Are you seriously not embarrassed?” He lazily smirks and you look down to your skirt at your ankles with widened, fucked out eyes. His fingers are rubbing your bud through your panties, your stomach swirls as your slick evolves under his skilled strokes. Your brain immediately fogs at the contact, your vision growing smaller and dim by the second from the forming tears and growing tension in your clamped hands. You feel the patch of wetness slowly evolving within every stroke of his index and middle.

“I noticed your stares— maybe I truly know everything about you. This week, you've probably only made me mad just for attention.. That's obviously what you want princess..” His fingers curving a little more just enough for you to feel slight buzzes striking through your whole body with every short movement.

“Just a little fucking attention whore you are— aren't you?” He scoffs at his own comment before continuing.

“You now have my attention and you're acting just as shy as always. What a fucking loser.” He concludes with a playful slap of your cheek, emitting a whine from you.

“Just hear me out.” You said desperately, already sweating. You could imagine how pathetic you look only sweating from fingering and subtle grinding.

You hoped in your mind in the time of silence Ten held to finally answer your question, making teasing guessing faces and all. Time was running fast like a hamster on a pinwheel and y'all maybe only had 5 minutes, the only thing fading the sensuality was the eyebrow raise he gave; which immediately made you snap.

“When could you NOT answer a yes or no?!”

“I'd rather think it through personally.” His tongue rolls on the “personally” with a teasing bob to his head.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘‘PERSONALLY’’—” You say ‘personally’ mockingly with a dramatic bob of your head also, shaking a startle in Ten enough to immediately ‘shh’ you; moving his index in your face with a peek of his tongue from his lips.

“How about no to both questions, it's really a ‘my decision’ time now.” He ends with a strict slap with the band of your panties whilst sliding them down; feeling a burning sensation slowly form into a mark on your waistline.

“Maybe I should shove my fingers inside of you to tune out that little tone you have.” You felt his fingertip slowly circle your entrance. The sounds of your wetness infiltrating the silence of the room and you could only rut against his nail for a bit of tension.

“Ten, please..” You blubber, drool falling through your plush lips. You could only blink and Ten's lips were tough and tense with content anger against your own with a grunt emitting from him. You winced as he bit your bottom lip, sucking on it lightly to soothe the pain.

“Fuck babe, I can't fucking do this anymore.” His fingers rushed to fiddle with his belt loops. Your eyes widened as you realized what he was actually trying to do, there wasn't ANY time.

You could barely protest before you felt a sudden sharp stretch along with Ten using your shoulders as support, causing you to wince.

“S’ fucking tight.” His face completely a flushed red, eyes low and unfocused. His throbbing cock stretched your struggling walls, you sworn you felt his tip kiss your cervix slightly. His neck craned to kiss and nip at your lobe, keeping a low rhythm, taking his sweet time with you.

“Babe we have all the time in the fucking world, nobody even comes over here so there's no need to struggle.” He reassured,lifting your shirt as his flimsy fingers unhinge your bra. His eyes only stuck on your blissed look as his lips wrap around your right bud, swirling it with his tongue. Your pussy clenched around his length causing him to nip at your nipple once more.

His hips start to pick up an animalistic pace to keep up with the pulsations of your hole around his girthy length. He grabbed a ball of your hair to lock your lips in a restless kiss; swallowing your moans.

“S’ fucking good, jus’ keep sucking me in like that.” Ten rolls his eyes shut to intake the blissful moment. He hated this fake little hatred you showed off to your little friend group, he just wanted you for himself.

“M’ gonna make you regret ever fucking with me.” He whispered and your nails dug into his jacket as you felt his length twitch, letting out a small of precum. The pressure in your abdomen became unbearable at every sloppy thrust along with the friction of your clit against his own abdomen.

The desk starting to wobble on its supports; the only sounds in the room was skin to skin, your moans and sometimes screams, his constant snarky remarks usually interrupted with a moan along withthe squeaks and scraping of the desk against the wooden floor.

“I'm gonna cum– fuck.” You could only murmur with an arch, reaching your timely climax with tears springing from your eyes. Ten could only hush you and cover your mouth; your moans only bounced off the walls, louder than needed.

“Maybe you could do that nine times more and you'll learn your lesson once and for all.”

[gerrystamour]

i could be honest, i could be human [Chapters 4, 5 & 6]

Rated E | Steddie

[ FIRST PART ] [ PREVIOUS PART ] [ NEXT PART ]

No summary to save space since this is a meaty update. SOME CONTENT WARNINGS THOUGH!! There is some vaguely described homophobia and a brief mention of a homophobic hate crime. Nothing is explicitly described.

Chapter Four: November 1984

It had been a few days since Billy Hargrove had beat the shit out of Steve and his ears were still ringing. Nancy wanted him to go to the doctor about it, saying something about his brain swelling and how that was bad. He figured he was fine. If his brain was going to crush itself on the inside of his skull, it would’ve done it already, right?

Regardless, going to the doctor would mean telling someone even a fraction of the events that happened, and he was in too much pain to keep his story straight.

Everything hurt at that point. His whole head pounded, and his jaw clicked at the hinge when he yawned or chewed any food, his nose was broken, and a bunch of Steve’s teeth were worryingly loose, shifting painfully in his swollen gums. To top it all off, he had a nasty gash on the side of his head from the plate Billy broke over it that definitely needed stitches because it kept reopening. But his head would have to be shaved to get stitches, and that was not an option.

He survived, and it wasn’t like it bled that much when the wound reopened. It was fine.

It also didn’t help that his breathing was also a little fucked up. The air inside the tunnels was definitely toxic, and their stupid little makeshift masks were a pathetic attempt at protecting themselves. He could still taste the tunnels sometimes when he managed to take a deep enough breath. Steve imagined that was what rotting meat would taste like, which was not helpful in the least.

Steve had been calling himself out of class, both because he was too messed up for the faculty to just ignore and because being in that bright, noisy, and crowded building while he felt so shitty was probably what Hell would feel like.

At that moment, he was shuffling through the aisles of Melvald’s—wearing sunglasses inside like a douchebag—to grab painkillers since he already used up his supply at home. The cashier gawked at him as he paid for the medication, and he didn’t even tell her off. Steve knew how bad he looked and he was just relieved that she wasn’t Ms. Byers.

Steve headed out into the sunlight with a groan, flinching as the bright light blinded him through his dark sunglasses. He didn’t even notice that he stepped out of the store and right into someone’s path as they passed until their shoulder caught his.

Normally, a bump like that would have made Steve stumble a step at most. This time, while his equilibrium was on vacation and he could barely even stand without holding onto something, he went down hard. Steve barely got his hands out in front of him to save what was left of his busted face from another traumatic injury.

Now, he had road rash on the heels of his palms, one of his wrists hurt, and the fall triggered a wave of dizzy nausea that actually made him dry-heave a bit before he regained some of his composure. To top that all off, his sunglasses had fallen off his face and from the sound of it, they had skittered directly under someone’s foot with a resounding crack.

“Fuck,” Steve managed to groan, and distantly he knew someone was talking to him, but it was difficult to hear them over the whooshing in his ears.

The person sounded alarmed, understandably so, and Steve managed to say, “Sorry, I promise I won’t puke.”

“Bummer, I was kinda hoping you would,” the person said, their voice finally coming in clearer as the whooshing subsided. “It would really make my day.”

Eddie Munson. Of course it was Eddie, there to witness another very low point in Steve’s life.

“On second thought, maybe I will,” Steve said, shakily pushing himself up onto his knees.

“Have you been drinking, Harrington?” Eddie asked, his voice getting closer as he crouched next to Steve on the sidewalk.

“I wish that’s what this was, Munson,” Steve replied with a wry laugh, hissing when cool fingers suddenly grabbed his chin and turned his face toward him.

“What the fuck, Harrington? Who the fuck did this?”

If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think that Eddie was actually concerned. Upset even. Like he actually cared that Steve was beaten up and concussed and on his knees in the middle of the sidewalk on a Thursday morning. Even if Steve could have opened his eyes against the bright sunlight, he wouldn’t have. He wanted to avoid seeing the grin that Eddie was undoubtedly wearing, didn’t want to ruin the illusion that someone else outside of the party cared that he was hurt. 

With a hiss, Steve lifted a hand to the side of his head where he felt warmth trickling through his hair and sure enough his fingertips felt something wet. He laughed bitterly as he pulled his hand away.

Like Eddie said on Halloween—it was only funny if Steve was bleeding, right?

“Shit, Harrington, you’re bleeding,” Eddie said, and his voice was all wrong. There was no banter, no laughter, only what Steve would describe as panic if it was anyone else talking to him.

“Yeah, that happens. I’ll be fine, I just need—fuck, why is it so bright out here?” Steve croaked, trying to open his eyes but without his sunglasses, it just felt like hot icepicks were being driven through both eyeballs.

Steve could hear Melvald’s door open with a jingle, and the tense voice of the cashier said, “he can’t stay out here like that.”

“You’re actually fucking joking, right?” Eddie snapped, his tone so full of venom that Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t want any trouble, and both of you are scaring people—”

Eddie cut her off with a mean laugh. “He’s on the ground bleeding, and you care about, what exactly?”

“Munson, stop,” Steve murmured, trying to get to his feet again but failing miserably.

“Either you both leave or I’m calling the cops,” she snapped, her tone closed off. Panic flashed through Steve about Hopper seeing him laid out on the sidewalk like he was and he shook his head.

“Oh, I fucking dare you to, lady—” Eddie started to taunt her again, but Steve smacked his leg blindly.

“Stop, Munson, seriously,” Steve insisted before addressing the employee. “We’ll leave, okay? I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Eddie scoffed at his apology, but the employee thanked him and the door shut as she presumably went inside.

“Okay, can you help me to my car? I parked it down the street—” Steve started.

“Like hell am I taking you to your car, Harrington!” Eddie interrupted, his voice almost shrill with his outrage.

“Well I can’t stay here, so unless you have a better idea…” Steve trailed off, his head throbbing with a new flash of agony.

Eddie was silent for several moments before the various chains he wore jingled with movement. “I’m going to take you to my van, okay?” Eddie said, his voice now coming from above Steve rather than next to him. Eddie didn’t even wait for him to respond before he grabbed Steve and easily hauled him to his feet.

Steve was surprised at Eddie’s strength, not quite expecting it from the way Eddie looked and behaved. Not only was he strong enough to lift Steve, but he was controlled enough with that strength to do it without jostling him unpleasantly. When Eddie settled Steve against his side with an arm tucked firmly around his waist, that embarrassed fluttering filled Steve’s gut again for some reason.

Maybe Nancy was right and his brain was starting to swell.

That thought was reaffirmed when they reached Eddie’s van and he had zero recollection of moving. Eddie was muttering in his ear, and after a moment of concentration he managed to understand some of the words.

“—Idiot pretty-boys passing out and bleeding all over my new fucking battle vest—”

“You regularly haul around bleeding pretty-boys, plural, Munson?” Steve groaned as Eddie startled at his voice. The other man propped Steve against the bumper of his van and carefully let him go.

“Nah, Harrington, only you get the royal treatment,” Eddie admitted with a chuckle. “Can you get yourself into the van, or do you need my help?”

Steve considered the question carefully, his eyes shut and head hanging. He could probably tough out the pain enough to get himself into the van. He had toughed out the pain and dizziness to run around tunnels made of writhing vines and crawling with Demo-dogs. Crawling into a van was nothing.

And yet…

“Okay, I’m helping before you pass out on me again,” Eddie grunted as he scrambled up into the van and knelt behind him. With a huff, Eddie weaved his arms beneath Steve’s and around his chest, his own chest pressing against Steve’s back. Curly hair tickled against Steve’s cheek and hot breath puffed across his throat. “Okay, big boy, you’ve gotta help a little bit.”

Heat burst across Steve’s cheeks, that terrible fluttering feeling running rampant in his gut, but all he did was nod and hum his agreement.

“On three, okay?” Eddie said, and once he counted them in, Steve pushed up on his tip-toes at the same time Eddie lifted him. Once he was partly inside the van, Steve was able to hook his heel on the bumper and help push himself the rest of the way while Eddie pulled.

Once inside, Steve laid on a pile of blankets on top of a mattress that was probably shitty, but at the moment was the best damn thing he’d ever had the pleasure of laying on. Distantly, he heard the van doors close, as well as some fabric shifting, and blessedly the world became a lot less bright through his eyelids. Steve found himself marveling at how Eddie’s van… did not smell bad, not even that much like pot. It did smell like pot, it definitely did, but it wasn’t awful like other vehicles he had the displeasure of sitting in after a hotboxing session.

At that thought, Steve realized he had no idea if Eddie actually did any of the drugs he sold. He could have just been selling, right? And yeah, on Halloween he offered to share a joint with Steve, but that didn’t actually mean Eddie smoked pot regularly. Steve always lied about hating the chicken nuggets at school so Jonathan would actually take them from his tray when he offered. 

Suddenly, Steve felt bad about all of his assumptions about Eddie all over again.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbled before he could stop himself, and Eddie laughed, still moving around the van.

“What are you apologizing for now, St—Harrington?”

“What I’m always sorry for,” he sighed, reaching up to cover his face gingerly. “Being an asshole.”

Eddie was quiet for a long time, or maybe it was a short time, but it felt really long because there was a script to these moments. Steve called himself an asshole, Eddie agreed, and they moved on. Eddie wasn’t agreeing, so Steve wasn’t sure how to move on.

When Eddie spoke again, he still sounded weird, almost sad. “You wanna give opening your eyes a try, Harrington?”

With a nervous sigh, Steve slowly opened his eyes and glanced around the van. It looked old and a bit rundown, like the outside suggested, but it was clean. There was a curtain between them in the far back and the middle bench, which looked like Eddie installed himself. There was also some fabric covering the rear windows, giving the space they were laying in a dimmer, gentler light. It was light enough that Steve could see, but not so bright that it hurt him.

“That’s a lot better,” Steve sighed, and finally he looked up at Eddie’s face.

Eddie was sitting next to Steve, his back leaning against the side wall of the van with his knees bent and his arms resting loosely on top of them. He looked kind of angry, and Steve was at a loss for why he would be. He remembered the muttered complaint about blood on his vest and when he looked at it properly, sure enough, there were dark red drops and smears on the shoulder.

“Sorry about your vest. I’ll pay to have it cleaned,” he promised, and when Eddie’s stare didn’t soften, he looked away nervously.

“Seriously, Harrington, who the fuck hurt you?” Eddie asked again, as if he was about to fight for Steve’s honour or something, and Steve laughed.

“Billy Hargrove,” he said as he looked back over at Eddie, and just as he expected, the other man deflated a bit, his anger turning into something closer to fear. “It was pretty fucking stupid on my part.”

“Why were you fighting Hargrove?” Eddie asked and Steve mulled over the best way to answer.

“I was babysitting—”

“Oh, fuck off, no you weren’t,” Eddie scoffed, and Steve frowned over at him.

“Yes, I was. I’m a damn good babysitter, too,” Steve said defensively. 

He was really trying not to take Eddie’s skepticism too personally; he knew how weird that concept sounded from the outside. Hell, a year ago even Steve would have scoffed at what he was saying. Still, it was really starting to suck having everything he said and did doubted because of who he was a year ago.

“Okay, and why would you be babysitting? What’s in it for you?” Eddie asked, eying him closely.

“I was helping Ms. Byers out,” Steve replied as if that answered everything, before he continued, “anyway, his step-sister was hanging out with us, and then Billy showed up, she was scared of him, so I tried to get him to leave.”

“Looks like it hurt a lot,” Eddie said quietly, cringing sympathetically.

Steve shrugged, which was a bit awkward while laying down. “Honestly, I was out cold for most of it. Didn’t feel much after the first couple hits,” he laughed, but Eddie didn’t join in.

“That’s not a fight, Harrington. That’s a beating,” Eddie replied, his voice deeper than Steve was used to hearing and lacking any of its usual lightness.

“Yeah, I guess so. Better me than her,” Steve replied with a flippant shrug; he was no stranger to being hit, even if the only other time he took a beating to the face was his fight with Jonathan the year before. Then he added before he could stop himself, “she was afraid he was going to kill her, so I tried to get him to leave. Then he threatened to kill one of the other kids, Lucas Sinclair?”

Steve looked over at Eddie and watched him as he visibly sifted through his knowledge of the people in Hawkins. Recognition sparked behind Eddie’s eyes and his expression darkened.

“I know the Sinclairs. Nice people,” Eddie said after a bit, scowling.

Steve nodded. “He’s a good kid, too, not that I’d say that to his face. It’d go straight to his head,” he said, smirking when Eddie chuckled. With a heavy sigh, Steve said, “He threatened to kill Lucas, so I hit him and then…”

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his face.

Eddie was still staring at Steve when he looked back, and he started to squirm a bit under the intense gaze. “You’re just a regular knight in shining armour, aren’t you?” Eddie asked after a bit and Steve laughed, especially at how angry Eddie still looked and how begrudging he sounded.

“Yeah, totally. And you know what they say,” Steve hummed sarcastically, looking up at the ceiling. “No good deed goes unpunished and all that.”

“Maybe you should start avoiding the Byers?” Eddie suggested and Steve barked out a laugh that hurt his head and made him wince.

“Christ, maybe,” he admitted, running his tongue along his loose teeth. “Starting to think I should just get the hell out of this town,” he muttered, surprising even himself.

“Shit, the King is going to abandon his kingdom?”

Steve looked back at Eddie and met his wide, dark eyes. His expression was searching and his smirk was back, the nicer one. The weird fluttering feeling in Steve’s chest and stomach had returned in full-force, and he floundered for an explanation. He wasn’t embarrassed, for sure this time.

“I don’t know,” Steve replied after a minute, sighing heavily. “Probably not. Where would I even go?”

“Aren’t you gonna go to some fancy college somewhere?” Eddie asked with a snort.

Steve grimaced and glared up at the ceiling again. “I guess,” he said hollowly.

He missed early admission between the whole dinner with Barb’s parents and the break-up with Nancy, plus luring D’art, plus getting beat up by Billy. Well, he deliberately missed it at first because he decided to take a gap year to stay close to Nancy. Because they were in love.

Steve scoffed out loud. “Yeah, totally,” he added sadly.

“Wait, Harrington, are you… not going to college?” Eddie asked and Steve groaned.

“Yeah, Steve Harrington isn’t going to fucking college,” he declared with a listless laugh. “Decided to be all romantic and take a gap year, propose to Nancy after she graduated, go to college together. Or I would work for my dad and pay for Nancy’s school or something. Not that she would need my help, she’s so smart she’ll probably land a full-ride wherever she wants.”

When he was done with his rant, the van was silent for several moments until Eddie asked, “What’s wrong with that plan, lover boy?”

Steve nearly snapped at Eddie, nearly told him that he knew exactly what was wrong with that plan. He caught himself, though, remembering that he never actually told Eddie why he was crying on Halloween.

“She, uh, dumped me,” Steve replied, glancing away from Eddie. “At Tina’s party.”

“Shit,” Eddie said, and Steve nearly laughed at the little cringe on his face. “I’m sure you’ll get her back, right? Don’t people like you always get back together?”

Steve frowned at Eddie, not sure what he meant by that last bit. “Not this time. No fairytale ending here,” Steve eventually said, sighing. “She’s with Jonathan now.”

Eddie made a noise. “Halloween was only a week ago,” he said flatly.

“Glad you have a grasp on the passage of time, Munson,” Steve chuckled.

“No, the timing—”

“I know how it looks. It’s not like that,” Steve interrupted firmly. “She—Nancy wouldn’t do that. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Doesn’t look that complicated from where I’m sitting, Harrington,” Eddie challenged, and he looked properly angry again when Steve looked over at him.

“Well, it is. Ever consider that you might not actually know everything?” Steve spat, a bit meaner than he liked, before continuing, “Nancy is amazing and I was fucking it up the whole time, because I’m an idiot and a douchebag. She wasn’t cheating on me. She wouldn’t do that to anyone, even me. She’s not like that, okay?”

Eddie frowned at him, and Steve could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he mulled over what Steve had said. “I can’t decide if your steadfast faith in her is admirable or pathetic,” he admitted after a few moments, dragging another startled laugh out of Steve.

“Probably the second one,” Steve replied through a grimace of pain. “I think my head is still bleeding,” he complained, and sure enough when he touched the wound, his fingers came away wet and sticky.

“Jesus H. Christ, Harrington, why the fuck is your head still bleeding?”

Suddenly, Eddie was looming over him, straddling Steve’s midsection without putting any weight on him, turning Steve’s head so he could try to see the cut through Steve’s hair.

“It’s fine,” Steve said, heat rushing to his face.

“Dude, this needs stitches or something. You need to go to a doctor—”

“No!” Steve immediately said, shaking his head and grabbing Eddie’s thigh. “I don’t want to see a doctor, or go to the hospital.”

“Why the fuck not, Harrington? You’re bleeding, this cut is really bad, and—” Eddie stopped short, and Steve blushed when his eyes narrowed suspiciously down at him. “You don’t want them to shave your head.”

Steve blushed even darker and Eddie laughed, the mocking one that Steve had expected at the start of all this. It was actually a bit comforting at that point.

“Christ, I guess I shouldn’t be shocked that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington would walk around with an open fucking head wound before he’d get fucking stitches,” Eddie grumbled as he went back to inspecting the cut.

Steve idly began to slide his thumb back and forth where it rested on Eddie’s thigh. He barely realized he had been doing it at all, the sensation of denim against the pad of his thumb soothing. He was snapped out of his stupor with a wince when Eddie prodded a bit too hard on his tender scalp.

“Knock it off,” Eddie snapped, his hand swatting Steve’s away from his leg. “That’s distracting.”

“What are you even doing?” Steve asked grumpily, feeling pinned even though Eddie was hovering above him.

“Trying to decide if it’s worth waking my uncle up to get your stupid jock head fixed,” he replied before sitting back on his heels to glower down at him thoughtfully. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve registered the way Eddie’s weight settled on his midsection, and that fluttering in his gut turned to a swooping sensation.

“Is your… uncle a doctor?” Steve asked nervously, still afraid for the fate of his hair.

“No, but he was a field medic in Vietnam and he keeps some supplies around. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but I’m a Klutz with a capital K,” Eddie replied, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at Steve.

“And he won’t shave my head?” Steve pushed and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I can’t promise that, Harrington, but I can vouch for your pathological vanity and we’ll see what he can manage. But this will keep bleeding and probably get infected,” Eddie warned, and Steve made a face up at him.

“Stop making sense,” he complained and squirmed under Eddie’s weight.

Eddie froze above Steve, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, for several moments. With a strangled little noise, Eddie scrambled off of Steve and back to his spot against the wall of the van.

“Okay! So, do you think you can manage sitting up front or are you going to lay back here?” Eddie asked, pulling a curly lock of hair in front of his face and fidgeting with it nervously.. 

The motion was so endearing it almost pained Steve to see it. He’d seen so many girls do that exact move when they were being shy or playful with him, and it always drove Steve mad. He wished Eddie was a girl so he could reach over and tuck his hair out of his face, pull him down for a kiss—

Those thoughts came to a screeching halt as he tried to figure out where that came from. Steve’s brain was definitely swelling, that was the only explanation for the direction those thoughts went. Maybe he should go to the hospital…

“Dude, stop spacing out on me, you’re freaking me out,” Eddie said frantically, snapping his fingers in Steve’s face.

“What?” Steve asked, unsure of what conversation they were having now.

“I’m taking you to my uncle, remember? Which means I have to drive. Are you going to hang out back here, or sit up front with me?” Eddie repeated curtly.

Steve frowned. “Do you have sunglasses I can borrow?” he asked, and when Eddie shook his head, Steve gestured around him. “Then it looks like I’m getting the real royal treatment, huh?”

“I’ll take the corners super fast so it doesn’t go to your head,” Eddie promised with a wink before he said, “Shield your eyes, Your Majesty.”

Steve chuckled and covered his eyes as Eddie scrambled over the middle bench through the seam in the curtain.

Despite his comment, the drive was actually uneventful, the gentle movement of the van actually lulling Steve to a light doze. He jolted awake when the van shut off, and a moment later Eddie poked his head through the curtains to meet Steve’s eyes upside-down.

“We have arrived, Your Highness, and we’re in luck. My uncle is already awake,” he said with a bright grin.

Steve was suddenly very unsure. “Would it’ve been a problem if he wasn’t?”

“What? No, of course not,” Eddie said with a frown, shaking his head quickly before he disappeared. Steve heard Eddie get out of the van and decided to start getting himself sat up again.

“Hey Uncle Wayne, do you have sunglasses?” he heard Eddie call, and then the quiet response from someone. He couldn’t hear the words, but it didn’t sound like a yes.

“I need your help with something,” Eddie said and Steve could hear a long-suffering sigh and the sound of footsteps coming toward the van.

“What’d you get yourself into now, kid?” The tone was so affectionate that Steve couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face.

“I didn’t get myself into shit—”

“Watch your language. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Just listen a minute, okay? Someone from school got a little hurt and he needs stitches—”

“Then he should be going to a doctor, Eddie. What’re you doing bringing him here?”

“Uhm, this sounded better in my head but now that I’m saying it out loud with you looking at me like that, I’m realizing it sounds kind of dumb, but he doesn’t… want his head shaved.”

Steve grimaced because… yeah, now that it was being said out loud to an actual adult, it sounded beyond dumb. It was completely childish.

“Eddie—”

“Okay, Uncle Wayne, I know. It sounds really stupid, believe me, but it’s also really important to him, and I kind of get it because I wouldn’t want my head shaved either.”

There was a long silence before a heavy sigh. “I’ll look at your classmate, and I will do my best to save his hair, but I ain’t making any promises.”

“Right! I already told him that! Thank you, Uncle Wayne! One last thing…”

“For the love of Pete, kid…”

There was quiet murmuring, too quiet for Steve to eavesdrop on from inside the van, but Mr. Munson did not sound happy about whatever other information Eddie delivered to him. After a few minutes of hushed back-and-forth, Eddie knocked lightly on the doors.

“Alright, Harrington, you decent?” Eddie called, and Steve snorted, closing his eyes.

“Ready to go when you are, Munson,” he replied and he heard the van doors open wide.

Eddie hauled him out carefully, and guided Steve up a set of stairs into what Steve assumed was his house. When Steve opened his eyes, he was met with the cramped interior of a trailer, with shelves of mugs on the walls. Where there weren’t mugs, there were baseball caps.

“Huh, nice place,” Steve said, and he meant it. It was small, a little worn out, but it was cozier than his house by several hundred degrees. It actually felt like a home, like it was lived in. Like there was love there.

“Don’t be an asshole, Harrington, you’re skating on thin ice as it is,” Eddie warned in a low voice and Steve flinched.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—Sorry,” he muttered, and refused to meet Eddie’s eyes when he was deposited into one of the chairs at the tiny kitchen table. He couldn’t really blame Eddie for his assumption, but still… Just like the comment Eddie made about him babysitting, it sucked.

When Mr. Munson stepped out of the bathroom with a first-aid kit, he pulled up short upon seeing Steve, his expression dark.

“This is a little more hurt than ‘kinda’, Eddie,” Mr. Munson said in a low voice, pulling up a chair to sit in front of Steve. “You get into a tussle with a bear, kid?”

“No, sir. Another classmate,” Steve replied quickly.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Apple rarely falls far from the tree,” Mr. Munson muttered, almost under his breath, and with sudden clarity Steve understood that Mr. Munson was talking about his father, that there was history there.

Steve knew about his father’s reputation; the man bragged about his glory days in high school and college. Steve often heard about it the most during the worst of his lectures and punishments growing up. Richard Harrington never let anyone forget who was in charge, and he ruled over the halls of Hawkins High and then later Harvard with his fists. Richard Harrington didn’t even have to be challenged before he asserted himself, Richard Harrington never gave anyone the chance to take his crown.

Most people seemed impressed by Steve’s father, they would call him a “man’s man” and strong. So many people described him as a provider, a protector even. A man that strong, that intelligent, that wealthy? He had to be doing something right.

And then there were people like Wayne Munson, the people who did real work and lived out of run-down trailers on the outskirts of Hawkins, and their disdain for people like Richard Harrington was palpable. Had Mr. Munson ever personally been targeted by Steve’s father? Maybe. Or maybe someone Mr. Munson knew had been.

The nauseating shame that filled Steve’s gut at that had him diverting his gaze to his lap. Part of him wanted to say he wasn’t like his father, to insist that he was his father’s greatest disappointment and how he didn’t care about trying to change that anymore.

The very thought of saying any of that out loud in front of anyone, let alone Eddie and his uncle, was mortifying, though.

“Where’s this cut you need stitched up, kid?”

Steve heard the question but it didn’t sink in right away, didn’t reach through his fog of concussion and shame until Eddie snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Hey man, you okay?” Eddie asked when Steve looked up at him.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Steve said, swallowing thickly against the nausea roiling in his core. “Thank you for offering to help, and thank you Mr. Munson, but maybe I should go. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Harrington. Jesus, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Eddie said pointedly, and Mr. Munson frowned a bit at that. “Just show Wayne your head,” Eddie added firmly, crossing his arms.

Steve just nodded and turned his head, cringing as Mr. Munson began moving his hair out of the way to see the injury. “Jesus, kid, what the hell happened?” he asked, and his tone demanded an answer. Mr. Munson got up to collect a bowl of warm water and a washcloth, which he used to start cleaning some of the blood off of the skin around the wound.

“He broke a plate over my head,” Steve answered immediately, and Eddie made a disgusted noise. “I don’t remember much after that.”

“Knew that piece of shit wouldn’t fight fair,” Eddie grumbled.

“Was the rest of your busted face before or after the plate?” Mr. Munson asked, and Steve gave a weak shrug. “Don’t give me that, boy. Answer the question.”

“After,” Steve answered.

Mr. Munson’s hands pulled away from Steve’s head to start preparing the needle and thread. “Sounds to me like the cops should be involved,” he said shortly.

“Hopper knows,” Steve replied tensely. “I’m not pressing charges.”

“Of course you’re not,” Eddie muttered, and Steve could hear the eye-roll.

“Time for both of you to shut up now. He can’t be yapping while I’m doing this,” Mr. Munson said, which effectively shut both of them up.

Steve tried to think of other things while Mr. Munson worked quietly, and part of him was glad he was just generally in pain everywhere. He barely felt the needle. The worst part was when Mr. Munson would tug his hair just a bit too much while trying to keep it out of the way. Eventually, he huffed after a few minutes of fighting with Steve’s hair and the needle.

“That’s it—” he started and ice-cold fear lanced through Steve’s gut.

“Please don’t shave it,” he begged, and he hated how pitiful he sounded. He was struck again with just how stupid his concern was, as if his goddamn hair was actually important.

It was just one of the few things he still had going for him. Even if he no longer had the popularity, or Nancy Wheeler, or a future his father might be proud of, he still had his stupid hair.

Mr. Munson sighed, his eyes softening at the plea. “I’m not gonna shave it, kid. I promise. Eddie, get over here and make yourself useful,” he said over his shoulder, and Eddie jumped forward. “I need you to gently hold his hair away from the cut, got it? Don’t pull so hard you’re reopening it or yanking the stitches, just enough that it stays out of my way.”

Eddie nodded and stepped behind Steve’s chair to frame the cut with his hands. With hands smoothing his hair out of the way and holding him so firmly, Steve sighed and relaxed into the chair.

“That good, Wayne?”

“It’ll do.”

Steve winced when Mr. Munson got back to work, and one of Eddie’s thumbs started moving in soothing little strokes behind his ear. The effect was immediate, his body relaxing as much as it could at that moment while actively keeping his head up. Behind him, Eddie chuckled and stepped closer so Steve could rest his head back against him. The thumb kept sliding back and forth behind Steve’s ear, lulling him into a quieter state of mind for the first time in a while.

Steve startled when Mr. Munson pulled away and Eddie’s hands disappeared.

“That should do’er,” Mr. Munson sighed as he started to clean everything up. “Come back in a few days and I’ll remove them.”

Sitting up on his own, Steve asked, “Can I remove them on my own?”

Mr. Munson looked at him flatly, before looking at Eddie above Steve’s head. When he met Steve’s gaze again, his expression brooked no argument. “Come back in a few days and I’ll remove them,” he repeated and Steve nodded carefully.

“Of course, sir,” Steve muttered, looking around. “I should probably go home.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Eddie said quickly, and when Steve looked up at him, he caught the tail-end of a wordless conversation between uncle and nephew. Eddie was shaking his head sharply before he turned a strained smile down at Steve, and Mr. Munson was rolling his eyes tiredly. “C’mon, Harrington, your chariot awaits.”

When Steve stood up, he was a lot less dizzy, which was a relief. He knew the vehicle would still be hell, but it was a necessary evil. This time, he decided he would ride up front with Eddie instead of laying in the back like an invalid.

The sun was still painfully bright, but even that was getting manageable. Once inside the van, he leaned back and shut his eyes tightly.

“You good, Harrington?” Eddie asked as he started the van.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just relaxing my head,” Steve replied, swallowing thickly. “Didn’t wanna say this in front of your uncle, but can you just drop me off downtown? My car’s still—”

“Harrington, if you think I’m going to knowingly let you drive like this for even a second, you must really have one hell of a concussion,” Eddie interrupted sharply. “I’m taking you home.”

“Not even taking me to dinner first?” Steve teased before he could stop himself.

Eddie barked out a laugh and didn’t respond.

“Seriously, Munson, my car—”

“Can’t someone else pick it up for you? You can give me your keys and I can give them to anyone you want,” Eddie suggested and Steve’s brow furrowed as he turned his face toward him, eyes still shut.

“This is ridiculous, I’m perfectly capable of driving,” he insisted and Eddie scoffed.

“Sure you are, just open your eyes,” Eddie challenged and Steve grimaced.

“Fuck you, man,” he sighed without any heat to it and Eddie laughed again.

“Seriously, though, give me your keys once we get to your house I’ll make sure your car gets back to you,” Eddie promised.

“Even if I told you to take my keys to Chief Hopper?” Steve challenged and Eddie barked out another laugh.

“Bold of you to assume me and Hopper don’t like each other,” Eddie teased and Steve actually opened his eyes just a bit to look at him.

“Seriously?” Steve asked and Eddie just chuckled and shrugged.

“I mean, the guy’s had plenty of opportunities to make my life hell, but he hasn’t,” he said evasively, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Figure that has to count for something.”

Steve just shrugged and closed his eyes again. “Maybe. Fine, then take my keys to Hopper,” he decided, if only because it would be less out of Hopper’s way to bring his car to him than literally anyone else.

Steve wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he was startled again as the van stopped.

“We have arrived at Castle Harrington,” Eddie proclaimed as he turned the van off, and he was smirking when Steve opened his eyes again to look at him. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Sure,” Steve said, and he felt his cheeks heat with a blush. Confused at that reaction, Steve got out of the van as quickly as he safely could, careful not to trigger another dizzy spell.

When he unlocked his front door, he paused to look back at Eddie, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. “Did you want to come in?” he offered, his words a bit stilted.

“No,” Eddie laughed, looking up at the huge house. “I’ll pass, Harrington. Plus, I have an errand to run for you.”

“Right, uh, here you are,” Steve replied, handing his key chain to Eddie. “Thanks. For everything. I really appreciate it, Munson.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it, Harrington,” Eddie replied, and Steve watched as a blush rose to Eddie’s cheeks. He looked Eddie over again and remembered the blood on his vest. 

“Shit, your vest. Let me get it cleaned for you,” Steve insisted, pointing at the spots.

Glancing down at his vest, Eddie shook his head quickly. “No way, Harrington. I’ll handle it. Plus,” he started, grinning broadly as he leaned into Steve’s space. “It’s kinda metal, don’t you think?”

Steve stared at Eddie, a dazed little smile rising to his lips. “I have no idea what that means, Munson,” he admitted, and he felt a little proud at the loud laugh that got.

“Oh, Harrington, when you say shit like that, it makes me wanna corrupt you,” Eddie sighed, tilting his head as he took a step back. Steve rolled his eyes at that, the tips of his ears feeling hot.

“I’ll see you around,” Steve said, stepping backward into his house and Eddie nodded with a little wave before bounding down the walk back to his van.

Steve watched from his doorway while Eddie sat in his van and appeared to begin scolding himself. The man was always very animated, his gestures huge and typically very clear to read—the way he ran his hands through his hair in frustration, or the light smacks to his forehead, or the way he seemed to lean back and plead skyward. It was hilarious to watch if a bit baffling.

Eddie glanced back at the house and visibly jumped at seeing Steve still standing there. He couldn’t see from that distance, but Steve was positive that the nervous shake of Eddie’s head was paired with a blush. With another shake of his head and a laugh, Eddie leaned over to the passenger side of the bench and rolled the window down.

“The hell are you still standing out here for, Harrington? Get the fuck inside!” he shouted at Steve, his grin huge.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve called back, waving at Eddie before he finally turned and shut the door.

After an afternoon being tucked into the back of Eddie’s van and then inside Eddie’s trailer with his uncle, the big Harrington house felt cavernous. His parents weren’t even in town anymore. They left again for business around the time Steve was on the train tracks with Dustin setting the trap for D’art. When he had finally gotten home after that entire ordeal, he had been relieved to have the house to himself.

There was a smaller part of him that had ached for someone to be there and care that he was hurt, to take care of his bruised face and call him in sick to school. There he was, almost eighteen and wanting his mom like a child. That ache was there again, but with an angrier edge to it that he was too sore and too tired to unravel.

With a huff, Steve went upstairs to wash up as best as he could and get changed. Belatedly, he realized that he had lost the bottle of painkillers he bought, making his entire excursion earlier pointless.‘Not completely pointless,’ Steve corrected himself as he fussed with his hair gently, a reluctant smile coming to his face as he thought about the overall afternoon.

Chapter Five: B-Side

Steve groaned at the booming cop-knocking at his front door as he shuffled toward it. He had been dozing on the couch and his equilibrium was slow to reacquaint with itself upon waking up. It was a lot better than earlier, at least.

“I’m coming, Jesus, relax!” Steve shouted as he got to the front door, opening it with a bit too much gusto and losing his balance.

Hopper was quick to catch him before he toppled over, one big hand on his shoulder and the other around his elbow.

“Jesus, kid, you somehow look worse,” Hopper grumbled, stepping inside without letting go of him.

“Thanks, Chief,” Steve said with a self-deprecating laugh, and he didn’t fight when Hopper sat him down on the stairs.

“Your folks still not home?” Hopper asked as he looked around, his eyes landing on the note that was on the side table at the door from Steve’s parents. Picking it up, he read it with a frown.

“You got a warrant for that?” Steve grumbled, tipping his head back to stare at the high ceiling instead of the subtle, sad tilt of Hopper’s frown.

“I’m off-duty, kid. I’m checking on you,” Hopper said, and Steve could hear him crumpling up the note. “This says you’re on your own for Thanksgiving?”

“Does it?” Steve asked, and genuinely he hadn’t even read it. His father’s handwriting was hard enough to read at the best of times, and the head injury didn’t help with that.

“You’re coming to Thanksgiving with me and the Byers,” Hopper said firmly, and when Steve looked at him again, his expression brooked zero argument. “And if you argue, I’m telling Joyce you’re home alone with a head injury, you got it?”

Steve glowered weakly up at Hopper before shrugging. “Okay. Should I bring something?” he asked, rolling his eyes at Hopper’s smug smile.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” he replied before leaning back against the front door, his expression stern. “What’re you doing with Munson?”

Steve frowned up at Hopper. “We ran into each other when I was out earlier and he helped me out,” he replied after a bit, shrugging. “I’m not doing drugs if that’s what you're asking.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking, Harrington,” Hopper sighed, but the uncomfortable way he glanced away said differently. “I’m keeping your car at the station until Wayne removes your stitches at least—”

“C’mon, Chief,” Steve protested, his mouth hanging open in shock. “You can’t be serious!”

“You heard me! I’ve half a mind to ticket you for driving earlier on principle!” Hopper shouted over him, just loud enough to shut Steve up. “As I was saying, I’m keeping your car at the station. I’ll bring you to Wayne’s place to get your stitches removed since you refuse to see a doctor. Then I’ll decide if you’re good to have your car back. Do you understand?”

“This is ridiculous,” Steve grumbled.

“I asked you a question, Harrington,” Hopper pressed, stepping forward to loom over him.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Steve agreed, glancing away from him.

“Glad to hear it. Munson also gave me this. You apparently left it in his van,” Hopper said, pulling a bottle of painkillers out of his pocket and handing it to Steve.

Steve blinked at it before accepting it, smiling down at it a bit. He wondered if Eddie had been removing the blankets he bled on and that was when he found the bottle. “Uh, thanks, I thought I lost this,” he said, nodding up at Hopper.

Hopper stared down at Steve for a long while, frowning thoughtfully in that way that scrunched up his whole face. Then he sighed through his nose. “You’re a good kid, Harrington. I thought you were a snotty little prick like your old man—”

“Wow, thanks—?”

“But I was wrong. Munson’s a good kid, too, but he’s on a track that doesn’t look great. People in this town will talk,” Hopper said very deliberately. “You should be ready to deal with that if you’re gonna be running around with him.”

Steve stared at him, and he knew Hopper was right. What if word somehow got back to his parents that he had been in the local drug dealer’s van and trailer, and that drug dealer was at their house? Was that a fight he wanted to deal with while he was still firmly under his parents’ thumbs? He thought back to the argument Eddie got into with the cashier at Melvald’s and cringed. He’d be lucky if he didn’t get a “concerned” phone call from his mother within the week.

“I’m not running around with him, Chief. He was just helping me out today, okay? We go to school together, so we’re friendly,” Steve said, shrugging under Hopper’s hard stare.

“Good talk,” Hopper said before glancing around one more time. “Put your shoes on and grab a coat. You’re coming to dinner with me and El.”

“I’m not really up to going to a restaurant,” Steve declined, making a face up at Hopper.

“You need a proper meal, and I already told El you were coming,” Hopper replied, shrugging at Steve’s puzzled look.

“I don’t even—why would that matter to me?” Steve asked, even though he already felt his resolve to say no waning. He had a soft-spot for all of the kids, but especially the quieter ones like Will and Eleven. It was baffling though that him not going would possibly disappoint her. “Why would that matter to her? I’ve only really been around her like, three times, and I don’t think I’ve spoken to her once.”

“Listen, I make it a point to avoid understanding what teenage girls think about, kid,” Hopper sighed tiredly. “I told her I had to come by your place and make sure you weren’t dying on our way to dinner, and she asked if you were coming.”

“And you just told her yes?” Steve asked incredulously, even as he stood up to collect his shoes and coat.

“Of course I did,” Hopper replied, snorting. “I mean, it wasn’t like it was that hard to convince you anyway.”

“Where are we even going? Is it okay for her to be out?” Steve pushed, frowning.

For the first time since the conversation started, Hopper faltered and Steve glared. “We aren’t going to a restaurant,” Hopper admitted after a moment. “We’re going to the Byers’ house for dinner.”

Steve groaned, imagining his evening sitting at dinner with a cop, a girl with psychic powers, a boy they just barely saved from possession, his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend, and Joyce Byers. Who would take one look at him and freak out completely. After everything that had happened and between them all splitting up, Joyce hadn’t actually seen Steve after all was said and done. Come to think of it, neither had Jonathan. Nancy only knew how messed up he was because she came to his house after school on Monday when he didn’t show up.

“You said if I agreed—” Steve started to argue and Hopper shook his head sharply.

“I said I wouldn’t tell Joyce you’re home alone with a head injury,” Hopper replied, crossing his arms. “And I won’t tell her.”

“She’ll figure it out, though. She’s not stupid,” Steve snapped, and Hopper just shrugged at that.

“I didn’t say I would hide that you’re home alone with a head injury either,” he stated flatly and Steve groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he finally conceded. He knew he was resigning himself to weeks of being fussed over by Joyce, but he was too tired to keep arguing in circles and he was getting hungry.

Steve pointedly ignored the way a very small part of himself that ached constantly went quiet for once.

Chapter Six: Bonus Track

Hopper groaned when the phone on his desk rang, spiking his headache to an entirely new level. He was exhausted, still recovering from everything that happened over the weekend, particularly the way he very nearly died in the tunnels.

“Yes, Flo?” he greeted as pleasantly as he could manage as he picked up the receiver.

“Incoming, Chief.”

“Wha—?” Hopper started to ask just as his office door slammed open and in came Eddie Munson like a force of nature.

“Heya, Chief,” Eddie greeted loudly with a grin when Hopper flinched at the volume. He threw himself into the chair opposite Hopper and threw his feet up on the desk. “How’s it going?”

“What do you want, Munson?” Hopper asked flatly, eying the dirty shoes on top of his desk with disdain.

“Can’t a guy catch up with his favourite cop?” Eddie asked, batting his eyes innocently at Hopper as he fished out a cigarette and lit it.

“Cut the crap, Munson. Give me one of those if you’re going to sit here wasting my time,” Hopper demanded, and Eddie tossed him the pack. With a huff, Hopper took one of the three remaining cigarettes then pocketed the carton.

“Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to say hi?” Eddie pouted before taking a drag from his cigarette, and the effort it took for Hopper to not roll his eyes was tremendous.

Hopper lit his cigarette and willed the nicotine to calm his steadily fraying nerves. “Why would a drug dealer—”

“Alleged drug dealer,” Eddie interrupted pointedly. “Never been caught and convicted, and you know how it is, innocent until—”

“I will search you right here and now, Munson,” Hopper threatened half-heartedly and Eddie got a mischievous look on his face.

“Hop, I’m annoying, not stupid. You wouldn’t find a damn thing on me or in my van,” he said with a teasing tilt to his head and Hopper took a deep breath in through his nose and held it for five seconds. Releasing that breath, he took a drag off of his cigarette on the next one.

He would not let Eddie Munson get under his skin when his day was so close to being over. He only had to make it through two more hours until he could go home and pick El up for dinner at the Byers’.

“How. Can I. Help you. Munson?” Hopper asked slowly and deliberately before reaching over to shove Eddie’s feet off his desk.

Eddie had apparently been supporting most of his weight that way and yelped as he nearly fell out of his chair completely. Hopper couldn’t deny how much that alone raised his spirits.

“Shit, Hopper, you made me drop my smoke,” Eddie complained, picking the cigarette up and tossing it into the ashtray on the desk to burn out.

“Munson, either get to the point of your visit or leave,” Hopper pushed, and maybe something in his tone finally got through to the kid. Eddie righted himself in his chair properly before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket. After a moment, he frowned and stood up to dig in his other pockets.

Hopper studied the kid a bit now that he was distracted, and his eyes focused on the dark stains on his shoulder. “Munson, is that blood?” he asked, alarm overtaking his annoyance as he stood up and came around the desk to look closer.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie said as he glanced down at his denim vest, shrugging. “Yeah, it is. Not mine though.”

Hopper stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Eddie just continued digging in his pockets until he pulled out two sets of car keys and sat back down. Blinking up at Hopper, Eddie asked, “What?”

“Whose blood is on your vest, Munson?” Hopper said in a low voice, and for the first time since Eddie entered the room, he looked a bit less cocky.

“Steve Harrington’s,” Eddie replied, and Hopper stared at him for several long seconds, again waiting for him to elaborate. Eddie just raised his eyebrows up at Hopper before the corner of his mouth quirked upward into a little smirk.

“Edward Munson, you have five seconds—”

“I ran into him on the street, he ate shit, and had a massive bleeding wound where Billy Hargrove broke a plate over his head, so I took him to my uncle,” Eddie said in a tight tone, and Hopper realized that the kid was angry now. More than that, the kid was angry at him for some reason. Was he pissed the whole time and Hopper was only just figuring that out?

“Christ, Munson,” Hopper grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as his headache throbbed behind his eyes. How did Wayne live with this kid and his moods?

“Steve claims you know about the fight,” Eddie said, and it was said like a statement, but it was clearly more of a question, like he didn’t quite buy Steve’s story.

“Yes, I do. He declined pressing charges,” Hopper replied, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.

“Did you know about his head?” Eddie asked, and Hopper sucked his teeth. Steve had, predictably, played down his injuries when Hopper got back from the lab with El, and all of that hair of his helped hide the alleged open wound.

“Where is Harrington now?” Hopper asked instead of answering Eddie’s question, looking around for his truck keys and hat.

Eddie huffed. “Don’t worry, I made sure he got home alright. He asked me to give you these,” he said, holding up the keys for Steve’s Beemer. “It’s parked in the alley around the corner from Melvald’s.”

Hopper took the keys, a flash of anger spiking through him that the kid was stupid enough to drive with a concussion at all. When he glanced down at Eddie, he could see he was still pissed off. “What, Munson?”

“What are you going to do about Hargrove?” Eddie asked, his tone low. “Steve said he was going to kill the kids he was supposedly babysitting.”

“He was babysitting,” Hopper said, almost defensively, on Steve’s behalf and Eddie reared back.

“That’s the part of my sentence you focus on?” he asked and Hopper held a hand up.

“First of all, I will remind you that Steve declined pressing charges—”

“Why does that matter?” Eddie interjected angrily. “Does attempted murder need the victim to press charges?”

Hopper dropped what was left of his cigarette into the ashtray as he pushed off the desk to go shut the door of his office. Once he was back at the desk, half sitting on it and looming over Eddie, he said slowly, “There were extenuating circumstances surrounding the bullshit with Hargrove that you are not, and cannot be privy to, Munson. So yes, while I would love to do something about that little shit, I can’t about this incident because Steve. Is not. Pressing charges.”

Eddie glared up at him, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his chin out defiantly. Hopper immediately thought of the day he met Eddie, and despite his generalized annoyance with the kid, he felt a sad sort of fondness.

“Why do you even care this much about it, Munson?” Hopper asked, trying to return his focus to their conversation. But when Eddie immediately looked away nervously, his face turning pink under Hopper’s stare, Hopper heaved a huge sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face.

It was about a week after Hopper returned to Hawkins to take up his post as chief of police when he met Eddie. The kid’s hair was a lot shorter, still growing out an unfortunate buzz cut, and he was skinny in a way that spoke of the neglect he dealt with before the system dropped him onto his uncle’s doorstep. Hopper had been driving around, reacquainting himself with his hometown after years away, when he happened upon a group of young men jumping Eddie. The cowards had bolted before Hopper’s truck came to a complete stop.

He could still remember the conversation they had while Hopper took the kid’s statement at the hospital.

“What started the fight?”

“I’m a faggot.” Tone sharp, full of venom.

“Is that what they said?”

“Yeah, that’s what they said, but they’re right.” Conviction, even as his eyes were full of tears, that defiant tilt of his wobbling chin. Waiting for Hopper to hit him, too. “I am a faggot.”

Hopper tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Eddie,” he sighed and Eddie huffed.

“You can’t say shit to me I haven’t already said to myself, Chief,” Eddie grumbled miserably, his crossed arms squeezing himself tighter as he folded in on himself.

“Harrington, though?” Hopper asked him, trying to keep his tone light, teasing almost. “Of all the boys to be all… hormonal and mushy about, it had to be a Harrington?”

“Again, Chief, I’ve already said all of that to myself. Repeatedly,” Eddie said with a shrug. “And Uncle Wayne said it all in even more colourful terms.”

Hopper heaved another sigh. “He wants you to be careful, stay safe. Hell, that’s what I want too,” he said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie replied, and he slouched in his chair. “Steve’s a lot nicer now.”

“That’s true,” Hopper agreed flatly as he crouched to better meet Eddie’s eyes. Heaving a big sigh, he added, “you should still remember who his father is, and that Steve might still follow in his footsteps.”

Hopper went to high school with Richard Harrington, had been on the receiving end of his fists more times than he could count, and he knew how Richard felt about gay people. He knew how much more brutal his fists could get if he thought someone was queer. Hopper did not want Richard Harrington to find out about Eddie at all, which would be easier if the kid stayed away from Steve.

Eddie sighed and looked away from Hopper, spinning the rings on his fingers around nervously. “Yeah, I know,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Okay, good talk,” Hopper said, standing back up and returning to his chair. “Now get out of my office.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to try and tell me to stay away from him?” Eddie asked skeptically.

“I’m not your parent, Munson. Be careful, though,” Hopper replied, shrugging. “Even if Steve isn’t a problem, he’s still living with his parents.”

“We’re not even friends, Chief. You don’t have to worry about that shit,” Eddie said as he stood up and started for the door.

Hopper nodded and then he asked, “were Steve’s parents’ home when you dropped him off?”

Eddie looked back at him from the door and shook his head. “The house seemed empty. And I mean, he had to get his own—oh yeah!” he said excitedly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. “He forgot this in my van. Can you get it to him?”

Hopper took the bottle of pills and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get it to him, kid. Now fuck off,” he barked and Eddie snorted as he left his office with just as much noise as he arrived.

“Hey, Callahan! Love what you’re trying with the mustache, man, really distracts the eye from just… the rest of your face. Yeugh.”

Hopper snorted, allowing himself one moment to be amused by Eddie Munson’s nonsense.

[ NEXT ]

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Return of Sunshine

Okie dokie. Hey look it isn't several months before I am posting again. Go me! I am back with a part 2 to Mr Fancy Pants, @avengers-fixation requested some set in this imagine. So here it is. This is just after Sunshine returns from their undercover op. I hope you all enjoy.

I do recommend reading Mr Fancy Pants first to get a better feel for the reader and what happened, as it is alluded to in this piece.

Also side note, the gif will totally make sense. Hehe.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of violence. Implied sexual content.

Mr Fancy Pants

Master List

Prompt List

Rafael’s eyes kept glancing towards his phone where it sat next to the piles of paperwork he was slowly making his way through. And by slowly, he meant taking five minutes to read one paragraph, since his brain wasn’t taking in anything. The reason for his lack of distraction? Sunshine. God’s damn Sunshine. That FBI agent got under his skin, and now won’t leave. They had been messaging occasionally while Sunshine was undercover, it was only every few days, but Sunshine hadn’t responded to his last message which was sent five days ago. They had never taken that long to respond. Rafael was…worried. Worried that something had happened and it would be unlikely that Rafael would ever find out what.

Six months. It had only taken six months for Rafael to decide that he wanted Sunshine in his life. In what capacity he wasn’t sure yet. He hadn’t been able to meet up with Sunshine in person as it turns out they were correct and they had gotten the attention of their target and had quickly left.

“Shit,” he muttered picking up his phone and navigating to the conversation with Sunshine. He stared at the last message.

To Sunshine: When you get back, we should grab a drink.

And then there was nothing. Rafael half worried that he had scared you off but then he remembered the little note you had left him. Stating that the flirting was over the top but based in truth. So, he knew you were interested in him. Which meant something had happened. He was so close to talking to Liv about this, about whether she had a way to see if you were okay but that meant telling her that the two of you had been talking for the past six months. And for some reason he wasn’t quite ready to let others know. He wanted to keep this for himself, just for a little bit but…if it meant getting an answer on if you where safe maybe it would be worth it. He switched to Olivia’s contact, finger hovering over the call button.

“Hey there Mr Fancy Pants, long time no see,” Rafael felt his whole-body freeze, eyes widening at that voice as he looked over to the now open doorway of his office. He dropped his phone as he stood up from his chair so fast it hit the bookcase behind him.

“Sunshine?” he asked, voice full of disbelieve.

“Miss me?” your lips quirked up in a teasing grin as you walked into his office, closing the door behind you. The response you got from just showing up out of the blue with no warning was so definitely worth it. Even knowing he was probably going to chew you out. You hadn’t meant to ignore him for five days but your phone got destroyed and then there was paperwork and by the time you were free to go with orders for two months leave from your bosses you decided you just wanted see him.

“You…you’re okay?” well that was not what you expected him to say. You’re teasing grin softened as you walked around his desk to stand next to him, he looked so worried and so relieved that you were there.

“Yeah, I mean I’m a little banged up but I’m okay,” you smiled at him. His hands were twitching so you reached out to grab them, holding them in your own. “I’m sorry that I haven’t contacted you. My phone got destroyed, and then everything just went from 0 to 100 real quick and I only just got clearance for leave from my bosses and I just wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?” Rafael questioned. His eyes seemed to be stuck on your intertwined hands, your struggled to keep your smile from growing back to the teasing grin, as it appeared Rafael was struggling to process everything. It occurred to you that your silence might have affected him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Over the six months you had been messaging the lawyer you had grown to like him quite a lot but you hadn’t realised that maybe he had grown to like you as well.

“I did,” you nodded. “I wanted to tell you in person that I won’t be going undercover for a while, and that I would love to get a drink with you.”

Rafael’s eyes snapped up to yours at that, the shock of seeing you finally fading. He wanted to keep holding your hands, he never wanted to let you go. He squeezed your hands as his lips curled into his normal cocky smirk.

“Have I had that much of an effect on you, Sunshine?” Rafael asked raising an eyebrow. Early on in your messages back and forth he asked you if he could continue to call you Sunshine, that he kind of liked the name for you. You had agreed easily, for some reason it felt right to be called Sunshine by him.

“Don’t go getting a big head handsome,” you rolled your eyes, reluctantly pulling your hands away from his as you leant against his desk. “But yes, you have. And apparently, I had quite the effect on you as well. But well, that isn’t a surprise really. I am fabulous.”

“…So, the persona you took on for this case wasn’t really far from the truth?”

“Okay, rude, but no not really,” you shrugged casually looking at your nails. “The best kind of undercover alias is one that isn’t far from the truth, easier to remember. Of course, there have been times my personality is nothing like my actual one but well, sickos apparently like my sunny disposition.”

Rafael studied you closely, watching the way you spoke those words. You hated that fact yet the way you said it so casually showed how much you didn’t want others to know that. He wondered how often you spent being other people, and if you ever truly let others see the real you, not just pieces here and there but everything. And he found himself wishing he could be that person.

“A drink,” Rafael suggested picking his phone up before holding out his hand to you.

“What now?” you asked raising an eyebrow, your eyes flicking towards the clock on the wall. “It’s not even 5, and you looked a little busy.”

“My work can wait,” Rafael felt his face twitch at that comment, as his eyes dropping to the pile of paperwork on his desk that he hadn’t made any headway in.

“From that look I doubt it can,” you chuckled, taking his hand to press a kiss on his knuckles. Grinning when you saw his cheeks flush. “We’ll get drinks, but later, after your work for the day is done. I’ll come back at five on the dot to pick you up.”

You didn’t let him make any arguments, only squeezing his hand as you pushed away from the desk, pausing long enough to press a kiss to his cheek before leaving the office, throwing a quick wink over your shoulder as you left out the door. Rafael stood there frozen, his hand still in the air from where you let it go.

“Oh.”

--

“Come on, gorgeous,” you walked through his doors without even knocking. “It’s five and it’s time for that drink.”

You frowned briefly when the man in question was not at his desk. You tilted your head as you slowly scanned his office, pausing when you saw him sitting on the couch just inside the door. A pen paused halfway to his mouth and his wide eyes staring at you.

“Sunshine,” he said, eyes flicking to the clock. “Punctual.”

“Obviously,” you grinned. “An FBI agent is always on time.”

“I have several police detectives who might argue otherwise,” Rafael sassed throwing his pen on the table and standing up. Your eyes drifted down the line of his torso as he stretched his arms up.

“Hm-hm,” you hummed not bothering to feel offended by that. It didn’t matter that you were friends with Liv and Finn, there would always be animosity between Feds and local police. “Well, come on handsome, times awastin’.”

“In such a hurry, Sunshine?”

“Only for you Mr Fancy Pants,” you winked holding out your hand, wiggling your fingers at him and grinning. “And don’t even try to deny that you weren’t watching the clock for the past four hours.”

Rafael felt his insides warming, he couldn’t say anything because you were correct, he had absolutely been watching the clock. But that was not something he would be telling you. His eyed your wiggling hand, lips twitching up in amusement as he reached out for it. He couldn’t resist you and your ridiculous ways. This night stood be rather amusing.  

--

“Oh bullshit!” you giggled, the third whiskey making you warm. And that was the story you were sticking with. It nothing to do with how close you were sitting to Rafael body twisted to face him, one leg pulled up under you, or the fact that he had his arm resting on the back of the booth, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder.

“Ask Finn,” Rafael shrugged, cheeks warm as you leaned closer to him.

“Okay first off, Finn would totally back that bullshit story, so I would not be trusting him,” waving your finger in his face. “Secondly, there is no way the judge allowed the defendant to choke you with a belt.”

“Fine, ask Liv or Amanda,” Rafael took a sip of his scotch. “Or I do believe there is a video of it up on the internet somewhere.”

“You’re shitting me?” you pulled out your phone. “I have got to find this.”

“Good luck,”

“Sweetie, you seem to be forgetting that I am Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigations,” waving away his comment you quickly typed on your phone. “Got it.”

Rafael almost choked on his drink at your statement. He had clearly underestimated your ability to find things on the internet. He couldn’t help but watch your face, before watching the video it had been lit up with a triumph look that he wanted to see all the time. He was fascinated as emotions played across your face, confusion, amusement, and concern? And oh, that was something new he hadn’t seen on your face yet. It looked like, rage?

“Dude,” your eyes slowly raised up to his the look in them pinning him in place, he wondered if this is how criminals felt when locked in a room with you. “You could have been seriously hurt. What were you thinking?”

“That I had to get that arsehole to show the court who he truly is,” Rafael shrugged, eyebrows furrowed as he studied you more. Was that rage directed at him? “Are you mad at me for something I did nearly three years?”

“No, yes…maybe, I don’t know,” you huffed dropping your phone back on the table and lent against the back of the booth, which resulted in you leaning against his arm. “You put yourself in danger, which is admirable and explains so much about you.”

Rafael had to admit he was a little confused, the others had shown concern for him but not anger at his actions. It was…an odd feeling. He kind of liked it. And.

“Being angry at me for it explains a lot about you,” he said, his fingers curling to play with the hair at the nape of your neck. Your skin prickled at the touch, as you lent into it.

“I suppose it does,” you breathed, voice raspy. “I should point out, that he is lucky I wasn’t there. I would have punched him in the throat.”

“Then it definitely is a good thing you weren’t there,” he chuckled. “That would have caused some issues and I would have been furious about it. But thank you.”

“Well, gotta defend my handsome little lawyer,” you grinned moving a little closer to Rafael so your bent knee touched his thigh, you wanted more contact with him. The hand playing with the hair on your nape settled there, his thumb stroking gently. That contact made it feel like electricity was running under your skin.

“Little?”

“That’s what you focused on?”

“You’ve been calling me handsome since you met me,”

“Well, sure but…oh never mind,” you giggled reaching for your whiskey to finish it off but quickly moved back to the same position hoping that Rafael would put his hand back. You almost sighed in happiness when he did, a slight squeeze accompanying it.

Rafael couldn’t help it, the way you responded to his touch made him happy. He wondered if you knew that your eyes just lit up or that you pushed back into his hand. His hand and thigh felt like they were burning but he was definitely not removing his hand or moving away from your knee. Especially if you kept looking at him like that like he was…oh. You sent Rafael a puzzled look when his eyes seemed to heat up before he quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing as he covered his mouth with his hand, eyes shifting to you and then away very quickly.

“Sunshine,” Rafael said voice soft with affection. “Would you like come back to mine for some coffee?”

“Coffee?” you said, face soft with a fond look as you leaned close to him. “Is that all?”

“What else would my Sunshine like to do?” he gently lifted your chin before stroking your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Hmm, maybe I wanna kiss my Fancy Pants lawyer,” you answered leaning closer, your lips stopping just before his so your next words caused your lips to brush together. “I’ve been waiting six months.”

“Well, can’t have you waiting any longer, that would be a crime.”

You finally allowed yourself to sigh happily when his lips pressed firmly against yours. His tongue teasingly swiping against your lips before withdrawing. He pulled away pressing his forehead against yours.

“My place,” he suggested eyes burning brightly. “Now.”

“Fuck yes.”

[desolateddreamur]

Paper Trail

Kyle x Poet!Reader

Story: Being too shy to confess face to face, you decide to give Kyle a challenge to figure it out himself.

Gender neutral reader!

Requested? No!

TW: Cartman.

Note: P2 anyone?

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He sighed loosely, sulking off to his locker. Valentine's day was coming up and everyone had someone to celebrate it with... But not Kyle. Not poor, sweet Kyle.

Three days til... He thought glumly, opening his locker. To his surprise, a piece of paper fluttered out. He grasped it quickly, desperately, even, to read it.

Hope you don't mind,

I want to be your valentine.

Each day brings a poem,

Each day gives a hint,

Find me out early and you might earn a kiss!

Three days' all you have,

Now here comes the hint!

You know who I am,

Just as much as I know you.

Maybe ask a friend or two,

Like someone in a hat that's red and blue.

Xx,

Your secret admirer

Kyle felt his heart soar abruptly, reading the note over and over. He slammed his locker shut and leaned his back to it, note pressed to his chest.

So the hint was with Stan, huh? He thought excitedly. This was it! He would get a Valentine! He dashed off to the lunch table his clique shared to talk about it.

Quickly grabbing lunch from the line, he slid into his seat and spoke quickly, "Stan! I got a Valentine's poem in my locker and it says you have a hint on who wrote it!"

Stan, who was sipping his milk, choked on it at the statement and shot milk out of his nose. Kenny instantly burst out laughing. When the coughing fit ended and the ravenette settled back down, he glared over.

"Yeah, I do. But next time wait til I'm not drinking something?!"

"I neeeed that hint, though! I have until Valentine's day to find out who it is!" Kyle brought up, shovelling a spoonful of corn into his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, here you go..."

Stan scoffed and recited what he was told.

"We share our pottery class."

"Pottery class?" He remained puzzled, but kept it in mind for the rest of the day.

"Hah! Some fucking sissy in a pottery class likes Kahl!" Cartman wheezed, "Probably a dumb trick to make fun of him being a lonely jew!"

"Shut up, fatboy! At least I have a valentine!" He sneers back.

"AYE!"

So lunch came and went, the poem still on his mind day in and day out. In pottery class, he eyed around at every person there. He had to weed out just who exactly wrote that poem!

He knew it couldn't be anyone he didn't know, so a majority of the class was off the table. He couldn't recognize the handwriting either so it can't be any of the guys there.

The day ended and like in school, the romantic words written just for him were locked in his brain all afternoon and far into the night.

Morning of the next day came and he rushed to his locker for the next note. Sure enough, it was there!

Two days to go,

You should find your flow,

Like the way your curls dance in the wind.

Never in my life, would I give such advice,

To a boy that's as charming as you.

So get hint number two,

That's all I ask of you!

Find what you can,

Piece by piece, that's my plan.

Ike should know the next hint.

The kid has lots of wit.

Xx,

Your secret admirer

Kyle chewed at his lip and looked over a paper where he had written the names of his pottery classmates. Who does he know that knows Ike and shares a pottery class with him? He narrowed down more people by crossing our more names.

He groaned and set his head on his desk. The others looked at him sympathetically (except for Cartman, who started laughing his ass off.)

You give a slight smile to Kyle and his struggle, shaking your head and slipping out of the doorway unnoticed...

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The day came and the final poem was received...

The final day's come.

Hope you found my game fun.

I saw the frustration that was on your face...

But now it's time to show my shape.

Go to locker 3.2.5,

Place a note with my name inside.

At 4:23, head down Cherry Street,

Turn the corner and me you shall meet.

His breath shuddered as he slid the paper into the designated locker and left to start his school down, a determined smile on his face. He hoped he got it right... He spent so long trying to figure it out.

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.

.

You paced around the corner. It was 4:18 and he was nearly there, you presumed. You gripped the paper from the locker that has your name on it. He got it right... And that was about to be proven to him.

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Kyle took a deep breath. 4:22, and he rounded the corner.

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"H-Hi, Kyle..."

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

Hey there gal! Could you pl do headcanons of how tig characters would react if jameson got kidnapped? And maybe the same for Avery too. TYSM!!

people's reaction to jameson getting kidnapped head canons

of course! i absolutely loved doing the grayson one. i apologize for any spelling mistakes. hope you like it!

avery:

she'd be hyperventilating the entire time thinking that jamie was dead in a ditch with no clothes somewhere bc she knows thats a fucking possibility with how careless jamie is.

she would not sleep until she found him. she'd be up with the police or alone looking over all of the clues over and over again. she'd pass out due to exhaustion at some point.

she would smack jamie so hard the second they found him. she would not let him live it up.

she'd be complaining about how incompetent the police (and some of the family members) is and how 'no one can do anything right nowadays'.

she'd definitely be working with grayson most of the time cause two brains are better than one.

grayson:

like i said, he's working with avery bc he's so nervous he can't work on his own without panicking.

he'd stare at the wall blankly cursing jamie for 1. making his life more complicated and bc 2. jamie might be pranking them, and, if he is, grayson will kill him

following the last head canon, he's pondering over what way he should kill his brother.

he's ordering everyone around like he's in charge of an army. everyone is terrified.

after they find him, he complains to jamie about how he ruined his skin bc, while he was gone, he couldn't do his skincare and he kept picking at his face (jamie now owes him new skincare)

xander:

in the corner praying for jamie to come back in one piece. he's not even religious.

trying to distract himself by thinking about what percy jackson cabin every one would be in.

he's calculating the probabilities that jameson is currently in a strip club against his own will in a thong dancing for old women (he comes to the conclusion that there is a 20.9% chance and everyone is shocked but also thinks it makes sense cause jamie would totally get himself in that situation due to his carelessness)

he made a pillow fort to hide himself in because grayson is scaring the shit out of him. he also made scones and is inviting everyone in for a tarot card reader (skye taught him how to. canon, he said in tig)

he's biting his nails in the back but then starts crying bc he doesn't want to ruin his cuticles.

nash:

locks himself in a room and screams in a pillow for 20 minutes bc he's tired of everyone and everything.

has to head to the store to buy xander cuticle oil bc he's panicking over the fact that they're ruined (he canonically oils his cuticles, he said it in tig when talking about what skye taught him)

grabs onto libby's hand and does not let it go until he finds jamie. she's his emotional support cuddle person.

starts chewing his cowboy hat (like in tbh) bc he's so nervous.

the second they find jamie, he punches him in the face for being so careless.

libby:

is the only sane one. she's trying to convince everyone that maybe he's just passed out drunk somewhere

she'd make avery food and cupcakes to make sure she's eating bc we all know she probably wouldn't.

in the tent with xander getting a tarot card reading bc she knows it helps him calm down.

she heads to the store to buy a glass ball for xander so that he can pretend he's staring into your future or smth.

max

she's running around the house collecting pillows and blankets for xander's pillow fort

she's talking to libby about how fucking psychotic everyone is.

she'd give avery a massage to get her to loosen up (she'd also tell her to imagine herself in bed with jamie to get her to relax)

she'd be reading smut in the corner to try to ignore everyone else.

alisa

honestly the same thing i said in my other post, but she wouldn't be chill, she'd be exasperated bc we all know jamie probably got himself kidnapped by being too reckless.

she punishes jamie by making him go to 2409384032 interviews afterwards.

she calls the police but thinks the officers they sent are to stupid so she asks for better ones.

she calls brandon to tell him the news.

that's all i have. hope you liked it <3.

[ofallthingsnasty]

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-KciIbk_oA&pp=ygUWcG9tZXJhbmlhbnMgdHVnIG9mIHdhcg%3D%3D

This is one of my new fav videos of two Pomeranian puppies playing tug of war and I just imagine basement wife having TWO purse dogs and they’re playing tug of war like that. She thinks it’s so cute and adorable until she realizes what they are trying to rip to shreds is one of Crocodile’s ties whoops 😬

(I love how the doggos in this video are literally just…potatoes with legs)

link to the video - oh goodness, that is so cute 😭💕

part one, two and three of basement wife and puppy, minors dni

Hold on, hold on - first we have to talk about the fact that he got you two puppies, not one? My, you must have been exceptionally good for him. Husband of the year award would probably go to Crocodile if it wasn't for the fact that you're with him against your will 😭

Two little dogs... How much they'd light up your drab life. Always playing with each other, chasing the other through the halls, vying for your attention. You could just watch them all day, even while they're napping. You'll probably try your best to put together toys/parkours with what you can get your hands on (but always careful not to damage anything, you put everything back into the proper place lest Crocodile catches you). Bracelets and heavy jewelry get re-purposed to drape them on your little poms, anything to tickle your brain and get a least a smile out of you. Whenever he's in particularly good humor, he leaves some treats around so you can train them (or at least try to, with how inconsistent it all is) - paw, spin, jump, and your favorite: kisses - they're pretty much all you have and you pour all of your love into them.

But you're not the only one getting bored - it's not like you can take them out for adventures, so your territory is also theirs. And a little dog explores that all too quickly, especially a sassy one like a pom. You'll find them going through cupboards you never knew they'd be able to reach, hiding under the sofa or sitting smack-dab in the middle of it, ruining the bed, fighting over your socks like they're made out of precious metals. It makes you a little sad to see them confined to the same hamster wheel that you are, but all you can do is let them have their fun and clean up after them. (Because when Crocodile catches on, he likes to punish both you and them by keeping you apart. The dogs, like you, are decoration, something to put a smile on his favorite possession's face, so they better not piss into some corner or tear apart the expensive cushions of his favorite chaise.)

So when you notice that the fabric they're fighting over is way too tight to be a sock - and worse yet, finely patterned in a way you recognize - you try to save the remnants, desperately telling your tiny pups to stop, stop, stop before their little teeth can tear the tie to shreds. But it's too late - it's already full of dog saliva and clearly chewed on at the edges, coupled with the distinct smell of animal, not your husband's favorite cologne.

He's not a man you want to hide this from (not to mention that you have no place to tuck it away, nothing truly belongs to you in this place), because he'll figure it out as soon as he'll search for that particular one some day. A punishment is inescapable - but would turn way worse if kept away from him. Disobedience and dishonesty are grave offenses to a man like Crocodile, offenses that might result in you losing your little companions if pushed too far. So you gasp and bear the bloody welts on your ass and the cock shoved down your throat out of frustration right afterwards - anything to make it up to him, anything to keep them.

[3terna15unshin3]

hi!! would you consider writing a blurb where matty has the rahab conversation with este? like he sits down and really explains what it was like and how be struggles (maybe there’s some tears and este is super supportive and comforting)

love your work sm <3

Hi!!! thank u!!

I must say tho, I have very little knowledge on or personal experience with drug addiction and rehab, so i didn’t really feel comfortable writing anything more in depth just in caution of accidentally portraying it inaccurately or using insensitive language or romanticizing it in any way. since i do think it’s a bit odd and some ppl do cross a line when using his addiction as really intense and triggering angst😬😬😬

only sometimes tho! it can be tastefully done :) and i’m glad u requested it! anyway thank u again here it is hehe

(tbsg series masterlist) ((also please send me more requests i’m desperate))

warnings: mentions of addiction and drug use, angst

To stand it upright, Matty lifted the heavy metal to him and Este’s newest piece of furniture for their bathroom. He had spent the past half hour building the majority of the shelf, with Este passing him any tool or screw he was needing. Now that the contraption was standing, they only had a couple of stray pieces to get attached.

But before he could, his ringtone sounded. Este glanced at his screen and watched it flash ‘Frankie’ across the top. She racked her brain to think of if she’d known such a person, but it didn’t ring a bell.

“Just decline it for me, love.” Matty instructed after reading who was ringing.

She obliged and pressed on the power button to hang it up. “Who’s Frankie? Don’t want to speak to him?” She said jokingly.

He chuckled a bit. “Not that I don’t want to speak with her, maybe just not at the minute. I’ll just call her back later,” His wrist twisted a screwdriver to secure another slat.

“Oh, okay.”

Frankie’s a girl, Este digested. She thought it was a bit bizarre that Matty didn’t answer her first question, but rarely let her contextless thoughts develop into jealousy. Este’s nosy self was more eager to know what the call was about—regardless of who it was from. But she decided to leave it.

He threw her a smile and leaned all the way over to plant a kiss on the skin right in front of her ear. “Mind passing me that last screw?”

Este doesn’t mind, smiling back as blood rushes to the spot where his lips once were, while he silently continued building. When Matty glanced back at her, the shelf now complete, he could read the curiosity on Este’s face. So, he elaborated. And Matty didn’t mind elaborating when he was with her. Since he knew she’d listen.

“And Frankie’s a woman I met in rehab. We’ve kept in touch since so she calls time and again,” Matty explained, “She usually wants to talk something out, since she’s had a bit of a rough journey since treatment. Not a lot of family left. Whether it’s for advice or just for someone alike to listen. But I’m in manly-builder-testosterone mode. Didn’t feel like a good time to answer. Even though she does enjoy sharing what she’s been through and would probably love to meet you. I don’t want to unload all of her shit onto you. For your sake,”

“If her shit’s on you then it can be on me. I don’t mind. Your shit is sort of my shit too,” she said.

They burst into laughter as both of their eyes diverted to the toilet they sat next to, the ironic and gross sounding language making them giggle.

He stood back to admire the shelf that stood beside the sink, raising his hand to chew on the skin around his nails. Once his explanation was finished, his mouth stayed shut and slightly pressed. Eyes darting around the space to make sure everything was in place. Este could see that the topic was making his muscles a bit tense.

“Yeah, it is.” Matty agreed, still laughing at the poo jokes. The two of them started to transfer the various body and skin care products from the draws below the sink onto the freshly built shelf; in comfortable silence.

“I guess I haven’t really told you much about my recovery, have I? Rehab, and everything,”

“No, not really.” She shrugged, not wanting to pry.

Eventually the sink didn’t look crowded anymore, and the supplies that usually sat messily were organised. Having only recently moved in together, it was an obstacle to have to balance their belongings in the same space. So, Este sunk down to sit on the floor and lean against the wall to rest in satisfaction. They’d made good progress.

He copied her and they sat hip to hip.

“I spent most of the treatment I did in Barbados alone, believe it or not. There were plenty of nurses and doctors, but I was pretty isolated. That was until I met Frankie.” Matty tucked his knees under his chin. “I think meeting her was the first time I met anyone just as a human—no self expression, no signs of culture, no pre-conceived expectations, no representation of status. There was this insane level of purity within our connection. We were just two broken people,”

Este’s eyes didn’t leave his as he continued on. She listened intently and thoughtfully.

“But we were from the same road,” he revealed. “Not even just the same city, or town. The same road. Minutes of walking between where we grew up. And finding that out felt super emotional,”

His fingers fidgeted nervously, opening himself up more and more as he spoke. Matty found comfort in Este’s presence, though, and sought the feeling of her hand on the back of his neck or the in and out of her breath against his skin.

“Wow,” she whispered briefly, wanting him to continue. Este was fairly close, so the breath he craved grazed him ever so slightly as she spoke. It calmed him down.

“Since we’d been on the road for so long, and I obviously was having trouble coping with it, things had been so loud. Constantly. But I think the equine therapy, and meeting Frankie—it was the first time in ages things were quiet. And I really drank it in,”

She ran her hand up and down the front of his leg lovingly. “I’m so happy that you’re on the other side of that now. And that you had access to treatment that worked for you. That’s the hardest part sometimes,”

Matty nodded.

“The horses did do something, that’s for sure,” They chuckled together, “When we retire in like 40 years and move out to the countryside maybe we should get a couple. I’m a whisperer or sorts now, I think.” he suggested.

Este leaned her head down onto his shoulder, internally cooing at the mental image of the two of them growing old together. Maybe somewhere rural up north—near Manchester, to be close to family. She’d have a greenhouse and maybe grow fruits and veggies during the summer for them to eat. A couple of horses, like Matty suggested. Este had never met a horse in person, but she was sure she’d like them if he did.

“That sounds like a plan.”

He pressed his lips delicately to her forehead, dreaming of the same things that floated round in her mind. They lounged in silence—still sitting on the floor across from the sink and toilet.

“You know,” Matty started again, “I still have this dude’s number in my phone. He was my dealer here in London for a bit. I ran to him when I scored for the last time,”

There was a pained expression on his face, like he had to work through his own disdain for that time in his life before admitting it aloud. It shocked Este, realising that speaking about his addiction could be so heavy; since he was usually so open and honest about it to anyone who was curious. But this was different, as Matty dug to the parts of himself that he had learned to keep personal. He didn’t have to think twice about letting Este see them, though.

“It was early 2019. I’d been clean since rehab—and at this point I’ve honestly forgotten what brought me to the point of relapsing. But what I do remember is the morning after. I saw my mum and Louis. And it just broke me,” His sentences had long pauses between them and his voice broke over and over. The sound of it sent a pang through Este’s heart, the two of them immediately nuzzling closer into each other’s comfort. “The guilt was all-consuming. I was so ashamed knowing that I was hugging my little brother still strung out from the night before. Smiling at him while lying about being clean,”

Matty dropped his head into her lap, slow salty tears trickling onto her bare thighs. She wiped them away, hands lingering on his face since she knew he liked them there.

“Oh, Matty,” A lump formed in her throat but she swallowed it down. She spoke gently. “Can I ask why you still have his number?”

He thought about it for a second. “It’s sort of a reminder, I guess. That I have the power now. That if I wanted to call, I could. But I don’t want to anymore.”

Matty’s eyes looked up towards Este and they shared a bittersweet smile. He laid his hand on top of hers that still sat cupping his cheek, lifting it to plant a kiss on her palm and quickly setting it back.

“And I know that if I ever wanted to—even a little bit—that I’d have you there. To tell in a heartbeat. And the boys, and my family. We’d do anything we’d need to do. Together.”

And with their bottoms against the cold concrete, Matty picked up his phone to call Frankie back, fearlessly pressing the speakerphone button. Este interlaced her fingers with his, waiting for her to pick up, and their chests rose and fell in sync.

[chaos-frog]

pls i need to know your angsty thoughts about human parent with a giant child/teenager. Like, children can be A LOT, teens can be A LOT. Imagine the parent with thoughts of being unfit to take care of that child, but they also can’t just abandon them! What if they’re in a world that hates giants??? YOU UNLOCKED SO MANY POSSIBILITIES WITHIN MY BRAIN IF I WASNT SO SCARED OF THE INTERNET I WOULD WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT IT

OK OK OK

this one is quite fun to write.

So, first, let's say we're starting off with a toddler. (Simply because getting into the logistics of somehow feeding and changing a giant baby is something I'm not super interested).

If you have ever interacted with a toddler, anything they grab is going STRAIGHT in their mouth, and getting covered in slobber. Obviously a situation you do not want to be a part of, so you've got to find some safe things for them to chew on. Giant teething toys?

How do you deal with tantrums? Kicking and screaming and yelling so loud that it might burst your eardrums. Disciplining a toddler is hard enough when you're bigger than them- how do you get them to listen and self regulate without traditional methods of physical discipline? (sitting them in timeout, etc). You rub their chest and back to soothe them, shushing and telling them reassurances. With any luck, you find a balance that works for you and this giant child you've somehow acquired.

How do you get enough food to feed the child? Where do you keep them? A giant baby or toddler can be kept in a barn, potientally. But what do you do when they get bigger? Where do you hide them? How do you explain to your giant little kid that their size is big enough to get them ostracized? How do you protect them?

Obviously, you're not the best equipped to deal with any child, let alone a giant one. But you can't just leave them to fend by themselves! They'll get themselves hurt, other people won't be so kind and understanding as you. Giants are destructive, after all.

Now, teenagers. It's going to be much easier if you have raised them from a child. They, for the most part, understand and are empathetic with the fact you are trying to tell them, and are more willing to listen to what you tell them.

If you somehow get a giant AS a teenager though... well, how do you parent someone who can flick you right over? Who can slam a door hard enough to knock your house over? Hell, they could probably sigh with enough teenage angst to knock you over. And they don't exactly trust humans either... and why would they?

So you start leaving food out for them- probably enough food to feed you for a month, but you hope it's enough for a growing teen. Then, eventually, they stick around to talk to you. They let you help with any injuries, and patch up their clothes. Eventually, they hold you. Eventually, they call you mom/dad. And you've acquired a giant kid.

[valve3nthusiast]

Hey have I ever mentioned that I'm a teeny tiny bit insane about Crystal City arc. My brain is chewing on wrift sexy kidnapping aus constantly... and then I get frustrated when I have no solid ideas because a barbarian au just doesn't have Crystal City vibes but I'm stuck on a pre-spacetravel setting

I've sort of settled on an ancient greece-esque warring city-states au??? And some wifeposting themes snuck in there too (this ended up more plot-y than smutty honestly) (I didn't realize how long this got so editing a cut here)

Deadlock's backstory is mostly the same with only setting tweaks: he's a Rodion mercenary who rises up and then falls out of Megatron's favor, got assigned to Turmoil and eventually skedaddled, etc

The Decepticon Empire he fought for is a coalition of city-states and conquered territories, led by Megatron, with the goal of uniting all of Cybertron under one banner. Autobots is an alliance of city-states that oppose them, yadda yadda you get the idea

IDK what plot setup needs to happen yet but Wing and "Drift" meet and get to know each other outside of Crystal City and bond a bit. I like the idea of Wing getting to know Deadlock before Wing's very presence and worldview radically changes his personality, with Wing first realizing he's intensely drawn and attracted to Deadlock

Then Wing rescues Deadlock from *handwaves* a situation and brings him back to Crystal City... but in this au, Crystal City has avoided being conquered by having *handwaves again* some kind of myserious, unknown, and impenetratable defense

A defense that get a lot less mysterious when Deadlock sees it from the inside, which now makes him a threat to Crystal City. Wing, of course, protests killing his friend? someone who hasn't yet done anything wrong, but they still cant let him leave...

To avoid alarming the populace by admitting an enemy soldier could threaten the secrets of the City, and to Wing's hesitance and Deadlock's outrage, "Drift" is to be integrated into life in the City as Wing's warbride

It's not uncommon for a mech in an invaded or conquered territory to catch a warrior's eye, and be brought back home as a "kept conjunx". Crystal City holds no outside territories, but venturing Knights still participate in this custom. If Deadlock doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in a cell, it's his best option for keeping some of his freedom in Crystal City

Wing, obviously, feels horribly guilty about this, not helped by his unspoken attraction to Drift. He swears to find a way for Drift to escape while still protecting the residents of the city. Drift was stripped of his guns, so he even secretly begins teaching Drift swordfighting, something that's banned for anyone other than the Knights of the Circle of Light. He doesn't want Drift to feel helpless, but if they get caught he's in trouble

But what they do in secret doesn't change the facts: terrifying deception Deadlock now has to act like a submissive conquest. He's expecing the next years to be torture, upholding appearances by being paraded about like a fancy pleasure drone as Wing yanks him around by a metaphorical (or maybe even literal) leash

That... isn't what happens

When the Circle said "integrated" they meant it. The other Knights have warbrides (I figure ocs) who accept Deadlock into the group with open arms. There's probably a little subplot I could do here with them being autobots and decepticons working together. It would be the first time Deadlock had ever actually felt a strong sense of community, Dead End and the Empire wouldn't have that, and it would start the path to shaking up his worldview on the war

And the way Wing treats him... Wing is... gentle. They go on dates, like a pair of ridiculous, smitten newbuilds. He sees the normal civilians of Crystal City, living a normal life unaffected by war. His instinctive reaction of disgust slowly changes over time, to something else that he can't quantify...

(A guiding hand around his hip, kisses pressed to his cheek. The most amorous thing they do in public is him cuddling into Wing's chest as Wing strokes his finials)

(They should be doing more than that. Crystal City isn't some utopia, plenty of Knights see fit to enjoy their warbrides in public in the "traditional" manner. Warbrides can and do take issue with their situation, hence why they've formed a community to support each other. But even under pressure from the Circle, Wing cannot bring himself to do that to Drift)

(Deadlock doesn't know how to feel when the other warbrides tell him that his relationship is like a fairy tale romance. They're right, after all: he is lucky to have a conjunx who cares)

The juicy part of this au for me is Deadlock realizing he likes the play-pretend. He likes how Wing treats him like something beautiful and delicate... struggling with the realization he's slowly grown to enjoy pretending to be "Drift", Wing's tamed former-deception wife, to the point where he isn't pretending anymore

Maybe some sort of plot thing happens that finally shakes the last of his loyalty to the Decepticon Empire and gets him more freedom, and after so many years of a loving relationship with Wing, he embraces being a resident of Crystal City. The City is far from perfect, but... it has Wing. It's painful, to finally choose to sacrifice being a warrior

He gets a rebuild that at first glance seems more civilian... but he would never be satisfied with being defenseless, so the new frame is covertly armored and insanely flexible (honestly I just want to give him his mtmte childbearing hips again)

The first time they have sex would be so emotionally crunchy, Wing trying so hard to apologize for the poor circumstances through action, tenderly making love to Deadlock like his nervous warbride is a virgin on his bonding night, the way Wing wanted to from the very beginning...

Constantly praising how beautiful he is, how indomitable in soul, how privileged Wing is to be able to call him wife... Deadlock is completely undone by the way Wing makes sure he feels special, valued, being so slow and careful with his pleasure, like he's a blushing noble waif instead of a hardened gun-for-hire

(Like he's worth the effort)

Either wrift lives happily ever after (for a given value of such, Drift is still kidnapped) or more bullshit happens and I write it up in a second post. Honestly will probably make a second post because I can't resist writing about pregnant Drift and I didn't even mention that in all this nonsense

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Holidays at the Mason Home

Fandom: Call of Duty

Word Count: 1961

Relationships: Frank Woods x Bell OC

Characters: Frank Woods, Alex Mason, original female character

Summary: Bell, Woods and Mason play pool and then darts.

A/N: ok this is chapter 2 of Holiday at the Mason Home and even though it's literally the middle of the year I don't care- I had the idea and just had to get the brain worm out. It's an ongoing little fic, will be short, but is a little snippet into life after Solovetsky for Bell and her growing relationships, especially with Frank! Next chapter, you get to meet Mason's wife, Sarah and then their son, David.

also... I don't know if I ever posted chapter 1 in this format or if I just posted the link to ao3... either way, if you want to read chapter 1, it is available on ao3, account name the same as my Tumblr! there's a link somewhere on here- if you can't find it, dm me :3c

“Bell, why don’t you have a go?” Mason asked, once he had wiped the floor with Woods, leaving the other bristling slightly from the loss. The two had a decent competitive streak, so it was probably a good idea for one of them to let her take their place, unless the pool cues get snapped… all in good humour, but still they could get very competitive. 

“I don’t know how to play.” She admitted, after some time chewing the words between her teeth. They stared at her and she snapped, “this is why I didn’t want to mention-”

“What, no,” Woods wafted away her worries with a hand, “I’ll show you.” 

“You’ll lose, though,” Mason jabbed, “with him teaching you.” 

Woods was going to wipe that grin off his face. 

“Shithead,” he muttered. 

Bell rolled her eyes. 

Their antics were being watched. Woods didn’t like the feeling of holes being bored into the back of his head from eyes he’d told to mind their own business, and he moved to turn, only to have Bell catch his face in her hand and pull his attention back to her. He would never admit this, but it was easy for him to melt into her touch, to allow her to guide him. He put on a smile, inched closer to her, and part of him wondered where the pretending stopped. 

His arm was around her waist, hand resting against her hip, comfortable, and he became acutely aware of how she was moving, how her hand rested lightly against the centre of his back giving her balance as she stood against him. Woods’ breath hitched in the back of his throat and he forced his gaze away from her quickly, though kept an easy smile on his face. 

She didn’t seem to notice the slip of his toughened facade. God forbid Frank show her, or anyone else, what he was actually feeling. 

“So, how do we start this, then?” With her free hand, Bell gestured vaguely to the table. Mason had already started preparing the game, collecting the balls in their triangular formation at one end of the table and the white ball on the opposite. She made note of the two types - striped and full colour - and presumed she’d choose one and Mason the other. 

“You can go ahead and break,” Mason stood back, resting an arm on the hand that held the cue, shifting his weight to one foot. His eyes watched her, settled and calm, and he was patient. 

Bell looked at Woods, raised her brows as if to say ‘and that means?’

“Hit the other balls with the white ball,” he informed, “hard as you can.” 

“Simple enough,” she murmured, taking a cue resting against the table. She’d got a an idea of how to hold it from her few moments of watching them play, but the only thing her mind seem to register was the weight and feel of it in her hand and the advantage it could give her in a fight; it was difficult to force passed the years of militant programming, she supposed, and worked to push that thought aside. 

There will be no fighting tonight, she reminded herself, well… no more fighting.

Bell stood near the side of the table and she rested her hand on the green felt of the tabletop, focusing on the white ball - maybe she was taking it too seriously, but she hated being imperfect at anything. Trying her best to hit the ball, she did exactly as Woods had said, smacking it with all her strength. It careened into the others, sending them exploding out into different corners of the space. One by one, they all seemingly found a hole and plopped straight into them. A few danced about, then teetered on the edge. 

“Beginner’s luck,” Mason uttered, tutting slightly in annoyance - Woods was smug. 

“Did you mention she’d lose or something?” He questioned, a wide, tormenting smile on his face. Mason wanted to flip him the bird, but he remained sportsmanlike. 

“Did I do good?” She asked, turning to Woods with slight bewilderment and a sense of pride for not utterly failing. He nodded, quickly, “oh yeah, you did good. Now, stripes or colour. You gotta choose one. Then aim for ‘em.” 

Silently, she chose the stripes, trying her best to position herself for the hit. At first, it didn’t feel right, and when she stood back up, the men watched her carefully. 

Bell hovered down again, tried to hit the white and missed. 

Bowing her head, she whispered toward the table, “fuck.” 

There was a slight burn in the palm of her hands and if she were in the habit of admitting her feelings, she might say she was embarrassed; why? She couldn’t say. It couldn’t be anything to do with the men that she stood with, no not at all. Inwardly, he rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. 

Her grip shifted on the pool cue, as she raised her head to watch the white with a thin glare.

Then, she felt a warm presence next to her, hands gently shifting her pose, voice saying, “lift a little, relax, then go again.” 

She tried. 

Missed. 

“Beginner’s luck didn’t last, huh?” Mason teased, good heartedly. 

Standing up straight, she felt like launching the cue across the room; she even imagined it in her mind’s eye, watching it crash in the distance; in reality, her grip tightened on it as the end rested against her foot and floor. Woods chuckled, which did not help the burning feeling in her chest and he stood slightly to her left. His attention was then back on her, “I said relax.” 

Guiding her down into the pose she’d had before, he ghosted her, left hand over her left on the table, his other guiding her cue arm. His face was so close to hers and when he gently spoke his instructions, his voice sent shivers up her spine. Bell could feel his words on the skin of her ear, warm, gentle, encouraging, and she took a deep breath and hit the ball. 

She sent another stripe into a hole. 

“Atta girl,” he murmured, low enough just for her to hear. 

Just as Bell began to get used to his presence next to her, he was moving away, and it left her feeling a little empty - she shook that feeling away immediately. 

“Again?” She asked, wishing that she could just let Mason take his turn - having eyes on her was not something she wanted right at that moment. 

“Yeah. Just until you miss or have none left.” This was Mason. 

This attempt was met with success, but she did not manage to send this stripe into an unsuspecting hole - it pinged against one side of the table, then chipped off the very edge and sailed slowly to the centre. It sat there, miserable and alone. 

“Not bad,” Mason offered, “but now, it’s my turn.” 

Unfortunately for Bell, Mason was skilled at the game - he pocketed all of his remaining colours until only the eight ball was left and then he shrugged and pocketed that, too. It was over in a flash and Bell’s last remaining stripe remained lonely in the middle of the table. She eyed it, then moved her gaze aside to the adjacent wall of the venue. 

“Why don’t we have a game of darts?” she asked, head nodding towards the board, “I played your game. You play mine.” 

The two men had been in the throes of what would look like an argument to an outsider but, to those who knew them, it was clear that they were throwing jabs each other’s way - Woods had taken a slightly defensive standpoint, something along the lines of she never played before. Mason’s standpoint was no mercy. 

Bell appreciated both sides. 

“Alright, who’re you going against first?” Mason asked, as he started to walk over signalling the end of the ‘argument’ between him and Woods. He brought his half drunk beer with him and his other hand nestled in the pocket of his jeans. He seemed truly relaxed for once, rather than the slight telltale that he was on edge whenever he was at work. 

Bell shook her head, pointing at the two of them, “both of you against me.”

“Pfft, easy.” Woods. 

Confident in himself, as always.

Now this time, he would have to agree with Mason; no mercy. The woman had clearly chosen a game she thought she’d best them at and he’d love to prove her wrong, garnered by that competitive streak that he shared with his brother-in-arms. 

“Sure.” Mason. 

Relaxed but an air about him betrayed his eagerness to win just as much as Woods. 

Bell knew they were decent when it came to marksmanship and their aim was always solid - but this was darts and most of her childhood had been passed by playing nothing else. There were well over a few other reasons in the bank, but she wasn’t about to start telling everyone her training regime from the 50s. 

The two men had set themselves up, taken their shots, and proven that, yes, they could hit the board. Everyone’s goal was to hit the bullseye, but they fell short - sometimes by a little and sometimes by a lot. This made her smile and she removed her jacket, placing it on the pool table, before she took the six darts from Woods. Three each for them, six for her - evenly balanced attempts to score; it was fair. 

Well, until she started playing. 

First hit. Bullseye. 

Then the second. 

The third. 

Fourth. 

Fifth. 

“What the fuck. That. That can’t…” Woods had his arms crossed over his chest, a defeated frown on his face and at a loss for words. Mason looked extremely impressed, but not surprised in the slightest.

“Sorry,” she turned her head to them, “did you say something?” 

The sixth landed in the bullseye. 

At this point, the bullseye was heaving with darts, overcrowded and crying for them to be removed, if only to allow it to breathe again. 

“You didn’t even look,” Woods huffed, stepping up to the board to check that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. 

“I don’t have to,” she shrugged, prideful, smug, “I’m just that good.” 

Through a laugh, both Woods and Mason uttered, “fuck off.” 

“The proof is there,” she gestured, eyes skimming the venue - in their time being focused on pool and darts, Cliff who had been previously hunched over at the table, tail between his legs and deflated in his rejection, had gotten up and left. 

“The admirer has gone,” she informed Woods, when all three of them came to collect themselves at the bar, a last sit down before they would decide to head off home. Mason raised a brow at his friend when he noticed that his arm was still around her shoulders and part of him wanted to shake his head in exasperation - if he could bang their heads together and make them see just how obvious they were, he would. But he didn’t feel like handing out concussions like candy on halloween. 

“Oh, so he has,” Woods finished the drink he’d been sipping on, placing it on the bar as he reluctantly gave up the charade of husband. Mason could read his friend like an open book; he supposed it was because he wasn’t just a friend, more a brother, and he’d spent a lot of his life with the damn hothead - maybe he’d speak with him later, about Bell, about the two of them together. 

“Let’s go, Sarah will be getting worried,” Mason sighed. 

The three left the venue, headed to Mason’s pickup, and started the arduous journey to his home through the snowy weather.