#had to send all the kids outside even if it was threatening with rain because I feared I was going to snap at one of them 😭

[canirove]

Today's mood at work

#had to send all the kids outside even if it was threatening with rain because I feared I was going to snap at one of them 😭 #usually when the weather is bad I let them stay inside painting but today wasn't that day

[upsidedownwithsteve]

CAMP UPSIDE DOWN PART TWO Steve Harrington x fem!reader [33K] summer camp, broken kayaks, too much tension and that boy you hate. an enemies to lovers camp counsellor story.

I can’t stop, the way I feel. 

Camp Upside Down was about eighty miles outside of Hawkins, Indiana, just past Belmont and hidden amongst the trees of the YellowWood State Forest. 

It held too many kids, a collection of old wooden cabins, a few impressively sized lakes, sports equipment that was made in the sixties and Steve fucking Harrington. 

It’s not like you had always hated the boy, you just couldn’t really remember the last time you liked him. 

The first of June brought blue skies, summer rolling in with thick white clouds, the kind that didn’t look real. The Indiana air was warm and hazy, growing hotter in the afternoon, long days, bright nights and the return of fireflies and open air pools. 

Each year you left Hawkins behind, a kiss pressed to each cheek by your parents, your old car packed to the brim as you headed west for six weeks, to your home from home, buried between cedar trees, amongst giant redwoods and overgrown wildflowers. 

You rolled out of town and took the sun with you, windows down, radio blasting music and static, that soft buzz that you loved so much. You sped past the water tower, the quarry and the wheat fields, the strawberry patches and the forest that no one liked to wander too far into. 

You hated that Steve Harrington followed, his car newer, shiner, faster. You hated when he overtook you on the straight, before you had even had a chance to leave town. So you would hang your arm out the window, middle finger poised in a pretty salute just for him and he’d send you one back, like clockwork, like you’d practised it, like it happened every year. 

If you could get close enough, your car bumper threatening his, you could just make out the scowl behind his raybans, the twist of his lips cursing you out in the reflection of his rear view mirror. 

It went on like that for the whole drive, never stopping unless the boy did, refusing to fall behind, because bathroom breaks were for losers and you did not fucking lose to Steve Harrington. 

It was flat out, foot down, wind whipping in on the highway; a game of cat and mouse, curses yelled over the radio, hair messy in your face, just pushing the speed limit until overhead signs and four lane roads turned into something else. 

It’s like the sun got softer when you turned off the freeway, the light hazy between the trees and it made this part of the world seem like it was just for you. 

Single track roads took you through the forest, past rivers and lakes, mountains in front of you, Hawkins behind you and the air was sharper, muddled with pine and moss, still wet tree trunks from the morning rain, wildflowers and something too sweet to name. 

Smoke threaded through it all when you got closer to camp, the big wooden archway greeting you like an old friend, the cabins appearing through cracks in the forest, the doors open, staff carrying in pillows and sheets, prepping for the arrival of the kids in a few days time. 

And when you pulled your car into the staff parking, a clearing between trees behind the big gymnasium, you turned off your engine, closed your eyes and listened to the little slice of peace you’d get in your six week stay. 

No kids, no screaming, no arguing, no singing. Not yet. 

Just bird calls and the buzz of insects, soft wind between branches and the slow crackle of the main campfire if you strained your ears hard enough. 

“Your shitty car gets slower every year, princess.”

You swore, low under your breath, the soft “for fuck sake,” mixing with a sigh as you let your head fall onto the seat and you opened your eyes.  

Steve was standing at your open window, hip leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed, expression smug. He grinned at you. 

“Harrington,” you greeted, a drawl that lacked any sort of warmth, tinted with annoyance instead. 

The boy tsked, sarcasm dripping from him as he leaned in, arms on the window ledge, peering into the car and peering at the pile of cassettes on your passenger seat. 

“Blondie? Really?” 

You swatted at him, brows knitted together already because you’d been at Camp Upside Down for quite literally three minutes and the boy was already doing his best to infuriate you. 

“That’s not very nice,” he told you but he was still grinning. “You didn’t miss me?”

You pushed the car door open, knocking Steve out of the way in the process and you scowled as you popped the trunk, turning to him with a glare. 

“Miss you? I saw you at the store two days ago.”

Steve watched you haul out your bags, snorting when you let them fall to the forest floor without much care. 

“Yeah, but you called me a dickhead and hit me with your cart.”

“You yelled across the store and asked me where my cauldron was.”

You set the boy with a stare, a little dead behind the eyes, just like you’d perfected. Your lip twitched into an almost smile when you let another bag tumble out of the trunk, narrowingly missing the boy's foot when he flinched out of the way. 

Steve shrugged, tongue pressed to his cheek to stop his grin as he stared at you right back. 

“It was a valid question.”

You slammed the trunk, your gaze on the boy withering and you kicked at one of your bags. You hated this part. 

“Are you gonna help me with these?” You really didn’t know why you were bothering to ask, because the boy was already backing away, hands shoved into the pockets of his Levi’s and he was still fucking grinning. 

“Why would I do that?” He questioned. “Besides, I only came round to tell you Hopper wants everyone in the office. Now.”

You glared at Steve, seething, lips parting with a high pitched scoff as you threw an arm out and gestured to all your belongings, most of your life packed into four too big duffel bags. 

“You fucking just watched me unload the car.”

Steve hummed happily, too far away for you to throw a pine cone at. He tutted, all faux concern and sad brown eyes. 

“Damn, I did, didn’t I?” And then he was walking away, heading to the offices that were housed in the row of cabins by the lake. “Don’t be too late, princess, Hops already in a shitty mood.”

——————

Camp leader Jim Hopper, was indeed in a foul mood when you arrived twenty minutes later, out of breath and just as annoyed as he was. 

The cabin was full, bodies squeezed between desks and the moth-eaten couch was piled with people. Faces new and old stared back at your sudden entrance, the scowl that was already on your face only deepening when Steve, who was leaning lazy against a wall, wiggled his fingers at you. 

“Hawkins,” Hopper barked, “how nice of you to finally join us. You think after doing this for four years, you’d know that the first day meeting is always at eleven o’clock sharp.”

Hopper's habit of calling people by their hometown should’ve been insulting, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a teddy bear looking man, moustache twitching when he was either annoyed or amused, but he had soft eyes and an even softer patch for the camp kids. 

When you first pointed out that there were three counsellors that came from Hawkins, he merely started calling you Hawkins number two, so you tended to not remind him after that. 

“Sorry,” you huffed, not sounding all that sorry, and you glared at Steve as you squished yourself between Eddie Munson and Robin Buckley. 

“Okay, shitheads, listen up,” Murray, Hopper’s right hand man, stood with a clipboard, thick rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “Roll call.”

“Muson, music. You’ve got three new kids that have signed up for private guitar lessons, you’ll get their info by tonight, make sure you check in with Joyce at reception.”

Eddie Munson, one of the older boys nodded, long, dark curls already frizzy with the warmth that the forest trapped beneath its canopy. Originally from Philadelphia, the boy was still dressed in his leather jacket, a denim vest that had ripped sleeves and a giant Dio patch sewn messily onto the back, ready for a metal concert rather than s’mores around the campfire.

“And for the love of god, wear the proper uniform this year.”

On cue, Hopper started throwing out the mandatory shirts, white and years old, the sleeve cuffs red, just like the printed ‘staff’ on the back, in bold, capital letters. 

“Nancy, you’re moving up this year, senior counsellor,” Nancy Wheeler, another Hawkins native, nodded sharply, her hair clipped back and uniform already on. “We’re gonna need the first week's schedule done for the kids arriving at the weekend and christ, make sure these idiots turn up for their shifts.”

Robin snorted from beside you and Murray rounded on her, a finger pointing accusingly. “Buckley, any more missed shifts from you this year and you’ll be on clean up duty for every dinner shift. Bob wants you in the mess hall tomorrow for lunch prep.”

The girl scowled, mumbling under her breath about how it wasn’t her fault she never heard the morning tannoy. A pretty girl from Detroit, Robin was all ripped jeans and backwards caps, sarcastic comments and sleeping wherever she could make herself comfortable.

Hopper threw a shirt at her, grinning when it landed against her face with a soft thump.

“Jonathan.” The boy who was busy fiddling with the camera around his neck suddenly looked up, eyes wide as if he’d been caught half asleep. “The parents are more than happy to buy more of the photo packages this year and we need new prints for the newsletters so we want content, content, content. No slacking and distracting your girlfriend or you’ll be sleeping on the other side of the lake.”

Jonathan Byers, from Bloomington, just a few hours from Hawkins, mumbled an agreement before walking over to sit by Nancy and resting his head on top of hers.

“Hargrove,” Hopper barked from behind his desk, “you’re back on sports but we’re a lifeguard down this year so you’ll be splitting shifts with Harrington.”

Billy Hargrove, California bad boy, was sliding an unlit cigarette between his lips, getting the tip slick as he grunted his agreement. He caught his staff shirt as it flew through the air at him, winking at you when he tucked it into the waistband of his too tight jeans.

“And for fuck sake, Billy, no non staff members in the cabins after six,” Hopper groaned, “I’m not having screaming mothers at my door at one in the morning this year, corrupt the girls of Indiana on your own time, not mine.”

“You two,” Murray finally rounded on you and Steve, a sardonic grin pulling at his lips. “Lovebirds, you’re both on games and swimming.”

Steve and you both huffed out a protest at the term, features pulled into a scowl and you flipped off both Robin and Eddie when they chuckled.

“And Jesus Christ, if any more of your lovers' tiffs result in more broken equipment, it’s coming out of your wages.”

You scoffed, a sound of protest as Steve swore. “Bullshit, what broken equipment?”

The rest of the team snickered as Hopper levelled you with a stare from over the top of the computer screen. Murray snorted from behind his fist and even Steve had to try to hide his grin at your words.

“There’s three cracked kayaks, fourteen broken tennis racquets and a box of punctured basketballs sitting behind the gym as we speak, sweetheart, don’t even go there.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off of the couch, grabbing Robin’s hand and yanking her up with you when she batted at your arm. 

Everyone else shuffled to their feet, leaving the few newbies in the corner, wide eyed and worried as they waited for their orientation. 

Hopper glared at the seven of you as you lined up at the door, restless and waiting to escape to your cabins, to steal some food from the kitchens when Bob wasn’t looking.

“No drugs,” Hopper announced before Eddie could open the door. “No smoking, and for god sake Munson, don’t tell the kids that you can eat the mushrooms, not again.”

Eddie had the audacity to look bewildered, brown eyes big and doe like as you held in a snicker from behind him. He swatted at your leg and you thumped him back, grinning when the back of your hand caught the edge of his rolling tin in his front pocket. 

The older man moved onto Billy, glaring when the boy only smirked, sliding a pair of gold rimmed aviators over his eyes. 

“Nudity is for the showers and your own cabin, California, I don’t wanna see your ass comin’ out of the lake, I don’t care how early it is in the morning.”

Billy simply grinned wider, snickering when Nancy blushed, rolling his eyes when Robin dug her fingers into his ribs. 

“And you two,” Hopper lifted a hand, gesturing between you and Steve once more, “if I gotta break up any more fights, or play couples therapist, you’ll be paying for my own before summer is over, you hear me?”

The pair of you sulked, eyes lowered to the floor and feet shuffling as you weighed up your options of arguing back, but the office room was lacking its usual cloud of cigar smoke and the coffee machine in the corner had a piece of paper with a big ‘out of order’ scrawled on front.

“Loud and clear, chief,” Steve smirked, eyeing you from where he stood, Eddie grinning between you both.

Murray opened the door to the forest and the sun, the wall of heat seeping in and fighting with the old aircon unit and Hopper’s last words to you all before you slipped out were:

“Play nice and don’t kill the kids.”

Billy caught Steve by the shirt as they left, the boy’s watching as the rest of you walked down the gravel path that led through the trees, splintering off from cabin to cabin.

The blonde boy turned, grinning sharklike, sunglasses still on. He nodded to your retreating frame, taking a second to watch the way your shorts rode up the backs of your thighs as you climbed the cabin stairs behind Robin. 

“You tapped that yet, Harrington?”

Steve glowered, ripping away his arm from the other boy but his reaction only made Billy smirk wider, a lighter appearing from his pocket as he lit his cigarette. 

“Get fucked, Hargrove,” Steve did his best to sound bored, like he didn’t care.

But it only made Billy laugh, blowing smoke to the blue skies and he followed Steve down the opposite trail, heading towards the same cabin that Eddie was currently dragging a small amp into. 

Steve huffed when the blonde boy stomped up the stairs behind him, stepping over the forgotten bags that lay unpacked on the floor. “Maybe that’s Hawkins' problem, you know?” He asked, referring to you. Billy eyed Steve, leaning against his top bunk, the air in the wooden cabin so much cooler than outside. “Maybe she just needs a good seeing to.”

Eddie raised his brows, looking carefully between his bunkmate and Billy, wondering if there was about to be a new record for how quickly a fight broke out. The current sat at seventeen hours after arrival, but there had been a lot more vodka involved that time, and maybe a comment or two about that one time Billy got the clap from some girl in the next town over. 

“Now now, boys,” Eddie intoned, “I’ve not nearly had enough sleep to deal with this shit.”

He went ignored.

Billy continued, teeth sharp and white and bared as he followed Steve around the bunks, leaning against the dresser before the boy had a chance to open it and his eyes flashed when he watched the muscle in the brunette’s jaw twitch. 

“Think she’d let me?” Hargrove asked, “think she’d get a little wild for me?” “Don’t you have shit to do?” Steve snapped, refusing to look at Billy, ‘cause he could feel the tips of his ears getting hot, a horribly uncomfortable tightness clawing at his throat. 

But Billy could see right through him, years of spending summers together, watching the way you and Steve argued, nose to nose and chests panting. He always made sure he had a front seat to the show and poking the angry bear only made the inevitable first argument so much more fun to witness.

Billy clicked his tongue, still grinning unbearably wide. “Maybe I can go visit Hawkins… I’m sure there’s something heavy that your girl needs help with.”

“She’s not my fucking girl.”

The blonde winked at Eddie as he passed, the longer haired boy doing nothing to hide his smile, knowing fine well what game Hargrove was playing. And shit, he was winning, ‘cause by the time Billy left and Steve spun back around, his fists were clenched and a heavy scowl pulled his brows together. 

“You’re too easy, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. He liked Eddie, and god, he knew he was right.

——————

“You know, every summer I expect you and Harrington to walk into camp, hand in hand, talkin’ all sweet to each other,” Robin wasn’t looking at you as she spoke, too busy stuffing already crumpled shirts into the shared dresser, but you knew she was grinning. “The sexual tension has to break sometime, you know?”

“Over my dead, fucking body.”

Your reply was one she’d heard before, year after year, summer after summer, because every June, the same thing happened. Fall outs, arguments, screaming matches in the mess hall, head to head battles on the dock, late night yelling over a campfire and a bottle of cheap bourbon.

“I still don’t get it,” the girl smirked, finally eyeing you from over the top bunk. The late morning light made the small cabin glow, the surface of the lake reflecting in through the open window and off of the panelled walls. “Steve isn’t that bad.”

“That’s because you didn’t have to go through high school with the King himself,” you deadpanned, already bored of the conversation. You’d had it before, several times over with almost all the camp staff, each one wondering why you and Steve fucking Harrington wanted to kill each other over a game of dodgeball, the last poptart at breakfast, picking teams on games night. “Harrington got everything I worked hard for, just ‘cause his daddy has some money.”

You threw your now empty duffle bag to the ground kicking at it until it slid underneath the bed. Your own pillow was in its rightful place on top, the peach coloured case clashing horribly with the army green duvet, but it smelled like home. 

“I announced I was running for class president in sophomore year, and then that asshole decided he would to,” you levelled Robin with a stare, still petulant after so many years. “He threw a party at his stupid rich house and by Monday, everyone was talking about Steve Harrington’s pool and how they were voting for him.”

“Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to hold onto such a grudge-”

You cut the girl off, on a tangent now she’d brought the sore subject up. “Like, wasn’t it enough that he was the swim team captain? And then! When we got into that stupid fight in Junior year, we both ended up with a weeks detention but no, no. Mr Harrington swoops in with a little two grand donation to the school’s library upgrade and low and behold, little Stevie is suddenly off the hook.”

You kicked another bag, this one not as empty and you tried not to wince when your toe made contact with what you assumed was a collection of books. 

“As long as his record is squeaky clean, right? S’not like his dad won’t just pay his way into fucking Yale, or Princeton, for him anyway,” you were grumbling now and when you looked up to see Billy Hargrove walking by with a too smug smile, you flipped him off, trying to make yourself feel better.

He just wiggled his fingers at you in a wave, winking when you grimaced.

“I think I need a drink,” you said, throwing yourself down onto the bed and concluding your Steve Harrington rant, more than likely only the first of the day.

The sheets smelled the same, like they always did. A little musty, like the back of a storage cupboard, almost hidden by the laundry detergent you knew Joyce made Hopper use. Fresh like pine needles, like the forest floor and mountain air. Kinda like another home. 

Robin barked out a laugh before coming over and standing between the space between your knees, your legs splayed over the too narrow mattress. She offered you a hand, exaggerating a loud groan when you took it and she pulled you back up to sit. An affectionate pat fell on your head before she looked around the mess of your half unpacked cabin, sheets and folded towels on the dressers, drawers open and half full, a litter of shoes by the door and an unplugged radio on a chair. 

“You know what?” She huffed out, “we both need a drink.”

——————

The keg party by the lake was a first night tradition, the older staff members long gone to their beds after a tiring first day in the forest heat, lugging around equipment and furniture. 

The rest of you gathered at the dock, crowding the small part of the water front that had sand instead of rocks, the air still warm from the leftover sun despite the stars in the sky. It was inky black in the middle of the woods, the clouds navy, the lake a mirror and the fire gave off an impressive amber glow.

Everyone was painted in orange light, pink and red on their cheeks, smoke in their hair and a different kind of fire in their chests when Billy produced a few bottles of cheap whisky, a half bottle of bourbon and surprising everyone, Nancy had added a bottle of vodka to the pile. Cheap beer came in the form of lukewarm kegs and despite the effort it took, Jonathan pulled the short straw and drove out of camp, meeting the delivery boy on the main road to pick up a pile of hot pizza boxes. 

It smelled like summer, smoke and god awful decisions.

The dirty beat of Need You Tonight by INXS started through the tannoys above you, the old, tinny speakers hidden in the trees.

Some people cheered, others moved to the sand to dance, a slow grind of bodies with their bare feet in the lake, water lapping at ankles as they moved. Steve was grinning from the dock, a rip in the one knee of his jeans, the skin underneath already tanned as if he belonged under the sun. The white t-shirt he wore was threadbare, years old with ‘camp upside down’ faded in green on the chest. 

He was watching you, a feeling that used to make you unravel, like you knew he did it just to earn a rise from you. So you waved instead, sugary sweet and full of sarcasm, huffing when he beckoned you closer with a hand that was holding the last of the bourbon, and you told yourself it was the promise of alcohol that made your feet move. 

You rolled your eyes before narrowing them at the boy in front of you, your red cup clutched to your chest and you couldn’t help but take another step forward, just a small one, until the toes of your shoes were touching his.

He looked down at the wooden boards, the water lapping underneath, barely seen between the cracks in the dark, but the boy was too focused on the way your converse bumped his nikes. It felt like a challenge, like everything with you did and when he looked back up, your chin was tilted high and your eyes were glittering.

You looked like trouble and he hated it. 

“Is this another one of your shitty mixtapes, Harrington?” You let the words drip from your lips, whisky mixing with distaste and the late night air.

Everything was warm and sweet, bourbon and peaches, campfire smoke and leftover lake water on your skin. Steve looked at you, eyes shining, freckles on his nose like stars and he grinned.

“How’d you know, princess?” He took the cigarette that had been tucked behind his ear, slid it between his lips as he kept your gaze, always undefeated in the staring contests you both never meant to start.

“‘Cause it sounds like something a boy would make when he’s trying too hard to get a chick in his bed.”

He lit the cigarette, still grinning, the end of it caught between teeth and Steve Harrington looked so unbelievably ready to play one of your little games with you. The ash burned red in the dim light, the sounds of your friends and co-workers dull behind you both.

“Does that mean it’s working?”

“You fucking wish, wonder boy,” you scoffed and you made a grab for the bottle he was holding, twisting your lips to hold in the annoyance when Steve moved it out of reach, holding the amber liquid above your head.

“So mean already,,” Steve tutted and you hated the familiar warmth that wrapped around his words, like it was supposed to be a compliment. “Don’t you usually wait for day three before breaking out that one?”

“Give it,” you demanded, and from over Steve’s shoulder you could see Eddie and Jonathan watching, expectant smiles on their faces and interest in their eyes.

“Make me, princess,” Steve answered, voice just as short as yours but he sounded too amused, like he always did when he was trying to push your buttons. The boy was too tall, his hand and the bottle well above your head, leaking into the night sky above and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself by trying to jump for it. 

So you drained what was left in your cup, the vodka was too cheap and it burned your tongue but the mix of cherry kool aid made up for it, staining your tongue red. You swiped at your lips, grinned and planted your hands on Steve’s chest much to his surprise. 

But just as his mouth fell into a pretty ‘o’ shape, his brown eyes darkened to that dark honey shade you were used to, you pushed, hard. He hit the water with a splash and to the raucous sound of whoops and cheers, a wolf whistle when he emerged, white top soaked and clinging to the ridges and dips of his muscles, tangled at his waist. 

He spluttered, waist deep in the lake as he stared back up at you, hair dripping into his eyes and oh, he was mad. You were fucking joyous, wrapped up in the way people were laughing and you didn’t break eye contact with the boy as you bent at the waist and picked up the bottle that’d dropped as he fell.

You pulled off the lid, grinned and brought it to your lips, draining the rest of the smoky drink, another burn that nipped at your throat, your chest, your skin. You felt too warm when you chased a stray drip of it with your thumb, sliding over your lip before sucking it back between your lips.

“Made you,” you told Steve. 

The things you do, don’t seem real. 

The kids arrived in a wave of colours and chaos, bags forgotten on buses, new cabins already turned inside out and Joyce had a queue as long as the lake outside of her office, her hands full of allergy medication, inhalers and requests to change bunks ‘cause ‘Kyle Jamison snores like a seventy year old with a lung condition.’

The camp itself was just as messy, it always had been. The old cabins littered the space, winding dirt tracks leading you into a cluster of trees, surrounding the old wooden huts, the porch light almost always flickering in the dark. 

There was faded bunting hanging from branch to branch, the old gym that sat with its rusting tin roof near the back, the dock with its splintering planks by the lake. The grassy hub at the centre was worn down by constant running and makeshift picnics and the wildflowers that free in between it all were getting too tall, bursts of red, yellow and orange between green moss. 

It was getting old, things were a little broken but the entire forest smelled like morning dew, that ‘it’s just rained’ kinda way and old campfire smoke. It was another home. 

Camp Upside Down was officially in full swing. 

You were pleased to see you had some of your returning favourites in your group that year: Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Suzie Bingham and Dustin Henderson. 

You were just going through the last of the names on your list, kids gathered in front of you and awaiting their assigned cabins when Steve snatched the clipboard from your hand, huffing. 

“Harrington!”

“What the hell is this?” Steve grumbled, looking at the sheet of paper and at your group. He singled out Dustin, and the boy flushed, all nervous grin and bright eyes underneath his curls. “Henderson, I thought you said you were requesting my group this year?”

The young boy shrugged, glancing at the trees instead of Steve. 

“I, uh, I said I was happy with either of you,” Dustin grinned, front teeth coming in more than they were last year and you beamed back. “Besides, Hawkins sneaks us extra cookies before bed.”

 You shot the boy a look. 

“Hey! I told you not to tell anyone about that,” you admonished, eyes rolling. “And that’s not my name, Dustin, we spoke about this last year.”

But before Dustin could argue back, Steve was pulling you aside, his hands shockingly warm as they wrapped around your wrist. You stumbled into the tree line with him, shoes sinking into moss, senses surrounded by cedar and cicadas and Steve. 

“What the fuck? Steve!” You hissed, pulling yourself from his grasp with a scowl. 

Before either if you could say anything,Lucas Sinclair, a tall, dark haired kid tapped a passing new counsellor on the arm. They looked concerned when the boy pointed to you both, hidden in the trees.

“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” he told them, voice bored and lacking any real worry. 

“You’re stealing my kids, princess!” Steve’s voice was just as annoyed as yours, his brow furrowed as he stabbed a finger at your sheet of names. 

“Stealing?” You scoffed, whacking your clipboard against his own. The metal clip narrowly missed his fingers and he swore at you hotly. “Stealing? They’re children, Harrington, not collectibles.”

The kids in question were giggling where you’d left them, your group mixing with Steve’s as they stared in that unabashed way only preteens could. You flushed when you heard one of them - Nancy’s brother, Mike, you were sure - made wet, kissing noises. Immature and highly ironic, you noted, considering he was standing hand in hand with a girl called El. 

You glared at them all and they quietened, but only just. 

Spinning back round to deal with your other problem, you pointed a finger to Steve’s chest, hating the way he smirked at your sudden frustration. 

“And what’s your point anyway, huh?” You huffed, “you have Maxine this year, I always have Max in my group!”

Steve looked entirely too smug as he bent a little at waist, crowding down into you so you were both toe to toe. 

You hated it. 

You hated his brown eyes, the way they caught the sun. You hated the smattering of freckles he got every summer, the moles on his neck, the ones you knew dotted the rest of his skin. You hated his hair, how it fell into his eyes when he got mad at you, how he was too focused on you to push it back. 

“Maybe Max just likes me better.”

You gasped, entirely offended at his accusation and before you could hurl something sharp and quick back at him, the girl in question raised her hand from the middle of the crowd, face scrunched in uncertainty. 

“Hi, uh, yeah” You both turned to look at the redhead. “Yeah, no, that’s absolutely not true.”

You rounded back on the boy, a shit eating grin on your face as you raised your brows, your expression victorious. 

“Whatever,” he mumbled, almost nose to nose now and you could smell the spearmint gum he’d chewed, the clean smell of his cologne, whatever body wash he’d used that morning. “Good luck keeping mini Byers alive.”

“Hey!” Will piped up, louder than he’d been last summer and he was scowling at Steve. “I only have three inhalers now.”

Steve rolled his eyes, finally moving out of your space and rounding up his kids like some sort of rogue cowboy, sans horse. He waved the boy away, sounding somewhat placating when he congratulated him. 

“That’s great, Will, honestly buddy,” Steve offered a fist bump, one that the smaller boy happily accepted. “Just don’t let Hawkins here let you forget them yeah?”

Steve turned back to you once more, still smug, still infuriating. “We wouldn’t want her to get in trouble now, would we?”

——————

“Camp has been in session for five minutes.”

Murray was standing in front of you, hands open in a gesture that screamed ‘for the love of god, explain yourselves.’ Hopper was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, fingers running circles at his temples and he sighed heavily. 

Neither you nor Steve spoke, eyes trained on the old, worn floorboards, converse shuffling, shoulders shrugging, lips twisted to hide your matching smirks. 

“Does someone want to explain what happened this time? Because we can’t keep throwing kayaks in the trash like they’re broken cups, people! They're not cheap!”

“Well, you see, Steve has this real annoying habit of-”

“- just because the princess feels then need to win at everything-”

“I need to win at everything?! Me?! Are you fu-”

“Yes you! Always breathin’ down my back, waitin’ for me to fuck up so you can-”

“Enough!“ Hopper jumped up from his chair, hands slamming on his desk as he hunched over it, shoulders heaving, face too red. “Who. Broke. The Kayak?”

You and Steve sighed, shoulder slumped, heads tilted to the ceiling as if you could avoid the question, each other, the inevitable punishment that was coming your way. You sighed, Steve groaned and you both swore. 

Because, honestly? You weren’t sure who’s fault it was. Maybe yours, probably Harrington's. More than likely both. ‘Cause the kids had stumbled out of the lake, giddy and a little sunburnt, leaving you to haul the kayaks onto the shore on your own.

Steve had only watched you for a few minutes, smirk on his face as you struggled with the faded red boats, huffing as you attempted to lift them onto the racks, feet clumsy and damp hair sticking to your forehead, your cheeks. 

In fact, he looked entirely too amused as he leaned against the dock and by the time he’d come over, offering a rare display of help, you stubbornly told him to ‘fuck off.’

 He’d laughed at that, angering you more and you squeaked as he stretched out behind you, his chest still bare from helping his group in the water, and the solid warmth of it brushed against your back when his hands moved to help yours.

He jumped when you did, hands stuttering over your own, over the kayak and you had to push yourself up onto your toes when the boat slipped from the railing. You both caught it in time, Steve pressed into you, cedar and mint and boyish cologne as the curve of your ass settled into his hips. As soon as the kayak was in place, you spun, pushing at his shoulders.

“I can do it myself,” you mumbled, suddenly far too flustered to sound overly annoyed. “I don’t need your help.”

“Christ, princess, you sound like a five year old,” Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the flush on his cheeks, looking like you felt. “Can’t admit when you need help, huh?”

“I don’t need help from you, wonder boy,” you tried to laugh, but it came out too pitchy, too forced. 

The camp was quiet now the kids had gone back to their cabins, the lake settling after the afternoon swim, the smell of churros and pizza rolls coming from the mess hall. The air fizzed with summer heat and something else and you weren’t sure why, but your chest was heaving, the straps of your swimsuit suddenly feeling too tight. 

“Stop calling me that,” Steve growled, eyes flashing and he moved into you again, the way he did when every argument started. “You know I fuckin’ hate that.”

“No shit,” you spat, meeting him in the middle, chin raised in a taunt, a dare, a challenge. “You think I’m here to make your life easier than it already is?” “You’re fucking infuriating,” Steve hissed, “you know fuck all about my life, princess, don’t act like you’re so hard done by.”

You pressed a hand to Steve’s stomach, ignoring the way the muscles there clenched under your touch and you pushed at him, something inside you crackling when he didn’t budge. 

You hated his stupid smile, the way his lips twisted when he made you mad enough to scrunch your nose at him. You hated the way he looked down at you when you were this close, through his lashes, like you were something to be studied. Like he liked the way got into his personal space.

“Well damn, why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Harrington?”

Steve pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek to try and hide his grin, and he shrugged, trying to look entirely unbothered at your pushing. He took another step towards you, chasing you slowly when you stumbled back, body pressed to the stacked kayaks behind you. 

The old boats were warm from the sun, the cheap pvc hot on your skin, back bared down the low cut of your swimsuit, your shorts doing nothing to protect the backs of your thighs. You wondered if that’s why your chest felt flushed, if that’s why your face was heating up. 

“Can’t do that,” he said, tutting before taking his time letting his eyes drop down your body, before trailing back up again. He caught your gaze, held it, bolder than ever. “I’ll get in too much trouble.”

And then, he fucking winked. 

So really, it was Steve’s fault that you stumbled into the racks, the kayak that the boy had just helped you push into place rocking on the rails. Neither of you had the reflexes to do anything about it when it slipped backwards, landing on the hard ground, the dull thud ringing out across camp, the sound ending with a sharp crack, the pvc splitting across the bow of the boat. 

So that’s how you both ended your night in the mess hall, waving after Bob as he finished serving up sloppy joes and went to find the gaggle of kids that demanded that he needed to fix their broken Walkmans and waterlogged Mattel electronic games. 

Murray had stood in front of you both, grinning widely as he handed you mops and cleaning supplies, gleefully pointing out the mustard stains on the linoleum, the spattering of jello that had somehow painted one of the windows. 

It was times like these that you were almost sure you preferred Hopper’s red face and grumbled lectures. 

“I want this place spotless,” Murray told you both, waving a pair of yellow rubber gloves at Steve. The boy snatched them, face less than impressed when the man simply chuckled. “If you can flirt somewhere away from expensive camp property, you can work out some of this sexual tension by trying to get rid of that dried in chilli from last year.”

You would’ve gagged at the mention of the fossilised food if you hadn’t burned at the insinuation of flirting. And sexual tension. With Steve fucking Harrington. 

But the boy beat you to it, as always, his eyes widening and he brandished the mop like a weapon as he pointed at you. 

“We were not flirting,” he insisted, “we do not flirt.”

Murray chuckled, “alright Casanova, keep your hair on.” 

You snorted and Steve scowled, shooting you a look that clearly was meant to tell you to shut the fuck up, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Murray, I’d like to think in all the years that we’ve known each other, you’d think I had better taste than to pine after Harrington,” you turned to the boy, smiling as sweet as the summer outside. “Wonder boy has enough of the fifteen year olds twirling their pigtails for him.”

“Stop calling me that.”

You ignored him, splashing his trainers with your mop instead and he kicked your bucket in return. 

“Yeah, no, this?” Murray clicked his fingers at you both, pointing back and forth at you as if you were a science experiment. “This is ridiculous. Do something about it before you both implode. I’m not having you take the entire camp down just because you’re both too horny to come to terms with normal human emotions.”

Your jaw dropped, a small noise of indignation coming from you and Steve looked completely bewildered. 

He grinned once more, smug as he shook his head, like he was the only enjoying whatever inside joke was going on. He turned to leave, not before reaching into his pocket and flicking something at Steve. 

The boy caught it instinctively and he turned to the man with wide eyes. But Murray was already walking away, a stern hand raised in the air, finger pointed to the roof as if he was giving you both some sage words of wisdom as he called out:

“Keep it clean!”

You realised he wasn’t just referring to the mess hall when Steve held up the object, face aghast and cheeks positively on fire, the square, foil packet pinched between his fingers. 

You were burning, mouth open in surprise and you panicked, batting Steve’s hand and making the condom fall into the sudsy water you had both already spilled onto the floor. 

You definitely preferred Hopper’s way of punishment. 

“Put that in the trash, right fucking now,” you demanded, staring at the offending object like it was a ticking time bomb, waiting to blow. 

“Christ, settle down, princess priss,” Steve huffed, “it’s not gonna bite.”

But for once, he did what you asked, the highs of his cheeks still tinted pink as he snatched the silver packet from the floor, stuffing it deep into the trash bags you’d both been equipped with. He didn’t look at you. 

You both worked in silence as the late afternoon turned into dusk, the sky outside the window a pretty lavender, the clouds over the lake turning the water tangerine and it was so quiet. 

Most of the kids would be in their bunks by now, some excitedly making their way over to one of the older cabins where Eddie would organise a game of Dungeons and Dragons for them all. Nancy would be in Hop’s office, going through the next week's schedule and Jonathan would be hidden in his makeshift darkroom, a small shed that was once used for bikes. 

You were almost certain Billy would be skulking the woods, looking for a ritual sacrifice or some lone kid to blow his shrill whistle at. Either option seemed likely. 

Robin would probably already be back in your shared cabin, music on, one of Eddie’s free joints hanging from her lips and you wondered if Steve would normally spend his down time alone, or if he liked to wander the collection of bars the next town over had to offer. If he brought some girl back to his cabin, if he pressed her down onto his stupid bunk that probably smelled like sunscreen and his cologne. 

Your stomach twisted ugly at the thought and you slammed the soaking mop down onto the floor harder than you needed to. 

You were positively glowering at the streaks of leftover over pudding some kind had smeared across the floor, kicking the forgotten baseball cards and tiny action figures so they skittered under the stacked chairs. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” The boy called out. 

He was sitting on one of the long lunch tables, legs swinging with a smirk on his face. He’d hardly cleaned, you’d come to realise, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You had other reasons to be mad now. 

You stared at him from across the empty hall, chest heaving with an annoyance that only Steve Harrington could pull from you. You let mop clatter roll the floor, uncaring as you rounded on him. 

“You,” you spat, hands on your hips and hair messy from where the late night heat made it stick to your forehead. 

“Me?” Steve asked, all faux shock and innocence with a hand pressed to his chest. He grinned, wolfish and sharp edges. “Didn’t realise I had an effect on your underwear, princess, wanna elaborate?”

There it was again, you realised. That flirting lilt that weaved its way through his usual taunts and teases, Steve’s normal bite not quite cutting as deep. Not this year, not this time. 

It made you flustered, on edge, unable to formulate the kind of barbed reply you usually kept on the tip of your tongue, just for him, and oh my god, it infuriated you. 

“You have absolutely no reason to be thinking about what’s under my shorts, Harrington,” you told him, eyes narrowed as you went about moving the stacks of chairs against the wall. 

“Bold of you to assume I’d want to, Hawkins.”

The light was leaking from the day and what was left of the sun made the shadows on Steve’s face lilac and peach. You didn’t know you’d marched over to him until you were able to reach out and touch him. 

You didn’t. You couldn’t. 

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, “don’t call me that as if you don’t come from the same shitty, backwater town as me.”

Steve leaned forward, his hands curling around the edge of the table as he raised his brows, ready for another argument. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like he’d trapped the sun in his chest, like summer lived inside of him. 

“D’you prefer princess? The princess of Hawkins, is that it?” His voice was mocking, his eyes sarcastically soft. 

“Fuck off, Harrington,” you snarled, and you couldn’t help but lean in too, Steve’s knees pressing into the front of your thighs, your fists clenched by your sides. “At least I’m getting away from that place without my daddy paying my way out.”

“Watch your mouth, sweetheart,” Steve spoke lowly, more serious than you’d heard him before. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ooh, did I hit a nerve, sweetheart?” You bit back. 

The boy stared at you, gaze heavy and hot in a way that made you squirm. The air was buzzing, popping and crackling like there had been a fire lit between you and suddenly, you didn’t know how you were supposed to end this fight. 

The tension was too thick to walk away from, sticky like honey, trapping you there. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” he whispered, staring at you like you were a puzzle piece that just didn’t fit. “You’re a pain in my ass, you have been since fucking freshman year.”

You scoffed, pinched and nipped by his words because you were just as aggravated by his presence as he was yours. Maybe more. And probably for longer. 

“Freshman year?” You said, surprise colouring your tone. “That’s real cute Harrington, but you’ve been getting on my last fucking nerve since seventh grade.”

“Seventh grade? What the fu-”

You sucked in a breath, preparing yourself. You’d been waiting for this moment for eight years. 

“Mrs Duncan’s science fair!” You burst out, “I worked my ass off making those vegetable batteries!”

Steve was staring at you blankly, lips parted. 

“I had my tables and all my charts, I even bought a metre to measure the voltage with just my pocket money!” You jabbed a finger to his chest, lips twisted into an almost pathetic pout but you felt twelve again and Steve Harrington still pushing your buttons. 

“And you! You waltzed in half an hour late, with a stupid bottle of coke and some mentos, claiming that you’d been the one to discover fucking CO2.”

Steve, unable to hide his amused smile, just shrugged. “I was barely thirteen, Jesus Christ princess…”

“And then your dad came in behind you,” you sniffed. “He walked right up to Mrs Duncan and handed her a piece of paper. And I remember it had a few zeros on it,” you laughed without much humour. 

The smile slipped from Steve’s face. 

“It was so weird, y’know? How that happened and then you won? And then the next week the library had been restocked and suddenly there were new bunsen burners in the science lab.”

You were genuinely surprised when Steve shoved past you, his hands a shocking heat on the dip of your waist as he grabbed at you to tug you out of his way. You didn’t know when you’d moved to stand between his legs, close enough to see the different shades of brown in his eyes, the way there was a small freckle just below his left brow. 

He was marching across the mess hall, mop and trash bag forgotten and you were so shocked that it took you a few seconds before you called out, weaker than you had previously been speaking. 

“What’s wrong, wonder boy? Don’t like it when you’re called out?”

You weren’t sure if you felt smug or concerned when he spun on his heel, stalking back towards you and moving into you, close enough that the mess of his hair brushed your forehead. But you stood your ground, your legs bumping into the back of the table he’d just left, and you watched through interested eyes as Steve’s chest heaved. 

He looked like he wanted to say something, to yell at you even. But you tilted your chin in one last act of defiance, the tip of your nose just, just brushing his and you swore on everything that was holy that you watched the fight leave him. 

He was still breathing heavily, like he’d run a mile, took a few hits in a boxing ring, got into a fight with a pretty girl and walked back in for more. You hated it when you realised your chest was moving the same, breaths leaving you in short bursts but you didn’t dare let your stare drop from the boy’s. 

You watched lips part, you watched his gaze drop to your mouth and suddenly the birds outside stopped chirping and you could’ve sworn that the world ceased spinning. It felt like the forest was waiting. 

Like it was holding its breath. 

But then the mop that Steve had left resting against the table he had crowded you against fell, clattering to the floor with a sharp echo. It startled you both, jumping apart as you shared one last breath together, eyes on the floor, cheeks burning. 

You didn’t try to stop him when he left a second time, managing to disappear out of the door and into the summer night. You watched the trees and the shadows swallow him, fireflies and leftover smoke in the air and fucking hell, you hated that you watched him walk away until his cabin door could be heard slamming shut.

Tell me what you’ve got in mind. 

By the end of the second week of camp, the staff was starting to show the stress of running after a bunch of kids twenty four hours a day. Some of the younger children in Robin's group had caught a bug, and between your friend, yourself and Joyce, you were all run ragged, hauling buckets across camp and dishing out cold compresses like sweets. 

So when Saturday rolled in, warmer than the last, you were all ready to let off some steam, meeting behind the gymnasium when the sun went down, greeted by a small fire that Eddie got going in an old trash can. He brought some pre-rolled joints, some stolen bags of chips from Bob’s secret stash and the gym was far away enough from the rest of the camp that no one heard the noise of the boombox Jonathan brought with him. 

You threw your own additions into the middle of the makeshift circle that the seven of you made, the newer counsellors still too scared to toe the line of what might get them fired. You stared at the pile of paraphernalia in the middle of the halved logs, makeshift sofas in the too long grass. 

A baggie of weed, a grinder and Eddie’s tin of joints, Billy’s favourite whisky, another bottle of vodka - loaded with cherry jolly ranchers that made it pretty and pink. A few cassettes, some homemade mixtapes, the stolen chips, some red vines and sour patch kids, the packet already open and sugar coating the grass.

You hadn’t really spoken to Steve since the mess hall incident. 

You’d rather immaturely begged Eddie to switch block sessions with you, allowing you to take your kids to the other side of camp, far from where Steve spent time with his group. You’d organised a massive arts and craft project with Nancy instead, avoiding her knowing looks and pointed questions, letting Dustin go crazy with googly eyes, glitter and neon felt tips instead. 

It didn’t matter if you’d asked the kids to make their favourite animal, you’d accept Henderson’s four eyed, sparkly green lizard looking thing over Nancy’s inquisition any day of week. You felt a little bad though, when you all discovered as a group that Will was most definitely allergic to the new type of glue sticks that Hopper had bought. 

But it meant that you’d only seen Steve during some meal times, a glance over breakfast, a small collision during one dinner, fries and a bottle of iced tea falling to the floor and everyone had stopped, stared, waited for the yells. 

They hadn’t come. 

You’d watched him argue with Max when she climbed a tree that he’d already warned her was too tall, you and your group stopping mid swim in the lake to bob around in the current, watching as the boy kicked a dead branch in frustration before scrambling up after her when Max inevitably got stuck. 

You knew he was listening in when Dustin started asking why you worked at the camp, a question he asked you every year. You always told the boy it was because you loved seeing him and the rest of the rugrats he called friends. And it always worked when he was younger, ‘cause he’d smile and let you muss up his curls, overjoyed with such an answer and a piece of bubblegum from your pocket. 

But he was older now and less believing and when you gave him the same adoring monologue, he simply raised his brows and asked again. 

“College,” you had told him simply. “Or money really. I need the cash to be able to leave Hawkins and go somewhere else.”

“Where?” Dustin had asked you, sincere in only the way kids could be. 

You were overly aware that Harrington was sitting behind you at the other table, back to back with you on the benches as he showed El how to tie her elastic just right, so that her slingshot would definitely beat Sinclairs. You didn’t have it in you to tell both of them that that kind of craft project definitely wasn’t allowed. 

You leaned into Dustin instead and shrugged, smiling softly despite the way you saw Steve in your peripheral, turning just enough so he could hear you say:

“Anywhere.”

So it was a little jarring when he arrived at your little staff get together, camp shirt replaced with one of his own, a sunshine yellow tee that made his eyes look like honey and his skin more tanned. You hated that you noticed, that you knew he looked good. 

He greeted everyone warmly, bar you, sending you a curt nod of his head over the burning fire that had Nancy rolling her eyes and Robin poking you in the ribs. Because there were no barbed wire words exchanged between either of you, no jabs, no bites, no smug smiles or sarcastic grins. 

“What is going on with you two?”

You ignored her question, giving her a warning glare that she also chose to ignore, ‘cause she went and sat next to Eddie and Jonathan instead, whispering to them behind the plumes of smoke they’d created. 

After a few drinks and several people telling Billy to shut up, the night turned darker, the sky navy and the air still stiflingly warm. The fire was more a source of light than heat at this point, or as Eddie liked to remind everyone, ‘it’s for the ambience,’ and everyone was doing their best to stay away from the flames, skin already tight and sore with fresh sunburn from that day. 

It only took the vodka bottle being emptied before Billy announced a game of truth or dare, to which everyone groaned and asked what age he was. But he tutted, unperturbed and dropped the empty glass bottle into the middle of the messy circle your bodies had made. 

“Don’t be so fuckin’ boring,” he intoned, “it’s either this or hitchhiking into Bloomington to find a chick that likes being on top-”

The girls groaned, faces pulled into disgust and Jonathan was shaking his head, a bemused look on his face. 

“-and quite frankly that seems like too much effort tonight.”

Steve scoffed, taking the joint Eddie offered him, pushing it between his lips for a hit before he turned to Billy, one eyebrow raised. 

“You mean finding a girl that doesn’t already know you’re a giant dickhead is gettin’ harder to find?”

Sometimes you wondered if Steve hated Billy more than he hated you. 

“There’s always your princess,” Billy grinned, eyeing you in a way that made you feel like you were under a microscope. “She’s gotta give into me sometime, right?”

“Keep dreaming, Hargrove,” you butted in, doing nothing to hide the disgust in your voice. You wanted to kick yourself when you realised you’d responded to being Steve’s princess, your name never even being mentioned. “I’d rather kiss Harrington.”

The wave of something washed over the group at your words, wide eyes and soft smirks, and you felt your stomach sink. Steve was staring at you, eyes lit up with something that looked akin to a challenge, a dare that you hadn’t yet been asked. 

Fuck. 

“Is that so?” Billy laughed, a harsh noise that let everyone know he wasn’t happy at your statement. But he grinned, sharp teeth and sharper blue eyes, steely on you. “You always pick dare, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“That’s not-”

“I dare you to give us all some entertainment and make out with Harrington,” Billy continued, talking over you without even blinking. “Maybe if both of your mouths are busy, we’ll get some fuckin’ peace and quiet around here.”

Nobody breathed. 

But someone must’ve picked your mixtape out of the pile, ‘cause the opening beat to ‘I Think We’re Alone Now,’ by Tiffany, started to play. You stared at Billy, shocked at his suggestion, his demand. The game suddenly felt less fun and the only sounds were the echo of your strangled scoff and the crackle of the fire. 

But then Nancy was pushing her foot into your ankle from where she sat on her boyfriend's lap, eyes glittering. 

“On you go,” she told you, and you think she was trying to be encouraging. 

“What?”

“What?” Nancy repeated, doe eyes innocent and wide, like she didn’t know what she was doing. “You picked dare!”

“I didn’t say shit!” You exclaimed, looking around at your friends for help. Robin and Eddie were cackling, faces pressed into each others shoulders, and being absolutely no fucking help to you. “Guys!”

“C’mon, Hawkins, you don’t like to lose now, do you?” Billy was grinning from where he lazed across some old crash mats, his voice a slow drawl as he chewed some gum obnoxiously. “Give Harrington a little lovin’.”

‘Children, behave… that’s what they say when we’re together.’

You turned to Steve, who was still leaning against the gym wall, his eyes finding yours even in the dim evening light. He looked unsure, nervous even, like he was ready to tell the rest of them to shut up, to pack it in. But then he watched the way you brought the bottle of wine to your lips, letting the rest of the sweet drink trickle past your lips and god, he looked at you like he was ready to fight. 

Dark brown eyes, smirk on his lips, cocky tilt of his head like he was waiting for you. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth as he watched you stand there, thinking, weighing up your options. 

“What’s my forfeit?” You asked cautiously. 

You turned when Billy chuckled, blue eyes looking as navy as the sky. He let his head tip back, smoke slipping from his lips and into the trees before he grinned at you, far, far too happily. 

“Me,” he told you. 

So Steve sighed, overly dramatic before he spoke to the group, voice full of that easy confidence you hated so much. 

“Don’t worry princess, you can give it your best shot and I promise I won’t feel a damn thing.”

Your friends cackled and hollered around you; always thoroughly amused by the show you and Steve put on. Robin shook her head from where she sat beside Eddie, a shit eating grinning pulling at her lips and she spilled some beer as she leaned forward and called out:

“What’s that they say? It’s a fine line between love and hate?”

More laughs, whispers and knowing nudges, dollar bills exchanging hands as the group placed their bets on what would happen next. 

“I bet your dick says otherwise.”

You don’t know what made you mention Steve Harrington’s dick, but it made the boy’s jaw go slack and the rest of the circle lost it. More whistles, jeering and catcalls broke the quiet of the night, loud over the music, louder because of the vodka and you couldn’t help but set Steve with a smile and a shrug. 

This felt like a game you wanted to win. 

So you walked over to where he stood, leaning lazy against the gym wall, watching you move towards him like a predator stalking its prey. He was looking at you the same way he did when you ended up on opposite teams for a game of capture the flag, all red hot intensity, pride and confidence bubbling over. 

You were surprised when Steve’s hands settled on the dip of your waist, holding you there as you pushed up on your toes to find his lips. Your hand grabbed at his shirt, fisted at the collar to pull him down to you and something in your stomach tumbled when he obeyed.  

He didn’t make any more moves though, eyes almost closed as he looked at you through his lashes, watching, waiting, seeing if you fulfilled your dare. 

It was awfully quiet now, your friends silent, the radio and the fire both crackling and you could hear how you and Steve’s harsh breaths fell over each other’s faces. 

You’d never been this close before. And then it all happened a little too fast. 

His fingers flexed at your sides, digging into the soft there and you weren’t sure if it was out of anticipation, impatience or annoyance. There is as something screaming inside of you to move away, to take the loss, that kissing Steve fucking Harrington wouldn’t be worth the five second glory of completing a dare behind the gym hall. 

But then Steve was whispering and it fell across your lips, his breath sweet like raspberry sour patch kids and rosè wine. 

“If you’re too scared, princess, I totally understa-“

One more push was all you needed. A poke, a pinch, from him, the one person who knew how to rile you up the best. 

You kissed him with a surprising softness. Your mouths clashed rough at first, like you did it just to shut him up, to prove a point. And that was true. But your lips gave way to him with surprising ease, a push and pull that felt less like a fight than you thought it would. 

It was easy to pretend it wasn’t a dare when Steve let out the prettiest sound, a half sigh, half groan that came from the back of his throat and when he tried to move into you, to take a little more control, your hand that was still curled into his shirt pushed him back into the wall he was leaning on. 

He seemed to like that though, ‘cause you felt the curve of his lips on yours, smiling into the kiss and his grip on your waist got almost too tight, like he was planning on leaving marks on you. 

Maybe he was. 

But then it was a fight, like always, the most dizzying kind. His lips were hot and he tasted sweet, like summer and candy and too cheap alcohol. It felt nice to be kissed, it was all very nice until you remembered it was Harrington and you pushed into him a little harder, nipped at his lip and tugged on his hair. He gave it back just as good, nails scraping against your back, just catching bare skin as he lifted the shirt from your sides. 

No one said a word when you parted. Not you, not Steve, not your friends. Not even Billy. You left Steve with a small gasp, a soft noise as you finally parted, so entirely unaware of how long you’d been caught up in his kiss. You felt bruised, on fire, like you’d just stumbled away from your most heated argument yet. 

The only saving grace was that he looked as dizzy as you felt. 

—————

When a team meeting was called early the next morning, you walked into Hopper's cabin last, only to find everyone in different stages of a hangover, but all equally happy to see you. 

They were all grinning, wide, knowing smiles that set your own teeth on edge, your headache worsening when you caught sight of Steve slouched low on the sofa. 

He had a pair of Ray Bans perched on his nose and he didn’t look at you when you walked in, eyes on the floor and wincing. 

Why the fuck did you kiss Steve fucking Harrington?

“Good morning to you, darlin’,” Billy drawled from where he was leaning against Murray’s desk, smirking with tired eyes. “Sleep well? You didn’t come knockin’ on my cabin so I assume Harrington took real good care of you.”

Oh, you remembered. That’s why. 

“Fuck off, Hargrove.”

It was all you could muster when your mouth still tasted like bourbon and Steve, and Murray looked thoroughly interested when he took to the middle of the floor, clipboard in hand. 

“I don’t know what went on last night,” he chuckled, “but I’m sure your hungover asses will be pleased to know that it’s hike day.”

Please for the love of god, no. 

Everyone groaned, faces dropping in upset and Robin, who had already been sitting on the floor, her back to Nancy’s legs, slumped over, cheek pressed to the old carpet and she made a noise that was akin to a wail. 

“Lucky for most of you, we already have sign ups,” Murray crowed gleefully. “Harrington, Hawkins número dos, have a great day.”

Your mouth fell open in protest - hypocritical, you knew, considering you went through the training for hiking safety last summer, but you weren’t on the schedule until next week. 

You stared at Nancy who was flicking through the rota with confusion knitted into her features and when she caught your eye, she just shrugged. 

“No, no, no,” you told Murray, a strange laugh bubbling in your throat that sounded like panic, “I’m not taking my kids out until next weekend, with Robin!”

Murray shrugged, not looking like he really cared and he crossed his arms, nodding his head towards Eddie. 

“No, I know,” he told you in a voice he probably thought was soothing. “But Eddie Munster here-”

“Um, it’s Munson actually.”

“Whatever - your idiot colleague here decided that the road less travelled was the best way home last night.” Murray grinned and pointed down to where Eddie’s foot sat on a small stool, his ankle wrapped tightly in a haphazard bandage. “He’s sprained it.”

You gaped at the boy and Eddie had the right to look sorry, his teeth bared in an apologetic grimace and he mouthed “sorry” at you from beside Steve. His bunk mate hardly stirred. 

“Can’t someone else go?” You asked, spinning back to Murray and you didn’t even care that you sounded desperate. “Like, literally anyone else?”

But Murray kept smiling, his clipboard clasped to his chest like a schoolgirl with a secret diary and he sighed dramatically at you before shaking his head. 

“No.”

“But Hopper specifically said  that we’re not allowed to group together anymore!” You tried, gesturing wildly to Steve who barely answered with a groan. “Not after summer eighty three when he almost drowned me.” 

“Okay that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

You rounded on the boy, hands still flapping around yourself. “Oh, he speaks! Don’t you have anything to say about this?”

Steve peered at you from over the top of his sunglasses, brown eyes weary behind them. He groaned, frowned and pushed his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, no, I’m too tired to argue right now, princess.”

Murray looked entirely too amused and he crooked his finger in air quotes when he snorted and said, “sure, tired, gotcha.” He turned back to you, still grinning obnoxiously. “Anyway, chief isn’t here today and I figured there isn’t any boating equipment for either of you to break out in the mountains.”

The group tittered. 

“So hop to it,” he clapped his hands, board tucked under his arm and everyone leapt to their feet when the older man made a move to grab the whistle that hung around his neck. “The kids are finishing breakfast and I want both your groups at the meeting point for a safety debrief before nine.”

—————

You were busy smearing another layer of sunscreen on Will’s nose when Dustin appeared at your side. 

The two groups had made it halfway up the trail, the sun lazy and warm, the way it could only be on an early morning hike. The sky was still hazy, a soft blue lavender that made the clouds in the sky seem dreamlike. The kids were still quiet with sleep, trailing happily behind each other, trading secrets and sips of water with their assigned hike buddies. 

It was nice. Apart from Steve leading the way with a scowl on his face. 

“Are you and Steve fighting?” Dustin asked, curls stuffed messily under a Camp Upside Down hat. 

You finished patting at Will’s forehead as you turned to the other boy with a soft frown. But the two kids stared up at you expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of answer. 

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Henderson,” you laughed softly, “but Harrington and I fight all the time. Argue, I mean. Hitting is bad.” 

Will rolled his eyes as he fell back into step beside you, the three of you continuing up the path a little behind the rest of the group. But Dustin tugged at your shirt sleeve, clearly not finished with the conversation, nor satisfied with your answer. 

“But that’s the point,” he proclaimed and you huffed as you pulled him out of the way of a fallen branch, his attention focused too much on you to notice it in his way. “You haven’t been mean to each other all morning.”

“Or called each other names,” Will pointed out from the other side of you. 

“That’s because name calling isn’t nice,” you tried to protest, but your voice sounded weak even to your own ears. 

“You call each other names all the time.”

For the love of god. 

Suzie Bingham had appeared beside Dustin, coke bottle glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she set you with a knowing look. Dustin grinned at the girl's appearance, cheeks pink as their shoulders brushed together on the narrow path. 

“That’s not the point,” you told her, grappling for an explanation. You glanced up ahead, over the crowd of children’s heads to see Steve bickering with Lucas and Mike, Max poking him in the back with a long stick as she trudged behind them. “We’re adults.”

All three kids stared at you, expressionless and less than impressed. 

“Have you and Steve ever kissed?” Will suddenly asked, letting the words burst out from his chest like he knew he shouldn’t have asked. 

You tripped over a branch, the same fallen sticks that scattered the trail that you’d pulled Dustin away from. You turned to look at the boy so fast that your neck protested, your eyes wide. 

“Because Steve looks at you like he wants to kiss you all the time.” 

And then you were on the ground, gravel stuck to your bare knees and dirt on your hands and shins, swearing at the forest floor because all you could think about was the press of Harrington’s lips on yours, the way he dug his fingers into your sides like he couldn’t let go. 

Fuck. 

“Shit!” You cried out, hot, frustrated tears brimming at your lash line and you winced when you tried to stand back up. 

Suzie dropped to the trail beside you, eyes worried as she took note of the blood that slipped down your leg, a nasty gash on your knee that looked like it came from the jagged piece of bark that lay beside you. 

“Someone get Steve,” she started to say, a small hand on your shoulder that brought a little comfort. 

But Dustin was already cupping his hands over his mouth and positively hollering over the line of kids that were oblivious to what was going on behind them. 

“STEVE!” 

You groaned, “Dustin, no, I’m fine, honest.” 

“You’re bleeding!” Will protested, looking rather sickly at the sight of the red line that was quickly seeking into the white of your sock. 

“STEEEVE!”

“Kill me,” you whispered to the ground, “just kill me.”

You saw Steve’s trainers before anything else, the soft thud, thud, thud of his soles on the dirt as he pushed his way through to you. You managed to shove yourself back, your knees protesting before dropping to your ass, inspecting your bloodied leg, wincing. 

“Shit, are you okay?”

No comment about your clumsiness, or how you were dumb, or how your dirty, cut up knee looked gross. No, Steve’s voice was shockingly soft with concern as he dropped down on his haunches to inspect your injury. 

“M’fine,” you muttered, cheeks warm because he was almost as close as he had been last night, smelling like leftover cologne and sunscreen, the strawberry smoothie you’d watched him grab at breakfast. 

“Really?” He mused, his tone disbelieving. “‘Cause that looks pretty nasty, princess.”

His hand moved to cup the back of your sore knee, fingers tucked into the sensitive skin there as he went to inspect the scrape. You jolted at his touch, body electric underneath him and you watched the way Steve’s eyes widened at your reaction. 

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“What? No, yes, fuck,” you were panicking, you could hear it in your voice and from somewhere behind you, you heard the distinctive sound of Max Mayfield’s laugh. “Just, Christ, don’t touch me.”

“I’m trying to help, idiot,” Steve snarked but he backed off scowling. You watched how he flexed his hand after he let go of your leg, like his skin was burning the same way yours was, like he’d been scalded. “You need to go get that cleaned.”

You hated that the boy was right but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing out loud. Instead, you wrestled to your feet, grunting as you did so, wiggling your ankle to make sure you hadn’t suffered the same fate as Eddie. It seemed fine, nothing crunched at least, but the sting around your split skin screamed at you. 

Another slide of red rushed from your cut and down your leg as you moved it and beside you, Will groaned, quickly moving into the crowd to find Mike, his head pushed into his friend's shoulder and his hands clutched at his own stomach. 

A chorus of “eww’s” came from the kids and you weren’t fairing much better, your expression pitiful as you watched your white converse turn crimson. You held your leg out awkwardly, hardly balancing on your good one and every time you pushed your foot to the ground, you hissed. 

It stung like a bitch. 

But then Steve was clapping his hands, well into camp mother mode as he demanded the kids attention. To his credit, everyone looked at him, waiting for further instruction. Well, everyone except Max, who’d found a larger, longer stick and was holding it, javelin style. 

“Okay, let’s go,” he announced, his eyes still on you, and you were still surprised to see worry knitted in the space between his brows. “Turn it around gremlins, everyone in front of us and take your time going back down, okay? Stick with your buddy.”

The kids obeyed, muttering between themselves about how much blood was on your leg and would Hopper let them go to the lake now instead? But they trailed back down the path, two by two, and you and Steve waited for the last pair to pass you before he turned, grimacing.

“Put your arm ‘round me.”

You baulked, staring at the boy as if he’d suddenly grown another head. 

“What? No,” you hated that you sounded so nervous, and you wondered if he could tell.

“Christ, woman,” Steve rolled his eyes, offering a hand out to you, the warmth of it hovering close to the small of your back. “Can you swallow your fucking pride for a second and let me help you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed, but you wobbled on your one good leg and Steve didn’t try to hide his smile.

“Stubbornness, then,” he mused, eyes on you and his hand still hovering over your back as you started down the hill, an uneven step that had you swearing and muttering to yourself. “Spite, maybe?”

“Fuck you, Harrington,” you told him plainly, hardly any heat behind it for once due to all your attention focused on the pain you were in. Your poor sock was ruined.

Steve’s shoulder bumped yours, his body too close, acting like a buffer in case you fell again. You huffed every time you touched, bare arms brushing, hips grazing and his damn hand still an almost touch on your spine. You could feel the warmth radiate from him. 

“Is that dare, princess?” He was smirking. 

You stumbled, swearing profusely as you had no choice but to reach out and grab the boy. Steve was already halfway to you, his arm resting at your waist, his other hand catching yours as it grappled for purchase on something. His fingers curled around yours and you were surprised to realise, that aside from the night before, this was the most you had touched the boy in all the years you had known him. 

It was dizzying. But maybe that was the blood loss. His palm was even warmer where it was pressed against your back, the dip where the band of your shorts sat, fitting into the curve rather nicely. Steve guided you down the trail, taking more of your weight when the ground became rockier, the gravel under your soles making you slip, your side falling into Steve’s.

“We’re not talking about that,” you told him, teeth clenched as your knee bent at a funny angle, a new kind of pain nipping at you. 

“Oh, we’re not?” Steve asked, voice annoyingly light. You could feel his grin without having to look, like you knew the way the air changed when he smiled, everything warm and dizzying around you.

“Nope!” You declared, your tone leaving hardly any room for argument. Luckily for Steve, he always liked a challenge. “In fact,” you crowed, “it didn’t even happen.”

The boy snorted, a soft sound that you felt through your body, half of your back pressed into his chest as you both toed your way down the steepest part of the mountain. He held you to him, careful not to let you drop your weight onto your leg, one hand still curled large around your own, the other holding your waist now.

You swallowed, throat tight.

“It didn’t happen, huh?” Steve asked, voice low in your ear as you approached the back of the kids, Lucas and Suzie’s ears pricking up at the idea of eavesdropping. “That’s what we’re doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeated again, voice airy, nails digging into the back of Steve’s hand, a warning, another fight blooming in your chest. 

Another snort, a tighter grip at your waist, as if he was trying to remind you of the way he held you last night, calloused fingertips pushing at the cotton of your t-shirt, barely touching the skin underneath. 

You were so much warmer than when you were climbing up the mountain.

This waiting ‘rounds killing me. 

The third week went by in a blur, your incident on the hike leaving you with a nasty cut on your knee that Joyce had to dig gravel and dirt out of, and a sudden overwhelming awareness of where Steve Harrington was at all times. 

Your body lit up like a warning light every time he was near, a new agitation at the sight of his stupid hair and his stupid sunglasses and his stupid, stupid smirk. 

He didn’t try to talk about the kiss again, he wasn’t that idiotic. But the energy between you both was a little different than before. It was still fiery, buzzing with tension and an electrical current that kept you on your toes, but it was different. 

You weren’t sure if you liked it. 

The week led up to the annual game of hide and seek, the entire camp split into two teams, the cabins turned into bases, the inside of the old gym a ghost town. No one was surprised when Murray declared you and Steve team leaders - one seeking, the other hiding - the camp cheering and whistling as you both took your new shirts, both with ‘captain’ printed on the back. 

You’d barely led your team away from the middle of the camp before you heard Steve declare:

“Okay listen up, we need to win.”

You appraised your own squad with the same focused stare that Steve had, your gaze settling over Eddie and Nancy, the gaggle of kids that were all smearing face paint over their friends. War stripes on their cheeks, bandana’s wrapped around their foreheads and Dustin had even gone as far as to don a green ski mask.

You squinted at him, wondering if you should ask where he got such a thing but you decided against it, voice endearing as you said, “Dustin, sweetie, I don’t think you’re going to be able to see very well out of that.”

And before he could argue his case, Eddie pinched the top of it, whipping the fabric from his head, curls spilling out messily. The boy pouted, but he didn’t argue, instead standing still enough to let Lucas smear blue lines over his face.

“You gonna force me into the smallest corner you can find?” Eddie had turned to you whilst Nancy handed out some bottles of water, hushing the trash talk that was starting to get out of hand between Lucas and Suzie. 

You grinned, looking at Eddie with an easy smile, shrugging, “maybe. You’re pretty flexible, right Munson?”

The boy snorted, shoulder nudging into yours, “like a fucking gymnast, sweetheart.”

You fell into a soft conversation with Eddie, a rare occurrence in the craziness of the camp, all gentle laughs and hands pushed to arms, cracked jokes and the promise of a joint after the game was over. And then Steve was there, almost too close, brows knitted together as he watched the way his bunkmate pressed teasing fingers into your ribs, making you squeak.

“Are we flirting or are we playing?” He snapped, shoulder brushing yours. But Steve wasn’t looking at you, his stare heavy and trained on Eddie. “Hey dude, didn’t Joyce tell you you’ve got to stick with Will?”

Eddie could read his friend like a book. He smirked, unable to help himself when Steve was making it so obvious, but he nodded, moving away from you to tussle at Will’s hair. 

“Sure am, Harrington,” the longer-haired boy smiled good naturedly, “little Byers and I are gonna find the best spot, right kid?”

Will nodded enthusiastically, inhaler in hand and Mike at his side. But Steve was still scowling, eyes finally meeting yours before he turned suddenly, marching back to his team as if he couldn’t bear to be around you for any longer. 

And that was fine with you. Totally fine. 

From then, it was chaos, carnage across the camp with kids running riot, wrestling for the best hiding spot as Hopper and Murray watched from the office window, cups of coffee in hand. 

It went the way it always did, with Mike and Will caught first, the latter giving away their hiding spot way too soon because his allergies made him sneeze, the other boy refusing to split from his friend. 

Eddie trailed behind them, lazy and unbothered about being out of the game so early, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, waiting for Murray to stop watching. 

The kids spread around the camp in clusters, hiding in beached kayaks, under the dock, squeezed between the crash mats in the gym. Max was caught out in the open - after being refused sanctuary in Hopper’s office -  scowl on her face, El dragged behind her, grinning as you laughed.

“Hit the benches,” Steve had told them both, watching as they took their consolation s’mores from Joyce and sat with the rest of the captured kids around the fire. 

Steve’s team took out the other kids one by one, screams and laughter heard across the forest, campers crawling out from underneath decking and out of trees, covered in mud and nettle stings, but so, so happy. 

And then there were hardly any players left. 

But Steve bypassed Dustin and Lucas, the two boys snickering underneath an overturned canoe, and he headed to the gym instead. The old building was empty, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum and the lights were off, the sun that was starting to set just barely shining in the high set windows. 

It painted stripes of light and shadows on the floor and the air seemed golden. Steve kicked at the crash mats that were stacked and  

pushed against a wall, his movements playful and throwing dust mites into the air. They caught the light, floating, glittering and Steve saw a pair of shoes sticking out from behind the ball cage and he grinned. 

If you heard him walking over, you didn’t show it, stubbornly standing your ground until Steve rounded the corner, eyes bright on yours. 

“You’re losing your edge, princess, that was far too easy.”

You were scowling at him and you pushed yourself away from the cage, the wheels squeaking as you rounded the other side, eyes on the boy. It was familiar, that feeling, that push and pull, a chase, a challenge, a dare. 

“Don’t kid yourself Harrington, I’ve been waiting here for about an hour now.”

Steve followed, eyes trailing over your bare legs, the swell of your ass in your shorts, freckle on your thigh, the silver scar on your knee from the hike. You noticed, brows raised and you snorted when he shrugged, unapologetic in a way you hadn’t seen before. 

He didn’t care if you caught him staring. Steve Harrington had always been the first to call you annoying, stubborn, a thorn in his side. But he’d never tried to deny that you were good to look at. 

“That’s only ‘cause I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” Steve shot back and you smiled at him, eyes narrowed, overly fake. “But it looks like I win, who would’ve thought?”

But you were still moving, stepping around the pile of mats, the cold material brushing against your shins and the light from the window made you glow, eyes too bright, smile sharp. 

You stared at the boy from across the crash pads, voice sticky sweet when you asked, “don’t you have to tag the other opponent before they’re out?”

Steve stopped, level with you across the hall and he grinned. And fuck, he looked pretty like that, standing in a sunbeam, freckles on his nose, hands on hips and eyes burning on you. 

You weren’t arguing, not quite, not yet. But it still felt fun. 

Steve looked around, eyes conspiring, and he smirked. “There’s no one here to say I didn’t, princess.”

And then you were moving again, circling each other, smiling a different kind of playfulness and you tutted, pushing your hands into the back pockets of your shorts and you smirked when Steve followed the movement of it. 

“Cheating? C’mon now, wonder boy, you’re above that. Daddy’s not here.”

Steve twisted his lips, ran a hand through his already messy hair and made it flop into his eyes and he pretended to think, just for a second or two, as if he didn’t already know what he was gonna throw back at you. 

“Usually,” he told you, voice low, a little rougher than before. “But I think you owe me one, princess.”

You quirked a brow at him, standing still, one knee lifted and pressed to the mats to steady yourself. 

“Is that so?”

There was a fizz in the air that hadn’t been there before. 

“You got to win your little dare ‘cause of me,” he told you and god, something shifted. Maybe the sun dropped, maybe the shadows got darker, maybe the air got heavier. “I saved you from the clutches of Hargrove.”

You scoffed, turning and going back to walking around the mat, hiding the way your cheeks burned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, remember?”

But Steve just grinned, that wide, bright kinda smile that showed off the dimples you almost forgot he had. He looked boyish like this, handsome in a pretty way, soft and full of sun. Maybe it was because he was looking at you without the lines between his brows, the downturn of his lips. 

“Oh but you do, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

‘Sweetheart’ was starting to sound less like an insult, less like a jab, when Steve said it. His voice was softer, a teasing pitch to it, that sounded so much different than you’d heard and you decided that you didn’t hate it. 

Not at all. 

But the boy was talking about the kiss and he was looking at you like you both shared a secret, despite the very public location it happened in. He was acting as if he liked it, as if he wanted you to admit that you did too. 

You stopped, converse digging into the wall the mats made, eyes wary on the boy because Steve kept walking. He found one side, then the other, only pausing when you were a foot away from him. He mirrored you, hands shoved into his own pockets as he watched you through messy hair. 

“What d’you want me to say, Harrington? Huh?” you smiled, sardonic, lips twisted to the side and gaze careful. You didn’t want to give anything away. “You want me to tell you that I liked it, is that it?”

Steve smirked, enjoying your tone, the teasing, the push of the taunt, the bite to your voice. He knew it so well. 

“You want me to tell you that you’re a good kisser? Does wonder boy need a little ego boost?”

“Oh princess, I don’t need anyone to tell me that.“

Steve’s voice was a drawl. Heavy, warm, sticking to you like the summer heat, all low, hot sun and sweetness. 

You were too warm, a tumble low in your stomach, a flush across your chest. 

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Steve continued,voice far too casual, as if he wasn't making you think about the dirtiest things imaginable. 

“You’re a pig.”

“You love it.”

“You fucking wish, Harrington.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, princess.”

You weren’t sure when you’d moved closer. Neither was Steve, really. But you were once again in your favourite position with the boy, toe to toe and your chin tilted up defiantly to stare at him. He looked too happy, excited even. 

“I’m not playing your games,” you narrowed your eyes at him, hands on your hips in an arrogant display, trying your best to prove that you weren’t as affected by the boy as you actually were. 

The toes of his shoes brushed yours and you could smell his cologne, the forest on him, campfire smoke and pine, leftover rain and something minty. 

“No?” Steve asked and his eyes were tracing the features of your face, the length of your lashes, the dip of your Cupid’s bow, the curve of your lip. “Not even if I pick dare?“

You swallowed, hard. 

You weren’t sure what this was. Not anymore. Because it didn’t feel like the arguments you usually had, the poking and pushing and pulling at each other until something snapped and the yelling started. In fact, you were sure this was the quietest you’d ever been around Steve Harrington. 

Except for the thundering of your heart. It beat against your ribs, a drumming sound that you wondered if Steve would hear. It made your body vibrate, it made your chest feel fit to burst and you couldn’t help but part your lips under his stare, sucking in a breath that you suddenly so desperately needed. 

Steve did the same, an instinctual response to watching you, his tongue wetting at his bottom lip, his eyes heavy and hooded. You didn’t remember taking another step towards him, but you don’t recall Steve moving either. It was all a slow lean, a curl into each other’s bodies, slower and softer than the first time. 

Your hand was on his chest again, fingers splayed across his shirt rather than fisting it in your palm and god, you still really weren’t sure if it was to encourage him closer or shove him away. 

But then his touch was at your waist and the sun finally dipped below the windows and the hall went dark. The shadows sparkled as you got used to the lack of light, Steve’s face a pretty palette of lilacs and navy, the rosy tint of his lips looking deeper and closer to you than ever. 

The slide of your nose against his, stuttering and a little clumsy, unsure and nervous. Everything in your body was screaming at you. To push him away, to pull him towards you, to chew him out, to devour him. 

Steve fucking Harrington made you want to yell, to fight, to roll your eyes and rant for an hour and a half. Steve fucking Harrington made you want to be slammed against a wall, pushed down onto a bed, lips on your neck and kisses that were all tongue and teeth. 

His breath huffed against your cheek, slow and careful like he was still deciding what to do too. Steve was cherry cola and the heat of an argument, cedar and spice and bad decisions. Steve was a hot touch on your waist, a white hot burn through your shirt and a tight grip that was sending you to another level of frustration. 

Then light flooded the gym, a bright burst of it coming from the main doors as the very last of the low setting sun leaked through as they slammed open.

The noise of them hitting the wall made you both jump, the angry squeak of the hinges bringing both back to the harsh reality of who you were about to kiss. You stumbled and Steve tripped, falling backwards onto the crash mats with a soft “fuck” as you turned to see Nancy and Robin standing in the doorway. 

No one spoke, not for a few seconds and the quiet was painful. 

But then Nancy cleared her throat, a smirk on her face that she covered with her hand and Robin grinned. 

“Um, all the kids have been found,” she told you both, glee in her voice that she couldn’t cover and god, you were burning with a new kind of heat. “We’re doing story time.”

“And uh, one of you needs to take over,” Nancy explained, still smothering a laugh under what she thought was a serious expression. “Billy started talking about demogorgons and made Will cry, so…”

“Again?” Steve muttered from his seat on the mat. “I thought Eddie told him that it was all made up.”

You didn’t dare look down at him, your body still overly aware of his, his shoulder brushing against your thigh as he moved and when he clambered to his feet, you were spurned into motion, your legs carrying you quickly across the gym. 

Your shoes squeaked on the floor and your heart was still racing, leaving you feeling like a hormonal teenager who was out of control and unable to handle some stupid boy being too close. Grabbing Robin’s hand, you mumbled some sort of thanks to Nancy and then made up a lie about feeling sick, and how you needed to go back to your cabin now. 

Looking at your flushed skin and glassy eyes, no one could really argue with that. So you left Steve with the responsibility of the nightly campfire story and ignored Robin’s husky laughter as you pulled her through the trees and the dark until you got back to your shared bunk. 

You flew into the cabin like a bat out of hell, doing everything in your power to get away from the boy as quickly as you could. Robin was close behind you, still cackling before she slammed the door, just as you dumped yourself onto your bed, groaning. 

The other girl braced herself, back against the wood, facial expression scandalised as she stared at you wide eyed and through messy bangs. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looked like you and Harrington were about to rail each other on those fucking crash mats.”

You spluttered, the sound of protest getting caught in your throat as you tried to sit up, pushing yourself onto your elbows so you could glare at Robin, trying your best to look appalled. 

“What?!” You choked out, and you knew you were beetroot, you could feel the heat in your cheeks, the flush over your chest. “No we weren’t!”

“You know,” Robin mused, head tilted to the side as she looked at you, “your summer could be a lot more fun if you just admitted you don’t hate him as much as you claim to.”

Another noise came from your throat in response, strangled and panicked as you paced the cabin, old floorboards creaking under your feet. 

“I do hate him,” you insisted, turning your back to the girl to fuss over a pile of clothes you’d left on your dresser after laundry day. You wondered if she’d be able to see the lie on your face, if she could hear it in your voice. “Harrington is a pain in my ass, he has been since-”

“Seventh grade, yeah, yeah,” Robin interrupted, her voice bored and impatient, and she waved a dismissive hand at you. “Science fair, vegetables, Steve and mentos and his dad, I know.”

You glared at her, clothes abandoned, clean shorts dropping to the floor, your arms now crossed. You hated that you were pouting. 

“He didn’t look like he was causing you too much grief when you had him up against the gym wall the other week…”

“That was a dare!” 

“And now - in the gym again actually - do you have some sort of kink?”

“Robin…” you were groaning, pleading. 

“Is it a competitive thing? It gets you both going?”

“Nothing happened! We were- we were arguing!”

The other girl smirked, eyebrows raised and her back still pushed against the doorway. “Yeah, but babe, that’s foreplay for you.”

“I hate you,” you lied and there was no heat behind it, in fact, it only made your friend grin wider. 

“As much as Steve?” She asked, voice sweet. “Should I light some candles? Pop a mint?”

“You’re a dick,” your voice was mulish but you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

“You’re in denial,” Robin shot back, still sounding far too happy about the discussion. “Don’t you think all that pent up frustration could be easily solved?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing where this was going. The girl was moving towards you, eyebrows wiggling as she ran her hands over her chest in what you assumed was supposed to be a suggestive manner. 

“Y’know, there’s other things your mouths could do instead of arguing.”

You pretended to gag, face scrunched up at the thought of it and you went back to sorting through your laundry. “You sound like Murray.”

“I knew he was a sensible man,” she told you and you scoffed because you’d watched Murray Bauman light a firework with the end of Billy’s cigarette last summer. 

“But seriously, you’ve got to be attracted to him, right?”

“Murray?” You asked, all faux innocence, “he’s a bit old, no? Hopper, however-”

“You’re disgusting,” Robin snorted, grabbing at the pile of clothes you were hoarding, taking some of her own shirts to fold as she levelled you with a stare. “And you’re not fooling anyone. I’m very much gay - like, with a capital ‘G’ - and even I can say Steve is easy on the eyes.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” you tutted, “his head will get bigger.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

You fell into an easy silence then, clothes folded and sorted on your beds and you were surprised when Robin - perpetually messy - even went as far as to make her bed from that morning. 

It gave you too much time to think. About how the boy had been almost nice to you at some points this summer, helping you when you fell, teasing instead of scathing, always too close, always nearby. It made you notice him too much, made you far too aware of him. 

Like how his skin tanned so easily, new freckles every other day, how blue and yellow looked good on him, how when he got too close you noticed he had some green in his eyes. You knew he liked a smoothie for breakfast, he turned softer and quieter when speaking to Will, he encouraged Max to run faster, jump higher, swim deeper, that it was okay to be a little scared sometimes. 

You stopped, a choked breath of complete indignation leaving your lips and dropped the pyjamas you’d been folding and marched to the door. 

“Uh, where are you going?”

“To tell fucking Harrington that I know his game,” you seethed, “and that it’s not fucking working.”

Robin looked startled. “What?!”

You flung the door open and cringed when it hit the wooden wall behind it but you barely paid it any mind. The woods were dark, the sky inky and it smelled like rain was coming. 

“His game!” You urged, and god, you sounded a little manic, didn’t you? “He’s trying to get me to like him. And it’s not happening, he’s not winning!”

“Winning what?” Robin was almost yelling, confusion colouring her tone and she squinted at you. 

“I don’t know!” You told her, mouth agape because Jesus Christ, you really didn’t know, but you’d be damned if you let the boy think he had some kind of one up on you. 

“Babe, curfew is in like, ten minutes.”

 One glance at the clock on the wall told you that Robin was right, but stubbornness won out over sensibility so you made a strangled sound and shrugged, closing the door behind you a little too loudly and you made your way over the carpet of pine needles, heading towards the other cabins. 

—————

Eddie answered when you knocked, wearing an old, Metallica hoodie that was too big, his long curls pulled messily back into a bun and he grinned, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe. 

“Now, I’m pretty certain you’re not here for me,” he told you, voice all light and full of a humour that you didn’t appreciate, “but there’s absolutely no fucking way you’re here for Harrington.”

You scowled.

“Is he in?”

Eddie cackled, pushing himself away from the door as he called out over his shoulder, looking thoroughly entertained. 

“Hey, big boy, you’ve got a lady caller.”

This was starting to seem like an incredibly bad idea. Your irritation had waned slightly as you’d marched across the dark forest, the fresh air soothing your anger just a touch. But before you could change your mind, Steve appeared at the door, barefoot and shirtless, his hair messy and wearing nothing but a pair of low slung grey sweats. 

For the love of fucking god. 

He had a towel thrown over his shoulder, like he’d planned on taking a shower, but he seemed content to stay and talk to you, his body leaning lazy on the door frame like Eddie had. 

“Princess,” Steve greeted, sounding bemused, “is this a booty call?”

From inside the cabin, Eddie snorted and you both made a point of ignoring him. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” you told him, outraged at the idea of it. But you were warm again, tongue feeling clumsy and too thick in your mouth and you started to wondered when the fuck Steve Harrington made you feel nervous. “And that’s the reason I’m here, actually.”

Steve simply raised his brows, crossing his arms over his chest. He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips. 

“Oh?”

“Mhmm, yeah,” you were stalling, trying to remember why you were actually standing outside with Steve at nine o’clock at night. His arms were entirely too distracting, the muscles there tensing and flexing as he moved. “I know what you're up to, Harrington.”

“You do?” Steve smirked, entirely entertained the way your gaze landed on his shoulders, his bare chest. “What am I up to, exactly?”

“This shit, that you keep pulling,” you told him, gesturing between the two of you. The space there crackled, it popped and buzzed with something unseen and electric, and you swore Steve felt it too. He had to, right? “This flirty, ‘lemme help you walk down the mountain’ crap.”

Steve was staring. And from inside, on his bed, Eddie was cackling again. 

“Would you rather I’d left you to hobble down by yourself?” Steve asked, lips twisted to hide his amusement. Your eyes were flashing with annoyance, and you’d leant against the porch fence for support, back to the wood and hands curled around the ledge. “Let a mountain lion get you?”

“There aren’t any mountain lions in Indiana,” you replied scathingly. 

“A bear then,” Steve shrugged, and Christ, he was grinning again, dimple and all. “Anyway, you think I’m flirting with you, princess?”

You stared, suddenly speechless. 

“I’d have more luck getting Munson into bed with me than managing to have a pleasant conversation with you, sweetheart.”

But then Eddie was yelling from inside the cabin, a pillow hitting Steve’s back as he called out, “ready when you are, honey.”

Steve ignored him, eyes still on you. “If you think that I’m flirting with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He oozed too much confidence, sarcasm and charm. 

It pissed you off. 

“Well then stop it!” you growled, pushing yourself off of the porch fence and moving towards Steve. You stared up at him, stubborn, face tilted up to him, eyes defiant. You couldn’t help but push a finger into his bare chest. God, he was warm. “Stop doing-”

“Stop doing what? Huh?” Steve was smiling. Why was he smiling?

You stumbled over your breath, it hitched in your throat and honestly it only caused more anger to bubble in your chest. Was it anger? Annoyance? Frustration?

“Stop - stop, getting all close to me all the time, stop calling me princess and stop doing this thing where you’re clearly trying to distract me.”

Steve raised his brows, looking down at the small space between the two of you. He tilted his head, smirk dripping with amusement and you knew you could argue anymore. You’d moved to him, chests almost brushing, warmth radiating off of him to you, sharing the same air. 

Fuck. 

“Do I distract you?”

The facade dropped. The game, the challenge, the fight - whatever it was - it stopped. Genuine surprise coloured the boy's tone and he uncrossed his arms, leaving his chest open and more space between you both. He was so warm, you could feel it from his skin, like the sun lived in his chest and he swallowed the summer. 

Steve looked shy, all of a sudden. Face flushed, eyes bright and wide and his lips dropped into a pretty ‘o’. Even in the dark, you could make out the pink of his cheeks, the tips of his ears and he was looking at you like an entirely different kind of challenge. A puzzle maybe, a new type of game. 

“What?” you were panicking inside. That white hot flash of embarrassment ran up your spine, blooming over your chest until blood rushed loud in your ears. “What? No, I didn’t say that.”

“You definitely just said that.” There it was, that smile again. 

“I didn’t,” you scoffed, eyes searching anywhere but his. You stared at the door behind him, groaning when Eddie waved from his bed, grin wider than Steve’s. 

“You did,” Eddie added to the conversation, all soft smiles and messy curls. “I heard you.”  

Suddenly you had had enough of boys. 

“Oh for fuck sake.”

You stormed away from Steve with more swears mixing in with the night air, your frustration taken out on the stairs as you stomped back down them, trainers kicking up pine needles and fallen acorns as you made your way back to your own cabin, completely done with Steve fucking Harrington.

PART TWO

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve ar

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 9: Stuck On The Bench

Raining Hellfire: Season One | Season Two

Raining Hellfire: Season Two

Word Count: 3426 words

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, illusions to possession, everyone ignoring mumma steve

[A/N: We're getting closer to the end of S2, let me know what you all want to see before the next season! I can promise now that Eddie will be making a comeback]

Stuck On The Bench

El was alive.

You couldn’t believe it. You assumed your eyes were deceiving you until Mike pushed past the group, pulling the girl into a tight hug.

“Is that…” Max questioned beside you, Lucas and Dustin nodding their heads as they looked on in bewilderment.

When you had been fighting off the Demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan, the party had their own adventure. It turned out that the Demogorgon was only one of many and it was threatening their lives just as much as it threatened yours. El had used her power to send the monster back to the Upside Down, and it had taken her with it. To hear the news, to find the kids visiting you in hospital, heartbroken…

“Why didn’t you tell me you were there?” Mike questioned, teary eyed. “That you were okay?”

Before El could reply, Hopper stepped forward. “Because I wouldn’t let her.”

Mike stepped away in confusion but you just lowered your head. Of course Hopper knew about this. But you couldn’t blame him for keeping this a secret. At least now you know that El was safe.

“The hell is this? Where you been?” Hopper asks her, concern written across his face.

“Where have you been?” El responded but she was already hugging him.

You felt a pang in your heart to see the father-daughter relationship they shared. You never had that.

“You’ve been hiding her.” Mike says, quietly before raising his voice. “You’ve been hiding her this whole time!”

“Hey!” Hopper yells as Mike lashes out, grabbing his arm before he hits again, “Let’s talk. Alone.”

Hopper leads Mike into another room and leaves you all in stunned silence.

“So…” Dustin speaks, pursing his lips. “You’re alive.”

“We missed you.” Lucas says.

El smiles at him and Dustin before walking to them and pulling them both into a hug. You smile at the sight, especially with Lucas; he really did see her as a friend now, even after all the complications.

“I missed you, too.” She replies before pulling away. Something catches her eye behind them and her eyes lit up with joy. “Y/n?”

She looks to Steve who was currently blocking her view. You didn’t remember him moving in front of you. Steve clears his throat in realisation, lowering the arm that was still instinctively held out in front of you and he stepped away, crossing to the other side of the room.

El grins, running to you and you catch her in your arms.

“You’re okay.” You laugh, eyes swelling with happy tears. You thought you lost her.

“Hurt.” She frowns at your shoulder but you shake your head with a smile.

“I’m okay, too.” You notice her look, holding her at arm’s length. “You look so cool.”

“Cool?” She smiles when you nod.

“Obviously.” You laugh, “But you have always been cool.”

“We talked about you pretty much every day.” Dustin confesses, grinning. It catches El by surprise.

Without warning, El reaches her hand out and touches his mouth.

“You have teeth.” She simply says and Dustin’s face lit up.

“Oh? You like these pearls?” Dustin says before he makes a weird noise, practically purring. You could see everyone’s face scrunch with a mix of confusion and disgust. It was almost comical to see El so concerned.

“Eleven?” Max’s voice breaks through the party reunion and she steps towards her. You look between the two girls. Something felt… off.

“Hey. Um,” She holds her hand out to El, “I’m Max. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Rather than respond, El walks past her like she wasn’t even there, heading to Joyce and greeting the mother she never had.

You frown at the interaction before remembering the day you saw El stood outside of the gym. Max had been showing Mike her skating skills, trying to bond, trying to actually make a friend. The look on El’s face was one of hurt and anger. She saw her as a threat.

“Can I see him?” El’s whisper brought your attention to her, a small smile as Joyce strokes the girl’s hair.

Joyce shows her to Will’s room and you approach Max, wanting to comfort your sister.

“She’s not a big fan of new people. She’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.” You try but she shakes her head at you.

“It’s fine. Not like I’m in the stupid Party anyway.” Max mutters, pushing away and walking over to Lucas. You sigh, deciding it best to let her be.

“Hey.” Nancy appears next to you, finger pointing to your shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m alive.” You say with a pathetic smile. It was all you could muster up at the moment.

“Sorry I couldn’t be there to help.” She looked nervous, fiddling with the sleeves of her jacket.

“It’s okay.” You suddenly laugh and she raises her brow. “Steve and I surprisingly didn’t kill eachother long enough to work as a team for once.”

“Now I’m really upset I missed it.” She smirked and you bumped her shoulder. Even with the smile, she seemed to sadden at the mention of Steve.

“Where’d you and Jonathan disappear to?”

“It’s…” Nancy sighs, looking to the boy, “I wanted to tell them the truth. Barb’s parents.”

“Did you?”

“Didn’t get the chance.” She shrugs, not saying much else. You wanted to question further but you rethink.

“Steve was worried about you.” You blurt, Nancy looking at you with a longing look, “Wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Really?” She stole a glance at Steve who was currently swinging his bat around in boredom, accidentally hitting and denting one of the walls. You shook your head in amusement.

“Oh yeah.” You nod, pursing your lips. “Considered slamming my head into a wall for relief at one point.”

Nancy chuckles at your comment. It felt like old times, talking with her like this. But it was far from being like the past.

“You know…” You try to choose your words carefully. “You and Jonathan look like you make a great team.”

A blush creeps up her cheeks and she stumbles over a response. “We, uh- yeah, I guess. I just-”

“Nance.” You smile at her. You'd be damned if you had to watch this love triangle go on any longer. “Just… talk to him. You both deserve some relief.”

She looks at you with a puzzled but before she could respond, Hopper calls out.

“Okay, people. Let’s get a plan in order.”

You all follow his lead, crowding around a table to finally discuss how to close the gate into the Upside Down.

“It’s not like it was before.” Hopper sighs, “It’s grown. A lot. And I mean, that’s considering we can get in there. The place is crawling with those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs.” Dustin interrupts and you and Steve send eachother a look, rolling your eyes.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hopper makes the fatal mistake of questioning.

“I said, uh, demo-dogs. Like Demogorgon and dogs. You put them together, it sound pretty badass-”

“How is this important right now?” Hopper shakes his head and Dustin surrenders.

“It’s not. I’m sorry.” The boy turns away.

“I can do it.” Eleven’s words slice through the awkwardness, looking to Hopper.

“You’re not hearing me.” Hopper sighs and you lower your head. He cared about her.

“I’m hearing you.” She nods, stubborn. “I can do it.”

“Even if El can, there’s still another problem.” Mike cuts in, looking to you for some reason, “If the brain dies, the body dies.”

“I thought that was the whole point.” Max responds but you take a step back, everyone looking at you.

“It is, but if we’re really right about this…” Mike starts and you look back at the group.

“El will close the gate and kill the Mind Flayer’s army.” You say quietly, looking down at your hands. “Will…”

“Will’s a part of that army.” Lucas finishes and you nod solemnly.

“Closing the gate will kill him.” Mike confirms.

But your mind couldn’t help but bring up an earlier memory.

“Apparently, some sort of smoke was entering your mouth. Some particles or-”

“Dust.”

Susan had told you what your father had claimed. If he was right, you were in the same position as Will. But surely it couldn’t be true? Otherwise you would have been locked up with him, sedated. You'd be out of control. You'd be having... episodes...

Shit, you thought, stepping back from the impact of the realisation.

“He likes it cold.” Joyce finally speaks.

“What?” Hopper asks what’s on everyone’s mind.

“It’s what Will kept saying to me.” Joyce shares, “He likes it cold.”

She closes the window after leading you all to Will’s room. You tried to avoid looking at the small boy that lay on the bed.

“We keep giving it what it wants.”

“If this is a virus,” Nancy tries to piece a plan together, “and Will’s the host, then…”

“Then we need to make the host uninhabitable.” Jonathan finishes her train of thought.

“Heat.” You confirm, stroking your arm, “It hates the heat. Maybe it’ll kill it. Or, at least, force it out of his body.”

“We have to do it somewhere he doesn’t know this time.” Mike stresses.

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, “Somewhere far away.”

“I know the place.” Hopper says after a minute of contemplation.

And just like that, a plan was put into place. But it meant you were all going to have to split up.

You help Nancy and Steve rummage around for anything that could produce heat, pulling out pieces from a pile in the dim light of the moon.

“You should go with him.”

You look up at Steve’s words. But he wasn’t talking to you. His eyes were on Nancy. Quickly, you moved away to give them some privacy.

“What?” Nancy sends him a confused look, moving around different parts.

“With Jonathan.” He says with so much confidence you almost stumbled. Not because it was an unimaginable response, but because all Steve had talked about was getting Nancy away from Jonathan.

“No, I’m…” Nancy shakes her head, clearing her throat. “I’m not just gonna leave Mike.”

“No one’s leaving anyone.” Steve shrugs, walking to her.

“I’ll look after him.” You spoke, catching her attention. “You know I will.”

“And me.” Steve nodded. Nancy looked to him with furrowed brows. “I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but… turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter.”

Nancy just stares at the boy currently studying a portable heater. You cough, wanting to help Steve’s case.

“It’s true.” You confirm. Steve sends you a look and you frantically shake your head. “About the last part. I- I don’t know about the first, I mean that’s for you two to, uh…”

You spin around, holding your hand in the air like you just heard something.

“What? Um, I think Dustin’s... calling me. Bye.” You quickly walked away, hearing Steve chuckle at the sight.

“You promise?” You overhear Mike talking and walk over, curiosity taking over.

He was stood with El, eyes ridden with worry.

“Promise.” She smiles and you feel a wave of deja-vu wash straight over you.

You’re about to walk over when they suddenly lean toward eachother. You stop in your tracks. They were definitely going to kiss.

What’s with the couples tonight? you wonder, searching for something to distract yourself.

“El…” Hopper calls out and you sigh in relief. “Come on, let’s go. It’s time.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Steve walking to join your side, staring at the vehicles in front of you. In the next second, Nancy made an appearance. She sent you a small wave and headed to Jonathan’s car, sliding in to the passenger seat.

You quickly turned to Steve, expecting some sort of reaction. But his face gave nothing away. Instead, he gave a quick nod and a small smile towards the car and you felt proud of him. It was sad, but you were still proud. You knew that he was done fighting for something that would never work.

Hopper and El hopped into his truck. The girl waved and you returned the action, smiling. You watched as they left, heading to the lab to hopefully close the gate for good.

The Byers and Nancy pulled out of the driveway, heading to Hopper’s cabin to try and rid Will of the mind flayer’s virus. You kept silently praying that the plan would work, that Will would be free again to live a normal life.

You were hoping that this plan wouldn't kill you too.

Once they were gone, it left you and Steve standing in front of the porch. The kids were all crowded behind you.

“Babysitting…” Steve broke the silence, glancing back at the four currently entering the house, “… it’s easy, right?”

You tighten your lips, meeting his eyes.

“Right?” He tries again.

You just laugh, walking back inside the house while Steve muttered curses to himself.

Max joined you, sending a smile your way as she sat down next to Lucas. He immediately straightened in his seat, a grin across his lips as he looked at your sister adoringly. You silently raise your eyebrows.

Max sent you a warning look and you surrendered with your hands, chuckling as you walk away and headed to the kitchen.

Which, as it turns out, was a bigger source of entertainment.

“It should fit now.” Dustin demands after emptying out the fridge and ridding it of shelves. You stifle a laugh when you notice Steve looking to the boy with irritation.

He was also holding the dead demo-dog wrapped in a blanket.

“Is this really necessary?” He asked, doing everything to avoid looking at the creature in his arms.

“Yes, it is, okay?” Dustin raised his voice. “This is a ground-breaking scientific discovery. We can’t just bury it like some common mammal, okay? It’s not a dog.”

“All right, all right.” Steve sighed and he walked towards the refrigerator.

You slowly step forward, crossing your arms as you watched the boys trying to shove the dead demo-dog into a freezer.

It was a long effort but you kept staring in amusement, waiting until they finally succeeded and slammed the door shut with a sigh. Steve ruffled Dustin’s hat.

“Don’t tell anyone until we-” Dustin span on his heels, coming face to face with you and he squealed, “Jesus! Do you just float or something, how are you so quiet?”

“I’m actually an assassin.” You deadpan. Dustin widened his eyes at your response. He never caught on to your sarcasm.

“I’ll be honest… that wouldn’t surprise me.” Steve nodded, shrugging when Dustin sent him a look, “What? She’s scary, man.”

You flashed a smile at Steve, turning around just in time to hear Mike’s panicked voice echo across the house.

“That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs!”

Curious, the three of you walked over to where Mike stood with Lucas and Max. Max sent you a sarcastic look, making you laugh.

“Demo-dogs!” Dustin corrected. You and Steve groan in response.

“The Chief will take care of her.” Lucas comforted but it did nothing to Mike’s impatient state.

“Like she needs protection.” Max says and you point at her, nodding.

“Exactly.” You agree, tilting your head to meet Mike’s eyes. He softened a little as you put your hand on his shoulder. “She’s more than capable of looking after herself.”

“Listen, dude,” Steve joined in, hands on hip, “A coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?”

Everyone blankly stares at him.

“Dude.” You mock, “Read the room. These are nerds.”

“It’s true.” Dustin agrees, smiling. “Even Y/n.”

“Hey-” You protest but Mike interrupts.

“Okay, first of all, this isn’t some stupid sports game. And second, we’re not even in the game. We’re on the bench.”

Steve stammers, staring at you for a response but you just shrug. Even you didn’t realise they knew sports better than you thought.

“So, my point is…” Steve starts, trailing off with a squint of his eyes. You all stare, waiting. “Right, yeah, we’re on the bench, so, uh, there’s nothing we can do.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Dustin comments, “I mean, these demo-dogs, the have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away.”

Lucas nods. “If we get there attention…”

“Maybe we can draw them from the lab.” Max concludes.

“Clear a path to the gate.” Mike confirms, looking to you for any objections.

“Yeah and then we all die!” Steve raises his voice.

“That’s one point of view.” Dustin raises his brow and you laugh.

“Yeah, Harrington, that’s not very half glass full of you.”

“No,” He sends you an annoyed look, “That’s not a point of view. That’s a fact.”

In the small argument, Mike had been wandering around, focused on Will’s drawings currently mapped around the house.

“I got it!” He called out and you rush over, “This is where the Chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel. So…”

He runs to the next drawing. You all follow.

“Here, right here. This is like a hub. So you got all the tunnels feeding in here.”

“It’s a weak spot.” You say, staring at the map.

“Exactly. Maybe if we set this on fire…” Mike wonders and Steve lets out a loud sound of disapproval.

“Oh, yeah? That’s a no.” He objects but you all ignore him, continuing to create a plan.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! This is not happening!” Steve yells and the kids start to complain. “No buts! I promised to keep you shitheads safe and that’s exactly what I plan on. You answer to me and Y/n and we say no!”

You stay silent, looking around to avoid his eyes. You pick up a nearby book, pretending to inspect the cover intently.

“Right? Y/n?” He looks at you, waiting for an answer.

“Hm, what?” You spin around, looking dumbfounded, “Did you say something?”

You didn’t want to explicitly disagree with his authority in front of the kids. He saw right through you.

“No. Absolutely not.” Steve runs a hand through his hair in frustration, “We’re staying on the bench… does everybody understand that?”

“This isn’t a stupid sports game!” Mike shouts back but Steve stays determined.

“I said, does everybody understand that? I need a yes.”

“No.” You smile and Steve groans at you.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” He comments.

“I prefer ‘stunning and gorgeous’ but you can say that however you like.” You smirk. You loved messing with him.

A car engine revs outside, ruining Steve’s chance to reply. Everyone runs over to the window and you sigh, waving your arms. They were never good at being discrete.

“It’s my brother.” Max gasps and you shudder. You weren’t ever going to get used to that, even if you were possibly adopted. “He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

Max turns to you with wide eyes for that last part and your breath hitches. There was only one thing for you to do; protect the kids.

“Leave it to me.” You say, dropping the book in your hand and heading to the front door.

“No, no, no, no.” Steve tries to grab your arm but you moved fast. “Hey!”

“Yes, Steve?” You turn, pulling on a jacket to hide your bandaged shoulder.

“Why- what-” He struggled to speak, frantically shaking his head, “Do you remember nothing from Tina’s party?”

“He was drunk.” You pulled the hairband from your hair, letting the strands fall loosely down.

“So?!”

“So… I can’t handle drunk Billy.” You shrug, checking your face in the mirror. “But I can handle sober Billy. Believe me, I’m a pro.”

“Oh, and what are you gonna do, huh?” Steve rests his hands on his hips, stepping in front of the exit. “Seduce him into leaving?”

It was meant as a joke but when you looked to him without expression, his eyes widened.

You flip your hair, gaining volume before shifting your shirt to make sure your chest looked more elevated. You needed to give Billy a distraction.

“All of you.” You point to the kids and motioned for Steve to move out of the way. “Stay out of sight. I mean it.”

Steve just stares for a moment until he snaps back into reality. “Y/n!”

“Steve!” You mimic, hand already on the door knob, “Leave it, okay? If I have to get in that fucking car with him to protect these kids then so help me, I will. And you’re not changing my mind.”

You turn the knob, stopping to look back at him. “Keep them safe.”

You leave the house, not waiting for a response. Closing the door behind you, you act as if you were just leaving. You were about to put on one hell of an acting experience.

Chapter 10: Babysitting Was Never Meant To Be Easy ->

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711/ @eddiesbirdie/ @livasaurasrex/ @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee

#stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things reader insert #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #fanfic #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #eddie munson x reader #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #will byers #max mayfield #billy hargrove #steve harrington #st2 #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader

[lurkerwithcomputer]

She groans as she rolls over in bed, unable to sleep. It's unusual for her, but lately she's been... unsettled. Thinking a lot. She looks at the clock on her bedside table. 3:12 AM. If she can't get some sleep, she's gonna be so very tired at her doctor's appointment today, but her head is just too full right now. Rain slaps against the window, and the wind hisses through the trees outside. It's good weather for thinking about this. What this is, in short, is betrayal. She wants to leave the CCG, even if she doesn't even know where to start.

Betrayal of the CCG, anyways. Betrayal of myself, on the other hand? I don't want to be here.

And that's what this all comes back to. She never asked for this, working for the CCG. Having a quinque implanted in her back. Grumpy Urie volunteered, as far as she knows. Shiragin too. Mucchan she's not so sure, he might not have had much of a choice. The more she learns about Maman - Sasaki Haise - the more she figures he had no choice, too. Herself, well...

Mom pretty much sold me to the CCG.

Mom... I miss you. Sometimes I wish I didn't.

Her eyes burn wet, and her sinuses fill with snot. She shakes and shivers, hugging her sides. Tears run hot down her face. Maybe it's just her imagination, but the middle of her back throbs in time with her hitching, sobbing breath. She grips the sheets in her hands. Fabric rips, pulling her back to the here and now - even just a little bit. She sucks in air like surfacing from swimming. A little steadier.

If she leaves the CCG, where will she go?

Definitely not back to Mom. Sure, that'd go just great. She shakes away the tears that threaten to return - she wants her head on as clear as it'll get at this time of night. So, not much to look forwards to for "somewhere to go". What's she going to do? No idea. Or, maybe not. I do know how to run a bar. It's not like she has startup money, though. So, stuck again on that front.

A face, a place, a scent drip through her thoughts like the raindrops down the windows. The cafe Maman took her to. It's non-alcoholic, so she wouldn't have to fake her age. Sure, it's less than one year till she's old enough to drink, more like a few months - but that's not exactly convincing when she's only 143 cm. She gets taken for a child way more often than she'd like.

And, more to the point, there's a catch, because there always is. Two problems with that idea - one is that Maman and all of them visit that cafe. So does Akira. So it's not like she'd be hiding if she picked up a job there.

The other problem is both simpler and more thorny. She knows what she smells in that cafe, under the coffee and cream and that dry, almost sweet smell that well-used books have. She's learned to tell who's human and who's ghoul, by scent alone. A bit like a ghoul myself.

She's kept her mouth shut, because saying anything would just make them all insist she sniff out ghouls. Also, well, it would get more people dead. and not just the CCG people either. Ghouls have kids, and jobs and... She doesn't have the burning hatred some of the CCG's people have for ghouls. That Urie and Akira have, out of people she knows. It settles around her like a cold, damp draft on her shoulders, when people start talking about how much they loathe ghouls. Like an invisible wall between her and the people she works with. Lives with. Laughs and eats dinner with.

They want to take that away from ghouls.

And it's even worse when people look at us the way they look at ghouls. I'm not oblivious, do they think we don't notice how the Q Squad gets treated?

Them, too, the Q Squad - that's another think to think about. Because... Because I do love them. Faces well up - Urie asking her to pirate music for him, while pretending he doesn't really care. Shiragin grinning as he offers her a hand up onto his motorbike, the drag of his fingers on her jaw when he buckles the helmet straps sending warm shivers down her back. Mucchan looking confident instead of anxious as they beat a boss in her newest game, together. Maman giving her one of his awkward smiles as he wraps a blanket over her while she dozes on the couch, half-heartedly warning her that she'll get a sore neck from sleeping there. (He's right. He's always right about that.)

How can I leave without hurting them?

But none of that banishes the thought that spirals back around like a glitchy, stuttering animation loop in her head - I didn't ask for this. I don't want to be here.

#lurker writes #tokyo ghoul #yonebayashi saiko

[nisetsundere]

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 26: What are you craving right now? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

yooo, you even included the q's in the ask, that's handy :)

uhh this went long so read more

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? you know, I'd like to say no, but the other day I accidentally tripped over some seething rage I had all bundled up somewhere, and I've been passingly mad when I think about it from time to time since then. I've made a lot of bad decisions in schooling, but when I was still new and fresh to uni and actually a good student, I got into Japanese and they brought up the study abroad opportunity. A semester in japan, being paid to be there, while going to school there and stuff? it was an incredible opportunity and it looked like I was gonna be able to go -- I jumped through all the hoops. as the deadline approached, I checked in and discovered that there was only a single component missing -- one of my letters of recommendation hadn't been submitted yet. I checked in with the prof, and she was like, yeah I'll get to it no sweat. deadline approaches closer and I bug her more and more about it, like, uh, hey, I kinda need that next week, by Friday? it's in three days? PLEASE, it's TOMORROW. but on the submit forum, it has a deadline written on the doc, and that's the deadline for the uni to send the paperwork, NOT the deadline that the uni had established for all the paperwork being turned in. so despite my continual clear and desperate pleas, she straight-out didn't believe me about the deadline. about two weeks after the deadline she told me "I tried to drop it off but they said the deadline was two weeks ago?" and it's like.. yeah.. as I told you, many times, both in email and in person... I couldn't go because you didn't do it on time........

I think about it a lot. It was prolly a turning point of sorts for me. a semester abroad would've invigorated me and I very well mightta succeeded all the way through uni. instead I started ditching more, taking things less seriously, failing a few classes. failing a lot of classes. dropping out. starting because one person thought I was like, lying about the deadline being earlier, and putting it off to the last minute.. but eh. could be that my course was gonna end that way either way tbh, could just be coincidental timing. I'm back in uni now to finish it up, so as long as I don't fuck it up this time......

26: What are you craving right now? aaah just some time with my friends and girlfriend, I've been busy lately and wish I could just take a day off and go catch a movie or play a game or something..

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? well, I'm sure I did as a kid yeah, but not in recent memory. I did go outside wearing nothing but shorts quite recently, but it was the dead of night and pouring rain, I doubt anyone saw me. my chest is really very hairy so I'm a bit self-conscious of being observed unless it's like a pool or beach or something. naked is out of the question :p

70: Is there anyone you would die for? not to be dramatic, but absolutely yeah. I have so many friends and coworkers that have such promising futures, if a gunman were to threaten them, I would 100% take a bullet for them.

thank you for the ask, TNT !! you triggered some Lore with that first one, sorry for the lengthy answer :p

#the-waifu-police #answer #late-night posting #personal

[thefrequentdaydreamer]

A sneak peak of my TOH fic, "Sometimes I realize I'm not alone (and it scares me)"

The hideout was silent.

The newly gathered CATTS had retired late in the night, everyone slowly dispersing to their chosen bunks – or in Darius and Eberwolf’s case, to the castle to maintain appearances and explain away Raine’s absence to a very nosy Terra.

This left the former BATTs, who moved into a corner to chat quietly amongst themselves before drifting off to sleep, Steve, who went outside to ‘reflect upon the fleeting presence of time’, Raine, who had gone to cast some anti-detection spells around their hideout, and the Owl House occupants.

She didn’t know where Eda had gone off too, but Lilith and Hooty had fallen asleep almost immediately after settling down – something about being dead on their feet after chasing King across the Isles to make sure he wasn’t being captured or whatever.

And the little Titan in question?

He was curled up at her side, his head placed delicately on her shoulder and a newly reacquired Francois tucked safely under his arm, as he mew-mew-mewed himself to what she hoped was a dreamless sleep.

Unfortunately, Luz had no such hopes for herself, because try as she might, she could not relax.

She punched her pillow a few times and turned onto her back. The new sleeping arrangements were much better than the flimsy sleeping bag she’d slept on back home – she spared a brief thought for how effortlessly she had referred to the Owl House as home – but that didn’t really seem to make much of a difference to her weary body.

You’d think I’d be able to go to sleep after escaping a bunch of warrior-cult crazies and traveling across the Isles and up to the Knee and going on an admittedly ill-conceived heist and fighting with my mentor and getting captured and thinking I was going to lose her forever and ever just like I’ve lost everyone I’ve EVER –

And there it was.

The one thing keeping her up at night.

Because even after learning about the secret rebellion hideout and the cool nickname they’d set for themselves, all Luz could think about, the only thing her brain could hyper-fixate on was how she’d overheard Eda getting ready to send her away again, separating them forever and ever and ever and ever andeverandever…

She wiped at the traitorous tears threatening to spill over –

Stop being such a baby! This is why Eda didn’t want to tell you anything, you weakling!

But all she could see, the only thing she could remember was Eda being beat down by those grotesque abomatons and the helplessness on her mentor’s face as she admitted they had no plan to stop Belos, that all they had were the kids and that all they cared about was keeping them safe…no matter what happened to her.

And something almost had.

She had almost been lost.

Luz had almost lost her.

Catch the rest on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39023703

#my writing #the owl house #o titan where art thou #ao3fic #fanfic #the owl house spoilers #toh #luz noceda angst #mama eda #eda the owl mom

[rose-bookblood]

hii!! for tiny scene Sunday: Josephine and thunderstorm???

have a good day/night!!!

(@ink-fireplace-coffee)

Thanks for sending this prompt, Carmen! I only saw it late yesterday, but I really wanted to write this, so here's the scene, even if it's Monday. I hope you like it!

This is set a couple years before the story of BBtS and it's more Josephine and Travis than Josephine herself, but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Warning for no editing whatsoever (and maybe wonky English in some parts?).

Thunder rattled the windowpane, so sudden Josephine leapt in her chair.

She tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Immersed in paperwork, she had not noticed the storm growing outside the office.

In front of her, her newly-acquired partner tapped a pen on the desk surface, entranced by the thick rain. Detective Kasilag sat sprawled, one arm looped over the backrest, legs spaced so he could turn the swivel armchair by forty-five degrees every two seconds. He noticed Josephine’s stare, shot her a smile and scribbled on a sheet’s corner.

A white ribbon uncoiled in the dark sky and Kasilag’s eyes followed it like a compass follows north. He was a lightningbender, after all.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck in here a while.” His thumb pointed at the window.

Rain blurred the street below and, as far as Josephine could tell, the lamplights’ halos illuminated a deserted sidewalk. Not even cars swept by.

Josephine shook her head and another strand escaped the chignon. “I’m not worried about a little thunderstorm.”

“’Little’? We’re in the heart of a hurricane.”

“The heart of the hurricane is the calm zone,” she corrected, shifting her attention back to the tablet.

“Ok, know-it-all.” Josephine glared at him, but Kasilag’s genuine smile made her irritation evaporate. “No wonder your record’s stellar.”

Do you think my record is stellar because I know trivia?, was her first thought.

“You background-checked me?” was what she asked.

Kasilag shrugged. “Why? You didn’t?”

“Of course I did.” Mid-sentence, Josephine realized the nasty underlying meaning to her words.

“So what made you think I hadn’t?”

Now she couldn’t back down, even if shame threatened to creep up her cheeks as she spoke. “You don’t seem the type.”

Instead of being offended, he scratched his nape self-consciously. “I didn’t make a great impression, huh?”

“No!” Josephine exclaimed, a tad too loud. She rubbed her temple. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

Kasilag inclined his head. “You kinda implied I’m either lazy or disinterested enough not to look into the person who’s going to be my partner for the foreseeable future.”

A sigh flowed out of Josephine’s mouth and her shoulders slumped. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you’re incompetent before seeing you on the field.”

His eyebrows quirked up. “’Incompetent’ is new.” Heat bloomed on Josephine’s face and she was about to cut the conversation short, until Kasilag smirked. “Kidding. But hey, don’t crucify yourself. It was an honest mistake. We’ve barely talked.”

Josephine regained her composure and nodded. She picked up the stylus, ready to resume her work, when Kasilag spoke.

“On that topic. Since we’re in here alone, we could seize the opportunity and get to know each other.”

“Our shift in half an hour, and I’m pretty sure you should use the remaining time to fill in those forms.” She pointed at the sheet he had kept tapping on.

“The shift may be almost over, but going out during this thunderstorm would be unsafe.” Josephine’s eyes shot to the window in reflex. The world beyond was a dark hole smudged with the lamplights’ faint white. “Plus, team bonding is essential to augment synergy and efficiency.”

Josephine examined his wide grin and the mischievous spark in his eyes. “I can’t say you made it up, but the wording makes me suspicious.”

Kasilag laughed, an unrestrained, luminous sound that had Josephine’s lips curve upward. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

She pondered for a long second under his content look. Then, she sighed in disbelief. “Alright, detective. Lead the way.”

“No space for formality in team bonding activities.” He got up and sketched a bow. “And in this partnership in general. Please, call me Travis.”

BBtS taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed): @tommie-hildebrandt @stormharbors @chaotic-queer-disaster @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @vellichor-virgo

#tiny scene sunday #yeah on a monday i know #blue below the surface #oc: josephine roosvelt lenoir #oc: travis kasilag chen #writing excerpt #wip: bbts #my writing

[hopeamarsu]

Calls

Frankie Morales x f!reader, child OFC

Word count 2,7k

Warnings: Major character death, implied major character death, violence, threats, held at gunpoint, blood, torture, implied torture, gunshot wounds, whump. Darkfic. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

A/N: This continues the Candyman story: Mirror, Mirror (part 1), Keep Her Safe (part 2) and We Keep Driving Into The Night (part 3). Please note the warnings, they are there for a reason. We are going to go swim in some dark waters. Even if nothing is explicit, there are some major triggering topics that pop up. It can be a lot, so please be safe. If you want, please send me a message and I’ll recap this one for you. 

Also due to the topics I will not be using my taglist for this one. I hope that’s okay. 

Not beta’ed, all mistakes are mine alone. Image from Pexels.

The first fifteen minutes are easy to wait for Frankie to return because Mari keeps you entertained. She asks a bunch of questions about Winnie the Pooh lore and you indulge her, answering with long-winded answers that might ramble at bit. The car engine rumbles softly when the first drops of rainfall on the hood and you spend a few minutes describing all the different shapes the water makes on it to the delighted kid. 

But when the old-time clock on the dash of the truck shows 25 minutes have passed since Frankie disappeared into the darkness, you start to worry. From the outside, the cabin looks small and it shouldn’t take this long to cover all the rooms inside. Not even if he decided to check each and every cabinet and under the linens as well. 

Mari picks up on the spike of anxiety in you and she also turns her face to look at the driver side door. “Is papá coming to get us soon?” 

Her voice is small and you curse inwardly. You need to keep it together, if not for yourself, then for her. 

“I’m sure he’ll be out any minute now, sweetie,” you try to calm her, hoping your voice is steady and soothing. You can’t afford your own panic and the impressive weight of the darkness around the truck to impact it. 

You lean over, opening the glove compartment in hopes of finding out some snacks for her. You don’t find the familiar crinkle of a foil paper though, your hand closing around something much, much heavier. With a frown, you feel around the object and barely manage to suffocate the squeak threatening to leave your chest when you realize what you are groping at.

A gun. 

The actual, real gun Frankie pointed at you earlier in the kitchen. Shit, did he go inside without a weapon? Was that the reason why he hasn’t come out yet, did someone take him out because he was unarmed? 

The fear you had felt previously seems to rear its head again, creeping up your leg like a spider you really don’t want there but before you can let yourself be fully taken over it, Frankie’s voice sounds from the darkness.

“Darling? It’s all clear now, you and Maryanne can come in! Come quick, it’s pouring rain!” 

Mari starts to wiggle excitedly but something in his voice makes you hesitant. You roll the words in your head a few times until it clicks. He has not once called Mari Maryanne today, nor used the word darling to describe you. It had been Mari and hermosa all the way. Something tells you he’s trying to signal something to you, maybe for you to be on your guard. Making the split decision, you grab the gun from the glove department before grabbing Mari, who's already halfway out of the truck.

“Stay with me okay? I think your papá is trying to tell us something. Just, uh, just stay close.”

The little girl is far too observant for her age and she nods, eyes flickering between the gun in your hand and your eyes that hold all the emotions you are unable to mask now. Emotions even you can't  differentiate in the moment. “Okay, Winnie. I will.” She promises, her innocence chipped away a little more. 

With a decisive nod, you both dash to the darkness, feeling the fat droplets on your face and soaking your shirt until you reach the porch. The door is open, more darkness behind it and you push Mari to stand a little behind you. 

“Stay close. No running,” you remind her in a murmur and you feel her tuck her hand into yours. Her small fingers wrap around a few of yours, another reminder that she is too young and too innocent to be facing this danger you are now sure you will be walking into. “If I say run, you run. Find a good hiding spot and do not come out until an officer or your father comes looking. Do you understand?”

“Or you?” 

“Yes. Or me. Ready?” She squeezes your hand and you push the door open with your foot. Stepping inside feels like you enter another world, the low lighting making it hard to see but you can make out the wood and the warm tones and multitudes of fabrics draped over everything. It’s a beautiful place, surely decorated with love and happiness in mind. You let your eyes wander, trying to see where to go but you come to halt once you step into the living area. 

In the middle of the room is Frankie. 

On his knees, hands behind his head by an invisible command. You can see the silhouette of a gun when your eyes get used to the dimness; pressed to the back of his head by the man dressed in head to toe black. 

The other man’s beard and mustache are neatly trimmed from what you can gather and his clothes fit him so well that they have to be tailored to his body. He regards you with a cool look, before showing you his white teeth in a shark-like grin. When he speaks, you can detect a hint of Spanish in his accent. 

“Glad you could join us. Please, come closer.”

*

Frankie’s relieved it’s dark and Mari cannot see the blood he knows is coating his temple and trickling down his cheek. Most of his wounds he sustained earlier when Lorea attacked him are hidden underneath his clothes but that one - and the one to his neck - are visible and he hates the idea that you and Mari will both see him bloody and beaten. 

He still can’t figure out how Lorea got the jump on him. How he found this place, found you. Frankie didn’t tell anyone he was using this a safe house and he’s sure you didn’t have the time to alert anyone either. And he never told you where you were going until it was too late to call up a team to come up here. 

No, Lorea had to know beforehand this would happen. Who had that kind of… Santiago. It hits him like a thousand bricks and the words are out of his mouth before he can hold them in. His eyes blaze thunder and lightning at the crime lord.

“What did you do to Pope?” 

Lorea turns a little, keeping his gun level at Frankie’s head and the grin intensifies. “Oh, your friend who worked with the policia in Colombia? Well…” He seems to ponder his words, the meaning of the pause well thought out. 

Frankie grits his teeth, berating himself mentally for letting himself slip. He was too reckless and too hot-headed but the implication of something having happened to Santi makes ugly things swim in his stomach. 

“Why doesn’t your lovely companion make a call and we can all find out, hmm?” 

Lorea’s words cut deep, making him bleed all over again. The ugly feeling inside him deepens, darkens and feels heavier by the passing second. Surely Santi is still… Frankie can’t let himself finish the sentence, so he shakes his head. Lorea sees this and laughs, a cold and sharp one that cuts off when moves to stand by Frankie’s side. 

A phone, his phone, slides across the floor and ends up at your feet. “Go on, darling. Make the call,” Lorea taunts. “It's his brother calling, so Santiago should answer right away.”

The flicker of hope dies when Frankie lets himself understand their meaning. The outcome of the call is already written in stone. His anger burns bright in him, but it’s powered by grief now. 

In a daze, he watches Mari pick up the phone with shaking fingers and open it. He sees his daughter choose the number of her tio from the list before handing you the phone. The world is dark and gloomy but Frankie keeps watching, seeing you place the phone on your ear, and wait.

And wait.

And wait. 

Numbness creeps in his bones when you finally remove the phone from your ear and click on the red button. “Well?” Lorea prompts, his victory making Frankie feel nauseous. 

“The call was…” You clear your throat, glancing at Mari, choosing your next words carefully. “There was no answer.”

“Huh. That’s weird.  I did leave him with a phone. He was…Well, let’s say his phone was left near him.” The gloating in his voice can no longer be detained and you squeak in shock, turning to look at Frankie wide-eyed. 

Even in the dim light and distance, Frankie can see the tears welling up in your eyes when you too understand what is being implied. He gags; the mere idea of Pope all broken and tied up somewhere, left to rot in his shackles makes Catfish want to scream and shout. He wants to strangle Lorea with his bare hands.

“Tsk tsk, wouldn’t want to do anything rash, now would you, Mr. Morales?” Lorea continues his tormenting words, turning his piercing eyes back to the man kneeling on the hard floor, like he is reading the pilot's mind. “In front of your child nonetheless.” 

Frankie’s eyes narrow, his back teeth grinding together. “Fuck you,” he hisses and gets rewarded by a pistol whip to his temple. Two gasps ring in the air when his head falls to the side and it takes a few seconds to orient himself again. Once the pilot returns his gaze to the center, you have pulled Mari tight to your side, shielding her face with your hand and the phone. 

Lorea speaks to you again. “Why don’t you try both Misters Miller next. William and Benjamin I believe. Let’s see what they have to say for themselves.” He nods at the phone gleefully and you bring the device up slowly. 

“No…” he mutters in shock, but it goes unheard by the rest of the people in the room. If the revelation of Santi was met with numbness, it’s now pure ice inside Frankie. He doesn’t want to believe, and can't comprehend that all three of his boys, his brothers are gone. Bile rises up in his throat and desperately, he tries to tamp it down. He cannot break now, he cannot. He repeats it like a mantra in his mind. 

Frankie can see how much your hand trembles when you search for the names of the men you don’t even know and regret joins the mix. He regrets bringing you into this mess. He knew it was a bad idea from the start.

The phone is pressed against your ear for a shorter time and your voice is full of fear and pain when you tell the room the results. “The, the number you tried to, tried to reach is unavailable at this moment.” 

You repeat the actions, tears now sliding down your cheeks before confirming that the second phone number is also unavailable. Your compassion truly shines through, your worry and sorrow for men you’ve never met so palpable Frankie can’t help himself, the burning behind his eyes finally spilling over. Hot tears that feel cold as ice create tracks on his face, mixing with the blood already there.

He cries silently for his brothers, for Will and Benny and Santi. He cries for his daughter, for you, for himself. He cries for Tom too, all the lost souls because of their mutual greed. 

“What a shame,” Lorea speaks. “I wish you could’ve heard their final pleas, their begging and pleading through bloodied teeth when I…”

“STOP! Just fucking stop!” Your agonized scream pierces the air. 

“Why?” His question is cruel. “I think Francisco here needs to hear this, he needs to know his friends all sold him out once I had them. Sure, all of them resisted at first, much like your man here did. They’ve been taught to withstand torture, but in the end, all of them broke. Broke like fragile beings, crushed under the weight of what they had done and what I inflicted upon them. They begged for their lives. Over and over until there wasn’t a breath left in their bodies.”

The glint in the dark eyes turns into murderous. “And now. Now I will make the final man standing watch as I destroy both of you, pick you apart for my own entertainment before I offer him the same deal I offered his team. Tell me where my money is and I will reward you with a quick death.” 

Mari sobs into your shirt at words and you freeze into a statue before Frankie witnesses something he didn’t think was possible.

“Mari, run!” Your voice is clear. No hesitation, just a clear command. Little feet patter on the floor with your words and at the same moment when the little girl rounds a corner, your other hand lifts up and the world slows down to a crawl. 

Frankie rolls on his back, out of the line of the gun Lorea has kept aimed at his head. Your other hand holds his backup gun from his truck and, while you are clearly unaccustomed to holding such a weapon, you aim it at center mass and without hesitation pull the trigger. 

Later, Frankie can swear he saw the bullet leave the chamber and swing across the air, hitting Lorea low and to the side of his stomach. But now, his instincts take over and he kicks to his feet, reaching for the gun in Lorea’s hand and wrestling it away from the man who looks at his stomach and the blooming wetness on his black shirt. It’s not a lethal wound but it’s enough to create a diversion.  

A second shot rings in the air seconds later and Lorea’s head falls back, a circle in the middle of his forehead. Frankie doesn’t even look to confirm his kill, his long legs taking him close to you and tucking you into his arms, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other low on your back, pulling you into a heated kiss. 

It’s full of sorrow, adrenaline, and relief and he can taste the copper of his blood mixing with the salt of your tears.  It’s easily the best kiss he’s ever had, your mouth against his rocking his entire world out of its axis. It's fast, hard, and your bodies cling together like he wants to disappear into your kiss. Like he wants to erase each second you were scared in this house. . 

He doesn’t even understand he is sobbing into your mouth at first, insistent on kissing you and keeping you in his arms but when you slow the kisses into pecks, wiping your still trembling fingers on his cheeks, Frankie pulls away. 

He looks at your face, the tears and the pain still there. He watches as you place your hand on your lips, the realization of what you did finally hitting you. 

“It’s okay, you are alright, hermosa. You saved us, it’s alright,” he offers softly, keeping his hand on your head to pull you into his arms. “Thank you, querida. Gracias por salvanos.” 

“I… I…. I… I shot him!” 

He knows you are about to go into shock and kisses you hard again, robbing you of any thoughts that might spiral. “You didn’t kill him. It was self-defense, it’s alright. You are okay. Nothing is going to harm you.” He mumbles into your skin, pressing little kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. 

He keeps you in his arms a moment longer, until your breathing settles a little more before lifting your chin to see you better again. “You are amazing, wonderful and alright. You are okay, I promise you. I will protect you. Let’s go find Mari. I need to hold you both.” 

Your nod is small but calmer. Frankie pecks your lips once more and twists you in his arms so your positions allow him keep you close when you step out of the living area in search of his little girl. 

#frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #f!reader #tw: major character death #tw: implied major character death #tw: torture #tw: mention of torture #cw: violence #cw: blood #cw: guns #triple frontier fanfiction #my writing #hopeamarsu #darkfic #dead dove do not eat

[queenshelby]

The Last Semester – Part 21

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,856

Warning: Pregnancy, Angst

A week had passed since Cillian found out about the pregnancy and he had been nothing but gentle, helpful and responsive since. Every day, he asked you how you were feeling. He brought you prenatal vitamins and constantly reminded you to drink enough water. He even risked a black eye on several occasions when running into your father who was struggling with the situation and has refused to speak to Cillian again. He was furious and blamed him for everything, thinking that he should have been the responsible adult.

You weren’t sure whether Cillian did all this simply for the fact that you were pregnant or whether he wanted to get back together with you and, whilst you hoped that the latter was true, you wouldn’t make it so easy for him this time around. He had to fight for you if you were what he wanted.

You loved him, but part of the trust you had built throughout your relationship had faded after he pulled away from you for the second time when he faced what you thought were just a few small hurdles. What you didn’t know was that, in fact, the hurdles he was facing, weren’t so small at all. He was deeply conflicted and being with you could cost him much more than his friendship with your father. It could also cost him his career and this was something he began to slowly realise.

***

It was a Sunday afternoon and Cillian was waiting for Nadine, his ex-wife, to pick up the boys from his home.

As usual, she was late and his sons were getting frustrated having to wait around for her once again.

‘This sucks dad’ Charlie growled, causing Cillian to calm him down whilst, deep down inside, he hoped that Nadine would arrive soon as he had invited you over for dinner that evening and, the last thing he wanted, was having you and Nadine in the same room together

Until recently, Nadine had again broken court orders, withholding contact to the boys on several occasions. If it wasn’t for the fact that Charlie had his own mobile phone, Cillian wouldn’t have been able to communicate with them at all for weeks.

It was like a game to her. Whenever Cillian was even remotely happy with someone else, she would come out to play and he soon regretted having given her another chance earlier that year before he took the teaching position in London.

When she found out about you, all hell broke loose. She felt humiliated and embarrassed especially knowing that her attempts to get him back were futile.

And the worst of it all was that she knew about you for a very long time, using you as leverage against Cillian until he finally gave up and let you go.

It was that night, when he called you, breaking up with you when he found out that you were his friend’s daughter, that he slipped. He slipped with Nadine because she was there to pick up the pieces when he was at his worst.

Whilst this little hiccup didn’t result in anything more than a few kisses, it was a mistake and he knew that it was a mistake. The worst of it all was that it gave Nadine hope in a situation where there was none. After all, he loved you and not her.

Of course, Nadine was willing and able to use this against Cillian. She had already threatened him on many occasions to make public the many façades of their marriage and how he chose a young girl over the mother of his children.

This was exactly what his agent was worried about. He knew Nadine for many years and he knew about the skeletons in Cillian’s closet and, whilst there weren’t many, they could become quite scandalous.

Being with you and loving you was too difficult. It was an against all the odds type of situation. A twenty-year age gap was hardly going to be successful. Was he going to risk everything to simply give it a try?

***

Finally, at 6 o’clock, Nadine’s car pulled up in Cillian’s driveway and she quickly jumped out of her seat and ran towards the front door.

‘I am sorry I am late. I got caught up with a friend’ she said in a haste.

‘You could have called’ Cillian then said before allowing her inside.

‘Why, do you have a date?’ she then chuckled, causing Cillian to sigh and call out for the boys.

Just as they emerged from their bedrooms, you also pulled up in the driveway and Cillian immediately knew that this would be problematic.

You noticed Nadine’s car but walked towards the front door of the house anyway and Cillian was quick to let you in after giving you a polite kiss on your cheek.

‘Hey’ you said, greeting Nadine who didn’t bother to say anything to you but, instead, roll her eyes.

‘What is she doing here?’ Nadine then asked Cillian, ignoring your presence.

‘I invited her. Why?’ Cillian asked somewhat annoyed and Nadine immediately huffed in disapproval.

‘I don’t want her to spend time with my children. It sends the wrong message to them’ Nadine explained.

‘And what message may that be Nadine?’ Cillian asked rather irritated before Nadine escalated the situation and, once again, insulted you.

‘You think it’s a good idea to show the boys that this is ok? Being with someone that much younger who clearly isn’t compatible in any sort of way?’ Nadine then said before Cillian told the boys to wait in the car as he didn’t want them to hear the conversation between him and their mother.

‘Can you not do this in front of the children?’ Cillian asked angrily after the boys left with their Gameboys.

‘Do what? You are the one who is fucking a uni student, not me’ she then shouted and it soon became too much for you to listen to.

‘Hey, listen, I am going to go. This is awkward and I don’t want to be in the way, really’ you then said, feeling uncomfortable.

‘Wait on Sweetie. I am not finished’ Nadine said and you turned around at the door, rolling your eyes at her as you did.

‘Did he tell you that, when he visited Dublin a few months ago, he spent time with me? Just the two of us?’ Nadine then asked before telling you how she was very well aware of Cillian’s needs and that you were likely too young and inexperienced for him and he would have realised this by now.

‘Nadine, that’s enough!’ Cillian growled, interrupting Nadine as she went on.

‘I am going’ you then huffed out, irritated and upset. She was taking it too far and you didn’t need this in your life.

‘Y/N, hold on’ Cillian said, trying to hold you back but you shook your head and left. You didn’t want to deal with this.

‘Just remember what I have against you Cillian. Surely, if this becomes public, Y/N might get some ideas. Poor thing, so young and innocent. Also, the boys are staying with me for the next two weeks’ Nadine chuckled somewhat amused.

‘Fuck this, Nadine. I have had enough of this crap. Fucking do it, eh! Send it to the fucking paper just as you have threatened for years. I no longer give a shit and in so far as the boys are concerned, I will be in contact with my lawyer tomorrow. A fit and proper person doesn’t use their children as leverage. Fucking wake up, would you’ Cillian growled before storming outside with the boys’ backpacks and putting them into Nadine’s car before giving each of them a hug and saying goodbye to them.

‘Love you guys, see you on Wednesday’ he said with a warm smile before getting into his own car with the view to drive after you to apologise about Nadine’s behaviour and having you get caught up in this.

***

As expected, just before Cillian arrived at your house, he received a call from his agent Brian who was clearly upset and annoyed.

‘We have a problem Cillian’ he said with an almost terrified voice.

‘I know. Her name is Nadine’ Cillian chuckled.

‘I have seen it. Just then. She sent it to me via email’ Brian said concerned.

‘Did you enjoy it?’ Cillian laughed.

‘You need to take this seriously Cillian. Nadine also told me that you are back with the girl’ Brian then said.

‘She held this against me for fucking years and I played along for the boys’ sake, but I can’t keep going like this’ Cillian then explained, causing Brian to sigh.

‘This and the fact that you are with a 20 fucking something year old who also happens to be your friend’s daughter is a fucking disaster mate. You need to break it off’ Brian argued.

‘She is pregnant’ Cillian then said, knowing that this would annoy Brian even more.

‘You are fucking kidding me. Fuck mate. For your career’s sake you need end it with this girl quietly, pay her, get her to sign an NDA’ Brian explained.

‘No Brian, I won’t be doing any of these things. Let me tell you something. I married Nadine because she was pregnant with Charlie. I never loved her. I simply did what others told me was the right fucking thing to do. This is probably why our relationship was so messed up. I was about to do this again, listening to what others tell me is right or wrong and what is good for me. Listening to you, to Nadine, John and my mother. But, luckily, this time, I just came to my fucking senses’ Cillian said just before he pulled up in front of your apartment building.

‘She is twenty years younger than you, what do you think will happen in twenty years? Will she still be around? Will she be worth all this?’ Brian then asked somewhat upset.  

‘I don’t know, but I am keen to find out’ Cillian said as turned off the car.

‘This could be career suicide Cillian’ Brian said.

‘Perhaps. So, I suggest that you work hard for your commission while you still can and use these connections of yours to make publication of what Nadine has sent you hurt as little as possible’ Cillian chuckled.

‘It’s a sex tape Cillian. What the fuck do you want me to do about it? Censor it?’ Brian asked.

‘If you do, keep the good parts, eh? I need to go’ Cillian said.

 Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall@elenavampire21 @hanster1998@mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r  @tellingyouastory  @captivatedbycillianmurphy​  @namelesslosers​  @littlewhiterose​  @ttzamara​  @ttzamara @cilleveryone  ​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby  @thenattitude  

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine

[arrowflier]

do you write AUs?

because i wish you'd write a fic with magic 👀 either with both or only one of them having magic ❤️

Oh, dear sweet anon. You'd never guess it from what I've been posting, but AUs are my bread and butter, and fantasy my genre of choice. I just don't do as much of it because I care more about getting it right, and it's so much harder to convey in short glimpses.

So thank you for this, and here goes nothing!  Might not be the type of magic you were thinking, but it’s where my brain ended up.

Milkovich Magic

When he's just a little boy, Mickey Milkovich is the chattiest kid on the street. He stands out front of their rundown house and waves at people passing by, tells them stories, wishes for them good things. His father hates it, but his mother thinks it's lovely. She sits next to Mickey in a broken lawn chair, taking turns smiling at her son and at the strangers and neighbors passing by, waving Terry away when he comes too close to interfering.

But she never says a word herself, unless it's to Mickey.

Until one day, when Mickey sees a family walking down the street, and waves frantically at two boys around his age, one with fuzzy brown curls, one with bright red locks. The bright boy turns toward him and smiles, and Mickey feels something shift inside himself.

"Momma," he calls back toward the house. "Did you see?"

"See what, Mikhailo?" she responds, voice oddly cautious in a way that Mickey has long since become accustomed to.

"That boy," he tells her, feeling light and happy. "He's going to be my friend."

The air shifts as the words leave his mouth, seeming to swirl around him. He shivers as it strokes against his skin, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake, and takes a shaky breath, thinking of the boy's shy smile.

"Mikhailo, no!" his mother cries, stumbling from her seat to fall on her knees at his feet, clutching his arms with claw-like fingers. He snaps out of his thoughts and stares down at her, terrified, as the feeling leaves him.

His terror grows when his father slams open the front door and yells, "What did the boy do now?"

His mother's eyes are wide and scared on his face, but her voice is calm and firm when she answers.

"Mikhailo has done nothing," she states simply, and his skin begins to tingle again. "You noticed nothing," she adds, and Mickey watches as his father shakes his head and wanders back inside without so much as a backwards glance.  Then the air is still again.

"Come, Mikhailo," his mother says next, "that's enough for today." And he follows her up the broken steps and into their home, mind whirring, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Words have power, little one,” his mother whispers to him later that night, as they sip hot chocolate in the kitchen after Terry goes to bed. The air smells of milk and burned sugar and his mother’s perfume, and her voice wraps around him like a hug, pressing her words into his skin.

“We have to be careful,” she speaks quietly. Her hand is still warm with the heat from her mug when she brushes his hair from his face, lets her palm rest on his cheek. “When the things you say become the truth, you have to choose your words wisely.”

“Like when I say you’re pretty?” Mickey asks with childish innocence, and his mother laughs, a soft tinkling sound like windchimes in the rain.

“Not quite,” she tells him with a gentle smile. ��It takes intent, too.”

“Intent,” he repeats dutifully, then asks, “what’s that?”

His mother’s voice drops even further, serious and firm. “It’s the desire to make change, Mikhailo,” she says, “and it’s dangerous. You never know what path that change might take.” She sounds sad, like she does whenever his father comes home, loud and stumbling when he shoves through the door in the middle of the night. Mickey doesn’t like it.

And he doesn’t understand, either. He’s too young. Too new to the world to see how change could be a bad thing. So he agrees, like a good son does, and doesn’t argue when his mother presses a kiss to his head and sends him off to sleep in a haze of lavender and chocolate.

A few months later, when he hears his father yelling from the next room, hears the crash as his mother hits the floor for the third time that week, he dares to speak aloud the words struggling to escape his heart, despite her warnings.

“Mama is safe,” he whispers to himself in the darkness of the room he shares with his baby sister, who’s curled up against his side, face still wet with the tears that sent her into sleep. “No one can hurt her anymore.”

He knows he got it right when he can feel the wish leave him, a heavy weight lifting from his chest as his desires take form. He can feel the air, heavy with intent, as it brushes over his skin, as it moves like a summer breeze through the open window above his head, bypassing the locked bedroom door. He’s suddenly more tired than he thinks he’s ever been when it’s gone, and he falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years, comforted by the knowledge that he had put change into the world.

The next morning, he wakes to his sister sobbing and pushing loose fists into his chest as she tells him that their mother is dead.

After that, he stops talking so much.

---

When Mickey is eight years old, he's the quietest boy in class. He gets a reputation as a troublemaker, refusing to answer questions or make friends, no matter the effort that others put in.

Eventually, they stop trying, and he's glad.

Until a new boy shows up, and almost ruins everything.

His name is Ian Gallagher, and the first thing Mickey notices as he walks into the room for the very first time, a worn backpack hanging from his skinny shoulder, is his hair.

It's bright red.

And Mickey remembers the day he learned what he was, the day he started down the path that killed his mother, the day that he declared to the world that the redheaded boy would be his and the world started to listen.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

So of course, Gallagher sat right behind him, and tapped on his shoulder, and asked him for a pencil. And try as he might, Mickey could not muster the intent to make him leave.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if he did, he thought. The damage had been done years ago.

But he does manage to speak. And he hears his own voice for the first time in ages outside the confines of the bedroom he still shares with Mandy. It's rough with disuse, lending an edge to his words that never used to be there.

"Ask me again, I'll stab you with it," he threatens, then stops, eyes blown wide and fearful by his own statement. But the rush of air never comes, nor that strange tingle, and all he can feel is the tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

He's so relieved he could cry.

"Are you ok?" the Gallagher boy asks, and Mickey tries to snarl, to make him back away.

"Shut up," he orders. And then he spins back around in his seat to hide his grin.

Because he can talk, after all, without causing terrible things. The trick, he knows now, is just not to mean it.

---

When Mickey is fifteen, he's loud and brash. He throws words around like they're meaningless, because to him, they are.

They have to be.

And it's working out fine, really. As long as he swallows down his feelings, keeps them locked up tight in his chest, it doesn't matter what words leave his lips.

Until, one day after school, he finally loses control.

And of course, it's because of Ian fucking Gallagher.

Because Ian keeps trying to be Mickey's friend, and Mickey knows it isn't real. He knows what he did. So when Ian joins his little league team in 4th grade, Mickey gets himself thrown out. And when Ian tries to partner with him for the 6th grade science fair, Mickey gets himself suspended instead. Every year is a new attempt, and every year, Mickey manages to shut it down.

He's ready to do it again on the first day of their sophomore year, when Ian calls his name outside the old brick school building.

"Hey, Mickey!" he tries, waving gangly arms to catch his attention. "Mickey, over here!"

Mickey studiously ignores him, like always, until he hears the smack of books hitting the ground.

"Whatcha callin' him for, eh?" comes a voice Mickey recognizes as one of his cousins. There's another rough sound, and a curse as Ian himself is pushed to the ground. Mickey's cousin laughs.

"What a pussy," he snickers. When Mickey turns around, his cousin waves him over with a wicked grin. "Ey, Mick, you know this guy?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he nudges Ian in the side with a dirty boot. "He keeps callin' for ya, think he's got a crush or somethin'."

Ian's face is red, and his jaw is clenched, but he looks away when Mickey catches his eyes. He looks embarrassed, and maybe sad, and before Mickey knows what he's doing, he speaks from the place he always keeps under lock and key.

"You're gonna leave him alone," he rumbles, a breeze picking up behind him. "You're never gonna touch him again." A few leaves flutter at his feet as his intention builds. His cousin doesn't notice, but Ian does, and Mickey finds himself staring into emerald green eyes as he says, "You noticed nothing," just like his mother did all those years ago, and lets the words go.

His cousin blinks at him, suddenly lost, then down at Ian. "The fuck are you doing down there man?" he asks, and almost offers a hand before awkwardly pulling it back. "Eh, whatever," he mutters, and stumbles off to join the line for the bus.

"What was that?" Ian asks breathlessly, and Mickey shrugs, thumbing his nose. Inside, he's horrified by his slip, but all he says is, "nothing."

And scared or not of how it felt, that rush of cool air tingling against his skin as he spoke, he can't deny it felt good.

It feels even better when Ian smiles.

---

When Mickey is seventeen, he has a friend, and he thinks he might have to stop talking again.

Ian is around all the time, now. They sit together at school, and hang out at the Gallagher house on weekends. They go to movies, and baseball games, and tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

And deep down, Mickey knows what this is. He told the world that Ian would be his friend, and so he is. It's nothing more than that.

But when Ian starts talking about the guy he's seeing, starts blowing Mickey off to spend time with him instead, it still makes Mickey's heart hurt.

Somewhere along the line, between avoiding Ian and letting his life revolve around him, Mickey had started wanting more.

It's in those moments, sitting on the sofa with their thighs pressed together, the strawberry scent of Ian's shampoo lingering in the air around them as he waxes poetic about the restaurant his boyfriend took him to, when Mickey fights himself the most.

It would be so easy, he knows. So easy to open his mouth and let the words out. Ian, he could say, you love me. You want me. Leave him, Ian. Be with me instead.

He doesn't. He wouldn't. But he could, and knowing that kills him.

Instead, he starts pulling back. Cancels plans before Ian can. It hurts, but he does it, because Ian deserves to be free from the wish Mickey made when he was a child.

Ian notices, of course he does. He ignores it, mostly, until the night Mickey opens the door to find him standing there, sweaty and scowling.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks Mickey immediately. "Why are you shutting me out?"

Mickey swallows. "Don't know what you're talkin about," he lies, wishing desperately that it were true. He feels a zing of power go through him, but there's no escape for it; his words don't work on himself.

"Bullshit," Ian accuses, stepping over the threshold to bring them chest to chest. "Just tell me, Mick," he urges. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I can't," Mickey offers breathlessly. "I really can't, Ian."

It doesn't deter him; if anything, it makes him angrier. "What's gonna happen if you do, huh?" he challenges, shoving Mickey back until he hits the wall.

And Mickey can't take it anymore.

"I don't know!" he shouts, tearing at his hair. "I don't fucking know, Ian, ok? I've been trying not to say it for so long, I don't know what will happen if I do!"

It takes the wind out of Ian's sails; he visibly deflates. His eyes turn soft, instead of angry, and there's a quiver in his voice when he asks again. "Tell me what, Mickey?" he whispers.

Mickey won't say the words. Instead, he surges toward Ian and presses their mouths together in a rough, clumsy kiss.

It lasts only a moment before Ian pulls away, and Mickey tries not to die inside.  Forces himself not to fix it.  But a second later, there's a beaming grin on Ian's bruised lips, and he's saying, "is that all it was?" and leaning in again.

---

When Mickey is nineteen, he has a boyfriend, and he says what's in his heart.

They’re alone in the Gallagher house, a rare enough occurrence already, and they’re tangled together in Ian’s tiny single bed.  “Ian,” he whispers when they part for breath.  “Ian,” he moans as that mouth trails down his neck and behind his ear, pressing kisses in its wake.  “Ian,” he cries out as he clenches fingers in bright red hair, holding on for dear life as they rock together.

“Fuck, I love you Mick,” Ian murmurs against his heated skin, and Mickey stops still.

It takes a minute for Ian to catch on, another for him to pull back, eyes questioning and nervous.  “Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Mickey licks his lips, and tries the words out himself, like a dare.  “You love me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Ian’s own.  

Nothing happens.

There’s no shift in the air around them, no new goosebumps beyond the ones Ian caused himself.  There’s no weight in Mickey’s chest trying to get out.

There’s just Ian.

Ian, with his copper hair shining in the light from the window.  Ian, surrounding him in the scent of strawberrie shampoo and sweat and cheap cologne from the corner store that he only wore when they were together.  Ian, who was watching hi, waiting, biting his red bottom lip and trying not to move.

Mickey laughs, and pulls him closer, kissing him again, feeling Ian smile with relief against his lips.  “You fucking love me,” he repeats, just because he can.  The words can’t change something that’s already true.  “I fucking love you too,” Mickey says.  

And he does.

#daily speedwrite #<-still calling it tgat even though it took forever #because if it wasn't I'd completely redo it before sharing #gallavich #fanfic #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #fantasy au #fic request #i just got home I'm so tired😭 #I hope it's vaguely coherent #tw:domestic abuse

[insomniasymphony]

Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Female Reader [He cannot hate you]

Constellation: Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Female Reader Words I got: → Protective → Duality → Affection Rating: Teen up and Audience

                            ►► He is the devil with a sweet tooth,                               And you are the candy on his tongue.                       Get on your knees and ask him to choose                                     Nothing sweeter than you.                              For sweetness doesn't last long. ◄◄

Hectically, you jerk your head from left to right, look around for other cars and take a breath when there are no others blocking the road. In the cold evening air, your legs carry you in hurried steps across the asphalt, to the other side of the pavement that should lead you through the houses of Yorknew. Further and further, until the hotel room is forever gone.

The breath on your lips rises in white clouds, bringing something wistful with it that you don't want to pay attention to. Still, you can't rid yourself of the thought in the back of your mind.

It's not too late to give up on your plan.

You could drag yourself back to the room you've been sharing with Hisoka for four days, put on something pretty and wait for the magician to return from his meeting. He'd tell you about his new plan, kiss you, and fuck your senses into no-man's land for half the night because you're his favourite toy.

That's the problem: you're just a doll that can be replaced.

He's never said that he loves you, even though you've been spending every spare minute together for six months. Hisoka took you on his journey and he hasn't let you out of his sight since.

You shower together, eat together, he kills anyone you exchange too many kind words with. It's as if he wants to shut you off from the world so that you belong to him alone.

But this obsessive nature of his is nothing but terror for you. Sometimes you long for freedom, which you know Hisoka will never give you. He would rather strangle to death with his own hands than see you go. His subliminal threats make that clear time and time again.

And tonight you are ready to die for your freedom.

A little more hastily, you hurry ahead, turn into a narrow alley and hear the echo of your footsteps rising up the stone walls. Each reverberation makes your skin seem colder under your soft woolen coat. The goosebumps don't subside, the shiver persists, and you can't help but believe that behind every shadow is a part of Hisoka. His intense gaze has made you paranoid.

Briefly, you shake your head. This time his eyes won't be able to pierce you. When Hisoka returns, the hotel room will be empty and you will be long gone – so far away from him, with a new name and a new life, that he won't find you. For three weeks you have been looking for someone who would save you and Hisoka from this relationship and you have indeed found someone who wants to fulfil all your wishes for a lot of money in exchange.

Your gaze wanders once briefly over your shoulder. Through the echo of your own flight, you can no longer perceive anything but your own movements. Hisoka could be walking right behind you and you wouldn't notice. The racing of your heart makes the blood rush in your ears and everything else inside you is so erratically tense that you don't know if your nerves can hold it all together.

Only when the alley ends and sends you between other streets to find safety, a tiny part of the fear falls away, still simmering underneath.

Across the street, at least fourteen cars have parked. This area of the city seems like a residential neighbourhood where men return to their loving wives. The husband old-fashioned in a suit while she wears an apron because dinner is boiling on the cooker. Docile women in the kitchen who have no time to look for other men. Probably that's exactly what Hisoka is longing for too. A woman who only has eyes for him. All day long. Without exception. Locked up like a bird in a cage.

Even though you never intended to replace him. Hisoka is the man who won your heart. A guy who goes through life strong and ruthless, but always takes great care to make sure you're okay.

Your steps slow down as you stop at the edge of the pavement. One of the vehicles is started, flashing its headlights three times. The sign that this is your getaway car. The man who will take you away. Away from Hisoka, whose arms have wrapped protectively around you more than once in the last six months. His warmth on your skin has always been comforting and even though you know he hates it when you talk to other men and he has left marks on your body as a safety for himself as a result, his company has always been loving. He has never hurt you unless you found sexual pleasure in it. He never raised his voice at you. Never did he try to lock you up. His only crimes are the threats that still jump through your senses and also the fact that he likes to corner and intimidate you.

On top of that, he messes with people for your sake who are more dangerous than one might think at first. Yes, you love him. But if you don't leave, he will either throw you away or he will be killed because of you. You are poison to each other, you can't explain it any other way.

Yet, you don't want to go. The fear in your heart has made room for sorrow and the desire to run back into his strong, protective arms is strong.

Swallowing dryly, you give yourself a push. You have no choice but to make the best decision for both of you. Your feet start moving again and you drag yourself along, reaching the car you're getting into. You find room in the back seat, the fabric of which clings to you strangely and uncomfortably as you take a shaky breath and look in the rearview mirror for a half-glimpse of your helper's round face.

“Are you ready, good lady?” His smoky voice scrapes through the atmosphere, merely making you nod before he finally starts the engine and drives off. Your heart sinks four floors deeper, smothered in grief and fear, both of which settle on too many things in your chest. Maybe you're making a mistake, but this relationship has no future.

You feel the car smoothly take the turns, hear the engine accelerate, sense every bump in your bones. You claw your sweaty hands into the upholstery as you reprimand yourself to rest with conscious inhales and exhales. It's over, you've escaped, given you both the freedom you deserve.

Yorknew's houses diminish for a moment, bringing trees and the parkland to the fore where you would have loved to have a romantic walk. But Hisoka doesn't think much of boring strolls. He likes sex. Togetherness where you are close to each other – all to yourselves, so that you can snuggle up to him and you just sit there. Amusement parks. Bungee gum. You.

The thought draws a sigh from you before the car makes a strange rattling sound, forcing the driver to stop. You halt at the side of the road, so you can't help but hold your breath.

“What was that?” you press out.

“If I saw right, I just accidentally drove over a marten,” the stranger returns to you, making you exhale because it's not a horror movie you're in after all. Then he gets out.

The open door, which he doesn't close, brightens up the inside of the vehicle, makes the outside world a little more unfriendly than it really is and forces you to get out too, because you can't find a quiet minute alone on this upholstery.

Slowly you push your way back into the cold of the darkness, glancing at the streetlights flickering conspiratorially before circling the car to check on your driver. But all you see in front of the bonnet is a trail of blood. Not a marten. No one. Probably he's just taking the dead animal away, burying it so the kids won't get spooked in the park the next day.

The cool air seems to bite down to your bones, numbing your skin as you count off two minutes. The restlessness keeps you looking around and for a moment you are willing to jump in the car and eagerly drive on. But your driver also has your new identity and all the other things that have been so painstakingly prepared. You can't leave without him. So you stroll a few steps towards the park. Just until the blackness seems to swallow everything, because the flickering streetlamps don't give enough light for more.

Tense, you cross your arms in front of your chest, bobbing up and down before gnawing fear begs for action. “Hello?”

Only silence returns to your question and you can't help but take a step over the dark threshold and venture further ahead to find your driver. Three, four feet ahead to the first tree closest to you. “What's wrong?”

Again you meet only silence, staggering a few more steps ahead and giving up in the same breath. A glance over your shoulder moves the car, which is already a few metres away from you, into a ghostly, almost lonely picture, apart from the other vehicles that pass by every now and then. No one seems to care about the abandoned automobile.

A little more annoyed, you take a breath, shake your head as something wet hits your cheek and you instantly look up because the sky didn't look like rain at all when you started running.

And it still doesn't.

Nevertheless, your heart stops for a beat.

Cold seems to consume you from within, makes you pull your coat tighter.

Up there, above you, fixed between branches, the lifeless eyes of the man who was supposed to help you escape stare back at you. His arms hang twisted above him and his legs are missing entirely. In the darkness, suffused with moonlight, you can only make out the bitter facts. And one of them is death.

“Do you like it?”

Instantly you suck in the air sharply, turning around in an instant only to catch sight of Hisoka. Leaning relaxed against a tree, he shuffles his cards as if nothing has happened. “I thought we had decided that you would wait in the hotel room. Where were you going with that man at such a late hour?”

His gaze lifts so that his amber eyes can look at you, while his features wait in a lack of enthusiasm for answers. You don't know if he's angry, but his expression seems to threaten you.

“I-I... I wanted to...” What do you want to say anyway? You don't know yourself what exactly you wanted other than to just get away from him for too many things that seem wrong. “Away.”

“Where to?”, Hisoka inquires, pushing himself off the trunk and coming closer. The cards disappear into the pockets of his white trousers in the same blink.

“Just... away,” you counter, unable to look at him any further because his eyes seem to look right down into your core.

“From me?” He pauses in front of you. “Why?”

Again your attention jerks to him and you hate the fact that he is wearing heels because it only makes him taller than he already is.

“You... are... constricting me.”

“Is that so?” The almost biting undertone in his voice is frightening. But you don't have time to think of what his next move might be as he grabs you by the chin and forces you to look at him very closely. His grip is so tight around your jawbone as he does so that you panic he might break it.

Then he leans towards you, breathes such a gentle kiss on your lips that, along with fear, terrible warmth rises up inside you. Your heart races wildly, but you don't know if it's the fear or the longing. Seeing him like this, knowing he is so close to you, is cruel because you love him, don't want to leave him, but don't want to see either of you die either.

The mere thought of losing him, or not being good enough anymore, knots your stomach as your vision blurs and the sobs in your throat quietly spill out.

Hisoka watches this rection, loosening his grip around your chin and running his thumb over your lips. A little like he wants more words from you. And you can't help but give them to him in a gush.

“I love you, Hisoka. I really do. But this can't work.” You have to swallow to keep from breaking into a raspy cough. “You lock me up like I'm your pet and you're messing with people who might kill you one day.” The first tear rolls down your cheeks unintentionally, making you wipe it away in frustration because you don't want to seem like an effeminate damsel in distress. “You're going to kill yourself because of me. And if not for that, then one day you'll just throw me away because you're not a man for life. And I'm afraid that by then I'll love you so much that I won't be able to stand it. So I was gonna let you go. And I can understand if you hate the decision, but isn't that the duality you love to talk about? Love and hate, both sides of the same coin? I-” Hisoka interrupts you as he takes your face in his hands and forcibly pulls you to him, far enough to force you onto your toes to press a kiss to your lips. A warm touch full of affection so gentle it takes your breath away.

Then he lets go of you, remains close in front, but his features are adorned with a friendly smile that makes him a little suspicious, while his hand caresses your cheek. As he does so, he brushes your lower eyelid, collecting another tear that was about to escape.

The tenderness he has for you irritates you so much that every one of your brain cells shuts down for a breath before Hisoka focuses on you again, piercing you with a blank stare. The atmosphere between you grows heavier.

“You think too much about nothingness, love.” His voice is so soft that it seems almost deadly at the same time. “And because you're like that, I'm going to let you get away with it for today.” He leans down to your ear, licks once over the shell with the tip of his tongue. “But if you run away again, I will kill you.”

“H-Hisoka...” You don't know what you can say to appease him. Nothing seems good enough. But Hisoka understands, straightening up to look at you again, putting on that playful smile he goes through life with. “Or I can put you in chains so I can have you with me for the rest of my life. Whichever option you like better.”

He tilts his head, looking at you with mockery and at the same time with a barely perceptible commitment so that you can feel the blush on your cheeks. On one hand, he's making a fool of you, on the other, he's conveying in his own unique way that he's sure he wants you for himself – forever.

He can't stay mad at you for long, can't even punish you for your terrible action, just takes you as you are, as if he has a weakness for all your stupid words and your troubled feelings.

And in those seconds you know that he loves you no less than you love him.

[Picture from a card collecting game]

[Want to give me kudos or a request? Check here!]

#Hunter X Hunter #hunter x 2011 #hunter x reader #hunter x you #hisoka hxh #hisoka morow #hisoka x you #hisoka x reader #Female reader #reader insert #My writing #my Ao3 works #fanfiction #fanfic #love #obsessive #obsessed

[maybege]

Safe And Warm - Part 1

Summary: Din convinces Paz to find the long lost Princess and bring her to her family in Coruscant. What Paz did not expect was her very beautiful companion and the feelings she would wake in him. (Anastasia AU)

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 6.1k | Rating: T

Warnings: one (1) tense moment of threatened violence, otherwise Disney-level fluff, also Mandalorians do not wear helmets in this AU

FINALLY! When I start writing this in November of last year I certainly did not expect it to take this long until I would publish it but the writing gods had other things in mind. This is a loose Anastasia AU with a bit of a mixture of like 1920’s fashion/aesthetics set in the Star Wars Universe. It was a lot of fun to write and – in my mind – is like a 90-minute fun Disney movie with romance sprinkled in.

Because there will be two parts of The One posted next week, the second (and final) part of this story will be posted on July 23. Always, feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you enjoy it!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

Paz was sure that Din had lost his mind.

To be fair, he had thought that more than once but this time he was convinced that it had finally happened. Din Djarin had lost his stars forsaken mind.

But, as always, Din did not seem to be deteriorated by his friend’s disapproval.

“Valoria has been destroyed a long time ago now,” Paz said, “And everyone on it has been destroyed with it.”

“Yes, except maybe what if it hasn’t?”

Paz scoffed, “I very much doubt that.”

His eyes wandered around the cantina they were sitting in. The bar was packed by what seemed to be the crews of the trade ships, gambling and laughing at their tables, and over on the other side of the glittering gown of the singer caught his eye. Stars, he just wanted one calm evening …

“Paz,” Din grabbed him by the upper arm, “We all know the remaining Valars are Coruscant royalty so to speak and them setting out a price for the lost princess? That must mean she is out there somewhere. And wewill be the ones to bring her home.”

Paz did not say anything. He wanted nothing more than another drink and maybe watch a good fighting match. Stars, maybe even participatein a good fighting match.

But Din did not give up. He never did.

“Think of the money, Paz,” he implored, “That would be more than enough to build a new classroom in the covert and get you one of those fancy new blasters the Armourer has been eyeing – and that would only be with half your share.”

Paz hesitated.

They did need a new classroom. Or at least some improvements on the current one. Last week, some bricks had tumbled down and it had been pure luck that none of the foundlings had been there.

He would have never been able to forgive himself if something had happened to one of his students.

He sighed in defeat, his shoulders dropping and he leant back in his chair. “How do you plan on finding – what’s her name again Thama-something?”

“Thalassa,” Din corrected him with a smug grin on his face. He had probably realized by now that he had captured Paz’s interest. Smug bastard.

“And you’ll be glad to know that I have found her already.”

“Found her?” Paz was stunned, “I am impressed, vod. You never seemed like the planning type.”

Din ignored his jab and set out the map, the galaxy lighting up between them. “A reliable source told me we can find her here,” he pointed to the very end of the map, symbolizing the edge of the Outer Rim, “All we need to do is get her from here to here,” he drew an imaginary line all the way to Coruscant, “Without having anything happen to her.”

“Seems easy enough,” Paz commented, brows furrowing, “So why do you need me for it?”

“There might or might not be a price on her head … from the Imps,” Din admitted.

He knew there had to be a problem somewhere.

“Do you have any idea how many things can go wrong? This is asking for trouble Din,” Paz cursed, clearly unhappy with that tidbit of information, “No credits in the whole wide galaxy would make this worth it. I have no desire to have a run-in with the Imps any time soon.”

“Vod, please,” Din said, “I – kriff, I need the money to get stuff for the kid,” Paz's eyes fell to the little pod in which the green child – his honorary nephew – was sleeping, “I need him safe, alright? And I need your help, brother, please.”

“Alright,” Paz murmured, nodding, “But I already know this will go wrong.”

*

Din’s ‘hot tip’ led them to a planet on the Outer Rim. The very edge of it, to be exact.

They had gotten a ride on a friend’s ship much to Paz’s amusement. Din begrudgingly calling Boba Fett of all people for help all the way from Tatooine was the highlight of his week – month, even.

The Razor Crest was hopelessly broken down and Paz was sure that Din would use significant amounts of his share to get the ship and his home back on track.

They had left Grogu with the covert under the watchful eye of the Armourer, knowing that the mission would be too dangerous and too risky to take him along. That was the moment Paz knew that Din was serious about all of this. For his vod to leave his kid somewhere that was not with him – that was a big step.

A step which both of them seemed to regret as they landed on the planet in question. It was muddy and green and brownish, a wholly unappealing colour palette. The sky was dark or … well, not dark. But it seemed to be a permanent twilight no matter what time it was and with the small drizzle, the rain seemed to paint the whole world a constant grey.

The only homes that littered the streets – or rather trampled paths – were small homes, only distinguishable from the grey horizon by the small fires that lit up their windows.

Paz had never been so sure that there would never be a princess here. But maybe that was exactly what made this the perfect hiding spot.

And so, he hoisted his bag higher on his bag as they trudged through village after village in search for whatever sign Din deemed to be worthy to stop for. As the rain lessened, the sky lightened up a little but they were still wet to the bones and Paz hated it.

After hours of walking, Din finally stopped in front of a small hut.

Children were playing in the space between the houses and the few adults that seemed to be working outside eyed the newcomers suspiciously. Paz’s hand felt the blaster on his hip, a strange feeling overcoming him at being watched.

“I don’t like this, vod,” he murmured, “I really don’t.”

Din hummed in agreement before knocking on the door.

A few moments passed and then an elderly man opened. Both his eyes and his hair were grey, he seemed … worn. Tired and worn. But when he spotted them, and his eyes flew immediately to the weapons on their hips, he tensed. And so did Paz.

Surely this was not the best first impression they could make.

Then again, he was impatient to get away from here.

“I know why you are here,” the man said, his eyes lighting up in excitement as he motioned for them to come inside.

Paz was confused by this but he did not complain. The man did not seem to have any weapons on him and, as surprising as it was, he seemed genuine.

The house they were led into was simple. The downstairs consisted of a single room, serving as both the kitchen and the living room, and a set of stairs led to what Paz assumed to be the bedrooms.

A hearty smell wafted through the air and he spotted a pot hanging over the fire. His stomach growled.

“You are here to bring her home, aren’t you?” the man asked excitedly and both he and Din tilted their heads questioningly, making no secret of the fact that they were surprised by his warm welcome.

“We have been waiting for years but you see,” the man explained, gesturing to the outside, “there is no way to send reliable messages out there without them being able to be transferred.”

A woman came through a backdoor, clearly his spouse. She wore an apron and a suspicious look on her face as she spotted the two intruders. But even then, she did not acknowledge them. Instead, she walked over to the steaming pot of soup and set it on the table in the middle of the room.

Paz heard Din’s stomach grumbling and grinned.

“They are here to bring Thalassa home, darling,” the man explained, looking almost relieved and Paz furrowed his brows. He did not put it past the stranger to genuinely be happy for the girl to get back to her family but somehow, he had the feeling that the man’s happiness had a different reason.

“Where can we find her?” Din asked gruffly, shifting his weight on the other foot, “We want to get going as soon as possible.”

“Why should I tell you where she is?” the woman spat, “I cared for her like she was my own, what makes you think I would so easily give her away?”

“Because she deserves to be reunited with her family,” Din stated drily, “And her family wants to see her. They have waited a long time for this to happen.”

Paz held onto himself to not roll his eyes. Din could always be so dramatic if he wanted to and he hoped that it would work. He just wanted to get on with it.

The spouses looked at each other for a long moment and Paz could tell that they were having a conversation without words.

“Alright,” the woman finally relented, before adding, “But I do have one condition.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to take my niece with you. She – she has been stuck on this planet for far longer than she needed to. She is a good girl, she deserves a chance in the big worlds.”

Paz could feel how tense Din was. His first instinct was to disagree. They would have trouble smuggling one princess across the galaxy but a princess and another random stranger? Besides, who knew how this niece would hinder them on their quest to keep the princess safe?

No, that really was a ridiculous idea.

But Din was better at lying than he was and so he agreed with a reluctant nod. Nothing would speak against just taking the princess with them once they found her, right?

“Where is she then?”

“Oh, they’re just outside, working in the gardens,” the older woman says, wiping her hands on her apron, “You can tell them dinner is ready. You’re invited to stay as well, you won’t be able to walk back to your ship in that darkness.”

Both of them nodded and Paz was happy to set down his bag at the door that led outside. He kept his blaster on his hip though and he knew that Din had done the same. His thoughts were rushing with how quickly they could get Thalassa out of here and how long they would have before any of the Imps had an inkling of where she was.

But as he stepped down the stairs all thoughts left his head because … because …

There you were.

Like the lady had said, you were working in the gardens. You were kneeling on the muddy ground, your hands full of wet earth as you cleaned the plants of any weeds. Your companion was next to you, sitting on a small chair and talking to you. She must have said something funny because you threw your head back and laughed.

You – stars, you were beautiful.

How could people not see a princess when they saw you?

Noticing the newcomers, you raised your head and your eyes grew wide as you saw the two big men walk determinedly towards you. You hurried to stand up, wiping your hands clean on an apron. “How can we help you?” you asked carefully.

Paz did not slow his steps. He felt how flushed he was, even the tips of his ears felt hot as he walked towards you. His chest was oddly warm and tight as he looked at you, your eyes big and your mouth opening with another question.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured, lifting your hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it. You had wiped them clean on the fabric of your skirt and he felt how soft it was and he heard you gasp and oh stars how would he ever be able to forget this very moment.

The other woman seemed to be more excited rather than surprised and he heard her talking to Din in a high-pitched voice. But what did he care about that woman’s niece when you were there right in front of him?

“Oh I – I’m not,” you said, clearly embarrassed. You held your hand to your chest, the one he had kissed and Paz frowned. Shame filled him when he realised that he had made you feel uncomfortable but then he was also confused by your words. What did you mean?

“If anyone’s a Majesty, that would be me,”the woman behind him said, “It’s been time I would think.”

“We’re here to get you back to your family, Your Majesty,” Din said, throwing an amused look to Paz who was still standing in front of you. He looked from the other woman to you and back again. She – she was the princess? And you were the niece?

“We will start our journey to Coruscant tomorrow,” Din announced, “We got a ticket on a freighter ship booked. It will be a long and dangerous journey, princess, but you will see your family again soon.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Thalassa replied, wholly unimpressed, “It’s been years, I almost thought I’d never leave this forsaken place. Oh, is that dinner I smell?”

The princess walked off without another word, leaving the basket and little chair behind as well as Din and Paz looking at each other and realizing that keeping her safe might not be the issue – enduring her might cost them their last nerves.

Paz watched as you kneeled down again quickly putting some of the vegetables in the basket.

With the basket in your hands, you stood up again, looking at Paz for a long while. He felt how this warm feeling came back and nervously shifted on his feet. He could not figure out what it was about you but he – he wanted more. Wanted you more.

You took a deep breath, seemingly gathering your courage for something, and he resisted the urge to take your hand.

“When, uh, when you said you would go to Coruscant did you mean … me too?” you asked quietly and the small hope in your eyes made his heart clench.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Din opening his mouth. He knew that look on his face, knew that Din would reject your request just like they had planned when your aunt had first voiced that condition. Din would tell you that they would leave only with the princess in tow. And he was right, probably. Fewer people meant less danger.

But you did not look at Din.

You looked at him with a small smile on your lips as if you did not allow yourself to be hopeful yet but as if you wanted to be. Wanted to be hopeful. Wanted to be excited. Wanted to be on this journey.

He wanted to change that.

“Yes,” he said, already feeling Din’s eyes on him. But when you looked at him like that there was no way he could say no, “Yes, you will come with us too, if you’d like, of course.”

*

To no one’s surprise (and Paz’s excitement), you wanted to come along.

Already the preparations for the trip were eating at their nerves. Thalassa was more than annoyed that she was only allowed to take one bag with her. But Din was adamant and surprisingly patient with the demanding princess and soon she had reduced her luggage to only the essential items. It was not like she would need her muddy dresses in the high society of Coruscant.

Paz felt like he could not wait until the trip was over.

The next morning, they were able to borrow speeders from the family which would take them to the capital of the mud planet. From there, they would take one of the big cruiser ships to Naboo.

It was the easiest method to fall under the radar – by blending in with the large crowds that flocked to the core worlds. Paz had worn his best suit for that exact purpose.

The only downside was that the Imps were slowly becoming aware of that loophole and more and more of them infiltrated the standard ways of travelling.

Already in the terminal did Paz spot a few suspicious-looking people. They were most likely bounty hunters but he was not too worried. The ship they were boarding was enormous and so was the number of passengers. The odds of them crossing paths were very slim and so he and Din decided to not change their plans at the last minute.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be intimidated if not scared. Din has assigned you the space on Paz’s speeder and with your arms wrapped around his middle, you had driven hours on end until you had reached the spaceport. He had liked the proximity, the way you had pressed your cheek against his back and how your arms had sometimes tightened around him.

He could very well get used to it.

Now, even as you were in the terminal, ready to board, you stuck to his side. It flustered and pleased him to have you so close that your arm was brushing against his constantly. But he was also relieved to have you this close because everywhere he looked, strangers were walking towards the gates and he did not want to lose you in this chaos.

And so, he made it a point to make himself seem bigger, pushing out his chest and straightening his posture to make sure that none of the other passengers would stray too close.

You sent him a grateful smile.

A few rows before you, he could hear Thalassa’s high-pitched voice complaining about one thing or another and soon he recognized Din’s dark hair in the masses. He wondered if his brother in arms was even listing to her. Her voice was shrill and she had not stopped talking for one moment since leaving the house this morning so Paz found it hard to imagine that Din could just tune it out but he hoped for his sake that he could.

He did not want to imagine the next few days on the ship.

“Do you have the tickets?” you asked quietly beside him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Paz nodded and rummaged in the inside pocket of his jacket. He brought out two data chips, handing you one.

“Stick close,” he advised you, “It can get a little chaotic, getting through the gates.”

With big eyes, you nodded. He watched how you took a deep breath and then you were separated from him, being pushed towards another gate. There was a sea of people trying to get through the electronic controls and Paz did not like this suffocating feeling that came over him

He pushed the chip in and the gate opened with a beep before he was swept up again by the masses making their way into the hull of the ship. But there was something – or rather someone – missing.

Paz turned around, trying to spot you. When he did not see you, he grew panicked. He could care less what happened to Thalassa but you– he wanted to make sure you were safe.

Hoping that it would help, he shouted your name over the chatter of the other passengers. He turned around, fighting his way back to the gates, pushing against people and getting insulted in more languages than he understood.

A soft hand grabbed his and he froze. He whipped his head around and there you were, looking clearly a bit overwhelmed but smiling at him. He breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping. Out of instinct, he grasped your hand tighter, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Ready?” he asked and you nodded with a smile.

Neither of you let go of each other’s hand.

*

Hours later, when the ship finally started taking off, you were settled in the cantina.

The ship had dorms and suites and common rooms, more than anyone could ever count, but Din and Paz had decided that it would be safer for the time being to be in the cantina before figuring out any sleeping arrangements.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t have gotten a suite,” Thalassa hissed, looking around her with disdain. It was clear that she did not appreciate being around ‘commoners’ as she had called them before and Paz wondered how she had lived her life in poverty and still ended up like this.

Fittingly enough, he could see how Din’s jaw clenched, how his eyes flashed with annoyance, and grinned. When he had thought of credits he certainly hadn’t thought of how annoying royalty could be to deal with.

“It would be too obvious, Thalassa,” you explained gently, sitting next to Paz and a datapad in your lap, “They already explained before. It will only be for a few days. Isn’t that right, Paz?”

His heart skipped a beat at you saying his name. You were already looking to him for backup, as if you trusted him with it, and the way his name rolled off your tongue … stars, he would dream of that tonight.

“Very right,” he replied, “Three days at the most, all of this will take less than a week if we’re lucky.”

“And if we’re not?” Thalassa challenged.

“Then it will take longer,” Din hissed.

Paz grinned. This would be a long journey.

*

When dinner had been served, the group had barely moved from their spot in the cantina.

Thalassa had been busy watching some holovid or another on a datapad and the best part about it was that she was silent. Under different circumstances, Paz might have been annoyed by how loud she was playing the holovid, the actor’s shrill voice sounding all the way through the cantina but he could not be bothered to care when the alternative was to explain to her for the hundredth time why she needed to be happy with the lower standard of accommodation.

Din was sitting next to the princess, thoroughly entranced by studying maps or researching new parts for the Crest or something.

But whom Paz was most focused on was you.

You had started to doze off in your seat next to him for a while now and your head kept leaning dangerously to the side, threatening to fall on his shoulder. Paz was tense. Slowly, he shifted closer to you until your cheek rested fully on his shoulder and he heard you sigh in your sleep and then … you shuffled closer to him.

Paz tensed even more, pretending to read the ship’s safety manual in his hands.

He still felt Din’s amused gaze on him though and he furiously tried to ignore the heat that rose in his cheeks. But you were soft and warm against him, completely relaxed now that your head was supported by something.

He wondered if you were cold. It was drafty in the cantina, maybe he should put his jacket over you? He would be fine with just wearing his shirt and the vest but he would have to move and what if that would wake you?

And how would he get you to your sleeping quarters without waking you? Would you be angry at him? He knew some people had trouble falling asleep on spacecrafts and what if you were one of them and you had finally managed to fall asleep only to be awakened by him and then you would not be able to sleep again and –

“Guess it is time to talk about the living arrangements,” Din muttered.

Thalassa put her datapad on the table with a clatter. “Finally,” she sounded exasperated, “I hope at least our sleeping accommodations will be sufficient.”

At the sound of her voice, you stirred next to him, your brows furrowing. Paz thought you looked adorable, like a loth cat that had fallen asleep in the sun with your cheek squished against the tweed of his suit.

“Hey, love,” he whispered, hoping no one heard how that pet name had slipped out of lips so naturally. He rose his hand to your cheek, gently coaxing you awake.

“Huh?” you murmured, blinking up confused at him before a small smile appeared on your lips.

Then you noticed the position you were in and, clearly embarrassed, scooted away from him.

“I am so sorry,” you mumbled, “That was very inappropriate of me.”

Paz wanted to protest and say that he would hold you in his arms for however long you wanted. He would be gladly at your service should you have need of a human pillow again. But even in his lovestruck state, he knew how ridiculous that sounded and so he managed to keep his mouth shut and only smile tightly at you.

“So,” Din pulled the attention on himself, “We have three beds and four people. One private room for two and one bunk bed in the larger dorms. I’d suggest you girls get the room and Paz and I take the bunk.”

“Absolutely not,” Thalassa protested, completely horrified. Paz furrowed his brows confused over why she was this opposed to something that should actually please her. Having a private room had to be one of the points on her secret lists of requirements, he was sure, why in the stars would she not want to stay in one?

“If people are out there searching for me I want to be roomed with someone who can protect me, not – not her, no offence, honey,” she gestured towards you.

“None taken,” you smiled slightly, then turned to Din, “But Thalassa is right. If people are hunting her like you say they are, then – maybe I should sleep in the dorm? I – surely, it won’t be thatbad.”

Everything in Paz’s stomach turned at the idea of you in one of the big dorms. This was the first time you had ever left your planet and you thought they would throw you into a dorm with a bunch of rowdy passengers? No way.

“Well, then how do we proceed?” Din asked, throwing a knowing look his way, “I guess it is best if Paz would be in the dorms with you, he is intimidating enough that people wouldn’t want to approach you.”

“Intimidating?” you asked confused, turning to look at Paz, “I – I don’t think he’s intimidating at all.”

Paz was positive that he had never been this flustered in his life. You didn’t think him to be intimidating. You were not intimidated by him. You were comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to even share a bunk with him.

“Is that so?” Din asked, hardly able to hide his grin, “Well, isn’t that interesting, Paz?”

Shut up, Paz thought, too focused on how you were still tucked into his side, the sleep barely gone from your eyes, Shut up and let me enjoy this.

*

The walk to the dorm was long and dark and for you, probably quite scary.

Paz was convinced that he had already witnessed at least two spice deals and you weren’t even halfway to the dorm. He was happy about it though because he was not sure what would have happened if anyone thought you had noticed their illegal wrongdoings.

But you were probably unaware of it.

You seemed to make sure never to stray too far from him or the path that you had set out for yourself, your hesitant footsteps echoing around the labyrinth that was the ship. He could see how tightly you were clutching your bag to your chest as he walked beside you and it took everything in him not to put his arm around your waist.

Where did this endless need to touch you come from?

When the door to the dormitory came into view, Paz took a deep breath, shouldered his bag. The weight of his blaster against his hop was a comfort as he braced himself for the worst. Dorms on ships these big … they could be bad.

“We’re bed 32B,” he told you and you nodded your understanding as the door slid open with a creak.

It was a huge room and it seemed endless. Paz could not even see the furthest wall from where he was standing at the entrance. But no matter how big the room seemed, it was absolutely packed with people of all ways of life and it was loud.

You backed up into him, your back bumping against his chest as a sound of fear escaped you.

“It’ll be alright, mesh’la,” he promised quietly, his hands finding your hips as he gently guided you forward. There was a resistance in your steps as he saw you watch your new surroundings. There were several bet games going on and from further down the room he was sure he heard some illegal loth cat races and even more angry shouts at a commotion just to your right.

The bunks that lined the walls each had four levels and Paz was somewhat relieved to find that your assigned bed was on the third one. Far enough up to avoid getting pulled into any of the conflicts. Far enough out of reach that he would have enough time to react if someone tried to come for you.

“I hope you don’t get claustrophobic too easily,” he muttered as he spotted how dark and small it looked. You might be able to sit up fully but he was certainly not.

Before you could step towards the ladder, however, a bright red arm stopped you, blocking your way. You squeaked and stepped right back into Paz’s chest whose arm came around your waist, holding you to him. He tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating at having you this close. Instead, he eyed the man in front of you who grinned confidently.

The alien’s eyes roamed over you slowly, dragging over every single inch of your body and Paz sneered, pulling you closer.

“Oh, where did you get this beauty, Mando?” the stranger asked, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he leered at you, “How much for a night of entertainment, girly? I promise I pay well.”

Paz did not even blink as he pulled his blaster and held it against the man’s forehead. “Touch her and you are dead,“ he growled, arm tensing around you.

Instantly, all eyes in the room focussed on the three of you and the charged weapon but he could not bring himself to care. His eyes were cold as he stared the man down, his other and still on you and he noticed how your shoulders relaxed.

The man shifted uneasily on his feet before he lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, taking a few steps backwards, “She’s yours, I get it, I’m backing off, you see, Mando? No need to point that thing at me.”

Paz did not lower the blaster until the man had disappeared into the darkness of the room. Soon the other passengers started minding their own business again, the chatter picking back up and the hissing of the loth cats sounding above everything else.

“C’mon,” he muttered to you, gently pushing you towards the ladder, “That one’s ours.”

You climbed into the bunk before him and scooted to the very edge of it to make space for him as well. Just as he had suspected, the bunk was too low for him and he needed to duck his head before he could even thinkof crawling into the small space.

The bunk was outfitted like most bunks he had slept in, a curtain to pull close during the night, a net at the side to store a small bag or other belongings and a dim night lamp. He pulled the curtain close immediately, fastening it at the side so no one from the outside could open it easily. Then he switched on the small lamp, flooding the little bunk with warm light.

The first thing both of you did was take off your shoes and putting them at the very end of the bed where a small shelf was located. Paz decided to store his backpack there as well. It did not necessarily feel very safe but he also did not want you to feel uncomfortable. The bunk was slim as it was.

“I – I still need to change,” you noted, shifting in what he now recognized as discomfort.

Paz felt his cheeks heating up at the implication.

“I’ll turn around and, uh, let you change,” he decided and turned his back to you. The only problem was that in his haste to offer you some privacy, Paz forgot that the bunk was not built for people of his size and smashed his head against the ceiling.

“Ouch!” he cursed, “Kriffin’ bantha –“ he grumbled, holding his head and hearing your giggle behind him.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to bring out between your quiet laughter, “It just looked so funny.”

He only grumbled, his head still pounding but his heart fluttering because you sounded so happy. It was lovely.

He took the chance to slip off his suspenders and unbutton his dress shirt, only leaving him in his Henley and his pants. It would be comfortable enough for a night’s sleep, he supposed.

When he felt you shift and rustle beside him, he took it as a sign that it was safe to turn around. This time, he ducked his head, making sure to not even come near the hard ceiling. You were dressed in your night shift, fiddling with your hands in front of your chest.

“Does – does it hurt very badly?” you asked guiltily, “Maybe we can find a bacta pill or something?”

Even in the dim light of the bunk, Paz could see the unease and guilt on your face. And he rushed to make you feel better.

“No worries, mesh’la,” he assured you, “It was just a bump and I suppose from the outside it must’ve been pretty funny.”

You smiled shyly at him, “It was and … if it makes you feel better, the next time I bump my head, you’re allowed to laugh as much as you want.”

With that, you settled down under the blankets, your cheek hitting the pillow as you expectantly looked up at him and patted the spot next to yours. “Aren’t you going to sleep too?”

He had no words. Not only were you smiling at him like that but now you also wanted him to – to really sleep beside you. No staying on top of the covers. No sitting at the end of the bed and looking out for trouble. You wanted him to sleep.

He laid down, turning so his back was towards the curtain and he was facing you. “It’s, uh it’s a tight fit,” he murmured trying to arrange his arms somehow. You smiled, carefully taking his hand and stars your skin was soft and put it behind you on your waist.

Immediately, his fingers spread out on your back, pulling you closer. The fabric of your nightdress was soft under his fingertips and he wondered if your skin felt like that too. He heard you take a deep breath and then he felt your fingers on the exposed skin of his chest, playing with the buttons of his Henley.

His eyes fluttered closed, enjoying your soft touches on him.

“Are you comfortable?” he whispered, your head tucked into his chest, “the blanket’s not very thick I could try and see if they have some more on -“

“It’s alright,” you cut him off, smiling up at him, “I’m – you – you’re very warm, but what is that?”

You shifted again and he felt something hard brush against his belly. He chuckled and put his finger to his lips to shush you with a conspiratory grin. Lifting the blanket, he revealed the blaster between the two of you.

Your eyes widened.

“Safety’s on,” he revealed, “but I don’t want to take any chances.”

You shuddered, “I’m not used to all this – this danger,” you confessed, your finger brushing against his chest and he made sure his hand didn’t flex too much on your back.

“I worry about it,” you said, “Of the things that could happen. Thalassa and I – we’ve never been anywhere but home and now this – this is so much.”

“It’ll be alright,” he promised quietly, “it’ll be alright. Just rest and as soon as you can blink we’re one day closer to Naboo.”

“W-will you be there when I wake up?”

“Yes.”

#maybege writes #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x fem!reader

[solalunar-eclipse]

Sonic Boom - S3E1

Episode title: Friendship 101

Word count: about 3000 words

Author’s Note: I’m trying a rather new format for this fic, since it’s based on a TV show with various songs and camera angles. If you have any comments about whether it works well or not, please let me know!

(Also, the theme song choice is all thanks to khinesthetic, who used it here and inspired me to put it in this fic.)

Next

[cue Mr. Blue Sky by ELO (0:00-3:45)]

[The show opens on a zoomed-out view of Hedgehog Village from above. Stone walls separate the village from the wilderness outside. There are large spaces at several points throughout the structure for entry and exit. A large patch of grass with benches scattered about sits at one end of the village, and a marketplace made up of wood-and-cloth stalls runs along one of the walls. Houses are grouped in seemingly random clusters throughout the town, and the (in)famous Meh Burger stand sits all on its own, with picnic tables spread across its wooden flooring. As the music progresses, the camera begins to zoom in on the village- then on one of the streets in particular- and rotates down to eye level to face…]

Sonic the Hedgehog walked through the streets of Hedgehog Village with a bounce in his step, occasionally dancing to the music playing through his earbuds. As he wandered throughout the town, he passed the usual people running their stores, arguing over botched orders at Meh Burger, and, at one point, Aqua the Rabbit absolutely freaking out over the loss of a single follower on Angstagram (the latest social media network for moody teens).

He did a 360-degree spin before winking and pointing finger guns at Amy Rose when he spotted her haggling with the local grocery store owner. She paused briefly to wave at him with a smile. “Hi, Sonic!” she called, completely ignoring the irritated fennec in the process.

Then, the music froze and changed to something extremely ominous as she turned around to face the shopkeeper once more. A dangerous gleam appeared in her eyes as she pulled out her signature hammer. “Now then, about those prices you’ve been setting lately…”

The song cut back in as the view switched back to Sonic, who was now moving away from the scene at a slightly faster pace.

Really, though, he was more than happy to see his other friends not long after. Knuckles and Sticks were currently busy rummaging through the town’s garbage together, excitedly chatting about the latest piece of interesting junk they’d found, while Tails was fixing someone’s broken rain gutter (and attempting to ‘improve’ it in the process, which meant that it could now measure the amount and intensity of rainfall in a storm- a very useful, though unfortunately unwanted improvement).

Surprisingly enough, as he continued on his way through Hedgehog Village, he managed to get people from a few different places to wave back at him when he said hello. Although perhaps it wasn’t quite so surprising when one considered that this was one of the most cliched opening sequences that could possibly happen in any movie or TV show. Ever.

And of course, the only logical outcome of this scene led to everyone beginning to stop their usual activities and gather in one of the few open spaces in the town, clearly prepared to break into a fantastic musical dance number straight out of Broadway. Incredibly, this was one of the few moments in which everyone in the village seemed to be able to get along…

...until Eggman’s latest giant robot slammed feet-first into the ground, sending everyone off-kilter and scrambling for cover. Shrieks of panic rose in place of the music as the villagers fled the scene to hide in their houses. The dramatic entrance didn’t just ruin the mood, it absolutely crushed it with the sheer force of its impact.

And that was, obviously, when the show really began.

[cue In Your Face by Shockwave Sound (0:00-1:04)] 

[Each of the five members of Team Sonic appears on a black screen with their name spelled out in their signature colors (blue, yellow, red, pink, and green) and does a couple of cool fighting moves, followed by snippets of scenes featuring them from previous episodes of the show for about eight seconds each. All five of them then appear together in their usual fighting stances, emphasizing their status as a team.

The Eggman logo then appears in an ominous, glowing red, backlighting the doctor himself and all his creations- before the lights flick on to reveal him alone in his evil lair with a green screen behind him, at which point he shrieks and covers the camera with a hand. Then, neon blue electronic lines begin to appear across the screen and the camera spirals to follow them, selecting one particular line to trace. Not long after, said line ends at a circle which, with a flash, turns into the words ‘Sonic Boom’. Beneath the title, it says ‘Ancient Secrets’ in neon blue.]

[Then the music ends, at which point the episode title- “Friendship 101”- appears for a few seconds in the same color before the show itself returns.]

Sonic scrambled to his feet and zipped over to Tails, pulling him up from where he’d fallen after the robot’s overdramatic arrival. Amy managed to do the same with both Knuckles and Sticks simultaneously, which let Sonic stare for a moment, startled, and then promptly resolve to remember not to get on her bad side anytime soon.

Soon enough, the team had scrambled into their usual positions, ready to fight. Amy and Sticks kicked the battle off by handling the various smaller robots that threatened to get too close to their team, never faltering (and in fact seeming a bit gleeful in the badger’s case) despite the sheer number of enemies. Knuckles, meanwhile, launched Sonic bodily into the air for Tails to catch, before picking up a boulder about the size of a house and lobbing it directly at the robot’s chest.

“Hey! Easy with the boulders- QuakeBot took a lot of effort to make, you know!” Eggman shrieked from above, hovering in the relative safety of his Eggmobile. 

(Relative, in this case, was of course in comparison to mixing absurdly volatile chemicals in a lab, bothering Shadow at any and/or all hours of the day, or being on Tails’s bad side when the fox had a glue gun. The doctor still remembered that situation all too well, and currently ranked it as far more terrifying than merely being punted into the stratosphere by kids under half his height and about a third his age.)

Sonic paused to stare at Eggman from where he was currently dangling in the air. A smirk began to spread slowly across his face. “…what did you just call it?”

“You heard me the first time!” the doctor roared, now incredibly embarrassed. “I named it that since it makes the ground shake when it moves, like an earthquake??”

General laughter came from the heroes assembled on the ground and in the sky.

“Argh! Nobody appreciates my genius around here! Now, QuakeBot, stop standing around and start attacking!”

“I suggested TerraBot, since it still has to do with earth and is a play on the word ‘terror’, but nobody ever listens to my ideas, now do they?” Orbot muttered irritably to himself, tucked inside the Eggmobile.

“I listen to all your ideas!” Cubot offered encouragingly.

Orbot’s mouth shifted into a small smile. “Thanks, Cubot.”

Meanwhile, Sonic had been pulled into a spin by Tails, who whirled the hedgehog around before letting him shoot downwards toward the robot in a spin dash- only for him to get caught and sent flying into the nearest house.

He shook off the surprise quickly (and apparently sustained absolutely zero damage despite having literally crashed through a house, because superpowered teenagers), darting back over to the group. “Well, uh, guess it’s time for Plan B then!”

Crickets chirped in the ensuing silence. Even the robot had stopped moving to hear what he had to say.

“And the plan is…?” Amy prompted.

Sonic folded his arms with a huff. “I dunno, I thought you guys would have one!?”

The pink hedgehog rolled her eyes at that. 

Tails piped up. “I have an idea! Sonic, you’re going to need to be curled up for this, okay?”

The hero promptly did just that, before emitting a muffled “mmhmm?” from inside his layers of quills.

“Alright then, Amy, I need you to hit Sonic with your hammer right at the side of this house.”

Sonic’s blood ran cold. “Whoa whoa whoa, wait a second can we maybe rethink thiaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

He ricocheted all over the palace like a pinball, slamming into several key points of the robot thanks to Tails’s rapid calculations. However, the robot was sadly unaffected by his screaming at a pitch that came dangerously close to shattering glass.

The robot was easily disabled and the attack overall quickly repelled after that. Thankfully, it took Sonic only a moment to recover from his impromptu stint as an out-of-control projectile and get back to fighting with the others…complete with a “Let’s do that AGAIN!” moment, which was met with a resounding no from both Amy and Tails. 

Their ears were both still rather sore from last time, after all.

After Eggman was punted all the way back to his island by a well-placed kick from Sticks, though, the crew was about to head over to Meh Burger for a post-battle meal when they discovered that they had an entirely different problem to take care of. The villagers, who were beginning to come out of hiding after the attack, were furious upon seeing the damage dealt to their homes and stores.

“How could you let this happen?” one shouted.

Before long, the villagers found themselves a more specific target when the owner of the house that Sonic had smashed into pointed her finger directly in his face. “This mess is awful!” she cried. “And it’s all his fault!”

Within seconds, a mob of people had descended upon the overtaxed teen.

“I’ve never known a hero so irresponsible.” one fumed.

“How dare you!” the fennec from earlier roared.

The elderly wolf of the village shook her cane at him. “Shame on you!”

Sonic could feel himself beginning to tense up as the villagers turned their ire on him. Whether or not he’d admit it to anyone, he needed two main things in order to be his usual heroic, cheerful self: open space and positive reinforcement. Right now, he was getting exactly the opposite of both of those.

And he was not feeling good about it.

He looked briefly over to his friends for help, but Sticks had already vanished, Knuckles and Tails looked more nervous than anything, and Amy was already walking towards him with that look in her eye…

“Sonic, next time you do need to work on making sure the robot doesn’t catch you, you know-”

A streak of blue shot out of the village, leaving nothing but a scorched trail of grass and the snap of a sonic boom behind.

Sonic didn’t slow down until he reached the mountains- which technically wasn’t very far from the town at all, so he ran quite a bit more after that until he ended up in the middle of the jungle. Then, he sat down with his back to a tree and his arms around his knees, feeling very unheroic and overall pretty lame.

The blue hedgehog frowned at the dirt. Honestly, some days it really did feel like nobody seemed to like him. The only person who ever even suggested he was important on a regular basis was Tails, and Sonic didn’t blame him at all for not jumping into the middle of that crowd. Tails was only thirteen to his seventeen and a half years old- not exactly an age when he should be expected to go toe-to-toe with a crowd of angry adults.

Still, though. When being a hero got him all risk (no matter how low) and no reward...it was difficult for him to keep hold of that core feeling of “I can make the world a better place to live in!”, which, despite all his other claims, was truly at the center of what had motivated him to start fighting against Eggman so long ago…

[The scene morphs in a manner which shows the lighting shifting so that the sun is overhead. A sound effect of birds chirping plays over the scene change. This implies that it’s been several hours since he first fled the village.]

Sonic was still lost in thought when the snap of a twig in the bushes made him jump to his feet in surprise. The surrounding vegetation rustled ominously for a moment...only to reveal the four members of his team in front of him. He watched them all cautiously, his expression tense. More than anything, he looked ready to run at a moment’s notice- something which only served to make his friends(?) seem a little more distressed. “Uh…hey, guys?” he began tentatively.

“Sonic, I…” Amy began forcefully, before stopping herself. At first, it looked like she was about to scold him again, but then suddenly her face fell. “Listen, Sonic, we’ve all been talking a lot about what happened back at the village…and there’s something I want to say.” She gave a slightly tired sigh. 

“I know we usually like to make jokes and witty commentary, but...sometimes, the world’s just a difficult place to be in.” she said. “...so we really do need to talk about serious stuff occasionally, even though I know it’s tough for you to even mention how you’re feeling. Unless, you know, it’s ‘great!’ or ‘cool!’ or something like that.”

Sonic cringed at the mere idea, looking more and more like he thought running away was the preferable option here.

“So what I wanted to say was that in a world where there are too many people trying to beat you down...what I was trying to do was tell you how to be more tolerant, because I thought that would help. I figured you can’t change how other people are going to be, just yourself, so I hoped that might make things better.

“But...I’m not actually a licensed therapist- yet, anyway. So I might have been wrong on how I went about that. Maybe...instead of telling you off for not being able to stop all those people...in the future I’ll pull out my hammer and tell them to knock it off already. Does that sound better to you?” she asked.

The blue hedgehog froze. “Ames…I...” he croaked, trying his best not to think about why exactly it felt like his throat was so tight all of a sudden.

Sticks folded her arms. “I like that plan! Those people are way too crazy sometimes…and you guys know I have a verrrrry high tolerance for crazy.”

“We can make the villagers quit bugging you together, just like how we fight Eggman!” Knuckles added encouragingly. “It’s always better that way, isn’t it?”

There was still one person who hadn’t spoken yet, though.

Suddenly, Tails crashed full-force into Sonic, squeezing him in a hug that for once he didn’t pretend to hate. “You know I’ve always, always, always got your back, right, Sonic? No matter what?” he asked, looking up at his older brother. “Even if I don’t always know how to do it right.”

The blue hedgehog simply nodded, not trusting his voice to help him maintain his ‘cool guy’ status.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel up to talking about it now, though.” the fox added understandingly, stepping back but still leaving a hand on his arm. 

“But!” Knuckles added. “We won’t tell anyone if you ever decide you do need to get some stress off your chest every once in a while!” He smacked his own chest with a fist for emphasis.

“Nobody needs to know.” Sticks growled, the camera suddenly showing a dramatic angle of her face as the lighting dropped noticeably.

“Uh…that’s kinda dark.” Sonic said, holding up a finger with a bit of a confused frown, which let the lighting and camera angle zip back to normal.

“Anyway!” The pink hedgehog clapped her hands together, turning to face the group as a whole. “What do you guys think about heading over to my house and watching some movies? I’ll even…” She sighed, her whole body slumping. “…make some messy, simple, unprofessional chili dogs. In my state-of-the art kitchen. I know Sonic probably could use a pick-me-up right now, after all.”

“Thanks, Ames! You’re the best!” the hedgehog in question said cheerfully, the promise of good food and great companionship boosting his mood significantly.

Then, his posture shifted once again into something a little more vulnerable. “And thanks to all you guys. For, y’know, everything.”

“Of course!” Amy chirped.

Tails smiled at him. “No problem, Sonic.”

Sticks folded her arms. “That’s what a team’s for, ain’t it?”

“Of course it is!” Knuckles said, in that rather confusing manner where nobody was actually sure if he understood anything about what had just happened.

The echidna actually walked over to Sonic after that particular declaration, though, placing a hand on his shoulder as his face became uncharacteristically serious for a second. “Really, Sonic, we can all help you out, alright? Nobody gets to yell at our leader without getting yelled at back!” he declared, punching a fist into his other hand.

The hedgehog blinked twice before looking up at his friend. “You…just called me the leader?”

“Well, duh! That’s why everyone calls it Team Sonic, right?” Knuckles asked with a smile, letting an awkward (but genuine) grin spread across Sonic’s face.

Within seconds, the hero found himself squeezed in a big hug from all sides by his friends- and then actually lifted off the floor through a joint effort from Knuckles and Amy. 

“Guys- come on! I can’t even move here!” he cried out, his legs flailing so quickly they made a vibrating noise in the air. “Guyyyyssss….” he whined, though nobody seemed to care much about his halfhearted complaints (judging by the happy expressions on their faces).

Then, the episode began to end, as evidenced by an iris out transition. The slowly shrinking circle paused for a moment on Sonic’s current expression, highlighting it against the otherwise black screen. He now sported a sheepish, if slightly pleased smile, complete with a faint pink blush on his face from all the positive attention. 

Clearly Sonic liked being, well, liked far more than he let on.

Then, the circle snapped closed with a pop, and the credits began to roll.

[Voice Actors: 

Roger Craig Smith

Colleen Villard

Travis Willingham

Cindy Robinson

Nika Futterman

Mike Pollock

Kirk Thornton

Wally Wingert

Bill Freiberger

Original creation by:

Evan Baily

Donna Friedman Meir 

Sandrine Nguyen

Bill Freiberger

Takashi Iizuka

Writer/editor:

Solalunar “Sol” Eclipse

Thank you for watching reading.]

#sonic boom #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #knuckles the echidna #amy rose #sticks the badger #i really really hope this new format was a good idea #i just had some very clear ideas about this fic that couldn't be expressed in the usual medium of character actions and dialogue #because sonic boom is very different from the sonic games and often uses camera and music-based references #(i may not roll credits every time though- just thought i'd give it a shot haha) #anyway! #i also wanted to ask: is there a particular way people would like me to use for replying to the wonderful comments i get in the tags? #because i want to let the people who take the time to leave comments know how much i appreciate it #but i'm not sure how to go about that #any suggestions? #and finally: #next time...shadow's going to show up! i can't wait to write him #as always #thanks so much for reading! #:D #sol's fanfiction

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 25)

Hi there.

According to Wikipedia, the term "star-crossed lovers" refers to a couple "whose relationship is thwarted by outside forces". Furthermore, "such pairings are said to be doomed from the start". Often, the tragic end of these pairings can be seen from a mile away, even though the audience may hope and wish desperately for things to be different. In fact, the relationship between Romeo and Juliet is immediately revealed to end tragically, with both of them dead. It's just a matter of watching the heartbreak unfold.

The same is true here. Natsume and Mikan are "doomed" from the start. You hope and wish desperately that fate will be kind to them, that certain things will be different, that they can be happy, but it's not to be and you know it, deep down. All you can really do is watch the specific way it all goes up in flames. Now that we know they're both romantically involved, star-crossed to be separated, we're about to see a tragedy unfold. Let's suffer about it.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty

The school was being invaded, and the only one of Shiki’s conditions that the ESP could not accept was Mikan being out of his reach. In order to save the school, Mikan allowed herself to be put into the ESP’s custody under the condition that she cannot be harmed or manipulated.

But Chapter 140 doesn’t start by checking in on Mikan or even showing the others’ reaction to her absence. Not yet.

Just in case you didn't know how this would end to begin with, Higuchi will let you know now. It will not end well!

The chapter starts with a monologue from Ruka about the lengths Natsume would go to for Mikan, but also pleading for him not to go anywhere. This is unsubtle foreshadowing. We see a glimpse of the future, of Natsume’s presumably dead body, and the misery his death brings. We can see more evidence of what we already knew: Natsume thinks so little of himself that he’s willing to sacrifice anything for others, never considering that his absence will cause utter despair in the people he leaves behind.

At this point, it becomes even more obvious that the story will end with tragedy, and Natsume's probable death will be part of it.

We finally get to the real start of the chapter. It’s winter again. Ruka is musing on life at the academy without Mikan. They all talk about her often, even after months of not seeing her. They don’t even know where at the academy she is, or what she’s been up to.

Just for a glimpse. ;-;

He recalls Yuka’s funeral. The children were instructed to leave the area, but it was the last time they’d see Mikan, so they all stay. Natsume doesn’t even have an umbrella despite the rain. Mikan was then escorted from Yuka’s grave by the ESP. Her classmates want to know where she’s going, concerned that she’s in trouble. When the ESP threatens Shiki for not disciplining them, Mikan smiles and promises to see them again.

Fate does not smile upon them.

Natsume watches, and although they’re all surprised and concerned, he seems more so than anyone else. The last time he saw her there was a lot left unsaid. She had confessed her requited feelings telepathically and he’d had to say goodbye over and over and over. But Mikan hasn’t used up all of the telepathy stone quite yet, so he’s able to promise her that he’ll do everything he can to find her. She smiles, tears in her eyes, and that’s the last image of her he has for a while. He will find her. That’s his new mission, his new reason for living.

Back in the present, Natsume finally appears to join the group. He’s been missing, looking for Mikan. He spends most of his time running around campus trying to find her. The telepathy alice stone is the only tie they have to each other now. It’s all he has to go off of.

He smiles upon joining the group. Mikan isn’t there, but he’s still smiling. It might not be entirely genuine. He’s smiled like this before, to make Ruka feel better before the Z Arc. He has to have hope, too, because he can’t die before he finds Mikan. Submitting to the misery will only mar his chances.

Ruka knows that Natsume’s long absences are due to his search, that he spends hours and hours looking for her, calling for her, waiting for a response.

Yes, Shiki, and as a minor, he CANNOT consent to being a member of a group that has "war potential" because that's against international law and you should be charged with human rights' violations. Also, since he's a child, even being a criminal wouldn't justify this kind of punishment either, on account of him not even being a teenager yet.

Natsume is still a Dangerous Ability type. Shiki urges him to transfer out, but Natsume can’t. He has to stay, because as a DA type he can search in more areas that are off limits to normal students. In general, the DA class is more comfortable now that they’re under the management of the Middle School, not the ESP. Still, it’s described as a group “with war potential” and he wants to feel like he’s doing something to protect the people important to him rather than simply standing by. Natsume’s mindset of always having to protect people, to the extent that when he cannot protect people he feels useless and worthless, is damaging. He thinks he has to do these things, and although the narrative paints the DA class choosing to remain as them choosing to protect people, it’s kind of ridiculous that a school would put such a task on students’ shoulders in the first place. They’re the ones who should be protected, not the other way around. No matter who is in charge of the DA class, sending kids on dangerous missions where they could get hurt is still child abuse and endangerment.

In any case, he’s told it’s useless to try and find her, that the barrier hiding Mikan is too powerful, but he won’t listen. He won’t let anything anybody says get in the way. Just like he said when he first rebelled, no matter how much somebody tries to convince him not to, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Two

Tsubasa is also opting to remain in the DA class. It’s easier to be in on the action that way, for one. He also wants to help Natsume because he’s concerned about his alice shape. Natsume and Misaki both tease him for this, and Tsubasa chases after Misaki. Natsume watches them wistfully. Tsubasa doesn’t even seem to realize how lucky he is. He can hug Misaki, tease her, apologize, talk to her, see her. Natsume misses Mikan and he’s jealous that Tsubasa is able to have with Misaki what he’d love to have with his own girl. So, naturally, he sets his hair on fire.

God, Tsubasa, have some sensitivity!

Back at the dorms, Yuu laments that Mikan won’t be allowed to attend the Christmas Ball, and it’s unlikely she’ll be allowed to graduate with them either. Hotaru comes up with the idea of sending Mikan Christmas presents, and everyone is immediately on board. They all try to come up with present ideas, but Natsume’s a step ahead, already making another alice stone for her.

Hotaru notices and immediately tears him apart for it. He knows the stone won’t make it through the examination, and the fact that even making alice stones takes a toll on his body will only make Mikan worry. In addition to all that, Mikan already has his alice stone, so there shouldn’t be any worries on the “love tradition” front.

Hotaru is Mikan’s best friend, someone who knows her pretty well and whose opinion Mikan cares about. This criticism wouldn’t hit as hard if it was some random person, or even just another kid in Class B. Because it’s Hotaru, he has to take it seriously. Hotaru is calling him out and he’s embarrassed and defensive, but she’s a step ahead of him, having thought of a much better present.

Natsume's like, "I'll be her prince!"

She gives him a story book, about Rapunzel. The story is similar to Mikan’s--a girl is trapped in a tower with no way to escape. She found a prince and they were able to escape together and live happily. All Mikan needs is to find her prince and the story would fit perfectly.

Natsume likes this story a lot. He wants to be Mikan’s prince. He has to be her prince. He doesn’t have a choice but to save her, because that’s all he’s living for. And letting Mikan know that a prince is on the way seems an important enough mission that everyone wants to help get Rapunzel through the examination. They will all send story books to make Rapunzel seem less suspicious. Of course that doesn’t stop Hotaru from claiming that the prince in her story is actually more useful than the one in Rapunzel, implying that Natsume is a subpar prince as well.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three

It’s time for the Christmas Ball. Mikan isn’t there, so Natsume is morose. Just like last year, he finds refuge in the tree. Last Christmas was pretty nice, all things considered, because he got to kiss Mikan.

It's just not fair. All he wants is a smooch. And to save her and keep her safe but. The kiss too.

At the time, he’d thought it was a one-off, his only chance. He was just going to kiss her real quick because he was convinced Ruka already had, and then when it was done he would run away and never do it again. She wouldn’t want to kiss him over Ruka anyway, right? But apparently Mikan loves him too, something he had never even considered a possibility, so maybe she’d want to kiss him again?

Except that Mikan isn’t around and the only way he can see if she wants to kiss him again would be if he found her.

How come everyone is calling him out so boldly lately? You guys DO realize his days are numbered, right? Not even double digits? So cruel.

Sumire is talking about dancing with him this year, but he’s only thinking about Mikan. Koko calls him out for it, saying there’s someone in the tree thinking about kissing. It was such a strong thought that it took Koko by surprise, even.

There’s a present exchange and Yuu again expresses sadness that Mikan isn’t with them, wondering if she’s spending Christmas all on her own. This spurs Natsume to get the hell out of there. He can’t sit around for too long, after all. He wants to find her and he won’t find her at the ball for sure.

He’s out looking for her, just like he does every day and every night. Shiki might be a hopeless romantic, or feeling guilty for having Mikan watch the ball on TV, so he loosens the barrier on Mikan enough for Natsume to be able to find her.

Shiki is also a NatsuMikan shipper... You a legend for that one, fam.

He hasn’t seen her in months, not even after searching every corner of the school over and over again, but tonight he has finally found her.

Conclusion

Although in many ways, Natsume's story was set up to be tragic from the beginning, these chapters establish for good that something horrible is coming, and we know that to be Natsume's death, in about a week. I'll talk more about the star-crossed lovers aspect in the upcoming parts. It's an aspect of their relationship that I find very interesting.

Thank you for reading this far!

Y'all have caught up to where I'm at, more or less. I won't post tomorrow because there'd only be a chapter of content to post and that's no fun. I'll spend the weekend getting ahead a bit and then on Monday I'll continue. In no time at all, we'll be wrapped up! It's all so exciting!

<- Previous Next ->

#gakuen alice #alice academy #hyuuga natsume #natsume hyuuga #natsumikan #sakura mikan #mikan sakura #my meta #ga #mine #ga meta #ga meta: nm #ga meta: manga #ga meta: manga nm #let's talk about natsumikan #let's talk about natsumikan: natsume #for a little bit here the story is easier for me to digest into an essay so. #three chapters only in this one thank goodness #the next one is super exciting im gonna need all the pictures i can get for it so #i hope yall enjoyed #sorry i reference snl a lot because it devoured my brain #a sweet nm song is never stop by safetysuit. the wedding version. #its so cute. wholesome #nm is a very wholesome ship. i love them very much. things are going to get so bad for them soon ;-; #anyway have a nice day and thanks again for reading!

[kinglazrus]

Twice is (Never) Enough

Phic Phight for @syrren, continuation of the deadpool AU

AO3 | FFN

Summary: Danny remembers promising his friends two deaths was enough for him. He remembers when keeping track of how many times he died felt so important. Now, hundreds of fatal wounds later, he can't remember why.

Word count: 2374

A moaning wind pushes the fading storm clouds across the sky. Danny first saw them around noon, gathering on the horizon. From the streets of Amity Park, the clouds started as heaps of grey peeking above the buildings. Although the wind was rough and cold, the city basked in sunlight. If you found a spot to stand safe from the breeze, the sun's warmth was rather pleasant. Danny likes this kind of day the best. It helps, sometimes, when his body can't decide whether it's too hot or too cold, switching rapidly between sweats and chills at such a rapid pace that it might have killed a normal person.

Maybe it killed Danny, tool. On those days, it is normal for him to suddenly fall asleep, succumbing to the dizziness in his head and the shortness of his breath. He wakes up minutes later feeling healthy as ever. Then the struggle starts over again.

On those days, when the weather is as indecisive as Danny's body, he can hop from the comforting cold of the wind to the soothing warmth of the sun as needed. However, it only lasted a few hours today. As Danny's patrol took him to the edge of the city, he stopped by the bridge leading to Elmerton and found the distant clouds looming overhead, threatening to suffocate what little sunlight remained. Standing on the bridge's rail, overlooking the expanse of the river, he could finally see what the city had hidden from him before. The distant sky was a dark, stormy blue, filled with the haze of falling rain.

Within the hour, Amity Park was drenched. Freezing rain pelted against the sidewalk, rattled windows, blinded drivers. More than once, Danny had to swing down from the rooftops and rescue a pedestrian from certain death. These kinds of heroics weren't normally part of Danny's job description, but he was there and had nothing better to do. It earned him a few bruised ribs, a broken arm, and one skull cracked against the sidewalk. He got better, though. As he always did.

But that had been hours ago before the Fight Knight decided this gloomy weather was the perfect time to lay siege to the city. His mistake. He could only do so much as a one-man army, especially against a kid who doesn't fear death.

Danny shakes the Fenton Thermos, knocking around the occupant inside.

"Stop. Invading. My. City!" He throws the thermos in the air and boots it down the street. It pings off street lamps and cars (oops), nearly all the way down to the next stoplight. Danny, bored, watches it bounce with dull eyes. Maybe that will knock some sense into the knight.

A gust of wind tears down the streets, buffeting against Danny's back and knocking him forward a few steps. Danny hisses when his feet jolt against the pavement and the pain in his chest flairs. Right, the sword.

Gripping Soul Shredder's hilt, he braces himself before yanking it out. The blade bites at the edges of his wound, one last pointless strike against him. In his hand, the hilt burns, crying out against his possession of the sword. He hefts the blade over his head and waves it.

"This is mine, now!" he calls out to the thermos. The sword, as if protesting, burns hotter, but Danny is too stubborn to let go. Even as the heat burns the fabric of his gloves, his grip stays tight.

Another howling wind hurls its way down the street. It catches the thermos and sends it spinning away into the street and out of sight.

"Shit." Danny takes off after it. His chest, not yet fully healed, burns. Blood drips down the front of his suit, at least Danny calls it blood. He can't remember the last time he actually saw red dripping from his open wounds. Everything inside him turned black long ago.

He finds the thermos easily, caught beneath the tire of a parked car. It rattles when he picks it up. The Fright Knight is obviously displeased with his circumstances. Good. Maybe next time he will think twice before invading the city. This had to be, what, the sixtieth time? He stopped keeping track when it hit the double digits decades ago.

This isn't the first time Danny has thought about keeping Fright's sword, either. The temptation has followed him ever since he stopped bothering to sheath it in pumpkin near thirty invasions ago, but the sword never stays with him long. These past few minutes have been the longest he's ever held it without it disappearing on him.

Danny clips the thermos to his belt on one side and slides the sword into the other. The blade slaps against his leg as he walks. His belt pulls from the additional weight, too, but he can put up with it. With the threat gone and the city quiet, he stops in the middle of the street, hands on his hips, and sighs.

"Now what?" he asks the cold night air.

The wind answers him with a low moan.

"You are a terrible conversationist."

If the wind is offended it doesn't say, which only proves Danny's point. A good conversation needs some back and forth, none of this moaning and wailing stuff. He tried that for a year. It doesn't work.

With no more ghosts left to fight, Danny heads home.

—

The Master Mansion used to be the nicest house in Amity Park. No one could deny its grandeur; only the old Manson estate could challenge Vlad's house in size. But years of neglect have taken their toll on the Master Mansion. The once well-manicured lawn grows wild and tangled, the grass well past Danny's knee. Weeds fill the cracks in the driveway. Hedges, once trimmed to perfect circles, having become hulking green beasts of tangled limbs.

The mansion itself fairs no better. Broken windows, missing shingles on the roof. The garage house collapses inward, closer, and closer to collapsing every year. Once, a long time ago, Danny thought about fixing the garage, since it's his fault it ended up in such a state. It didn't take him long to decide he didn't care.

"Hey Fruitloop, I'm back," Danny calls as he walks through the door. His body, too flesh for an act so ghostly, resists. Walking through the solid would is like pushing your way through a lake of ectoplasm with a broken leg and deadweight hanging off your shoulders. Danny should know.

Opening the door like a normal person would have been easier, but if Danny's predicament is going to give him slightly convenient ghost powers, then damn it, he is going to use them. He has earned it.

Vlad doesn't answer him.

"Are you alive?" Danny shouts.

Still no answer.

He deposits the thermos by the door, leaving it on the front table. There will be time to release its prisoner later. He keeps the sword at his hip, though. During the long walk from the city to the mansion, Soul Shredder's weight has quickly become a comfort at his side. The blade still burns, but in the lingering cold of the storm, the heat comforts him more than it hurts.

Danny walks to the main hall, heading up the grand staircase to the second floor. The entire North wing of the mansion is Vlad's, while Danny has laid claim to the rest. It's more than generous, considering Vlad's a nutcase who doesn't deserve so much care. He can barely walk most days, anyway. If he tried to shuffle his way from one end of the wing to another he might just collapse and die.

Vlad's room lies at the far end of the wing, with large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard. It must have been quite the view when Vlad had dozens of domestic workers managing his estate from day to day. When Danny pushes open the door to Vlad's room, the first thing he sees is the curtains draws open, letting in dull moonlight. Outside, the clouds are finally blowing past Amity Park.

The bed is empty, covers rumpled and hanging off the mattress. Scanning the room, Danny can't find any sign of Vlad.

Danny peeks into the dark bathroom. "Did you crawl off like a cat to die alone?" Empty. He moves on to other rooms, the study, the library—which is basically the study but with a few more books—the Packers room. All of them empty.

"Remember when Maddie did that?" Danny continues his one-sided conversation. "I found her in the garage under that dumb Lexus you loved so much?"

He heads away from the North wing. Maybe Vlad didcrawl away to die. It is a miracle he could have made it so far. Danny's tempted to give up, but he spurs on anyway. He doesn't care for Vlad, despite living with the man. It is more for convenience than anything. And, perhaps, because they are more alike than Danny wants to admit.

His search carries him to the back of the house, through the kitchen, toward the entertainment room where Vlad used to hold parties. Sliding glass doors along the outer wall lead to the backyard. One of them is open. When Danny steps outside, he finds Vlad instantly. A shadow slumped over in a garden chair, looking out over what used to be the pool. Now it's just a hole in the ground surrounded by pretty tiles.

"Damn. I thought you'd be under the car," Danny says.

"Do I want... to know... what you mean?" Vlad has to pause every few words and take a breath. His comes out low and raspy, so rough that hearing it makes Danny's own throat itch. Danny can't hear a trace of the silky voice Vlad used to have.

"I don't know, do you?" Danny asks.

"Still... after all this time... so juvenile."

"What's the point of being an adult if you can't be a kid sometimes?" Danny says with his young voice in his young body, neither of which has changed in over fifty years. He leans against Vlad's chair, elbow resting on the back. His arm barely brushes Vlad's shoulder, but it's enough to make the man groan.

Vlad, like the house, has grown withered and neglected. Nothing but sagging scar tissue and brittle bones. It must have taken him hours to get down here, perhaps the whole day. It would surprise Danny if Vlad had still been making his way outside when he got home.

The hole where Vlad's right eye used to be serves as a bitter reminder of what, or who put him in this state. Perhaps comparing him to the garage house is a better analogy.

"What is it... like?" Vlad asks. It is hard for Danny to pick emotion out of Vlad's voice, but the tremble sounds stronger now. Not the tremor of a weak throat, although Vlad certainly has that, but a waver of fear. A small admittance of weakness that he rarely ever allows, much less shows to others.

But Danny isn't other. Everyone else is, always has been. He doesn't need to ask what Vlad means. "I don't know."

Vlad tilts his head. "How?"

Danny shrugs. "I used to know, I think, but..." Things change. Dying changes you. And dying over, and over, and over again changes you so much that sometimes it is hard to tell what you were like before. So many sensations. So many memories.

Jazz told him, once, that patients with dementia have an easier time recalling old memories, those earlier in their life, then later ones. It doesn't matter if the later memories formed before dementia set in, they're just too new. When someone remembers something for decades, it passes through their head again and again, etched deeper into their mind the more often they remember it. It makes it easier, later, when their minds start slipping, for them to recall those moments they burned into their brains over the years.

For Danny, one such memory comes from the early days of his abilities. At that point, he had only died twice, and he made a promise with Sam and Tucker. Twice is enough. It sounds ridiculous now.

Twice is enough? He died at least four times today, maybe five. He still hasn't decided if he blacked out from his fever that morning or if it boiled him from the inside out. His hand drops from Vlad's chair to Soul Shredder, fingers curling loosely around the hilt. It feels heavier than ever.

Twice is enough. Twice is a fool's dream, the passing wish of a child who knew too little about the world and about himself.

Closing his eyes, Danny reaches inside himself and finds a burning light. Thousands of them, little pieces chipped away from a part of him so far beyond his comprehension he didn't know it existed until Skulker, so rudely, opened his eyes to it. Together, they shine as one solid mass, but he knows the truth. Inside, Danny is broken.

He used to have a notebook. It was Jazz's idea. Confront your trauma through words. Write down what kills you then burn the pages. She got the idea from some therapy textbook. To this day, Danny isn't sure what burning the pages was supposed to do. Whatever great expectations Jazz put upon the ritual, they didn't work. Mostly because Danny never followed through.

He can still picture those first few pages, written with more care than he put into his English homework. Electrocution, suffocation, burning, bludgeoning. Every time he died, he made an entry in the book, put down the details. It seemed so important at the time. Include every detail, how he felt, what it felt like, how fast he healed, who was there to see him die. Pages upon pages of his most traumatic experiences bound together in a neat little coil ringer notebook.

Danny remembers the promise. He remembers writing those words. He remembers believing it meant something. There had to be a reason for it, an explanation beyond the science that would reveal to him some great truth about why this happened. He's not foolish enough to believe that anymore.

Twice was never enough.

#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #deadpool au #danny phantom fanfiction #tumblroneshots #vlad masters

[multifandomwriter56]

His Children’s Happiness

Request: Tommy finding out his daughter has been on a first date and his reaction to it?

Characters: Tommy Shelby, Charlie Shelby, Lizzie Shelby (Stark), Teen!Reader, OC

Summary: Tommy founds out his eldest is dating.

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2,339

"I had a great time, Adam."

"As did I, Y/n." Adam leans down, his hand resting on her cheek. 

"We can't. Not here." Y/n pleads, forcing herself to take a step back from his arms.

Adam sighs, looking around the inside of the stables. "Y/n, we're going to have to tell him at some point."

She wraps her arms around her torso. "I know. He just- last time I dated, he-" She shakes her head, not able to finish her words.

"He didn't ki-"

"Oh god, no!" Y/n exclaims, cutting him off. " He was a jerk. Always threatening him; making him nervous for no reason. He got my uncles involved." She rubs her forehead. "I just don't want you to find out how crazy my family is."

Adam gently grabs her wrist, bringing her hand up to his lips. "I already know your family's crazy." He teases, resting her hand on his chest. "I know your dad is overprotective and most likely won't like me. But I don't care; as long as you like me, I'll be happy."

Y/n smiles as her body lets go of all her built up tension. She stands on her tiptoes, their lips finding one other.

"Ew, gross!"

Y/n pushes Adam back as she stares wide eyed at her little brother. "Charlie! What are you doing here?"

"Daddy's looking for you. I told him I saw you go into the stables. He said I could come get you." Charlie tells her with a proud smile. He points at Adam. "Who's that?"

Y/n crouches down to Charlie's height, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Charlie, you cannot tell Dad about Adam."

"Why?"

"It's- It's a game we're playing. Adam, Dad, and I. We're pretending we don't know who Adam is. Do you want to play?"

Charlie nods his head, excited to be included with one of his sister's games.

"Okay. So you can never say Adam's name or mention I'm with a boy. When you see Adam, you just pretend he's not really there."

"Like Mommy?"

A pang of guilt stabs at Y/n. "Yes."

"I'm gonna win."

She smiles at his excitement. "I bet you will. Now, you go ahead and go back to the house. I'll be there in a minute."

It's been a month since Charlie caught Y/n with a boy and he's done good with not saying anything. 

But that all came crashing down one afternoon when he was playing with his father; a rare occasion in the Arrow House.

"Charlie, have you seen Y/n lately?" 

Not looking up from the toy horse in his hand, Charlie answers Tommy. "She's in the stables. She's always in there."

Tommy turns in the direction of the stables even though he can't see the building. "What is she doing out there?" He scoffs. "Meeting a boy?" 

"Ha!" Charlie jumps to his feet. "You lose!"

Tommy raises an eyebrow, amused by his son's antics. "And what did I lose at?"

"You talked about Adam."

"Adam? Who's Adam?"

Charlie giggles. "It's too late, Daddy. You lost." He starts for the door. "I'm going to tell Y/n and Adam. I hope they're not kissing. That's gross."

"Charlie, wait!" Tommy wraps an arm around his son's stomach, pulling the kid back to him. "Y/n's been meeting this boy, Adam, in the stables?" Charlie nods. "Stay here, Charlie."

"But Daddy, I want to tell them I won!"

"Charles, stay here."

"Where are you going?" Lizzie asks as she and Ruby enter the room. 

"I'm going to kill the boy who's been kissing my daughter." Tommy growls as he opens the front door, slamming it shut behind him.

"Fuck." Lizzie whispers, ignoring the two kids telling her she said a bad word. She calls for Frances, telling her to watch over them before following her husband.

Y/n giggles as hay rains down over her. "No fair, you're taller than me."

What started out as a chore became a game.

Adam grins, setting down the pitchfork in his hands. "You started this, so no complaining. I was just trying to help."

Y/n sticks her tongue out; having no retort.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Y/n freezes, her eyes widening in shock. This is not happening. "D-Dad? I can explain. No, wait!" She jumps in front of Adam when Tommy pulls a gun.

"Y/n, move."

"Dad please-"

"Tommy, stop!" Lizzie cries, standing next to her deranged husband.

“Did you know, Lizzie?”

Y/n glances back and forth between the two; fear spiking. Lizze was the first one to know. Y/n had asked her for advice about what to wear for her first date. She, of course, did not say she was going on a date but her stepmom easily figured it. Lizzie had promised not to tell anyone and Y/n knew she wouldn’t. 

Now, though, she’s wishing she’d never asked for her advice. 

“Yes, I did, Tommy. The poor girl is seventeen; she needs to meet other people her own age outside of this family. Adam is a respectful young man. If you’ll just put the fucking gun down and let them talk; you might see that.”

Tommy flexes his hand gripping the gun, his glare still trained on his wife. 

“Daddy, please.” Y/n begs; her words barely above a whisper. 

Tommy snaps his attention to his eldest, surprised by what she just called him. She hasn’t called him that since she was little. The look of despair and, Tommy swallows, the fear in his daughter’s eyes is what prompts him to holster the gun. He points a finger at the two teenagers. “My office, now.”

Y/n watches her father head to the house. She sends Lizzie a grateful smile before focusing on the young man behind her. “If you want to leave and never see me again; I understand.” She exhales a humorless laugh. “I told you my family is fucking crazy.”

Adam leans his forehead against hers as he places a gentle hand on her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.” He steps back, leading the way to the house. “This wasn’t the first time I had a gun pointed at me.”

Y/n couldn’t believe he was willing to stay. Grown men would’ve run as soon as they saw an opening. But not Adam; the man she’s starting to fall in love with. 

She frowns when his last statement registers. “Wait, not the first time? Adam when the hell has someone pointed a gun at you?” She questions as she speeds up to walk next to him.

“If I survive this, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Y/n rolls her eyes. “He’s not going to kill you; not now. He would’ve done it in the stables if he was going to.”

“I’m not underestimating your father. I’m not stupid.”

Y/n resists the urge to pull him down into a kiss. She can feel her father staring at them through his office window. 

Lizzie is waiting for them at the entrance with her two younger siblings. 

Charlie smiles up at them. “Daddy lost, I won.”

'So that’s how Dad found out.' Y/n thought. “How so?”

“Daddy mentioned you and Adam being in the stables. I made sure Daddy knew he lost.” 

Y/n doesn’t really understand, but she couldn’t be mad at her little brother. She’s the one who told him it was a game. She ruffles his hair, returning the smile. “Good job, little brother.”

Adam holds his hand out, his palm flat. “High five, kid.”

Charlie’s smile widens as his palms slaps Adam’s. 

“Alright. Come on. If he has to wait any longer, your father is going to blow.” Lizzie gently pushes the two love birds towards the doors of Tommy’s office. She closes the door behind her and snaps when she sees Tommy open his mouth. “I’m staying, Tommy.”

Tommy’s not happy she’s arguing with him, but she’s not his concern right now. He points his unlit cigarette at the two troublemakers. “Sit.” As they do as they're told, he lights the cigarette, taking a couple of drags before speaking. “How long?”

“About two months.” 

Tommy barely stops himself from frowning at his daughter’s confidence. “You should’ve asked for my permission, Y/n. You are my daughter, my responsibility.”

“If you say ‘you live under my roof’ I’m going to fucking lose it.” Y/n practically growls.

“Y/n!” Both Lizzie and Adam scold.

Adam’s frown falls when he receives a glare not only from his girlfriend, but from her father as well. He clears his throat as he stands to his feet. He takes two steps forward, the fabric of his trousers grazing the desk. “Look, Mr Shelby, I really like your daughter. Yes, we should have come to you; and I do apologize for our immaturity. I’ll accept whatever consequences you’ve set; but I won’t stop seeing her. If I have to wait six more months until she is of age, I will. I’d rather have your blessing, but-” He steps backwards so he can make eye contact with Y/n. “I’m not losing her just because her father is in denial that his daughter is her own person.” He turns his focus back on the expressionless man and waits for his verdict. 

Tommy stays quiet for what feels like hours to the others, but is, in fact, only a couple of minutes. 

“Alright. Come to the Garrison tomorrow at seven. You do this job for me and we’ll call it even. Y/n’s grounded until further notice, but you can see her once she learns not to lie to me.”

Y/n’s jaw drops. “Dad!” She whines; completely embarrassed. When her father looks at her, her eyes narrow. Is that? Is he fucking smirking? 

“Like he said, you’re not an adult for another six months; and you do live under my roof.”

She groans but doesn’t argue. She looks back at Lizzie but she’s no help. Her stepmom is staring at her father just like she was; shocked and wondering who the fuck took over her father’s body. 

Lizzie clears her throat, her voice back. “Tommy he can’t work-”

“The job has nothing to do with the business.” Tommy promises his wife. He holds out his hand for the young man. “You have my blessing if you agree to my terms.”

Adam shakes his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

Tommy nods once before gesturing to the door. “Now fuck off.”

The teenagers share a warm smile before the eldest of the two leaves. 

Y/n slowly makes eye contact with her father. She hasn’t seen his playful side since Grace’s death. She never thought she would see it again; and if it ever did happen, she did not expect it to find its way to the surface when he found out she’s dating someone.

“Dad, did someone put a curse on you?”

Tommy pours himself a drink, tossing the shot back before answering his daughter. “I’m not cursed, Y/n. I knew this day would come at some point." He pauses. "After the last boy, I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. Yes, I did just admit I made a mistake.” He says before his daughter can respond with a smartass remark. 

He steps around his desk, coming to stand in front of her. He places two fingers under her chin, tilting it upwards. “No more lying, eh?” A small smile appears when she nods. “Good.”

Y/n springs to her feet, wrapping her arms around his torso. “Thank you, Dad.”

Tommy returns the hug. He won’t admit it aloud, but he misses her hugs. 

He looks over at Lizzie who’s smiling at the pair. He watches her leave, giving them privacy before releasing Y/n from his embrace. “You’re still in trouble though.” He informs her with his usual deep growl.

Y/n smiles. “I know.”

He grabs his cigarette case. “You can start by reorganizing all the books on the shelf.”

“You mean the books you never read?” Y/n sasses.

Tommy hides a grin behind his hands as he lights the cigarette. “Watch it.” He warns but there’s no heat in his tone. 

Y/n turns to the first shelf of many. “What happened to Thomas Shelby, the hardass?”

Tommy grabs his glasses with one hand and the stack of paper with the other. “He disappears when it comes to his children’s happiness.”

Y/n’s hand stills in midair. Maybe there’s hope for her father after all.

The next morning, Y/n waits in her father’s car, her eyes trained on the doors of the Garrison. She talked her father into letting her come with him; but didn’t manage to talk him into letting her come inside. He told her to wait in the car. 

But when she sees Adam come out alone, she gets out; consequences be damned. 

Her concern rises when she sees the slight fear in his eyes and how he’s breathing harder than normal. “Adam? Adam.” She grabs his face. “What did he do?”

He leans forward to place a quick kiss to her lips. “I’m fine, Y/n.”

“Why are you breathing so hard?” She questions, not convinced her father might have gone back on his word. 

Adam snorts. “I guess your father told the barmaid not to clean after they closed last night because the place was trashed. He had me clean the whole pub before he-”

“Before he what?” That didn’t sound too bad. Her father had her do that when he found her drunk in the Garrison one night. 

Adam huffs a laugh. “Before he introduced me to your Uncle Arthur and Aunt Polly.” 

Y/n sighs, relief washing over her. She’d rather they'd met under better circumstances. But if that was the worst of it, she can live with that.

“Y/n, I think your aunt scares me the most.” 

She can’t hold in her laughter at his confession. 

Forevers: @beautycinders @desiredposion​

#tommy shelby x daughter!reader #tommy shelby #shelby!reader #lizzie shelby #peaky blinders #pb one-shot