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rafesapologist · 10 months

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the set up — rafe cameron; part four

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀): cussing, mentions of violence, kind of fluff, lil bit of angst but not much.

author's note: so so sorry for this taking a few days to upload! i've been out of town all weekend and was getting ready for the eras tour concert i went to! i tried to write while i was at the hotel but it just wasn't happening (alcohol might've taken a part in that but anyways), regardless we're back and i'm excited to write for u guys again :)

It was Friday night and your heart was racing. Although you weren't entirely sure why you felt so queasy, you boiled it down to the fact that you were going to be spending the night surrounded by a bunch of Kooks. You realized ahead of time that you were going to feel completely out of place amongst the upper class clique, a group of people totally different than you. Truth was, you were a Pogue through and through. You resided on the south side of the island, also known as The Cut. A majority of the time you were with your friends at the chateau, hanging on the hammock with JJ, taking bikes to see the ocean, and maybe even at the boneyard, but in no ways was any aspect of your life as opulent as a Kooks', or even close to it.

Your first impression even matched your identity, a dead giveaway that you were undeniably a Pogue. In any other circumstance you would have embraced what position you were born into, but if you wanted to win over Rafe Cameron's heart, and trust, you were going to have to put in some substantial amount of effort to get to that point. Therefore, when the opportunity to go on a 'date' with Rafe was finally proposed, you went straight to Sarah to lend you the most full Kook outfit she had in her closet.

Despite hating the identity you were trying to hide behind, you had to admit that Sarah's sense of fashion was impeccable. Lucky for you, she dressed you in a sage green square neck gingham mini dress, with a small slit up the thigh that you knew would be observed by Rafe's wondering eyes. You needed this to work at all costs, even if it meant that you were losing part of your dignity by dressing up like a braggart.

"Are you excited?" Sarah asked through the speaker of your phone, her question clearly rhetorical and rather needling.

"I just want to get this over with." You admitted with a whine.

"Well, JJ and Pope are going to be there so it won't be so bad." Your cheerful blond friend encouraged you with a hopeful smile, which had the right intention but seemed to fail at getting you through the circumstances at stake.

"Yeah, that makes it even worse." You grumbled, fumbling with the hooks on your sandals hurriedly.

"C'mon, I know it's Rafe we're talking about but he seems to have some sort of interest in you, so you should be fine." Sarah inspirited your optimism against the obvious signs of uneasiness you had been exhibiting for an hour over the phone.

You sighed, figuring that Sarah truly did have a point. Rafe seemed to have grown some kind of absorption with you since you had started working at the golf course, which essentially was a part of the plan, but you never expected him to grow so fond of you so quickly. Who knew all it took was a short skirt and batting your eyelashes to get Rafe Cameron to fawn over you. Go figure.

"Yeah well- Shit." You were interrupted abruptly by the sound of knocking at your front door. The noise alone was enough to make your stomach turn, as if it wasn't already before. Your body temperature rose once it had settled in your mind that it was more than likely Rafe at the front door, probably waiting impatiently in that damn polo he always wears. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to sneak out your bedroom window and run far away, but that wasn't an option and this date was crucial in order to convince Rafe you were something special.

"What? Is he there?" Sarah asked with confusion at the sound of urgency in your voice.

"Yeah he's at the front door, I think. I gotta go, text you later." You waved off your friend in a hurry before ending the call. You began to scurry around your room in search for your most sweetly-scented perfume, hoping to advance your level of allurement with an aroma that would likely inveigle the nescient boy. You planned on getting him right in the palms of your hands, so you decided on a fragrance of vanilla with hints of gourmand notes.

You felt satisfied with your appearance once you got a glimpse of yourself in your bedroom mirror before you exited the room, thinking to yourself that Rafe was definitely going to have his eyes on you all night, and the thought alone had a fire lighting up in your stomach.

You opened the front door and was immediately met with the sight of the dirty blond Kook, a visual you were slowly starting to become oddly familiar with. Your first reaction was to take in the view as you surveyed his clean-cut appearance, but as your eyes trailed his tall stature, you realized he had been doing just the same back to you. The only difference was that his stare was much more intense with a hint of longing beneath it, and it made you feel small under his gaze as he inspected every inch of your body - especially the exposed portions of it.

"You look beautiful." Rafe acknowledged your graceful presence, silently admiring the way your dress adorned your figure remarkably.

You smiled in return, "You don't look bad yourself, Cameron."

Your comment earned a small smile from the boy, noticing that his cheeks began to blush at the same time.

"Just for you, princess." He teased in response, a remark that sent heat coursing through your entire body. Rafe was notably always making suggestive comments and phrases towards you at any chance he could get, but for some reason, the way his nickname for you rolled off his tongue made you feel like you could melt right then and there.

You followed closely behind him on the way to his car that had been parked in your driveway after quickly saying your goodbye's to your parents, only to be put into a state of shock when you had realized Rafe had opened the passenger door for you to get in. Your heart seemed to flutter once again at his gesture, an act of chivalry that you had never experienced before.

"Thank you." You expressed your gratitude for his actions with a feeble voice as you hopped into the sumptuous-looking car.

"No need to thank me, angel." Rafe expressed much to the liking of the butterflies floating in your stomach.

You watched as the broad blond entered the driver's side door and started the car engine, finding yourself fixated on the prominent veins in his arms and hands as he did so. You had thought to yourself that in that moment, despite all the chaos that surrounded Rafe Cameron, maybe he wasn't as awful to be around as you initially anticipated. Sure he was a bit tempermental at times, but never towards you. Matter of fact, you were quite sure that Rafe wouldn't raise a hand at you, one being because he was gentle with you in every interaction you two had, and two because he wouldn't dare take away his time to fawn over you. He didn't want to be the one to rip that smile off your face that captivated him so much.

You enjoyed the scenic view of the coastal town and all of its serenity, watching out the window as you peered up at the clear night sky above you as the moon lit up all that surrounded you. Perhaps you became a little too entranced in the view, a state of ambedo, since all of the sudden you were brought back into reality by the feeling of a warm hand gently placing itself on the top of your exposed thigh. Your eyes shot down to where the warmth was coming from, your eyes then trailing up from the hand on your leg all the way to Rafe's side profile. It seemed as though Rafe could sense your stare as he instinctively glanced over at you for a brief second, catching your gaze.

"Is this okay?" Rafe asked tenderly, motioning to his hand placement. The innocent gesture creating a moment of kairosclerosis for you, and even a little appreciation towards him. You swore to yourself that if you had told the other Pogues what had just happened within the previous ten minutes, none of them would have believed you. But it was all real, and you were there, experiencing the extent of Rafe's affinity that no one could imagine he had.

"Yeah it's okay." You flashed a small, yet accepting smile at him. Rafe seemed to take note of your assurance as you noticed the tension in his body language relaxed, his fingers sliding further into your inner thigh yet remaining in a place that wasn't too high up for you. It was clear Rafe had an awareness of your boundaries and didn't want to cross them, which you were thankful for.

"So, how does a girl like you end up with people like John B and JJ Maybank? I mean, I know you're a 'Pogue' and all, but those guys are total losers." Rafe inquired, causing you to frown subtly.

"They're still my friends," you defended, "and they've been there for me more than my actual family has." You admitted, your voice falling more quietly as you confessed.

"What do you mean by that?" Rafe questioned as he looked over at you with furrowed brows, contemplating the severity of the situation you were talking about.

"My parents don't care what I'm doing or where I'm at. I basically live at John B's house and the hardly notice when I'm gone," you scoffed to yourself quietly, "I'm in no better position than JJ or John B. Half the time it's like they're the only family I have."

Rafe frowned as you spoke, becoming evident that he was taking in your every word by the way his jaw clenched as you told him about your family situation. You had also noticed that his thumb began to rub against your skin in a soothing manner that sent cold chills throughout your body.

"I'm sorry. I know what it's like to have a kind of fucked up home life." Rafe joked dryly as he eyes stayed glued to the road ahead, his expression turning somber.

"How?" You asked, confused as to how someone as wealthy and affluent as Rafe Cameron could even began to understand the detriments of living in a bad home.

"My dad is a control freak who plays favorites. He always chooses Sarah, everything is always Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. She could run him dry and he'd still treat her like a fucking angel. Me, however, he could care less about unless he wants something done." Rafe groused while his grip on the steering wheel became tighter. You realized the subject of his father struck a nerve somewhere in Rafe, which was a cause for concern. If Ward had been that careless with his son, what was he willing to make him do for him?

You wanted to calm down the ill-tempered boy before you were going to arrive at your destination, mostly because you knew that if he showed up in such a state and spotted one of your friends, you would be screwed.

"Well it's any consolation, at least you have me to understand having a fucked up family." You quipped in the effort to try and make the atmosphere in the car light-hearted again. It seemed to have worked out though, because Rafe started to laugh back at you.

"That's right, at least I'm not a Pogue either." Rafe jested in return.

Your jaw dropped flippantly, pretending as if you were offended by his comment. "Oh, fuck off." You shoved his shoulder lightly.

"Just sayin'." He shrugged, still unapologetically chuckling at his own joke. What an ass. You thought.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The two of you had finally arrived to the park in which the movie was set to play at. You realized upon arrival that practically everyone on the island was there, causing your heart to sink. If there was anything you hated, it was large crowds of people. Your breathing began to fasten as you observed the large quantities of individuals entering the place and taking their seats on the grass in front of the large projector screen. You fiddled with your hands and began picking at your fingernails in order to distract yourself from the anxiety that was brewing within you.

"You okay?" The sound of Rafe's baritoned voice breaking you out of your disassociation.

"Yeah," you replied mousily, "just hate big crowds."

"Well, you'll be with me and if anyone says anything to you I'll handle it myself." Rafe affirmed, lending you a hand to hold as you stepped out of the vehicle.

"Is your first instinct always violence?" You asked.

"Only if someone is messing with you." He smirked, taking your hand gently as he guided you over to the area in which his group of friends were sat.

You watched from behind Rafe as he greeted each one of his fellow Kook friends with handshakes and by dapping them up. The longer you stood and waited for him to introduce you to the rest of them, you could feel the awkwardness killing you internally. The thought of having to meet new people made you went to throw up already, let alone a group of stuck up Kooks who were seemingly intoxicated.

"This is y/n," Rafe finally turned around to acknowledge you, throwing his arms over your shoulders as he held you by his side proudly, "she's one of Sarah's friends."

"Didn't know you were banging your sister's friends now." One of the boys retorted, causing the entire group to snicker in return.

"Yeah yeah, fuck off, Ryan. You were fucking Kelce's sister for like a month." Rafe riposted at the snarky brunette Kook who quickly became quiet and practically mute following the comment.

"You did what?" Kelce asked furiously, glaring over at the other Kook who had his head hung low in order to avoid eye contact, and likely a bigger confrontation.

"Anyways, she's hanging with us tonight so don't be a bunch of dicks." Rafe asserted amongst the group, causing their full attention to advert to him. You were left in shock as you noticed they all obeyed to his demand without further question. You took it as a sign that Rafe was likely the ring-leader type of friend amongst his group of company. You had to admit though, the sight of all those Kooks taking orders from Rafe was humorous.

Eventually, you were able to take a seat next to Rafe on the set of lawn chairs that were scattered across the park. Quite honestly, you weren't paying attention to the movie that had just begun what-so-ever, too caught up in the way you were surrounded by a group of men that you barely knew at all. You tried your best to remain calm and collected in the given situation, trying to keep your attention on the screen in front of you, but your brain simply wouldn't retain any of what was happening on it. Rafe wasn't much help either, as he was too engaged in a conversation with Topper and Kelce to notice your boredom.

Until you heard the sound of someone behind you trying to gain your attention.

"Psst, y/n! Psst, over here!" You heard a familiar voice call out to you in an obnoxiously loud whisper. You quickly turned your head around as your eyes wandered the premise, seeing no sign of where the noise was coming from.

"Y/n, over here!" The voice half- whispeed, half-shouted again. This time guiding you to where exactly the sound was and who it was coming from. JJ.

"What the hell, JJ?" You mouthed in bewilderment, motioning your head over to Rafe who was merely 5 inches apart from you.

"Check your phone!" JJ mouthed back as he pointed down to the phone in his hands. You did as told and seen you had unread messages from your blond friend in your notifications.

*JAY-J <3: had to make sure you were safe from all those damn kooks*

You rolled your eyes at JJ's message, letting out a half-hearted laugh as you looked down at your phone. You had completely forgot who was sitting right next to you until you were caught off-guard by the sound of Rafe's voice interrupting you.

"Everything okay?" Rafe whispered to you as he looked at you with concern, mistaking the noise you made as a sigh instead of a laugh.

"Oh yeah, just breathing." You lied in an attempt to brush Rafe off, but you failed miserably at getting his attention off of you.

"Do you want something to drink? I can go get you anything if you want." He offered, which set off a light bulb in your head and a perfect escape plan to come into mind.

"Actually, I'll go get it," you smiled," I need to stretch my legs anyways, been sitting all day."

"Okay, I'll save your seat for when you get back." Rafe smiled as he watched you stand up from your seat. Part of you felt guilty for lying to the boy, but you needed to see your friend desperately and if you were surrounded by Kooks for any longer, you might have lost your mind.

*Y/N: meet me at the concession stand. i bought some time to get away from rafe for like 10 mins* You texted JJ in a hurry while you hastened over to the concession line. You stood off to the side of the building with your arms cross, standing up on your tip-toes occassionally to try and spot your friends among the sizeable crowd full on Pogues, Kooks, and Tourons.

You were taken by surprise once you felt a pair of hands grab you by the waist from behind, spinning you around to come face-to-face with sight of a blond boy who was a relief to see in that moment.

"JJ!" You squealed once you realized it was none other than your best friend with Pope accompanied beside him. JJ smiled in reaction to your excitement, taking you in once again and spinning you around in the air swiftly. You felt giddy as you felt JJ's hands hold your hips steadily, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck once he had placed you back on the ground.

"Alright guys, enough with the rom-com fest here. Rafe could find us at any moment." Pope interrupted your and JJ's moment of jubilation with his typical panic. You rolled your eyes at his pessimism, although he did have a point. If Rafe were to have spotted your Pogue friends, he might just kill them both.

"Good point." You agreed, taking a step back from JJ's embrace and looking at the two boys standing in front of you as they awaited your response, "I just needed to get away from all those Kooks for a minute. If I had to listen to them talk about Midsummers any longer I was going to drive my head through a wall." You griped.

"Wait, Midsummers?" Pope repeated back at you as though the topic sparked an idea in his mind.

"Yeah, that thing where a bunch of Kooks get together and play dress up." You stated, still in a state of confusion as to what was brewing in Pope's brain, considering he's always coming up with something.

"You should go with Rafe."

"What?" You and JJ both shouted in unison at Pope's absurd request.

"I mean, you wanna gain Rafe's trust right? It would be the perfect opportunity to do so. Meet his family, live like a Kook with him for a night. Plus, you won't even be alone. JJ and I are gonna be working there that night, and Kie and Sarah are still considered as Kooks so you know they're going, too. I don't think it's a bad idea." Pope explained.

"Pope, there's no way in hell she's going to-"

"I'll do it." You cut off JJ just before he could reject Pope's suggestion, causing both of the boys to look at you in disbelief.

"Y/n, what? Do you realize what you'd be getting yourself into?" JJ apprised much against his friend's idea. You knew it was just JJ being his normal stubborn self, but you didn't have time to pay any mind to it. You knew that Pope's idea was the best bet in order for you to work your way into Rafe's life with ease, and so you knew what you'd have to do.

"JJ, I know you're worried and all, but this is our only chance at getting one step closer into whatever fucked up plan Rafe and his dad are conspiring against us. It's either I do this, or we're done for." You pleaded up at the distressed blond who looked down at you with an earnest look in his eyes.

"JJ, she'll be fine. We're all going to be there so you know she won't be alone." Pope added.

JJ sighed in defeat, the realization that you weren't going to back down washing over him. He grazed his hands through his shaggy blond hair as he placed a hand on his hip, "If any of this goes wrong, I'll kill him." He warned.

"Everything is going to be fine, Jay." You reassured, stepping forward to place a quick kiss onto the apple of his cheek. His body seemed to relax some at the gesture, his hands falling to your hips again as he peered down at you.

"I'm serious, y/n. I've already got enough reason to punch that asshole right in his face, let alone if he does something to you."

"He won't. You need to trust me on that, yeah? I can assure you it'll all be fine." You convinced once again, looking over at Pope in hopes he would help the situation, but instead he looked back at the two of you with judgement.

"You guys are strange." Pope added, scoffing at your guys' obvious shared displays of affection. It wasn't abnormal for you and JJ to be so hands-on, especially in a time where JJ was in a state of worry. None of the other Pogues seemed to understand the relationship you and JJ had going on, but they chose not to question to because more than likely, you two barely even knew what was going on.

"Well, who do we have here?"

taglist (if i missed any of u i apologize, pls let me know if u need or want to be added!!): @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm (if i forgot to add you, please let me know!)

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe angst #outer banks #obx #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron smut #obx fic #jj maybank #rafe cameron imagine

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buckyysdoll · 9 months

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— john fucking walker —

જ⁀➴ — summary: bucky’s not happy to learn who exactly your mission for tonight 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬; a/n: done as mini fic for this 15min challenge! thank you @amournoir for the tag ❤︎︎, and anyone else feel free to join in! pairing: fatws bucky x f! reader; cw: the word “fucking”??, possessive bucky, implied threat :) xo

MAIN MASTERLIST

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Bucky —”

“No. I don’t care, I said no.”

You sighed, having been in this circular argument for close to an hour, by now. It was so unlike him to be this unrelenting, but in truth? You couldn’t blame him too much.

If there was one thing on earth that you wanted least of all it was to have to be John Walker’s “date.”

You finished putting in your last earring and moved from the mirror, turning square to face Bucky. On any other night his eyes might’ve darkened with want to see you in that dress — but now the clench to his jaw and the hardness within them was for who you were wearing it for.

John fucking Walker.

Your voice softened as you walked to him, standing where he was in your apartment living room. You couldn’t fight with him on this, you didn’t want to anymore — and neither one of you had much choice about tonight.

“You know why I have to do it.” You circled your arms around his neck, searched his face. And when you found it still in stubborn conflict, you took a hand and laid it on his cheek; an assurance.

“That doesn’t make it feel any easier.” Bucky’s voice was still edged, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It was purely for the man who would be with you for tonight, who’d have you laughing at his jokes, and who would touch you —

Just for fucking appearance.

Still though, your touch seemed to temper him enough that he turned inwards to your hand, kissed your wrist. And with your other hand braced at his neck, going up to his hair, he shut his eyes against envy.

“It sends a good message,” you continued, damn well hoping it was true. For if you had to suffer long in that man’s company then lord give you strength — there’d better be a good reason.

And if you sounded like you were trying to convince yourself as much as him? Then it was true, because you were, because you did not want to go.

“Hm, I’m sure it does.” Sarcasm dripped from each word, each syllable. But even as he said it he soothed small circles on your back, and you knew it was for his own comfort, too, as much as it was for yours.

You rolled your eyes lightly, with affection. “It’ll only be a few hours sweetheart. And then I’ll be home.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek. Another, you gave to his forehead, each temple — your last to the corner of his mouth. “Home to you.”

Finally, finally, Bucky breathed out a low sigh, and tension left him in each place your lips touched. Your hands settled at his waist and his own found each side of your face, cradling you as he kissed your mouth once and it lingered long after he’d stopped.

His warning was equal parts softness and threat, and your answering smile was, too.

“If he touches you, I’ll kill him.”

“I know. And I’ll make sure that he does, too.”

✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪

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crisiscutie · 2 months

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Dissidia Darling's Disaster Dates! Round 1: Sephiroth

In celebration of Rebirth's upcoming release, my blog's anniversary and the sad demise of Opera Omnia, I might just do a mini-dating series, set at the Gold Saucer. Let's see how it goes. Enjoy this scenario! Features slight Aerith/Darling.

Content Warning: Slightly NSFW. Yandere/toxic relationship. Blood. Some physical abuse. Emotional abuse and manipulation. Skinshipping. Lots of dialogue. Darling's POV is trippy and unreliable.

You looked around with worry, desperately searching for any sign of your allies. Somehow, you had become separated from Kadaj, Aerith and the others while exploring a haunted mansion. You looked all over this damn amusement park searching for them, but with no luck so far. Why the hell is everything so eerily quiet now? Everywhere you went, there didn't seem to be signs of life. But all the bright lights and machinery operated as normal, oddly enough. The round square is one of the last places you haven't checked, so you went there to see if they're around.

But the longer you walked, the hazier your vision became and your kimono felt constricted, causing you to readjust your obi. Maybe it's just your anxiety making you feel that way. But you hated being alone. You just need something, someone, to keep you from going mad. You didn't even notice a black feather landing on top of your head as you approached a gondola ride. Maybe this will lead you to the others? The reason you all came to this world was to hunt for crystals, but Aerith came up with the idea for everyone to take a break and enjoy themselves, which is why you opted to dress up. Kadaj and the others must be worried sick about you. You hoped that no monsters or summons had caused any trouble in your absence.

"...Are you lost?" a deep voice purred from behind you. Coming to a sudden stop, you turned hesitantly to face Sephiroth. His gaze was so intense that it practically rooted you to the earth, and your vision became clouded by a pink-purplish tint, blurring everything but him. The man who rescued when you first arrived in this universe, the one who masqueraded as your jaded, but caring mentor. He had treated you so well. But now, you knew the truth about him - he had used you for his own gain. What could he possibly offer you now that you knew his true nature? Yet, you're alone, with no one else by your side. The void was becoming unbearable. But the simple act of him offering his hand shattered your psychosis, bringing you back to reality. You couldn't resist the impulse to take his hand now, though it was against your judgment. When you took the final step into the gondola, your body stiffened, causing you to stumble and lose your balance, but Sephiroth acted swiftly. He caught you, wrapping his hand around your waist.

He pulled you close to him and your hands gravitated towards his chest as he leaned down to your level. And without warning, his luscious lips inched dangerously close to yours, making you gasped. He smirked, savoring the way you reacted and how you shifted uncomfortably. Then, he moved his lips to your ear, almost brushing against it, and spoke in a soft whisper.

"You know, you could thank me for catching you." He chuckled when you quickly took a step back, too flustered to respond. Though, he still kept his hold on your waist. With a heartfelt sigh, he reached out and took hold of your hand. His lips hovered above it as if he were about to kiss it, but instead, he lovingly nuzzled it against his cheek and closed his eyes. Your touch alone sent shocks of euphoria to his cold heart. Slowly, he guided your hand down his neck, collarbone, and chest, while wearing a euphoric smile that seared itself into your consciousness.

"I've missed you..." He then sat down on the seat, pulling you into his lap soon after. He gave your neck a small kiss before locking his slit eyes onto you. Even with all that transpired, every fiber of your being craved him. You wanted him to keep holding you, touching you, worshipping you. This had to be the reunion instincts Cloud and Vincent warned you about, it's a mix of unsettling rightness and wrongness that erupted goosebumps all over your body.

"Have you been keeping up with your sparring?" he asked, adopting the caring tone of a father checking on their child. You shyly mumbled a "yes," which earned you another sweet neck kiss from him.

"Good girl..."

"Why did you lie to me, Sephiroth?" you huffed out, as you tried to resist the reunion and the euphoria building up within you. Your face grew hot, and beads of sweat trickled down your forehead.

"I never lied to you, my darling. In fact, I played my role well. Guiding you in this realm was my duty. I was always there for you. And let's not forget, it was you who offered to help summon 'Mother' for me." As these words sunk in, your heart dropped.

"I... did.. But-"

"and you had to know that she didn't have a physical form," he interrupted you, still nuzzling into your neck. He had you cornered. What he said was certainly true, but there had to be some lie in there. Like the others told you, he's always lying... Right!?

"I NEVER AGREED TO BE ITS VESSEL!" you shouted, a surge of strength and anger flowed through you in that fleeting moment. In response, he erupted into a series of dark, eerie chuckles like a deranged maniac, almost as if he was emulating someone.

"Foolish girl," he hissed, his voice cutting through the gondola, making you feel like an unruly child being scolded. How else could she come into this realm without a beacon? You're the one who called her, so it's fitting she chose you. It is my duty to see this through, as her chosen son." His lips curled into a sneer as the horror and self-doubt washed over you like a wave. You had gotten yourself into this situation, but now you didn't know how to deal with it or even put an end to it. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, drawing him nearer to you. The expression on his face suddenly shifted from sadistic and smug to... almost comforting and warm?

"I know you're scared, darling," his voice was smooth and reassuring, almost hypnotic. "But I'm here for you, and we're in this together. Remember the good times we had? Do you really want to throw all of that away? We could rule this world, the entire cosmos, if you'd only come back to me." He finished his speech with a relaxed sigh. In one swift movement, he tore your kimono open, exposing your soft skin to the cool air. He then pressed his cheek against your upper chest, causing a sigh of pure bliss to escape your lips. He gave your collarbone a firm nip and left his mark, his slit eyes glowering at your belly with a solemn look when he's done.

"You are carrying our future within you," he whispered. "And soon, it will be born."

Afterwards, a blissful silence enveloped the gondola, as both of you became completely engrossed in each other's presence. You two just wanted to keep holding each other for eternity. Your trance started to end when you heard the familiar voice of Aerith calling out to you. You muttered her name in return and glanced out of the gondola's window to see her and the rest of the group waiting for you two at the final stop, weapons drawn and prepared.

"It seems like our time together has come to a close," he whispered, hissing softly in your ear. Your heart raced, and your vision blurred, focused on his alternating expressions, a sinister smirk, and a euphoric smile. His slit eyes widened, and his pupils dilated, fixated solely on you. As soon as you blinked, his Masamune blade was pressed against your neck, its icy touch leaving you paralyzed with fear. "If I take your head, darling, I can keep better track of you. No one will ever separate us." His velvety voice betrayed a glimmer of giddiness, revealing cracks in his composed demeanor.

"No! Don't do this! Nothing will come out of it!" you exclaimed. His blade barely moved, and already a small trickle of blood ran down your neck. You closed your eyes, hoping this nightmare would end soon.

"Nonsense, it will work just like last time, Mother," he whispered, his thumb gently caressing your left cheek. He slightly moved the blade again, the flow of blood increased. But then, his Masamune vanished, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

"The manifestation is not yet complete. Go on, my darling, continue filling your hollow heart with despair so that we may achieve the reunion we seek." After those words, he carefully and tenderly positioned your weakening body onto the seat, like a precious doll being prepared for exhibition. He kissed your foreheadbefore disappearing, leaving his dark feathers scattered around you. Your vision was clouded by that same pink-purplish tint from before as your body went completely limp, just as the gondola ride came to a hard stop.

The others were geared and ready for a fight when the gondola's doors automatically opened, but they were surprised to see Sephiroth gone already. Aerith was the first to rush inside, making a beeline for you. As she examined your body for injuries, she noticed something peculiar when she looked into your dull eyes - a brief, faint pink glow. Her gasp was followed by her gaze drifting downward, where she spotted a strange dark feather resting on your swollen collarbone, covering Sephiroth's lovebite. With a grimace, she gently removed the feather, watching it disintegrate in her hand. It was undoubtedly his twisted way of asserting ownership over you, a taunt to her and the others about your impending "destiny". Despite her efforts to lift you to your feet, your body remained dead weight, making it impossible to get you up.

"Zack, I need your help!" she yelled. He nodded, quickly rushing over and utilizing his SOLDIER strength to carry you out of the gondola.

Your last thought before fully losing consciousness in Zack's arms was whether there was time to enjoy the fun night with other dates. Got those priorities straight, don't you darling?

Date rating: 2/10.

Sephy tried, but he just couldn't help himself after being separated from darling for far too long. 😔 As I said, I might make a mini-dating series with other FF characters.

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bullet-prooflove · 2 months

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Valentine's Day Bingo: Pink - Connor Rhodes x Reader

Tagging: @lapricot @stxrryswvrld @cosmic-psychickitty @rosaliedepp @mrspeacem1nusone @sowrongitslottie @crazy4chickennuggets @shepgurl @upsteadlogic @cixrosie @burningpeachpuppy @i-spaced-sorry @handsupforamiracle @slytherqueen14 @queenslandlover-93 @thebejeweledwatercat @voidsteffy @shakespeareanwannabe @cerealreblogger @aaronhtchnrs @mysoulisasunflower @vermillionwinter @thebaileybugle @kotlclover2021 @neapolitantoebeans @joyfulfxckery @wnbweasley @evee87 @celilice1 @one-sweet-gubler @wooshwastaken @anime-weeb-4-life @99-reasons-to-live @legit9thlunaticwarrior @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @witches-unruly-heart @infinity-mars @telepathay @iworldlywriter @nu1freakshow @nothinbtannika @whovianwholikesgirls @@angelicbxtch @altsvu @olymosity @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @district447 @sarahedwards16 @stelacole @abby-splace @kabloswrld @rawremodino

Hitting the Wearing Pink Bingo Square

When Connor first meets you, it’s in the Emergency Room on Valentine’s Day. You’re wearing a pink mini dress that barely covers your assets and fuck me heels. The left side of your face is smeared with blood, the vessels in your left eye an eruption of tiny starbursts. His heart sinks because there’s been a spate of attacks on working girls recently and he thinks he’s looking at a fresh victim.

He’s both right and wrong.

“Look after her alright?” Antonio Dawson tells him as you’re escorted into the medical bay. “She’s my partner.”

A cop then.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that you were part of a sting to catch the guy whose been beating the hell out of those women.

“Did you get him?” Connor asks, pulling on a fresh set of latex gloves as you sit on the edge of the hospital bed.

Now that he’s up close, he realises it’s not as bad as he once thought. The blood seems to be coming from a cut above your eyebrow, it’s starting to slow at this point. It’s a big gash, he’ll have to have to stitch it. His work is neat, careful but you’re still going to have a scar, he thinks.

“He was in the ambulance behind me.” You inform him as he tilts your head up towards the light and begins to clean the crimson from your skin. “Trust me, he’s worse off than I am.”

He believes you. He can see the grazes across your knuckles as you flex and unflex your hand. Once he’s finished with the mop up he continues with the rest of his examination. He’s as gentle as he can be, his fingers poking and prodding the bones under and around your eye.

“Nothing’s broken.” He tells you as he draws away and busies himself removing the stitch kit from one of the stainless steel drawers in the corner of the bay. “ I’ll get you stitched up and then grab you something else to get changed into.”

It’s a professional courtesy and a human one. He knows that your night doesn’t end when you leave the hospital, you’ll be heading back to the precinct in order to complete your reports on the assault. He assumes you’d rather not do it in a blood stained mini dress.

“I’d appreciate that.” You tell him softly, looking down at the burgundy stains soaked into the fabric. “Antonio’s probably already waiting with the evidence bags.”

“I’m guessing this all came from the perp.” Connor says gesturing at your clothing.

“I had a push knife.” You say by way of explanation, your gaze straying to the gap in the curtain. There’s a flurry of activity on the opposite side of the glass, you can see Choi barking orders as they angle the stretcher into the bay beside yours. “I don’t think he’s coming back from that.”

“It depends where you got him.” Connor remarks as he begins the process of stitching your wound together.

“Neck.” You say quietly. “More than once.”

Connor doesn’t speak, his dark eyebrows furrow in concentration. You both know the guy in the next room probably isn’t going to make it.

“You must think I’m cold, the way I’m talking about killing a man.” You say softly, your gaze lowering to the cuts across your knuckles.

“No.” He says honestly as he finishes up his work, snipping the thread carefully. “I treated some of the other girls he hurt...”

He trails off, his mouth fixing into a grim line. You’re not the only one haunted by those girls, you can tell. You’ve seen the pictures, read the reports. He’s been up close with their pain, endured their suffering, their agony.

“I think you’re incredibly brave putting yourself out there like that, not a lot of people would.” He tells you, stripping off the gloves before tossing them into the medical waste bin.

You can read between the lines, you know what he’s not saying. These victims, they’re on the fringes of society, the people that others don’t give a shit about. He’ll be the first to admit he’s jaded, he didn’t expect the police to actually do anything about the problem, a waste of resources he had overheard one cop saying when he was working on the last girl.

“These women.” You say, shaking your head. “They’re just trying to put food on the table, support their families. They don’t deserve what happened to them.”

When he looks back he realises it’s your compassion that he fell in love with, your ability to see the person underneath all the noise. He sees it over and over again throughout the course of your relationship.

He isn’t sure why he’s replaying the day he met you, he thinks it’s because the fleece pyjamas you’re wearing are the same colour as the dress you were clad in that night. The two of you are tucked up in bed together, your body draped across his like a weighted blanket. His palms smooth over your clothing as he holds you close, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. He had never envisioned that it would end up like this, that the woman he met that night would become the one that devoted himself to, the one that he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Love Connor Rhodes? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes x you

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 5 months

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The Experiment Pt. 3 | Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary| Jonathan Crane assigns his students a new experimental project: choose a phobia and research methods for coping with or completely overcoming those fears in test subjects. A student approaches Dr. Crane with an interesting project proposition... can he help her overcome her fear?

Warnings| Teacher x student relationship (both are consenting adults), Borderline sexual assault between a bf and gf, Erotophobia, Smutty stuff yk , Masturbation, P in V penetration, Teasing, Semi-public, Unprotected sex, Begging, Experiments. Extensive discussions of sex and intimacy.

"Oh My God"- Ida Maria 🎵

"Lazy Eye"- Silversun Pickups 🎶

"Romantic Lover" Eyedress 🎵

Word count: 2840k

Minors do not interact!!

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He spent the day in his lab focused on the development of his new “no-fear” serum. Crane had been working on this serum for months. It could be injected directly into the bloodstream and alter the course of the human brain’s capacity for fear. He’d been testing it on himself and he’d been surprised how well it worked. His life was no longer diluted with the absolving fear of everyday life. He felt free.

Before the student arrived, Crane injected himself with the serum for the additional courage he would need to fuck this particular student who inspired feelings he had never felt before. He’d been with plenty of people, mostly one night stands and experimental subjects who found him attractive and wouldn’t bother him the day after. He’d even fucked students, those few who liked it just as rough as he did and found in him desirable unresolved traumas. With Faye, he found it more difficult. She was a virgin, pitiful, and fearful. He’d have to be careful and kind, two things he didn’t have much experience in when it came to others. He realized that he was afraid of this girl in her thin turtleneck sweaters and small breasts. Her innocence frightened him, a man who had never understood the basic components of human fear. He rolled down his shirt sleeve and buttoned the cuff. He put on his dark gray suit jacket and dabbed his neck with cologne.

The doorbell rang. He combed gel through his dark brown hair and adjusted his glasses as he walked to the door slowly. Faye greeted him at the door in an outfit that peaked his interest, her eyes bright and nervous.

“Miss Greyson.” Crane hummed and raised his eyebrow. She looked down at her outfit and smiled.

“Do you like it?” She smoothed down the folds of fabric at her waist. He waved her inside his apartment, locking the door behind them and turned to look her up and down. She was wearing a black cotton mini dress with long sleeves, ending just at the very end of her wrists. The neckline was square and framed her strong collarbones. She was wearing dark brown tights like the color of espresso and cream leg warmers that covered her black buckle flats. She wore her hair down and it feathered out around her face, casting her ears in shadow.

“I see you tried to rectify what you did last time… with your clothes. They’re less accessible. The girl clasped her hands behind her small back, walking casually through the entryway with a hidden smile. The professor could see her entire back down to her tailbone because of the backless dress. He stifled a raspy exhale by clearing his throat. He followed her as she found her way into the dining room which was already set and waiting. He had already sent away the cook for the night, promising her that he would let the plates soak in the sink for her tomorrow. The student placed her bag on the dining room table and removed a stack of paper, held together by a large paperclip.

“I’ve compiled all of my research so far, from the past few experiments.” Crane took the paper and gestured to her seat.

“Sit.” He went to his own on the other side of the table to flip through the pages of her research paper. She sat, crossing her ankles and leaned lightly on the dark tabletop. The ornate bowl beside them glistened with fresh oysters. She licked her lips, watching her professor turn each page with eager interest.

“Good work, Miss Greyson. I can see you’ve been taking your research seriously…” He couldn’t help but smirk as he said this, finding it too funny to ignore. “And what, do you think, is one method of confrontation that you have found helpful for overcoming your phobia?” He put the paper aside, keeping it open on one of the last pages.

“Maybe you should finish reading.” She pointed to the paper and shrugged innocently. He furrowed his brow and sighed, taking up the paper again. He read on, refreshing his memory of Faye’s fantasies and imaginations when masturbating. He taped his foot against the oriental rug beneath the table as he read, pausing to look up at the girl who sat patiently, trailing a finger over the small gold watch on her wrist. He turned the page and found the draft of the conclusion she had put down for the sake of guiding the last phases of the experiment.

“The use of masturbation and imagination produced a desirable reaction in the subject who was able to approach a state of comfort needed to consider seriously, the act of sex. The second method of confrontation lies in the prompting of sexual intercourse from an older, more experienced, and comforting person who can guide a person suffering from Erotophobia into a state of sexual desire and vulnerability. From there, sexual intercourse becomes more desirable and understandable to the subject, removing themselves from the position of sexual prowess to one of reception and celebration from their partner. These two methods can build a foundation for further confrontation and anxiety management in those suffering from Erotophobia.”

He removed his glasses, holding the paper loosely in one hand. He watched her, his eyes falling across her chest, hidden by course black fabric. He imagined the warmth of her full body, the weight of a torso in his arms, the girl's curves rocking against his stocky chest. Her legs were covered in tights like she had just come from ballet class… His cock pulsed uncomfortably against his trousers.

“Are you hungry?” Crane asked finally. He sniffed loudly and nodded his head at the oysters between them.

Without looking at the bowl, she nodded, “yes.”

Their eyes connected at an invisible frequency for a brief second of understanding before Crane pushed his chair back and sprang up. The chair hit the dark red wall behind him as he swiped the bowl out of the way. It fell and scattered across the carpet. Without a moment of pause, Faye met him at the head of the table, her chair overturned on the ground. He picked her up and dropped her roughly on the dining table, kissing her fiercely. His hands gripped her face as he sucked her tongue and bit down her neck. She moaned, running her hands through his hair and beneath his collar where his neck was growing warmer beneath her touch. He threw off his suit jacket and held his hands tightly on her thighs, pulling them closer and closer to his crotch. His student fumbled with the top buttons of his shirt, breathing roughly against his kisses. He bit her lip and ran his thumb across her hard nipples. Together, they got his shirt off and threw it to the floor as well where it landed on the pile of oysters. He pulled away from her briefly to undo his belt but quickly slipped his hands beneath the hem of her dress, wanting to enter her in whatever way he could. The tights forced him back and he groaned meanly against his student’s neck. She shivered and licked his upper lip.

“You really wanted to make it hard for me this time, didn’t you?” He held her chin in his hand and furrowed his brow, almost whining.

“It's all part of the experiment, Professor.” She breathed heavily, smiling.

“Damn it! I want these fucking off.” He resisted the urge to yell and grabbed her around the waist again, picking her up. They struggled through the doorway, grappling with one another as they moved, wanting to taste, touch, tease each other. When he pulled her up to his lips, she struggled to stay on her feet, wrapping her arms around his bare neck and letting him drag her toes against the floor of his apartment to his bedroom. His room was dark red, like the dining room, and had a four poster bed, something Faye had not expected as he tossed her onto the edge of the bed and unbuckled her shoes. She could clearly see her professor’s erection through his pants, pushing against the fabric. He threw her shoes off and slipped off her leg warmers with an annoyed grumble.

“Miss Greyson….” He growled, taking the waistband of her tights and pulling them down. She raised her legs to his chest so that he could slip them down her knees. When one leg was free, she pressed her foot gently against his erection and bit her lip. “Don’t tease me.” He slowed down, removing the last of the fabric on her other leg and running a finger down the inside of her thigh to her underwear.

“Yes, sir.” She smiled and giggled as he hooked his finger around the top of her underwear and pulled them down slowly. She draped her other leg over his shoulder, propping herself up on her elbows to see what he was doing more clearly.

“Do you want to watch?” He raised his eyebrow and chuckled.

“Yes.” She whispered, watching him with wide, eager eyes. Crane nodded and took her underwear off completely. Getting on his knees, he put both of her legs over his bare shoulders and making eye contact, dipped his tongue against her. She gasped and gripped the sheets above her head, having never felt that before. He sucked her labia, pulling it gently with his mouth and breathing against it for stimulation.

“Good girl.” He hummed against her anatomy, the sound vibrating all the way to her stomach which quivered.

“Fuck…” She panted and jutted her hips. He twirled his tongue against her clit and pressed against the swollen organ, prompting a startled whine out of the girl. He smiled.

“Do you like this?” He asked with his mouth against her, teasing her.

“Uh huh.” The student whimpered and caught herself squeezing her thighs around his head. He threaded his arms through her legs and held her hips in place, sucking harshly on her exposed clit.

“Are you going to cum for me?” Crane asked seriously, training his bright eyes on his student squirming in his arms.

“Yesss, yes sir.” She moaned loudly and rubbed her clit, finishing herself off. He watched her as she shook with surmounting pleasure, the fear in her system slowly slipping away into desire. He slipped off his shoes and socks before she gasped loudly in her climax. He gripped a hand over her mouth and licked the salty lubricant from her as it coated her inner thighs. Faye had collapsed back on the bed, still panting from the stimulation.

“That’s it. That’s perfect, just like that. Cum for me.” He licked his lips and stood above her, studying her as she rode out the last of her orgasm. He smiled at the ruddy look of her face, the apple of her cheeks bright with heat and color.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Miss Greyson.” He unzipped his pants and pulled them off each leg, exposing his bare erection. “Come here.” He ordered, pointing to the edge of the bed. His student rolled onto her knees and crawled over to face him. He slowly pulled the dress above her head, exposing her inch by inch as he pulled. He tossed the dress and looked down at her bare body.

“Kiss me.” He whispered against her lips, rubbing himself with his hand.

Faye kissed him softly, sucking gently on his wide lips like hard candy. She could taste herself on his lips, licking and humming against him as he had down against her clit. She took over, pushing his hand aside and running her hand up down the length of his erection. He was already wet and the discharge on her hands from her orgasm coated him more, letting her hand move faster and faster. Crane moaned deeply against her ear and pulled her hair gently. He kissed her hard, finding her mouth blindly in the daze of pleasure.

“I wanted you so bad, professor.” His student cooed when he pulled away. He chucked and pushed her back onto her butt.

“I know, Miss Greyson. I can tell.” He climbed on top of her, dragging his cock along the dip of her stomach as he kissed her wildly.

“I need you inside me, Dr. Crane.” She whined impatiently against his neck as he spread her legs with his knee. He guided his cock inside her, shaking with need. She grabbed his hips as he entered her slowly. She gasped loudly, mewing in pain.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight.” He panted, moving slowly in and out. “Fuck…” He thrusted his hips shallowly, working his way into the girl who gasped at every movement. Tears slide down the corners of her eyes as he fucked her.

“Good girl. You’re taking me so well.” He wiped the tears from her face and licked them off of his fingers. She pulled him closer with her thighs, wrapping her legs around his butt. He pushed in deeper and she yelled out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Hmmmm Dr. Crane, fuck me!” She moaned weakly and he sped up slightly, feeling the spasms of her muscles around him as she worked up to her climax. He started to move more easily inside her and pounded himself against her, gasping after each thrust.

“Fuck.” He growled and grabbed onto the headboard, pulling himself forward with each quivering thrust. She moaned incoherently and squeezed her thighs tighter around him. He moaned at the sudden tightness and went faster, the bed shook violently beneath them.

“I’m gonna cum.” He gasped into her ear, breathing against her temple. “Do you want me to come inside you?”

“Mmhmmm, yes sir.” She nodded quickly and licked her lips, her cheeks flushed. She held his face in her hand and he watched her eyes clear of any and all fear that had once clouded her life. He grunted with one final thrust and spilled into her, she moaned loudly one last time but tried to not look away as he slowed his movements, finishing. When he was done, Crane pulled out and sucked on the girl’s tits, trailing kisses up to her chin.

“You did so well.” He observed formally, switching back into her professor persona. The girl panted and laughed, turning onto her side as he laid down beside her. She trailed a shaky finger up his chest and turned his head to hers. His hair fell out of place and his pupils dilated.

“What do you fear, professor?” Faye asked curiously. Crane chuckled and sat up, holding himself over her with his arms. He bent his arms so that he was just above the girl and pressed his lips against the skin beside her ear.

“Nothing.” He smiled.

............................................

End of last part!

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #smut #hot scarecrow #dc scarecrow #dr crane

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bebemoon · 4 months

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holiday outfit: "nye times square yeti babe" | requested by anonymous

alexander mcqueen asymmetrical cowl-neck fur coat, a/w 1999

grace gui "farmer's" handmade knit mohair top/mini dress

gnasty crystal airpod case/bag

saint laurent over-the-knee velvet feather heeled boots

gcds "bite" choker in silver

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retrodreamgirl · 2 years

Text

the games that play us | steve harrington x fem!reader

part 1 | part 2

summary: you're a kindergarten teacher at Hawkins Elementary and coincidentally steve harrington's little girl is a student in your class. you're very eager to meet the father of the sweetest little girl you've ever met with her floral dresses and fancy socks and learn about her weekend at the park as well as share the importance of ethics and ponder the suspicious nature of ice cream scoops in the sink [wc: 10k]

warnings: fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, light angst, kids being cruel/bullying, slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, single parent!steve, mentions of teen parent!steve, steve being the biggest girldad, uncle eddie (he's so stinkin cute!), dustin being a teenager, mentions of shitty parents (steve's), probably not proofed very well. lmk if i missed anything!

⤜♡→

To be stripped of an innocence blind to the eye, bestowed within a certain uncertainty, is barely manageable with a half printed diploma and matching polos for seven days a week. Seven colors of the rainbow, walls painted pale yellow to ward the scar of ink pink staring back with each blink, ten fingers and ten toes set to cling and slowly release.

Whales like to sing. Their tune travels for miles with the ability to last up to thirty minutes. A fun fact from teens who have nothing better to do than flex quick wit in the face of panic.

Wailing hailing from the monitor for hours at a time, fingers gripping loose ends to halt the movement of limbs driven by eyes made of glass and a heart not meant to last the high pitch before the hitch of first period alarm.

Four square, two bed, one bath. Close quarters, filled to the brim of a pickle jar doubled in size, two weeks notice and an extra shift to light the night and slay beasts of bills and sharp teeth.

Overnight bags paired with the sag of skin purple and stretching pliable with each drip from a youthful fountain fixed on tears of puppy dog fears, kissed away from dough puffed cheeks.

Bare feet shuffling shag carpet, one, two, three hops to the mattress spring, tiny fistfulls tugging the grandma stitched quilt from a body starved of sleep yet carved with the fondness of day one and counting.

Top of the forehead down to the bridge, across the cheek and the tip of the lips, vague traces of tiny digits glide the skin. The peek of a pupil just high enough to spot sleep dazed inquiries and curtains of baby blue hue blocking rays of the sun's morning craze.

“Good morning, daddy.” Delicate lips ghost the skin of Steve’s forehead, altogether removed in favor of a tiny head tucked beneath his chin, pulling tossed blankets to pile on top of him. Like the work of a clock, the mechanical thing with its many cogs rather than the two dimensional screen with an alarm silenced since three, Steve hears the slip of his daughter’s fingers through the opening of her lips, past half gapped teeth responsible for his favorite toothy grin. His hand finds hers without pause, gently guiding it free to instead lift to his own lips, ignoring the glistening coat of saliva.

“Fingers, my little miracle.” He hushes, voice rasped from sleep filled tension. She burrows further, snatching her hand with soft giggles, warm breath pushing against the skin of Steve’s neck. His own ghosted smile traces his cheeks, fatigue draining from him with each shake of her tiny frame. “And what’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Despite her heavy insistence her laughter never ceases, but follows her rolling to the mattress. “I’m hungry.”

“Hi, Hungry, I’m Dad.” It was Steve’s turn to tip over the brink of hilarity. Wren’s groan served as reward enough for his timely humor to pull him from the tangling of his legs in too hot sheets.

Their morning is routine, Steve’s mini double hot on his trail in mimicry of his every move. Before he can grab their toothbrushes Wren’s hands are positioned with the twisted and gnarled mint paste, tongue poked in ready for the perfect dot to damp bristles. He shoves the sleeves of her nightie up to spare the fabric from the stream beneath the faucet.

Wren’s arm moves with precision as her pupils inhale Steve where his form lingers in one corner of the mirror, towering the little girl with patient drool hanging from her lip. Her escape is nearly swift with her last spit to the basin, but Steve’s foot claims the edge of the door pushing it back to the frame when she attempts to run from the monster string Steve coins as floss. He wraps the thin twine around his fingers, gently sliding it through her tiny teeth when she refuses the chore on her own.

While he tosses the used thread his pride and joy steps to the stool she readily abandoned previously, her gums pulled back to examine the damage inflicted. “No wonder the holes between my teeth are so big, you floss too hard!”

“My apologies, Miss Harrington, but think of all the food you can fit with the extra space.” His words are carefully considered, Wren’s tongue tracing the expanse of pearly white before she hums in satisfaction.

“Ok, but I think they’re wide enough now so you don’t have to floss me anymore.” She races from the room before being blessed with a reply, Steve’s eyes bugging when the hinge of the door nearly collides with the edge of Wren’s hastily swinging head.

The natural progression of his hand to his chest nearly always catches him off guard, still in awe of his circumstance even five years later. He no longer bothers with the ‘could have been’ and only thanks whoever lies beyond that his senses are common enough to care for a life other than his own.

Care is a statement so under-stated that anyone would laugh if he spoke the words, the girl whose humming permeates the silent space of the apartment more of his world than he believes himself to be. He wasn’t so sure the roll would befall him with such natural grace when she was placed in his arms, eyes shut and face scrunched with soft skin begging for the caress of his finger nearly the length of her head. But from that moment she was all that came to him with such naturalness that to be reminded that she’s his is enough to build the pressure of a dam within the ducts of his eyes.

Now there are traces of her sprinkled in each aspect of his life making her the largest part of the whole, from the drawings strung over every square inch of wall otherwise bare to the toys sticking from every available nook and cranny. He often finds her stuffed into the pockets of his jeans in the form of an expertly drawn portrait or half crumpled polaroid from the camera Jonathan gifted her last year for her birthday.

In other circumstances he would encounter her in the form of a mess scattered to the floor. This time caught too late when his foot lands against the unsavory stick of a bulky car to the base of his heel. He’s strained in pain and an attempt to keep his voice level, never one to yell at the minor inconveniences hoping to build a character of confident morality, “Wren.”

“...yes, daddy?”

“What did we say about putting things back where they belong?” His toes curl inward when they meet the soothing cool of the hardwood, Wren slowly tipping around the corner with her eyes focused on the object of reprimand.

“I didn’t put that there,” She reasons, albeit still picking it up between her tiny fingers.

“Oh? Are you suggesting that I put it there?”

“Well no, but...I mean it was an accident.” She deflates, fingers dancing along the rolling wheels, lip slightly poked. “I was just playing with it earlier but then I got so excited to spend the day with you and I wanted to wake you! I guess I just left it there…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just clean it up next time. Unless you wanna watch me hop around here on one foot.”

“That would be kinda funny.” Her hand lowers teasingly, the car half gliding on the floor.

“And it would be even funnier if I took it away from you,” Steve tuts, only partly joking to elicit the baby eyed pout that could bring even his statuesque stature to its knees.

Wren skips to the toy chest tucked in the far corner and places the car rather gently, peeking over her shoulder to ensure Steve catches wind of her good behavior. He only chuckles when he’s turned away, already almost to the kitchen when she catches him again.

She clutches his hand, fingers flying back to her mouth. Steve leaves her be, reaching to the topmost cabinet where the medicine is stored to retrieve her daily Flintstone vitamins. He can feel the way her hand retracts from his own, can see the cute way her nose scrunches when he makes her do something she doesn’t like. He tries to soften the blow, fishing for a purple Pebbles shaped chew.

“Daddy, I don’t want that.” Wren has already meandered to the fridge, the strength of both her small hands needed to swing the door on its hinges. “It tastes nasty and I think you were wrong, s’not gonna make me smart like Pebbles.”

He drops the shape as soon as he finds it, grabbing the next one that he sees. “Hmm…why don’t we try this one? It’ll make you as rambunctious as Bamm-Bamm!”

“Ram…bunkchus?” She chews the word for a moment, dazedly staring where she hangs from the fridge on her heels. Steve catches himself in his own fondness, smiling at the way her lips mold around the word, the way she silently mouthed it to herself before giving it a try.

A second feeling stabs at his chest, the fear of her head meeting the sharp cabinet should she let go too soon and fall backwards. He’s scooping her into his arms and onto the counter to steady the race of his own heart, holding the green vitamin out to her.

“Rambunctious, it means you’re full of energy. Like you when I take you to play at the park. Which I was thinking of doing today but you look kinda sleepy.” He baits her, thumbs swiping under the lid of her eye like he’s wiping the drowsiness from her skin. She’s smart and he knows that she doesn’t believe him, that she’ll play him like a fiddle.

Her tiny fingers reach up to trace beneath his own eye, face screwing with concentration. “Daddy, I think you should take one too. If you fall asleep at the park someone might take me.”

“You make a good point, but these are for kids.” These are gross and I know it.

“Uncle Eddie says you’re basically a kid.”

“Oh yeah? What else does Uncle Eddie say?” Instead of a response she lifts her hands to her head like horns and pokes her tongue out in a silly face the same way Eddie does when he’s making a point to stake his claim to Hawkins High fame. Steve can’t help his stifled laughter though he decides that maybe he shouldn’t leave her with him so often. “Well, daddy says that his favorite girl should be good and take her vitamins so he can make her breakfast.”

“Waffles?”

“It’s up to you and Bamm-Bamm.” She’s not happy, but Wren parts her lips, eyes scrunched closed as if seeing the small chewable land on her tongue will make it more real. Steve drops it into her mouth, already moving to the cabinet for her sippy cup to fill it with juice and wash the icky taste from her mouth.

The remainder of the morning goes without a hitch, breakfast a little more mess than Steve would have liked when Wren’s arm slips against her plastic butterfly plate and it flips forward covering her with maple syrup. She begins to cry and Steve swoops in to soothe her sorrows before they begin ringing down the hall. He decides a wet wipe will have to do until bath time later this evening and Wren is just fine with that as long as he hurries.

Crisis averted, Steve finds himself standing, hands on his hips, before his daughter’s closet. Wren is having a spritely conversation at the tea table near the window, her various teddy bears participating with rapt attention. Her eyes are puffy from the tears, but she’s otherwise recovered from the earlier mishap, once again excited for her day at the park.

In her lap sits her favorite plushie, a fluffy tan rabbit with a pink nose the same as the inside of its ears and a bow tied around its neck to match. It’s the first thing Steve bought after he found out the news, unsure what he could possibly do as we walked aimlessly through town, spotting the sweet gift through the window of a shop.

Wren’s voice falls to a suspicious mumble as Steve cards through sweaters and cardigans. He glances over his shoulder to find her hunched over, whispering into Floppy’s ear. Floppy is the name she insists she’s been calling the rabbit since she was little though it sounded more like Poppy in Steve’s opinion. Thus Floppy Poppy Harrington came to be scribbled in the cutest handwriting Steve has ever seen on a makeshift birth certificate Wren made him tack on the fridge.

“Fine, I’ll ask but he might say no.” She finally grumbles, like the poor rabbit is forcing her hand, Steve turning his back before she can catch him staring. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, lovebug?”

"Floppy thinks I should wear a dress today, the yellow one with the blue flowers. Can I?” He pulls the dress in question, the blue flower stitching dancing along the front. He considers the option, looking through the half opened curtains at the way the leaves flutter from the trees, swept with wind as crisp as the apples itching to be plucked from the gnarled branches.

Luckily the dress has sleeves that cup at the wrists, enough to keep her warm even if he loses the fight of tucking her into a seasonal windbreaker. He sizes up the hem, noting it’ll cut off at the caps of her knees. He roots through the adjacent dresser, searching for a pair of leggings that would look nice with the ensemble, mostly settling on dark brown because they’re thicker than the rest.

“Yellow dress it is.” He holds the outfit up for her approval, the silent way she replaces Floppy in her seat and sidles over slowly nodding is acceptance enough for Steve. It’s the opposite that has him capturing his lower lip between his teeth these days. The way she’ll just stare at him devoid of any response when she doesn’t agree with what he’s saying to her.

He helps her into her fall fashion, no arguments when she pulls her pretty brown boots from the closet while he procures a pair of wool socks that won’t have her toes freezing on the playset. He almost forgets he has to dress himself until she’s pushing him out of her room and toward his own with an insistence that he hurry.

She closes the door and he can hear her feet scurrying down the short hall, probably to plop herself in front of the tv in hopes of catching the end of the morning cartoon slate.

Steve takes a moment, a deep breath that seems to elude him most times. It’s the guilt of needing these moments away from his favorite person that makes them few and far between, even ten minutes spent getting ready often filled with thoughts of what she’s doing while she waits, if he’s taking too long. The woes of parenthood as Robin calls it. Funny to Steve seeing as she doesn’t have any children, but she’s certainly not wrong.

He’s spritzing cologne over the burgundy crew neck he threw on when he hears the patter of Wren’s feet stopping at the edge of the hall.

“Daddy, there’s someone at the door! Don’t worry, I’ll get it!”

“Wren Elizabeth Harrington, don’t you touch that door!” The fragrance barely lands back on his dresser, his legs striding through his bedroom door and to the living room where he finds Wren stock still just in before the front door with a wide smile talking to whoever’s on the other side.

“Come on, Wrennie, let your favorite uncle in. He brought you some yummy donuts!” Dustin entices her, muffled by the thick wooden barrier.

“What flavor?” She inquires, arms folding over her chest.

“Chocolate!” Wrong answer.

“I’m sorry, daddy says I can't open the door.” She spins on her heel, jumping at the sight of Steve just feet away. “It’s Uncle Dusty, he brought you donuts.”

She skips back to the tv. Tiny Toon Adventures is the newest thing catching her attention these days. Steve opens the door, a half eaten donut in Dustin’s hand only topped by the look of absolute shock coating his features.

“She wouldn’t let me in.”

“You don’t even have donuts. Good girl,” Steve trails him into the living room where Wren has already forgotten anyone was at the door. He gently tugs her fingers from her mouth once more, settling beside Dustin who’s picking at his donut with disinterest. “What are you doing here?”

“I just thought I would drop in on my favorite people, clearly that was a mistake!”

“Daddy and I are going to the park. You can play with me on the monkey bars.” Wren hums like it’s a privilege while her large eyes continue following the pink bunny across the screen, making sure Floppy’s ears are up and paying attention.

“Last time I checked you can’t even climb the monkey bars.” Dustin teases her, her head whipping over to regard him with a tense stare. It’s her newest assault, no argument to be had lately, just large pupils of harsh disparity to set on edge whoever lay on the receiving end. Steve’s been there a few times, more willing to compromise than let her cold eyes shift to puddles with her lip quivering between her teeth. “Come on, Wrennie, I’m just kidding.”

“Dude, why are you being mean to my kid?” Steve snags the remote from the edge of the coffee table, watching the end of the show fade to black and flicking the power button. He strolls to where he keeps the jackets, neatly filed in the hall closet, and pulls a pretty blue one and his own gray windbreaker. “Come put your coat on, Wren.”

She skips over, sliding her arms through the sleeves singing the Muppet Babies theme song beneath her breath. The last time Steve tried to turn the show on for her she made a big stink, claiming to be much too old for such childish things. He thinks it’s a side effect of her new class, her first day of kindergarten sending her home with the biggest frown he’s ever seen. It was that weekend that she absolutely refused to dance around the living room with Steve to the song, his horrible Kermit impression doing little to turn the pout nestled on her chubby cheeks.

He tried to coax an explanation from her. He set her up with an array of new crayola crayons, she’d been tirelessly begging him for the sixty-four pack as she was enamored with the idea of a sharpener right in the box, and printer paper at the dining table to occupy her while he made dinner. She wouldn’t budge. Now her nose turns up when the characters flash on the television, but he has a feeling it has nothing to do with the animated puppets and they only serve as an unnecessary casualty to the real issue.

“Whatcha singin’, bug?” He helps her zip before snugging her beanie over her lengthy mane, the ends curling around her shoulders.

“Nothin’.” She chirps, running to the mirror nestled above the table beside the front door. She jumps up and down a few times, trying to catch sight of herself in the round frame to no avail. She huffs but doesn’t relent, climbing the sturdy top to rest on her knees. “Daddy, don’t you think I look pretty today? Floppy was right, the yellow dress is perfect!”

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He agrees, spinning his keys around his finger. “You coming, Henderson?”

“Yeah yeah.”

~*~

Hawkins is somehow exactly what you expected and the exact opposite.

You think it’s the people. The way half of them seem to fit the mold of the whole small town gimmick with their bright smiles and welcome pies while the other half are unapologetically riding the jagged edge of social acceptance. It’s like there’s something lingering just beneath your nose and you had to be there to see it but you’re a lifetime too late.

It’s nice enough without being too overwhelming. Your optimism outweighs the unsavory sounds rattling in the bushes outside of your aunt's one story because any job is a good one for a first time teacher.

It was daunting, walking through the shops and plucking motivational posters and alphabet magnets, wondering what kinds of kids Hawkins has to offer and hoping they’re better than Mrs. Wick’s third grade English class back in Illinois. You spent countless hours sorting markers and glue sticks and making lesson plans for a bunch of kindergarteners like their opinions are the ones that will make or break your career.

Not entirely untrue, but dramatic even for your taste and no more of a confidence booster.

Further, the flickering emergency lights of Hawkins Elementary were less than welcoming when the janitor shoved his custodial cart against the back entrance so you could get in a few days early to set up.

Luckily, your classroom was much more receptive to your eccentric tastes and the room was covered in bright fluorescence rather than the sickly yellow coating the dimly lit hallways. It was with a cautious air that you decided the space was just cute enough to teach a gaggle of five year old's the basics of civility.

Now you lay dormant against the shag carpet of your aunt’s living room, fishing through a bag of goldfish and wondering what the hell is wrong with Jamie Fisher.

Your first week ended approximately twenty two hours ago and you were immediately taken with the students. All were wide eyed and curious because you were certainly not Mrs. Cotsdale, the nice old woman they were introduced to at the end of last year. But as kids do, they adjusted rather quickly, taking a liking to the way you allowed them to pick their seats and the quirky way you introduced yourself.

All but Jamie Fisher who dared not wait until snack time to make it clear that he was certainly not pleased with the arrangements at hand.

While you’re certain his mean streak is nothing personal, you’re forced to gently admonish him as it stands, too skittish to approach his parents a mere week into the quarter. He’s mostly harmless, no hands thrown or words spoken with such severity that any student’s complaints have driven you to a harsher punishment than timeout.

Still, as you sit and pick at the tiny thread fraying at the hem of your top you can’t think of a single reason for his outright rebellion against you specifically.

A home problem is too forward. You’ve known the kid for a mere seven days and aside from his affinity for his Chuck Taylors and the over eager way his mother passed you a tin of cookies on the first day you know nothing about him.

He all but refuses to participate in circle time and the one time you put him in timeout for his lack of participation he deemed you unfair and, his words not yours, the worst teacher to ever step foot in Hawkins.

So how better to celebrate the end of your first week than with an oversized bag of crackers, midway through a screening of The Breakfast Club playing on the television whilst you ponder your befittance as a teacher based on the reactionary contention of a five year old?

“Honey, you can’t lay on the floor all weekend. My bridge club is coming at three.”

“I like bridge.” You mutter, stuffing a half bitten fish through your teeth. Your toes dance between the strings of the rug, contemplating your next move when your aunt makes clear that you are certainly not invited to watch her weekly skirmish with the other middle aged women within walking distance.

You recall one of the teachers mentioning a park not far and it seems as good a plan as any.

You stumble upon the realization as Bender is clapping into his famed monologue, Clair’s hand swiping at the softness of her lips. It’s one you could recite without the prying eyes of misfit teens and certainly without your aunt silently chiding you for flattening her floor.

You manage to scrounge up the crumbs that always seem to materialize when eating something as rudimentary as goldfish and shove your feet into your sneakers, snagging a jacket for good measure.

“I’ll be back later!”

“Take your time. Oh! But do you mind if I serve these cookies to the girls? They’re not very good but good enough to feed those gossips.”

~*~

The day is young and the park is packed, kids of all ages running back and forth, screaming at the top of their lungs. A little boy pushing himself on the swings with the help of his mother.

At first Steve thinks it's his hand that tightens around his daughters, the pressure not quite holding her there but enough to keep them linked together where he allows Dustin to lead them to a picnic table being vacated by another family. It's when they reach the table, his free hand dropping the small bag he’d packed to the tabletop, that he realizes Wren hasn’t taken a running start to the playset.

“Go on and play, bug, we’ll be right here watching.” He gently nudges her backside, the weight of her tiny frame leaning into his palm rather than taking the momentum and blasting off with it. She’s dancing in place, little circles she twirls with her feet, hands catching at the fluttering hem of her dress like the princess Steve and everyone else believes her to be.

“Wanna stay here for a while, with you!” She sings like it’s the most logical next step. Steve doesn’t miss the way her eyes slide to the swings drifting in the slight breeze before she reaches for her bag to pull her sippy cup from the side pocket and settle in the grass.

“I thought you wanted to play on the monkey bars?” Dustin attempts, used to her outrunning them all with her bubbly laughter trailing in her wake. It’s an oddity to the pair of them, Steve’s brows scrunching with a minute concern before he’s lowering himself from the bench to sit with his daughter.

“Maybe later.” She shrugs, eyes following the masses of children running and screaming without any sense of civility amongst them. The enthusiasm she’d awoken him with has dwindled, her lips pulled into a pout where she sits pawing at her cup.

“Are you okay, bug? You were so excited about the park this morning.” He adjusts a stray hair beneath her hat, looking for any sign that she’d become suddenly unwell on the drive over.

“M’fine, I just wanna wait a little while to play.” She sounds solemn but doesn’t say more, pulling herself from the ground to climb the bench beside Dustin. Steve picks absently at the grass, ripping the blades between his fingers with an unfamiliar agitation.

He hasn’t felt so unawares when it came to his own child since she was no more than an infant and he found out he would be caring for her all on his own. She’s always been forthcoming, as talkative as any little kid discovering the world piece by piece with her heart on her sleeve.

She loved to tell him all about her day: the things she did, the things she'd been waiting to do until she got home. Until suddenly one word answers were all she could seem to muster, trying to hide behind the sweet smile on her face.

Things haven’t been altogether different but he’s not been foolish enough to ignore the way her eyes have dimmed just slightly and she’s less eager when it comes to the things she used to love. It’s been hard not to self reflect, Steve invariably questioning his adequacy as a father.

He’s always thought it would be just as easy for him to fall into the same patterns as his own parents, his own father. Constantly taking care to make you feel as loved as possible, to create the kind of bond he always craved. It’s times like now that he thinks he must’ve done something wrong.

“I’m gonna go play, daddy!” He would’ve missed the sudden change were it not for her cup tipping over the edge of the table to tumble into his lap. He watches her scamper to a little girl that looks to be her age, the two catching on quick and ducking into the primary colored playset. The tension in his shoulders hardly diminishes.

“That was weird, right?” Steve needs the affirmation that he’s not overreacting. He flops his chestnut hair to one side, peeking at Dustin through the crest of his arm. He feels nearly foolish looking up at the teen, still perched in the grass like he’s the child here.

“What?”

“Wren, the way she was acting.” Dustin glances where they can see you swerving through a series of metal rings fashioned in red, Steve’s eyes unable to look away until you’ve made it safely without a scratch. “She’s been…different lately.”

“It’s called getting older. You should know it made you lame as hell.”

“You’re such a little shit. Can you be serious for like two seconds? Dude, she won’t even watch Muppet Babies with me anymore.” If he were less distraught the sentence would’ve sent Dustin rolling on the ground, but the way Steve’s soft hazel eyes seemed to double around the pupil had him thinking better of it.

“Maybe she’s just finding new interests. She’s not a baby anymore, Steve, you’re bound to drift apart eventually.”

“Shut up, Henderson.”

The thought of his little bundle of joy growing past the peak of his kneecap, no need for him to haul her around in his arms anymore is a thought far too detrimental. He ponders as much with eyes trained on the toes of his sneakers, the feeling of the slightly wet grass seeping into his denim jeans.

Wren’s not much bigger than she was last year and still the size is insurmountable in his eyes, his precious lovebug growing too fast. He’s teased countless times that he’d lock her in a pretty little jar so he can keep her this small forever, though the sentiment rings entirely true. He can’t stomach the thought of Wren going to first grade next year, let alone far enough to be walking the same halls where he was deemed ‘King Steve’ by love drunk teenagers at Hawkins High.

His eventual migration to the picnic table guides him into a conversation about the latest D&D campaign. Not that he knows much about the complicated roleplay but it gives him a sense of peace sitting with the one kid who made him feel wanted even after everyone else deemed him a colossal blunder his senior year.

It was Dustin and his own band of misfits that helped Steve realize there were more important things than popularity and the one that got away. Made him comfortable with the prospect of being a father.

“You call that girl from Family Video yet?” Dustin eases in, poking through Wren’s bag to pull a pack of fruit snacks. Steve glances toward the playset, silently urging his daughter to come running over with some story about the fantastical happenings of the last thirty minutes.

“No, just doesn’t feel right.” A true statement, assessment of his life thus far always drawing him away from the pursuit of romance.

“It’s just a date, not like she’s asking you to get married.” Dustin gets it, they all do, but it feels in poor taste to see his best friend settling into a life of two with the knowledge that one day it’s not just gonna be cartoons Wren isn’t sharing with Steve. He’s not forcing him into forever, but attempting to lure him toward the possibility of trying. “Give her the old drive-in special, girls used to love that. I mean, there was that time you almost got your ass kicked because one of them had a boyfriend but—”

“God, you’re such a teenager.” Steve scoffs, snatching the pack of snacks from his hand to steal the last of them. He won’t say it’s the fear of what Wren will think that’s stopping him, not a non factor but not his biggest concern, but he doesn’t want to dip her into a pool of false hope only to be sent drowning by a false floaty.

He’s built a house. One that’s safe and familiar, filled with the people who’ve proven to be all or nothing. Wren’s aunts and uncles collectively play similar roles in the confidence of her upbringing and Steve isn’t willing to jeopardize the strength of his four walls with an audible.

“A teenager with a girlfriend.” Dustin corrects, goofy grin at the mere mention of his precious Suzie.

“Please don’t start singing.”

“Whatever dude, all I’m saying is—” Steve has no idea what he was saying because ear splitting is the only thing to describe the high pitch ripping into his hollowed canals, pressing like lead against the drums of his ears. Even worse, the sound is as familiar as his own voice to him.

Adrenaline courses through him, dodging between the island of eyes kids and parents alike that stopped to find the wail of anguish. The park is suddenly miles long, and Steve can’t find Wren fast enough. His brain is already flooded with every sickening possibility when he rounds the corner of the playset to find her covered in mulch beside the firepole.

Her cheeks are rosy and she’s still crying, albeit too choked up to keep pace with the octave that drew everyone’s attention. Steve’s eyes do an initial scan, quick to catch onto the redness the length of her forehead though concentrated mostly on the right side beneath her hairline.

Her hands are scratched beneath the dirt caked from the damp mulch and he doesn’t draw her attention but notices the beginnings of dark red seeping through the knee of her leggings. He can guess she fell the distance from the top of the playset, not overwhelming but still a hefty drop for someone her size.

He kneels before her, her body naturally flooding forward to cling to his dear life.

“It’s okay, did you fall, sweet girl?” He pulls away just enough to cup her cheeks, turning her head with enough ease not to jostle her but still get a good look at the harsh redness of her skin. It’s already beginning to swell to a healthy bump and he makes a note to call the doctor just to make sure he doesn’t need to bring her in.

“Pu-pushed!” She manages, burying her head into his sweater to flood more tears than she knows what to do with. Steve glances around then, most of the children either gone back to play or huddled with their parents with large fearful eyes. There’s no one within distance for him to point an accusatory finger and Wren’s in no state to give him a clear answer.

“Okay, let’s go home and we’ll get you cleaned up. We can have a bath and watch a movie, any one you want.” He thinks he hears an ‘okay’ beneath the heaviness of her breathing mixing with the wetness of snot dripping from her nose. He pulls her into his arms and finds Dustin already with Wren’s bag and a solemn expression.

The woes of parenting.

~*~

The weather is chillier than you expected of early fall, a light breeze licking at the browning trees and slipping beneath your loose jacket. The park is only a few blocks but somehow word of mouth has spread that you’re new in town and your aunt is suddenly of small town fame amongst the masses of Hawkin’s lower class suburbia. So, everyone who could’ve stopped you on the way made sure to do just that and suddenly you have a bread baking date with a Ms.Henderson next Friday.

By the time you do make it things seem to be in the midst of dying down. Families slowly making their way out of the park save for the select few who seem to be enjoying the newly deserted playground. You don’t question much, the late afternoon hour seeming a perfectly reasonable time to pack up and head home to ready for supper.

“Miss. Y/l/n, fancy meeting you here!” Mrs. Fisher appears before you, purse slung over her shoulder and an unbothered Jamie clinging to her hand. It’s perhaps the most agreeable you’ve seen him in these short few days, a sucker jammed in his fist, dripping with a fresh coating of saliva.

“Mrs.Fisher, it’s lovely to see you! Hey, Jamie!” It hurts, the way your muscles retract into that faux business smile. The one you always swore you’d never need to use but in this instance it appears without your consent. Jamie mutters a greeting, though his eyes are trained on anything but you, as opposed to his mother who can’t seem to find any concentration aside from your pupils.

“It’s so nice to see you! Are you meeting up with some friends?”

“Oh…no just a walk. It seemed like a nice day.”

“Oh, that’s alright, honey, it’ll take some time for everyone to get used to you but I’m sure you’ll be making friends in no time.” She says it with a hint of accusation, like you aren’t trying hard enough, like you asked for her opinion.

“Are you guys heading home?” You alter the course of conversation, uncomfortable with such scrutiny from the pair. Jamie shifts on his feet, shoving his sucker into the flesh of his cheek and tugging his hand free to chase down a stray stick meant for wielding.

“Oh yeah. Some sweet little girl fell off the playset, says someone pushed her. Poor thing.”

“Oh no, is she okay? Do you know who did it?”

“She seemed fine enough, no hospital visits!” Mrs.Fisher laughed, like hospital visits are something she’s become achingly accustomed to but schools her face rather quickly to continue with her little anecdote. “No one admitted to pushing her so it just seems safer to head home for the day. I just don’t know how kids can be so cruel.”

You’re not in control of the way your eyes drift to Jamie poking at the trunk of a tree, but you’re also not sure Mrs.Fisher catches your drift. The way your eyes zero in begging her to understand that her own kid has the ability to brandish such cruelty with the same nonchalance as the makeshift sword dancing in his grip.

“Yeah, kids can definitely be complicated people.”

~*~

Wren is in good spirits by the time her bath is through. The heaviness nestled against her head still worries Steve but a few Bugs Bunny bandages are enough to soothe the damage of the scrapes and bruises beneath her clothing.

Dustin stayed for around an hour afterward, to make sure Wren was okay and Steve’s head was on straight, no longer a panicked parent with no clue which way was up. The thought of earlier events still sets his pulse on high, even as he stares at the soft smile Wren regards the tv with, the Lollipop Guild tickling her pink.

She’s cuddled beneath her favorite blanket, a surprise gift from his mother when he moved out. It’s ironic, the way the stitching creates the illusion of reaching for the stars over its expanse of deep blue. He thinks it’s the most sentimental thing his parents ever gifted him. Not that his father had anything to do with it.

Floppy is perched beneath the crook of her arm and a cup of warm milk hangs between her fingers. She’s holding it with one hand, the other stuffed into her mouth at the tips but he doesn’t have the heart to tear the small comfort from between her teeth.

He’s been attempting to fold laundry, sorting it into piles to ease the task of putting the clothes away later. It works for a while as a way to settle the discourse in his gut, but suddenly whites and colors are all the same and it doesn’t make any sense to keep going. He tries to think of the next thing, the next task to make him feel useful, a trick to convince himself he’s not still floundering every waking moment.

It’s nearly six and Wren hasn’t had dinner yet.

Steve tosses the rest of the laundry back into the basket, cringing at the thought of the wrinkles he’ll have to iron out later, and stalks to the kitchen after making sure Wren’s content enough not to trail after him or get up to something while he’s gone. It’s not much of a distance, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s rounded the corner to find she’s found something he’d rather she didn’t play with while he’s away.

The cabinets are mostly empty as it were. He’s waiting until Monday to go shopping while Wren’s at school so there’s nothing left but waffle mix, oatmeal, and a box of kraft. He’s learned that if he doesn’t ask Wren what she wants for dinner she’ll pretty much eat whatever he cooks as long as it’s something he knows she likes.

Hopefully of all the changes she seems to be going through this one thing remains constant for the moment at least.

He snatches the mac n cheese and sets the water to boil before rooting around the fridge for something that will suffice as a side or a topping. It feels cheap when he pulls the hot dogs from the bottom drawer but he’s learned he doesn’t have room to be picky, a refusal to accept his mother’s charity, save for emergencies, leaving him with a measly check and a tight budget.

“Daddy.” He glances past the refrigerator door, Wren’s edging around the frame with bruised knees and a curious smile. “What are you making?”

He can tell she doesn’t really care by the way her body tips past the threshold, tugging at the tea towel hanging from the oven. He’s just not sure why she would abandon Dorothy in favor of standing aimlessly in the kitchen.

“Stay away from the oven please, bug. I’m cooking dinner and I don’t want you to get hurt.” More hurt. “Why aren’t you watching your movie?”

“I missed you.” She’s being cute, bare feet pushing to tipped toes when her arms open in a sweeping gesture. Steve is putty in her hands. He hoists her up, planting a wet kiss against her cheek and pushing his nose against her soft skin. “Daddy!”

“Wrennie!” He mirrors in tone, spinning her in his arms much to her unbridled amusement. Her laughter is like music and his feet catch onto the rhythm quite quickly in the small space of the kitchen. Her legs wrap around him to stop from swinging wildly against his front, her arms caged between their chests where she clutches at his t-shirt.

“Put me down!”

“I will…for a kiss.” He reasons, touched with warmth when her hands cradle his cheeks and press the sweetest kiss against his lips.

When he settles her back on her feet she’s still swaying with amusement, her shirt having ridden up her tummy just a tad. He reaches to pull it down, noting the steam rising from his water on the stove. Wren watches him with an adolescent awe, tearing the box of noodles and dumping it into the small pot. Steve grabs the abandoned pack of hot dogs and waves it in her direction.

“You want ‘em in the mac?” She ponders, stroking her chin like it’s the hardest decision she’s made in her five years.

“On the side…with ketchup!” She has a bit of a lisp, the middle of the word sounds more like a ‘sh’ when she says it. He’s in no position to argue, ripping the package to begin slicing the meat into tinier pieces so she can fork them.

He learned very early on that she absolutely despises having to eat with her fingers. It was around two, the same time that she made known her discomfort with a mess at the dinner table, always picking at the crumbs that fell from her fork until Steve swiped them away with a napkin.

“Go wash your hands please, bug.” She skips away and Steve takes the opportunity to quickly finish the mac and avoid working his way around a hungry kid with a hot pot. He plates a healthy portion to her plate and squirts the ketchup next to the pile of hot dogs, extremely careful not to let the dishes mix. He’s managed to sneak into the living room and pause the movie as well as fetch her cup and refill it by the time Wren is climbing into her seat.

“Thank you, daddy!” She has the good grace to manage the words, her fork already halfway to her mouth and dripping with ketchup. It’s only then that Steve realizes how hungry he is, eating what’s left of the mac n cheese straight from the pot. “Hey, how come I can’t do that?”

“You’re not tall enough.” Steve shrugs, always easy going when it comes to his dimwitted explanations. He’s sure it’ll come back around sooner or later, either when she is tall enough or when Nancy chides him for telling her something so ridiculous. “Have to be able to reach those cabinets way up there without any help first.”

“I hate that!”

“Don’t say hate.”

“I’m sorry, I just think it’s really dumb and not fair at all.” She amends, shoving a fork full of noodles into her cheeks.

“Well I guess someone should get a lot more excited about her vitamins.”

~*~

“Little bird!” You glance toward the door from where you’re busy stacking leftover construction paper, confused until you see Wren Harrington sprinting with her backpack bouncing loftily behind her. It’s a wonder it doesn’t send her tumbling over the way it rivals her weight.

She throws herself into the arms of the man whose presence looms in the doorway, bent at the knees with open arms. He lifts her to his height and places a kiss on her cheek before wrangling her to his shoulders with an amusing series of theatrics.

You always seem to miss the moments Wren is picked up, too preoccupied with other children leaving you to catch the tail end of her pastel pink backpack exiting the room. This time you hail her captor down, eager to meet the father of one of the sweetest little girls you’ve ever met.

“Mr.Harrington!” It takes another flag to stop him in his tracks, like he didn’t think you were talking to him at all. Up close he’s not what you expected, certainly not paired with Wren and her pretty dresses and fanciful socks poking out of her shoes to swallow her ankles. No, he’s the opposite of what you expected, riding that jagged edge.

His jeans are torn and kissing the tops of his white converse, barely white beneath the dust coating the fabric. He’s wearing a Metallica t-shirt that’s certainly seen better days and his arms are wrapped in worn leather but if you’re not mistaken the crest of a tattoo peeks from his collar in jet black.

His hair is another story entirely, long and frizzy, curled at his scalp and springing just past his shoulders.

Despite his rough exterior you wouldn’t deny that he is pretty. Big brown eyes and a killer smile, he’s definitely pretty. And he definitely carries a hint of weed beneath the thick layer of coriander and pine you assume he spritzed on in the parking lot.

Wren giggles and you realize you’ve just been staring, though abashed as you are, burning from the inside out, you step forward with an extension of your hand.

“I’m Y/n Y/l/n, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, Mr.Harrington.” He looks at your hand then at you, brow arching in absurdity as he takes half a step forward and accepts the gesture in kind. Wren is playing in his hair all the while, pulling up various strands and tugging lightly when her human doll seems to have forgotten his speech.

“Call me, Eddie, I insist.” His hands slip past the stitching of his pockets, befitting the role of the perfect parent, very attentive in the awareness of his child’s education. It looks unnatural on his person and Wren doesn’t seem to disagree, her laughter bubbling over.

“Well, Eddie, I just wanted to let you know that your daughter is a delight to have in the classroom. Always very attentive and willing to participate. She’s very smart.” And you mean every word, easily getting to know the little girl who could go on and on about how much she loves her family and especially her dad. Her excitement appears more standoffish lately, but you imagine it’s just a natural way of settling into the school year.

“Is that right, little bird? You’re a smarty pants?” His tone is light with a hint of disbelief. Wren ducks her head over his own, angling toward him sporting a toothy grin.

“The smartest pants in town!” She exclaims, pushing at Eddie’s bangs to clear his line of sight enough to see her without obstruction. It’s then, while they’re in their own little world, that you catch sight of the adhesive clinging to her knee where her dress rides up, the day warm enough to forgo the extra bottoms.

“Hey, what happened there?” You inquire, poking at the carrot protruding from Bug’s mouth as gently as possible. Wren is sheepish to respond, looking around the room conspiratorially before leaning toward you.

“I fell on the playground.”

“Oh no!”

“It’s okay, my daddy helped me feel better.” She mumbles, reaching to pick at the edge of the bandage but thinking better of it. “My head was hurt too, but s’not so bad now. Just a bump.”

“Well thank goodness for your daddy, huh?” You shoot Eddie a smile, one he returns with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “You gotta be more careful, don’t want you getting hurt again. I need my favorite student around to keep me company.”

“I was being careful but then Ja—I wasn’t paying attention I guess.” You ignore her little slip but not without committing it to memory. “I’m your favorite student?”

“Don’t tell anyone, it’s our little secret.” You kiss your pointer, and hold your pinky toward the girl eyeing you like you’ve just told her something astronomical.

“Our secret.”

“Picking favorites, teach? Doesn’t sound very ethical, might have to call a meeting with the PTA, I’m up for president I’ll have you know.” You can tell he’s joking and something about it catches you off guard, only used to most of the parents being altogether uninterested or much too invested in being passive aggressive with you.

“Ethical?” Wren whispers to herself but loud enough for you and Eddie to catch. “What’s ethical?”

“It means you do the right thing and you know the difference between the right thing and the wrong thing.” You make it as clear as possible without adding any sense of confusion. Wren’s head tilts at an angle, her lip tugging between her teeth.

“Ease up, birdie.” Eddie winces where Wren’s small fists tug at his scalp in time with whatever thoughts she’s having.

“So it’s like when my daddy tells me that I can’t have ice cream after dinner but the next morning when I come in the kitchen I know he had ice cream after I went to sleep because I see the scoop in the sink?”

“Well!” Eddie starts, hands fastening at Wren’s calves. “Now that we’ve got that all straightened out, I‘ve gotta get you home.”

“It was really nice to meet you M-Eddie.”

“Oh trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

“ A pro-tip, it’s always better to clean up the night before. They’re always more observant than you think. See you tomorrow, Wren!”

“Bye!” She sings, wrapping herself around Eddie’s head when he ducks beneath the door. Something draws you to the threshold, watching the two of them make their way animatedly toward the exit. Curiosity strikes you in the excitement that paints them for more chaotic than a father daughter duo.

~*~

“How’s the kindergarten life treating you?” It’s a routine, these Monday shopping trips. It’s the only time Steve can focus enough to get the bulk of his list without Wren getting either bored or highly amused by everything on the shelves. She’s a great shopping companion but when they get home and Steve realizes he’s grabbed two packs of oreos instead of green beans it’s glaringly apparent she’s done well distracting him.

So he’s taken to braving the monotonous task every Monday when she’s gone off to school, lamely pushing the cart down the aisle with his list in one hand, debating which tv dinner is cheaper, but also which one Wren will eat without much fuss.

Currently he’s taking a breather at the general store, picking up band-aids after using the last of them over the weekend. Joyce is on shift and she always makes sure to check in on him, make sure he and Wren are doing okay. It fills him with a warmth he’s unaccustomed to, creating a comfortable atmosphere for him to let loose the weight he’s been carrying in his shoulders down to his chest.

“Uh…I think Wren really likes it.” He shrugs, tossing colorful band-aids onto the counter, plucking candy from the impulse buy section for after dinner. Wren loves Cow Tales so he makes sure to grab two because she has a doctor’s appointment later in the week and it’s never easy on either of them, and a Hershey bar for himself.

“That’s good. But what about you? I know it’s probably a lot different than last year.”

“A lot different. I can’t decide if it’s good or bad yet. I guess I’m still adjusting to the whole thing.” He wonders if Joyce will send him off with the same lens as Dustin if he shares his concerns about Wren’s behavior and quickly decides a mother of three children has a lot more experience than a teenager with none. “Wren’s been acting a little different recently and I can’t tell if I should be worried or not.”

“Different how?” Steve could cry when Joyce leans against the counter, finding his eye with her own. She’s listening.

It’s a small thing, but one that Steve has always clung to with an absolute absurdity. It’s not often that he finds people so invested in what he has to say, not anyone of age at least. He’s accustomed to being tuned out or made to feel like that shallow kid who used an unkindness to his advantage because it was the only way he could seem to claw his way out of the empty nest he’d been dropped into at such a young age.

“Not as talkative, uninterested in her favorite things, she gets really quiet sometimes and then suddenly she’s my happy little girl again. I know kids grow up and they change but this doesn’t feel like that.”

It’s the best way he can verbalize the changes without someone seeing them first hand and he hopes it doesn’t sound as unimportant to Joyce’s ears as it does to his own. Like they’re just scraps from a bad day and he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“That certainly doesn’t sound like Wren…” Joyce considers the evidence for a moment, slowly ringing up the few things on the counter. “Can you think of any reason that she might be acting differently? Has anything happened leading up to this sudden change?”

“Just the start of the school year. She didn’t seem incredibly happy after the first day but she seems okay now. She really likes her teacher.”

“Have you met her teacher? When Will started having trouble around middle school talking with Mr.Clarke, he was Will’s science teacher and he ran the AV Club so he helped to sort of paint a picture of who Will was away from home.”

Steve hasn’t had the chance to meet Wren’s teacher yet. He’s always either working or she’s nowhere to be found when he does have the day off to pick Wren up himself. He’s thought about calling to set up a meeting but he’s not altogether sure what he would say. Nice to meet you, I’m Steve Harrington and I’m wondering what’s wrong with my daughter Wren?

It’s a tad accusatory and he certainly doesn’t want to make things harder for any of you.

“Steve?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” He fishes his wallet out and hands over exact change. He grimaces at the dwindling thickness of the binding leather.

“I really think it’ll help if you have a talk with her teacher. Even if she can’t tell you exactly what’s going on I can promise it’ll help to have another perspective.”

“Yeah, I think I will. Thanks, Joyce, for everything.”

“You’re a good dad, Steve. You’ll figure it out, whatever it is.”

Her words carry him home, eager to see his daughter after a long day behind a shopping cart. It still strikes him how many of his friends' parents remember who he is, not like he spent much time making himself available to anyone he wasn’t interested in sleeping with. He certainly wasn’t making plans for game nights at Tommy H’s or team bonding with the jocks.

Yet somehow, he’s always roped into a conversation about Wren and the harrowing task of holding his tongue when he assures them that she’s anything but a mistake and she surely hasn’t ruined the future he didn’t have. He has no doubt his father still finds it in him to knock Steve down whenever the moment calls for it so it’s no surprise that even years later it's something people attempt to hold over his head.

His arms are full when he slips his key into the lock, surprised to find it already open. He panics slightly but it’s immediately diminished when he hears Wren’s laughter and Eddie’s voice singing some silly song on your behalf. Steve can barely see over the bags stuffed in his arms when he enters the kitchen.

“Ever heard of a locked door, Munson?” He grunts, unloading the increasingly unbearable weight and sighing beneath Wren’s giggles when one of the bags tips on its side and the jar of Jiffy nearly falls to the floor until Eddie’s reflexes catch it just as it readies to splat.

“Uncle Eddie saved the peanut butter!” Wren chants and Steve frowns in Eddie’s direction when he catches sight of the cone nearly depleted in her sticky fingers.

Eddie is already pulling a wet wipe from the stash on the far end of the counter, expert in the way he avoids Steve’s heavy hazels. “Relax, Steve. I think the most threatening thing I’ve seen in this building is that freaky looking dog in four-C.

“Eddie, Keno is nice!” Wren insists, licking at her cone and scrunching her face when Eddie wipes at the vanilla cream painting her cheeks. The drippings from the cone have left four adjacent dots in the collar of her dress, darkening the pink fabric and yellowing the daisies patterned throughout.

“You won’t be saying that when Keno eats your leg, little bird.”

“Eddie!” Steve rests his hands against his hip and addresses the man with the same tone he uses on Wren when she’s doing something particularly unsavory. The difference is the smile tugging at Eddie’s lips and the way he places his own hands on his hips as well. “Did you at least feed her actual food before you just shoved an ice cream cone in her face.”

“Four chicken mcnuggets with fries and milk. No soda here, daddy-o!”

“Yeah, daddy-o!”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Munson, but get out of my house.” Steve’s finger juts toward the front door, less than enthused about his daughter's penchant to mimic the metalhead no matter how cute it may seem in hindsight.

“Whoa whoa, is that any way to talk to the ideal babysitter for our little princess?” Eddie feigns offense, both men aware that his band is meeting for practice soon anyways. Like the perfect babysitter, Eddie steals the rest of Wren’s cone and shoves it in his mouth when he realizes she’s no longer interested in eating but sticking her fingers in the melty puddle inside the shallow wafer.

“You’re right. Thank you for filling my daughter up with junk food, now get out.” Steve turns to Wren, taking the wipe Eddie threw on the table and wiping the remainder of the mess from Wren’s skin. He kisses her nose when she begins to whine behind the damp cloth. “How was school, bug?”

“It was good! Eddie met my teacher!”

“Oh yeah?” The words are directed at Eddie who’s begun sifting through grocery bags like it’s the lost and found. “He was on his best behavior I assume.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“Yeah, she’s really nice!” Wren fills in, clueless to subtextual diligence shared between two men with brains barely sidled past the stage of boyhood.

“Yeah, that too. She’s really eager to meet ya, big boy.”

“Well that’s good news, because I thought that I’d pick you up from school tomorrow and have a little chat with her. Does that sound okay with you?” He asks Wren her hands twisting in the skirt of her dress with big eyes like Steve’s own looking back at him.

“Yeah! Daddy, you have to!” She jumps off of her chair, nearly headbutting Steve in her overwhelming excitement. It’s the most in character he’s seen her in a while. “I’m gonna go pick out my best outfit with Floppy!”

“See you later, little bird!”

“Bye, Uncle Eddie, thank you for the junk food!” She’s bouncing off the walls and Steve can already hear the tedious argument he’s gonna have with her at bedtime.

Something along the lines of letting her stay up because it doesn’t make sense to go to sleep if she's not tired. She’ll follow up with a vaguely scientific observation about there being enough light filtering through her windows that she couldn’t possibly sleep. He’ll end up crawling into bed with her and letting her talk them both to sleep in which case his back will be killing him in the morning and they’ll be running late because he’s forgotten to set the alarm.

“Yeah, Uncle Eddie. Thank you for the junk food.”

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