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stevie-petey · 3 days

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episode three: the monster and the superhero

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.” You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?” Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?” “You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Summary: you and steve can never have a normal conversation, dustin threatens nasa, eddie sadly eats his cereal because youre mean to him, youre once again nancys biggest fan, dustin and steve have an awkward heart to heart, and you and max become felons together and trauma bond (again) !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of blood, trauma lol

Words: 13.5k

Before you swing in: hi hi hi !! so so so sorry for the wait. this chapter was a pain to write and i was so busy with school and work :( promise updates will become more regular soon. i was just simply in the trenches for a hot few weeks. things in the story are heatin up, so get ready gamers. anyways, enjoy !!

–

It’s quiet in Steve’s car.

Streetlights glow faintly, lighting the way home. The windows are down; the thick late spring air fills the car with the bittersweet scent of honeysuckles in bloom. In the dim of the car lies Steve’s faint outline as he drives. His hands rest against the steering wheel, his chest rises slowly as he inhales all the fear that settles inside the car.

No one speaks. The tension is suffocating you.

In the backseat resides Robin with Dustin and Max. The oldest sits in the middle, her fingers drum nervously against the head of your seat. Dustin stares out the window, he hasn’t looked at you ever since promising Eddie you’d be back for him tomorrow. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, he begged you to let him stay in the boathouse, but you wouldn’t let him.

Max stares out the other window. Her eyes are closed, she’s pretending to be asleep. You’ve come to learn what she looks like when she pretends. Her nose pinches slightly, her eyes can never stay still enough to convince you she’s asleep. It’s what she does whenever she doesn’t want to face your questions, your concerns and your fears.

Tension builds in the back of your skull, a dull throb rings within your ears. Exhaustion washes over you, fear pierces her nails into your skin. You can’t get Eddie’s terrified eyes out of your head. The way his voice trembled, the sticky blood on his fingernails from the skin he picked at.

If they’re back again, we need to know.

Vecna’s curse.

The static Eddie felt, Chrissy’s trance-like state. Her bones, the morbid angles they snapped. Barbara Holland, daughter and best friend. Bob Newby, superhero. Billy Hargrove, dearly missed son. Jim Hopper, renown chief and beloved father.

You’re the best of them, kid.

If the gate really has opened once again… Thick molasses grief coats your tongue and fills your mouth with remorse. There has been so much loss, so many funerals you’ve had to attend. Too many bodies buried without answers, without closure.

Over and over again.

“We’re here, Robin.” The gravel of Steve’s voice cuts through the endless dread. He parks the car in front of her driveway, the lights are off inside and you know that Robin is afraid of the dark.

“Need me to walk you in?” You ask her, quiet, but unyielding with all the love you have for her.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m brave, aren't I always brave?”

“The bravest,” Steve smiles at her, soft and unbroken. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

“I’ll… I’ll try.” Her facade slips, the fear that grips everyone tightens its hold. How could anyone sleep at a time like this? She shakes her head again, her smile returns, albeit forced, tired. Then she messily crawls over Dustin to exit the car, ignoring his cries of annoyance and pain when her elbow catches his ribs. “Sorry, little Henderson!”

“I don’t even let Steve call me that–”

“Too late, I’ve already decided to call you little Henderson,” Robin climbs out the car, lands with a soft thud on the pavement. She shuts the door with a glint in her eyes before poking her head through your passenger window. “Hey, uh. Y/N?” Her voice drops low, her eyes skirt to Steve, whose cool gaze meets her weary one. Robin clears her throat, you nod your head at her with slight concern. You know that she knows about your argument with Steve. He adores her, what he doesn’t confide in you, he confides in her. Knowing that Robin means well, you soften your voice. “Yeah?”

Robin hesitates, caught between her two favorite people in the entire world. Steve sees her hesitancy and sighs, turning away to provide some semblance of privacy. Relieved, Robin ducks her head down and whispers into your ear, “Talk to him.”

She’s gone before you can exhale.

Steve starts the car again after Robin has safely made it inside her home. Max and Dustin are quiet in the backseat. As Steve drives, his fingers absentmindedly play with the frayed edges of his leather bracelet. It had been a gift from you, the word constants etched into the material.

Constants. You were Steve’s constant, he was yours. Through everything you’ve been through together, all the heartbreak suffered in order to fall into one another, he’s the constant within your life.

Now you’re afraid that you’re losing him.

There’s still so much Steve doesn’t know. There are stories about your father that you still need to tell him about. Words Jonathan told you last night, the dangerous what if he brought into your life. You’re terrified of how Steve will react, he’s always been so trusting of you and Jonathan even after knowing the history you share.

And yet Steve also doesn’t know that the future you see involves him, that he’s in it with as much certainty as the sky is blue; you just don’t know how to tell him this, how to articulate the abandonment that sits heavy within your chest that prohibits you from getting what you want in the end.

You have to talk to him. Steve deserves to know everything, all he’s ever asked of you is to be honest with him.

The broken lamppost in front of Max’s trailer greets you. Steve slows the car, puts it into park. His eyes find hers in the rearview mirror. “This is you, Mayfield.”

“Thanks,” Max responds quietly. She goes to open the car door, but you turn in your seat and stop her.

“Hey, look at me.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments. She listens, her blue eyes meeting your gaze. For a moment you see Billy’s eyes reflecting within hers. It’s only for a brief second, it ends before you can even realize what’s happened. Startled, you momentarily choke on your words. “I–”

Max raises an eyebrow at you. You’ve been acting strange all night, she doesn’t understand why. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her words couldn’t be more ironic, more painful to hear. “I-I’m sorry.” Billy is dead, he’s gone. You shake your head, try to get his eyes out of your head. “Just… promise me you’ll call if anything happens, please?”

You know that Max isn’t in any danger, she’s safe at home with her mother, but across the street resides yellow caution tape and boarded up windows. Eddie’s trailer is across from Max’s, the proximity makes you uncomfortable. It’s an eerie feeling, Chrissy died here last night.

Max seems to understand your concern, and she allows herself to nod. She doesn’t want to fight you, not tonight. “I will, promise.”

Squeezing her hand, you leave Max with a soft reminder to get some sleep. She smiles, a hidden joke between the two of you. Both of you know that there will be no sleeping tonight.

Once she’s gone, it’s just you, Steve, and Dustin remaining in the car. Tension creeps slowly upon the three of you. Dustin’s never ending annoyance towards you clashes with all the unspoken words left floating between you and Steve.

Dustin coughs awkwardly. Steve’s fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. You keep your head down, your fingers pick at the skin between your nails. The ten minute drive from Max’s house to yours is unbearably long. Stuck at one of Hawkins’ only stop lights, Dustin can’t take the silence any longer.

“Well, this is awkward.” He says to no one in particular. “Lots of tension tonight, huh?”

Neither you nor Steve laugh, and Dustin rests his head against the seat in defeat. He understands why you and him aren’t talking, he’s still angry with you for holding a knife to Eddie’s neck. What he doesn’t understand, however, is why there seems to be so much distance between you and Steve tonight.

Normally you’d be all over one another by now. The two of you can never keep your hands off of each other. As much as Dustin hates it, he’s grown used to the way your hands are always intertwined with Steve’s. Whenever he’s in the car with you guys, your hand always rests against Steve’s arm as he drives. At red lights Steve will always turn to you, pulled in by your smile.

Except tonight Dustin doesn’t think he’s seen Steve look at you once during the drive home. Your hand rests softly at your side, balled into a small fist. There’s a coldness between the two of you, one Dustin is ashamed to admit that he hadn’t noticed before.

Then he remembers last night. He’d been too lost in his anger towards you to recognize the tears in your voice. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that you wanted a code blue for any other reason besides lecturing him. His stomach twists with guilt at his own selfish actions.

Something happened between you and Steve, and you had needed your brother last night. But he had abandoned you, denied the code blue you’d needed so desperately.

When Steve’s car pulls into your driveway, Dustin runs out as soon as the vehicle stops. He’s frantic to escape his guilt, to escape the chasm that surrounds you and Steve. Slamming the door, he shouts, “Talk to each other!” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Good luck, Steve!”

The slam of the door echoes into the night.

It’s just you and Steve, now.

The air stills between you, reminiscent of the night you drove him home from the Halloween party. A year has passed since then, it’s been so long since Steve’s presence made you feel anything other than peace. The strings that have always followed you constrict against your throat.

“We need to talk,” Steve says, but at the same time you say, “We need to talk about Jonathan.”

The words come tumbling out of your mouth, slipping through the grooves of your teeth before you can stop them. They’d been building within you all day, fizzling to the surface. And now they spill out into the silence of Steve’s car.

His head turns to you, the street lights illuminate the shock and confusion on his handsome face. It pinches with bewilderment, he doesn’t understand. He had been ready to apologize to you, despite still not being able to comprehend how you don’t see a future with him. Steve doesn’t want to fight with you anymore, he was ready to just forgive and forget and hold your hand without the weight of guilt behind it.

Steve had been ready to salvage your relationship, and now you want to talk about Jonathan?

“Jonathan?” Shamefully, his voice cracks. He feels like a helpless little kid again, his stomach twists with the foreboding nausea that something bad is about to happen. “Why… why do you want to talk about him?”

The raw frailty on Steve’s face almost kills you. He’s drawing into himself again, preparing for the final blow that will decimate him and everything he knows.

You take a deep breath. This won’t be easy, nothing you’ve ever had to do has been easy. But Steve deserves to know. To hide something from him feels foreign, to lie to him feels like a betrayal.

“Jonathan, he–” Your voice shakes almost as violently as your hands do. Steve is looking at you but you can’t bear to face him just yet. “He called me last night, after our… after our fight.”

“What did he say, Y/N?” Steve knows, even before you tell him, where this is going. The light in your eyes whenever you talk about Jonathan is gone. His name doesn’t grace your face with a smile. Instead, the grimace of guilt replaces it. Steve’s stomach twists into tighter knots. It’s happening again.

Inhaling, you close your eyes and try to commit to memory the before. How Steve looked at you with such adoration before tonight. How his soft hands, laced with trust, felt against your skin before tonight. His open gaze, one filled with vulnerability, stared into you before tonight.

Opening your eyes, you exhale. Nothing will ever be the same again. “Jonathan asked me if I ever wondered if… if we made a mistake. Him and I.”

“A mistake?” Steve’s jaw tightens.

“I think-I think he was asking me if I ever… thought about what could’ve happened between us. If somehow,” you swallow, the words cement in your mouth. “If-if somehow we made a mistake, choosing you and Nancy.”

Steve is quiet. The muscles in his body pull tightly together. He fills with venom, anger and jealousy and hurt; so much hurt. “And you think he’s right.”

It isn’t phrased as a question.

Immediately your body turns to his. “No! God, no,” your hands search for any expanse of his skin you can find. Steve doesn’t lean into you, he doesn’t react to your touch. Panic overwhelms you, suddenly all you can do is talk and plead and beg. “Steve, I don’t think Jonathan even knew what he was saying, okay? H-he was high, and he’s been so lonely and-and he kept saying things were easy between me and him but-but that’s not how love is supposed to work and I know he’s just scared. He’s scared and he’s never been so alone before and I think-he’s just lost, okay? He’s lost and–”

“Why are you telling me this, Y/N?” The hardness in Steve’s voice cuts into you, stings your skin. He isn’t screaming, not like he did last night, but you almost wish he were. The way his voice is leveled, cold and hard, scares you even more.

“Would you rather I didn’t?” You’re helpless against his anger, you know he has every right to be, but you don’t know how to fix this.

Steve laughs bitterly. “I’d rather you not make shitty excuses for the asshole.”

“I’m not making excuses for him, I just wanted you to understand–”

“You are!” His voice raises slightly, almost imperceptibly so, but you hear it anyways. Steve’s chest rises and falls quickly. His hands fly wildly everywhere, he doesn’t know what to do, either. Then, almost as quickly as the anger surfaced, insecurity replaces it. “Is… Jonathan why you don’t see a future with me?”

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, almost as if you’re afraid he’ll slip between your fingers any second now. “I do see a future with you–”

“Pretty fucking hard to believe when you’re wearing the goddamn necklace he got you.” The words drip with acid. They’re hissed out with a jaw clenched so tightly you’re afraid he’ll somehow hurt himself.

The words startle you, catch you off guard. Your hand slips from Steve’s wrist. He’s never once insinuated any jealousy regarding you and Jonathan. He’s always been so trusting of you two together, he’s always been kind towards him. He always knew that he could never touch what you guys have, and yet his gaze now flickers cruelly to the bee pendant that rests against your neck.

What Steve has said hurts you, deeper than he ever intended to. He knows how you love, how deeply you care for others. It’s who you are. Regardless of the hurt he may be feeling right now, it doesn’t give him the right to throw this crucial part of you back in your face.

“I’m made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved, Steve. You know this.” The bee pendant rests against your skin as heavily as the charm bracelet does.

And Steve does know that you’re made of pieces of everyone in your life. It’s what he loves the most about you. His eyes follow where your fingers reside, skimming the silver chain that encases your wrist. He hadn’t meant to say what he did, the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

“Y/N…” Your name is spoken as an apology, it’s all Steve can manage in his shame.

But the moment is ruined, you’re exhausted and all you want to do is go home.

You shake your head at Steve, try to hide the tears in your eyes. He sees them anyways. “Can I leave, please?”

The way you ask so delicately to escape breaks Steve. Something in his chest shatters, his mouth fills with the taste of a broken promise. You don’t need his permission, he hates that you feel that you do.

“Yeah,” his voice is softer than it’s been all night, but it’s too late. He knows this. Swallowing, all Steve can do is be gentle with you. “Yeah, of course you can leave, angel.”

Angel.

You nod at him; if you try to speak you’re afraid you’ll break before him.

No other words are spoken between you. Steve watches as you leave.

–

The next morning you sit hunched over a mug of coffee, more exhausted than ever before. You haven’t slept properly in days now. Dustin finds you with dark circles under your eyes and a pathetic bowl of cereal before you. From the dazed look in your eyes, he knows you haven’t noticed his arrival, and he awkwardly clears his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, your eyes are slow to look up at him. Pointing to your coffee, Dustin raises his eyebrows. “Rough night, I take it?”

You nod, too tired to say anything else. The cereal goes uneaten. Dustin doesn’t think your coffee is even warm anymore, he hadn’t heard you wake up this morning. He’s worried that you never even went to bed last night. You’re pale, sickly so, and Dustin hates that he hadn’t noticed the signs sooner.

“Hey,” he pulls a chair beside you, sits down with a playful shove to your shoulder. He’s your brother, it’s his job to take care of you just as much as it’s yours to take care of him. It’s how the two of you have always been.

For Dustin’s entire life you’ve looked after him, kissing his scraped knees and warding off monsters hidden underneath his bed. When your father left, the depression your mother fell into afterwards left Dustin clinging onto you. You were all he had left.

Dustin leans against you, he used to do this when he was a little kid and could still fit between your arms. Resting his head against yours, shoulders pressed together, the angle is awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s safe. “Is it too late to have that code blue?”

It’s a peace offering, an extension of an apology, and you can’t help but smile at your brother. Hand finding his mess of curls, you ruffle his hair and laugh softly. “Yeah, guess we can have a code blue now.”

“Good, you know I always love to shit talk Steve.” Dustin says with humor. You both know he admires the boy.

“Language,” you remind him as you always do. Dustin knocks his head against yours in response and the two of you break into laughter; laughing with your brother again feels good.

In between sips of cold coffee and bites of soggy cereal, you tell Dustin about Steve. You explain the original argument a few nights ago, how he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want him to follow you to New York.

“It’s what mom did with dad,” Dustin says, looking down at the table.

You nod at him, you knew he’d understand better than anyone. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Does he know what happened with dad?”

“No, and I know I should explain what he did, but there’s–” You cut yourself off. Dustin would kill Jonathan with his bare hands if he found out about the phone call. Even though it technically goes against the rules of a code blue, you can’t tell Dustin about Jonathan. Not yet, at least. Clearing your throat, you continue. “There’s… other things that have prevented me from explaining dad to Steve.”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “Other things?”

“Other things,” you look pointedly at him, standing your ground about not elaborating. He denied your original code blue. You’re allowed to lie this one time. “And now Steve thinks that I don’t see a future with him.”

“Well then he’s an idiot.” Your brother scoffs. Anyone with eyes can see how much you fawn over Steve. Dustin has watched you fall for him for years now. “You’re practically ready to marry the guy.”

Taking a bite of cereal, you grimace slightly. “Okay, marriage is a little much–”

“Tell that to mom, she’s already started planning the wedding.”

Of course she has. She wouldn’t be Claudia Henderson if she wasn’t already planning the names of her grandchildren from Steve.

The bite of cereal turns into cement, your heartbeat pounds against your throat. With everything going on with Steve, the hurt the two of you have brought down upon the other, you’re not even sure there will be a wedding at the rate things are going.

As the days go on, you can feel Steve slipping away from you more and more.

Dustin must sense that the subject is hurting you, so he stands from his seat and claps his hands together. “Alright, I feel like we’ve covered our bases for a code blue. Checked all the boxes, felt the feelings needed to be felt.”

“I don’t like the feelings being felt,” you mumble, shoving your bowl away. You’re still drawn into yourself, pale and frail and unlike the lively girl your brother has come to miss. He knows things have been difficult between the two of you, a strain that can’t quite be loosened.

Dustin falters, his bravado fades. He sighs again and his hand settles against your shoulder. He looks at you with sincerity, his expression softens. “Look, you and Steve will figure things out. You guys always do.”

And he truly believes this. Steve loves you with such a ferocity that rivals your love for him. Dustin can’t imagine a world in which you’re no longer with Steve, where he’s let go of you and allowed you to walk away.

Except Dustin doesn’t know how to express this to you, but you can understand him anyways. Placing your hand over his, you squeeze it. “Thanks, Dustin.”

He smiles back at you and the code blue is over. The moment lingers for only a second longer before he frowns and sits back down next to you. “Do you think Eddie will be okay?”

And there it is. Eddie fucking Munson again.

Shoving down your annoyance, you force yourself to focus on the situation from last night. As hurt as you are that Dustin wants to talk about Eddie right now, you can understand why he would. Chrissy died in front of him, he’s being accused of murder.

You’re just being childish, easily irritated from lack of sleep and the stress of it all.

“I don’t know, I mean…the cops will be looking for him.” With ease you fall back into strategizing, putting the situation above your own thoughts and feelings. Your mind spins with everything you need to do, trying to come up with whatever you can do to help. “If we have any shot of protecting him, we need to figure out what they know.”

Dustin nods, following along. “Cerebro can tap into the Hawkins PD system, we can easily get intel from there.”

“It terrifies me that Cerebro can hack into our town’s police system.”

“Be grateful I stopped there, Suzie wouldn’t let me use it to tap into NASA.”

You learn two things after using Cerebro to gather information.

One, the radio is far too powerful to reside in your fourteen year old brother’s hands. He’s able to access the PD system with incredible ease, almost as if he’s done so before. It’d be impressive if you didn’t know the horrors that went on inside the kid’s head.

Two, Eddie is well and truly fucked.

He’s the main suspect. They think he’s killed Chrissy and have every man in the force scouring Hawkins to find him. Her death was gruesome, you understand the manhunt that unfolds. Dustin, however, nearly loses his mind when he hears chief Powell instructing his men to search Eddie’s neighborhood for the teen.

“We have to go warn him,” Dustin scrambles to his feet, the chair almost toppling over in his haste. “We need to leave, now.”

There isn’t time to argue, Dustin is already ringing Steve’s number. Either he’s already forgotten about your argument with the teen, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Regardless, the thought of seeing Steve again so soon after last night makes your stomach churn. You want to stop Dustin, make up some excuse to him about why you can’t help Eddie, but you know it wouldn’t matter. Your brother would only beg you to come, your worry for him would force you to listen.

All you can do is drop your head into your hands and sigh.

–

It was your idea to stop and get Eddie food.

Steve had arrived at your house within minutes. Dustin immediately went for the passenger seat, which was more than okay with you, and Steve had mumbled a soft “hello” to the two of you. His greeting went ignored by you, still trying to find your breath around him, and Dustin, who promptly demanded that Steve pick up Robin and Max before returning to the boathouse.

Halfway to Max’s, the silence in the car was thickening rapidly, so you offhandedly suggested stopping at the local grocery store to get Eddie some food and water. You figured he would appreciate the small act of kindness, especially considering the grime news you’d be delivering to him soon. That, and it’d give you an excuse to leave Steve’s car for a few moments and steady your breathing.

The boathouse isn’t nearly as creepy in the daylight, but still you make sure your knives are in your pocket before approaching it. Robin walks beside you, helping you and Dustin carry the groceries, while Max and Steve walk silently behind.

“Think we got him enough?” Robin asks, holding up one of the grocery bags. “I mean, don’t stoners eat a lot? Munchies or whatever?”

Rolling your eyes, you undo one of the buttons on your sweater, allowing the crisp spring air to soak your body. The sun is too warm to be worrying about whatever stoners eat. “If he complains, then he can starve.”

“Cat’s got claws today,” Robin nudges you with her arm. Turning to make sure Steve is far enough away so he doesn’t overhear, she lowers her voice. “Guessing the talk didn’t go well last night?”

“Oh, it was just peachy,” you grit out through a forced smile. “But we have to focus on harboring a murder suspect right now.” Because nothing in your life can ever be simple. If you aren’t hunting monsters, you’re protecting the town. If you aren’t protecting the town, you’re fighting alternate dimensions.

Robin opens her mouth to say something, but Dustin shoulders past her and bursts through the boathouse doors, ending your conversation. “Delivery service!”

Eddie nearly has a heart attack at the abrupt entrance. He jumps out of his skin and clutches at his chest after letting out a very unmanly yelp. The reaction is almost enough to brighten your foul mood, momentarily forgetting that Steve stands behind you.

“Someone’s jumpy,” you sidestep your brother and walk over towards the table. Setting the groceries down, you begin to unload them. “We got you some food, but please don’t eat it all at once. I really don’t want to spend any more money on you.”

“Thanks…?” Eddie slowly approaches you, both relieved for the food and offended you seem so begrudged to have gotten it for him in the first place. From his few interactions with you since last night, he’s coming to learn that you’re far from the girl who showed him such selfless kindness all those years ago.

Eddie doesn’t think you even remember what you did for him. He had been at such a low point in his life, one failed exam away from dropping out of high school and disappointing his uncle, until you appeared. It’d been your sophomore year, Eddie’s failed one, and you had given him your pencil.

The action had been small, meniscal, yet it saved Eddie’s life. He hadn’t brought his own pencil for some stupid English exam. He’d been too nervous for it that he had forgotten his, and Mrs. Greer, the teacher who couldn’t have cared less whether or not Eddie died, threatened to fail him.

The threat sank deep into his bones, freezing his intestines with dread. Eddie had promised his uncle he’d try harder in school, that he’d graduate, and yet he couldn't do something as simple as bringing a pencil to an exam. Close to tears, embarrassed and overwhelmed, Eddie almost hadn’t registered your softly whispered voice.

“Here,” you tapped his shoulder. Eddie remembers turning around, surprised you were even talking to him, and he remembers the immediate relief that sagged his bones when he saw the pencil extended in offering. He had nodded curtly at you before frantically rushing to begin the exam. He’d already wasted five minutes, he couldn’t afford any more.

It would only be later that Eddie learned you willingly failed the exam because you’d given him your only pencil, just so he wouldn’t fail. In the end, he passed. It was the first exam Eddie had passed in a long, long time; his uncle had been so proud of him that he bought him his electric guitar.

Eddie never thanked you for that.

And now you stand in front of him, once again extending your arm out to him with yet another offering, but your eyes are cold. Your body is tense around Eddie’s, he doesn’t miss the wide berth you seem to always give him.

“Thanks,” he says to you again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He accepts the box of cereal you offer him and he wills himself to smile. “I, uh. Appreciate it. I’d offer to pay you back, but…”

“You’re wanted for murder.” You finish for Eddie.

He drops his head. “Yeah, it kinda ruins a person’s life, ya know?”

“I don’t, actually. Never been accused of killing someone.”

Eddie blinks at you. He doesn’t know what to do with the disdain you display towards him. “Right.” He looks at Dustin for help, silently begging the kid to step in before you gut him with your knives.

“Okay, why don’t you crack open that box of honey combs while we all gather around for a fun story time!” Dustin sets down the remaining groceries and ushers everyone to spread around the boathouse.

“‘Storytime’?” Eddie asks him, looking around in confusion.

“Y/N and Dustin did some detective work,” Robin offers him, trying to make her voice sound as cheery as possible. “They-uh. Well they found-I mean,” she doesn’t know how to break the news to Eddie, she feels awful for the guy. Deflating, she mumbles, “They’re definitely good detectives.”

Eddie only looks more confused by this, and Dustin sits down awkwardly on a stool next to you. “So, we got, uh. Some good news and some bad news.”

You snort at your brother. Steve stands next to you, his body angled away from you so that your skin doesn’t touch. The distance is small enough to go unnoticed by anyone, yet it’s a chasm that your stomach drops into. “That’s really how you’re gonna break it to him?”

“What are you guys breaking to me?” Eddie asks, eyes wide.

Dustin hits your leg and gets the teen’s attention. “Ignore her, look at me, alright? Now, how do you prefer it? Good or bad first?”

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie doesn’t even think about his answer, he responds immediately while shoving cereal into his mouth.

“The bad news is that you’re pretty fucked.” You inform him, arms crossed over your chest. There’s no easy way to lessen the blow of what you overhead from Hawkins PD. The news is bad, it’s all bad.

Dustin snaps his head towards you, “Y/N!”

“I’m not going to lie to the guy or sugarcoat things!”

“Would you just let me handle it–”

“Dustin,” Eddie hasn’t moved from his seat. His hand remains in the cereal box, his voice jagged and defeated. He’s tired. He just wants to go home. “Just say it.”

Your brother’s shoulders drop, the anger in his eyes extinguished. “We… We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you.”

“Chief Powell thinks you killed Chrissy.” Unable to look at Eddie, your eyes trace the ground. As much as you hate him, you can’t help but feel awful for the hand he’s been dealt. No one will possibly believe he’s innocent. “He ordered all his men to track you down before word gets out that you’re the prime suspect.”

“Which leads us to the good news: your name hasn’t gone public yet.” Robin continues for you, her own expression pitying. “But if Y/N and Dustin could find out about you during breakfast, then it’s a matter of time before others do, too.”

“And once that gets out,” you shake your head, you know how cruel a small town like Hawkins can be. “There’s going to be a lot of angry people who know your name.”

Eddie clenches his jaw. You can see tears forming in his eyes; you’re not sure if they’re from frustration or fear. He inhales sharply, licks his lips in disdain. “Hunt the freak, right?”

It’s the way he says it, with so much despair and venom in his voice. The look of resignation on Eddie’s face breaks your heart. He knows his odds, he’s been tormented and abused his entire life by the people in Hawkins. You’ve heard all the stories. The exile he faced because of how he looked, who he would hang out with, the music he listened to and the drugs he smoked.

Eddie Munson, the freak. The moment the town finds out he’s wanted for murder, you’re afraid he’ll never come out of it alive.

The ice-hot contempt you feel for him begins to melt. He’s only a year or two older than you, still just a scared kid with no place to call home anymore. Despite the protests of your body, you step towards Eddie and place a hand on his shoulder. Your hand is tense, your fingers scratch on the rough material of his denim jacket, but he seems to calm at the touch.

“Hey, we’ll protect the freak, alright?” You mean what you tell him, your hand warms his skin. Whatever history you have with Eddie, good or bad, it doesn’t matter right now. He needs you, he’s lost and alone.

Eddie looks up at you, your kindness startles him slightly, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his eyes find yours. They’re brown, almost doe-eyed, with a vulnerability within them so intense that it leaves a lump in your throat.

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Eddie.” Dustin’s voice cuts through, reminding you of where you are. Stumbling slightly, you remove your hand and walk back over to Steve, who gives you an odd, confused look. You ignore him. “We have to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.”

“That’s all, Dustin?” Eddie mocks, he doesn’t stand a chance and he knows it.

Dustin draws into himself, uncertain, before letting out a feeble response. You allow yourself to smile, enjoying his wallowing. You understand where Eddie is coming from. “It is a lot that we have to do in order to clear his name.”

“Okay, I know that everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before.” Robin tries to reassure him. She’s leaning against a doorframe, she’s trying her best not to let her own uncertainty show.

“We’ve been here before,” you say with slight bitterness. “You’d be surprised how many times we’ve almost died.”

Robin laughs nervously. “Well, mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related. I didn’t necessarily almost die, but Y/N has some pretty sick scars on her body and Steve has been concussed more times than he’s had girlfriends–”

“Get to the point, Robin.” Steve finally speaks up, no hint of amusement in his voice. His hand rests besides yours, his fingers ache to curl against your skin. You’re wearing a soft blue sweater, tucked into your skirt, and your eyes shine against the spring cold. He doesn’t want to be here right now.

“Right. The bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

Unable to bear the itch in his skin to touch you, Steve brings his hand to his face and rubs at his jaw to distract himself. “Except we usually rely on this girl who has superpowers, but-uh. Those went bye-bye, so–”

“And she’s in California, hundreds of miles from here.” You add on, picking at your nails. The topic makes you uncomfortable. With California comes the reminder of Jonathan.

Robin points at you and Steve. “Both good points, so I guess you could say we’re more in the-in the…?”

“Brainstorming phase.” Max supplies, which Steve snaps his fingers in agreement and Dustin hums thoughtfully.

“There’s-uh. There’s nothing to worry about!” Your brother says unconvincingly, voice high pitched and full of lies.

Eddie stares at everyone around him, studying the collective mess that he somehow must place all his trust in. None of you can give him a straight answer about what will happen next, and as you listen to Steve and Dustin try again to make sense of what’s going on, you recognize how hopeless it all sounds.

“We may not sound like much,” you interrupt the boys, trying again to ease the hopelessness Eddie must be feeling. “But we’re kind of your only option right now–”

The distant wailing of sirens drown out your words, loud and piercing. The sound sets everyone into a panic. Robin instructs Dustin to cover Eddie with a tarp while you, Max, and Steve run towards the window. Squished together, you watch as multiple cop cars fly down the street with an ambulance following them; your breath catches.

The last time you saw this many cop cars speeding through Hawkins, they had been a dead body in the quarry. It had been Will’s body, lifeless and pale. You had watched as his body was pulled from the water, you held Lucas and Dustin as they cried.

Only this time Will is in California, far away from danger. The onslaught of cars can only mean one thing.

“I think…” Your mouth fills with syrupy dread, coating your tongue with grief. Breathing becomes difficult. You hope, more than anything, that you’re wrong. “I think someone else died.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Steve grabs his keys and instructs everyone to get into his car. He doesn't ask any questions, he doesn’t question how you know. Dustin quickly tells Eddie to stay in the boathouse while you leave.

Your eyes squeeze shut as Steve drives, your hand clutches the seat in terror. Every second that passes, your body becomes heavier and heavier from dread. Steve’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. Robin can’t look at you, Max and Dustin don’t say a word.

The white blanket draped over a body is what you see first. A horde of police surround it, there are lights flashing everywhere. People crowd behind a barricade, necks straining to get a look at the body on the ground.

Then you see who the cops are talking to, and your heart drops.

“Nancy,” you breathe out, already opening Steve’s door before he can even park the car. Something terrible has happened. Nancy stands in front of the officers, her arms crossed against her chest as if to calm herself down. She’s never looked so weak, she needs you.

Standing outside the car, the others join you. Steve has parked as close as he can to the crime scene, no one moves. Nancy releases a shaky breath when her eyes find yours. Raising her hand, she waves at you, unsure, and you wave back. She smiles, timid but genuine, and a pit forms in your stomach.

You haven’t told Nancy about Jonathan.

Steve looks away from her, gaze turning towards you, and he’s thinking the same thing.

–

Nancy guides everyone to a park bench at the trailer park. She doesn’t say anything as you all walk, her eyes are exhausted. The police hadn’t wanted her to leave just yet, they had more questions for her, but you’d quickly spoke with the men to let her go.

Sitting around the table, a bitter cold creeps into the air. The sun is out yet winter still lingers. Nancy sits across from you with Robin and Max next to her. You’re with the boys, Steve pushes his weight against you while Dustin sits stiffly beside you.

Seeing Nancy’s sunken cheeks and glass eyes, you reach across the table and grab her hand. “What happened, Nance?”

Tears well in her eyes and for once she doesn’t wipe them away. Nancy’s hand twitches in yours, she doesn’t hold onto you like you do her. She’s grieving, you’ve come to learn all the signs of someone who has lost a friend. “It-it’s Fred.”

She explains what they’d been doing, investigating Chrissy’s death at the trailer park. Guilt laces her words, she didn’t think anything would happen to Fred. He’s always been sweet to her, his crush obvious to you but unknown to her. A shiver runs through you; Fred was smart, he was nice to you whenever you spent your days in the yearbook room.

He didn’t deserve to die. Neither did Chrissy.

“That makes two deaths in two days,” you say out loud, voicing what everyone else is thinking. Death is common in Hawkins, an inevitability of what lies underneath it, but there’s never been such gruesome deaths so close together. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s happening again?” Nancy shakes her head. “I-I don’t understand, you guys already know what’s causing all of this?”

“We have a working theory, but it’s… not great.” Dustin slouches down, he isn’t sure how much he can explain to the girl with all that he still doesn’t know. “We think it’s connected to Chrissy’s death, something killed her in Eddie’s trailer. He told us she had gone into some sort of trance before her bones snapped and her eyes exploded..”

Nancy grimaces at the gory imagery and you squeeze her hand again. “I’m sorry about Fred.”

She gives you a tight smile before turning to your brother. “A trance? Like El? You aren’t… do you really think this has something to do with–”

“The Upside Down.” You and Max say at the same time.

“‘It’s happening again’,” Nancy echoes your words from moments ago. She understands, now. “So this-this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy is from the Upside Down?”

Steve nods at her and Dustin sighs heavily. “We think he attacks with a spell, or maybe even a curse.”

“But we don’t know if he’s under the Mind Flayer’s control,” you point out. “For all we know, he could just be someone with El’s powers. We know the lab tested on other kids, right?”

Max looks up at you and her face twists with apprehension. “I don’t know, something feels different about this, it’s almost like it’s something new. I don’t think it’s anyone like El.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Nancy mumbles.

“No, I think Max is right. Something feels off about all of this.” Your arms draw together, it’s impossibly cold for late March. The chill has set into your bones.

Nancy nods at you, but there’s something else on her mind. “But Fred and Chrissy also don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place? They were both at the game.” Dustin offers, and you shiver again.

Billy had been in the wrong place, too. It’s how the Mind Flayer got him. He’d just been unlucky and alone.

“And the trailer park,” Max adds.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly, he shifts against you and unconsciously moves you closer to him. “We’re at the trailer park, should we… maybe not be here?”

The wind picks up and a crow cries overhead. The barren grass rustles as shadows fall against it. Your spine prickles with nerves. Steve is right to be worried. There’s something eerie about the trailer park, the caution tape that guards Eddie’s door is still too fresh.

You wrap your sweater tighter to your body, cold with unease. Nancy’s eyes flicker around the park as the wind rustles the leaves. “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

Robin asks what she means, and when Nancy begins to explain how scared and on edge Fred had been, a dull throb slowly creeps up the base of your neck. The sensation builds until it’s a roar of nerve endings exploding against your temple, and you wince in pain.

Steve’s fingers skim the crest of your wrist. “Hey,” he’s lowered his voice so the others can’t hear, he knows you never like to worry others. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” the concern in Steve’s eyes burns you. He hasn’t spoken to you all day, but still his skin warms yours and he wants to make sure you’re safe. Comfortable. Okay. Even with the anger between you and all the unspoken half-truths, he still cares about you.

You want to tell him that you haven’t slept in days, that the nightmares are back and that they’re worse than ever before. You want to rest your head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s the only way you’ve been able to keep the migraines at bay.

But you don’t tell Steve any of this. Instead, you lie through your teeth. “I’m fine,” you reassure him again. There isn’t time for you not to be okay. Two people have died already, your migraines can wait.

Steve doesn’t look convinced. He knows you, he knows how you are and how much you push down for the sake of others, but before he can press you further, Robin interrupts. “Hey, lovebirds, we’re trying to solve a murder case here.”

“I’m listening,” you roll your eyes at her, skin flushing a bit with embarrassment. “Anyways, what if Fred and Chrissy saw something that made them go catatonic? I think we should be focusing on the trace-like state more, it’s a trauma response.”

“What, so they’re insane asylum patients?” Dustin asks with slight displeasure. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. But Vecna can cast spells, at least in DnD. I don’t think they just ‘saw’ something.”

Steve scratches his nose. “If I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.”

“Would you, though?” You don’t mean for the question to come off as condescending, and you quickly try to alleviate the offended look on the teen’s face. “What I mean is, who would you go to about something like that?”

“I… I think I know who they’d go to.” Max stares down at the table, her eyebrows furrowed together. She’s deep in thought, remembering something. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelly’s office. If you saw a monster, you wouldn’t go to the police.”

“They’d never believe you,” you bear your weight against the table. Nostalgia wraps around you at the memory of how scared you’d been to tell Hopper about El, the years it took for you to trust him. “That’s why I never went to Hopper when I first found El.”

Max nods, she’s relieved you get where she’s going with this. “Exactly, but you might go to your–”

“Shrink.” Robin finishes, sending you an apologetic smile for the offensive language against the profession you hope to one day go into. “No offense, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, feeling defensive. “Again with calling Ms. Kelly a shrink. She’s not a shrink, she’s actually really nice.”

“You sound like you know her personally.” Dustin narrows his eyes at you. Nothing goes unnoticed by him.

All eyes turn to you, and you sink down in embarrassment. “I’ve… had a few meetings with her.”

Simultaneously both Steve and Dustin widen their eyes. They hadn’t known you were seeing Ms. Kelly. Nancy looks at you curiously, Robin bites her lip, and Max nods solemnly. It’s a large range of reactions, one that makes you anxious to deal with. “Can everyone stop staring at me, please?”

Steve lets out a quick breath and runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing the school’s guidance counselor, Y/N.”

“She didn’t tell me, either.” Dustin mumbles bitterly. You’ve never hidden anything from him before. He wonders, distantly, when you started to.

“I didn’t want to worry you guys, it really isn’t a big deal.” When both boys bristle at this, you hold your hand up to silence them. “No, I don’t want to hear it. It’s not like I was seeing Ms. Kelly for anything serious, okay? She’s the guidance counselor, so I just. You know. Needed some guidance.”

It’s a horrible lie, you know that no one believes you, but they take pity on you and move on. Originally you really were seeing Ms. Kelly for college admissions help, but after a few sessions you slowly started opening up to her about the sleepless nights. The image of Billy’s lifeless body. Max’s screams.

Nancy clears her throat and changes the topic. She comes up with what to do next, creating a plan to ask Ms. Kelly what she knows, and you sit silently. You’re relieved the attention is finally off of you. Within minutes a plan is formed: you and Max will talk to Ms. Kelly to try and get more information.

Steve agrees to drive to the house. As you’re walking to his passenger side door, he notices that Nancy isn’t following. Instead, she’s going to her own car. “Hey, Nance. Where’re you going?”

Nancy turns around, a guilty but determined look on her face. Her eyes land on you, knowing you’ll be the hardest to convince of her plan. “There’s just-there’s something I want to check on first.”

Predictably, your shoulders tense and your eyes ignite with worry. “Please don’t make me remind you that there are people dying right now. You can’t seriously think it’s safe to be on your own.”

“I can protect myself, Y/N.” Nancy reminds you gently, understanding your concern but knowing it isn’t needed.

“You care to share with the rest of us?” Dustin calls over to the two of you.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” Nancy shoves her hands into her jean jacket. “It’s… a real shot in the dark.”

You frown at this. “If it’s something you think is worth looking into, then it isn’t a shot in the dark. You’ve always been right.”

Nancy blushes at your words, but Steve silently fumes beside you. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you guys out of your mind? No way is Nancy flying solo with Vecna on the loose.”

“I never said that she should fly solo,” you say slowly, not at all liking how he’s twisting your words. You had been complimenting Nancy’s intelligence, restoring her faith back into her work. You don’t understand where this protectiveness from Steve is coming from. “I know it’s too dangerous, that’s why I was going to suggest–”

“You’re right. It’s too dangerous. Bottom line. She needs someone to-Christ.” Steve isn’t listening. He’s too caught up in his head as tosses his keys to Robin, who only barely manages to catch them. “Here, Y/N and I will stick with Nance.”

You cross your arms and glare at him. “I’m sorry?”

Steve doesn’t look at you, he’s too busy staring at Nancy, and for a brief second you truly believe that there’s something soft in his gaze when he looks at her. They’re friends, you know this. There’s a history between them that rivals your history with Jonathan. Nancy was Steve’s first love, and now he loves you, and you try desperately to shake the insecurity that you feel.

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not even sure why you’re suddenly thinking all of this. You’ve never been insecure, at least not in your relationship with Steve. During the almost year you’ve been with him, there’ve been times girls have flirted with him or old flings that have tried to vie for his attention. But through it all your trust in him never wavered, you knew that at the end of the day it was your bed he was crawling into.

And yet there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you that the way Steve is looking at Nancy right now is different; it’s how he looks at you. The voice is darker, more cruel. It’s one you don’t recognize, and yet you do.

Steve seems to come back to himself and turns to you. “Robin can go with the kids to the shrink. Max can talk to her alone, it’s no big deal.”

Robin holds the keys away from her as if they’re poisoned. “I don’t think you want me driving your car.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.”

Steve shakes his head with impatience. “Why don’t you have a license?”

“I’m poor,” Robin shrugs, and you laugh slightly.

Max raises her hand. “I can drive.”

“No!” You and Steve exclaim at the same time, both of you getting war flashbacks to when Max had driven you after Billy had knocked you guys unconscious. It’d been a rough night and waking up to a thirteen year old driving a sports car definitely hadn't helped.

“Please,” you look at Max with genuine longing. “Never, ever drive me ever again.”

“Literally anyone but you–” Steve sees Dustin make a face, offering himself to drive, and the older teen snaps his fingers at him in annoyance. “No chance.”

You shake your head as well. No way in hell are you allowing the kid to drive either. “Absolutely not, Dustin. You couldn’t even drive a golf cart properly.”

“I did a decent job!”

“I still think you’re the one who gave Steve his third concussion with your horrible braking.”

“We were being chased by evil Russians!”

Robin steps between you and your brother, holding her hands up. “Alright, this is stupid.” She grabs Dustin’s walkie from his backpack and marches to Nancy while handing Steve his keys. “Us ladies, sans Y/N, will stick together. Unless Steve thinks we need him to protect us?”

She raises her eyebrows, challenging the teen, and you watch him. He shuffles nervously, ducks his head down. Steve is guilty and ashamed and embarrassed. Your stomach clenches.

“He knows better than to doubt you guys,” you step in for him, saving him. “Right, Steve?”

Nancy laughs at the look of fear on his face and Robin smirks. Satisfied, they turn around and start to head towards Nancy’s car. You wish them luck as they leave, tell them to be safe. They wave back at you, and although you wish you could join them, you know that Max will want you by her side while she talks to Ms. Kelly.

Once the girls are gone, you hit Steve’s chest. “Nice one, buddy.”

He lets out a pained huff, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows he had it coming. With a sigh he follows you back to his car and gets into the driver’s seat. Dustin stares at him through the rearview mirror with a shit eating grin on his face. Tired, Steve glares at him. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Dustin defends himself.

“No, but you were going to, and-hey,” Steve turns in his seat and glares even more at your brother. “Did you make sure to wipe your feet?”

“Yes,” Dustin says at the same time as you and Max say, “No.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and starts the car angrily. His movements are jerky and uncontrolled. “Always the goddamn babysitter!” He exclaims, resentment marring his face.

You jump slightly at his raised voice. He hates being sidelined, you know this. Similar to you, all Steve ever wants to do is help. He does whatever he can, he tries harder than anyone. It’s what you first fell for, back when Steve originally crashed into your life.

It’s because of his kindness and devotion to others that you reach for Steve’s hand. His skin is cold, goosebumps raise at your touch, but you interlock your fingers through his and slowly, piece by piece, Steve relaxes.

He’s missed your touch. You’ve missed his, too.

–

Ms. Kelly, to her credit, tries to mask her surprise when she sees you and Max standing at her door. “Oh, hello, girls.”

“Hi,” you smile kindly at the woman. “We really hate to bother you over spring break, but do you possibly have a minute to talk?”

“With the two of you?” Ms. Kelly knew that you and Max were both grieving Billy, but she hadn’t known that you knew each other. “Y/N, I’m sure you’re aware that this is highly unusual to request.”

You wince. “Yeah, I’m definitely aware that this is a pretty strange thing to ask. It’s just that I was the one who convinced Max to start seeing you in the first place, and now that I’m also seeing you, we figured we could… talk to you together?”

It’s a horrible excuse. The lie is vague and too transparent to believe. Neither you or Max had a lot of time to come up with a convincing cover story during the drive here.

“I don’t know,” Ms. Kelly’s face strains with contemplation.

Max softens her eyes and does her best to look small, pleading. “Please?”

You try to appear troubled as well, though it isn’t hard. Your headache hasn’t left. The pounding in your head has only intensified since leaving the trailer park. Ms. Kelly’s gaze flits between you and Max, reading for any signs of lying or ill-will, before her resolve crumbles.

“Oh, alright.” She opens her door wider, ushers the two of you inside. “Come in.”

Steve and Dustin watch as you disappear inside the house. They’ve parked across the street, opting to be the lookout in case anything happens. You spare one last glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting Steve’s, before Ms. Kelly closes the door.

“Okay, they’re in.” Steve states the obvious, slightly unsettled to be stuck in the car while you’re inside.

“I’m missing collarbones, not eyes.” Dustin snorts. He expects Steve to say something snarky in response, but then he notices that the teen is still staring longly out the window, tracing Ms. Kelly’s door. He looks pathetic, waiting for you, and Dustin sighs. “So… we gonna talk about it?”

Steve’s eyes linger on the doorway, a far off look on his face. When he realizes that Dustin has spoken, he turns to him slowly. “Huh? Sorry, talk about what?”

“Your temporary insanity earlier today when you basically threw yourself at Nance? In front of my sister?”

“Okay, first of all, that’s not what happened.”

Dustin glares at Steve, defensive over you. “Oh, really? I’m pretty sure it did, there were a lot of witnesses. Y/N included.”

“What are you implying, little Henderson?” Steve rubs his face, too tired for the kid’s mind games. He knows he was being weird earlier with Nancy, but he would never do that to you. Ever. He had simply been overwhelmed and confused and feeling a multitude of things that he still isn’t ready to face.

“I’m not implying anything,” Dustin puts his hands up. “All I’m saying is that I know you and Y/N have been fighting lately and that for some stupid reason, you’re doubting your relationship.”

Steve throws his head back against the seat. Of course you told Dustin about last night. “Look, I’m not-I’m not doubting our relationship, alright? I mean, I love her, man. So, so much. We just… things have been hard, lately. Really fucking hard.”

He isn’t sure how much you’ve told your brother. He doesn’t think you’d tell him about Jonathan, at least not until you know yourself whatever the hell he’d been trying to tell you the other night.

Dustin doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He stares past Steve, his eyes almost seem to glaze over. “It’s because she’s leaving, isn’t it?”

All the air in Steve’s lungs gets knocked out of him. “Yes,” he breathes out. His mouth is dry. He swallows, his tongue feels too thick for his mouth. “Sometimes it feels like she’s, I don’t know, like she’s outgrown me? I-I know it’s stupid, but she’s going so far for college and I’m stuck in Hawkins like some fucking moron and she-she didn’t want me going with her.”

“Did you know that I cried when she got into NYU?” Dustin asks him, a hurt smile on his face. When Steve shakes his head, the boy inhales deeply. “Yeah, cried like a baby the whole night. I mean, I knew she applied, I knew she’d get in, but… you’re right. She is going pretty far. I’ve never,” he wipes at his eyes quickly, embarrassed that he’s crying. “I’ve never had to spend a single day without my sister.”

Steve stares at your brother, finally beginning to understand the distance between the two of you. For weeks now it’s all you’ve complained about to Steve. How much you resented Eddie for being Dustin’s new favorite person, how much you miss singing with him in the kitchen while you baked. But now here Dustin is, teary eyed, explaining to Steve just how scared he is to be without his sister. “It feels like she’s leaving you, too.”

“Yeah,” Dustin wipes his eyes again, nodding. “Yeah, sometimes it feels like she can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Even though we’ll still be here,” Steve says solemnly.

It’s quiet again. A few birds sing in the tree above them. You and Max haven’t returned, yet. After a while, Dustin turns to Steve. “She doesn’t mean it, you know.”

“Who?”

“Y/N,” the boy clarifies, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “She doesn’t mean it when she says she doesn’t want you going with her to New York. She’s just… she’s scared, and she knows that it isn’t what you really want. Nothing gets past her, it’s really annoying.”

Steve scoffs a bit, fondness running through him. Dustin’s right. Nothing ever gets past you, you notice and see everything. But then he thinks about what your brother has said, the fear he hadn’t known about. “Why would she be scared?”

Dustin stiffens in his seat, his gaze once again blurs. He twists his hands anxiously, fixes his hat. The atmosphere shifts, Steve can see that he’s uncomfortable now. He’s about to tell Dustin that he doesn’t have to answer, but the kid does anyways. “Our parents, they-um. Met in college.”

Steve sits up as well. You and Dustin never talk about your parents, at least not about your father. Steve can’t remember the last time you’ve even mentioned him. He thinks maybe the man had called you once, during Christmas.

“They got married right before graduation. Our mom had been pregnant with Y/N, they got hitched and in their marital bliss, our dad somehow convinced our mom to leave Indiana. She grew up here, but our dad was from Virginia and he insisted that she move there.”

Bitter. Dustin is bitter.

“Everything was fine, I guess. I liked Virginia. Y/N did, too. But our mom was lonely, anyone could see that. We lived in a pretty small town, our dad was basically a goddamn Kennedy there. Everyone adored him, but our mom… things were different for her. She was always in his shadow, but Y/N and I were too young to notice for a long time.”

Steve swallows. “And then… the divorce?”

“The stupid fucking divorce.” Dustin spits out. “It wasn’t a surprise, but somehow we still felt blindsided. One day our dad was charming, cracking jokes with everyone and playing the guitar with us, then the next he just-he snapped. Became bitter, mean. Y/N idolized him, but when our parents started fighting every night and our mom cried over some woman named Carry… I lost my sister, for a while.”

“She told me,” Steve whispers, remembering the rawness in your voice the night you confessed to him that you were once cruel. “I had to remind her that she came back, in the end.”

The corners of Dustin’s mouth turn upwards slightly. “Yeah, she came back.” But then his expression darkens, his mood sours. “Our mother almost didn’t, though. After having to move back to Hawkins with barely any money to support us, it basically destroyed her. She had lost all her friends by that point, her own parents died while we lived in Virginia.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve’s throat constricts. He hadn’t known any of this. He feels like such an asshole now for assuming the worst in you. For allowing his own insecurities to blind him. “I-I didn’t know about any of that.”

“Yeah, well.” Dustin shrugs. “Now you do. And you need to know that Y/N is being her usual selfless self because of our mom and what happened to her. She doesn't want that happening to you, dipshit.”

Steve exhales through his nose, his head is swimming with so many more questions, so many apologies he wishes he could say. Instead, he stares out the window, waiting for you to return.

–

“So, what would you girls like to discuss with me?” The clock on Ms. Kelly’s walk ticks ominously behind her. She’s seated you and Max in her basement den. You can tell by the stack of books and messy desk that she uses the area as her makeshift office.

Max slouches against her seat. “Oh, it’s nothing too serious, we were just–”

“I’m worried about Max.” You interrupt the girl, not daring to look at her.

Ms. Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I think with all the murders happening, it might be affecting her.” It isn’t necessarily a lie. You have been worried about Max and her behavior. Especially these last few weeks. “It might be resurfacing some… memories.”

Max tries to argue, but Ms. Kelly holds her hand up. “You’ve both experienced trauma, Y/N. She lost her brother while you held his dying body.”

A lump forms in your throat, your lungs feel cold.

The woman turns to Max, now. “And when you keep your feelings in, your pain, bottled up the way you do, it doesn’t take much to trigger them again. I can see why Y/N may be worried.”

Max doesn’t meet Ms. Kelly’s eyes. She swallows heavily and looks down at her hands. “Yeah, I know.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Max.” You say softly, wanting desperately to reach out to her. But you’re afraid it’ll only drive her further away.

She frowns at you. “Like how you talk to Dustin, or even to Steve?”

Her accusation cuts deeply. You hadn’t known that she was paying attention to you. That your disguised “I’m fine’s” weren’t convincing her. Max must know this, because she lowers her eyes again and mumbles a quiet apology.

Ms. Kelly notices the tension and leans between the two of you. “Do you think you’re ready to talk more about that night?”

Max’s eyes gloss over briefly, her face distorts with discomfort. An onslaught of memories overtakes her, just as they overtake you. The echoes of her screams for her brother replay in your mind over and over again. The squelch of Billy’s blood trickles down your spine. You were right next to her when it happened. The blood still stains your clothes from that night at Starcourt.

“I live next door to where it happened.” Max changes the subject, her voice returning. When Ms. Kelly asks for more clarification, she continues. “Next to where Chrissy was murdered. The cops asked me a bunch of questions. Did they talk to you?”

The woman sits up, apprehensive. She hadn’t been expecting to talk about this. You sit there quietly, head still pounding from earlier as Max takes over. She interrogates Ms. Kelly, who does her best to dodge every question, and suddenly the warmth in the room becomes unbearable.

“Excuse me,” you stand up, hand clutching your stomach. Nausea swirls within you. You feel faint, the pounding has increased and sweat trickles down your neck. Both Max and Ms. Kelly look at you in concern, but you ignore them.

Blindly you stumble towards the kitchen you remember seeing when you arrived. Too nauseous and overwhelmed to care about niceties, you dig through Ms. Kelly’s cupboards until you find a cup. After filling it with water, the icey coolness of the liquid settles uneasily in your stomach. You lean over the sink, hands clutching the edge. Everything in your body feels unsteady.

Max comes up the stairs and finds you breathing heavily. “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

“Trying really hard not to right now,” you breathe through your nose, out through your mouth. “Thanks for the concern.”

No response comes. Instead, footsteps walk up behind you. You hear metal clanking against glass, and when you turn around, you find Max holding up a pair of keys. She smirks, flashing you the white keyring attached to them labeled, “office”.

Your eyes bulge out of your head. “No, we are not stealing–”

Except Max grabs your arm and practically flings you out the front door. She shoves you, urging you to start running towards Steve’s car, and all you can do is stumble over your feet and follow after her. When you make it back to the car, panting from the exertion and thrill, Steve and Dustin turn to you with wide eyes.

“What’d she say?” Your brother asks, noting your frazzled appearance.

“Nothing, just drive.” Max dismisses.

“I just became a felon.”

The girl rolls her eyes at you. “Personal property theft isn’t a felony.”

“Jesus,” Steve does a double take, baffled by this entire conversation. “What the hell did you guys do in there?”

“Steve, drive!” Max shouts at him.

The tires of the car squeal against the pavement as Steve steps on the gas. He steadies the car, a wild look in his eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“The school,” Max holds up the keys she stole.

Dustin looks at her incredulously. “Are those–”

“The keys to Ms. Kelly’s office? Yeah.” You nod grimly. “I told you, I’m now a felon.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic–”

A voice comes through Cerebro, cutting Max off. “Dustin? It’s Lucas. Do you copy?”

Relief washes over you hearing Lucas’ voice. Between tracking down Eddie and dealing with interrogating school guidance counselors, you’d also been slowly worrying yourself to death over the boy. It’s unusual for him to be quiet for so long, and with all the murders now occurring… You’d been terrified.

“Lucas? Where the hell have you been?” Demands Dustin.

“Just listen, are you guys looking for Eddie?”

You and Steve share an uncertain look. Why would Lucas be radioing about him? How much does he know?

Your brother tells Lucas that you’ve found Eddie and tells him where he is, that he’s safe. Immediately, the boy responds, “You guys know he killed Chrissy, right?”

Predictably, Dustin doesn’t take this very well. “That’s bullshit, Eddie tried to save Chrissy.”

Lucas presses further, not believing what he’s hearing. Max snatches the radio from Dustin, tired of all the vague responses. “Lucas, you’re so behind it’s ridiculous, okay?”

“Technically we still haven’t elaborated on the whole Eddie thing,” you point out, which she glares at you for.

“Y/N?” Lucas asks, surprised to hear you’re with them.

You grab the walkie. “Hey, how’s your day been?”

“Awful,” he responds bluntly while Steve snorts at your question. “Why are you guys so sure Eddie didn’t–”

“Just meet us at school. We’ll explain later.” Max instructs, leaning over the car’s console.

“I can’t,” fear leaks through Lucas’ voice. You sit up now, looking at Steve again. He hears it, too. “I think some real bad shit’s about to go down.”

You feel your heartbeat pick up. “Lucas, what does that mean? Are you okay, where are you?”

“Sinclair!” A voice shouts, before the radio cuts into static.

“Lucas? Lucas!” Max shouts into the walkie, but he doesn’t respond. She sounds scared, it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in her voice in months.

You’re no better. You sit in the passenger seat, numb. The voice, you recognized it. You’d know Jason Carver’s voice anywhere. Everything clicks; you remember how Lucas was supposed to go to the party after the basketball game. Chrissy had been Jason’s girlfriend before she was brutally killed. The cops would’ve questioned him, they would’ve told him how her body had been found in Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie Munson, the town freak everyone hates.

“What shit could Lucas get into?” Dustin questions, annoyance twinged with worry for his friend.

You try to steady your breathing, nausea returning. You almost don’t recognize the sound of your own voice. “It’s Jason. He’s-he’s angry.”

The words settle in the car, linger in the air, before they crash heavily upon the four of you. The realization dawns on everyone, the inevitability of what will happen next is an unbearable weight.

Steve steps even harder on the gas. He knows the basketball team, how cruel teen boys can be.

–

Every time you’ve snuck into one of Hawkins’ schools, it’s never led to anything good. The first two times had been in the middle school for Will. Neither time involved very pleasant memories. This year you’re sneaking into the high school in order to violate your classmates’ privacy and read their deepest, darkest secrets.

“This feels wrong,” you huff under your breath, barely keeping up with Steve and the others as they run through the hallway. “I’d hate it if anyone read my file.”

“Would you rather risk anyone else dying?” Max responds, giving you a pointed look.

You frown but don’t say anything, figuring she’s right. As much as you hate to do this, it’s objectively the lesser of two evils. You’ll apologize to the students after this is done. If they question why you’ve baked them brownies, you’ll simply lie and say you had extra laying around.

“Dustin, do you copy?” Robin’s voice carries over the radio. Your heart skips a beat hearing her, you’ve missed her today. After your brother responds, she starts to explain what she and Nancy found. “So, Nancy’s a genius.”

“What else is new?” You say, and Robin laughs.

“My thoughts exactly, pretty girl.” She clears her throat. “Anyways, Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bull’s-eye.”

The new information startles you. Vecna first started killing in 1959? Why didn’t you hear anything about it until now, and why didn’t El sense him before?

Dustin looks equally unsettled by the news. “Okay, that’s totally bonkers, but we can’t really talk right now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.”

You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?”

Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Meanwhile, Dustin urges Robin and Nancy to meet you guys at the school. By the time their conversation wraps up, Max has unlocked the office door. She heads straight towards the drawers, long familiar with the layout; you follow after her.

Steve and Dustin look around while you and Max dig through the files. They mumble something about Watergate, but you can barely hear them over the rush of blood in your eardrums. Max’s fingers rest on a specific file. The name printed on it makes you feel sick.

Fred Benson.

“Holy shit,” she exhales, grabbing it.

“Found it?” Dustin stands next to you now, neck peering down.

You struggle to breathe. “We didn’t just find Chrissy’s file.”

Dustin tilts his head, he doesn’t understand, and Max holds the file up. “Fred was seeing Ms. Kelly too.”

Steve and Dustin freeze. You can practically see their heartbeats still. The air in the room goes stale. Their eyes linger on you, they wish they couldn’t piece it together. Chrissy and Fred were seeing Ms. Kelly up until their deaths. You and Max have been seeing her, too. It’s one hell of a coincidence.

But that’s all this is. A horrible, awful coincidence.

“Y/N…” Steve breathes out, but you shake your head at him.

“Please,” your lip trembles. Not here, not now. He can’t look away from you, but you can’t bear to look at him. Instead, you grab the remaining files and hand them to Max. “We need to go through them. All of them.”

Dustin sits at the desk, Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back as you lean over Max to read the files. He shines a flashlight for the two of you, Chrissy’s file is the first one you read. The image of her once vibrant and alive smile stares back at you. There’s a column of writing to the left of her photo, the handwriting is neat, orderly, and it catches your attention.

“Are those…?”

“Symptoms.” Max softly answers, eyes skimming down the list.

Past trauma.

Terrible migraines.

Difficulty sleeping.

Headaches.

Max’s entire body tenses, her muscles pull taut against you. Your own body shakes, the tremors misalign your bones. Slowly, she looks up at you. Her eyes silently beg you to tell her that you’ve gotten it all wrong. Max’s blue eyes plead with you to tell her that none of this is real.

“Steve,” your voice catches, unable to inhale. “Can we see Fred’s file?”

He softly agrees, handing you the file immediately. You take it from him. The paper trembles in your unsteady grasp. Laying them down, you open the file and Fred’s photo burns you. Next to it is a list of symptoms.

They’re the same as Chrissy’s.

They’re the same as yours.

The headaches. Sleepless nights. The trauma you’ve been through, the nightmares that will never truly go away. Everything you’ve experienced within the last week.

Nosebleeds is starred, and for a moment your heartbeat settles. You haven’t had a nosebleed since you were five. It isn’t one of your symptoms; it can all still be a coincidence.

“This-this can’t be right.” You don’t know if you say this to reassure Max or yourself, but when you look down at her, you know. She has a far off look in her eyes. She doesn’t react to what you’ve just said.

It’s only then that you remember her nosebleed from earlier this week; it hadn’t been a coincidence.

“Max?” You shake her shoulders, tears already in your eyes. You know better than to be so naive, so blindly ignorant. You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that something was wrong.

Dustin and Steve try to wake Max, but she’s already left her body. She’s unresponsive, lost in whatever trance she’s in.

“Y/N, what’s happening?” Steve demands, fear in his own voice.

You’re hysterical, screaming and sobbing for Max to wake up. Her body is so small against yours, she’s frail and weak and her skin has never looked so translucent. Over and over you shake her, your palms rest against her cheeks and you cry.

You’ve come to know what fear is. How it can blind a person, leave them stricken with such raw anguish. Fear takes whatever air is left inside you and it poisons it with sulfur and leaves you choking.

The day Will went missing, the only air left in your body had been blood.

When inside the tunnels defending your little brother from monsters, the air in your body had been carbon.

Starcourt mall and the fireworks that exploded over Billy’s dangling and bloodied body left only just enough air in your lungs to scream.

But this fear, seeing Max unresponsive to your pleas, this fear doesn’t spare you any air.

Gasping and choking, you’re a wreck. “Max!”

Faintly you can feel Steve’s hands on you, or maybe they’re Dustin’s. Someone grabs you, pulls you away, but all you can do is scream.

It all makes sense now, Nancy’s question from earlier rings in your ears. You know why Chrissy and Fred were targeted. Why Ms. Kelly was somehow the center of it all.

The symptoms they experienced prior, the same ones that plague you and Max. You know what it is.

Venca’s curse.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ i am no longer doing a taglist, my apologies ! however, please feel free to like, reblog, and comment instead :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #bdyr #m's writing #oh dear this chapter has so much. like wow #all the conversations .....#whew

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yokohamapound · 1 day

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ok but like consider,, dazai, akutagawa, kunikida and atsushi (or anyone else u wanna add my request is mainly for akutagawa and kunikida) working alone and you open your coat to reveal you're just wearing lingerie underneath <3

Ah, such a classic move! <3

Characters: Kunikida Doppo, Dazai Osamu, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakajima Atsushi, Nakahara Chuuya

Contents: gn!reader, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, mild derogatory dirty talk

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida is often to be found working late in the Armed Detective Agency’s office, especially after the conclusion of a case. Or if Dazai has been especially a pain in the ass that day and prevented Kunikida from keeping to his packed work schedule. Kunikida is not the type of man who’ll let the day’s work slip over to tomorrow. That’s how nations start to crumble (according to him).

Hours after the rest of the agency have gone home, even Fukuzawa, Kunikida is still there, typing away at his laptop, the glare of the screen making his glasses seem opaque. His only concession to the late hour is a half-drunk cup of coffee sitting beside the laptop.

His head twists around when the door to the agency office opens. Who could it be this late at night? Atsushi coming to check up on him? Dazai coming to sleep on the couch again? He tenses when he sees the tan colour of a trenchcoat through the wavy glass of the office door, but his shoulders loosen when he sees you in the doorway.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asks you, turning back to finish that last bit of paperwork. “And what’s with the coat? You’re not trying to dress like Dazai now, are you?”

He hopes not. Kunikida doesn’t need to be jump-scared like that every time you meet up with him. He’s only half-listening when you give him some excuse about being cold. Faintly, he picks up the sound of high heels clicking against the polished floorboards as you make your way over to him. He catches a hint of perfume as you come to stand at his shoulder.

“I’m almost finished,” he grunts, his fingers flying so fast across the keyboard they seem to blur slightly at the edges. He’s tired, and it must be late indeed if you’ve come to pick him up. He turns his head to ask about what you two should pick up for dinner on the way home, when his jaw falls open like someone pulled out a screw holding it shut.

You’ve allowed your trenchcoat to fall open, revealing your body clad in scraps of structured silk and lace. Something classy and timeless, in soft cream or sultry black. It’s like something out of an old movie or a vintage catalogue. Kunikida’s glasses steam up briefly, before he slams his laptop closed.

“Doppo,” you chide, faking a gasp. “You didn’t put a period on that last sentence of your paperwork. You can’t just leave it…unfinished like that.”

Kunikida pulls off his glasses, his expression stern. “This time,” he proclaims, his voice deep and momentous, “I’ll make an exception.”

Kunikida drives you home, driving so close to the speed limit he’s practically edging it, with one hand buried firmly between your thighs. If you’re very misbehaved, he might use his notebook to conjure something to keep you…occupied…on the drive home.

Dazai Osamu

You went one better for this and stole Dazai’s trenchcoat. Let’s leave it up for debate whether he knew what you were up to and let you steal his coat to pull off your little performance—it’s more fun that way.

Because it’s Dazai, you arrange to meet at a bar for a date. Preferably one where he’s not already run up a tab or been slapped by all of the female bartenders and waiting staff. There are a few of those left in Yokohama, you just have to look really hard for them.

When you arrive, Dazai is sitting on a barstool, one foot propped on the footrest, his elbows on the bar. He’s sans trenchcoat, dressed in his dark waistcoat, with the sleeves of his blue pinstripe shirt rolled up to his mid-forearm, revealing the bandages wrapped around his wrists. Spotting you in the reflection of the bottles behind the bar, he glances over at you. Dazai’s dark eyes sweep over you from head to toe, and he immediately knows there’s something interesting going on beneath that trenchcoat.

“You know,” he drawls. “I lost a coat just like that this morning. It’s quite the startling coincidence, don’t you think?”

He's so intrigued that he even cracks open his wallet to buy you a drink (shocking, I know). Dazai's eyes are glued to the sight of you cinched into his coat. His eyes drop down when you sit on the barstool beside him, crossing your legs. His fingers tighten around the cut crystal of his glass.

"Is that...lace?"

At your smug confirmation that is indeed lace, Dazai knocks back his drink. No time to savour the liquor. He pinches the hem of the trenchcoat and lifts it up a little further to see the stocking clinging to your thigh.

Dazai's eyes glint dangerously in the dim overhead lights of the bar.

"Bella." His voice is a lusty purr as his hand runs up your thigh, fingers plucking at the top of your stocking, tracing circles into your soft flesh. "I'll give you a thirty second head start. When I catch up to you..."

I hope you can find somewhere relatively private in the next thirty seconds.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

If you thought it might be a good idea to copy the move above and wear Akutagawa’s trenchcoat over your lingerie, let me gently pry that idea from your eager little hands. It is not a good idea, and it will not end well. Just get your own trenchcoat. Maybe in a nice shade of camel?

Akutagawa waits impatiently for you in the middle of town, watching the civilians amble around between stores, his eyes narrowed in irritation. He doesn't know why you asked to meet him here, but it feels like a waste of his time. He decides he will wait only five more minutes before he leaves.

A flicker of something pale from the corner of his eye. It's a Pavlovian response—Akutagawa's head whips around. Instead of his former master, he instead spots you click-clacking toward him in a pair of heels, wrapped in a light trenchcoat. Hair? Done. Make-up? Flawless.

Akutagawa's forehead furrows, his voice pitched low with annoyance and confusion. "Why are you wearing that?"

You're used to his pricky demeanour by now and it doesn't faze you. You turn so you are facing away from the crowds, slowly untying the belt. You peel open the front of the waistcoat enough to give Akutagawa a glimpse of what lies underneath.

Black lace. Smooth skin. Silk.

His throat tightens, and for once it doesn't signal the onset of a coughing fit. Akutagawa's eyes widen, his teeth and fists clenching.

"What in the hells are you wearing?" he demands.

"Lingerie," you say, retying the the belt of your trenchcoat. "Don't you like it?"

Akutagawa knows every alley and alcove of Yokohama. Every blind spot and dead end. He puts this knowledge to good use as he manhandles you into the nearest semi-private spot. Bands of Rashoumon wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you up against the alleyway wall.

Akutagawa's pale hands tremble with suppressed excitement as he unties the trenchcoat and peels it open again. The sight of you, dressed in such a lewd fashion and bound, makes his cock harden fast enough to make him dizzy. His voice is low, curt.

"If you insist on dressing like a harlot, I shall treat you like one. After all, that is what you wanted, is it not? My attention."

Please don't worry about making any noise. He'll simply use Rashoumon to gag you. <3

Nakajima Atsushi

Oh dear, are you trying to give the poor boy a heart attack?

Atsushi is at the Armed Detective Agency office alone. Perhaps it's lunchtime and the rest of the agents and staff have retired downstairs for coffee and lunch at Cafe Uzumaki. Atsushi needs to finish his report, or he's flat broke and doesn't want to have to mooch of Kunikida in the cafe again, so he's eating some cold rice balls at his desk.

He sputters on a mouthful of onigiri when the door swings open, popping up like a daisy from his desk, expecting it to be a client. He sags in relief when he sees it is just you, hastily brushing some grains of rice from the front of his shirt.

“Hi!”

Oh, he’s so chirpy to see you. It really is adorable. Look at how the smile blossoms on his face. There are practically sparkles coming off him as he heads toward you.

Only for Atsushi to stop in his tracks when you casually untie the front of your coat and flash him the sight of your body in sweet, pink-and-white lingerie. You’re frosted in lace and frills like a little cupcake, and Atsushi’s brain jams like the printer.

“H-buh? Whuh? You…you…”

His face burns crimson, standing out stark against his white hair, and he whips his head around to make sure there is no one else in the office, even though he’s relatively sure he’s alone. Atsushi grabs the front of your coat and covers you up, flushing when you laugh at his embarrassment.

“What are you wearing?” he hisses, his eyes wide as saucers. “Why are you wearing it here?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise~”

“It is,” he stammers. “It’s very…it’s so nice.” He opens the coat a little, peeking at what lies beneath, before closing it again, his ears burning. “But…but not here. Maybe at home?”

You give an airy shrug. “Perhaps you can tell Kunikida you weren’t feeling well so you had to go home early?”

Smash cut to Atsushi fake-coughing down the phone to Kunikida.

Nakahara Chuuya

It's late. Yokohama is a glittering sprawl beneath the windows of Chuuya's plush office. The office is dim, save for the light of his laptop screen and the recessed, moody red lighting of his shelves. He eases away from his emails, rubbing at his eyes, and crosses the room to pour himself a whiskey from the cut glass decanters.

For Chuuya, 'working late' often involves taking a few heavies and going to threaten someone, not sitting and trawling through emails, but now and then he needs to engage with the corporate bullshit that comes with being an executive.

The buzz of his personal phone draws his attention. He scoops it up, his thumb tapping the screen. He has his gloves made custom so they work with touchscreens. A text message from you pops open and he grins, leaning against the edge of his desk.

The image is simple, but evocative. Smooth skin under red lace. He's not even entirely sure which body part it is, but it's tantalising all the same. He's sure he'll find out after your dinner reservation that evening. Steak, of course.

A knock sounds at his office door and he lets out an annoyed grunt, immediately locking his phone and laying it facedown on his desk.

"Yeah, come in."

His annoyance evaporates the moment you saunter in, all high heels and cinched black trenchcoat. And damn, is that red lipstick? It is.

"Hey, doll. Whatcha doin' here?"

He's running his gaze over that trenchcoat, trying to imagine what you're wearing underneath. His smile widens into a full-blown grin when you turn and lock the door behind you.

"Don't know where this is comin' from, but I like where it's goin'."

You make a show of it, untying the knot on the belt, letting the smooth fabric rasp as it slides against itself. First baring one shoulder, then the next, shimmying the coat off you like its a fur stole. It crumples to the ground, leaving you in all your glory.

Chuuya drags a hand down his face, letting out a low, ragged laugh that sounds just this side of feral.

"Fuck, dollface..."

Bro launches himself at you, pushing you up against the back of his office door. His gloved hands slide over your bare skin, gravity starting to make less and less of an impression on you as he floats you. His mouth crushes against yours.

Unfortunately, you miss your dinner reservation by several hours.

#yokohamapound #bungo stray dogs #bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #Kunikida Doppo #Dazai Osamu #Akutagawa Ryuunosuke #Nakajima Atsushi #Nakahara Chuuya #Dazai x Reader #Kunikida x Reader #Akutagawa x Reader #Atsushi x Reader #Chuuya x Reader

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chiscaralight · 5 hours

Text

being roommates with kinich!! but you swear he hates you. he’s such pretty thing! but he almost never talks to you. he’ll do all the dishes, take out and fold your laundry and leave it on top of the washer dryer for you, he’ll clean when you’re not home and even leave food out for you when you get back late! but he just. won’t. speak to you!!!

and it’s driving you insane. you just want to get to know him! he’s gorgeous and he seems really sweet. he’s also built just the way you like. slender and toned, with the strongest gaze you’ve ever felt. is it so much to want to talk (and maybe fuck) your absolutely perfect roommate?

it’s driving you insane! so insane, that you start to miss when certain articles of clothes don’t come back from the laundry you pick up on top of the machine. maybe you didn’t actually put those panties in the bin this time, but who cares? kinich is shirtless while he does dishes this time, it’s the exact moment you need to pretend to watch something on tv!

and your sideward glances are not as slick as you think they are, because he knows exactly what you’re doing. it’s a ring from the doorbell that has you rolling your eyes, going to see who’s disturbing your peace while he licks the fork you used to eat the food he cooked a few hours ago. by the time you return, he’s already done, wiping down the counter and making his way back to his room wordlessly. you sigh in exasperation, you didn’t even get time to think about what fake story you could cook up to get him to talk to you! but as you groan at your misfortune in the living room, his fingers are wrapped hard around his cock, nose pressed into the underwear he’s stolen from you this time. It doesn’t take long before he’s making a mess around his hand, traces of your scent flooding his senses. but this pair is starting to lose its smell and he’s getting more and more fed up. how much longer can he keep this up before he breaks?

for you, it’s not much longer, because your fingers are deep in your cunt, thrusting in and out while you try to silence your sounds. you can’t even help the way his name slips from your mouth, you can’t even control it! it’s not your fault he’s been all over your mind for the past few weeks, at work, in classes, in the shower, it’s just too much for you!

and maybe you were just a bit louder than you expected, because your door is cracking open a few moments later, the afformentionef problem staring down at you ask you freeze up. he’s still deathly quiet as always, but he's practically jumping for joy in his mind. this is like a dream come true? you’ve basically been served to him on a silver platter, and he’ll make sure to not waste a single bite.

maybe a bit too literally, because your neck and chest are covered with love bites from his lips. one hand is holding one of yours above your head, the other very slowly brushing against your clit, big difference in the way he’s absolutely drilling into you. and you swear your seeing stars, moans morphing into cries as he angles up just the slightest bit, cock prodding against the walls of your cunt. it’s almost like magic, the way you feel. and he’s much less quiet now, because once his lips are on yours, he’s groaning into your mouth, teeth clashing with yours as he drags his lips downwards to sink his teeth into your skin again.

his build isn’t just for show either, because he’s flipping you over with such ease, holding your hips just where he needs them to be as he bullies his cock right back in.

kinich who now realizes how much power he holds over you, because whenever he even just as much passes by you, he can see your body tense up just the slightest bit. and he used it to his advantage! riling you up throughout the days with weird looks and soft touches, before ultimately deciding to bend you over the counter because he misses that cunt so much already </3

he’ll leave the door unlocked when he gets back, settling on the couch with speed so he can drag you onto his lap and have you ride him because it’s all he could think about in his classes.

and kinich that will beg you to let him cum in that sweet pussy just once, but between the two of you oh both know he’s lying. he’ll keep fucking his cum into you over and over, until he’s cumming inside you once again. he just can’t help it! you’re sucking him in so good like this, what did you expect him to do.

just like the way he took care of the little things, when you’re spent, on the verge of passing out on his cock, he’ll scoop you up and take you to his room, cleaning you up and wrapping you in his blankets so he can stay with you the entire night.

#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #gi smut #kinich x you #kinich smut #kinich x reader smut #kinich x reader #genshin kinich x reader #kinich x y/n #gi kinich smut #gi kinich #kinich #genshin impact kinich #genshin kinich

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 days

Text

Ace Trappola: Trouble, that Trappola

Wow, different pjs??? I wonder if each student will truly have unique sleepwear or if it’ll be like “everyone in the same dorm has similar sleepwear, just recolored and with a different motif”. I’ve been laughing about how Ace is dressed and posed, it’s very… Justin Bieber-coded. His bedhead though, it reminds me of Sylvain from FE3H.

Fun fact, I have an irl friend that has the same birthday as Ace... Therefore, I am legally obligated to celebrate it with them/j This year, we're going to an Alice in Wonderland-themed afternoon tea, which I think is very appropriate for Ace! Aaaaaah, My Alice in Wonderland-loving heart can’t take it 😭

Rise and Shine!

He was having a pleasant dream.

There was a path, and the longer he walked on that path, the more the scenery morphed into nonsense.

First was a forest full of twisting turns, colorful signs that pointed this way and that. There was mewing coming from the trees overhead, but every time he looked, he’d find no one there.

Next was a field of progressively bigger and bigger plants. The flowers had faces set in them, and they taunted Ace as he passed. He had plucked the underside of a mushroom cap and chomped down on it. A mistake—Ace had an out-of-body experience, ballooning to the size of a giant and then back to his regular size.

Then he washed away in a sea of tea, spilling from a gigantic glass bottle labelled Drink Me. He swam with the sugar cubes drifting in the fragrant rapids. He caught a current of milk and rode it past trees of chocolate. A dollop of grape jam had dropped down from a branch and landed on his nose.

When Ace, at last, fished himself out of the tea, he was left sticky, skin caked in sugar. As he made to wring his clothes of Darjeeling, he spotted an iced cookie by his feet. Eat Me, it said. There was a trail of them, confections dotting the road ahead in a neat trail. He had followed it—followed until the cookies became crumbs and he was left wandering in a white void, a blank canvas.

Wandering… wandering… where?

Just as that question cropped up like an unwanted weed in an otherwise flawless lawn, a soft sound tickled his ear.

Someone was calling his name.

Who is it…?

He picked up his pace. A casual stroll to a speed walk, then a speed walk into a jog, a job into a run, then a run into a full-on sprint.

"I'm coming! I'm coming already, darn it!!" Ace shouted into the blinding white. "I'm coming, so...!!"

Wait for me. I'll meet you there.

I'll definitely, definitely...!!

His eyes snapped open.

He was lying on his back, wrapped up in his comforter and staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Ace blinked several times, slowly adjusting to the sunlight that was spilling in through drawn curtains. A groan escaped him--it was too early for this.

“Mmm… What time is it?” He rolled over in a groggy daze, reaching for his phone. It was still connected to a charger, but it snapped right out of its socket when Ace jolted up. "WHAT?!"

The time, it couldn't be correct. But the line of text messages in his history confirmed the building dread in his stomach.

Gm, Ace! I'll be over soon. Cya then.

I'm here!

Hey, are you up? It's 10 minutes past.

Did you stay up late talking to your bro and sleep through your alarm again?

Hellooooo?

I'm gonna leave without you if you don't come out in 5 minutes.

"Crap, I'm running late!!"

Ace leapt out of bed and flew across his room. The comics and magazines littering his mattress scattered to the floor, but he didn't stop to pick them up.

He moved like lightning, hurriedly dressing and rushing into the communal washroom. While he brushed his teeth with one hand (lest he face the wrath of his vice dorm leader), he teased out his hair with the other. After splashing his face with water (who was going to clock him, Vil?), Ace scribbled on his signature heart, grabbed his backpack, and slipped into his sneakers.

He had his technique down pat thanks to years of practice.

Ace bolted down the hall, stuffing a protein bar into his mouth as he cleared the door. The day greeted him--and so did you, glancing up from your own phone.

"There you are! You kept me waiting, wise guy," you lectured him. It wasn't anything serious--not like his dorm leader's lengthy tirades--just paling around.

"Excuse you," Ace huffed, running a hand through his hair, "I'm fashionably late. There's a difference."

You laughed. Typical of him to always have a snappy comeback prepared.

"Well, c'mon then, fashionably late loser," you urged, playfully nudging his arm, "or we'll both be tardy."

"We'll be late, but at least we'll be late together," he grumbled, nudging you back. "That's fine by me. Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to be stuck in a room with ya for the afternoon."

"That's a weird way of describing detention with Crewel-sensei."

"What can I say? I'm a poet," he shrugged, letting his sarcasm drip like thick nectar. "Besides, I can't leave you hangin'."

"No?" Your eyebrows hitched. "Funny, cuz I clearly remember you ditching me for cleaning duty on the first day of classes. I almost thought you had left for class without me today too."

"Oi, that was then and this is now! Come on, do you really think I'd do that to you? Me? Really?"

"Absolutely," you said without missing a beat.

"Pfft. You're so wrong about that." He rolled his eyes. "If you were really that worried that I'd gone without you, you could've poked your head in to check on me."

You frowned. "That'd mean I'd have to go into your room."

"So? I've been over at your place and in your room before. What's the big deal? You'd just be returning the favor."

He leaned in, so close that your noses almost touched. Your heart stood still. The corners of Ace's mouth lifted into a smirk. It suited him well, loathe as you were to admit it.

"Or is it that you're being shy?" he asked in a singsong. "Prefect 🎵"

"I-I'm not!" you squeaked, stepping back to put distance between the two of you. "Quit assuming things, Ace! This is why you're so annoying."

"And who is it that's decided to hang out with my 'annoying' ass, huh?" he countered smoothly.

"Urgh...! Maybe I shouldn't have wasted my time waiting for you to get ready after all..." you muttered, turning away from him. "My morning would be way more peaceful without you."

"Way less interesting too," he quipped--getting in the last word.

You shook your head, but didn't bring yourself to argue. However meddlesome his tongue was, he had spoken the naked truth.

He's trouble, that Trappola.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Ace Trappola #twst x reader #Ace Trappola x Reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Reader #self insert #jp spoilers #something no one asked for #Ace birthday takeover #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #I wonder if Ace made that same face when he got the SOS text from Yuu in book 4 #bet he did

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idontevenknowwhatt · 2 days

Text

Surprise

Summary: Y/n has been keeping a secret from Emily and hasn’t had the opportunity to tell her wife. The secret is revealed not in the way you had hoped but sometimes the unexpected can be perfect.

Warnings: Talks about miscarriages, fertility struggles and pregnancy in general. Small allusion to smut but no actual smut.

Word Count: 1721

A/N: Hello again, it’s been a bit since I’ve posted anything but this is my first Emily Prentiss x reader. This is set when Emily is Unit Chief and won’t follow any specific episode. I hope you all enjoy it :))

—--------------------------------------------

You loved your wife. More than anything else in the world. But since becoming the BAU’s Unit Chief a couple months ago she was a lot busier. Whether it was paperwork or meetings, she had a lot on her plate.

You weren’t mad or upset, if anything you were incredibly proud. But you still missed your wife, even though you worked with her everyday.

You had both adjusted pretty quickly to her new workload and always made sure to spend with one another as much as possible. But this week had been particularly bad. She would mostly be out of the house before you even woke up or leaving as you started to get ready. Then she’d be in her office hours after the team went home.

You knew it was just going to be one of those weeks and you just had be there to support you wife if she needed anything.

You’d been feeling sick all week and at first you had put it down to something you’d ate. But as the week went on, so did the nausea and the body aches.

If it had been a normal week Emily would have noticed immediately. But with how busy she was, she really only saw you when you were in bed or in passing at work.

You hadn’t thought much else about the sickness you had been feeling until yesterday morning. Emily had just left the house when you got up. As you walked towards the kitchen the smell of coffee had set you off and caused you to sprint into the bathroom and empty the contents of your stomach.

That’s when it hit you. You had wrapped a case the week before in Idaho and hadn’t even noticed that your period was late. And not just a little, by almost 2 months. It all started to make sense.

You and Emily have been married for four years and decided that you were both ready to expand your family. You’d both picked out a sperm donor that had similar looks to Emily and had been trying for a baby for months now.

You were lucky to have a positive test come back fairly fast and Emily was ecstatic. The idea of you growing her child inside you made her so happy.

So when you had a doctors appointment to confirm everything, you were both heartbroken to find out that it was a false positive.

That night you had sobbed in Emily’s arms while she too cried and held you tightly to her chest, whispering reassuring words into your ear. You knew that it was only the first try and that it was unlikely to happen anyway. But it still hurt, you were so close.

Since then you had tried multiple times but the test kept coming back negative. It was soul destroying to both of you. You had blamed yourself and thought that there was something wrong with your body. Emily made sure to reassure you that it wasn’t but it was still hard.

So you tried not to get too excited while waiting for the pregnancy tests that sat on the counter. The happiness that flooded your body when all three came up positive was overwhelming and the tears started running.

But there’s was still something in the back of your mind that told you that it wasn’t real and it was just more false positives.

Luckily you didn’t start until 10am and had plenty of time to book a last minute blood test. The joy you felt when it confirmed what you and Emily had been hoping for was one of the greatest feelings.

Now you just had to figure out the best way to tell your wife. As it was now Friday and finally the end of the week, you thought that it was the perfect night to tell her. And frankly you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it in.

You had sneaked out and bought a cute little onesie and planned on leaving it on your bed with the positive pregnancy tests. It was a simple idea but that’s all you wanted.

You were barely able to focus on your work all day and swore the day couldn’t have gone any slower. As the team slowly started filtering out and wishing you a good weekend you started to get anxious.

Emily was still in her office doing paperwork and was so focused she didn’t even realise the team had left.

Making your way up to her office you knocked and slipped in without waiting for an answer. Emily’s head shot up ready to reprimand someone for entering her office without permission. But the moment her eyes me yours her entire face softened.

“Hey baby” she said as you made your way around her desk to stand in front of her. “Everything okay?”

“Yea, I just miss my wife” you smiled leaning down to peck her lips.

Emily smiled into the kiss and you could feel tension start to leave her body at the small contact.

“Well I miss you more” she pulled you down to straddle her lap. Her arms snake around your waist pulling you closer and her hands start to rub soothing circles on your lower back. Instinctively your arms found there way around her neck and you fingers gently played with the hair at the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been home much this week.”

“It’s okay” you cut in before she can apologise any more. “I get it, you’ve got a job to do and not every week is like this week. It will get better. Plus I know you’ll make it up to me later”

She sees the smirk on your face and her hands move to squeeze your hips.

“Oh I promise I will, you can count on it” she smirks back with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m pretty much done here if you’re ready to head home?”

“That sounds amazing” you smile tightly getting a rush of nerves at the thought of the onesie laying on your bed at home.

“Hey, you okay baby?” Emily of course notices your body language change immediately. Concern laces her face and her brows furrow. “Did something happen?”

“No of course not” your too quick to reassure her. “Well, sort of but nothing for you to worry about”

You really should have just left the last part off but you’re practically bursting wanting to tell her.

“What do you mean? Did someone say something to you?”

“Babe, no one said anything”

“Well something happened, I’m not gonna stop worrying until you tell me what it is” her hand moves to caress your cheek and you can’t help but lean into her touch. God she was your weakness. “Talk to me baby”

“Em…”

“Is this about my workload, cause I meant what I said. I’m sorry about this week, I just-”

“Emily, it’s not about this week. I told you I get it”

“Well then what is it? I can tell somethings off”

“Em it’s about us”

“The two of us?” Her face is full of confusion which quickly turns to concern for your relationship.

“The three of us” you place her hand on top of your stomach and cover it with your own. “I’m pregnant baby”

“You’re pregnant?” You swear you can feel her heart stop for a brief moment.

“I’m pregnant” you confirm tears forming in your eyes.

For a moment you’re unsure of her reaction, she just sits there stunned. It definitely wasn’t the news she was expecting.

Before you can think much more about it here lips are on yours as she gives you a loving and passionate kiss. She pulls your body impossibly closer as tears start to stream down her face.

She pulls back to look at you, her hand and yours still resting against your stomach.

“I love you so much” she kisses you again.

“I love you too”

“When did you find out? Please tell me you haven’t been holding out on me for too long because of work”

“I only found out yesterday morning, I was feeling sick all week but I didn’t think much of it” her smile never disappears as you talk. “I didn’t even realise I was late until yesterday too. So I took a bunch of tests and they all came back positive.”

“And they’re not-”

“No” you interrupt her before any more doubt can flood her mind. “I got a last minute blood test yesterday too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first but I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it was another false positive”

“Oh honey, you could have told me anyway” her face softens. “We’re in this together, remember?”

“I know, I just wanted it to be perfect when I told you” you gesture with your hand “this is not the way I planned on telling you. There’s a onesie sitting on our bed at home”

“This was perfect” she reassures you leaning in to place a kiss on your lips.

“I’m almost seven weeks” you see her smile grow. “You know I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet, my boobs are already getting bigger.”

Her eyes flick down to your breasts and her lips twitch into a smirk.

“You know considering how much you love to touch them” you giggle.

“Well they are magnificent” she defends reaching to give them a gentle squeeze making you moan lightly. “God I love you, thank you for carrying our child and making us moms”

“I’d do it twenty times if it made you happy” you smile. “Okay maybe not twenty but you know what I mean”

“I know baby” she laughs. “You wanna head home now? Show me that onesie you bought?”

“That sounds perfect” you hop off her lap and intertwine your hand with hers as she stands. “You know I’m a little sore, I could do with a bubble bath with my wife”

“I think that can be arranged” she smiles leaning in to captures your lips.

—--------------------------------------------

#fanfiction #y/n #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss #Emily prentiss x pregnant reader #pregnancy #pregnant reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #paget brewster

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pedroshotwifey · 3 days

Text

Trouble in Paradise (Part One)

Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Of all the things you thought you might be doing on your summer break, falling in love with your father's best friend in Hawaii wasn't one of them.

Tags/Warnings: Nothing crazy yet! Some kind of maybe tension, pet names, talk of Joel knowing reader since she was small, reader has a dad, mom is not mentioned, yadayada

A/N: Hello my friends! I'm terribly sorry I've been away for so long. There have been a lot of...unsavory happenings lately. Want to say sorry in advance because I know this isn't my best writing, but i'm trying to get back into the groove of things. I'm hoping I'll be back to my scheduled programming (TTF, FB, answering requests) by the time this short series is done. Expecting it to be around 3-5 parts. Thank you so much for sticking with me <3

*******

You’ve been laying in your bed blasting your “chill” playlist through your earbuds since you got home from school around five. The last exhausting day of your freshman college year. Lana Del Rey, Cigarettes After Sex, Hozier, and the like have been floating lazily through your head as you watched the sun go down.

After a long day, you’d hung your head off the foot of your bed, intent to bask in the golden glow of the evening in a baggy T and your underwear until your eyes shut for the night. You were almost asleep when you were interrupted by a sound that didn’t quite go with “Wicked Game”.

You yank your earbuds out, sitting up on your bed. You don’t remember it getting so dark. Your cracked window allows the late summer breeze in to gently rustle the curtains framing it. Crickets and cicadas chirp loudly outside, creating a symphony to compliment the stars shining through the inky sky.

“Sweetheart?”

Your head swivels to look accusingly at your closed door. The name was shouted from the stairway. Definitely your dad.

You roll your eyes but get out of bed. The clock on your nightstand tells you it’s 8:02pm, so he’s probably calling you for dinner. You’ve told him before that it’s easier just to call your cell, but when has he ever listened? You pad to your door, crack it, and shout back.

“Be down in a minute!”

Getting no response, you can only assume he heard you. You close your door back and pick up the polka-dotted pajama pants crumpled into a pile beside your bed. You tug them on through a yawn, almost tripping a few times before they’re on all the way.

You check your mirror before heading down. You look sleepy, not like it really matters. Your door creeks as you push it open again and make your way down the stairs. The soft carpet laid in the middle of the hardwood keeping your steps quiet. It’s about halfway to the kitchen that you hear a second voice to your father’s. It sounds vaguely familiar, and your heart skips a beat. Surely it’s not—

You climb down a few more steps and stop in your tracks at the sight of Joel Miller sitting at your dinner table. You haven’t seen him since at least your high school graduation. You’d harbored a small crush on him then, but that had to have been nothing compared to whatever the hell you’re feeling now. Your entire body seems to glow with some mix of embarrassment and surprise.

You really thought you’d gotten over this silly little crush. Then again, it’s hard to get over something like Joel Miller. High school boyfriends? Sure, no problem. But the classic DILF next door of a best friend your dad has isn’t so easy. He’s been a constant in your childhood, always kind and there for you even when your dad wasn’t. So, in other words, highly inappropriate for you to be so attached to.

It’s easy to say the years have been kind to him. He’s a few years older than your father, so probably about mid-forties now. He’s started to gray, a fine amount of silver peppered into his mousy brown hair. That beard of his has taken the brunt of it, though. That beard you’ve imagined between your thighs so many times.

His dark eyes seem to have become kinder thanks to the crow’s feet carefully etched into the corners. He’s wearing his signature T-shirt and worn jeans, his brown leather jacket and work boots likely disposed of near the front door.

He smirks as his brown eyes fall on your disheveled form, halted on the bottom step. You, in contrast to the god-like figure he’s sporting, must look like an absolute mess. Despite that fact, he looks at you almost in a different way than he used to. More intensely. It makes you resist the urge to squirm.

“Joel,” you finally manage to choke out. “Hi.”

Smooth, you think.

“Hey, trouble,” he returns, light amusement lacing his tone. It makes you nervous, like he’s clocked your little secret.

He gets up from his seat, and you can tell he’s going for a hug. You shock yourself into action and take the few steps to reach him. He envelops you in his strong arms just like he used to, and you take the opportunity to breathe in his scent. Smokey pine, whiskey, and a hint of mint—just like you remember.

You’re smiling like an idiot despite yourself as you pull away. Luckily, your dad makes an appearance before you say something embarrassing.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he teases. “You remember my buddy Joel, dontch’a?”

Joel scoffs before you can answer. “‘Course she remembers me, Scott, known her since she was damn near in diapers.”

Your dad rolls his eyes. “Well, just to ask,” he argues.

You shake your head. Same banter between those two for as long as you can remember. They’ve been friends since your dad’s freshman highschool year, and Joel’s senior. Everyone who knows Joel and Scott considers them to be brothers as much as Joel and Tommy.

Cheeks heated, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up while they’re distracted. You shut the door and comb through your hair with your fingers, straighten your tank top, and wipe away the smudged mascara you didn’t care to wash off earlier.

When you look half-decent, you wash your hands and walk back to the dining room, choosing to ignore the fact that you just tidied yourself for your dad’s best friend. Totally normal thing to do, right?

Joel is sitting back in the same spot as you found him the first time, your dad in the seat opposite of him. There are three bowls of spaghetti served, one in front of each man, and one beside Joel. You’re not going to complain about that.

You slide into the seat next to him, flashing him a quick smile when he turns his head to acknowledge you. You swear his gaze lingers for a second, but it’s probably just wishful thinking.

You look away and dig into your food, zoning out as Joel and your dad talk about work. Joel’s presence beside you fuels your daydreaming, his deep, drawling voice keeping it running. You wish so badly to lean into him, feel the comfort of his embrace. Maybe more. You wish, not for the first time, that he would look at you the way you looked at him. You wish he would—

You jolt when you hear your name in conversation, your spaghetti-filled fork halfway to your mouth.

“No, I don’t think she’d mind at all, would’ya, honey?”

Your dad looks expectantly at you. Your eyes dart between him and Joel.

“Uh, sorry, what?” You ask, your cheeks heating for the second time tonight.

“Helping Joel out. I know it’s been some years, but it’s just basic stuff. Plus, it’ll be in—”

“Really, Scott, you don’t have to volunteer her if she don’t want to—”

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I don’t mind at all.”

In all honesty, you didn’t think your answer through. You have no idea what you just signed up for. Though, if it’s with Joel, it can’t be too bad.

“No, really, sweetheart,” Joel interjects. “I wouldn’t wanna have a pretty ‘lil’ thing workin’ away on her summer vacation.”

You turn to look at him, flashing him your sweetest eyes. He called you pretty—you feel like you might explode. “I really don’t mind.”

He waits for a moment before he clears his throat and turns back to your dad. “Alright then,” he says before taking a sip of his drink. “We leave for Hawaii next Tuesday.”

You just about choke on your dinner. Your dad laughs.

“Told you, Joel, she doesn’t listen to a damn thing we say.”

*****

Hawaii? For two weeks? With Joel? What do you even pack?

You stare at your suitcase, waiting for your closet to help you out and throw something in there. Should you bring sundresses or work clothes? Both, right? Probably both. Maybe more work clothes. You said you’d be helping, after all. But with what?

God, you should have just paid attention to that damn conversation.

It’s late Monday night, and you haven’t been able to pick up on enough over-the-phone conversation to get the gist of it. You need to stop being such a wuss and just ask. But that would mean calling Joel. Do you really want to call Joel?

Well, yes, of course you do. But do you really want to sound awkward around Joel? No, no you don’t. And you know that’s exactly what would be happening over the phone with a man you’ve never talked over the phone with.

You groan, flopping yourself onto your bed to stare at your ceiling and overthink. You don’t want to overpack, because you don’t want Joel to see that you overpacked. But you also don’t want to underpack, because you don’t want Joel to see that you underpacked, either. This really shouldn’t be that hard. You’re about to get back up, say screw it, and throw a mixture in there, when you hear a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you call, unmoving.

“Hey, honey,” your dad says as he creeps in. “Just got off the phone with Joel.”

You sit up at this. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, he figured you might want some advice on what to pack.”

Oh thank God.

“Said he’s gonna be puttin’ you to work, but to bring some pretty clothes if you want. There’s a pool at the place you’ll be workin’ at, and a beach nearby.”

You nod along, thanking all that is holy that Joel had the idea to give you some input.

Your dad eyes your empty suitcase and raises a brow in your direction.

“He’ll be here around 4:00am, so be ready by then.” He looks back at you. “I love you, sweetheart, I’ll see you when you get back.”

He gives you a hug and closes your door.

You take Joel’s advice and pack mostly for work—with a few pretty things just in case.

*****

As expected, Joel’s truck is in your driveway at 4:00am on the dot. You’re in the passenger seat and headed for the airport by 4:03.

The ride is less tense than you thought it would be, mostly because the two of you are so tired. You’re practically in a coma against the window, the dull classic country music playing quietly from the old truck’s speakers lulling you to sleep. Joel is in about the same mindset, the lazy drumming of his fingers against the wheel the only thing convincing you he’s still awake.

Buildings pass in a dark blur, everything mushed together into one big half-dream. Joel’s scent fills the cab, sealing the state you’re in. You glance at the clock: 4:48. You blink, and it’s 5:20, the truck is stopped at the airport, and Joel is gently nudging you awake. You squint at him, the cab light rudely intruding, and you can just barely make out the faint smile on his lips. You have a strong urge to lean forward and kiss him, but thankfully you’re conscious enough to not make a complete fool of yourself right now.

“C’mon, darlin’, we got a plane to catch.”

You nod, trying to get your bearings. Joel slides out of his side of the truck, and you follow out of yours, getting a good stretch in before leaning back into the cab and retrieving your suitcase from the narrow backseat. When you make your way around the truck to Joel, he gently grabs it from your hand.

You look at him, mouth open and ready to argue, but he gives you a look that makes you shut it just as quick. Your stomach flutters at the gesture, and you kind of want to slap him for it. Or maybe yourself. Either way, you keep close to him until you’re entering through the sliding doors out front.

It only takes about an hour to get through TSA and in line to board the plane, but you’re wide awake by then. And hungry.

“Hey Joel,” you whisper. He hums at you but doesn’t look down.

“I’m hungry.”

Now he looks at you. “I don’t think we got time to grab anything now, darlin’, but we should have a layover at LAX in about three hours. Think you can hold tight ‘till then?”

You nod, trying not to overthink the conversation. It was literally a few words exchanged between the two of you, but it might be the first time you’ve conversed alone outside of your dad’s house. It felt domestic to you in a way that makes you feel like an idiot. It was one conversation.

Of course, you have to ruin the moment by humming “Party in the USA”. I mean, it’s Joel’s fault. He was the one to mention LAX.

He laughs and nudges you. “Quit that,” he commands, though you can tell he thinks it’s funny. You giggle but indulge him.

“Fine,” you draw out. “Somebody hates fun.”

He scoffs another laugh, but says nothing.

Finally, the two of you are next to board. You stop around the middle of the plane, and Joel hoists your bags into the compartment above your seats. Then, he moves aside to let you in first.

“By the window, darlin’,” he says.

You smile with excitement and settle in, Joel sitting next to you a second later.

“Your dad said somethin’ about it bein’ your first time flyin’, so I figured you might want a window seat,” he explains.

Your heart warms at this. Why does he have to be so thoughtful?

“Thank you, Joel,” you say genuinely, flashing him a smile. It may be the lighting, but you swear you see his cheeks pink up just a little before he nods and faces forward.

The flight goes by relatively quickly. Joel does some sort of paperwork on the little desk in front of him, and you pop your earbuds in and listen to a downloaded playlist while you read. The light romance you chose was cute, but it failed to distract you completely from the hunk of man beside you.

You’re not sure how many times you caught yourself staring at the flex of his wrist as he wrote whatever down. It was maybe once or twice that your eyes found their way up to his bicep, possibly a few times that they landed on his lower lip, his teeth bitten into it in concentration. You definitely got heated more times than you would’ve liked. And as your book started heating as well, you had to put it down. You really hope it’s not just you that feels this new tension.

For the last twenty minutes or so, you’ve been looking out the window, content to listen to your music and watch the land go by. For the last five, you’ve felt Joel’s eyes on you. You refuse to look back at him, though, just in case it’s your imagination.

But you swear you can feel the weight of his stare. You fidget, trying to ignore the feeling as you stare out the window and at the clouds. Then you hear a sharp sound from the speakers

through your earbuds.

You take them off and look back at Joel as the pilot informs you that you should be landing in about ten minutes.

He was staring at you, and he didn’t look away. You don’t look away now, either. You don’t say anything.

“Thank you for comin’ with me, darlin’.”

You’re taken aback. Of course you would go with him.

“It’s no problem, Joel,” you say. He gives you a short smile. “I mean, really,” you joke. “You’re the one taking me on a free vacation.”

He smiles fully this time and rolls his eyes. He tends to do that a lot with you. It makes you smile too.

The speaker dings again:

“Should be some light turbulence, but we’ll be on the ground soon, folks.”

Joel looks away after the announcement, gathering his work to put back into his bag. You shake yourself off and choose not to acknowledge whatever the hell that was.

******

You knew LAX would be busy, but. Holy shit. This place is insane.

You keep close to Joel as he navigates the two of you through the crowds and to your next gate. He keeps slightly in front of you, and you keep getting the urge to grab his hand to keep up, but you don’t. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this many people in one place—and you thought the Austin airport had been overwhelming.

There are a million shops and restaurants and gates as you make your way down the massive hallways, up and down the escalators, and through trains. It takes an hour and fifteen before you can even see the sign for your gate. Your legs hurt from walking, and your head hurts from all the noise.

You keep an eye on some of the closer restaurants you pass so that you can backtrack to them and grab a bagel or something before you have to get on your plane. You catch a glimpse of a Burger King when you’re suddenly slammed into.

You gasp as you’re sent flying onto your ass by a man who couldn’t be bothered to glance your way to see if you’re alright. Joel whips around and sets the bags down, quickly helping you up.

“Shit, are you alright, darlin’?” he asks, a deep concern in his eyes. Your cheeks are burning with embarrassment even though it wasn’t your fault.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Joel looks you up and down to make sure as you stand on your own two feet. He turns around, trying to scope out the man who bumped into you, and turns back when he finds that he’s long gone.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he finally says. “People don’t give a rat’s ass here.”

You nod, smiling at his choice of words. “I’m alright, Joel.”

He sighs and picks his bag back up, slinging the large weight over his shoulder, and then picks your suitcase up in one hand. WIth the other, he grabs onto yours. His hand is rough but warm and comforting.

“Just stay close ‘till we get to the gate.”

Practically glowing, you hold onto him and let him lead the way. It only takes a few more minutes before he’s telling you to sit down at the waiting area.

“I’m gonna grab you somethin’ to eat, ‘nd I’ll be right back.”

You decide to read while he’s on his errand, picking your book back up to a particularly smutty part. You’re not going to pretend like you aren’t picturing the characters as you and Joel as he eats her out on a countertop. You bite your lip, consuming each word with fervor.

You’re just finishing the chapter when Joel strolls up with two breakfast sandwiches, a coffee, and an orange juice. He hands you a sandwich and the latter drink, and takes the seat next to you with a groan.

“Probably have at least thirty minutes,” he grumbles.

You nod as you thank him and unwrap your sandwich. It’s silent for a few minutes, before you can’t bear it and break the peace.

“What all are we going to be doing?”

Joel looks at you, almost flustered. He must have misheard you. “Huh?”

“Like when we get there, what are we going to be working on?”

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee. “Mostly flooring ‘nd some drywall, but there should be somethin’ to do in the kitchen if I’m hearin’ right.”

You nod and take a bite of your sandwich. Joel continues.

“Should have a few days to relax, though, if we get everythin’ done in time.”

Your stomach flips at the thought. A few days to relax with Joel.

“Sounds easy enough,” you say.

Joel nods again. “Atta girl.”

“Flight 332 is ready to begin boarding.”

You and Joel take the last bites of your sandwich in silence and stand up to get in line once again. This flight is going to be longer, about six hours.

Joel throws your trash away and comes back to grab your bags. Same as last time, you have a seat by the window. Not like it matters much in the long run, because just after Joel takes his seat and the plane takes off, your head falls onto his shoulder, and you promptly fall asleep.

******

Thank you for reading!! Part two should be coming soon.

Itty bitty mini taglist: @callachloe @kewwrites @casa-boiardi @pastawench (love you guys)

Pls let me know if you would like to be tagged in pt. 2!

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel the last of us #the last of us hbo #fluff #x reader #dbf joel miller #dbf pedro pascal #dbf!joel

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kyseya · 3 days

Note

what if the reader tries to call an Uber/family member to pick them up from the farm eventually but they wait till night time bc they can feel something is “slightly”(yeah right) off with the brothers

Since I imagine them being practically in the middle of nowhere, it would be hard to get a strong signal in the first place. Even though they can watch TV in the living room it’s harder to get a good connection on the phone.

(I don’t actually know anything abt phones or signals but this is my fic so it’s ruled by kyseya-logic)

But let’s say reader did get a call to go through to a friend or a family member. This would go differently depending on when she’s try to escape. If she’s try to do it early on/the first night then this would likely go down:

She’d make the call at night and whisper into the microphone as quietly as she could while trying to make herself heard. After retelling all the events to the other person on the line, they’d tell reader that they’ll be there as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it would be a long time until they’d be there since the farm was so far out. It meant she would have to find a way to stay out of trouble and survive. Not wanting to stay there, she gets dressed and packs her things into her bag again. Every move she makes is made with outmost caution. She wouldn’t want to wake them up, not when the consequences could be fatal.

After making sure she’s ready to go, she thinks it can’t hurt to wait a little longer to go. The rescuer wouldn’t be even close until hours later. It was late enough that the brothers should be asleep, but not early enough that they’d soon wake up.

Carefully making her way downstairs, she tiptoes over the floorboards. Thankfully none of them creaks as she walks on them. Finally, yes, the doors is so close! She will make it, she’ll be free! As the door comes closer, her excitement grows. Maybe she was worried about nothing. Getting out turned out to be a life of cake. These guys were probably not even that dangerous to begin with. Did she overreact? Perhaps. Was she gone stay there? No, definitely not. Even if reader doesn’t have proof, she trusts her gut and decides to leave.

Reaching for the handle, she turns it. What? Nothing happens. She tries opening it again. The door doesn’t move and inch no matter how much she pulls it. It’s locked. The horrifying reality sets in and has her panicking. What should she do? She can see a keyhole under the knob, so there is no way to unlock it form the inside without the actual key.

“Why are you running away?” A voice speaks from the darkness behind her.

Out form the shadows steps Lucas.

“Were we not good hosts? It that it?” His questions have an easy tone and seem simple, but if you looked into his eyes, you would be able to see amusement. Not the type you feel when riding a rollercoaster or watching yoru favourite movie: the sadistic kind. “It’s kinda rude to just take off in the middle off the night without saying anything. Please don’t be rude, it’s not pleasant for anyone.”

In his hand is a meat cleaver.

————

So yeah, if it was early in when reader came to the farm, they would most likely kill her. Even though both of them felt some kind of liking towards reader, they still wouldn’t know her enough to want to spare her. They can’t connect to her yet, you know.

If she tried to escape when she’d been staying at the farm for a while, then it would be different. I’m currently writing a fic on what would happen if the reader found out what’s inside their special barn, so that will add to this story. If she tried to escape by calling a friend/family member pretty much the same thing would happen as in the fic that will come out soon, so I won’t write anything more here.

That is all thank you.

#yandere imagines #kyseya oc #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #kyseya’s dungeon #yandere #possesive #weston callaghan oc #yandere farmer brothers #yandere farmer brother #yandere farmers #farmer yandere #country yandere #yandere country boy #lucas callaghan #the Callaghan brothers #kyseya answers

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kiame-sama · 19 hours

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Dragon headvanon guy here again because a few more dropped into my head (also sorry for the typos, I'm not used to my phones big keyboard yet xD also 100% relate to you on the plushies, I have a big collection on my.own and love them with all my heart)

1. Most if not all Creatures love to be pet, it's common to see children & sometimes young teens being pet by their parents, older siblings or close friends. The older they fet the less likely they get petted tho, older Fae's and long lived Creatures tho remember that Humans would pet anyone who allowed it with great joy.

2. We know that Humans are seen as Peackeepers (or Beast Tamers) but I like to headcanon that they are also a symbol of Loyalty in many Kingdoms. Some older Creatures, like Lilia even remember Humans going through great dangers or sacrificing themself for their Pack.

An old Rumor has it that one of the Great Seven was actually once pack bounded with a human who sacrificed themself for them. (It would be an intresting idea if it was Scar and after he died many mistook the Human Sacrificing themself for him as him killing them & eating them. But you guys can go wild with this one)

3. Angry humans were a raresight to see and most only learned how dangerous humans could be once a Creature attacked a child and had to be send to a hospital after the Parent of said child got their revenge. It's also at that point that many learned how dangerous a human bite can be thanks to the bacteria in their mouth (that information sadly got lost to time though)

4. This is the last one for now, promise xD A lot of Kingdoms who were safe for humans, would have human daycares where they would watch over the Creatures kids. It was something unheard of since a lot of Creatures dont trust their young and rather weak children around others they dont know (and sometimes even close friends & family couldn't get close to the child without nearly being mauled.)

But it was a bit sucess and since it was free, low income familys would adly send their kids there to get food and have a chance at making friends. Some daycares even allowed sleepovers for Creatures who worked during the night, kids who were night active or those who weren't picked up because their parents worked late.

Sadly after humans went extinct these establishments were shutdown.

Ok one last one, this one is for the Fleur City; It's belived that humans created the Bell as a gift to the Rightous Judge who them upon getting this gift enchanted the Bell to ring in a specific tune when a human entred Fleur City.

Legends say that once the last human in Fleur City died and they went extinct as last that the Bell rung in such a sorrowfull way with the Rightous Judges cries that the spirit of the last Human in Fleur Ciry granted him a last gift. The Firelotus, so that any Magical Creature who dares to harm an Innocent Creature will be punished by humanitys judgment.

(No worries about the typos, I'm pretty bad about it too)

I'm down for all of these actually. Absolutely love how some canon things can so easily fall into place with just a little adjustment and work so wonderfully in an AU all its own.

I can see almost all of them wanting to be pet and of course hoping the soft human will pet them. Rook's already been pet by those little Human hands and he is already hooked. I could absolutely see Jack and Ruggie going nuts for petting. Lilia's already made it clear that group grooming is common so petting would likely be too. Maybe that's the Human's way of returning the grooming behavior to make Lilia sleep? Lilia has already petted Grim.

The last Human Lilia met was the surrogate mother of a young fox fae child and he will be forever haunted by how injured she was and still standing, unsure how long she must have fought to keep her young safe. Lilia had arrived near the end of the poor Human's desperate battle, stepping in himself but it was quite too late for the Human mother. He took in the child and raised them himself in Briar Valley, Silver is not the only child the old fae has taken under his wing. Lilia knows the sheer drive humans have to protect those they truly love because he saw it firsthand and he knows better than to mess with little Grim regardless of how much fun it would be. No need to upset the Human.

Humans were quite good at taking care of others young and many had a natural proclivity to protect infants regardless of what species it was. Humans aren't really all too threatening, so many mothers of the more protective species didn't feel that threat to themselves or their young like they did with other species or even their own family. Many are quite manageable as children and almost harmless, meaning the soft Humans could take care of them with no problem.

To make a world of magical creatures tremble in fear is a mighty feat and one only the fire lotus could achieve. After all, so many looked down on humans for their lack of magic, why not suffer the same fate for those who brought Humanity to heel?

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #twst monster au #Humans Are Extinct TWST AU

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sweetyyhippyy · 1 day

Text

After Party. Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader. *Fluff*

Summary: Eddie's fiancé has the best time at her bachelorette party. So much fun that Eddie has to take care of her when she gets home.

Word Count: 1.6k

TW: Very drunk reader. Mentions of alcohol. Reader being kind of an airhead (she's drunk its not her fault). Reader also being hungover.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie had long nodded off on the couch, the reruns on the tv had run their course and now the late night infomercials played. He felt himself falling asleep while he waited for his fiancé to make her way back home from her bachelorette party, bargaining with himself he would only close his eyes for 5 minutes.

The rapid ding of the doorbell jolted him awake, his brown eyes scanning the room in confusion at first until the annoyance of the constant ringing brought him back. He lifted himself onto his feet, shuffling to the door and opening it up.

His fiancé was wrapped around her best friend Gianna, a squiggly smile on her face.

“She’s fucked up.” Gianna says, handing Eddie his bride-to-be's discarded boots and her clutch purse. “I would have called to have you come pick her up, but she threatened to push me into a bush if I called you.”

Eddie sighed, tossing her belongings onto the floor next to him and stepping out to grab hold of his fiancé.

“Hello, handsome.” She slurs the second Eddie takes her by her hand. “I’m a married woman!” She snatches her hand out of his, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

Eddie wanted to be amused, but he also knew she was going to fight him every step of the way until her eyes closed for the night.

“I tried to get some food in her, but she wanted nothing to do with it. I brought it just in case you have better luck.”

“I want him to give me chicken nuggets.” She grumbles at her friend, giving her a glaring look.

“If you come inside, I’ll give you some chicken nuggets. But you have to let me help you.”

“But Eddie will get mad if you touch me.” She pouts her bottom lip out dramatically, batting her eyes at him adorably.

“I’ll talk to him and tell him I was just trying to help you and feed you.” He offers his hand again slowly, her hand reaching out for her while she untangles herself from Gianna.

“She had like 5 tequila shots. That’s what this is.” Gianna laughs. “Your turn now.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He replies, giving her an unamused face.

“You put a ring on it, you’re responsible. I’ll call her in the morning to check up on her.”

“You need me to call you a cab?” Eddie asks, not wanting to let her go without a safe ride home.

“Gareth picked us up. He’s parked out front. Thanks though. Good luck.”

Eddie leads her inside, carefully guiding her through the house

until they reach their bedroom. “Here, let’s sit right here so I can help you get undressed.”

She giggles loudly, bouncing on the edge of the bed. “You’re going to see me naked? And on the first date?”

Eddie can’t help but smirk at her, kneeling down on one knee, grabbing her by her ankle to take her sock off.

“My husband has that necklace. You kinda look like him, but he’s hotter.” She wiggles her eyebrows, laughing to herself.

Eddie secretly loved she already referred to him as her husband.

“Where is he? He’s not here taking care of you while you’re drunk.” Eddie teases back to her.

She stares at him for a while, quiet for the first time since she’s been home.

Eddie was ready to jump up and grab the trash can in case she was unable to hold her liquor anymore. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“You look a lot like my husband.” She pokes his cheek with her finger. “But he’s hotter.” She repeats herself, smiling from ear to ear.

As much as he loved her, she turned real dingy when she was drunk but it always made for an entertaining night.

Eddie goes back to taking her socks off for her, rubbing her ankle when she complained her ankles were sore from her boots.

“I miss my husband.” She sighs, laying back on the mattress dramatically.

“What’s your husband like?” Eddie teases, wanting to see what she would say.

She sits up onto her elbows, smiling like an idiot. “Well like I said earlier, he kinda looks like you, but he’s so much hotter. He has really pretty brown eyes, and he has this really cute mole on his lower tummy. And he’s kinda nerdy but I like it, nerds are so cute. And he’s really sweet, he loves me even though I’m really annoying and even though I drool in my sleep.”

Eddie stifles a laugh, he sure did love her despite her drooling in her sleep. “Sounds like a hell of a guy if you ask me.”

She hums happily. “He got me this.” She shows off the engagement ring on her hand, smiling at it.

He wasn’t going to lie, he wasn’t entirely happy with the engagement ring he had bought her. He always wanted to get her a flashy diamond like her friend Janett Marks had when she got engaged. But all he could afford was a puny diamond that was barely .5 caret. He thought she deserved something so much bigger.

“Eddie worked so hard to get this for me. Worked a lot of hours and saved a lot of money.” A warm smile spreads across her face the longer she looks at the ring. “I really lucked out with him, I have such a good man.”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile at her, wanting nothing more than to kiss her but she didn’t even know who he was and he didn’t want to confuse her. “Yeah, it sounds like you have a good one there. Why don’t I get you some pajamas and get you to bed?”

She whines, throwing herself back into the bed. “I’m hungry! Eddie always feeds me!”

“What do you want to eat, sweetheart?”

“First,” She hops back up, wagging her finger around in the air. “Nobody calls me sweetheart other than Eddie.”

“Okay, noted. I’m sorry.”

“Second, I want taquitos with cheese.”

Eddie bites back a smile, nodding his head. “Alright, I can do that. But you gotta change.” He walks over to her dresser, getting out a pair of sweatpants and a band tshirt for her.

“You’re trying to get me naked!” She laughs obnoxiously. “You naughty boy! You can’t see me naked! You have to go!”

“Yup, yup. I’m going.” Eddie puts his hands up in the air to surrender, closing the door behind him. “Jesus Christ.” He sighs, never seeing her that drunk before. He knew the next morning was going to be rough for her.

By the time the taquitos were done in the microwave, she still hadn't come out of their bedroom and he was a little worried that she might have gotten sick or hurt herself by accident.

He walks back to the room, slowly opening the door to peek his head in.

She’s in the middle of the bed and on top of the sheets, pajamas surprisingly on her body correctly, small snores coming from her.

Eddie goes into their closet and grabs an extra blanket, laying it on top of her, along with the trash can next to her side of the bed, just in case. “Love you, sweetheart.”

***

Eddie jumps back from the pan as the grease from the bacon pops at him. “Fucker.” He curses, turning the heat down.

“Eds?” He hears a mumble from behind him.

He turns around to see his fiancé dragging her feet into the kitchen, eyes half open, black smudges under her eyes from the makeup Eddie tried to wipe off her face while she was asleep, and hair going in every single direction.

“Oh good afternoon sleepy head. So nice of you to get up this fine Saturday morning. How’d you sleep?” Eddie puts on his best chipper tone, teasing her in her hungover state.

“I feel like a giant bus hit me and ran me over.” She whines, sitting in the chair a few feet from him. “Did you have to come get me?”

“No Gareth and Gianna brought you home, but not without a fight from you.” He smirks, putting a large glass of ice water and Tylenol in front of her.

She grimaced at him, only imagining what she did or said to him last night. “Oh god I’m sorry. Did I say anything incriminating?”

Eddie chuckles to himself as he flips the bacon onto the other side. “Just that your husband is hotter than me.” He turns back to look at her reaction, a shit eating grin on his face.

She groans to herself, struggling to open the medicine bottle before whining and looking to Eddie for help.

Eddie walks over, taking the bottle from her and opening it, shaking two white pills out and handing them to her. “Would you like a tequila sunrise to wash that down?” He teases.

Her body visibly retches at the word tequila. “God no, eww.”

“Come on babe!” Eddie chuckles loudly. “They say the cure to a killer hangover is to keep drinking.”

She glares at him, holding up her middle finger to him. “You’re an ass.” She pops the pills into her mouth and takes a few sips of water before putting the cup down. “I’m sorry if I was embarrassing or was too much last night. I know sloppy drunks aren’t fun.”

He smiles as he kisses her temple. “You had fun at your bachelorette party and I’m glad. I’ll gladly take care of you when you’re fucked up any day. It’s all part of the deal, right?” Eddie takes her left hand and touches her engagement ring.

She smiles at him and softly nods her head. “All part of the deal.”

“Besides, next weekend is my bachelor party. And who knows what kind of shit the guys and I are going to get into.” Eddie smirks before walking away to finish cooking breakfast.

She knew she was going to be in way over her head with drunk Eddie next weekend. She would no doubt have to rope Wayne into helping her.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson fan fic #Eddie Munson fluff fic #Eddie Munson fluff fan fic #Eddie Munson Stranger Things #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x fem reader #Eddie Munson x fem! reader #Eddie Munson x fem reader fluff #Eddie Munson x fem! reader fluff

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 9 hours

Text

deep breath in, deep breath out.

your eyelashes flutter, your eyes move around under your eyelids.

your chest expands, then drops again.

and repeat.

tomura wonders when the last time he’s been this close to somehow before was.

he also wonders how long you’ll let him do this.

tomura shigaraki has, what you call, the nasty habit of being a night owl. it usually wouldn’t be that much of an issue if all he did wasn’t just playing some pc game until ungodly hours of the morning. tomura was awake when you went to sleep and was awake when you woke up too.

he’s unfortunately so very stubborn, so he always insists that he’s not tired at all and that he could at the very least just get a nap in later.

but he was also very picky and sensitive, he didn’t like napping on the couch because he couldn’t find the right way to position his neck, or the light of the outside world would prevent sleep from consuming him, and he moves around a lot so he can never get comfortable and then he gets moody and bitchy and annoying and everyone is just trying to piss him off today. you’ve seen him almost lose his mind because on one of those days he’d gotten his shirt stuck on the door handle. and you don’t want to see that again.

the reason he’d be up so late was because of his insane competitiveness, it only took one nasty comment picked up through his headphones to send him spiraling, just having to prove to the world and the people behind his computer screen he was better than them.

you’d been able to find a sort of compromise lately. because sometimes he woke you up raging and you did not want the both of you to end up moody and bitchy in the morning. so you somehow convinced him to get into less violent games, sandboxes and such. right now it seemed he was really into puzzle games.

and it started working out well for you. it was a good plan, tomura could give you that. the soundtracks in the games he played usually managed to calm him some, and actually start to make his eyes droop and the urge to sleep started to seep in.

but sleep never came.

he managed to finish some games at an okay-ish hour. some he’d just leave for tomorrow if he got bored, and he go try to lay down with you and close his eyes. but he just couldn’t sleep.

thought it shouldn’t be all that surprising, now that he thinks back on it. he’d probably completely fucked up what was even remotely left of a sleep schedule. completely fucked it over in the ass and chucked it off a cliff.

now he’s irritated, tired and so bored.

until he realized something.

you drool in your sleep.

it’s something he wouldn’t have realized if he were at his pc, nor if he’d fallen asleep earlier. he thinks about that for a minute, then focuses back on you. he reaches forward and wipes at the small trail with a single finger, careful not to wake you.

you’d probably call him gross for it, but he doesn’t care. you should thank him for saving you the embarrassment of waking up with a pool of drool on your pillow.

and so, tomura developed another nasty little habit.

whenever he was unable to sleep, which was 98% of the time, he’d just watch you do it. as cheesy as it sounded he always gets this weird feeling whenever he does, like he’d slept too. it felt like he was sleeping with you in a weird, weird way.

and he could admit you were interesting to watch. you weren’t doing anything interesting , but he thinks a sick, twisted part of him enjoyed seeing you so vulnerable, so unaware of the eyes on you, so clueless once you wake up and you have no idea that you make noises and chew while you sleep.

another part of him wonders what is is you dream about. it watches and analyze how your breaths pick up and relax again, how you shuffle or snuggle more into your blanket and pillows.

it wonders if you ever dream about him, but that he’ll never admit, because that was pathetic.

another part of him thinks you just look cute while you sleep. the way he can catch your eyebrow twitch occasionally if he pays extra close attention, and one time he even heard what sounded like a mumble of his name on your lips. and it felt rewarding. would you do it again if he kept doing this ?

he wonders what you’ll do if you woke up to see him doing this. would you be scared ? embarrassed ? angry ? disgusted ? would you hate him ? you’d have to see how much of a creep he was then, wouldn’t you ?

or maybe you’d laugh, maybe you’d jokingly call him a freak for watching you sleep, maybe you’d somehow make him feel embarrassed about it in that weird way you do.

he likes not to think about that much though. not because it was completely unrealistic, but because it wasn’t completely off the table either, and that just made him feel sick. guilty.

for now, he’ll just keep watching you. if you complain about him being moody then you’ll just have to deal with this. you’ll snuggle into him when you find him in bed with you, conveniently already awake because he was such an early riser. you’d kiss his cheek first thing in the morning and smile lazily at him “how’d you sleep ?” you’ll ask.

“good.” he’ll reply.

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kusanagihaku · 1 day

Text

the promises carved into our tears

⭢ haku x mc, 3.6k

I will look for you in my next life, and the next, and the next. Now that I have tasted how sweet a happy ending with you can be, I will turn my back on fate over and over again, if only to meet you one last time.

or: a red string soulmate au where hotarubi works for yuelao, 如果可以-style. on ao3 here.

“Nightmares again?”

Haku sinks into a chair, blinking blearily at Subaru as flames clear slowly from the edge of his vision. “Mm.”

Subaru smiles sympathetically. He sets a warm teacup down on the table in front of Haku, and motions for him to take a sip. “Gyokuro blend, from Nakamura Tokichi. Zenji’s just stepped out to get this week’s list of clients from Yuelao.”

Haku murmurs a thanks as he cradles the teacup in his hands. It is nearly too hot to hold, but the weight in his hands is grounding, and it doesn’t take more than a few sips before the fog behind his eyes clear.

Good. He has a full day of work ahead of him.

It started after The Incident back at Darkwick – after the smoke had cleared, all major and minor deities had descended on the island, eager to recruit a freshly dead ghoul into their ranks.

Once most of them had gotten over the shock of also needing to work in the afterlife (Daikokuten had laughed, saying, “How else do you think the gods keep this world running, if not for the behind the scenes work of us supernatural beings?” before promptly offering Taiga a job) and the shock of there being another ghoul in their midst (Zenji’s non-apology was rather sheepish, and mostly directed at Jiro), Towa was the first to be recruited, enticed by Yuelao’s stories of soulmates tied together with red string and destined lovers with fates written in the stars. Haru had followed, of course – only for a while, until Towa gets settled, he said. I’ll worry about him.

Naturally Zenji got pulled along too, claiming the red strings he’d tie would be brilliant source material for his next manuscript. After all, love sells, doesn’t it?

Subaru didn’t have the heart to remind him there would be nobody around to publish his manuscript, now that none of them were corporeal, but had followed him anyway, despite an offer from Ame-no-Uzume to work as a kabuki talent scout. There was something repelling about going back to his old life, he said, and left it at that.

Of course, they pulled the shell of their vice-captain along too. It was the least they could do, with what was left of Haku.

Not that Haku minded – working for Yuelao isn’t particularly taxing. He sends them a list of soulmates meant to meet that week, each pair of serial numbers complete with the time and location; all they have to do is map out their routes each day, show up at the correct place and time with the red soulmate strings, then let the latent magic floating in the fabric of the universe do its work.

It’s mostly paperwork anyway, with the biggest part of their job being signing off on each pair after the soulmate strings tie themselves. He can’t complain; it’s been easy work for the past twenty odd years, the days slipping by like water between his fingers. Not a bad way to spend eternity.

And it’s fulfilling too – like what Zenji says, there’s something special in seeing bonds form between two people that are two sides of the same coin. It reminds him of–

Haku sets his empty cup down. Shakes his head to clear it.

Subaru looks up from the book he is reading, but does not say anything. He picks up the teapot, instead, and refills Haku’s cup.

Haku nods in thanks.

The comfortable silence stretches out again, drifting like dust motes in the late morning light. It is only interrupted when Zenji arrives back home, banging his way through the entrance of their shared home with a triumphant, “Guess who I met on the way home!”

Haku cracks a smile. There is always something infectious about Zenji’s enthusiasm, no matter how tired he is. “Who?”

“Towa!” Zenji exclaims. He sets his messenger bag on the table. “Still as floaty as ever. He rejected my offer to let him listen to my latest plot idea, though. It seemed like he had somewhere to be.”

Subaru laughs. “He must have been heading to a binding. He’s still on morning shift, after all.”

Zenji hums as he unzips his messenger bag and pulls out their soulmate lists for the week. “I told him he and Haru were welcome over for dinner any time. Don’t think he heard me, though.”

Subaru nudges a freshly-poured cup of tea away from Zenji’s stack of paper. “I’ll text Haru. It’s been a while since we last saw him.”

And it has been – the last time Haku remembers seeing the red-haired ghoul was sometime two or three months ago in April. All five of them were slated to work a freshman orientation at a university, easily one of the busiest times of the year for the entire Yuelao organisation. Instead of going to his allocated location and waiting, however, Towa had just tossed all the red strings he had in his box up in the air, waved a hand, and trusted that all the strings would go where they were meant to go.

Haru had cried at the logistical nightmare, then promptly banned Towa from holding the box containing their soulmate strings ever again. Haku wonders idly if Haru ever recovered from the stress.

Zenji shuffles the stack of paper into three smaller piles, then hands one pile each to Subaru and Haku. They descend into silence, the way they always do with a new list, quietly setting virtual push-pins on their Maps apps to plan out their individual routes for the week.

Haku is at the end of his list before he sees it. Tucked under entry number 85, his last pair for the week, is a single serial number, slid in at 5.17pm at a park in Meguro.

He blinks. That’s not supposed to happen. Don’t they usually come in a pair?

He waits until Subaru looks up from his own list before carefully highlighting the problem.

Subaru glances over the strange entry, brow furrowed. “Must have been an administrative error. Perhaps whoever was compiling the lists forgot to copy paste the second serial number in?”

Haku looks doubtfully at the lone serial number sitting at the bottom of the page. Administration has never made a mistake before. “Perhaps.”

Zenji leans over, peering over his glasses. “My last one for the week is there too,” he says. “At 5.09pm. We can go together to figure it out.”

Subaru rests his chin on his hands. “My day ends at 4.28pm. Shall we head there together? I’m curious to see what happens.”

A wave of gratefulness for their wiling companionship slides a smile onto Haku’s face. “Yeah. Yeah, why not?”

The end of the week does not come soon enough.

They meet at the corner near the Meguro River as the summer sun begins to dip lower in the sky. It is a short walk to the park they are meant to be at, and along the way Zenji regales them with how one of his bindings this morning looked like it was right out of a romance novel.

“Was it better than the one last week?” Haku teases, and Zenji laughs, bright and loud.

“The one at the cat cafe? No, nothing can beat that! I could tell right away those two were meant to be, I swear.”

The park they stop in front of is small, more like a playground than anything else. There is a small child sitting on the swings, blue push-popsicle sweating in his little fist. His feet barely touch the floor as he swings gently back and forth, looking around the neighbourhood with wide, curious eyes.

“That’ll be him, then,” Haku says. He leans over to check Zenji’s list, then flicks his wrist to check the time. “Any minute, now.”

Subaru sighs, smiling. “I love it when they find their soulmates young. It’s the best kind of friendship, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Zenji coos. He tugs open his messenger bag to retrieve his box of red strings. “It’s always adorable. Goodness, I want to pinch his little cheeks… he has no idea what’s in store for him.”

Haku snorts fondly at the two of them. Thank goodness they weren’t visible to humans – three strange men standing in a playground staring at a child? Never mind they still looked like they were in their mid-twenties, they’d be reported for kidnapping straight away.

Before he can say anything, though, a slightly older boy rounds the corner on his bicycle. It is evident he is new to cycling, shiny orange bicycle wobbling from side to side as he banks hard to the right, trying to make too sharp of a turn.

Haku barely has time to blink before the boy’s bicycle screeches too far to the right, flinging the boy onto the soft, packed earth of the playground.

There is a teary “ow,” as the boy sits up, cradling a scraped knee. His hands are bloody, too, roughness of the ground having rubbed abrasions onto the skin of his palm.

The boy on the swing slips off his seat neatly. He barely comes up to Haku’s hip. “I saw that.”

The boy on the floor whips around at the sound, scowling through his tears. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” he confirms. His tongue flashes blue as he speaks. “It’s okay, though. My brother says it’s normal to fall when you just start learning. Do you need help?”

The older boy hesitates. “Maybe.”

As he helps him up, Zenji slides his box open, and lifts a single red string out of it. He blows, gently, and they watch as the thin thread rolls off the tips of his fingers and drifts over to where the older boy has just regained his balance. It loops around their arms and knots around both their little fingers, giving off a gentle glow as both ends seal, before disappearing.

The only evidence that anything ever happened is Zenji’s beam as he scribbles a quick signature beside their serial numbers. “Lovely!”

He clicks his pen closed before tucking everything haphazardly back into his bag, and they watch as the boys pick up the bicycle and begin to walk away. Subaru turns to face Haku. “It’s going to be 5.17pm soon.”

Haku looks down at his watch. Two minutes.

He has barely retrieved his own box of strings out from his bag when a voice sounds out behind them – “Excuse me. Coming through.”

Time stops.

It is a voice he can recognise anywhere, a voice he hears in the moments between closing his eyes and falling asleep, one he hears echoing through the threads of his dreams and nightmares alike. It sinks into his skin, past the beat of his heart and the pulse of his nerves, and fills his veins with a feeling he does not quite dare to describe as hope. It sends tremors down the tips of his fingers; it calls open a rift in his memory he has never attempted to heal.

He turns around, almost mechanically, and sees you.

You swear to every deity there is that if the universe has a reason it’s making you late to your part-time job today, it better be a fucking good one.

First the trains weren’t running as frequently as they were supposed to, then there was an issue with the gantries malfunctioning at the station exit, then you dropped your bottle and had to run after it for a bit to get it back and in the process missed the green light to cross the road… and now, finally on the home stretch to your employer’s place there are three fucking idiots standing in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking your way.

You huff. Your employer better be flexing their omniscient powers to read your situation – what for work for a minor god if they make you relive every tiny inconvenience to explain why you’re fifteen minutes late to your job?

(Never mind that they’re actually incredibly nice and don’t really care when you head in for work as long as you get their paperwork done.)

“Excuse me,” you call out. “Coming through.”

All three men whip around. On their faces are various states of astonishment, frozen almost comically in their surprise.

You’re about to sigh and push forward, when you suddenly notice the colour of their eyes.

Shit.

They’re not human.

Fuck.

You send a quick prayer to your employer. Hopefully they’re listening – the last time you ran into another supernatural being he made you look for his glasses for two hours before receiving a call saying he left them at home.

You don’t generally mind helping minor deities here and there, honestly, especially not since they bless you right after for your help. Most of them are really nice. In fact, you’d even say you’re used to doing little things for them, having grown up with the Sight and being able to see supernatural beings for most of your life. But these three don’t look like they need any help, and you’re going to be late to what you know is going to be a mountain of paperwork and—

You think the tallest one might be crying.

Ah.

Before you can ask if he’s okay and if they need any help, something bright and glowing rises from the box one of them is holding.

It elongates, spinning itself slowly mid-air, one end gliding over to you like it has found its target. The other end floats up to the man with green hair. As you watch in bewilderment, it gently wraps around both your little fingers, then tightens with a flash of gold.

It sends a searing pain through your arms, a shock that slams the air out of you and turns your vision an inky black.

You are standing on a wooden porch, shade of dripping wisteria providing you a little shelter from the grey drizzle. The quiet patter of the rain is only interrupted when someone calls your name, a soft summoning that fills you with warmth. You turn your head to see the brown-haired man – Subaru whispers into your mind, like his name has been there all along – smiling at you. Tea is ready, he says. Come inside.

You are looking down from the top of a long staircase, closely packed torii gates lining the path down. The stone steps beneath your feet are faded with age, but the red of the dates are vibrant, almost as if they were recently painted. The blue haired man in front of you turns, grinning brightly; his ruby eyes sparkle in the dim light as he extends his hand backwards. Zenji – the flash of his name brings along with it a swell of affection. Come, my dear, he says. They’re waiting for us.

You are sitting on a cushion laid out on the porch of a traditional Japanese house, back resting against doors made of paper and wood. It overlooks a quiet garden that extends on all three sides; the peacefulness of the stone lanterns makes it feel like a secret you are bound to keep. Your legs are stretched out in front of you, covered by a black blazer with gold trim and pressed against the long legs of someone else. Your hands lay in your lap, fingers intertwined with his graceful ones. When you look up at the man with green hair, his eyes closed and dozing, something in you shifts like a sunbeam – Haku. His name is a cloud on your tongue, painting the inside of your lungs a new, different, golden sort of warmth. It tangles itself into the base of your throat, all tender and sweet; your heart aches with a fondness you’ve never thought possible. Haku.

You are dangling your feet off the edge of a dock, watching diamonds of moonlight dance off the ripples in the water. Translucent fish float lazily around your feet, drifting in invisible eddies only they can see. An arm is curled behind you as you lean against someone’s shoulder; you don’t have to look up to know the giddy feeling running through your veins is because of the soft kisses Haku is dropping into your hair. He raises his hand to brush your cheek, to tilt your chin up to face him. You watch the monochrome of the moon wash his eyelashes a silvery grey as he dips towards you, before your eyes flutter closed at the gentle warmth of his lips on yours, languorous and insistent and exploring. How lucky you are, you remember, to be able to love him like this. How lucky you are, to have him love you.

You are pressed up against the back of a door, your shirt half unbuttoned and blazer long discarded somewhere on the floor. Haku’s hands are everywhere, mouth hot on the hollow behind your ear as your fingers scrabble against the buttons of his vest. Princess, he groans, all teeth and tongue on your neck as he slips a leg between yours. Please. And you acquiesce, as you always do, melting into him under the deftness of his fingers and the heat of his breath. He hangs stars on the ladder of your spine and his name on the roof of your mouth; you dance in the fire he lights in the kiln of your hips. You think, as he pulls gasp after gasp from the scorch of your skin, that if it is for Haku you will burn yourself inside out, if only he asks.

You are sitting - no, lying - in a pile of rubble. There are flames licking up the walls around you, ghastly bright and smokeless, unending despite the rain that seems to be pouring around everything else. You are dimly aware of how close the flames are to you, but the burning that flickers from under your skin is infinitely more unbearable.

There are sobs above you from the figure who has pulled you into his lap, cradling you in his arms and shielding you from the rain; you barely need to open your eyes to hear the guilt leaking out each breath Haku takes.

“Don’t cry,” you rasp. Some part of you recognises the irony, given the tears staining your own cheeks, but you raise a heavy hand anyway, thumb brushing the wetness away from his cheeks. It is hard to form words. You hope Haku understands.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. He are shaking uncontrollably, tsunamis rolling off the tense slope of his shoulders. “I should have tried harder—“

“No,” you say, again, this time a little more vehemently. The scratch of your throat worsens, but you no longer have the strength to cough out the petals that have lodged themselves in your lungs.

You want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, it was never his fault, that he has done nothing but try as hard as he could to break your curse the moment you stepped into Darkwick. He has spent so much of himself making your final months lovely, and even now with the walls crumbling around him he still has not let you go.

I’m sorry, you want to say. For meeting you on the train that day, already like this, already cursed. For not meeting you earlier in this life, from the beginning already too late. For being filled with flower and fire, even though all I want to be is filled with my love for you.

But it is getting hard to breathe, and it is getting dark, and you are so, so tired.

“Wait for me,” you say, instead. You tilt your face into the palm of his hand, and inhale the last of his scent as best as you can.

When you gather the strength to speak again, your voice is an oath made, fierce and low, carved into the ache of your tears. You look up at Haku, your love, your light, radiant even in his grief, even as your vision is blurry and fading. “We’ll meet again, I promise.”

I will look for you in my next life, and the next, and the next, until we meet again. I will look for you in every lifetime. Now that I have tasted how sweet a happy ending with you can be, I will turn my back on fate over and over again, if only to meet you one last time.

You blink, and suddenly you are back, gasping for air as an ache cracks open in your chest, gaping and yearning.

You are vaguely aware of the wetness on your cheeks, and that the tallest man – Zenji – is openly bawling now, but the moment your eyes meet his the rest of the world blurs.

Haku.

He has not moved, you think, all hesitance and incredulity, frozen with the helplessness of a man who has wanted so much for so long but has only dared to hope for so little. His gaze shines with unshed tears, disbelief wrapping itself taut around the clench of his fists, like he is trying not to reach out for you, trying to keep the spark of his skin from setting your world ablaze again.

But, oh, in this life you’ve been raised fireproof, heart forged into a glass-clear that sings for the sunset of his hands. In this life, you are not on a train, you are not too late, and you are not filled the potency of a curse but the promise of a happy ending.

We’ll meet again, I promise.

You take a small step forward. The red string wound around your finger ripples, flashes gold in the evening light.

“Haku?”

#tokyo debunker #haku kusanagi #tokyo debunker x reader #lin writes #SORRY posting this again bc it didn’t go into the tags the last time #gn except for when Haku calls mc princess!!#ANYWAY sorry slight angst by nature of mc’s curse #but soulmate au!!!#in every lifetime!!!#@ yuelao pslpslspslspslpls let me find a haku for myself too……..#LORD this came into my head bc 如果可以 was stuck in my head for the #LONGEST TIME #had it on repeat the entire time I was writing dfhfjksfsj

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seancekitsch · 2 days

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Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

CHAPTER THREE: Gift Horse

series masterlist here

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, more to come as needed

Barre class is across the city, in Sara’s neighborhood. A large building part of a smaller art university that is made up of mixed use floors. Some are classrooms, a black box theater, workshops, and nestled in at the very top is your barre instructor’s studio. And while it’s rented for her by a mostly online chain company that sells classes, she runs it as if she’s the choreographer for the Winterfell ballet company back home, the most prestigious in all of Westeros. It’s routine that you go there at seven with Sara, then open the shop at noon twice a week. Only Satuday you missed class, and today you’re running late. Sara’s only given you slight hell for ditching her, which is unusual. You love your siblings, you really do, but they both live up to the ‘The North Remembers’ stereotype. Frequently arguing with you and the nanny when you were kids, when Cregan and Sara could never drop anything. So Sara not being too pissed at you skipping barre has you questioning everything.

Your sneakers slap against the pavement as you pick up your pace, ready to catch even more hell about your inability to be prompt to anything besides the store opening. You sigh as your turn the block, the building finally imposing on your view of one of the more tree lined areas of the city.Despite the chill in the air, the trees still have leaves and the sun is bright and warm against your hoodie, oversized and spritzed with your signature perfume Mugler Alien. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you ignore it, knowing already who it is.

Aegon has been texting you. Long paragraphs sometimes, barely legible ranting other times. He’s filling you in on his family, his life, been telling you how much he misses his best friend. Tuesday night he drunk dialed you and in no uncertain terms told you how hot you were and exactly how he would fuck you every which way every day of the week. That one was hard, mostly because in moments of weakness, you cannot help but think about it and the way he practically moaned into the phone. More than once you’d pictured yourself underneath him, on top of him, pressed against the cold shower tile, thrown to the floor, even bent over the till at your shop. He’d wormed his way back in, at least mentally. You’d decidedly kept your distance, not entertaining a lot of his messages, not texting him first. You hadn’t seen him since Sunday morning, and you were planning on keeping it that way until he gave you a clear answer to all of your questions.

That was the most infuriating part. Whenever you actually text him to ask about why he’s back in your life or why he left in the first place, he just tells you it’s better explained in person. You’re not completely sure you want to meet in person again, though. You know yourself well enough to know you’ll probably forgive him again right away, no matter the reason.

And Old Gods be damned, a lot of his messages are tempting. You want to hang onto every word, respond just as eagerly, purging thoughts into those little blue text bubbles and letting him in. Keeping your phone in your pocket is the best protection for yourself, certain that whatever Aegon Targaryen is up and doing at 6:55 on a Thursday is a diabolical trap to get you to respond and fall back into old habits with him.

You fling open the door to the building, more or less jogging to the elevator and slamming your knuckle into the button. The elevator here is new, and moves quickly.

You more or less tumble out of it, already hearing the sarcastic jeering on Sara’s tongue from here. Only, when you enter the studio, that doesn’t happen. She doesn’t call out to you right away, doesn’t stop what she’s doing.

Sara isn’t alone, though, and the sight has you tripping over your feet. The silver hair is unmistakable, and for a moment your mind drifts back to your unanswered texts, knowing the Targaryen siblings are more or less a unit, and she probably knows about at least a few of the goings on of her brother and you. Helaena is the same age difference to Aegon as you are to Cregan, the only real difference being that her family is only slightly messier than yours. While your family is plagued by maybe more than one affair baby scandal and ski lodge residences, her parents being loyal to one another and having lived all in one house might actually be their plague.

For a brief second, your blood runs cold knowing that she realistically knows more than you. You’re not the kind of person who’s used to not having the power and information. You’re used to holding all the dirt, the gossip, the emotional ammo so to speak. In college it was a weapon at worst and a tool at best, and now it is a shield. Only today, Helaena holds the shield instead of you.

Sara leans in close to the Targaryen, whispering and giggling to one another as if they were alone in the world. This must be why Sara was not as mad as she usually is about your skipping this weekend. The two look like they’re in their own little world, a Sara Helaena bubble where everything is so funny and their proximity is their barrier. They look almost entranced, and when Helaena brushes hair off of Sara’s shoulder, your feet find themselves again.

“What’s up, did you find a new barre partner?” You ask, looking questioningly between your sister and Aegon’s sister. The women look close, as if there was a shared something between them, and for a moment jealousy spikes within you. But then you reign it back in, immediately recognizing the feeling as one thats completely inappropriate. Sara deserves friends, and you should get some more.

“Hel here had to get out of that stuffy estate, it’s apparently all doom and gloom there,” Sara explains, “she showed up at the class you ditched.”

Her tone is haughty, but you know it’s a joke. She’s been filled in just enough about the situation to only slightly rag on you about the whole thing. Sara doesn’t know about Aegon’s order, doesn’t know about the near constant stream of messages that pour in, doesn’t know about the comfort being wrapped in his cologne spritzed blankets for at least a few hours.

“Right,” you drawl, rolling your eyes, “Because your dear old sister is so easy to replace.”

“Oh, the more the merrier,” Helaena chimes in happily, pulling her bag over near where you dropped yours. Her bag looks almost identical to yours, but instead of a charcoal and wine color way, it’s sage green and sand.

“I agree, darling,” you say, pulling off your hoodie to get ready to warm up.

Conversation flows freely then, shoes and inhibitions kicked to the side. There is a certain comfort to this, a confirmation that the world did not end because for some unknown reason someone in the Targaryen family doesn’t hate you. Granted, you’re at least half sure Aegon doesn’t, and Aemond you’d only seen in passing once in five years. You had been on a date to a brewery when he entered with an older woman, and then your date went to shit. All because you could not get signature silver curls out of your mind.

You lean down to touch your toes, chipped manicure just brushing an even more chipped pedicure. It’s when you rise back up that Helaena tries to get your attention specifically.

“You know I tried to hate you,” Helaena starts as if she had read your mind, her eyes and voice drifting away as she warms up, stretching and bending, “Because Aegon was so upset when you rejected him, but you’ve always been nice to me. I couldn’t find it in me.”

An airy smile graces her face, as if what she said wasn’t just insane for a multitude of reasons. She’s always been, as long as you’ve known her, in her own little world in a sense. Always sweet and kind, but in a space all her own. You remember Aegon’s words when he had brought you to the Targaryen estate for the first time: She is an enduring mystery, but I love her. This is, however, the most clear and direct you’ve ever heard her; and what she had to say enraged you.

“I rejected him?”

You cant help the rise in your voice, despite the few heads that turn towards your corner. You scoff. He really had the audacity to ghost not only his closest friendship but clearly the promise of something more, and say you had been the aggrieving party? Helaena doesn’t back down, but also doesn’t cower. For her, this is just a fact and not some life altering revelation. You envy her for that.

Sara gently adjusts Helaena’s tank top strap for her, a gentle gesture you’ll have to call attention to when you’re more level headed. Helaena cocks her head to the side as she takes in your body language, your anger.

“Is that not what happened?”

“No!” You whisper shout, now trying not to have little gossips listen in. You throw your ankle up onto the barre and stretch your arm out the opposite direction.

“Oh,” Helaena’s eyes widen as if this is now finally a revelation to her as well, “Thats why your name was a curse.”

What the fuck does that mean? You look at her, and she gazes back at you as if her words should have cleared something to up. Maybe to her, they did. Your eyes then dart to your sister behind her, and your sister’s eyes are wide, her brows furrowed. ‘Aegon?’ she mouths, her lips warping into a grimace.

Your name as a curse, to whom? Aegon?

…. Larissa?

Your face relaxes, the realization washing over you in waves. You now assume you had been a curse on their entire relationship. The picture of you on his Instagram, was it taunting her? A mean spirited part of you hopes it was, an unjustified possession of Aegon in your mind.

You pull your foot down, and bend to grab your phone from where you’d tossed it over your bag.

You pull up Aegon’s instagram, something you’ve been doing at least once a day since Saturday morning. Swiping to his tagged photos, you find what you’re looking for. Hundreds of paparazzi and press photos of Aegon and Larissa, all of her vice grip clutching him, all of him looking like a less than sober flight risk. This paints a different picture than the one you’d been drawing up in your head. You’d known he fucked her in university. You’d known she was one of his regular rotation of girls he’d dabble with at the party house, one of the faces you’d accidentally barge in on in the bathroom fixing her make up after they’d hooked up. None of those girls liked you much because they thought you were competition for Aegon. While you thought that was stupid at the time, they were ultimately right, and you’d only realized when you were in too deep.

Your eyes find one thumbnail for an article saying that the Lannister’s pulled out of a partnership with the Targaryen’s corporate ventures after the split. Another piece to a puzzle that you hadn’t realized you were putting together until now.

The instructor enters the room just as you open your mouth again, the moment to ask for clarification gone. Helaena offers a faltering smile as she straightens her back, getting herself into position as the instructor raises her arm. She calls you all to attention, more like an actual ballet instructor than for a posh girl barre class. Later, you think, It’ll have to wait until later

The class goes by without a moments relaxation, going through the motions while internally you freak out about what all the little clues you’ve been given could possibly mean.

“Hey, wait up!” you call, even though the Targaryen woman looks like she’s not in a rush. You yank on your joggers, holding out a hand to tell her to stop. Helaena turns quickly, as if she’s excited to talk to you again. She looks to Sara though, and you don’t miss the way your sister tries to cover her blushing with her dark hair. You’re not letting her get away with that, you decide.

“Did you want to walk somewhere after this together?” the blonde asks sweetly, and you nod, finishing stuffing all of your belongings into your bag as you shove your feet into your shoes, and link arms with her and Sara to pull them out onto the street as a united front.

The walk to the juice bar isn’t far, and the trip to your shop from there is even shorter. You pay for the juice, knowing you’re potentially about to interrogate Helaena and cockblock your sister from whatever it is going on with her. The sun beats down on you, despite the chill in the air, casting everything behind you into shadow.

The shop is bright, a beacon of pattern and color that calls down the street. The fall decor is something you still have to plan with Sara, probably after hours re-dressing the mannequins and making tissue paper leaves the way your mother taught you during an arts and crafts day when you were kids. As the three of you walk, the conversation is meandering, friendly and full of nothing at all.

It’s not until you lock the door of your shop behind the three of you that you decide to strike.

“Oh, you own Lone Wolf! I’ve bought from your website-“

“Why am I a curse?”

You and the Targaryen both speak at the same time, a cacophony of sound. Shit. You’ve always had a history of running your mouth, and you know Helaena is soft spoken. As if you have to coax a wild creature, so too do you have to coax Helaena into conversation with you.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. Thank you!” you wince as you backtrack, but if she’s offended she doesn’t look it.

“You’re fine, I promise.”

Helaena looks around the shop, inspecting all the intricacies of your decor choices, the way the colors of your house crest are put into the fine details to honor them, the way that your space is an eclectic blend of you everywhere, if not only the professional friendly version of you. There is a weight that does not seem to press on her as she inspects the details. Last you saw her, she was a very withdrawn girl, practically speaking in riddles unless she was alone with her brothers, and even then she was more a wallflower than an active participant. She’s still quiet and gentle, but finally, Helaena Targaryen has grown into it.

Fuck, she’s a saint. You nod, and take a sip of your carrot juice.

“He said your name,” she reveals, and you fully turn towards her, pulling up a stool opposite to where she decides to drop herself onto the plush shop couch.

“When?”

“So at the engagement party two weeks ago,” Helaena begins.

Fuck! This is really really recent. This is an actively open situation. Aegon contacting you was not as random in its timing as you had first assumed.

“He gave this speech, and it was really not like Aegon. He’d been sober and brooding all day, I’d almost mistook him for Aemond.”

She pauses, as if trying to recall something. The Aegon you know was and is rarely sober. Not always drunk or high, but not what a normal person would consider sober.

“The speech was weird for him too, it was very thoughtful,” she chuckles to herself, “and then instead of her name he said yours. He was looking down at his champagne the whole time. Everyone was pissed. Grandpa Otto even tried to get Mum to cut him off for that slip up but she stood up for him.”

But was it a slip up? The timing of all of this, all of the evidence you’ve seen. You now think that despite all of your anger and heartache, maybe you shouldn’t have hung up on Aegon the other morning. Good on Alicent though, you think. Although her methods may sometimes seem insane, you cannot fault someone who had babies when she was a baby herself. Throughout college, she was on a sort of apology tour, trying to fix what her younger self and the people that had influenced her had broken when it came to her children.

Sara bursts into laughter the moment Helaena’s words sink in.

“Oh I swear by the Old Gods and the New, that’s like something out of a movie. Really?” Sara’s laughter rings like a bell again as she plops herself down on the couch next to the blonde. If you didn’t know better, you’re already planning their wedding in your head. Helaena nods, joining in with Sara, and you find yourself laughing too.

You smirk over the rim of your cup, and swipe up on the latest string of Aegon’s desperate texts that you haven’t replied to.

Just how much of a curse are you? Is it like Heathcliff and his Cathy? A selfish part of you hopes that it’s been gnawing at him, hopes it’s eaten away at him and Larissa this whole time. A jealous part of you thinks it should have been you the whole time, thinks your life has been stolen from you despite all of the good things and successes you have. The part of you that you are trying to ignore hopes that despite everything he’s been well, and that maybe someone’s been looking out for him after he stopped letting you do the honors.

Your Number: awright aeg. ill bite xx

#aegon targaryen x reader #modern aegon x reader #modern aegon #aegon x reader

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