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thewolvesofthenorth · 2 days

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Chapter Two

Chapter Two of Man of Honor

Series Masterlist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ House Of The Dragon Masterlist

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2k+

Summary: Cregan finally manages to speak to you, but it doesn’t go the way he thought it would.

Warnings: Angst angst angst, language, fluff, slow burn, pining

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Much to Cregan’s chagrin, you were still skillfully avoiding him, but he had managed to convince Sara to aid him on his endeavor to get you to speak, or even just acknowledge him. Sara had of course rebuffed him at first, but after several days of his nagging, she gave in. She told him that the only place where you would surely be alone was the godswood, and that she would inform him the next time you were there, but the rest was up to him after that.

Cregan expressed his gratitude and the wait began. Two days passed before Sara informed Cregan that you were making your way to the godswood, and his throat grew tight with anxiety.

What am I even going to say?

He waited a while before making his way to the godswood, careful to avoid catching anyone’s attention lest he be pulled into other matters. He needed to patch things up with you as best as he could. The snow quietly crunched beneath his feet as he walked through the godswood, an eerie silence filling the air as he neared the heart tree. As he grew closer, he could make out your silhouette sitting on a rock at the foot of the heart tree, head bowed in silent prayer. As he took a step forward, a twig snapped, and he winced as the sound echoed through the trees.

Cregan’s breath caught in his throat as you whipped your head around at the noise and met his eye. Despite the day already beginning to grow dark, he could see how beautiful you looked. You sat frozen, heart pounding in your chest at the sight of him standing there, staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, you stood, silently dusting the snow off your cloak, and acted as if he wasn’t mere feet away. Realizing what you were about to do, Cregan closed the distance between you with a few short strides, catching your arm as you turned to walk away.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out. “Please.”

You turned and narrowed your eyes at him as you freed your arm from his grasp.

“What do you want?” You spat; voice laced with venom as you addressed him for the first time in months. Cregan cringed at your tone, having never been on the receiving end of your anger, and the usually composed and strong man suddenly felt like a child. He took a deep breath to steady his thoughts, silently praying to the old gods for strength.

“I - I wanted to apologize,” he began. “I’ve been horrible to you as of late.” You scoffed at his words.

“Oh, you’ve realized that now, have you?” You shot back, crossing your arms with a glare. “What? Did you fall off your horse?” Cregan looked at you in confusion.

“Did you hit your head? Have a little too much ale or something? Because why else would you suddenly remember that I existed?” He flinched at your response, not knowing how to reply.

Seven hells, this is off to a great start.

“No -,” he started.

“No? So, what is it then? Why are you here?”

“I’m trying to say that I’m sorry,” he answered, head bowing with remorse. Cregan felt so small in your presence, with your wrath directed at him, that he wanted to curl into a ball and hide from your fury.

“You’re sorry?” You retorted. “After months of ignoring me, all you have to say is ‘sorry’?”

“You’ve also been avoiding me!” He replied. “You’ve come up with an excuse at every turn just to keep your distance, and you never told me why.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault now, is it?” You sneered, your anger rising with each passing moment.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, it certainly sounds like it. Do you even know why? Why I avoid being near you?”

Cregan opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“I avoid being near you because I couldn’t stand to look at you. I couldn’t stand to be in your presence, listening to you talk about Arra and how great she is. How perfect she is. How I could never compare to her.”

“I’m -.”

“And that’s not even the half of it,” you continued, ignoring his attempt to speak. “You can’t possibly imagine how it feels to be replaced. To have your best friend ignore you and spend his time with someone else, doing things that you used to do together, and then come back and talk about how great of a time he had. Do you even remember? Do you remember the words you spoke to me right here where we presently stand?”

“Yes,” he managed to say, “I remember.”

“What were the words then? What was it that you said?”

“I told you that we’d marry, and I’d make you the Lady of Winterfell.”

“You promised. You swore it,” you said softly. “You swore it by the old gods and the new.”

“I know.”

“And yet you betroth yourself to Arra.”

“I - I know that I’ve wronged you, but it was never my intention.”

“Oh? What was your intention then?”

“I - you - it,” Cregan stumbled over his words as you looked at him in rage. “It’s what’s best for the North. It’s my duty.”

“What’s best for the North? Your duty?” You snapped, hands now shaking with rage. “Is that your excuse?”

“No, but -,”

“You are an arrogant fool,” you seethed. “You think yourself so honorable, but you are far from it. You are a disgrace to your house and bring shame to the Stark name. You swear an oath, but then proceed to break it. You are nothing but a coward and don’t deserve to be a Stark.”

“We - we were children,” he defended, and the moment the words left his lips he knew he’d made a grave mistake.

Fuck!

“We were children,” you slowly repeated. “We. Were. Children…. So that’s it? It was just a game to you then.”

“No - it,” Cregan tried to backtrack, but you held your hand up to stop him.

“I’ve heard enough,” you said, and you straightened your back and looked him in the eye. “It may have been nothing but a game to you, but it wasn’t a game to me, Cregan Stark.” With that, you pushed past him and marched out of the godswood, not sparing the dejected man another glance.

Once you were out of sight, Cregan’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground despair. He let out a growl as he hit the snow in frustration. He should have told you how he felt, told you how he had been blind to his own feelings. But instead, he’d completely mucked things up and made the rift between the two of you even bigger.

You were right, he was nothing but a coward.

But he also had a duty to uphold.

A duty to the North.

A duty to his people.

And duty is sacrifice.

Tears silently streamed down your face as you solemnly walked to the Great Keep, skillfully keeping yourself hidden in the shadows and away from prying eyes. The cold unforgivingly nipped at your wet cheeks, making your tears feel like ice against your skin, but you paid it no mind, too distraught from Cregan’s words to feel the frosty bite of the North. You were angry that he had managed to corner you in the godswood. You were angry at him for breaking your heart more than he already had. But mostly, you were angry at yourself for hoping that he would say something different than what he had.

How could I have been so stupid?

So blind?

Your mind raced with so many thoughts as you finally arrived at your chambers and sat on your bed. You slid off your shoes and stripped off your cloak before lying down and staring at the ceiling. You weren’t sure what to do anymore. On one hand, you wanted to leave Winterfell so you wouldn’t have to see Cregan anymore. On the other, you wanted to stay because you loved him and couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. Your heart ached at both options because no matter what, you’d still be losing and knew you wouldn’t be happy no matter which choice you made.

If only I could turn back time and she never came to Winterfell.

Maybe even farther back so Cregan never made his promise.

Your heart clenched as you remembered his words, the phrase tauntingly echoing in your ears.

We were children.

He had said those words so easily, as if he’d practiced saying it. As if it was acceptable to make such promises as children and they weren’t to be taken seriously.

Oaths of marriage shouldn’t be taken lightly, but I guess they don’t matter if we made it when we were children.

I really thought it meant something to him.

You let out a huff as you sat up, running a hand through your hair. You needed to move on. You needed to do something other than pine for someone who clearly didn’t care about your feelings. Who would rather break his word and toss you aside as if you had not been by his side your whole lives. As if you hadn’t made sacrifices of your own.

You had turned down numerous suitors over the years because of your feelings for Cregan and hopes of marrying him, but now you knew that you should have done what was best for you. If Cregan had really meant his words that day in the godswood, he would have told his advisors and made it known. Instead, he kept it a secret and put it out of his mind because you were both children and he thought of it as another one of your childish antics.

He never had the intention of actually marrying me.

He was just a stupid boy making stupid promises to a stupid girl.

A stupid girl who was stupid enough to listen to his stupid words.

Stupid.

That night you cried yourself to sleep, unaware of the man who stood just outside your door, listening to your sobs of pain, and knowing he was the cause of such sorrow.

After you had left Cregan in the godswood, he had stayed beneath the heart tree praying to the old gods. Praying for guidance and for help to make the right choice. He was torn. He knew his feelings for you. He knew that they had always been there, but he was too blind to see it until now. But he had also made an oath to Arra and her parents. He had made an oath to his people, to the North. He simply could not forsake his word for his own selfish desires, but he had also given his word to you all those years ago, and the pain that he was causing you was eating him up inside.

Some time had passed and by the time Cregan returned to the Great Keep it was nearly the hour of the bat. As he walked through the quiet halls to his chambers, he decided he wanted to try and speak with you again, in hopes of somehow repairing the damage he had done. Once he arrived at your door, he took a deep breath and was about to knock when he heard it.

You were crying.

Cregan’s heart dropped to his stomach.

He had caused this.

He was the reason why you were currently bawling your eyes out alone. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was the one comforting you when you were upset, but now he was the cause of your misery. Cregan stood there, forehead resting against the wooden door, unsure of what to do. Should he go in and comfort you? Should he leave?

You’d probably yell at him and throw him out if he came in, especially after the earlier interaction, but he wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and tell you everything was going to be fine and that he was sorry. He knew he should probably leave, but his feet refused to move, and guilt consumed him as your weeping continued.

If only he’d had the courage to tell you his feelings, you wouldn’t be going through this.

If only he had remembered the oath he’d made, you wouldn’t be so broken.

If only he wasn’t bound by duty as the Warden of the North.

It felt like hours, when it was really minutes, before your whimpers eventually stopped and Cregan knew you’d fallen asleep. He turned as if to walk away but paused. You were always a heavy sleeper, especially after crying, but there was still a slight chance that you would wake up, but Cregan was willing to risk it. He took deep breath and quietly opened your door, and the sight that greeted him made his breath hitch. There you were, hair splayed out around you, the dim light from the moon illuminating your delicate features.

He took the chance to admire you, noting the way your lips were parted just a bit, and a quiet snore coming from your mouth. He smiled at how peaceful you looked, free of the despair he had caused. As he trailed his eyes over your body, the evening breeze graced the room and made you shiver in your sleep. You had been so distraught that you hadn’t even sought comfort in the warm furs adorning your bed. Cregan tip-toed to your side and slid his arms under your small frame, careful to not rouse you from your slumber, as he shifted you just enough to cover you with a blanket.

As he pulled the cover up to your chin, he caught sight of your tear-stained cheeks. As he wiped them way with the pad of his thumb, you turned your face and nuzzled into his palm, letting out a small sigh at the contact. Cregan froze, worried that he’d woken you up, but breathed a sigh of relief when you made no other movements. He tried to draw his hand away slowly, afraid that you would somehow wake up, but was stopped when you abruptly grabbed his arm and rolled over, unexpectedly pulling him into the bed.

He quickly caught himself before he landed on you and held his breath as he gradually lowered his body to lay next to you, praying that you wouldn’t choose that moment to wake up. He thanked the gods when he managed to settle himself behind you, arm slung over your body, trapped in your grip. Cregan steadily shifted until he was right up against you, nothing but the thick material of the wool and furs separating your bodies and closed his eyes.

He smiled as he recalled how the two of you would often fall asleep like this as children. How you two would somehow always manage to wake up in each other’s arms, your head resting on his chest, his arm tightly curled around you. He had never given it much thought back then since you’d been children, but then chastised himself since that kind of thinking was what got him into this mess to begin with.

He tried to think of the last time you’d fallen asleep in his arms and realized that the last time was shortly after your sixteenth name day, several months after his father had passed. Your septa had admonished you the next morning when she’d found you in his arms, saying that it was not appropriate to sleep beside a man that was not your husband, especially when the man was the young Lord of Winterfell, and she had not hesitated to give him the same scolding. The two of you never slept beside each other after that.

Cregan was saddened at the memory, having never recognized the obvious affection between you two. He closed his eyes, listening to your breathing and occasional snores, and breathed in your scent. The smell of pine with a pleasant undertone of smoke invaded his nostrils, and he draw soft circles over your hand as he felt how your body perfectly fit against his. He committed it all to his memory and wanted to savor this moment for as long as he could, knowing that he would probably never get another chance at this with you.

Cregan laid awake behind you for several hours, and as the hour of the owl approached, he reluctantly released you from his embrace and stood. He couldn’t help himself as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your cheek and forehead before exiting your chambers, giving you one last look before he shut the door silently behind him.

Unbeknownst to him, you had opened your eyes just seconds after the door had shut.

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#cregan stark #house of the dragon #cregan stark x you #tom taylor #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #cregan stark fanfic #man of honor fanfic #hotd cregan #cregan fanfic #house stark #hotd fanfiction

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hannieween · 2 days

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wicked games series, teaser | k.mg

Kim Mingyu came into your life at a time when you needed a friend the most. And that he was: a friend that you could confide in and laugh together, share your secrets with and perhaps, share a burden that was too similar to his.

☆ pairings: kim mingyu x female reader ☆ genre: angst, smut [18+] ☆ aus: bartender mingyu, rebound fuck, friends to fucking, toxic fwb ☆ word count: 1.8k teaser – 20k full chapter

› date of release: 09.29

🎧: hold me – hojean

› read more

chapter i – teaser

Damn you summer rains.

They always came when you least expect it, in the blink of an eye. The air felt so hot as you went out of your office that you could barely walk outside, but then the rain started pouring over you with little to no notice.

Walking down the sidewalk in working shoes was not the best idea. In fact, you were heavily contemplating removing them and just going back home barefoot.

You came to a reluctant halt in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, as heavy droplets of water fell on your face, on the back of your head as you stared at your shoes, getting wetter and wetter as you pondered over your dilemma.

“Lost something?”

Taking one big gulp of air, you shot a look across the sidewalk, only to find Kim Mingyu standing, wearing his usual attire for work. The features of his face looked relaxed despite the heaviness with which he approached you, carrying his fatigue in his limbs with each step.

His white T-shirt began to accumulate wet spots on his shoulders and chest. His cheeks were soaked, as was his long messy hair.

You gaped at him in question. The dilemma occupying your brain dissipated into the void, quickly replaced by the shock of seeing him after days of keeping him at arm’s length without failure.

“Hi there,” he muttered once he stood one step before you.

“Hi,” you smiled, having to tilt your head to find his face.

“You’ve been gone,” he said with some air of urgency, much as if he did not want to lose you at some lazy excuse on your part. “I was starting to wonder that you didn’t want to hang out anymore.”

You hated his straightforwardness sometimes. “Sorry,” you scrunched up your nose in discomfort, receiving more fat droplets of water on your face. “I needed some me time.”

“Then you should’ve just said so, dummy,” he pointed, rolling his eyes at you as if his point were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I struggle to say things sometimes,” you retorted in a whiny tone. “Look, I’d love to continue this conversation but we’re literally just soaking in the middle of the street.”

Mingyu raised his eyebrows, as though he had not noticed the rain pouring down on both of you. “I’ll walk you home,” he motioned in the opposite direction from which he was previously coming.

And with that, he turned around and started to walk down the street.

You fell into step at his side, struggling to keep his steady pace. “Slow down,” you exhaled.

“Right,” he giggled sweetly. “Short legs.”

“Shut up,” you readjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “You just walk really fast.”

“Because I’m taller than you, my legs are longer,” he motioned to his legs, taking one big step that amounted to three of yours.

“Well, then walk slower, please,” you huffed with exhaustion already building up in your feet.

Mingyu noticed, still looking at your face as he walked. “Fine, okay,” he conceded. “Are you just clocking off work?”

You nodded, noticing your ponytail heavier now that your hair was soaking. “I wanted to finish everything before the weekend.”

“It’s three in the morning,” he gasped in dramatic reprimand.

“Don’t give me that look,” you frowned, pointing a finger at him. “I could say the same to you! You also just clocked off.”

“But that is normal for my job! What you do is not something specifically for night hours,” he argued, matching your tone.

“What do you know about what I do?” you tried to argue but a smile fought to curve your lips. “I could hold office hours specifically between 11 pm and 3 am,” you giggled impishly.

“Ah, really you are…” he rolled his eyes but shook the thought from his head. “Could you finish?”

Droplets of water slid down the bridge of his nose, dropping from the tip and onto his cupid’s bow. You remembered the cute little beauty mark sitting on the tip of his nose. You wanted to kiss it.

It took you one second to understand what he was implying. “Oh, yes, I did,” you stammered, crossing your arms over your chest.

But Mingyu did not notice the meaning behind your gaze. “That’s good,” he nodded, pressing his lips together.

The short spasm returned in your chest, making you tear your eyes from his face and keep walking beside him, staring at the sidewalk.

“How was work tonight?” you returned the question, trying to get as much light conversation as you could without falling into the deep craving tugging in your insides.

“It was alright,” he shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What would that look like?” you ventured.

“Ah, well, drunk people tend to be funny,” he showed you a toothy grin. “One guy celebrated his birthday at the bar one night, and after a few drinks he lost control, went insane,” he laughed at the memory of it. “He started thinking he was an idol, he requested a song and got on top of the bar and started dancing.”

His laugh was contagious, you could not help but respond with a giggle of your own. “Oh, no, that sounds embarrassing. What did you do?”

“He lost his balance and fell to the floor,” his smile vanished, shuddering slightly. “He broke his nose, I had to call an ambulance,” he finished the story, scratching his nape absentmindedly.

“That’s not how I thought the story would end. Talk about a night to remember,” you huffed awkwardly.

“Well that is one story of many,” his eyes widened slightly.

“But you like it?” you raised your eyebrows. “D-do you like your job?”

“I do,” he reaffirmed with a nod.

The rain had completely succeeded at soaking your clothes, your button shirt felt cold against your skin, and your jeans were tight and damp, it was starting to get hard to move.

Whereas you felt like a wet ragged doll, Mingyu looked like a supermodel. His long dark hair was dripping wet onto his beautiful face. His white T-shirt was clinging to the muscles of his body, letting you view the well-defined lines of his abdomen.

“Were here already?” Mingyu asked when you came to a halt in front of your building.

“Yeah,” you said distractedly, sending him a look as you opened the door to the inside of the building, welcomed by the smell of humidity and dust. “Don’t just stand there.”

The man followed you inside without much insistence. You started machining in your brain your next movements while climbing the first flight of stairs to the door of your apartment, which you opened with a shaky hand.

You staggered awkwardly against the door frame, trying to keep your chin up to hold his gaze. One hand brushed the worn edges of the frame, resting on it as you caught your breath. Mingyu noticed your eyes this time around. And you almost did not want to realize that his eyes were on your body as well.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked meekly, darting a look at the dark interior of your apartment, aside from the little lamp you always left on when you went out. “I can make something to eat. And lend you a towel, fresh clothes, maybe.”

Much to your fortune, the man nodded with his head. “If you want,” he mumbled, so you slid back inside your apartment for him to follow inside. “Though I might have to reject the clothes,” reluctantly, he walked inside your little sanctuary, looking at the big frame abandoned and leaning against the wall of the hallway.

“Why?” you asked, still walking backward as he paced in front of you.

“Because they might not fit me,” he chuckled, his smile knocking the air out of your lungs.

“What do you know, I could have something that might,” you smirked, getting him a towel you had discarded earlier in the morning.

He gave you a light gesture of gratitude with his head, thanks, he mouthed before pressing the towel to his face.

“Do you…” you hesitated. “Can I offer you something?”

He sneaked a look at you with the towel pressed to the lower half of his face.

“Like water?” you suggested with a sheepish smile. “I have ramen–and rice in the fridge.”

He contemplated you as you swayed your body on the balls of your feet ever so gently. “You don’t need to do that,” he finally replied.

“It’s just food, Mingyu. You walked home with me,” you shrugged, motioning to the kitchen, your fingers grazing the rim of the dining table.

The man took one step towards you, making your step stutter. “I mean that,” he smiled. “You don’t have to repay nothing, shorty. That’s what friends are for.”

You stumbled against the edge of your dining table, a gasp leaving your lips that you quickly tried to replace with a muffled chuckle. “You know, I could say the same thing.”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

“What?” you breathed, completely perplexed by both the proximity and the question. “Ke-keep what up?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he muttered gruffly, pushing you to lean back against the dining table without laying one finger on you. He was just so close to you that you had no room to breathe.

“Noticed what? Mingyu–,” you giggled in utter shyness when he knowingly smiled at you. The blood rushing to your face made your skin tingle, you bit your lower lip.

“Am I making you nervous?” his voice dropped, his dark eyes reading the features of your face with avid curiosity.

“Yes,” you admitted, leaning back with your hands gripping the wooden rim of the table as he towered over you. “I like you, Kim Mingyu.”

His triumphant smile crushed your heart with its beauty. Damn you, Kim Mingyu.

“I like you too,” he whispered, leaning closer, the smile fading softly you stopped moving back.

“Mingyu,” you whispered, hating how much you were flustered at his confession, your voice waning.

Mingyu paused, but it was not out of hesitance, his gaze swimming on your features quickly softened once you dared to reach out to him. Using the proximity of your bodies, you found his face with your hands, realizing how warm his skin was.

“Yeah?” he whispered back, nodding slightly with his head. Mingyu wanted this too.

You are not sure what happened if you moved first or he did. You closed your eyes, breath hitching as his lips touched yours, your skin coming to life with a fiery rush of blood. From pressing his lips against your own, he quickly moved to kiss you deeper, using one hand on your chin to tilt your face to him.

Your heart stammered in your chest, his hand returning to park in your waist. Friends don’t kiss, you wanted to tell him.

But who were you kidding, you had never wanted someone like you wanted Mingyu.

☆ author's note: hello hello hi there it's hannieween with an announcement to make!!!

this is my new series (yes, i'm starting a new series even though i have like 3958 other wips going on atm lol)

so this is it, this is a teaser of what's to come. there are some things that i'll change here and there in the final version so be on the lookout for that hehe

that's it for the moment, oh and tell me if you would like to be tagged (●'◡'●)

toodles!

☆ STAY TUNED FOR PART I! ☆ | JOIN MY TAGLIST | BUY ME COFFEE? ♡

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charliemwrites · 21 hours

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Part 12 SpecGru reader!!

No content warnings for this chapter.

You mull over your captain’s words in the hours before dinner. Sitting behind Nova in her temporary room, Doctor Who’s opening theme warbling from your laptop’s speakers. You gently work oil into her scalp, following the precise alleys formed by her braids.

It’s a soothing ritual, not just for her, but for you. An act of care for a woman who’s been so kind and patient with you. Who always stood her ground on your worst days, and never allowed herself to be goaded into a useless argument. She’s warm beneath your fingers, soft against your chest, the scent of coconut and cinnamon sweet in your nose.

Slowly, you begin to card through memories you put great care into neglecting.

The day you left the hospital, feeling more pathetic than you ever had in your life. A packet of care instructions folded over in one hand. You remember the way Gaz hadn’t quite looked you in the eye, mouth tight and regretful at the corners. Almost guilty. Even when he handed over a bag of fresh clothes, saying he was glad to see you on your feet.

Did you know then? Was there some twinge of foreshadowing in your gut? Did you hear a foreboding whisper in your mind, of how the following twenty-four hours would devolve?

Maybe you did or maybe hindsight is a liar.

What really stands out, even after all this time, is how betrayed you felt (still feel) when you reflect on that interaction with Gaz. That the best he offered was a weak warning that Ghost and Price were pissed off at you. The hurt that he didn’t even ask how you felt before disappearing for the rest of that awful day. You never saw him after your initial discharge, he might as well have borrowed his lieutenant’s namesake.

And then there was Johnny.

Soap, who made himself perfectly visible, if only to express how pissed off he was. He never bothered to ask how you were doing either – didn’t even seem relieved to see you conscious and in one piece. He was tight-jawed and tense; the few times he deigned to speak to you was clipped and terse.

When you finally left, you remember how your chest ached, knowing (intending) you’d never see his thousand-watt smile again. A fair few of your tears on that flight had been in self-deprecation for expecting anything but his total, unwavering loyalty to Simon. It stung that for all his crowing about being a team, looking out for each other, no one left behind – he couldn’t spare you a crumb of forgiveness for a mistake in the field.

Price and Ghost had almost made sense, really. But Gaz and Soap had been a peculiar sort of pain. Your fellow sergeants, who had made you feel welcome and comfortable in the beginning – who had been the bridge and buffer between you and your intimidating superiors. And maybe it wasn’t their fault that you never quite felt like you had a seat at their table, but they’d tried.

Still… at least you can look at them. You can’t imagine opening your mouth to face Price or Ghost and anything but acid pouring out.

“What’s on your mind, babes?”

You blink, palms automatically cradling Nova’s head as she tilts it back to peer at you. On autopilot, you dip down to kiss her forehead, then the gentle curve of her lips.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the massage is nice,” she teases, “but you’ve gone over my whole head at least twice now.”

“Oh,” you intone, swiping your thumb behind her ear. “Just thinkin’ is all.”

“I can tell,” she giggles, “there’s practically smoke comin’ outta your ears.”

You grimace a bit, arms lowering down to circle her shoulders in a hug. She curls her clever, slender fingers around your forearm, tracing soft patterns with her blunt nails.

“Sorry, love,” you mumble, flicking your eyes to the screen. Realize you’ve only got a vague idea of what’s going on. “I’m being a bad date.”

“You’re not,” she insists, squeezing your wrist. “This s’all been a lot, yeah? I just don’ want you being on your own in there.”

She taps two fingers against your temple. You used to spend all your time alone in your own head. Not because it was safe – it wasn’t – but it was familiar. It took her and the rest of the team concerted effort to pry anything of value from you.

Now, you muster up an appreciative smile as you nuzzle into her hand.

“I’ve just been trying to decide…”

She pauses the show and wriggles to get a better look at your face, hums for you to continue.

“If I should try talking to the 141,” you continue. “Cap said I should consider it. See if we can put all that old shit to rest.”

“Do you want to put it to rest?”

“I should.”

“But do you want to?”

The question brings you up a bit short. Being mad is easy. You’ve been mad at them for so long, one step short of loathing, that you’ve settled into the feeling. Dug your heels in. It’s an easy way to put a stopper on all the complicated hurt lying beneath.

“I want to talk to them the same way I want to go to the dentist,” you muse.

She picks up what you aren’t saying.

“You don’t want to, but you know it’s healthier if you do.”

You grunt, still too proud to admit it outright.

“The wound closed over, but it never healed properly,” she says. “Maybe you’ve got to reset it, yeah?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Just not sure where to start.”

She shrugs. “Wherever you want to. Do it on your own terms. Only way you’ll be able to stomach them.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“’Course I am,” she chirps. “I’m used to navigating bad weather.”

You nip at her fingers, prompting a bright peel of laughter as she tries to squirm away. As you wrestle her back into your lap, your nerves soften and settle.

Even if you excise this wound, you know you won’t be left bleeding alone. Not ever again.

You haven’t come to any concrete decision after dinner. Not that anyone asks. Nova isn’t one to push and your captain has already said his piece. You haven’t told Nikto or Keegan about your dilemma yet, and you’re not sure if you will.

Nikto’s take on the situation isn’t obvious – though if you had to guess, it would be similar to Nova’s. But Keegan? You already know what his answer would be.

Of anyone in SpecGru, he had to work the hardest to earn even an iota of warmth from you. He reminded you too much of Ghost – and how could he not? The perpetual mask, the sharp one-liners. Gruff and closed off, frighteningly capable, and a crack shot with a sniper rifle to boot.

It used to take everything in you to pull your punches during spars. The rare instances that you would agree to eat with your new team were never if Keegan was present. And more than once, you walked into the rec room, saw his looming figure, and turned right back around.

The only time you could stand to look at him was during missions, but your captain was always sure to receive a killer glare if he paired the two of you together.

Keegan was your partner on the mission that changed things.

It had been a week straight of shit sleep and bad memories, sick on loneliness and anger. When boots hit the ground, you stormed right in, eager to prove to yourself (but really, to them) that you were valuable. Didn’t wait for Keegan, but that had never stopped him from keeping pace with you before.

You didn’t clear your corners, got sloppy and hasty.

Took two stab wounds before Keegan shot the hostile in the temple. When he tried to call the others, you demanded that he finish the mission first. Would have rather bled out than be the reason another mission failed.

The pain and blood loss dragged you under as soon as you choked out the demand.

Then, Keegan’s face was the first thing you saw in the hospital room. Not the mask, him.

Even with dirt and black paint smudging his face, you could see the dark, worried circles beneath his eyes. Could read regret in his angular jaw, relief in the slant of his scarred mouth. For the first time, you looked in his eyes and saw more than an echo of your former lieutenant.

You saw your teammate. The partner you’d left to fend for himself because you’d been handicapped by your own pride. You saw Keegan.

“Did you finish the mission?” you rasped.

He frowned, but your captain stepped forward. “He did – once we were there to stop the bleeding.”

You never saw Ghost in the weave of his mask again.

And soon after, Keegan was the first person you opened up to about the 141.

It was that very same week. You’d been sick on shame and embarrassment, using your injuries to nurse your wounded ego. Skipping meals in exchange for raiding your snack drawers and moping in your cot.

Keegan hadn’t made himself scarce after your discharge. None of your team had, really – but he’d made a point of checking on you. And lacking your usual sharpness, he hadn’t been deterred by your comparatively mild standoffishness either.

Which was how you found yourself stubbornly tucked into the corner of your cot one night, while Keegan sewed the holes in your shirt. He kept shooting you amused looks – probably because you hadn’t taken your eyes off him once. Half wondering why he was there, half waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You gonna say something, or you just glare all night?” he drawled eventually.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you plan to stay all night?”

He shrugged, but his eyes flicked to yours, the corner of his mouth ticking up. (No mask. He hadn’t worn one around you since the hospital. Not unless people outside your team were around.)

“If you’ll have me. Been meaning to get you caught up on the show we’ve been watching.”

You huffed, frustrated. “Why?”

He arched his brows at you, needle paused. “Because I like you, despite your best efforts.”

You stared, a little appalled, a little touched. Keegan just chuckled and went right back to mending your shirt. You drew your knees up tighter and hid your quivering mouth with your arms.

“Cap says your last team was shit to you,” he said into your sullen silence.

You scowled. He put a hand up as if in surrender.

“He hasn’t said more’n that, don’t worry,” he continued, “I’m just sayin’… I don’t take any of it personal. You’re a good teammate, I trust you with more than my six.”

Why, you wanted to demand, flabbergasted and all the guiltier because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Why did he trust you? Why was he so patient? Why was he there at all?

You sniffled, but he just kept talking.

“I want to return the favor, ya know? I’m not askin’ you to trust me after the mission, but you don’t gotta be on your own either.”

You were crying quietly by that point, face so hot that your tears felt cold, stomach aching from more than stab wounds. He finally looked up, saw how you were falling apart. But he didn’t shy away, didn’t close himself off. It wasn’t pity or sympathy that softened his eyes.

“The shit you and I carry, we’re not meant to do it alone, sweets.”

And what else could you do, but spill your sorry guts?

You remember the expression on his face when you got to the part about Ghost. Remember how tightly he held you on your cot, all the distance (emotional and physical) closed between you two. Remember waking up the next morning, Netflix still open on your laptop and flopped gracelessly over Keegan’s stomach like a childhood sleepover.

You couldn’t have iced him out again even if you wanted to, after that.

No, there’s no question what Keegan would tell you, if you asked about talking to the 141. He would say there’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of them.

So, you don’t ask.

You climb into his lap in your temporary room that evening, peeling his mask up and off with slow hands. His eyes are already half-lidded, the corner of his mouth curved fondly. His hands spread across your thighs, warm and rough. The scar twisting across his left palm is sweetly familiar when he draws it along your skin.

“I’m going to try talking to the 141,” you admit.

His jaw twitches, eyes flickering. “Now why the hell would you do that?”

You sigh, curl your fingers into the brassy crop of hair he’s been growing out. He’s got a quick temper, and a habit of misplacing it when it’s been triggered by something out of his control. You don’t take it personally, you never have – it’s gratifying to see how much he cares.

“There’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of ‘em,” he growls.

“There might be.”

He sits back, skeptical but waiting.

You continue, “I’ve got a lot of shit to say to them, and they seem eager to hear it.”

“Why give ‘em the satisfaction?” he asks.

“Maybe it’ll help with the nightmares.” That gives him pause. You draw your thumb soothingly across his temple – a bullet graze from saving your life. “We’ve got too much shit to carry, you and me. Unloading some of it is as good a reason as any.”

His hand drifts up your side, grazes the tattoo coiling down your arm. (The second you ever got – a big piece that took hours, Keegan never leaving your side. Nikto, Nova, and your captain periodically dropping in to provide snacks and water.)

He cups your jaw, guides your face down until your foreheads touch. You stay there, breathing him in. He smells like yours.

“What if they make it worse, huh?” His thumb caresses over your cheekbone the way it has a dozen times before, wiping away tears. “I’ll have to kill ‘em.”

You huff softly, amused. “Then kill ‘em. But I’m stronger than I was, Kee. There’s nothing they can weigh me down with that I can’t carry.”

“I know,” he whispers, tilting his chin to drop a sweet, aching kiss on your lips.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be carrying it alone anymore.”

His expression lightens, pride shining from his eyes. “Damn right.”

It’s nearly midnight when you wake from a light doze. Keegan is snoring softly, an arm and leg each hanging over the side of the bed. Your mouth is dry, but you realize it’s your stomach that woke you – pangs of hunger from picking at your dinner earlier. You need to eat.

Quiet and careful, you crawl out from beneath the sheets. Keegan is a heavy sleeper compared to the nearly supernatural senses of Nikto; he hardly stirs as you pad for the door. The hall lights are dim, but you only open it a crack to slip out.

The hall is quiet, no lights on beneath any of the other doors. You hope that means the rest of your team is sleeping peacefully. If you remember right, Nikto and Nova crawled in with your captain this evening. They’re all in good company if nightmares creep in; you pray Keegan doesn’t have any while you’re up.

Thankfully, the rec room is only two halls away. Light is spilling out as you turn the corner – there’s a sensor that shuts them off if no movement is detected for a while. Someone is either in there now or was recently. You half hope it’s the latter, but that doesn’t deter you from entering.

Your surprised to find Soap leaning against the kitchenette counter, a steaming mug in hand. His expression is flat, grim. Tired. You pause just inside the doorway.

“Might as well come in,” he says, voice low and rough. “I’ll clear out in a mo’.”

Even from where you’re standing, you can see that his cup is mostly full.

You exhale and shake your head. “Don’t have to.”

“How gracious,” he rasps, brows twitching like he wants to scowl. Like he can’t quite commit to being as bitter as he should be.

You’re too tired for your usual acid, as well. Just sigh and reach for the fridge door.

“Is that how you want this conversation to go?” you ask.

“Is this a conversation?” he replies.

You pluck out a yogurt cup. “It can be.”

He’s glaring into his coffee now, index finger tapping at the ceramic. Thinking. Or maybe just leashing all the things he wants to say but knows will drive you right back out.

“Why now?” he says finally.

You shrug. “Because I’m ready now.”

A tendon in his jaw twitches. “That’s not fair.”

A hot flicker of anger ignites in your chest. You tamp it down with a spoonful of yogurt, measuring out your words and tone.

“How do you reckon?” you inquire.

“You left,” he says. It’s been a while, but you can detect the hurt underlying the accusation. You suspect it’s something he’s wanted to say for a long time. “You left us behind.”

You click your teeth off your spoon, take a deep breath. It’s factually true. You are the one that left but—

“I wasn’t going to wait for you all to kick me out officially.”

He finally raises his eyes, a dark storm of emotion swirling within them.

“We wouldnae have.”

You tilt your head, cynicism in the flat line of your mouth. “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

“I ken you and Simon were—”

“Don’t.”

His mouth snaps shut, brows furrowed. You point at him with your spoon warningly but bite back the sharp remark on your tongue. Arguing isn’t the point here.

Settle instead to say, “Don’t speak for the others.”

There’s a beat of silence as he digests that, then finally nods. “Alright. Just you ‘n me then.”

You turn back to your yogurt, swipe up another spoonful as you reorganize your thoughts.

“I didn’t leave because of Ghost,” you begin. “Not entirely. I left because I was never part of the team. And what happened after that mission just… made it all very clear.”

Soap frowns, opens his mouth like he wants to deny it, but you hold up a finger to stop him. He takes a long sip of coffee and waits.

“You didn’t check on me at all. You weren’t there when I woke up. You never asked if I was okay,” you continue. “You were too busy being angry on Ghost’s behalf.”

“You almost got the both of you killed,” he argues.

“But you cared more about Ghost almost being hurt than the fact that I was,” you say. And dammit, you feel your sinuses burning, but your eyes stay blessedly dry. The anger disappears from his face all at once as realization sinks in. “I mattered to you less than Ghost.”

His hand tightens around his mug, knuckles blanching. “No. No, lass, tha’s no’… you were always… you survived.”

“I felt the worst I ever had in my life, but you didn’t care because I crossed the almighty Ghost,” you insist.

“I cared about you,” he denies.

“But not more than you did about Ghost.” You drag your gaze up to his. Even his eyes look a little wet now. “And that… that wasn’t enough for me.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, trying to loosen the tightness in your chest. Clear your throat once you feel the threatening prick of tears subside.

“I didn’t… it wasnae that,” he rasps. “I ken you think I’m full of shite, but ‘s true.”

You do think he’s full of shit. Maybe not on purpose, maybe he really does think he cared about you as much as Ghost, but you know better.

“I was just… so angry wi’ you,” he explains. “You could have died. Nearly got Simon killed, all because you thought you knew better.”

You exhale hard. “You’ve never made a bad call?” you challenge.

“It wasnae your call to make. You should have listened to Ghost. Instead, you—”

“I what?”

Your fingers tingle, numb. Can’t even feel the spoon, or the chill of the yogurt cup anymore.

“You disobeyed orders, it was so—”

“I didn’t.”

He stops. Stares. “What?”

You stare right back, “I didn’t disobey orders.”

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#cod #my writing #reader fic #from specgru with love #specgru reader #keegan p russ #john soap mactavish

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stevie-petey · 2 days

Text

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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lethalchiralium · 2 days

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hii your bio says that requests are open, so, if you don't mind, can i request a simon x reader where reader is also part of the 141 and got severely hurt, and turns out she's pregnant with simon's baby (they are together) but because of her injuries she lost the child? maybe they didn't know that she's pregnant. thank you love💞

hi!! i LOVE this prompt, so sorry it took so long lol

bring heaven down just for you | simon riley x wife!reader

cw: mentions of injury, blood, miscarriages

The car accident was extreme, even for the 141. They weren’t expecting to get T-boned in a city street, trying to make their escape, but it was short lived. You didn’t remember much, being in the backseat with your seatbelt off, on “follower” duty - pistol in hand, watching if anyone was tailing the escape. Price in the driver’s seat, Gaz in passenger, and Soap and Ghost were already at the safe house.

You remembered the car rolling, throwing you around like a ragdoll. Your head slammed against the roof of the car and then darkness took over, at least until you remembered hearing Price’s yelling. The way the straps on your vest were tugged and the blood curdling scream that left you, the explosion of pain in your leg, your shoulder, your abdomen - it woke you up instantly, and adrenaline seemed to kick in ten fold. Barely a glance down and you could see why pulling you wouldn’t be a good idea - so many glass shards in your body, deep red blood bubbled up and trickled out, you felt your body internally gag. You looked to the sound of gunshots, seeing Gaz firing off round after round, and soon silence followed. A slow blink, you found yourself crying out in pain in the street, Price knelt beside you, administering aid as you heard faint sirens. Soon, your eyes closed then opened again, finding yourself being loaded into an ambulance - Gaz and Price covered in blood. Panic surged through you, but so did the pain. A low rumble of pain escaped your chest, Gaz reached forwards and took your right hand - where did you gun go? - and held it gently, saying something you couldn’t quite hear.

A hand settled on your good shoulder, the one opposite to Gaz, you looked to your captain, now able to hear the siren wailing as he spoke, “Who do we need to call for you?”

A breath filled your lungs, only for you to cough and squeal out in pain. A moment more and you were able to grit out, “My husband.”

“What’s his name-“

The ambulance screeched to a halt, the back doors flung open, and your gurney was taken out. The IV in your elbow that was placed while you had passed out now seemed to prickle with pain, one nurse who walked beside your moving gurney drew a vile of blood before taking off, the rest of the medical crew pushed you into what you assumed was a trauma bay. You wouldn’t know, you’re not a medic. You’re just a sergeant, an infiltration specialist.

A doctor came in, placing a plastic bracelet on your wrist as you looked around with a heavy head. Price was with you, Gaz wasn’t… Where’s Soap and Ghost? Will they be here soon?

It felt like only two second passed when the nurse came back to your gurney, she was the one who took your blood. The other nurses still fluttered about, getting you ready for surgery as your captain stayed by your side. She had a somber look in her eye. There was a gentle hand on your shoulder, the good one, you paid no mind to Price - moving it to get his touch off of you. You didn’t want him there, you wanted-

“I have your test results, Miss.” You heard Price take a step back, the pain in your body began to feel fuzzy as the sedatives kicked in from your IV. The nurse stood beside you, holding onto the bed rail and you felt unease bubble into your lungs. In your adrenaline delirious state, you could still make out the look of the nurse’s face - the bearer of bad news. “Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

“I’m not pregnant.” It escaped like a whine, grabbing the nurse’s wrist with what little strength you had, your stomach twitched. “My husband and I have been- been trying for years. I- I can’t be.”

“You are, test confirms it. But we have to take you into surgery now, and I’m unsure if it will be viable after this.”

A growl emitted from your throat, “Save it. Save it. Save my baby. Please.”

There was a grim look on her face, and the doctor beside her. She stepped in, a calm look in her own eye as she spoke, “We’ll do the best we can, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

A hiccup escaped you, pain leaving you and your consciousness slipping away too, “Please. Save my baby.”

The doctor only nodded before she left, and the nurse gave you a somber look before leaving too. You couldn’t even look at your captain, the man you would have always looked to your guidance. But this… This was something you had to navigate alone and with your husband.

You were only awake for a few more moments, the anesthesiologist saying something about needing Price to leave, that you would be out soon. Your eyes grew heavy, you refused to fight it. Giving in meant not having to worry about losing the chance you’ve wanted.

When you woke up, pain encompassed you. A groan escaped you, your eyes opened and scanned the left side of the room, the light above your bed not being able to flood your room with light. It was dark outside, the stars still perched in the sky, your eyes moved right and you could see the dark mass of someone just entering through the door.

“Simon,” You whined his name, tears escaping your eyes in fat globs, your one good hand reaching for him. He was instantly by your side, hand gently moving from strands from your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” He murmured as he pressed his lips to your temple. “You survived. Why would you be-“

Your jaw set, the words spoken like kerosene, meant to burn yourself alive. “I was pregnant.” The raw sob that escaped you made you push your head back, looking your husband in the eye as you sobbed from your injuries and the loss of what could’ve been. “I didn’t- I didn’t know and- and it’s gone.”

Your husband froze, you watched every muscle inside of him contract as he gazed at you. You watched, in such agony, as you husband’s forehead fell to your bandaged one, his warm hands holding your face and his own tears sprung from his face to mix with yours. And all you could hear was what sounded like howling - loud and heavy sobs, ones that would make your body tremble. It was just hard to realize that they were coming from you, you only realized it when Simon’s hand went around to your lower back, trying to move you towards him, trying to hold you in a way that could truly comfort you. It was useless. Useless.

“It’s gonna be okay.” A meaningless saying now. It hasn’t meant a fucking thing since your third miscarriage in your second year of marriage. It hasn’t meant anything since you had to stop counting your losses and began to pretend that your husband wasn’t fucking destroyed that you couldn’t give him the one thing you want to. A family.

How could it be okay when you couldn’t do this one fucking thing that your body was made to do?

“We’ll be okay.” He murmured against your skin, your good hand holding onto his jacket sleeve, your head pounded as the sobs grew louder, turning into wails. As much as it hurt your throat, it hurt more now that after three years since your last one, you had a chance. And it was ripped from you, ripped from your hands before you even had a chance to understand why it had been given to you. A chance to show your husband that you could be good too, that you weren’t like your past either.

“It- It hurt- hurts-“ Was all you could manage, and you felt Simon’s sob shake you, burn you, crucify you. God, this must be Hell for him, because it’s more than Hell for you to think about the pain he’s in.

“I know, my girl, I know it must hurt.”

A zap of pain in your belly and you were crying more, the wails quieting to you begging him for medicine. Tears watered your vision of your Simon as he pressed the call button, brushing your hair back before looking you in the eye again. Even if you couldn’t see too well from the tears and the pain, you could imagine his velvet brown eyes - you could feel his tears as he brushed your hair back over and over, his words rumbled through you like a prayer.

“Our time’ll come soon, baby. And I’m so sorry that it wasn’t now, n’I know that’s gotta hurt so bad.” A kiss and then his cheek was pressed to your hair, you could hear the nurse come in, and more voices enter your room. There was no reason to fight your urge to close your eyes, let the tears fall, and listen to him. “But I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, jus’ like every time before, and any time after. I’ll be here, even if I have to kill a thousand men to get here. I will be here.”

#lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #might make more of this idk #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader

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sweatervest-obsessed · 2 days

Text

Last, Last Time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: ~7.3k

TW: Angst, guns, violence, mentions of domestic violence, blood, swearing, depression, kidnapping, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, heartbreak, arguing, the grieving process, drinking, screaming, crying, sobbing, throwing up, being under pressure, and anything else that comes with a criminal minds episode.

a/n: based on S15 E6 - first date. I love u aubrey plaza <3. Also inspired by the song Last, Last Time by Boys Go To Jupitar. writing this was a little bit of a catharsis since it's one of the first things I've been able to write. I'm sorry I've been so m.i.a., i just moved to a new country and that has been a crazy experience. But to cope with that, enjoy some gut-wrenching angst!

Spencer Masterlist

“Spencer I won’t—I can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of arguing in circles.”

“Y/n…”

“I-I feel like you take me for fucking granted Spencer. All I do is work and then come home and wait for you to actually be able to, I don’t know, sleep in the same bed as me for more than four hours.”

The look in his eyes almost took you out but your heart had already been broken long, long before this argument. If anything, you were starting to feel this sense of freedom as you broke his heart.

“Please. Y/n. Just–I don’t—Just give me a few days to convince Hotch to let me have some time off and we can work on this please.”

“Wait for the potential of us?”

Spencer’s jaw loosened. You couldn’t read beyond the initial layer of pain and confusion, which made your chest ache since not too long ago you could have been able to find everything you needed in his expression.

“God Spencer this can’t be fucking news to you. We’ve been drifting apart for months now.”

“I know, I know. You have been so patient with me and I’ve just been….there was that whole thing with Cat and then….I-I was trying so hard y/n…”

“No, first there was that whole thing with Maeve.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Oh that’s not fair? Really? You’re going to tell me the entire Maeve thing isn’t fair to you?”

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. “I’m not saying you weren’t trying but come one Spencer. There’s no need to deny this shit anymore. I hate it when you lie to me about these kinds of things.”

Spencer’s hand came up to his face and it dragged down, aging him significantly with the fatigue written all over his face.

“So you’re just going to pack up everything, break my heart, and leave? Were you even going to say goodbye, or was I going to come home to an empty home. A note or....”

“I-I don’t know Spencer. I just don’t…”

The tears were starting to creep in, and you had to place the box down before you lost it.

“This isn’t easy for me either…” Your chest heaved.

The both of you stood in silence, tension simmering surrounding the both of you like heat on a summer’s eve. Neither of you could really look at one another, but it felt wrong to look at anything else. Something was missing but you couldn’t say it outloud. You knew you would always love Spencer Reid but this time it was not enough.

“I’m tired of arguing Spencer.”

Your eyes met his. You felt Spencer’s arms around you before you could even feel the tears hit your cheeks. Your arms immediately went to his neck, so familiar. No longer home.

Spencer’s voice muttered into your ear. “Don’t cry Jolie. It’ll be okay..”

About three years ago, Spencer had decided that he didn’t like that you had nicknames for him, and he had none for you. He spent weeks workshopping different ones : Sugar, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Darlin, Pookie, Lover, Sunny (like sunshine), Sunshine—it was a wild few weeks trying to figure out who he was talking to. Then one day, offhandedly, he was trying to tell you about this french film he had been watching, and trying to get Emily to watch with him.

He called you ‘tres jolie’, and blushing you had asked him what it meant. He told you it meant pretty.

And it stuck.

Now? It stung.

All you could do was squeeze tightly onto him, not ready to let go.

“You’re so pretty when you’re lying through your teeth.” You whispered after a few moments, pulling away out of his arms.

“I.” You swallow and step back, out of his reach. “Maybe I’ll...”

Spencer just looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold in the tears that were streaming down his face.

You grabbed the last box on the counter and your keys, and walked out, for the last time.

You awoke in your bed, eyes adjusting to the complete darkness the blackout curtains provided you.

Another fucking night thinking about your decision those four years ago, and how your life may have gotten better because of it.

Moving to get up from the bed, you decided to leave the curtains closed for now, feeling as if you could melt from the sun touching you.

You turned on the bathroom light and started your morning routine. Wash face. Take meds. Brush teeth. Fix hair—

Somewhere in that process, you got lost, and just stared at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t sure for how long. All you could do was replay the last four years.

Did you make the right choice? You were happy, you had your dream job.

Maybe it was true what they say, you can only have a career or love, but not both—

The only thing taking you out of this spiral was the ringer on your phone going off.

This caused some hesitation because your phone’s ringer was always off––the loud noise startling you. There were only a few people who had that emergency bypass, and none of them had called you in four years.

You peaked out of the bathroom and saw the name light up on your phone.

Emily Prentiss

______________________________________________________________

The door to the round room opened up and in walked Spencer Reid. “Catch me up.”

Prentiss clicked the remote, and the TV lit up with a picture of a woman smirking facing the camera while holding a gun up to another one next to her. “Early this morning, Garcia got an email from an anonymous server.”

The second woman was tied up, mouth slightly open, and eyes filled with tears, while a man on the other side just had his eyes closed, tired. .

Spencer just stared at the photo.

Rossi nodded at the picture. “She's not obscuring her face, telling us she's got nothing to hide.”

He never pulled focus away from the screen, mouth dry at the thought of what today was going to be. “Any ideas on the unsub?”

“No.” Prentiss sighed. “Only the unsub's demand. That we release Catherine Adams in 24 hours. I'm having her transferred here for questioning, but we have no illusions. This is just a game to her. We know that. The question is, do we want to play it or not?”

______________________________________________________________

Receiving a call from the FBI was not entirely new to you, since you had been engaged to one of their agents, but receiving one now? Weird. Off brand. Something was deeply wrong from them to have to give you a call.

You hesitantly pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/n, it’s Emily Prentiss—“

“I know who you are, Emily. It’s been a couple years, not millions.”

Emily hummed a brief laugh, and you could hear other voices behind her, unable to make out anything.

“I know this is hard to ask of you, but would you stay on the phone with me and come in?”

“What?”

“I need you to stay very calm Y/n, but I need you to stay on the line with me, leave your apartment as soon as you can, and get to the BAU.”

“Oh my god I totally forgot. It might take me an hour to get there with all this bullshit traffic, could we push the reservation an hour? Would they be willing to do that?”

Your entire tone changed, having remembered what Spencer had told you all those years ago about if people were listening into your apartment, if they bugged your car—all paranoia that didn’t pay off then, might be paying off now.

You were sure you could hear Emily sigh, and it sounded a little upset at the fact that you knew what to do–you knew how to handle a dangerous situation, which made her question everything in her life.

Quickly you pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and grabbed your keys off of the counter.

You left your apartment, waved to one of your neighbors, and hopped into your car, still on the line, just trying not to panic. Maybe something went wrong, maybe Spencer wasn’t okay, maybe he had died—you refused to even acknowledge that thought and decided it was something else entirely.

It was a very tense hour of driving, that was only about forty minutes since you knew how to drive above the speed limit.

You realized that it was past midday, and you had taken full advantage of the weekend. So at least you had a decent amount of sleep under your belt for what felt like the beginning of an extraneous night.

As you pulled into the parking garage, Emily Prentiss and someone you had never met before were standing there waiting for you. You placed your car in park, hopped out and walked up to them–only hanging up as soon as you were out of the car.

Both of them had such grim looks on their faces, but at least they were trying to pretend like the situation wasn’t as bad as it appeared to your face.

Emily engulfed you in a hug. “Missed you Y/n. It’s been too long.”

“Well Em, next time I end an engagement with someone I’ll consider your feelings first.” You squeezed him back, dryly laughing at your own joke. At least it caused Emily to snort.

“Y/n this is SSA Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a small smile and nodded at you.

“I wish it were under different circumstances.” You nodded back and looked over at Emily.

“Let’s head inside?”

The three of you moved inside.

Sure, you hadn’t been here in a while, but you knew your way around the BAU Bullpen if your life depended on it, which was ironic since that was what this feels like.

As soon as you were safely in their round table room, Luke shut the door, and stood by it, Emily coming and sitting down next to you.

“What do you know about Cat Adams?”

That bitch.

______________________________________________________________

“I would like to go on a date. With you.”

Spencer stared at her, face stoic as ever. “A date?”

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun.” She looked him up and down. “And I won't even get physical, ok? Unless you want me to.”

Spencer sat down across from her. “Come here. Closer.”

Cat leaned in, a small smile on her face, absolutely intoxicated by being so close to him.

“The only date that I'll be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

Cat scoffed. “You're just going to let her father and sister die? I don't think so.”

“I never said it was a father and daughter. You're already slipping.” He stood up from the table. “We'll find them. We always do.”

Cat leaned back and crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Tonight I win.”

His resolution had yet to change, “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it'll be a clean sweep. Enjoy eternal nothingness. It's a metaphor for your life.”

And with that, the door slammed shut behind him.

______________________________________________________________

Both the profilers watched a series of emotions run rampant across your face, before you settled on a somewhat displeased smile. “A lot.”

They exchanged a look, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend like you didn’t know what it was.

“Don’t start with me you two. I know profiling. I know what you’re doing. Ask me the questions you want to ask. Don’t try and trick me into giving the answers you want.”

Alvez bit his tongue and looked away, trying to hide a small smile that appeared on his lips.

Emily, on the other hand, hid her smile a bit better than him, but part of being previously engaged to a profiler meant you picked up on some of their tricks too.

She nodded and pulled a file from across the table. “I’m assuming you know the basics since she, uh, is obsessed with Spencer.”

“Glad to see he still has that going for him.” You muttered and looked into the file.

Emily shot Luke a look when he let out a huff or air, trying his damndest not to laugh.

“What is the last thing you know about her?”

You recounted the days leading up to the restaurant, and then the few days after, decidedly stopping short of the engagement breaking off a week later.

They shared another look, and you didn’t enjoy whatever it was that had moved across their faces.

“What? What happened?”

“Y/n..”

“No Emily, I drove from DC to here, I deserve to know what happened. without some weird sugarcoating, alright?”

Emily then begins to explain to you the past four years of Reid’s life. Cat pretending she was pregnant with his kid in prison, kidnapping his mother, framing him for murder in Mexico, going to prison—

“Spencer went to prison and none of you thought to call me….”

“We didn’t think you’d–”

“I’m a fucking criminal defense attorney in DC Emily. Of course I’d want to know if he was arrested, especially internationally. I know that law better than all of you. If someone I knew was kidnapped, I’d call you immediately. Faster than the cops.”

Both of them went silent.

“So is he out?”

They nodded slowly, silently.

“How long was he in there.”

Nothing.

“I asked. How. Long.”

Luke spoke up. “Three months.”

“Jesus christ.” You stood up and started to pace around the room, taking the time you needed to calm down.

Why didn’t Spencer call you—well you knew why Spencer wouldn’t call you.

“Okay so he’s out.” You said finally. “Why am I here?”

“Cat’s execution is coming up, and we….we found out that she’s convinced someone to kidnap some….people…close to Reid, and we knew you’d be on that list for him.”

Your eyebrows went up at people but said nothing of it. Just as you went to say something else, JJ knocked on the door, another blonde woman behind her.

They entered and JJ gave you a small, yet genuine smile.

You returned it, but quickly shifted your gaze onto the woman behind.

Your whole body shifted slightly, into a place of defense, locking your emotions down. You knew all the profilers were watching it happen in real time, which is why Emily walked over and stood next to you, a hand appearing on the small of your back as a comfort.

“Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?” The blonde woman spoke up, arms crossed.

At least Spencer’s taste in partners with attitude hadn’t changed.

______________________________________________________________

“Victimology is off.”

“How so?” Prentiss looked up at him as he walked into the room.

“Father and daughter. She’s never done that before.”

Lewis spoke up. “She usually kills men that remind her of her father. Children–even adult children, are off limits. Do we have an ID yet.”

Prentiss, Rossi, Garcia, and JJ all looked over at Reid, and he just pulled a hand down his face. “It’s. It’s Issac and Noelle Y/l/n.”

“Y/l/n…as is Y/n Y/l/n.” Tara looked up surprised at Spencer.

Reid nodded slowly, just staring at the picture on the projector.

While Luke spoke up. “Who is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“An old friend.” Rossi quickly interjected, before any more explanation had to be said. It was clear both Alvez and Simmons, that whoever this was, was an extremely touchy subject for Reid.

Tara, who had only known you for a little while, looked back at the picture.

Rossie spoke up. “What do we know about the partner who’s helping her?”

“It’s got to be someone from her prison.” Simmons spoke up. “She hasn’t had contact with anyone else.”

______________________________________________________________

After all of that, you found yourself back in a place you left four years ago. It looked almost the same as when you had first moved in, but there was less of it.

Almost as if he was having trouble covering places where things used to be.

There were almost no photos on the walls, since you had taken half of them, and were in the rest.

Calling someone you once loved a stranger feels wrong.

Max, as you had learned her name, was just sitting on the couch in your spot . She was looking around as you and Rossi stood by the kitchen counter.

“Cat had a cellmate named Juliette Weaver. We believe the two were working together, as a way for Cat to get something against Spencer, and as payment, Cat would get Juliette’s ex.”

You nodded. “How does this affect me?”

“She took your father and sister.”

Your back straightened and immediately brought out your phone, to call your sister, but Rossi just grabbed your wrist (gently) and shook his head. “If she finds out you know, then it’s all over. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows about you and Reid, but she knows that dragging you into all of this will hurt him more than anything else.”

His voice had gone low and quiet, so that the girl on the couch couldn’t hear.

“So why is she here?” You whispered back.

“Because we don’t want anyone in danger.”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I need a cup of tea.”

Rossi let go of your wrist, and you walked into the kitchen, mostly eyes closed from the stress of the situation.

The apartment was silent, the others watching as you grabbed a kettle, and started to make tea. It was like second nature to you as you turned the stovetop on, grabbed a mug from the cabinet (careful to not grab one of his favorites), and grabbed some tea from the cabinet.

It didn’t dawn on you that you were drinking your favorite type of tea until the second sip, while the entire apartment was still silent.

The pity from Rossi's look was palpable.

“Don’t even start.”

He shrugged and stayed silent.

Until his walkie went off and he looked at Max. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Rossi looked back at you and gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly. “You’ve got this kid. Remember everything we talked about.”

You nodded and gave them both a strained smile as they left the apartment, leaving you all alone in this place you once called home, alone.

Never once, since you left, did you think you would ever be back here. You didn’t even realize you were drinking from one of your own mugs until it was just you. The irony of it was not lost on you, and you sat down in your spot on the couch.

Well first you sat in Spencer’s seat but it felt too weird, so you shifted back into your spot on the couch.

______________________________________________________________

“Juliette staked out in Reid’s life. Found out he was dating someone, but then must have discovered his ex-fiancée.” Simmons sighed. “He was probably so focused on Max, he didn’t even realize that someone was digging into his history, following them around.”

Prentiss nodded as they walked and talked. “But if Juliette was able to find Max, that meant she was easily able to find Y/n and her family. It means she must have access to all of her publicly available information. “

“Well at least we found their hidden agenda.”

“No. We found Cat’s hidden agenda. Juliette doesn’t care about Reid. There’s something we’re missing here. Do a deep dive with Garcia.”

Simmons nodded at Prentis. “On it.”

“I’ll go to Reid's apartment and monitor onsite. Is there a trap and trace on his landline?”

“Garcia’s almost set up.” Simmons walked away from Prentiss, and down towards Penelope’s office.

“Well this went from bad to worse.” Tara walked up to Emily.

Emily sighed in agreement.

Lewis spoke up. “Female narcissists destroy their competition.Y/n really shouldn’t be in there.”

Emily just nodded and the two of them headed out of the bullpen. “Walk with me.”

Tara kept stride with her as they pushed through the doors. Rossi was just getting off the phone with someone and turned to look at the two women approaching him and JJ.

JJ spoke up when Rossi was finished. “So, the hospital just released the dad– Issac Y/l/n. He's on his way here now.

Rossi scoffed. “Question is, why let him go at all?”

“Matt's on that.” Emily gestures in the direction of Garcia’s office. “Juliette Weaver's real agenda should tell us where she's taking Y/n’s younger sister.”

Lewis spoke next. “I still think the play here is to get Cat and Juliette to contact each other, but I have no idea how.”

Prentiss crossed her arms. “I have a plan, but first we have to talk about Y/n.”

______________________________________________________________

Just then, you heard the click of the door, and stood up, watching as the door swung open.

And there he was.

This was the first time you had seen Spencer in four years.

And here he was, kissing Catherine Adams.

The woman you could give partial credit to for ending your relationship.

After a moment Spencer looked up, and took several steps away from Cat. His eyes were wide and locked on yours.

It took a lot of self-restraint to not punch the lights out of Cat, and to stand still arms crossed.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke a little bit.

You never would say that Spencer was unattractive. In fact, it would be a lie if you ever said it. But something about the past four years aged him like a fine wine.

His hair was a bit longer, he had some scruff—his baby face had melted away and standing in front of you was a man who thought you knew everything about, but was now a stranger.

You didn’t answer him, watching as he took you in, standing in his apartment, for the first time since…

“What are you doing here?”

You looked over at Cat, who had the most devious smirk on her face.

Remember what Prentiss had said to you.

“You know why I’m here.”

Cat nodded and the two of them moved into the apartment, the door closing behind them.

Spencer just stood ten feet away from you, eyes never leaving you, and you watched him right back.

Cat, on the other hand, was walking around, examining the apartment. You could see her take notice of the tea you had made yourself on the counter. You could see the hatred from the corner of your eyes. The two of you were starting to piss her off.

She spoke up, after a few moments of silence. “Did it make you mad that I was kissing your Fiancé?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Your focus had fully turned to Cat, but you swore you swore you could hear Spencer take a sharp inhale as you spoke your next words.

“Well, he's not my fiancé and I kind of have some other things on my mind.”

Cat didn’t scare you, but there was just something so off-putting about her. “Like what?”

“Are you gonna hurt Noelle?”

Cat shrugged. “Not if I don't have to, no. Honestly, if she follows instructions, she might even learn from this whole experience.”

You scoffed. “What does that mean?”

Cat just started fiddling with the chess set on the dresser.

“Spencer, what does she mean?” You turned to look back at him, his name feeling so good on your tongue.

Spencer, who really hadn’t stopped looking at you and sighed. “I think…She means that Noelle isn’t learning from her, but from Juliette.”

You sat down in your spot on the couch, arms crossed. You were on the full defense.

Spencer noticed where you sat and had to look down to conceal any notions of a smile on his face.

Cat watched him before turning and looking at you, some more disdain on her face than before.

“Normally, Spencie and I, we spend our time together playing games, but tonight, I've brought you all here to make a point. You are doing so much better.”

Spencer spoke up. “With you?”

“I'm not talking to you.” Cat snapped at him before she turned to you. “I'm talking to you. Because, girlfriend, you need to know the truth about your fiancé.”

“He's not my finacé.” You were unsure about how many more times you could say that outloud.

“No kidding. When’s the last time you spoke? Right…” Cat walked over to the center of the room, right in front of the couch. “Here?”

Your head whipped around to Spencer. “You told her about that?”

Spencer was pleading with his eyes. “I had to say a lot of things tonight.”

Cat’s voice caused your head to snap back to her. “Yes, he has. He said that you never compared to me, that, um... That no matter what, he will never get me out of his mind, unlike you. Unlike that girlfriend.”

You tried not to wince at the mention of that girl Maxine out in one of the trucks.

Spencer sat down next to you. “Everything I said—I was lying to save your family.”

Cat scoffed. “Did our kiss look like a lie?”

“No.” you just looked down at your hands.

“Thank you. See, now we're getting to the heart of the matter.” Cat started mocking Spencer. “You see, everyone thinks that Dr. Spencer Reid is... Is just this nice, bookish, uh, genius who, uh, always saves the day and has all the answers. And has zero mommy issues, right? But, um... I know the real him.”

“Oh, yeah? Who's the real me, Cat?”

“The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls. And hisses that he's going to kill them.”

Spencer stood up, squaring off against her. “That was a very different situation.”

“No, it wasn't.” Cat was holding the smirk back this time, making your gut wretch.

“Spencer…What is she talking about?” You looked from the psychopath in front of you, to the man you realized you might have never really known beside you.

“You tell her. She's not gonna believe it coming from me.” She huffed.

Reid turned and looked at you. “Two years ago, Cat had her partner kidnap my mother. Just like tonight. She got under my skin and…”

Your chest hurts. “And you threw her against a wall?”

Cat’s smirk was breaking through whatever resolve she had. “Don't skimp on the details, Spencie. She deserves to know everything.”

Every single time she said Spencie you swore a shock went up your spine.

Spencer looked down at his hands, and then over at you. His voice had gotten quieter. “She was pregnant at the time and I knew that when I hurt her.”

“And?” She stood there expectantly, waiting for Spencer to finish. When he didn’t, her face suddenly became solemn. “The next day... I miscarried. The end.”

Spencer looked at her. “That's not true.”

“It is most certainly true. Check my medical records.”

“That doesn't mean I-I would…”

Cat held up her hand to him. “Stop. Look.”

Spencer looked over at you, just sitting on the couch, trying to process everything that was going through your head.

After thinking about everything you had gone through, especially with Spencer. “I thought you were better than that Spence.”

It was the first time you had used a nickname for him in years. And he was hearing it for the first time while you were stuck in a standoff between himself and Cat Adams, your sister being god knows where.

Spencer’s voice cracked. “I'm sorry.”

Cat squatted down in front of you, a sick smile on her lips. She was enjoying this. She truly enjoyed watching his life crumble to bits. “Notice how your Spencie is apologizing to you and not me.”

You clenched your hands. “He’s not mine…”

Spencer just looked over at you.

Cat nodded. “That's good. Because men are all the same. Aren't they, Jolie?”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with an emotion you rarely saw from him when you were together. “Don't call her that.”

And you couldn’t blame him. The word ran you through like a spear and you were sure if you looked behind you, the blade would be through the couch. You tried so hard to not let either of the two people near you see how much it messed with you. Luckily for you, Cat was too busy pushing Spencer’s buttons to see the way her words won against you.

Cat hissed at him. “What, are you gonna throw me against a wall and choke me, or do you only do that to pregnant women?”

You finally spoke up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you to see it.” She gestured to Spencer. “I want you to see that he is...no better than he was before, or any man after. They’re all the same.”

“Stop.”

Cat squatted down in front of you. “I can see it on your face. What's his name?”

You stared back at her. “It's none of your business.”

That damned smirk of hers returned. “It is exactly my business. In fact, it's my specialty. I mean, I could have Juliette and baby sister go over there if you want. They could take care of him.”

Reid looked over at you. “Say yes. Give her what she wants.”

“Hmm. See, he wants you to get me to make a little phone call so they can trace it.” She moved away from you both and sat down in the lounging chair across from you. “They're so good, the FBI.”

You jumped up and started pacing, a spitting image of four years ago. “What is wrong with the two of you? What is this sick, twisted thing that you have? Listen, I just want to save my sister. Will you please just tell me what I have to do to do that?”

“Tell me his name. Tell me the story. That's it. And then if they can let Juliette exit stage right, then I promise you I will let her go.”

You looked between Cat and Spencer before walking over to the kitchen, and hanging up the phone. After staring down at the decision you had just made, you walked back over and took your phone out. “Here. Use this. Use my phone. They can't trace it.”

She just watched you. “You'd be surprised.”

“I don't even need a call. Just... just a photo.” You held the phone out to her. “Something to prove to me that she's still alive. Please”.

Cat just looked up at your face. “Story first.”

“Y/n. Please.” Spencer turned to you, hoping you’d look back at him. “I have been here with her before. She called the number and told the partner to kill my mom.”

“It is so tricky, isn't it? I mean, who are you gonna trust? The lying, cheating, violent psychopath... Or me?”

You looked down at the ground, refusing to look over at Spencer. “His…His name was Mike Davis. We dated for two years. I met him a month after we…we split.”

Cat’s attention on you felt as if there were a million bees stinging your body all at different intervals, pain coursing through your body. “Good. When did it end?”

“Last year.”

“Was he good in bed?”

Spencer stood up. “Shut up.”

Cat was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching you make Spencer uncomfortable. She was enjoying hurting him in every masochistic way she could. “What? You have to know where you stand.”

“He was good…” You looked back at Cat. “Good at, um, separating me from my friends and my family. Enough that the first time he punched me in the face, I didn't have anywhere to go. And my first response wasn't "get out." It wasn't "go to hell." It was "I'm sorry, Mike." That's when he knew he had me.”

There was a glint in Spencer’s eyes, and you could swear they were tears, but you couldn’t tell from rage or sorrow.

Cat continued to probe. “How many hospital visits were there?”

You showed her a small scar on the inside of your elbow. “None. No, he... He knew how to hurt me just enough to hide it all, I guess.”

“But you found the strength to leave. What did you do?”

“ I planned and I... I waited.”

Cat’s eyes lit up. “Waited for what? “

“I live here in D.C.” You looked between Spencer and Cat. “but I'm also a resident in Virginia. It takes 60 days for the permit to clear.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/n, stop talking. Stop talking right now.”

Cat shushed him. “No, don't stop. Here. Give me the phone. Look, I'm gonna enter the text. Stick the landing and I'll hit "send."

You handed her the phone and she quickly typed out a message, her thumb hovering over send.

Fiddling with your ring finger, you started to speak again. Slowly. Concisely. “When I was ready, I picked a fight. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. And he came at me with his fist just cocked back, so I pulled my Glock 19 out of my purse. I shot him.”

Spencer tried to interject. “It was self-defense. He was attacking you—”

“That's what I told 911 as he was struggling to breathe on his kitchen floor. That's why the police never charged me. I’m a lawyer, I know how to plead.” You closed your eyes. “But I... after I hung up, I... I shot him two more times.”

Cat was glowing, spinning around to face Spencer. “Wow, you really have a type, don't you? Quite a dilemma, too. She just admitted to murder.”

Spencer was in disbelief. “She'll beat it.” .

“Probably. But whatever feelings she might have still had for you, and whatever Maxine might have seen in you—-it’s all gone.”

The phone in your hand buzzed.

“Oh, wow. Look at that. Your sister. Alive and well. You're welcome.”

Your face hardened up, and you stood up straighter. Walking away from the two of them, you opened the door. “I got it.”

She took the phone from your hand and you turned back to the two of them. There was no emotion behind your eyes as you looked back at Spencer.

Cat smirked and looked up at Spencer. “I win.”

______________________________________________________________

The prison transport was quiet, with the two guards sitting across from Spencer and Cat. It had been silent for about twenty minutes, but then, Cat spoke up.

“Do you know why I did this? Why I really did this?”

Spencer looked down at his hands. “You wanted to prove I'm a monster just like you.”

“No... Silly. I just wanted to see you again. I just wanted to make sure that you would never forget about me.” She sighed. “'Cause when they do put that needle in my arm, I just want there to be even the slightest chance that... Maybe you're still thinking about me…”

Spencer stiffened as she placed her head on his shoulder. “You didn't have to terrorize 3 innocent people. You could've just written a letter.”

“Would you have written me back?”

When Spencer didn’t respond, Cat knew her answer.

“Bye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.” She smiled at him desperately, getting dragged out of the vehicle by the guards to the prison.

______________________________________________________________

The elevator door opened and Spencer walked out of it, his whole body reeked of defeat, and he barely looked at Emily as she spoke. “We need to debrief.”

Spencer just walked right past her, and into the bullpen. His expression changed when he saw you on one side talking to Tara, and Max on the other, looking up at him right as he walked in.

“Spencer, are you okay?”

Her voice caught your ear, and immediately you looked up to see her walk over and embrace him in a hug.

He smiled at her, and grateful returned the hug before muttering that he would be back, and explain everything.

You were never going to get back together with Spencer, but watching it in real time was like unlacing an old wound.

Spencer walked over to you, and you stood up as he approached.

“Uh, Tara, would you mind giving us…”

She nodded at him and walked away.

Both of you went to speak, trying to say something to the other.

“I should explain all of this.”

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to explain any of that Y/n—it doesn’t.”

You cut him off. “It was fake—most of it. I didn’t kill anyone, Spence. I was just lying to her to get her to send the text from my phone. It was all…It was made up.”

He just nodded, staring at you really.

You gave him a soft smile, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Both of you could feel the pulse between it, making you remove your hand and take a small step back.

“Thank you for saving my sister and father.”

Spencer watched your resolve fully formed, masking whatever you were feeling. He hated watching it happen to him, watching as you placed whatever feelings you had back into somewhere he couldn’t find.

Garcia walked over and placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I just need you both to know, Cat Adams had a miscarriage, but it was months after whatever encounter you had. It’s not your fault. We looked at her records.” She was speaking low for you both, yet both of you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“They filled me in on everything that happened between both of you in the past couple years, and they asked me if I would be willing to…help them beat her.”

Spencer looked up at you, and unlike yourself, every single emotion Spencer was feeling was racing across his face.

He didn’t like that you knew about everything that had gone down. He was so happy you were okay. He was a little impressed by the way you beat Cat at her own game. He was upset that you put yourself in danger.

“They gave me an ear piece and everything.”

Spencer shook his head. “You’re not trained—that’s extremely dangerous of you.”

You sighed and nodded. “Unfortunately Spencer, this is…this was the life I was used to when we were together. I knew the stakes. I mean the briefings I had with Hotch after you relapsed…”

Spencer just clammed up and stood a bit straighter. “ I never knew..”

“It was like that on purpose. I didn’t want you to think that you were a burden or too much or—I was doing it for the potential of…” You cut yourself of, flinching at the parallels between this and your previous final conversation.

You looked over at Garcia. “I need my bag Pen.” You whispered, taking a step away from Spencer. “I shouldn’t…I finished my job. My family is safe…”

She had a rueful look on her face, but she nodded and took your arm, walking you back over to the desk where your stuff was.

He looked up at Emily and walked over to her. “I’m…uh. I’m gonna go walk her out and then I’ll be right back.”

Emily gave him the saddest smile, and just nodded. She knew that nothing she could say could make it any better.

You grabbed your coat, and your bag, and the two of you walked to the elevator in silence, riding it all the way down to the parking garage, where your car was still there from this afternoon, all of those hours ago.

You looked over at Spencer, tears in your eyes, having not said anything to him.

As soon as he met your eyes, you dropped your bag, and Spencer wrapped his arms around you tightly, just holding you and resting his head on yours; trying to give you the comfort that he was rarely able to give you.

Sobbing into his arms, you just tightly wrapped your arms around his torso and just held onto him tightly. Trying to decompress, trying to truly understand everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

It was Spencer who spoke first.

“I’m so so sorry Y/n.” He whispered. “I never meant any of this to happen to you, and for you to get dragged back here and—”

You shook your head slightly, but didn’t move from where you were. Neither of you did.

“It’s what she wanted, Spence, and unfortunately for us, this was always bound to happen.” You whispered.

The hug felt so good, but something about it was just so different.

It’s not the way it used to be.

“I need to go Spencer.”

He nodded, and this time you moved away from him. His hand came up and wiped away one of the remaining tears on your cheek.

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Oh fuck, why is this so fucking hard four years later.” You laughed, trying to regain any sort of composure.

“Y/n…”

You took another step away from him and shook your head.

“We can’t—I’m not.” You tried so hard to find the right words without bursting into tears again. “Spencer. I cannot put myself back to where I was four years ago. I can’t do it. And yes things have changed, but maybe that is for the better. Maybe you were always meant to be my maybe, and not my always.”

You took another breath, but kept going. “You are amazing, and funny, and so smart Spence. But this…we ran our course. It didn’t work then, and I don’t know if I have it in me to try again just for it to fail.”

“Y/n please.”

“I will always love you but this…It’s time to…It’s time to stop. I have to go back to my life, and you go back upstairs to yours, with Prentiss and Rossi and Penelope and…Max.”

Both of you winced as you said her name, but you took a step forward, moving to kiss him on the cheek.

Spencer gently grabbed you face, giving you enough time to back out.

You didn’t.

His lips locked with yours, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as the two of you shared one more moment, just for the two of you.

But it had to end.

You couldn’t go back to the anxiety, the arguing, the petty disagreements. It wasn’t good for you. It was good for either of you.

Stepping away again, you gently kissed his cheek, and started to slowly walk to your car.

Right as you got to your car, you turned around and made eye contact with him one last time before the elevator doors closed, both of you with the most gut wrenching smile slightly plastered across your faces.

You mouthed goodbye, unable to speak it out loud, and he nodded, tears filling his eyes as he whispered it back to you.

The doors shut.

You were all alone in this hollow parking garage.

Your heart was aching, burning.

But there was a sigh of relief, that came with the doors closing, and saying goodbye for the last, last time.

161 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 2 days

Note

Like I said- sorry , I'm sending alot but you do what works for you 🪻🪻

Can I request apple pie - Eddie- for - red painted nails

Thank you 🪻

No need for sorries my love! Thank you for requesting :)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 655 words

You knock on the stage door, anticipation crackling in your fingertips. You feel close to bouncing on the balls of your feet. One thing you love about your goofball boyfriend is he never makes you feel stupid for being excited about something small; Eddie is always the most excited.

He sets the bar high even as he opens the door, a grin splitting his face. “Hey, baby. Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

You guffaw, your offense only half feigned. “When have I missed a show?”

“I figure you’ve gotta get bored with them someday,” he says, but he clearly doesn’t believe it, taking your face in both hands to kiss you hello.

Eddie’s always loving on you, but he gets especially wound up before a show. The kiss is passionate, your mouths opening almost at the outset, and after a few seconds you have to restrain him with a hand on his chest. He gives your bottom lip a tiny nibble, but relents.

“I’m not bored yet,” you reply breathlessly. Eddie grins and steals one more to the corner of your mouth, short and sweet.

“I’ll try to keep you entertained,” he promises. His tone is several shades of smug. “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight. New song at the end of the set.”

Your heart zings. “Yeah? I’ve got a surprise for you, too.”

Eddie tilts his head. “What’s that?”

“Where’s your guitar?”

His eyebrows jump, interest thoroughly piqued. “It’s around. Why?”

“Take me to it?” You can’t seem to keep the smile off your face, and Eddie can’t seem to keep from mirroring it, though his is confused.

“Okay, weirdo.” He leads the way. You wave hello to his bandmates, letting him navigate you to where his guitar is standing against the wall in a corner.

Now, you feel a little bit stupid. You hope you haven’t built it up only to get it wrong. But you crouch beside the guitar, holding your fingers up to it, and the match is perfect.

Eddie gasps loud enough to make you laugh. He drops to his knees in front of you, staring at your red-painted nails with exaggerated reverence.

“Are you fucking with me?”

You laugh again, and he takes your hand in his. You keep your fingers splayed as he holds it out in front of him, eyes moving between his guitar and your nails. After a second he brings your fingers to his mouth, biting the tip of one between smiling teeth.

“Eddie,” you plead. You’d known he would love it, known he would make a big deal, but still he manages to make you feel shy.

He lets you take your fingers from his mouth but doesn’t let go of your hand. “How’d you do this?” he asks you.

“I just thought of it the other day.” You shrug, self-conscious. “I already had the polish, but when I was looking at it I thought they might be similar.”

“Similar? You cloned it.”

Your smile peeks out again. “I thought we could do yours sometime if you wanted. Like, before a show or something.”

Eddie makes a tortured groaning sound. He looks like he wants to bite your fingers again, but instead he kisses them.

“You’re too fucking cute,” he says, still beaming. “How did I get you?”

“You probably did something really despicable in a past life.”

“How dare you,” he exclaims, delighted. Kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair and body pressing close to yours. This time you don’t stop him, but after a while a loud cough from one of his bandmates pulls him away.

“Time to go?” you ask.

He sighs petulantly. “Yeah. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you,” he says, standing up and picking up his guitar. “My surprise is never gonna hold up against yours.”

“I only painted my nails,” you say.

“Exactly! How am I supposed to top that?”

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funkyplantguy · 3 days

Note

grian gets saved by hotguy and then pines over him <3

so this "au" (if you can even call it that when it exists exclusively in my brain and now in this ask) is mostly crack and comes from me joking around a couple days ago with some friends so...don't take it too seriously. that being said...

you have (3) new comments! view now?

click.

areeongreenday: hey! so this is insane.

click.

h0tguysnumber0n3fan: i guess i kind of understand where you're coming from with this - scar goodman and hotguy do share a similar sense of humor, and i sort of see what you're saying at 47:03 when you compared their voices (more specifically, the inflection they use on specific words) but...i guess i'm having a hard time imagining scar as a superhero. don't get me wrong - he's plenty cool, but...didn't he say that he's a full-time content creator now? i don't know that he'd really have the time to record, edit, and post videos on top of saving the city on a near-daily basis. interesting theory, though! admire the dedication.

click.

scargoodman: ;)

and there it was, taunting him - that damn winky face, yet again, commented nearly instantaneously each time grian uploaded a new video about the man itself. scar goodman - known to many as the man who had risen to sudden fame in the video essayist community with his charming good looks and boisterous personality. scar goodman, whom grian suspected was secretly none other than the city's beloved superhero. after all, they'd both made their debuts within a week of each other and shared not only a similar path of success but a similar sense of humor, a similar speaking style, a similar body type, a similar laugh...sure, there were things that didn't quite line up, but...for the most part, they appeared to be the exact same person.

okay - maybe grian was a little obsessed. but what was he supposed to do, not point out the obvious?

what made matters worse was that nobody seemed to believe him. no matter how many videos he posted, no matter how much proof he gave...nobody was willing to hear him out.

nobody except scar goodman himself, who seemed intent to drive him absolutely insane.

grian grumbled something to himself, pocketing his phone and continuing down the long, narrow sidewalk to his apartment complex. he'd lost track of time at work yet again, and as a result, the sun had long set. this wasn't unusual for him - he often opted to remain late in the office to "finish up a few things" (ie take advantage of the functional wifi his workplace offered instead of trying to upload videos on his crummy home network), so he was...fairly comfortable tracing the path back to his apartment in the dark of night. the street lights in this part of town didn't work exceptionally well, but with the familiarity of it all and the dull light of the moon, grian typically fared well enough.

tonight, however...well, call him paranoid, but...something felt...off. something about the way all the buildings around him were dark, indicating that their inhabitants were either asleep or out (and entirely unreachable if grian were to call for help). something about the absence of the various stray cats that he often crossed paths with. something about how the complete and utter silence made his ears ring.

"aw, what's this? a cute guy? well, pretty boy, you've just entered the wrong part of town at the wrong time. unfortunately, loose lips sink ships, or...uh...however the saying goes, so...sorry, i can't let you leave this visit alive."

before grian could even register the words being spoken (where were they even coming from?? above him? below him? behind him? everywhere, all at once?), he felt hands gripping the back of his shirt. in another moment, he was on the ground, his breath clawing its way out of his chest. above him stood a figure, shrouded in darkness and the billowing, starry cape draped across their shoulders. in their hands was something glinting, something sharp, something deadly -- something that grian's frazzled, spinning mind was unable to put a name to. or maybe it refused to - refused to name the tool that would be his doom. maybe it was better that way, he mused idly, as the figure raised it high above their head. maybe it was best to not know.

"hey! there you are - what did i say about running off?"

and just as quickly as he'd accepted his death, the threat of it was gone, vanquished by the appearance of the tall, costumed man on the rooftop adjacent. grian felt his breath return to his chest in one fell swoop, filling his lungs and sending a wave of sensitivity to his throat. he coughed, hard, tears welling helplessly in his eyes, and the newcomer's attention snapped to him in an instant.

"oh - and you've made a friend! how nice. unfortunately, there are no plus ones in prison."

"hotguy," grian's would-be murderer snarled. "i thought i'd lost you."

"nah. i may have gotten lost, sure. but you didn't lose me. there's a difference."

"you'll wish that i'd lost you when i'm through with you."

"oh, that was lame!" the man cried, hopping over the low rooftop wall and landing neatly on the ground below (how he did it, even grian wasn't sure. by all intents and purposes, his legs shouldn't have that level of shock absorption, even if he had been fed some chemical cocktail by a mad scientist at a young age as he boasted). "listen - we've got to get you a better catchphrase."

hotguy strode forward, his eyes glinting behind his tinted visor. he glanced to grian out of the corner of his eye, then back to the villain - then back to grian again, his mouth going slack in surprise. grian met his gaze - took in his appearance - and let out a bark of laughter, one not missed by either scar goodman or the cloaked figure in front of him. scar returned his laughter, throwing his head back and planting his hands firmly on his hips.

"well, what a coincidence," he giggled, after a moment. "my new catchphrase just so happens to be "subscribe to my youtube channel."

"what?" their third demanded, glancing between the two. "what are you talking about?"

"oh my god. there's no way. there's no way. how - how am i the only one who knows? how am i the only one who suspects?? it's obvious - it's so obvious."

"what's obvious?"

"i know, right? i make it as obvious as possible, and still...still, nobody puts two and two together. well...nobody except for you, apparently. i guess that you're just...special."

"why don't you just come out and say it?" grian mused, propping himself up on his elbows and ignoring the sputtering from their newly acquired third wheel. "i feel like if you said it - either as scar goodman or hotguy - people would have to believe it, no?"

a strange look came over hotguy's face, but it vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

"ah...i don't think that would change anything. plus, i have this thing with this cute guy where he tries to tell everyone my identity and i egg him on to get him to make more silly videos. i would hate to give that up."

he winked, and grian felt warmth climb his cheeks. gone was the fear, gone was the panic, gone was the darkness and the creeping, crawling sense of unease - instead, there was only curiosity, burning brightly in his chest. he wanted to talk to scar - hotguy - for hours, wanted to pull the object of his obsession apart to see what made him tick, then put him back together again, just to see what would happen. he wanted to get to know who hotguy was underneath the suit - and who scar goodman was with the suit. he'd wanted (he'd wanted for so long) and it felt like maybe...just maybe...he'd get to have.

"hey! what the hell is going on?"

"oh, right," hotguy chuckled, turning his attention to the third member of their party. "sorry - didn't mean to ignore you. here - sit tight, for real this time. the police will be here soon."

"dude, i'm just going to leave again. do you really not have handcuffs or something?"

"who needs handcuffs when you have a cub to design fancy gadgets for you?"

"a...a what?" the figure asked, then yelped, startled, as something exploded out of the cuff on hotguy's wrist. a net, affixing itself neatly to their body, wrapping them up in a cocoon of their own folly. grian stared at it, humming in approval.

"nice."

"thank you! it's new."

"i know."

"i bet you do," scar responded, and grian flushed further at the teasing edge his tone took on. "i bet you know almost everything about me, at this point. obsessed, much?"

"i could say the same," grian huffed back, pulling himself to his feet and brushing off his jeans (there was a rip in one leg, now, he noticed with a frown). "you recognized me, like, immediately. it's pretty dark out, too - sounds like you're the one obsessed."

"what can i say - you're pretty and smart. i happen to like my men pretty and smart."

grian sputtered incoherently in response, all confidence gone out the window. oh god - he was even more charismatic in person, even in costume. and god, was the costume more attractive in person, as well - baggy cargo pants and a tight, fitted top that exposed his tanned midriff. not the most tactical, sure - but damn was it hot.

"you can't say that," he moaned, covering his reddened cheeks with his hands. "oh my god. i hate you. i've known you for five minutes and i already hate you."

"sure you do," scar responded, grinning. "i - oh, hold on."

he raised his hand and tapped the earpiece affixed to the side of his head, concentrating. after a moment, he sighed - and for just a second, grian thought that his shoulders drooped in exhaustion. as quickly as they sagged, however, scar was straightening, turning back to grian with an easy smile.

"sorry, handsome, duty calls. are you alright to get back home on your own? i doubt this guy will be giving you any more trouble. those nets are pretty sturdy."

"wait!" grian sputtered, his heart hammering painfully in his chest (no, no, he couldn't let scar slip through his fingers, not now, not when he was finally so close). "don't go - i...can i see you again?"

scar's smile wobbled around the edges, and any panic grian felt was replaced with guilty - heavy and suffocating (though he wasn't sure why)

"ah...isn't it more fun, this way? don't you like the chase? isn't that exhilaration enough for your pretty little head?"

"i mean...it's a fun hobby, yeah, but -,"

"then we'll stick to the status quo. after all, i'd hate to rob you of your favorite hobby. goodnight, grian. can't wait for your next video."

and with a wink, he was gone, disappearing back into the shadows so quickly grian could have sworn he was made of them. and grian...well. he had an apartment to get home to, a cat to feed...and a chase to continue. and maybe, someday, if he was fast enough...he'd catch up.

#oooooooooh no. oooooooh my god. guys i know i said this was a crack au and not that deep but i fear i've infected myself with the brainworms #i got an Idea. i got an Idea and now i can't stop thinking about it #alternatively: mom says it's MY turn for a scarian superhero au #anyway. maybe more of this to come. i'll come back and tag this au properly when i figure out what to call it #feel free to Ask Me Things regarding this if you are interested and want to Force me to think more about it #grian #goodtimeswithscar #scarian #hermitshipping #i'm back the tenative title for this au is unmasked #unmasked au #uau

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astars-things · 16 hours

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Pls can I request for lukey: reader gets overwhelmed after meeting Luke’s family with “ you never need to apologise to me. ever. and certainly not for crying… ” 🙏

(I can relate to this)

I stood in the mirror, double-checking my outfit, hair and makeup. "Honey you look perfect" Luke said wrapping his arms around me,

“Are you sure?” I asked, tugging on the fabric again. “I just want everything to go well.”

Luke chuckled gently pulling my hands away from the dress and holding them in his. “Y/N, they’re going to love you. I love you, and trust me, they’ll see everything I see.”

His words made me feel a little better, and I squeezed his hand. “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

The drive to the Hughes’ family home was short but felt like it stretched on for hours. My mind kept spinning with all the things that could go wrong. What if I said something stupid? What if they didn’t like me? What if I just didn’t fit in?

When we arrived, Luke squeezed my hand one more time before leading me inside. The warmth of the house hit me immediately. It smelled like home, a mix of cooking and something sweet, maybe cookies.

“Luke!” a familiar voice called from the kitchen. His mom, Ellen, emerged, wiping her hands on a towel, her face lighting up when she saw him. She immediately enveloped him in a hug before turning to me.

“You must be Y/N,” she said warmly, pulling me into a hug too, catching me off guard. “We’ve heard so much about you!”

“Good things, I hope,” I said, trying to make my voice sound steady.

“The best things,” she assured me, her smile kind. “Come on, everyone’s in the living room. We’re just about to start dinner.”

We followed her into the living room where Luke’s dad, Jim, and his brothers, Jack and Quinn, were lounging on the couches. Jack immediately sat up, grinning widely.

“So, this is the famous Y/N, huh?” Jack teased, his playful tone instantly putting me at ease. Quinn gave me a nod and a soft smile from his spot, quieter but no less welcoming.

Dinner started out well. Luke’s family was just as close and loving as he’d described. The conversation flowed, filled with teasing, laughter, and stories about the boys’ childhoods. I tried my best to relax, but I could feel my nerves creeping back in, especially when the conversation shifted toward me.

The questions started coming, all of them well-meaning but overwhelming. They asked about my family, my job, my relationship with Luke, and I suddenly felt like I was under a spotlight.

I tried to keep up, answering politely, but my chest felt tight. I could feel the weight of their attention pressing down on me. The noise of the conversation, the clinking of silverware, and the warmth of the room suddenly felt too much.

My breath hitched, and I excused myself as casually as I could, slipping out of the room and heading for the front porch. The cool night air hit my face as I stepped outside, and I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm myself down.

A few minutes later, I heard the door open behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Luke. He came up beside me, leaning against the porch railing in silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I wiped a tear that had slipped down my cheek. “I just… I got overwhelmed.”

“Hey, look at me,” Luke said softly, turning to face me. When I met his eyes, they were full of understanding, no judgment. “You never need to apologize to me. Ever. And certainly not for crying.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “But I wanted everything to go well. I wanted them to like me.”

“They do like you,” Luke reassured me, stepping closer and gently pulling me into his arms. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/N. You just have to be yourself. And trust me, that’s more than enough.”

I buried my face into his chest, his warmth and the steady sound of his heartbeat calming me. “Thank you,” I whispered.

#send in requests #imagines #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #luke hughes x reader #nj devils #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #hughes brothers #new jersey devils

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leahrintarou · 2 days

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hii i wanted to request like enemies to lovers for dabi x fem!reader when reader is one of the villains in league and she and dabi always hated each other, or more like they love each other but won't admit a shit. and also dabi is always this rude, snarky bitch and then one day they get send together for some mission and he gets injured, like somewhere in the chest and reader has to take care of him and patch him up. and like she decides to be a bitch now and she's like paying him back and she's not gentle at all like she's even rougher than needed just because 😆. but then in the middle of the night when she has to change his bandages she just softens because she's actually worried about him and he kisses her and it's like the first time he feels love in thousands years🥺❤️

✩₊˚.⋆ I HATE YOU - dabi/touya todoroki

CW: swearing, enemies to lovers, dabi being an asshole, y/n is stubborn, they lack communication skills but figure something out in the end lol, mentions of wound stitching, injuries, dabi's daddy issues, quirk usage, a lot of arguing. Word Count: 4.7k Author's Note: hii, sorry for taking so long to write this lol. my schedule was busy as hell. i hope you all enjoy it tho! ty for reading and if you have any requests for me to write, send it in!

"hate."

it was a word that held so much meaning and although y/n wasn't the type to feel it for many things, as she looked at the man standing in her doorframe with a bored expression as she laid in bed, it was all she could feel.

"what do you want touya? im tired." she groaned into her pillow. he rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets. "shigaraki wants us to take care of something for him." he said, making y/n shift to sit up and face him properly. "together?" she questioned. dabi didn't answer and that alone make y/n feel dread in the pit of her stomach. she stood, walking to her door and pushing past dabi to find shigaraki who was sitting in the lobby of their hideout.

"tomura, you seriously sending out touya and i? it's late."

"exactly." he muttered, glancing at y/n as dabi showed up behind her. "given your quirks, i need you two to cause a distraction for me in the city. I've gotta get something from a hero guarded area. it'd be less bothersome if a few of them had to focus a bigger situation."

y/n sighed at that. her ability allowed her to use the quirks others. once she makes physical contact with them, a pill is produced and once ingested, she is able to use their quirk for up to half an hour. "why can't he just do it on his own?"

"because it wont be enough, y/n. just go and don't let you guys' odd relationship fuck anything up."

she glared at shigaraki due to his stern tone and the words he said overall. she didn't speak another words and only walked towards the exit, leaving dabi behind. she began walking off, sighing when dabi caught up next to her.

they walked shoulder to shoulder and y/n reached for his hand to which he pulled away imeedietly. "the fuck is your deal?"

"my deal is that i need your quick. stop bitching."

he gave her a look that almost burned through her being itself. "fine, whatever. just make it quick."

with a swift movement, y/n grabbed his wrist, her fingers just brushing against his skin. she felt the pill form in her palm and quickly swallowed it after placing it on her tongue. for the next thirty minutes, she had full control over dabi's blue flames.

dabi shook off her touch as soon as the transfer was done, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "hope you can handle it."

y/n clenched her fists, feeling the raw power simmering just beneath the surface. "i can handle your little fire tricks just fine."

they continued walking in silence, the tension between them thick, both preparing for the chaos they were about to unleash. the city lights ahead glowed brighter as they approached, a signal that they were nearing their destination. heroes patrolled these streets regularly, and they needed to make their distraction count.

"you take the east side. i’ll take the west. we meet back here once it's done," y/n said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline starting to pump through her veins.

dabi gave her a lazy nod, his eyes scanning the area. "don’t burn the place down too fast." she said, voice sharp with a stern tone.

“take your own damn advice,” dabi sneered, turning on his heel without another glance, heading toward his side of the city.

y/n scowled at his retreating figure before focusing on her own task. she approached a crowded intersection, raising her hand as the blue flames sparked to life at her fingertips. they burned cold, unnatural, just like dabi’s. with a sharp flick of her wrist, she sent the fire roaring down the street, igniting everything in its path. cars exploded, storefronts erupted into flames, and terrified screams echoed through the night air.

sirens blared almost immediately. she sighed in frustration. this mission wasn’t the problem; it was having to work alongside dabi. she hated the way his flames felt inside her—too raw, too unstable. she could handle it, but the discomfort gnawed at her.

on the other side of the city, she could see dabi causing just as much destruction. his blue flames lit up the night sky, and even from a distance, she could feel their heat. as much as she despised him, she couldn’t deny the sheer force of his quirk. their fires painted the city in an eerie blue glow, chaos unfolding just as shigaraki had planned. every hero in the area would soon be rushing their way.

but despite the destruction, y/n could feel the strain. her body wasn’t built to handle dabi’s flames for too long, and each second was like a slow burn from the inside out. she clenched her teeth, refusing to show any weakness. not in front of him. never in front of him.

as another car exploded in front of her, y/n felt the flames flare uncontrollably for a moment, forcing her to stumble back. she quickly reined them in, but the effort was draining. she could hear the distant thrum of footsteps—heroes were coming, and they needed to keep the distraction going.

without warning, dabi appeared beside her, his usual bored expression replaced by a smirk that only fueled her irritation. "you’re pushing it too hard," he remarked coldly.

"i’m fine," y/n snapped, her voice sharper than intended, though there was a slight tremor beneath it.

he cocked an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "doesn’t look like it. you’re burning out."

"i said i’m fine," she repeated, venom in her tone. she forced the flames to obey her, though her body screamed in protest.

before he could say anything more, the ground around them rumbled. the heat in the air intensified, and y/n’s heart sank as she saw who had arrived—endeavor.

out of all the heroes, of course, it had to be him.

endeavor’s flames blazed brighter than anything y/n had seen, casting long shadows across the wreckage. his eyes locked onto dabi and y/n, sharp with recognition and disgust. “enough,” he barked, his voice deep and commanding. “this ends now.”

dabi’s expression darkened, but the smirk that stretched across his face was nothing short of malicious.

y/n swallowed, the tension between father and son palpable in the air. she could feel dabi’s flames still swirling inside her, unstable and dangerous. they were running out of time. they needed to keep endeavor distracted long enough for shigaraki to finish the mission, but with the fire slipping out of her control, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on.

dabi moved forward, the flames on his body flickering angrily as he faced his father head-on. "you gonna try and stop me? i’d love to see you fail. again."

y/n watched as the two squared off, the heat between them almost unbearable. she could feel the pressure mounting, knowing she had to act fast, but part of her was consumed by the sheer hatred radiating from dabi. it was so intense it was suffocating. he wants this fight, she realized.

but right now, they couldn’t afford it. not with the mission still in play.

"touya, focus," she hissed under her breath, stepping up beside him. "we’re not here for this."

he barely spared her a glance, his jaw clenched. “shut up, y/n. stay out of it.”

y/n glared at him, biting back the retort that bubbled in her throat. as much as she despised him, she wasn’t about to let him throw the entire mission away for some personal grudge.

endeavor’s flames flared even brighter, his voice booming as he addressed dabi directly. "you’re not walking away from this one."

"we’ll see about that," dabi said through a sigh.

before either of them could make a move, y/n raised her hand, sending up a barrier of blue flames between dabi and endeavor. the fire crackled wildly, the heat forcing both men to step back.

“touya, get your shit together,” she snapped, glaring at him. “this isn’t about you and him right now. we’ve got a job to finish.”

dabi’s eyes widened with fury, his body rigid with anger. "are you serious right now? stay out of this, y/n. this has nothing to do with you."

“it has everything to do with me,” she shot back, her voice low. “if you screw this up, we’re both dead.”

“i’m not screwing anything up,” dabi growled, stepping toward her, his flames flaring dangerously. “you think I’m gonna pass up a chance to burn that bastard?” he gestured toward endeavor, who stood on the other side of the wall, watching them closely. "this isn’t just about some stupid distraction. it’s him."

y/n’s hands trembled slightly from the strain of maintaining the flames, but she refused to back down. “you think i care about your daddy issues right now? i’m not dying because you’ve got something to prove.”

dabi’s smirk twisted into a sneer, his voice dripping with venom. "oh, now you’re concerned about dying? cute. you can’t even handle my flames, and you want to play hero? don’t act like you can lecture me."

y/n’s temper flared. "i can handle more than you think, but i’m not stupid enough to throw everything away for some pointless grudge! shigaraki will kill us if you mess this up."

“i don’t care what shigaraki does,” dabi snarled, stepping even closer, his body practically vibrating with heat. “you think I’m afraid of him? of you? you’re out of your league, y/n. stay the hell out of my way.”

---

"touya, lets go!" she shouted. a few long minutes had passed by and both dabi and endeavor suffered injuries. y/n thought that it was just her eyes playing tricks on her, but it wasn’t. there on dabi’s chest was a large gash that spilled blood with every movement he made.

dabi didn’t even flinch, seemingly blinded by his rage. his eyes were locked onto endeavor, and the hatred burned hotter than the flames between them. y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. if they didn’t leave now, it would be too late.

“touya!” she screamed again, but her voice was lost in the roar of the fire and the madness of the fight. dabi was deaf to everything around him. his focus, his obsession with his father, drowned out any reason or sense.

just then, her phone buzzed in her pocket. she fumbled for it, hands shaking, and saw a message from

shigaraki: get out of there now. i’m done here.

her stomach dropped. they needed to leave. now.

she looked back at dabi, her gut twisting with panic. there was no way he could handle another attack in his state. endeavor was gearing up for something big—his flames surging brighter and hotter, ready to end this once and for all.

y/n didn’t even think; she reacted. she reached for dabi’s flames still coursing through her and launched herself forward. her body screamed in protest, the quirk tearing through her reserves, but she unleashed a massive wave of blue fire directly at endeavor. it wasn’t just dabi’s quirk she was using—she’d stored another teleportation quirk earlier in the week just in case. with a strained breath, she activated it.

in an instant, the world blurred, and she and dabi were pulled through space, landing back at the league’s hideout.

they collapsed on the floor. y/n's vision swam as the overwhelming strain of using both quirks at once hit her like a truck. every muscle in her body felt like it was on fire.

dabi was up almost immediately, his eyes wild and furious. “what the hell did you do?!” he roared, looming over her, his chest heaving.

y/n didn’t flinch, didn’t even respond. she just sat there, catching her breath, her eyes glazed with exhaustion and a cold, blank expression on her face.

“why the hell would you—” dabi continued, his voice a mix of anger and something else, something more vulnerable. but y/n didn’t care.

she stood, her legs shaking but her face expressionless. she looked him dead in the eye, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with a venomous calm. "hate."

dabi paused, caught off guard by the single word. his eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent.

“it’s what you live for, isn’t it?” she continued, her voice as cold as the flames she had just wielded. “but it’s going to kill you. and you were too blinded to see it.”

the silence between them was suffocating, tension hanging in the air like the weight of all their unresolved fury and pain. dabi’s lips twisted into a bitter sneer, but he didn’t respond. he couldn’t, not with the truth staring him in the face.

y/n finally turned her back to him, her voice distant as she walked away. "i’m tired, touya. i don’t care anymore."

he didn’t respond and that was unlike him. and although she didn't want it to, she turned around to glance at him. he was clutching the wounded area of his chest, the blood coating his hands. y/n stopped in her tracks and watched as he held her gaze with a heavy glare. "what?" he groaned with less heat in his voice.

"nothi-"

"they got you good." shigaraki said as he entered through the front door. dabi remained silent and y/n let out a sigh. "told you this plan was stupid." she muttered. shigaraki shrugged, holding up some sort of vile in a glass tube. "got what i needed though. thanks."

y/n shook her head and walked over to a table in their hideout where a first aid kit remained. "come on, touya." he never said a word despite their previous argument and the heated tension that remained between them and only followed behind y/n. this was surprising to her and even shigaraki. instead of questioning it though, she just decided to let it be, grateful for the silence.

they got to a nearby bathroom in the hideout, and y/n motioned for dabi to sit on the edge of the sink. "take off your shirt," she ordered, her voice flat, though she couldn’t help the slight irritation lacing her tone. dabi raised an eyebrow but said nothing, peeling off his tattered shirt to reveal the nasty gash on his chest. the wound was deep, the blood still seeping through the cracks of his burned skin.

“so fucking reckless” y/n muttered underneath her breath as she grabbed some antiseptic and gauze from the first aid kit. she didn’t wait for a response before starting to clean the wound, her hands rougher than necessary. dabi hissed in pain but didn’t pull away.

“watch it,” he growled, but there was no real heat in his words. his eyes, usually filled with spite or disinterest, softened for a brief moment as he looked at her. something shifted in his expression, like an apology he wasn’t quite ready to say aloud. instead, he settled for his usual sarcasm. "you don’t have to be so damn rough."

"oh, i’m sorry," y/n replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she pressed a little harder than needed on the wound. "is the fireproof bastard too delicate for a little first aid? if you didn’t want to get patched up, you shouldn’t have gone toe-to-toe with endeavor.

"i didn’t ask for your help, did i?"

"no, you didn’t. but here we are," y/n snapped, stitching up the wound with more force than was probably necessary. her fingers worked quickly, efficiently, but there was no gentleness in her touch.

dabi’s breath hitched as she tugged at the stitches. "you’re enjoying this way too much."

“maybe,” y/n replied, not looking up from her work. “or maybe i’m just pissed off because you almost got yourself killed. again.”

the room fell into a tense silence, only broken by dabi’s sharp breaths and the sound of her sewing needle pulling through his skin. but when y/n finally looked up, she caught dabi’s gaze. his eyes were softer now, not filled with the usual defiance. instead, there was something different in them, something almost… regretful.

“what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. "you’re staring."

“nothing,” dabi muttered, but he didn’t look away. his voice, usually laced with sarcasm or anger, was quieter now. he held her gaze for a moment longer. it wasn’t filled with the usual hate or resentment, but something else entirely. it almost looked like an apology, unspoken but there. maybe he realized just how close he’d come to death, and for once, wasn’t pushing her away.

after the final stitch, y/n wrapped the wound tightly, her hands no longer rough but steady. she didn’t say anything for a moment, just focusing on her work, and when she was done, she stood back, her eyes meeting his again. the air between them felt heavy, like there was something unspoken lingering just beneath the surface.

“you’re a reckless idiot,” she muttered, shaking her head, though her voice was softer, the anger dissipating into something more resigned.

dabi’s expression faltered, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his usual sharp retorts gone. "guess i am," he said quietly, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. "but you still patched me up, didn’t you?"

y/n crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "only because i wasn’t going to let you bleed out like an idiot. someone’s gotta keep you alive."

there was a beat of silence before dabi let out a breath, leaning his head back against the wall. “guess i should thank you.”

y/n scoffed. “don’t bother. just… try not to get yourself killed next time.”

dabi’s eyes flickered to hers again, and this time, there was no sarcasm or sneer, just a tired acceptance. “i’ll try.” his tone was surprisingly sincere, catching her off guard. she blinked, taken aback, but instead of saying anything, she just grabbed the bloodied cloths and turned to leave. "get some rest," she muttered, not looking back.

for once, dabi didn’t argue.

---

it was the middle of the night, and despite the quiet that had settled over the hideout, y/n couldn’t sleep. no matter how many times she turned over in bed, sleep evaded her. the events from earlier kept playing over in her mind, along with the way dabi had been uncharacteristically silent after she patched him up.

with a frustrated sigh, she finally gave up on resting and pushed herself out of bed. maybe checking on dabi would settle her thoughts. his injuries needed to be looked at again anyway, and the bandages likely needed changing. she grabbed the first aid kit and padded softly down the hall toward his room.

when she got there, the door was slightly ajar. peeking inside, she saw him lying on the bed, his defined back rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep. for a moment, she hesitated. dabi was never one to sleep deeply, always waking up at the slightest noise or movement. but his bandages had to be changed, and she didn’t trust him to do it himself.

quietly, she slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind her. she approached the bed, taking a seat on the edge as carefully as she could to avoid waking him. he was still, his usual guarded expression replaced by something softer in sleep. for a brief second, she allowed herself to just watch him. he always seemed so hardened, so untouchable, but like this... he looked almost human.

gently, y/n reached for the blood-stained bandages wrapped around his chest, her fingers working carefully to undo them. she peeled the old wrappings away, revealing the wound beneath. she grabbed fresh bandages from the kit, preparing to rewrap him, her movements slow and deliberate.

just as she began to wind the bandage around him again, dabi stirred. his eyes snapped open, instantly alert, and his hand shot out to grab her wrist before she could move any further. “what the hell are you doing?” he growled, his voice low and raspy from sleep.

y/n froze, meeting his gaze, her heart skipping a beat. "relax, it’s just me," she said quietly. "im checking to see if your stitches held and I've gotta change your bandages."

he blinked, still groggy but releasing her wrist. his grip loosened, and he leaned back against the pillow, eyes narrowing slightly but without the usual hostility. "im not a child. i can do that myself,” he muttered, though there wasn’t much bite to his words.

"i know, but you looked like you were going to bleed out earlier so forgive me for double-checking." she retorted, continuing to wrap the fresh bandages around his chest. her touch was gentle but firm, and dabi didn’t stop her this time, watching her work in silence.

"always playing the martyr, huh?" he mumbled after a long pause, his voice quieter now. "not a martyr. just realistic. you're reckless and you know it."

dabi was silent as she finished up. he sat up once she was done and watched as she placed the items back into the first aid kit. "why are you up so late anyways?"

"couldn’t sleep." she shrugged. dabi raised a questioning brow and she shrugged. "you expect me to sleep after everything that happened today?"

"causing chaos isn't something that you haven't done before though." he hummed, watching as she compiled all of the used bandage together to throw away. "but watching you almost get yourself killed was."

"you really care that much?"

y/n lowered her eyes at him and shook her head in pure disbelief. "no shit, touya. why would i have teleported us home? stitch up your wound, and even hours later, i come back to check on you. you sound so fucking selfish right now." she stood up, turning to walk away, but dabi reached for her wrist.

he caught it just in time, letting out a small groan from the swift movement. "what the fuck, touya. be careful." she said, placing the first aid kit down and a hand to his back. "im not selfish."

"really?" she deadpanned. "y/n, you've hated me ever since i joined the league. understand me when i get confused on whether or not you actually give a fuck when it comes to me." he ran is palm down his face, trying to fight his exhaustion.

"i can say the same for you." y/n spoke.

"i only return the attitude that's given to me." dabi said, staring at y/n as she tried to read his features but he gave her nothing to work with other than an emotionless expression. "i don't hate you."

"so what do you feel, y/n? you're not making sense."

she stared at him and they held eye contact. y/n let down whatever guards she had up in hopes that dabi can read what she was trying to tell him. he was good at that whether she liked it or not. "say it." he finally said. y/n figured that he got the idea in just mere seconds.

"no." she shook her head with a scoff. "i hate the fact that i feel it for you anyways. I'm not going to speak it into reality."

dabi’s grip on y/n’s wrist loosened as he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “you really think not saying it makes a difference? you’ve already given yourself away, y/n.”

y/n’s eyes flashed with irritation. “you don’t get it. saying it makes it real, and i can’t deal with that right now.”

dabi scoffed, leaning back on the bed, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at her. “oh, spare me the drama. you think i don’t know how you feel? you act like you’re the only one here who’s conflicted.”

y/n glared at him, yanking her wrist free. “conflicted? you? you barely even acknowledge when people care about you. you’re reckless with your life, like nothing matters, and you think i’m the one being dramatic?” her voice rose, frustration bubbling over.

dabi sat up straighter, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “don’t pretend like you’ve been so open about your feelings either, y/n. you’ve spent most of your time pushing me away or acting like you couldn’t care less. and now, when it actually matters, you wanna play the martyr?”

her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “i’m not playing anything, touya! you’re impossible to deal with. you push everyone away, you never let anyone in, and now you have the nerve to act like i’m the problem?”

dabi’s expression hardened, his eyes flashing with anger. “you really think you’ve got me all figured out, huh? like you’re the only one who’s allowed to have their guard up? newsflash, y/n, you’re not as mysterious as you think.”

y/n’s frustration boiled over as she crossed her arms and shot him a withering glare. “then what do you want from me, touya? huh? what is it you actually want? because all you ever do is act like nothing gets to you!”

dabi stood up abruptly, towering over her as the tension between them thickened. “you think it’s easy for me to be like this? you think i enjoy pushing people away?” his voice was low, dangerous, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and something else y/n couldn’t quite place.

her heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to back down. “then stop doing it! stop acting like you don’t care about anyone or anything!”

“i care more than you think!” dabi snapped, taking a step closer. “but you—you’re always so busy pretending you don’t want this, like it’s all some burden for you!”

y/n’s pulse quickened, her frustration and confusion mounting. “i never said i didn’t want—”

before she could finish, dabi’s hands shot up to either side of her face, pulling her in roughly. his lips crashed against hers with a sudden, fierce intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. the kiss was aggressive, meant to shut her up, and y/n’s mind went blank as every thought evaporated under the force of it.

her body reacted before she could process what was happening, her hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer even as her heart raced with the shock of it all.

dabi’s lips moved against hers, demanding and relentless, and she found herself kissing him back just as fiercely, pouring all her pent-up anger and frustration into the kiss. it was heated, messy, and full of everything they couldn’t say out loud.

he pulled back for a brief moment, their breaths mingling as he muttered, “you talk too damn much.”

before she could respond, he kissed her again, cutting off any retort she might’ve had. his hands slid from her face to her waist, gripping her tightly as if he couldn’t stand to let her go. the anger between them melted into something else entirely—something raw and consuming.

y/n’s heart hammered in her chest as she kissed him back, her hands finding their way to his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. the argument, the tension, all of it faded into the background as they lost themselves in the intensity of the moment.

when they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. dabi’s grip on her waist remained firm as he stared down at her, his expression softening just slightly.

“maybe i don’t want you to shut up,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, “but you make it hard to think.”

y/n’s lips parted, still swollen from the kiss, her breath coming in shallow bursts. “then maybe you should start listening,” she whispered, her voice shaky but steady.

dabi let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing lightly against her hip. “yeah, maybe.” his voice dropped even lower as he added, “but that doesn’t mean i’m done shutting you up.”

with that, he pulled her back into another kiss, this one slower but no less intense, as if he was determined to make sure she knew exactly how he felt, even if neither of them were ready to say the words just yet.

she pulled back for a breath, her forehead meeting with his shoulder as she closed her eyes.

"i hate you, touya."

"then hate me more."

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