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thesunisatangerine · 6 months

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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part seven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of death/dying

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 5k

A dull, stabbing pain throbbed in your right rib and you put a hand over it–you hoped to ease it somehow but it remained–as you replied, “I… I don’t know, Derek. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.”

The movement didn’t go unnoticed from Derek’s watchful gaze, especially when he was sitting right there beside you on the couch, and his blue eyes shone with the familiar question, ‘Are you okay?’ You answered him silently with a reassuring raise of your brows and a wave of your hand. Seemingly placated for the time being, he put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently.

“There’s no pressure. I just thought I’d let you know before I pass it on over to Jersey and before I inform the client she’ll go in place of you. But if you’re interested in just going to watch, we can arrange that, too.” Derek paused, opened his mouth then closed it, and he looked a bit unsure about the words he wanted to say.

Then he continued, “I… I think it will be good for you.”

The thought of returning back to the field, albeit for sporting coverage, still instilled anxiety in your stomach. Sure you had made enough progress in therapy to pick up a camera again without having a breakdown–you remembered crying out in relief when you did it for the first time after your last photojournalistic coverage–but covering the Olympics with tens of thousands of people present, one of them being Alexia?

It was painfully obvious that that was something truly out of your depth. You just weren’t ready.

But the thing was, would Alexia even care if she saw you there? You hadn’t spoken to or seen her in person in, what, fourteen months? What would she even say? What would you say? Considering that you were just a fling, you doubted that Alexia would even recognise you, much less care. The last time you were tempted to search up her name, you burnt yourself when you saw a candid photo of her and another woman. And the fact still stood that–and she said so herself, didn’t she?–you meant nothing to her.

Another firm refusal was poised on the tip of your tongue when a round of giggles that erupted from the backyard, carefree and full of glee, captured your attention. Through the open sliding door of the living room you found your daughter with her Uncle Robert, head thrown back in a heartfelt laugh at whatever her uncle was telling her with his animated gestures.

You smiled at the sight, chest immediately feeling full and warm.

“For the both of you.” Derek added and when you looked back at him, you found his focus directed to where yours was only a moment ago. You regarded the scene again, fiddling with the string on your wrist as you mulled his words over.

More than a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom imagining that you’d be able to behold a scene such as this. More than a year ago, you almost died–no, you did die–and the months that followed were nothing short of arduous, the first few weeks after you woke up even more so. It was as if the time between then and now existed on its own plane; you remembered it so vividly that sometimes when you sink into the darkest recesses of your mind, it almost felt like you were still there, and this–the now–was an illusion your lamenting mind had conjured to mollify yourself.

This almost felt too good to be real–too tranquil.

And as if awoken by the mere whisper of it, the memories pulled you away from reality and made a spectator out of you as you sank back into the most difficult time in your life.

From nothingness came the noises, followed by sensations, gentle in their intrusion at first before they made their presence more pronounced, rousing you finally.

There was a steady beeping and a gentle, mechanical hum coming from somewhere beside you and as the scope of your hearing widened, muffled footsteps and chattering registered not a moment later. Your mouth was parched but when you tried to swallow, a tightness in your throat prevented you from doing so and you groaned. Then you felt a dull ache along your right side, from the top of your shoulder, to your ribcage, and down to just by the side of your abdomen.

It took considerable effort to lift your eyelids but you managed. You found a grey ceiling to begin with but as your eyes fleeted through the room you were apparently in, you eventually found your mom asleep just beside your bed. She was curled in on herself, bent and tense, knees tucked close to her chin while her arm supported her head as a makeshift pillow against the chair’s arm. Even in her slumber, she didn’t look at peace: her brows were furrowed, the corners of her mouth tilted low, her lower eyelids looked red and raw, cheeks void of their usual carmine tint. From where you were, you could see the lines that had etched themselves on her face as if years had passed since you had last seen her.

She flinched as if a rough hand had jolted her awake, her eyes weary as she opened them at first. The moment she caught your eye she froze–she didn’t even breathe–before her eyes lit up with tears. Then she was beside you, enveloping your head in her gentle cradle as her tears fell on you, searing against your cold cheeks.

In that moment, you didn’t realise how cold you were until you felt your mom’s tender warmth and the comfort it brought. Emotion bubbled in your throat and you sobbed around the apparatus in your mouth for your mom’s presence. So enraptured were you by her grace that you didn’t even realise that the both of you weren’t alone anymore until a nurse urged your mom to step aside so the doctor could check on you.

You’d been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past twelve hours after waking up from an eleven-day coma, the doctor told you in a gentle manner as she assessed you. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to your mom and gave her a reassuring smile. She said that your state looked promising, that the likelihood of you slipping back into a coma was slim, but you should expect to sleep more deeply–for more than twelve hours a day–during the next week or so due to the damage in your right lung and your increased brain activity. True enough, just the brief interaction and exposure to the stimulants had taken a decent chunk of your energy, and you were beginning to feel exhausted already.

The doctor and nurse left shortly after that and your mom stuck by your side. She clung to your hand, her fear that you would disappear if she even let go for a second as apparent as the tears in her eyes. Her grip was crushing you but even if you could tell her, you didn’t have the heart to do it because you saw how much she needed the closeness, the physical contact, how much it brought her relief so you let it be. And if you were being honest, the slight pain grounded you to her presence–to be present in that very moment.

The door of your ward opened again, the movement catching your attention, and in came your brother. His cheeks were red and he was heaving his breaths through his open mouth, blue eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. As his gaze found yours, his mouth closed in a tight line but not before a sob left his lips, chin shaking and brows furrowing which made the tears in his eyes to finally fall. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to your side, his arms immediately around your head as he sobbed out apology after apology against your temple.

Tears welled in your eyes and you longed to grab his face, to put your palms over his ears, and tell him that he had nothing to apologise for. Your heart broke and when you felt the warmth of your mom’s arms around the both of you and felt her own tears against your cheek again, a gravity pressed against your chest as the realisation of what nearly happened finally sank in.

You wept then as it hit you, sobbing into the arms of the people you cared most about in the world.

You cried in relief.

You cried in grief.

And you cried because you were alive to do it.

The next time you woke, a nurse stopped by to take out the ventilator tube from your airway and replaced it with a nasal cannula for your oxygen support. She said that depending on the rate at which your right lung would recuperate, you needed to be on oxygen support for six to eight more weeks.

Your throat felt raw from the extraction but the relief that came from it was very much welcome. You’d been itching to ask your family about what you missed and what exactly happened. There was an empty space in your memory where memories as to how you ended up in the hospital should be–at that point you couldn’t recall anything about the child, the gunfire that wounded you, the dreams; your mind was completely out of the loop.

And you did just that.

In response, your mom pursed her lips in a thin line, stern and stubborn as mothers often were when they got protective of their children, before she shook her head firmly.

“You heard the doctor, hon. You need to rest for now.”

You tried a couple more times that day, even with Derek, to gain some insight but your family remained resolute in preventing you from being stressed out. They reminded you that you had plenty of time to put the pieces together.

Then familiar faces jumped in your mind and the guilt blazed in you, unforgiving. How could you have forgotten about them?

“Derek. Where’s Jones and Gilda?” Tremors made the rawness of your voice all the more apparent, and you stared at you brother in apprehension. The monitor began to beep as it detected your accelerated heartbeat, and your mom was automatically beside you to hold your hand, brushing the hair on your crown to soothe you.

“They’re fine, sis. Breathe.” Derek replied quickly, patting your covered foot over the blanket. “Gilda fractured her wrist and Jones is actually on standby.”

You sighed, tension immediately leaving your body at the information. You nodded your thanks to your brother for at least putting your mind at ease by telling you that.

“That’s enough for today.” Your mom said sternly before she pointed at you. “You. Rest. Now. And you, zip it.”

Derek put his hands up, pulling his brows up and the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated manner, and at that, you laughed.

Despite your growing impatience over the days that followed, bits and pieces of your memory finally returned to you but not without some help. On one occasion your mom, albeit with a tightness in her voice as if the mere act of speaking about it brought her terrible pain, finally told you what happened after you lost consciousness.

She recounted what she’d been told by the first doctor that took care of you: how a returning convoy with a paramedic onboard heard the gunshots and managed to get to you on time. Any longer and they wouldn’t have been able to–she stopped to wipe her tears and tried to find her voice again–they wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate you when your heart stopped on the way back to camp. Your right lung had collapsed from the penetrating wound in your chest and, along with the ones in your right abdomen and shoulder, you’d lost a lot of blood already that by the time you were put under surgery, you slipped away again. This time, you very nearly succumbed to your wounds for good, and it was a miracle you came back–that the surgeon said you were lucky to have lived.

Derek put a comforting arm around your mom as she put her face in her hands, breaking down again. You ached to do the same but weakness still occupied all parts of your body so the only thing you could do was offer your words.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She straightened her back and wiped her tears away, seeming to have calmed down now but Derek continued to rub her back with a soothing hand and continued where she left off.

They found your press ID badge and contacted the photojournalism firm you were under. After receiving the news, Derek told your mom who–even though Derek told her to wait so he could go with her–flew herself out on the first plane there. He flew himself the next day after he sorted things out around the firm.

“If you’re here, who did you leave in charge?”

“Robert. Don’t worry, he’s fine. I may or may not have told him I’d break up with him if he messed up.”

Your mom gasped at that, scandalised, smacking Derek’s shoulder. “Derek!”

“What? I’m just joking!” Derek asked looking very much like a reprimanded child with his eyes wide in disbelief at being told off. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at your brother’s antics but you knew that your future brother-in-law was very much capable of keeping the firm afloat.

“Poor Robert. You’re a menace, you know that right?”

“He knows it, sis, why do you think he’s with me?” He wagged his brows and you grimaced at the innuendo–the last thing you’d like to think about was your brother’s sex life. “Anyway, after I landed, Mom and I decided that we should move you to a different hospital. Farther away from the conflict zone. So we took your belongings there and now you’re here. Which reminds me, we have your rolls of film and camera at the hotel.”

At the mention of your camera, images flooded in: the explosions, the guns, the massacre, the blood… and the child. The child! Where was she now? Was she okay? What happened–

“What? What is it?” The sound of Derek’s voice, thick with apprehension, disrupted your thoughts.

“The little girl. I was with a little girl when I got shot. Derek, where is she?” The words gushed out of your mouth.

“I–I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything about–”

“Derek, please. You have to find her. She’s probably still in the other hospital. I–Derek, I need to know if she’s alright. Please, Derek–” Tremors wracked through your body and your breathing deepened, quickened, every fiber of muscle rigid with tension as the gruesome scenes from that day played like a movie in your mind–the shadows and all the blood and… the beacon of hope–the future–that shone bright in those young eyes.

“Honey, listen to me. Breathe. Breathe.” You felt your mom’s warm hand brushing over your forehead before the sounds and the blurry figures in front of you registered in your mind. There was an incessant beeeping noise coming from the monitor and you didn’t realise a nurse had come in to help calm you down as Derek stood by the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, a hand over his mouth as he watched on with glassy eyes.

After the nurse had left and you’d finally calmed down, Derek sat by your side and took your hand in a gentle grip.

“Okay. I’ll do the best I can.”

You blinked slowly in gratitude and allowed yourself to drift off to another dreamless sleep.

“I think I found her.” Derek’s voice filtered through the room as he entered. You tensed and the instinct to sit up was only dampened by the weakness of your muscles, and the straps and tubes wrapped around you.

“Where? Where is she?”

“The paramedic who was there that day remembered you so he also recognised who I was looking for, thankfully. She’s still in the same hospital but she’s about to be discharged in a few days because they’re running out of space.” Derek began as he sat by the otherwise unoccupied chair beside you since your mom went back to the hotel to get some rest–you insisted for her to go. “Is this her?”

He pulled out his phone, swiped and tapped for a moment, before he held it out so you could see the screen. There, you found a familiar face and it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders to know that the little girl was alive. She looked thinner than how you recalled but the light in those eyes remained.

“What’s her name, do you know? Has she found her family?”

“Her name is Elisa. And from what I’ve gathered so far, no.”

Your heart ached as another image came to you, this time it was of the unconscious woman next to Elisa when you found her. What was their relation to each other? Were they family? Her sister? Her mother?

You chewed on your lower lip. “Is… is it possible to transfer her to this hospital? Only if she feels comfortable, of course.”

“Already on it. And I’ve already started asking around for information about her family.”

“Thank you, Derek.”

“What?”

You stared, not believing the words that just left your brother’s mouth.

It was a few days after Elisa was moved to the hospital you were in that Derek brought you the news. He was hunched over himself in the chair beside you like a weight was pressed against his shoulders, head in his hands, shaking his head as if he, too, couldn’t believe the words he just told you.

“They’re dead. All of them.”

And the universe screamed in harmony with the dead’s unheard agony.

During the weeks that followed, your schedule was routine; prosaic.

You were bedridden and sleeping for the most part of your recovery, mainly due to the delicate nature of your injury. You were told it was normal to feel fatigued most of the time and to feel the occasional chest pains but those should go away after enough time had passed. The lightheadedness and breathlessness, though, were a different matter: the damage was irreversible, your breathing now impaired for life, and the risk of experiencing a spontaneous collapsed lung event would forever be with you.

Your schedule was routine and so with that much time in your hand, you began to write.

Elisa’s therapy was going well, you heard from one of the nurses–as well as it could get for someone who had suffered the loss she had at the tender age of eleven. Physically, she was doing so much better. She’d put on a little weight after being transferred and after a few weeks since her initial arrival, she started visiting you and began hanging out at your ward.

During this time, the Women’s World Cup just began and you noticed the way Elisa straightened as she sat cross-legged at the foot of your bed, eyes raptly glued on the mounted TV in your room, animated and dynamic in expressing what she felt as the match unfolded before her. That was the exact moment you knew that Elisa loved football with a passion.

And so a sort of ritual was established, changing your routine and, once again, brought Alexia back into your life as you kept up with Spain’s matches, Elisa’s favorite team. Despite that fact however, you were grateful that Elisa could find reprieve in watching football even for ninety minutes from the ongoing turmoil and her grief.

It was Spain against the Netherlands when you asked Elisa a question. She was curled up beside you, eyes peeking through the blanket she’d wrapped around herself while your mom dozed off in the chair, brows pulled tight in concentration as she scanned over the players on screen. Maybe it was one of the universe’s cruel tricks or maybe it was a sign, but her answer caught you off guard and you wondered how a single name could have this much effect on you; how a name could disarm you completely.

“Who’s your favorite player?”

Without any hesitation and without even taking her eyes off the screen, Elisa replied with enthusiasm, “Alexia Putellas.”

As you watched Spain’s match against Japan with only Derek for company–Elisa had pouted when she found out she couldn’t watch the match live as she needed to go to a therapy session during that time–your brother suddenly exclaimed and pointed at the TV. The noise and the movement startled you, the monitor beeped loudly in response to the spike in your heartbeat.

Derek looked at you abashed, scratching the back of his head as he apologised. “Sorry. But it’s her!”

You looked at the person who he was pointing to: Alexia. You schooled your features and tried to maintain an even tone when you replied. “What about her?”

“She contacted us multiple times asking about you and your work a few days after you left to be here.”

At his words, you heart quickened and the monitor responded to the rise in the rhythm of your heart accordingly. Derek’s eyes flicked from you, to the monitor, to the TV where Alexia was still being filmed, and then back to you.

You cleared your throat, cheeks warm which you hoped your brother wouldn’t take notice of. “And what did you say?”

“That you were unavailable, of course.”

A pause.

“Wait, did you two–”

“No.” The sharpness in your voice nearly made you flinch as your firm gaze bored directly into the blue ones of your brother’s, hoping that he would get the message to drop the subject. Derek opened his mouth but closed it almost immediately. Then he sighed, turning his attention back to the game.

It wasn’t until several minites later that Derek spoke again.

“I have a feeling she’s the reason why you left Barcelona early. But I’m not going to ask. I just want you to know that I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it, sis.”

That night, what Derek told you kept you awake. Did Alexia really asked for you–was she missing you? Ever since you left Barcelona, not once did you let yourself give into the temptation but this new knowledge cut the last thread of your will. So you searched up her name but what you saw made you wish you hadn’t.

A photo of Alexia with another woman: Alexia with her sunglasses on, a black leather jacket over her bralette, and high waisted pants; an arm around the other woman’s shoulder who had her lips on Alexia’s neck and had a possessive hand over Alexia’s jaw. It was recent, you noticed, the article the candid photo belonged to.

You dropped the phone as your hand shook, and you stared up the ceiling. The lights from the passing cars and the nightlife outside created dancing shadows through the gap in the curtain. Closing you eyes, you felt a tear fall dawn and you stuttered out a breath as you reminded yourself.

She wasn’t yours.

She never was.

Yet still… you ached.

It wasn’t until the next morning did the dreams–the ones of your family, of your deceased parents, of Alexia–finally returned to you in vivid clarity. And the pain from the night before returned to you twofold.

Before you knew it, the Women’s World Cup ended with Spain emerging triumphant in the end as they blazed their way through the tournament. In spite of yourself, pride bloomed in your chest at the result knowing how hard these women fought–endured and resisted–in this competition and the fact that they did so while resisting their federation made their accomplishment all the more admirable.

An image of Alexia, weary and exhausted, materialised in your mind.

You remembered the way she dragged her feet as she entered the door, eyes downcast and hair ruffled, shoulders hunched forward. When she found you standing in the archway, she clung to you without a word and you felt the gravity on her shoulders, the pressure of being who she was–of being La Reina–settled against your bones. That night, the both of you ended up sleeping on the couch, Alexia’s head against your chest, your fingers threading through her hair to soothe her even just for a moment.

“You’re so strong, Alexia,” you’d whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve carried so much for so long that sometimes it’s easy to forget that you have people on your side in this fight. You’re never alone, Alexia. Please don’t ever forget that.”

And as you watched her with her people on that stage lifting the trophy, the urge to whisper the same words returned to you. Even though you couldn’t, in your mind you did.

In your mind, the words echoed: I’m so proud of you.

Upon your insistence and with a lot of reassurance, Derek reluctantly agreed to leave you to return back to the firm. You promised you would video call with him every night to appease him so now, you were left with your mom and Elisa’s company to keep. But after being bedridden for nearing two and a half months, finally, you were excited to be moving around even if you were aided with a wheelchair.

When you began your physiotherapy, you couldn’t walk for no longer than fifteen minutes before you felt lightheaded. But as the weeks passed on and as you pushed yourself a bit more each day, little by little, you built up your tolerance. The next thing you knew, you didn’t have to be put in a wheelchair anymore, a small triumph but a triumph nonetheless.

The moment the doctor medically discharged you was one of the best moments of your life. But instead of going back home with your mom, you stayed behind as you needed to sort out one important thing.

Throughout your recovery, Elisa had been one of the constant in your life. The moment you knew she had no family left, your heart instantly knew what you had to do and the idea of adoption took root in your mind. You sorted out the paperworks, carefully explained to Elisa what you planned to do–that you wanted to be her legal guardian, sister, aunt, or mother; whatever Elisa wished for you to be–and gave her time to decide herself if she wanted to go through with it.

As you waited for the paperworks and for Elisa’s consent, you supported Elisa through her therapy sessions all the while you busied yourself with being immersed in as much of Elisa’s language and culture as you could out of respect for her family. Elisa was patient with you during the times you couldn’t quite accomodate the phonetics of her language, speaking slowly and enunciating the words multiple times until you got it.

A few months later, you walked through the airport with two passports, Elisa’s hand in yours, heading towards home. The road was not without difficulties, of course, and it took a long time but the fact that you were there was enough.

Even though the conflict abated just before your departure, the tension was very much alive and the cost forever unjustifiable; senseless, a transgression against those that paid for it: the dead and the ever-hungry living. For Elisa, months of therapy had helped–the first time you heard her laugh was truly one of the best moments of your life–but you knew that the wound would never truly heal, the cut too deep that even the sands of time would do little to fill it completely.

But as you looked into Elisa’s wide eyes, hope filled you as you saw it: that eternal flame that burnt in every person, passed to each other as one life touched another, a bright beacon in what seemed to be a never-ending night made from humanity’s long shadow.

A guiding light to a better future.

As the plane took to the early morning sky, as the sun peeked through the clouds to paint everything in its soft, golden glow, you made a promise. For as long as you live–for as long as Elisa would let you–you would do everything to preserve that light.

“And I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but she still asks for you, you know? Sure, it’s through her agent or through her club’s PR department but it’s still her.”

Derek’s voice pulled you back from your memories.

Again, you fiddled with the string on your wrist. The more you thought about it, the more your reluctance grew. But when you looked at Elisa with her Barcelona kit, the number eleven and Alexia’s name bold and proud on her back, seamlessly stepping over the ball as her Uncle Robert tried to defend against her before she performed a rainbow flick that had the ball soaring past her defender, you knew then what your decision was going to be.

It would be good for her.

Your daughter’s love for football was there before you even met her, and it shook you to your core when you learnt that Alexia was her inspiration. She’d told you she loved football enough to pursue a career in it, a dream that was both hers and her parents–her remaining connection to them–a dream that you would do everything to preserve as long as your daughter wanted to chase it.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” You told Derek as you kept your attention glued to your daughter.

As if sensing your eye, your daughter looked over her shoulder to you, the light of the sinking sun made gold from her hair, and you watched her smile at you, dimples and all.

You smiled back.

Yes, that’s right.

After all, you did make a promise, didn’t you?

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: a 5k part for yall #also i wrote 7 revisions of this part cause i didnt know how to present it lol #also an extra round of apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes for this one #hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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goldenhourwriter · 11 months

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•✮🕷️𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐤𝐢𝐝🕷️✮•

part one (you are here) • part two •

⋆pairing: miguel o’hara x wife!reader

⋆warning(s): i guess just fighting and some cursing. and threatening to bite someone lol. also i got translations from spanish dict, if i did something wrong, please correct me. i tried to use the right definitions/context to use those definitions in! also pregnancy.

⋆a/n: this was so fun to write! requests are open, and i am new to this blog, so hang on while i get this all figured out. requests are open, and this will be a mini series i am continuing!!

It’s not usually this quiet at the Spider Society.

It’s nice.

I walk around, humming softly to myself as I munch on a banana, a craving I usually get. I let my hand rest on my slightly swollen belly, my suit especially made to let it stretch and give the baby some room.

Yeah, ever heard of a pregnant Spider-Woman?

It happened a couple of months ago, as married couples tend to let happen. It’s twins, actually. One boy and one girl, but, my husband doesn’t know yet. Doesn’t want to know. I called the doctor anyways, and even though he threw a hissy fit that could rival a toddler, he relented and said it was fine.

And, it was kind of nice being alone. A lot of the spider-people tend to do things for me, think I’m incapable of doing things now because I’m pregnant. Even the ridiculous Spider-Man T-Rex gave me a ride through the halls. I snort at the thought, gaining some weird looks.

Obviously, I didn’t refuse. Who would pass up a ride on a freaking dinosaur?

My few 30 minutes of bliss, however, was interrupted by the beeping on my watch. I tap on it and smile when I see Lyla. She gives a wave.

“Hey, big wifey,” she teases, pushing up her pink, heart-shaped glasses. I roll my eyes. Everyone knows I hate that name. It doesn’t make me feel fat, it just makes me very aware of the two babies living inside of me, and how very uncomfortable life can really get.

“Hey, algorithm girl, what’s up?” I shoot back with sarcasm. I am met with satisfaction as she gives me a dead-pan look.

“Haha, very funny, love that,” she says sarcastically. “Your husband is struggling with an anomaly. Earth-65, some kind of Renaissance bird-man.”

I giggle at the thought. I can imagine his annoyance. “Gotcha, and did he actually call for back up?” I ask, but i already know the answer. I take another bite of my banana, shifting my weight onto my right leg. I can never stand still for too long, luckily, being a super hero can keep me moving. Keeps the babies satisfied.

She snorts at me, like i was making some hilarious, un-heard of joke. I relent, sighing and preparing my bracelet to go to the universe she said he was in.

“Alright, alright. How long do you think until he actually asks?”

“I’d give you about two minutes. He’s getting really thrown around with this one. And there’s another spider person, trying to ask him too many questions.”

My eyes perk back up to the hologram when she mentions this. “I haven’t heard of a recruit from Earth-65, is she new?” I ponder out loud. I cock my head to the side, adjusting my mask. Well, half mask. It really only covers my eyes. Lyla nods. “Yup, she’s a new one. She’s a nice kid, too.”

I smile.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Lyla logs off and I sigh, patting my baby bump. “Alright, you guys,” I whisper to my belly. I stick out my hand and the portal opens, and I jump in. I shout with joy, flying through the portal, and as I practically fall to the other end, my hair whips around.

I fall on the other end, and I groan as my hair blocks my vision. I hear grunting, crushing, wings flapping, and snappy remarks being thrown about, but I can’t see anything. I flip my hair over my head, shaking it out.

“I need a hair tie on these things,” I mumble to myself.

I look over, and I see a feminine-looking spider-hero staring at me. I give her a small wave. Her eyes are wide, I can tell. I examine her suit, which seems like it holds up pretty well. It has hood, which is new to me, and she’s wearing…are those ballet flats? I smile

“Hey, babes! You look cute!” I compliment to the get up.

She waves back again, and she looks down at my stomach. “Are you….?” She trails off. I look down, and put a hand on my hip. “Yep, I am. It’s twins, but don’t tell my husband the sexes yet. He wants to wait.” She nods, but seems to remember that she doesn’t know just who my husband is. She takes a step towards me.

“Who are you married to? Are there even more people like us?” I nod.

“My husband’s right….” I don’t even flinch as he gets thrown into the wall right in front of me, and I smile. “There.”

He groans as he slips to get up, his mask eyes squinting at me. I squint my eyes right back.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m carrying your children,” I scold. He gestured to the giant creature that hurls towards us. “I need help here!” He shouts at me. Lyla puts up on my shoulder, and we both cross our arms. He sighs, looking down.

“Please, Y/N? Sabes que no me gusta mendigar,(You know I don’t enjoy begging),“ He pleads quietly.

Vulture screeches at us. “Love truly makes me sick,” he narrates out loud, and he reaches his talons out for me. I stuck out my wrists and web up one wing, so he goes sideways, just barely missing me. He breaks free, but I web up behind him again.

“Your attitude makes me sick!” I shout at him. “You seem like the Beethoven of your area, jerky, cold, and not the greatest people-person!” I struggle to speak as I try to web him up again, but it doesn’t work. He barrels towards me, and grabs me in his talons. I hear Miguel growl and leap off the ground, landing on his back. He tugs on the man’s feathers, making him spin around to try and find him. I take the opportunity to web myself away from his grasp, kicking him away as I do so.

“Is this guy made of paper?” I ask, rubbing my hands together as I take a moment to actually register what just happened. Miguel grunts, and yells as he speaks to me from the bottom of the building. “Honey, I love your voice, but I really need you to use your actions right now!”

I spot a few witnesses trapped behind some rubble, so I shoot off the side of the wall to swoop them up. They scream, clutching onto me, and I drop them off right by a big police officer. He gawks at me, and I give him salute as Miguel webs me up again. I twist up, getting wrapped in his webbing, and I break free using a kick, hitting Vulture square in the jaw with my foot. He grunts in pain, squeezing his eyes shut, and Miguel uses this moment to try and guide him down, so he won’t escape.

I land right next to, what’s her name? I’ll learn it soon enough. I land right next to the teen as she stares at me. I smirk at her.

“What, never seen two married spiders?”

She swallows. “Can you adopt me?”

“What?”

“What? Nothing! Nothing!”

Miguel groans, and I can tell he’s growing tired. “¡Por Dios! ¿Puedes dejar de hablar por un momento? (Oh, my God. Can you stop talking for a moment?)” He calls out to me. I let out a heavy sigh, putting my hands on my knees. “I’m sorry, but your babies are making it hard to move right now!” I shout at him. Gwen webs away from me, and Miguel lands right next to me again. “Last time I checked, it took two people to make those two babies,” he grumbles. We take a moment and watch as Gwen tries to take down Vulture by herself.

I look at Miguel, and raise my eyebrows. “Did she call ya ‘Dark Garfield?’” I ask. He groans, and I can tell hair eyes shut as his head falls forward. “Yes.”

I giggle. “I like her. Maybe we can recruit-“ “No. No, we can’t, and you know why.” My somewhat playful attitude disappears with a frown, and I nod in compliance. He grabs my waist and he swings us up, and then we fall onto the Vulture back again. I scream through gritted teeth as I try to hold him down on the ground, but he flings me off, a sudden, new found strength in him.

“What the hell?” I curse. “Not cool, man!”

“This ends now,” he says to me, and he springs upward. I curse under my breath again, but it seems Miguel is on top of it. Literally.

“If he gets out, this whole universe will collapse!” He shouts, mainly at Gwen. I know the risks involved, having to save almost every universe from them every day. I shoot my wrist out, but I groan. I hit my web shooters, but nothing comes out. “Fuck-Miguel! I’m out!” I try to jump from floor to floor, but I quickly get nauseous while doing that. I look down at my stomach again, poking it. “So web slinging is fine but jumping is what doesn’t please you guys?” I ask the unborn babies. I get a mere kick in return. “I know that was the girl. That was way too sassy,” I grumble to myself.

Spider-Girl lands right beside me, and she looks at my husband and he battles Vulture. They both crash right through the glass ceiling, and we shield ourselves from the shards that could possibly cut us. She looks at me.

“What is he gonna do?” She asks. Miguel takes the Vulture’s face in his hands, and opens his mouth, wide, baring his fangs and giving a loud roar. “Oh snap,” whispers under his breath. But, he’s cut short, when a helicopter shines a light on him. He yells at the helicopter, his mask coming up again to cover his face.

“I’m a good guy! I’m here to help!” He desperately explains. My spider senses then go off, and I scream up to Miguel.

“Miguel! Watch-!“

I’m too late. Vulture throws two weapons at the helicopter, and then the helicopter starts to spin, going down, and fast.

“Shit.” All three of us say in unison.

I look to the kid, and she’s already looking at me. I nod towards her, and she returns the gesture, and we both know what that means. She launches off the floor, and she begins to web a net. I take a deep breath. “Alright, babies, don’t make me throw up,” I say sternly to my unborn babies.

I leap off the ground, and I fly through the middle of the helicopter, grabbing the two pilots and landing on the fourth floor of the building. I grunt as I roll on the ground with them, and we writhe in pain.

I turn to the both of them, checking on them, and I run to the edge, well, the mess that made the edge. I look down, and the teenage girl is flying through the air, webbing up a net. And just as the helicopter is about to crash, she flies right underneath it, just barely getting nipped by the chopper.

She lands, breathing heavily.

“Wow,” I whisper. Miguel hops a bit in front of me, landing on some rubble.

“I was gonna do that,” he says quietly to himself. I can tell he’s thinking her, thinking about her hard. Miguel and I share a glance at her, and she nods. She turns and hops down from the huge rock, and goes back towards the wall, out of sight. I turn and see the two pilots staring at me. I smile.

“Yeah, I know, there’s lots of freaky spider people, that was my reaction too. Cmon, let’s get you two a medic.” I reach down and offer my hand to them, which they take, one at a time. I help them to the big opening in the building where the door used to be, and I hand them over to some officers.

I sigh, turning around to find my husband surveying the area.

I walk up to him, putting a hand on his back, feeling his tense and rigid muscles, alert and still in attack mode. He seems to relax a little at my touch, and he lets his mask down. I grin, amusement

“Your hair is all messed up.” “Can you and I have one good moment after a battle where you don’t make fun of my hair?” “Absolutely not.”

He lets out a low growl, rolling his eyes. I walk a little in front of him, and stare at the place where the teen escaped to, hearing some grunting from there. No doubt she’s recovering on her own. My hand comes to rest on my stomach, my thumb running over the bump. I turn back to Miguel, my mouth open to speak, but he beats me to it.

“I said no,” he rejects me as he leans down to pick up some broken machinery. He scoffs at some poor excuse for art. “I’m starting to think Vulture did everyone a favor by destroying this place, this art sucks-“

“Miguel O'Hara, no cambies de tema,” I say sternly. He lets out a sigh. Spanish isn’t even my main language, so when I speak it, he knows I’m not messing around. He spins around, holding a figurine of a balloon dog in his hand. I would find it comedic, a big guy like him holding a small thing like that, but not when he’s trying to avoid my questions.

“You know we can use her. I’ve never seen anything like her, and she even beat you to one of your moves. You have to agree with me on this!” I gesture out in front of me, as if the conversation is laid out in front of us. Miguel sighs, walking up to me with his hands on his hips. His expression is hard, but his eyes give it away. He’s considering it, it helps if I’ve spent about a couple years with him now.

He brings his hand to my waist and another to my hair, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead.

“Te amo demasiado a veces,” he mumbles into my hair.

Okay, that gives me absolutely nothing.

His hand travel down to my stomach, and his two very large hands splay over my tummy. His lips quirk up a bit as one of them kicks against my skin. “Did you do okay today?” He asks quietly, referring to my very pregnant self. I nod, but it doesn’t seem to reassure him.

Vulture struggles next to us, but we just give him an annoyed look. “I’m done with your attitude!” Miguel tells him, pointing at him. He sighs, turning back to me, grabbing my waist and pulling me impossibly closer, so we’re basically sharing the same breathe. My stomach flutters. Even after marrying him, he really can have the same affect on me from when I was a new recruit.

“You know you can always opt out whenever, I can call for other backup,” he says quietly. He’s trying to spare my feelings, not letting others hear so I won’t get embarrassed. I’m never embarrassed, it’s life, I got pregnant, but I appreciate the sentiment. I lean up and kiss his nose.

“I know, thank you, but really, I’m fine.” I stick a hand up as he begins to protest. “At 7 months, I will take maternity leave. I’ll rest and just be the desk person, okay?” I ask. He debates it for a moment, and lets out a grunt and nods. We stay in our somewhat embrace for a bit, when we hear a gun shot. My head whips to where Spider-Woman went and hid, and I look at Miguel.

His mask forms again, and he kicks Vulture, telling him to be still as he picks him up. Miguel picks me up with his other arm and swings to the opening as we fall in.

“Dad, please!” She begs the cop standing across from her. Miguel shoots a containment pod at him, and she runs towards him. I grab her by the shoulders, trying to use my softest voice.

“Hey, hey, kid. Hey, it’s okay, we’re here, we got you,” I say quietly to her. She’s crying as she clutches onto my arm, staring at her dad. Miguel opens a portal, and I give the kid one more pat and walk over to him.

“What are we gonna do?” I whisper to him. He looks at me. “What do you mean?”

I roll my eyes.

“We can’t just leave her here!” I get a bit louder, but he shushes me, putting a finger up. My jaw drops.

“You did not just shush me,” I growl.

“Oh, I think I did.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t-!”

Miguel and I bicker back and forth, and at some point, Vulture voluntarily hops into the portal, all tied up, not wishing to stick around. I stick my finger up as I try to argue with him, my hand coming to my hip, and he towers over me, but that never took away my edge.

Then, some sniffling gets us to shut up.

The kid looks at us, her eyes watery and wide. She looks like what she is…a teenager who’s lost and alone. She opens her mouth to speak. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

I look slowly at Miguel, and he lets his head hang forward.

“Yeah, well….”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Join the club.”

🕷️ 💍

#miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 #spider man #spider man into the spider verse #across the spider verse spoilers #miles morales #gwen stacy

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foldingfittedsheets · 3 months

Text

Come with me now on another story adventure.

Some types of hardship do start to feel like curses if they happen often enough. One thing I’ve experienced a lot- or at least enough to posit a curse- is my apartments flooding.

I’ve had flooding in three separate apartments I’ve lived in.

The place I lived with Betty flooded due to a massive rainstorm and poor placement on a downhill slope. Betty’s room was more effected than mine, but due to poor handling by the management it resulted in some rampant black mold and my eventual falling out with Betty as we broke the lease to escape.

My first flooding though. Happened when I lived in a third floor apartment. How, you might ask, is that possible?

Oh, Reader. Prepare yourself.

Now, I need to set the stage. Because you see, I shared this apartment with the last boy I’d ever date. For the purposes of this story let’s call him Connor. We’d known going into the relationship that I had a predilection for pussy but it finally clicked that I was just not attracted to men.

This was particularly devastating because I still loved that boy with all my heart but neither of us were getting what we needed out of the relationship. Suffice it to say, the atmosphere in the apartment in which he was sleeping on the couch was A BUMMER.

We were both sick, probably from stress, and had bad coughs. It was the night before midterms.

I was tucked up into bed, with little kitten Leeloo, ready to get to sleep. It was about 10pm. Connor knocked and poked his head into the room.

“It’s raining in the bathroom,” he said.

I got out of my comfy bed, and joined him in the bathroom. Raining was an exaggeration but there was definitely water dripping down the door jam and pooling up under the paint.

“That’s not good.”

We both stared at this problem together, sick and sad.

Finally, I suggested, “Go see if the upstairs neighbor left a faucet on. I’ll try to call maintenance.”

He left and I started making calls. At 10pm it was understandable that I was getting a lot of voicemails. Two maintenance lines deep, Connor returned.

“The people above us are getting drops too, and the place above that won’t respond.”

Four defunct numbers later, I finally got ahold of an emergency maintenance guy who was on call. “It’s raining in our bathroom.”

He was befuddled and said he’d be in soon.

That was about when it really actually started raining. Drips began pouring out of light fixtures. Terrified, we turned off the lights we could, setting out bowls and towels to mitigate water damage. Water dripped from several lights and started pooling ominously in the long flat kitchen light.

The maintenance man arrived around midnight. There was bowls and buckets littering the ground as Connor and I watched in abject misery as water filled them. The maintenance man was wildly out of his depth, having been left in sole charge while the entire rest of the staff was on vacation.

As we spoke to him, the water infiltrated our smoke alarm which began screaming in earnest at this wet invasion. The maintenance man promised to try to see what was causing the issue and fled. Connor and I regarded each other. We coughed, sick and exhausted, then went to empty the water buckets.

An hour passed. The smoke alarm persisted, it’s three shrill screeches pounded relentlessly into our ear drums. We stopped existing as individuals and became vessels of suffering. The paint in the bathroom started sloughing off the wall in wet ripples.

Connor tried to rouse the neighbor again and returned unsuccessful.

The maintenance man returned. It was 1am. He couldn’t get ahold of the apartment causing the flooding. He couldn’t get ahold of his bosses. After the update he made to leave and we begged him, please, just make the beeping stop, please. It can rain inside, and I can get no sleep the night before midterms, and I can cough miserably all night while I empty water bowls, but please, god, please, just make the beeping stop.

He promised to try and left. At some point around then, the flat kitchen light shattered under the pressure and gushed out a fall of water. Connor and I gave a bleak half hearted startle and tried to scrounge up more towels.

I started slipping into madness. The unceasing blaring beeps. The rain. The misery of being in this wretched situation with someone I used to be able to reach toward for comfort who I couldn’t anymore. This was hell, I decided. This circumstance fits into how they torture people, and I live here in this torturescape now. The maintenance man was never coming back.

The maintenance man came back with a ladder eventually.

Connor and I watched with blank hungry eyes as he fussed with the alarm and at 2am it finally ceased its shrieking klaxon of madness. I cried. The man left again. We emptied the bowls.

And finally, half an hour later, the rain began to abate. The maintenance man returned to inform us that he’d entered the upstairs unit.

Someone had become incapacitated and left their bath running. He was not at liberty to disclose what happened so presumably someone was sauced out of their gourd and fell into a deep stupor such that several hours of sustained door pounding couldn’t rouse them.

People all down the row flooded, and he looked near tears himself. We thanked him and went to collapse into bed. Neither of us took midterms the next day.

Connor and I are still friends to this day, even after a night fit to drive someone mad.

My last event of apartment flooding was a sewer main getting blocked. It was when my betrothed and I had just started dating and they were hanging out at my place while I was at work. Due to this good fortune, they were able to move my couch, entertainment system, and electronics out of the path of the flood.

It took a week and some extremely pointed emails to get the landlord to comp me rent for the week I couldn’t live there and the entire time I was just thankful I wasn’t stuck with water dripping from my lights while a fire alarm drove me to the brink of madness.

#ramblies #storytime #funny #funny story #writing #honestly just have some schadenfreude #cause it’s fucking funny now to look back on it #ffs foibles #curse #raining #flooding

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munsonsmixtapes · 25 days

Text

Lost Number pt. 2

Summary: continuation of Lost Number pt. 1

Here’s part 1 if you missed it!

Word count: 17,228

CW: making out, hair pulling, tooth rotting fluff, let me know if there’s anything else!

Halloween Party, Brooklyn, 1991

You hadn’t seen Eddie in over a year. You hated that you were still upset about it, but you were. You told him not to be a stranger and he said some of the nicest things you ever heard, promising that he would see you again only for you to never get a call or even a single fucking beep. Sure, you had only spent that one night together, but you thought that you meant more to him than that. Maybe that was his thing, pulling people in with his sweet words and loving touches just to get what he wanted and kick them to the curb after he was done.

It didn’t matter anyway. You were doing pretty well for yourself after your break up with Chris. You had gotten a nice job as a makeup artist, you moved into an apartment with some friends you made, and you had even gotten yourself a therapist and were finding it very helpful. You were living your best life if you were being honest.

Your friends had dragged you to a Halloween party which you were actually excited for with Halloween being your favorite holiday and all. You loved dressing up and being a different person for a change. The mother of the group, Sheila, had decided that all four of you were going to go as vampires. Sexy vampires to be specific. You had bought the sexiest outfit you could find, hoping that it would help you be able to take someone home. You just had to get over Eddie as much as it hurt to move on.

You had been there for what felt like hours and honestly couldn’t wait to go home. None of the men there had been your type in the slightest. They were all frat bros and had made it very clear that none of them were interested in you. Of course they weren’t. That would have meant that they actually had to be considerate and they were far from it.

You sipped on your punch that definitely had too much alcohol in it and debated on calling a cab to take you home. Your friends were having fun because of course they were. They were all conventionally attractive and somehow knew the magic words to get men into bed. The words that you somehow had no idea about. You weren’t insecure about your body in the slightest, but moments like that really made you realize just how much people who looked like you were discriminated against.

You looked around the room one more time and your eyes widened as they locked on the familiar head of curly hair. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be. He was on tour (you definitely hadn’t looked him up.) and their next stop was…New York. Fuck, it really was him. There, in the flesh and not a figment of your drunken imagination. His face lit up at the sight of you and you were quick to move to the kitchen, hoping he would get the hint that you didn’t want to see him.

He followed after you, somehow meeting you in the kitchen, the two of you getting there at the same time despite him having been all the way across the living room. You looked at him as he stood across the island, his hands resting against it. He looked good. Too good, almost. He had dark eyeshadow around his eyes and a dark grey color contoured his cheeks. He also had a little red line trickling down from his mouth and a pair of white fangs hung from his teeth. He was wearing a black long sleeve shirt with long ruffles that stopped at his chest with a dark red vest over it. He looked so fucking good and if you had still been in contact with him, you would have taken him to the nearest empty room and had your way with him.

“Sweetheart!” He called out, rounding the island to pull you into a hug. You put your hand out to stop him, a disgusted look making its way upon your face. How could he act like that when he hadn’t bothered to call you or even message you after all this time? Maybe all rockstars were just too good to be true.

“Don’t talk to me,” you spit and Eddie stepped back, surprised by the tone of your voice. He honestly thought you’d be happy to see him, but apparently he had missed something. Typical Eddie, always out of the loop.

“Angel, what’s-“

“Don’t call me that,” you pointed at him. “You don’t have the right to after you ignored me for over a year.” Ignored you? He hadn’t done anything of the sort. In fact, he had thought about you every day since he let you take his car. You had taken up every space of his brain and it was killing him that he had no way of contacting you.

“I didn’t-“ he cut himself off, trying to gather his thoughts. “I didn’t ignore you. I lost your number.”

“How’d you do that?” You put your hands on your hips, anger very evident on your face. He hated that he found you so hot in that moment. He was always admiring how attractive you were at inappropriate times, it seemed.

“It smudged when we…you know. I guess eyeliner wasn’t the best writing utensil.” He couldn’t believe that you would actually believe that he would just not call you when he promised that he would. He had every intention of doing so when he got back to his room. He had grabbed the phone, all giddy and his face fell when he realized that eyeliner had completely disappeared. He should have written it down when he had a chance.

“I guess not,” you shrugged, not even sure why you were still talking to him.

“You really believe I wouldn’t have called you if I could have?” You honestly didn’t know what to believe. You didn’t even know him so who were you to think that he was sweet just because that was the side of himself he decided to show you? You were convinced that it had been one of his tricks.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I would’ve. I would’ve called you every day. I wanted to. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. You have to know that.” He was actually telling the truth. There wasn’t a moment that passed where he wasn’t thinking about you and what you were doing. Not a moment where he wasn’t thinking about how much he fucking missed you. It was actually getting kind of pathetic.

“I don’t know anything, actually. I know nothing about you, Eddie. You could be lying to me for all I know.” He could have been, but he wasn’t. Eddie may have been many things, but he definitely wasn’t a liar. When he said something, he meant it.

“But I’m not,” he licked his lips, stepping closer to you. You only stepped back, keeping space between the two of you. “Can we talk,” he looked around the house for a moment before turning back to you. “Alone?”

“Why would you think that I’d go anywhere with you? Why don’t you call one of your groupies to talk to you? I’m sure they’d be glad to.” With that, you turned on your heel and fled the kitchen to find your friends. You couldn’t hear another word of his bullshit. He could try that on someone else, but you definitely weren’t going to fall for it.

“(Y/n),” he called after you. “(Y/n)!” He yelled over the loud music, hoping that you could hear him. Just when he thought he lost you, you whipped around to face him, anger very evident on your face.

“Get fucked, Munson.” A beat passed before you spoke again. “Or I guess you already have. Multiple times.”

“Angel,” he reached for your hand, but you snatched it away. “I haven’t slept with anyone since that night.” He really thought you were going to believe that? Maybe a few years ago you have fallen for it, but you were a different woman now.

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Clearly he did if he thought you were going to believe something like that. “You expect me to believe that you haven’t slept with anyone in over a year? Bullshit.”

“(Y/n), I’m not joking. If you don’t believe me, ask Gareth.” Why would you have believed a complete stranger? Especially a friend of Eddie’s? He was clearly biased so there was no point in even asking.

“I don’t need to because I don’t care, Eddie. Go and fuck whoever you want. I’m over you.” You turned your back to him again and this time he let you go, watching you walk away from him, knowing that you’ll probably never want to see him again.

You found your friends who were all on the couch and Elodie offered you a shot which you gladly downed, trying to not watch Eddie out of the corner of your eye. You wanted to believe him but you just couldn’t. You really wanted to hear his voice. You wanted to talk to him about your day and laugh with him until the early morning.

You turned back to your friends when you knew he was looking and they all were giggling about something. What, you didn’t know. You laughed along, just wanting to be included. You really needed to get out of your head.

“Let’s dance,” Hannah suggested, grabbing your hands and pulling you from the couch. “You’re too hot to be pouty tonight.”

“You guys,” Sheila pulled the three of you into a circle. “I swear I saw Eddie Munson in the foyer.”

“What the fuck,” Elodie replied, her mouth agape. “Are you serious?”

“I mean I haven’t had that many drinks, so I think so.” You hadn’t told your friends that you had slept with Eddie. You knew that they wouldn’t have believed you so you kept quiet about it. When they had initially asked you what was wrong you had only told them about Chris and they helped you through it. There was no fucking way that you were ever going to tell them about Eddie. It was your little secret and you were taking that shit to your grave.

The other two girls turned to look and you couldn’t help but think about how obvious they were. Eddie caught sight of them and gave them a little wave before turning back to the person he was talking to. They all let out little squeals and the four of you headed to the makeshift dance floor.

You caught sight of Eddie yet again and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you so you decided to have some fun. You were moving in a way that you didn’t usually, but you were trying to…you didn’t actually know what you were trying to do. You were just trying to rub salt in the wound. Showing Eddie exactly what he was missing. You were going to make him regret ever hurting you.

You ran your hands all along your body, closing your eyes as you did so. Images of Eddie’s hands on you flashed in your head. You remembered exactly what they felt like, rough in feeling but gentle in action. He had been so caring and sweet. What happened?

Just as he was getting interested in watching you, you turned to your friends and danced with them, Eddie completely forgotten. He couldn’t see you anymore from where he was standing and leaned over, trying to get a better look at you. You just looked so fucking hot with your red corset that showed off your cleavage nicely and your skirt that had a slit on each side that gave him a great view of your thighs that he personally thought was your best asset.

“I think someone’s interested in you, (y/n),” Hannah pointed behind you and you didn’t have to turn around to see who it was. You did anyway to humor them and Eddie gave you a wink when your eyes met his.

“Yeah right,” you scoffed and hoped that you were convincing enough. You be damned if Eddie actually thought you’d give him another chance. Or even if one of your friends went after him. You couldn’t let that happen. They were all too good for him.

“He won’t stop looking at you,” Elodie added. “You should go talk to him.”

“No way,” you shook your head. You were nothing if not stubborn.

“C’mon. You only get one chance to fuck a rockstar.” She was right, but you had already been there, done that. Well, sort of. You even still had the t-shirt that Eddie had insisted that you keep buried in the back of your closet. You couldn’t get yourself to get rid of it despite the fact that you had convinced yourself that you hated him. You didn’t think you could’ve hated him if you tried. You were just hurt.

“That’s true,” you nodded. “But I don’t think I’m his type.” That couldn’t have been the furthest from the truth. In fact, at that point, Eddie would have considered you the only person to be his type. He wanted just you and that was it. He supposed now that he was just going to end up alone.

“His type is anyone hot and you definitely are so get your ass over there and give him your number.” Technically it wasn’t your phone; the four of you shared it.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Not happening.” He already had a chance to call you so you didn’t think he deserved another. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

“You’re never shy, (y/n). Does Eddie intimidate you?” Elodie teased, nudging your shoulder with hers.

“No, he-“ you almost told them the real reason why you didn’t want to talk to him, but thankfully Hannah cut you off before you could.

“Fine, then I’m gonna go talk to him for myself.” Hannah pulled her corset down a bit to show off some more cleavage before heading over to the singer. Your blood ran hot as you felt jealousy rise in your body as you watched one of your best friends with the man you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for over a year.

Eddie watched Hannah approach him and he really hoped that she wasn’t going to hit on him, especially in front of you. He wanted you to know that he was into you and only you.

“Hi,” he greeted and he let out a breath, noticing that she wasn’t acting flirty in the slightest. He always felt bad letting people down when he wasn’t interested.

“Hi,” he nodded awkwardly. What was the protocol for talking to a girl who you weren’t interested in? That was usually the only reason why he even talked to most people at things like that. But since he was set on not taking her home, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“So, my friend (y/n) is a little shy,” she nodded her head towards you. Hannah didn’t miss that Eddie’s eyes lit up at that. “And she wanted me to give you her number.”

“Oh,” he tried his best to be nonchalant but didn’t think he was that convincing. “Sure.” Hannah grabbed a napkin from the table behind him and scribbled down the phone number and your name and handed it to him.

“Cool, thanks,” he nodded. “You’re a good friend.”

“I know,” she nodded before heading back over to you and the other girls. Eddie tried his very best not to scream as loud as he could in excitement that he had finally gotten your number on something that he couldn’t lose so easily. That he wouldn’t be making the same mistake. He couldn’t lose you twice. He really couldn’t.

You watched Hannah and Eddie’s interaction and hated that you wished it had been you. Your blood was hot and jealously was rushing through you. You hated that you were jealous of seeing her with him. You were over him. At least that was what you were telling yourself.

“So it looks like you were successful,” you spoke up, your tone a little too bitter for your liking. You were never very good at hiding your jealousy.

“Oh, I was,” Hannah winked at you. “Very.” You didn’t know what she was winking at your for, but whatever the reason was beginning to piss you off.

“Good for you, Han. Hey, we should take a picture, you know, to remember this night,” Sheila suggested. There was nothing about that night that you wanted to remember. Your one night stand from over a year ago showed up out of nowhere and now one of your best friends had given him her (technically yours too) number and now he was going to call and ask for her and there was a chance that you were going to pick up. Maybe you’d avoid being at home for long periods of time, at least for a little bit.

“Yeah,” Elodie nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m down,” Hannah agreed.

“(Y/n?)” Sheila asked as the three turned to you for approval.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Sure.” You really weren’t in the mood for a picture but you just couldn’t say no to the girls, especially when they had done so much for you, the big one being letting you live with them.

“Fantastic!” Sheila pulled her Polaroid camera out of her purse. She was always bringing that thing everywhere and was always able to get some great pictures that captured some of your best memories that hung on the fridge in the apartment you all shared.

“Hey,” Elodie spoke up. “You should have Eddie take it,” she turned to Hannah. Hannah was going to protest, but Sheila spoke before she could.

“That’s a great idea! Imagine having a Polaroid taken by the Eddie Munson!” Sheila squealed. She didn’t listen to metal music like the rest of you but she did think Eddie was hot and you didn’t think you could fault her for that since she was right.

Hannah made eye contact with the singer and waved him over. He made a beeline for her and you felt the urge to fake a stomach ache so you could get the fuck out of there. It was too painful to watch them.

“Eds, can you take a photo of us?” They were using nicknames, now? That was what you had called him and now she was using the name like it was second nature. God, you were going to be sick.

“Yeah, sure.” Sheila handed him her camera then stood next to you and you wrapped an arm around her and Elodie while Hannah stood to Sheila’s left. Eddie set up the camera and took the picture. The five of you watched it print from the top of the camera and Eddie set it down on the coffee table that was beside him so it could develop.

“Thank you so much,” Sheila thanked him. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, it’s no bother,” he shook his head, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his hands.

“Would you be able to take a picture with us? If that’s alright.”

“I’d be honored,” he smiled, showing her his teeth. How could you be mad at him when he just looked so fucking cute? Fuck his stupid smile and his stupid curly hair, and his stupid pretty brown eyes. You hated that after all this time you were having to stay strong. He was just such a nice guy and you knew that what had happened with your phone number was mostly your fault for using eyeliner on his hand instead of a pen on a napkin or paper. But being mad at him made it feel like more his fault than yours and you didn’t want to take the blame. But you also didn’t like blaming him for something that wasn’t his fault. Maybe you were just afraid of getting close to him because of your history with Chris. Eddie wasn’t like Chris in the slightest and deep down you knew that. But Chris had been the same way before that switch flipped so this was just your way of protecting yourself.

“Great. You can stand between Hannah and (y/n).” Just your fucking luck. Eddie passed the camera off to Gareth who just so happened to be next to him and Eddie stood between Hannah and you just like Sheila had told him to. His arms went around both yours and Hannah’s waist and he turned to you to gauge your reaction before snaking his arm around your waist as well. You could feel like his eyes on you as you reluctantly smiled for the picture even though there was nothing to smile about.

Gareth snapped the picture and you all waited for it to print. Eddie set it next to the other one that had fully developed and Sheila was quick to grab it and show it to the rest of you.

“We all look so hot,” Elodie commented. “This is definitely fridge material.” Of course it was. Every single picture that you had ever taken together had been deemed refrigerator material.

“Agree,” Hannah added with a nod.

“I think Eddie’s just really good at taking pictures,” Sheila looked over at him. His face heated up at her compliment and you didn’t miss the flirty tone in Sheila’s voice. She handed the Polaroid to him and he looked at it longer than he probably should have. His eyes were only on you as he stared down on it. Goddamn did you look good. All of your friends were pretty but he definitely thought that you overshadowed them. He thought you stood out, like there was a spotlight shining down at you at all times. You were his siren and he didn’t mind being lured to his death.

“That’s really nice,” he said, handing the photo back to Sheila.

“Thank you. It helps that we’re all really hot. Especially (y/n), which you already knew.” Eddie’s cheeks were now a bright shade of pink and so were yours. Your friends loved to embarrass you the first chance they got.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “Can’t take my eyes off her.” You eyed him and didn’t miss the smirk on his lips. The lips you could still recall the taste of. They were smoky because of all the cigarettes but also sweet for some reason you couldn’t figure out. But you liked it even though you despised the smell and taste of tobacco. You liked it because it was him.

“Oh, we know,” Elodie responded. “And we totally don’t blame you. (Y/n) is a total knockout.” Your cheeks were now burning and you were hoping that they would all shut up. They were just trying to gas you up in front of Eddie, laying it all in a little too thick.

“You’re definitely right about that.”

“I think the Polaroid’s ready if you guys want to take a look.” Sheila picked the picture up from the coffee table and you all crowded around it to get a glimpse. It got passed around the group, everyone commenting on how good it was and eventually got to you. Your eyes immediately went to Eddie and noticed that he had been looking at you in the photo. If anyone saw the picture, they would have thought that he was convinced that you had hung the moon with the way he was looking at you. You were beginning to think that maybe he was telling the truth. Even if he was, he’d have to try harder than his flirty game.

You handed the photo back to Sheila and headed back to the kitchen to get a drink. To your surprise, Eddie stayed put, only giving you a longing glance when you looked back at him as if he was begging you to ask if to come along. You weren’t going to give in that easily.

You poured yourself some vodka and decided to pour another cup for Eddie before you could stop yourself. Maybe you were being a little harsh. Maybe you should have heard him out. Maybe it wasn’t too late and you could reverse the damage that you had created earlier in the night.

“Hey, (l/n),” you heard that familiar voice behind you and you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Derek had been trying to get into your pants for months now and that night, you were very close to just letting him have his way with you just to get it over with. “Looking very slutty tonight.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, knowing that he definitely thought it was a compliment when it very much was not. You turned to him and gave him a glare and he eyed the cups you were holding.

“Who’s that for?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. You should have told him that it was actually for Eddie and that he should get lost. You should have, but you didn’t.

“You,” you handed him the cup and he took a sip, not even fazed at the fact that he was drinking straight vodka.

“Thanks, kitten,” he winked before taking another sip. “That’s real sweet of you.”

“No problem.” You looked at his ridiculous Terminator costume he was wearing. It was only ridiculous because he hadn’t seen either movie; you had heard him tell one of the other partygoers earlier in the night. Guys like him usually weren’t your type, all ripped and tall. You liked guys who were skinny and scrawny and were quick witted with curly hair and brown eyes. You liked Eddie, but you had fucked everything up with him so you were going to settle for fucking Derek.

You grabbed Derek by the back of his neck and roughly pressed your lips to his. Your cups were abandoned on the kitchen island and his hands found your hips while yours wound their way into his hair. His tongue found its way into your mouth and you managed to back him out of the kitchen.

“Room?” You asked as you backed him into the hallway.

“You finally gonna let me fuck you good, kitten?” You almost threw up at the nickname and decided that you could only continue if you put the whole “kitten” thing to rest.

“If you stop calling me that,” your hands moved down to his arms.

“Sure,” he nodded. You were surprised he had agreed so easily, but he had clearly been desperate since most women you knew wouldn’t have touched him with a ten foot pole.

“Call me angel, okay?” You knew it was wrong to have him call you by Eddie’s nickname for you, but you couldn’t help it. You needed to hear it again, even if it was from Derek’s mouth.

“Angel,” he repeated and it sounded so gross when he said it. It didn’t roll off his tongue like it did Eddie’s. It was like nails on a chalkboard, almost as if he was saying an offensive slur.

“That’s it, baby,” you replied, attaching your lips to his again. “Where’s your room?”

“Just here,” he opened the door to your right and you pushed him inside, slamming the door behind you. You stripped him of his jacket and threw it off to the side. You then removed his shirt before turning your back to him. He pressed kisses to your shoulder as he unlaced your corset and he was taking a little too long for your liking. He sucked on your neck and you couldn’t help but think about Eddie and all the things his tongue could do. Your corset fell to the floor and you turned around to face Derek again. He sat down on the bed and you straddled his waist.

“Shit, angel, they’re even better than I imagined,” he stared at your breasts and you almost wanted to cover yourself back up.

“Really?” You felt so disgusted that he had been imaging what you had looked like naked even though you were definitely turned on by it with literally anyone else.

“Yeah,” he reached up and squeezed them. “Are they real?”

“Would it matter if they weren’t?” You knew it did matter in his opinion, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“It would mean that you were a fake bitch.” You almost asked him to repeat himself. Since when did a woman having fake boobs make her any less real? You couldn’t believe you had gotten yourself into a situation that you were so desperate that you were going to fuck Derek.

“Believe me, baby, they’re one hundred percent real.” You played it off but you actually wanted to hurt him. Why were you doing this? What were you trying to prove? Were you really that in need of feeling that kind of pleasure?

“Yeah,” he nodded, giving them another squeeze. “I can feel it. Absolutely no silicone here.” It took everything in you to not leave in that moment, but you were curious if he was good in bed but figured that he probably wasn’t.

“Are you going to fondle my tits all night or are you going to fuck me?” You couldn’t believe you had to ask. He was behaving like a teenage boy and you hated how immature he was.

“Sorry, babe. You’re just so hot.” His lips were on your neck, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to your skin as he moved his way down to your breast, running his tongue over your nipple. He began to suck on it before bringing it between his teeth, giving it a little tug.

“Oh, Eddie,” you let out a moan and all of the pleasure was quickly put to a halt as Derek pulled away from you. You couldn’t believe that you had done that. You just wanted to have some meaningless sex to get over Eddie and here you were moaning his name. What the hell was wrong with you?

“Who the fuck is Eddie?” You had fucked up for the second time that night and it was all because of Eddie fucking Munson. Couldn’t you have just one mindless fuck without him entering your brain? Was that too much to ask?

“N-nobody,” you stuttered, wondering how you were going to get out of that and have him continue what he was doing.

“Nobody, huh? Are you talking about Munson?” He grabbed his shirt and put it back on, signaling that your fun had officially ended.

“No!” You couldn’t deny it. He had already caught you so there was no use in lying.

“Bullshit. If you want him so bad, you can have him. We’re done here,” he pushed you off of his lap and you were able to catch yourself before you fell to the floor.

“Derek, please,” you pleaded as you grabbed one of his shirts from the floor, not wanting to have this argument topless. You then gathered your corset up, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get it back on by yourself.

“No, get the fuck out!” He pointed to the door and you felt tears well up in your eyes, but you held them back. There was no way in hell that you were going to cry in front of him.

You turned to the door and headed out into the hallway, not being able to stop the tears from running down your cheeks. Well, now your makeup that took you hours was ruined because of a stupid guy.

“And I want you out of here, you useless cunt!” He called after you which only made you cry harder. “Don’t even think about coming around here again!” You could promise that you would never step foot in that house again as long as you lived.

You got down the hallway and back into the living room to find Sheila. She always knew how to comfort you and wouldn’t ask any questions about what happened. You just needed a hug after all the shit you had gone through throughout the night.

Before you could get to Sheila, though, you just had to run into Eddie one last time to really ruin your night. You ran straight into him, almost knocking him to the floor. His hands grabbed hold of your waist and he stood you back on your feet. He looked down at you and you turned away, not wanting him to see you cry. You knew he wouldn’t laugh at you, but you just didn’t want to have to tell him the reason for your tears.

His hand rested on your cheek and he turned your head to face him. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at your tear stained cheeks and he swore he could actually hear his heart break looking at you. He had heard the comment Derek had made. He had wanted to deck Derek the moment he had gotten there and now he had an excuse because he wanted to avenge you.

Eddie had been invited by Derek at a bar the other night and the only reason why he even agreed was because he was desperate for a night out, little did he know that the host was a dick and he was that way towards you. You of all people. You were sweet and gentle and deserved someone who was willing to be that way in return. Maybe you right in saying that you were only attracted to losers.

“What happened, angel?” He asked, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. He had heard what Derek had called you and hated that he made you feel bad about whatever had happened between the two of you.

“N-nothing. I have to go,” you pulled your face away from his hand, wiping the tears from your cheeks. You sniffed to keep the snot from running out of your nose and all he wanted to do was take you in his arms and let you cry. But you wouldn’t let him. Crying at a packed house party in a fucking vampire costume was already embarrassing enough for you.

“Okay,” he nodded, stepping away from you and you were quick to make a beeline for Sheila. He watched you collapse into her arms and sob and it killed him that you had been hurt that badly. He wanted to kill Derek for what he had said to you. The name he called you. Was it just because you didn’t want to go any farther with him? That could have definitely been it. Eddie looked around the house and was beginning to wonder why he was even there anymore. You were there, in the flesh, not a figment of his imagination this time. And he had blown his one chance to make amends. Maybe he could finally call you and everything would be okay.

Eddie decided to call it a night after that, taking a very drunk Gareth with him to the cab he had gotten using Derek’s house phone. He had definitely overstayed his welcome and given that Gareth had thrown up in the kitchen, he really thought it was a good idea to get the fuck out of there before Derek kicked both of their asses.

He hauled Gareth out of the car and to the cab that was down the driveway. Was walking a little too slow for his liking and he was seconds away from throwing the bastard over his shoulder he was being practically being choked. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he was into that, but not in that way. Never in that way.

“Struck out, huh,” Gareth asked with cackle.

“How could you tell?” Eddie asked as he opened the car for Gareth who practically threw himself into the backseat. Eddie moved his friend’s legs and slid inside the car before closing the door. He told the taxi driver the address to his hotel and the car headed that way.

“First of all, you’d be going home with her, not helping my drunk ass, and second, I could see the way she was looking at you,” Gareth replied as Eddie buckled his seatbelt for him.

“Yeah, and how was that?” Eddie was very curious to know if you looked as mad as you appeared in his eyes.

“Like you smelled like shit,” Gareth responded before taking a whiff of Eddie’s hair. “And she was very wrong. Dude, you smell great so I don’t know what she was on about.”

“She didn’t think that I smelled, she was mad because I didn’t call her.” Eddie buckled his own seatbelt and got comfortable in his seat.

“I don’t call girls all the time and they still want me. What’s your excuse?” Gareth’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned to look at Eddie.

“I told her I would, though,” Eddie made a pointed look.

“You’re never supposed to say that,” Gareth shook his head. “Because then they expect it and you can’t be calling them, dude. Because that’s pussy shit and you’re not a pussy.” Eddie never thought calling someone he was sleeping with was “pussy shit” as Gareth liked to call it. He liked talking to people on the phone despite his social anxiety. Maybe it was because they couldn’t see him and only hear his voice. He mostly only used phone calls for dirty talk or to ring his uncle Wayne but he liked the idea of talking to you.

“It’s not pussy shit if you actually like them,” Eddie countered. “I really like her Gareth, and I fucked it all up.”

“Why didn’t you call her, then?” Gareth slapped him upside the head. Eddie supposed he deserved that.

“Because I couldn’t,” Eddie looked down, rubbing the back of his head. “I lost her number.”

“Well, way to go dumbass,” Gareth slapped him again.

“Hey, hey, watch the hair!” Eddie shielded his head. “I should have written it down.”

“You’re right,” Gareth nodded. “You should have. Maybe she’d be your girlfriend if you had.” Leave it to Gareth to rub salt in the wound. Eddie already had enough guilt to last a lifetime.

“Maybe she would have, Gareth,” Eddie ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “But what does it matter? The ship has sailed.”

“Maybe it hasn’t,” Gareth responded. “Maybe you could perform a song that you wrote abojt her or something.” Eddie thought about that for a moment and thought that even though his friend was drunk, he was making a lot of sense. A song would have been perfect. Women ate that kind of shit up. Maybe then you’d realize that no one was at fault that Eddie losing your number was just a sad accident.

“I haven’t written any songs about her.”

“I’ve heard you on the tour bus, man. Don’t deny it.”

“You know what, that’s actually not a bad idea.” Eddie hadn’t had that much to drink so he wondered why he was considering any idea that Gareth had in his drunken state.

“I was kidding,” Gareth laughed nervously. He wasn’t going to take the blame if Eddie actually listened to him.

“No, man. You actually did good,” Eddie assured his friend as the car pulled up to the hotel. He helped the guy out of the car and they made their way to into the building. Eddie pulled Gareth to the elevators and one of them just so happened to open as soon as they got there. They got in and the elevator took them up to their floor, to two of them in silence.

Eddie dragged Gareth down the hall and to his room, taking Gareth’s key from him and unlocking the door. He threw Gareth down on the bed and made sure he was comfortable then turned to head to his own room.

As soon as Eddie closed his own door, he reached for a notebook, flipping through it until he found the page he was looking for. He hadn’t written anything romantic ever until after he had met you. He had tried and failed, knowing that wasn’t Corroded Coffin’s thing, but now it was going to be. Just this once. People could hate on it if they wanted to, but this was all for you. All to get his feelings out. Sure, the initial goal had been to win you back but now he was just trying to process everything that had happened.

He knew how it looked. He made it seem like he cared for you only to never call you when he promised he would. But the eyeliner had smudged against your skin when Eddie had grabbed onto your hand in the car on the way to his hotel room.. He was so focused on the moment that he didn’t even think about the fact that the number was no longer there. The whole thing was unfair to both of you but he wasn’t going to blame you for being mad. You had every right to be in his eyes.

This was probably the most personal he had gotten without even mentioning very many details. It was something just for you and him, no one else. He wasn’t going to record this one, though. He thought it was better suited for the stage, on the piano. Corroded Coffin didn’t even have a piano when they performed but Eddie was sure as hell going to make sure there was one.

Your apartment, Manhattan, 1991

You woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, convinced that the events of the night before had been just one weird dream that was the results of drinking too much. You trudged into the kitchen to get some coffee that you knew Sheila had already made and poured some for yourself in your favorite mug before heading to the fridge to get some creamer when you saw the Polaroids on the doors. One was of you and your three roommates and the other was of the four of you and Eddie. So it hadn’t been a dream. It was all real and now you were embarrassed. You had yelled at and he has still looked at you like you hung the moon, especially in the photo where he was standing next to you. He was looking right at you, a smile of admiration on his face. Maybe you had been too harsh. Maybe.

You fixed your coffee and was about to head to back your room when the phone rang. Hannah answered it before you could and you wondered who would be calling. No one ever called except for Elodie’s girlfriend and she only ever called after she got off of work and that was usually late.

Hannah was laughing at something the person said and you figured that it was probably someone who she gave the number to the night before. You wondered if it was Eddie. Of course he would call her. She was every man’s wet dream with her long blonde hair and long legs. You were always jealous of her but you would never admit that. Because if you did, she would just tell you that you had nothing to be jealous of. And she genuinely believed that. She’d never tell you, but she was jealous of you. She was jealous of your confidence and the way your carries yourself, like you didn’t have a care in the world.

“Y/n,” she called out to you, covering the phone with her hand. “Phone for you,” he held it out to you and you wondered who the hell would be calling you. Probably your manager. Were you scheduled today and had convinced yourself that you weren’t? Were you going to be fired because you didn’t show up? Damn. You really liked it there.

You reluctantly headed over to Hannah and took the phone from her, eyeing her suspiciously. Hannah couldn’t have been nonchalant to save her life. She was having trouble pretending like she didn’t care. Like she was excited for you to take to whoever had called.

“Who is it?” You asked and she just shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. You could tell she was lying but couldn’t figure out why.

“You didn’t ask?” What kind of person didn’t ask who was calling?

“It’s not my business to ask who’s calling you, babe,” she laughed like that was an obvious rule you should’ve known.

“It is, actually,” you corrected.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” She headed to her room, leaving you alone in the living room. You pressed the phone to your ear, your curiosity getting the best of you. People couldn’t commit murder through the phone, right? That wasn’t a thing that could happen. You were just being dramatic. Part of you wondered if it was Eddie but you figured that wasn’t true. He was definitely too busy to make a phone call at this time of day, especially since he was going to have to rehearse for that night’s performance.

“Hello,” you answered hesitantly. Maybe it was Derek calling to ask for his shirt back. He’d get it from your cold, dead, hands. You had no intention of wearing it ever again, but now you were keeping it out of pettiness.

“Hope I’m not too late, sweetheart.” Eddie’s silky voice rang through the phone and you had to stop your breath from catching.

“I would say a year is a too late,” you replied and Eddie laughed in response.

“I’m a dick.” You both knew he wasn’t. “And I’m sorry,” he apologized. “To make it up to you, I’m offering you and your friends tickets to tonight’s show.” Those always seemed to be the magic words to get him exactly what he wanted, no matter what it was. Whether he forgot his ID at the bar or wanted to get in the club. The whole rockstar thing was so easy.

“You’d think I’d want to see you and your stupid band perform after you hurt me? My friends will be there, but I most certainly will not.” He knew it was a long shot, but he was desperate for your forgiveness. He had apologized, but he knew that wasn’t good enough.

“Y/n,” he sighed. “I told you, the eyeliner got smudged.” Oh, that again. However, you couldn’t help but melt a little at hearing him say your name.

“Well, why didn’t you write the number down?”

“I was a little preoccupied,” he chuckled. “I’m not trying to say that your feelings are invalid. At all. I think that you have every right to be upset with me. I mean, I would be mad at me if I were you. I just think it’s unfair that you’re not hearing me out.” He was being considerate of your feelings and you knew you weren’t doing to same from him.

“I am,” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Look, I know I’m a bitch, alright?” Eddie didn’t think you were a bitch. He could never think that. He still kind of thought you were hot when you were mad. Maybe if you forgave him and wanted to continue whatever it was between the two of you, he’d tease you a little just to get that reaction out of you.

“I just-when you didn’t call me, it felt like you were like just like all the others. I thought you were just being nice to me to use me for my body with no actual intention of calling me.” So that’s why you were so pissed at him. You thought Eddie was like Chris and he supposed that you didn’t really know him so of course you would think that. He guessed that he couldn’t really blame you for that.

“I know that, but I’m down on my knees here, (y/n.) I’ll do whatever you want if it means you’ll forgive me. Well, let’s be honest, I’d do whatever you asked even if you didn’t forgive me.” You liked the sound of that. You’d have to think of something for him to do if that was the case. “Will you come to the show tonight,” he asked and you could hear him practically begging. You liked the idea of him begging. You could imagine him on his knees, holding onto your hands with tears in his eyes, pleading for you to forgive him.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “What does one wear to a metal show?” You knew exactly what to wear having been to multiple metal shows in the past, you were just discreetly asking what he wanted you to wear. Maybe you were finally starting to get over the whole thing. Maybe.

“Whatever you want, angel,” he laughed again. That wasn’t the response you were looking for, but Eddie was just wanting to see you. You could have worn a trash bag and he wouldn’t have minded. “So you’ll be there?” You thought for a second.

“I’m sure Hannah will force me even if I protest.” All of the girls would, actually. There was no way that they’d let you miss something like that. Especially if there were perks because you knew the lead singer.

“Well, I have to go to rehearsal. I’ll see you tonight.” You could practically imagine him smiling from ear to ear and you hated that it was making you smile in return.

“Bye, Eddie.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” The line went dead and you hung the phone back up, making a beeline for Hannah’s room. You pounded your fist on the door until she answered. Hannah was quick to open it, her signature bright smile on her face. You glared at her but her smile didn’t falter. In fact, it got even wider. She knew exactly what she was doing and she knew that you were aware of it, she was just hoping that you would forgive her. What she was doing was for your own good, after all. She tried to close the door but you held it open with your hand. You pushed it open and stormed into the room, trying to calm yourself down before you spoke.

“What the fuck, Hannah?” You paced back and forth across the hardwood floor, trying to gather your thoughts. You wondered if Eddie had told her all of the details of your night together, but immediately ruled that out since Hannah was a huge gossip and would have asked you about it sooner. Hannah only responded by playing with your hair-something that always calmed you down for whatever reason-completely avoiding your eye contact.

“I thought you were giving Eddie our number for you, not me.” Why you had thought that when Hannah was always trying to set you up was beyond you.

“Oh please,” Hannah waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “Eddie is not my type and besides, I saw the way he was looking at you.”

“And how was he looking at me?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering what she meant even though you had a pretty good idea from the picture on the fridge.

“Like you hung the moon.” She put on a face that scarily resembled the way Eddie had been looking at you the night before.

“He was not.” You knew he was but you didn’t want to admit it because if you denied it, it would make you feel better about being mad at him. Admitting to yourself that he every intention of calling you made you look like the bad guy and you had been the villain in your own life for far too long.

“He was. We all saw it. Is there something going on between you two?“ It was then that you decided that you should’ve probably told her the truth. Out of all the girls, Hannah was definitely the one who would have believed you.

“I’m going to tell you something but you can’t tell anyone, okay? Not even Sheila or Elodie. Got it?”

“I’ve got it,” she nodded. “Now spill,” she grabbed onto your wrists. So you told her, not leaving out a single detail. You thought it was necessary to the story. You told her about Chris and how you dumped him and how you and Eddie had an incredible night that you had thought about every night since and how he never called you like he was supposed to. You also told her about the party the night before and how Eddie had approached you but you just yelled at him and all but told him to fuck off. You were beginning to think that maybe you were being a bit too harsh.

“Oh my god,” Hannah gasped, grabbing hold of your shoulders. “(Y/n), you could actually be a rockstar’s girlfriend. Do you know what that means?” She headed to her closet and opened the door to find an outfit for the night.

“No?”

“It means that all of these people want Eddie but all he wants is you. Every night he’ll come home to you and he’ll write songs about you,” she was speaking so fast that you almost couldn’t understand what she was getting at. “And dressing room sex. That’s probably the biggest perk.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Han, but I wouldn’t be caught dead having sex in a dressing room.” The idea did sound appealing, but you were thinking logistically.

She turned to you for a moment then grabbed a shirt from the rack, holding it up to you. “Oh, yeah, that’ll definitely get his attention,” she pulled you over to the mirror, hanging the hanger around your neck. You tilted your head to the side. It was a sheer black shirt with black flowers sewn onto it. It was definitely your style but you wondered if it was going to be too much.

“You wear this with your sluttiest black bra under it and he won’t be able to keep his eyes or hands off of you.”

“He invited me to the concert, Hannah. I don’t think he meant for me to go backstage with him.”

“He invited us, and yes, that’s exactly what he meant.”

“Yeah, he invited us, meaning that he was just trying to be nice.”

“You’re smarter than me, y/n, so why am I the one who understands what’s going on? He invited all of us because he wants you to have a good time. So you’re going to wear this and look hot standing in the front row, alright?”

“Fine.” You were honestly getting over being mad. Yeah, maybe you were still a little upset about what had happened, but Eddie had been nothing but nice to you and the effort he was putting in to make amends was making you feel like maybe you were being a bit too harsh now that you knew the real reason why he didn’t call you.

Radio City Music Hall, New York City, 1991

Eddie had just come off stage from rehearsal and for once, he thought he had done well. Ever since the night he shared with you, he had been in a bad mood since he hadn’t been able to see you again, but now that you agreed to come to the show, he was like a brand new person, and everyone was quick to let him know. They were teasing him about how excited he was to see you, making fun of his mannerisms, but Eddie didn’t care. He just couldn’t contain his excitement. He was going to be performing the song he wrote for you for the first and only time and he was nervous. What if you didn’t like it? You probably wouldn’t since it was a ballad and that wasn’t Corroded Coffin’s thing.

He ran his hands through his hair while he stood on the stage, something he often did after rehearsal. Imagining the place being packed with a cheering crowd helped him calm down. It uplifted him, knowing that everyone was there for him and his band. He wondered if people back home could see how successful he was and wanted to know if they would kiss his ass just because he had fame now.

He turned and headed back to his dressing room and had his stylist pick out an outfit that he hoped would impress you. It was a white cropped shirt under a leather jacket and another pair of leather pants. He put on the outfit and checked himself out in the mirror, liking the way he looked. His hair was the perfect amount of messy and he had some eyeliner smudged around his eyes. He nodded to himself and turned to get a drink from the fridge in the dressing room when he saw his band mates all staring at him.

“Take a picture,” he told them. “It’ll last longer.” He then brushed past Jeff to head to the fridge for a much needed water. He really needed to calm down. He opened the bottle and took a few sips before turning to his band mates who were still looking at him.

“What,” he snapped. His friends had been grilling him since the four of them had woken up. Considering you hadn’t been with him, they assumed that things had not gone over well and had been afraid to ask.

“Nothing,” Doug put his hands up in defense.

“We’re just wondering how you’re doing,” Gareth added.

“I’m fine,” Eddie replied wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Is she coming,” Jeff’s face lit up. He just wanted Eddie to be happy and he was hoping that you would be the best fit for him.

“I don’t know. I think she’s still pissed at me.” He drank more water to occupy his mouth. He knew he would ramble and make himself more nervous if he voiced more of his thoughts.

“Well, there’s still time to fix it,” Doug reminded him. “You wrote a great song, Eddie. And I think she’s going to love it.” Eddie was still unsure of how to feel about the song. He was convinced that you were going to hate it. That he had only written it so you’d give him another chance. He had written from the heart and just wanted you to know the truth. He didn’t care about the results. Or maybe he did but he would never have admitted that to himself.

“She won’t love it because the song sucks.” The song was good and he knew that. He was just overthinking like he always did. He panicked every time he was about to go onstage and would either need to take a couple shots or smoke a joint to calm himself down. He wasn’t going to do that this time, though. He wanted to be completely sober when he laid eyes on you.

“You’re just being hard on yourself. It’s probably your best work.” Eddie finished off his water bottle and threw it away before grabbing another one. This was going to be his coping mechanism instead of resorting to drugs or alcohol.

“Right,” he scoffed, setting the bottle down and pushing past the boys to lay on the couch. Maybe a small nap would’ve done the trick.

“Do you need a drink or a joint?” Jeff offered, sitting in the chair that was tucked under the vanity. “You seem a bit on edge.”

“Of course I’m on edge,” Eddie rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers. “There’s a lot riding on this.”

“Hey man, relax,” Gareth patted his shoulder but Eddie only shrugged him off.

“I can’t relax,” Eddie sat up. “This is going to make or break everything.”

“She’s just a girl, Ed. There are going to be plenty of those here tonight. Pick one and take her home. What’s the big deal?” None of them seemed to get it. You were much more than “just a girl” to Eddie. He wanted to make things work with you. He wouldn’t have put in that much effort for just anyone. You were the most beautiful and intelligent woman he had ever met and he’d have been damned if he let you slip through his fingers again.

“Alright, guys,” Randy, the boys’ manager stuck his head into the room. “It’s showtime.” He opened the door and the four of them filed out, Eddie being last. Randy patted him on the shoulder which did nothing for Eddie’s nerves. His stomach was in knots and he could have sworn he was going to throw up in that very moment.

You had tried your luck at the back door of the venue and to your surprise, all four of your names had been on the list of people who were allowed backstage, all of you given lanyards. Hannah had told you it was going to work, but you hadn’t been convinced. You had figured that Eddie had forgotten with his busy schedule, but clearly he hadn’t since you had been let in with no issue.

Randy had informed you that the band had already gone onstage and you knew that the reason for you missing them had all been due to Elodie insisting that she needed to stop at a bodega for a beer because there had been no way that she was going to pay concert venue prices.

The four of you were led to the floor and had been given spots at the very front row, right against the barricade. You thought that maybe you would have gotten balcony seats with the A-listers, but you much preferred being in the action. It made you feel like you were apart of something as opposed from looking from afar.

The lights went down and the crowd erupted in cheers while you were convinced that you were going to throw up all the water you had drank because you had been too nervous to eat. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t like you were the one who had to get on stage and perform. No one could have paid you to do that.

Smoke moved across the stage and quickly faded away when the members of Corroded Coffin took their places. Eddie was at the front of the stage. There was a spotlight on him as the opening chords to one of their top hits began. All the air had escaped your lungs when you laid your eyes on him. He looked so fucking pretty that it was almost unfair. His hair was the perfect amount of messy and his outfit looked like it was made for him. Knowing him, it probably was.

Eddie opened his eyes and they locked on yours. You could see he was holding back a grin and you gave him a little wave, that being your white flag signaling that you wanted a truce. How could you be mad at him when he looked so damn good?

Eddie sang the notes of the song and removed the mic from the stand, moving about the stage. Since this wasn’t one where he was playing the guitar, he always made sure to interact with the fans when he had a chance. He’d go to the end of the stage and hold people’s hands if they wanted him to. He’d look directly in their eyes and sing to them, like he had written the words specifically for them. He wanted the people who admired him to feel special. He knew that most of them had spent a fortune, so he was going to make sure they got their moneys worth.

Eddie got to you and gently took your hand in his, gauging your face for any sign that you didn’t want it. When he was sure that you did, he brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a featherlight kiss to your skin. He looked into your eyes and couldn’t take his eyes off of your makeup and how well you had done it. He wondered if it had been for him but then decided that it didn’t matter. Not everything that you did was going to be for his benefit. Sometimes you did things for yourself and that included doing an intricate makeup look.

Eddie let go of your hand, pulling himself out of his trance. He couldn’t look at you all night, he had a show to do. He stood up and went back to his mic stand, ready for the next song.

“How we feeling New York,” he asked into the mic and the crowd went wild. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you. I said how we feeling New York?” He put more emphasis on the question and the audience was even more loud. You kept your eyes on Eddie couldn’t help but think that he was born to be a performer. He knew just how to get the crowd going and make them feel like they were his old friends from back how.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckled. “I have to say, this might be my favorite city in the entire world.” He usually said that to get the audience to make some noise, but this time, he really meant it.

“But I’m going to be honest. I think it’s my favorite place because a friend of mine lives here.” Another eruption of cheers. “And she’s here tonight if you’d like to give her a round of applause.” Eddie stepped away from the mic and pulled out his in-ears so he could hear everyone cheering for you. He looked directly at you and could see the shock on your face. Here you thought that he wasn’t even going to mention you, but he had the whole entire venue screaming for you. Your cheeks heated even though no one knew that it was you who Eddie was referring to.

You covered your face with your hands, not wanting Eddie to see how badly your cheeks were burning. You could still feel him looking at you and tried your best to ignore him. He was going to have to work a lot harder than that to get your full forgiveness. Maybe just one bat of his eyelashes would do the trick. Definitely.

More songs were sung and you were actually enjoying yourself, finding yourself singing every single word back to the band. They put on a good show and you could totally understand the hype of people wanting to see them perform. Between Gareth’s heavy drumming, Jeff’s mesmerizing bass riffs, Doug’s shredding and Eddie moving around the stage like no one you had ever seen, the show was definitely something you would have wanted to see multiple times over. Maybe if you played your card right, you could.

You watched Eddie sit down at the piano. You had just been so focused on him, so you felt kind of stupid that you hadn’t noticed it until he sat down at it. He moved his hair out of his way only for it to fall back to where it was. He played some notes and you realized that you hadn’t even known that he could play the piano. To be fair, though, you didn’t really know anything about him.

Whatever he was playing was pretty. It was calming. The complete opposite of Corroded Coffin’s sound, but you still liked it. You could imagine yourself sitting next to Eddie, leaning your head on his shoulder while he played something that he wrote for you. That was a delusional thought in your mind. Eddie would have never written a song about you.

“Alright,” Eddie spoke up after he calmed himself down. “I’m going to perform a new song for you guys if that’s alright.” The crowd was the loudest it had ever been and you wondered why they decided that this specific show to debut a new song, but you had a sneaking suspicion what it could be about. Maybe if you got out of there quick enough, you could leave before he started to sing.

“This one’s called California.” Eddie turned to wink at you and you felt sick again. No. No way. There was no way he was going to sing a song he wrote about you. You had only had a few interactions throughout one day. Surely that wasn’t enough material to create a song, right?

Eddie began to sing while playing a ballad on the piano. Since when did Corroded Coffin do ballads? Apparently since Eddie met you. It was pretty and despite all of the harsh vocals in the other songs, Eddie was able to make his voice soft and sweet. It was beautiful and you hated that you were taking the bait. He was reeling you in so effortlessly with his heartfelt lyrics and it seemed like he actually meant the words.

The whole thing was about how much he liked you and the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about you. You took up every inch of the man’s brain and he thought about calling you every day even though he had no way to. He thought about the way your skin felt against his and how sweet your lips tasted. How he could still see how pretty you looked underneath him and how good it felt to have you snuggled up in his arms.

You were slowly starting to realize that he was telling the truth. You knew it the whole time, but you were just trying to protect yourself. The one time you put your whole trust into someone in a romantic sense, it blew up in your face. But you didn’t even have to have a romance with Eddie. He could be whatever you wanted him to be so long as he was in your life. He wasn’t picky.

The song ended and you felt yourself tearing up. No one had ever done anything like that for you. Maybe you had been foolish to think that he was lying or just trying to get into your pants. He had said so much while somehow saying so little. It was like a secret between the two of you. Things he would say while the two of you were snuggled up in bed together. It was something that would live in your head forever.

You couldn’t remember how many more songs were after that. The words were stuck in your head and despite only hearing them once, you were convinced that you could have sung the whole thing word for word. You didn’t think that someone who looked like Eddie could write something so beautiful or that he could have such strong feelings as the ones he had for you. You had clearly made a mark on him and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

The band left the stage and people slowly made their way to the venue’s exit. You couldn’t move despite your friends trying to pull you along. It was as if your feet were glued to the floor and you had no intention of moving. You couldn’t. Not after hearing the song that Eddie had written for you.

Before you could stop yourself, you were making your way down the hall to Eddie’s dressing room. Your friends had followed you, all wondering what you were up to. Last time they checked, you had hated Eddie and now you were going to talk to him?

You passed by all of the people putting away the equipment and hoped you hadn’t missed him. Surely he couldn’t have left that quickly, could he? You could hear all of the commotion of your friends gushing about the show, but it was all noise to you. You had honestly forgotten they were there. You just wanted to speak to the pretty singer about his pretty song.

You feverishly knocked on the door and waited. It took a little longer than you liked for the door to open, but your heart stopped when it did. Eddie was on the other side looking even better than he did on stage. His mouth fell open, so much so that you were convinced that his jaw was going to unhinge. The shock quickly wore off and his mouth turned up into a grin, his famous smile on display. Your friends and the members of Corroded Coffin quickly made themselves scarce, leaving the two of you alone.

“Y/n-“ he was going to say something, but his words were cut off when you entered the room, closing the door behind you. He backed away, still unsure if you were actually there. He wanted to reach out and touch you, but he thought that he was crossing a line.

You stood there, adjusting the strap of your purse that was sitting on your shoulder. You looked good. Amazing, even. A fucking knockout. Eddie was convinced that you had gotten even more beautiful every time he had seen you.

And now you were standing in his dressing room looking at beautiful as ever and for once, he was unsure of how you felt about him. You strode towards him and managed to pin him against the vanity despite the space between your bodies.

“Y/n-“ he said your name again, cutting himself off one more time. He wasn’t sure what to say. He was convinced that you hated him despite the flirty look on your face. He licked his lips, making them look even more inviting. You needed to taste them. You needed to thank him for the wonderful song.

“Y/n, I’m sorry about the song. I know it was a lot and I’m sorry that I sang it front of a crowd. I should have just given you the lyrics.” He moved away from you, still speaking as he grabbed his notebook, turning it to the correct page. “Anyway, here it is,” he handed the book to you, his heart pounding against his chest. “It’s yours so you can do whatever you want with it. You can keep it or you can rip the pages out and throw them at my head. You can-“

“Are you going to yap all night or are you going to let me read?”

“Sorry.”

You read over the lyrics multiple times, loving them more with each read. Songs had been written about you with your ex boyfriend also being a singer, but never like that. Never so delicately. He had written about your night together so tastefully. Most songs written about the subject had been so graphic and to the point. Eddie had come up with the prettiest metaphors.

You set the notebook and your purse aside and made your way towards Eddie. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his hair getting all tangled in your fingers with your quick movements. His hands went to your waist and you pulled him closer to you so that your bodies were pressed together.

“So you like it? If you don’t, the whole throwing the pages at my head thing is still-“

“Eddie for once in your life will you shut the fuck up?” You pressed your lips to his and you could feel him let out a gasp before quickly melting into you, his lips moving against yours. The movements were soft and sweet despite how desperate you were for each other’s touches.

You slowly swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he opened his mouth, letting you in. Your tongues swirled together and he tasted just like you remembered, but better. It was still smoky and a little sweet but there was something else there that you couldn’t quite make out.

“God, I missed this,” he whined, his hands slipping to the strip of skin between the bottom of your shirt and the top of your jeans. His fingers were even more rough feeling and his touches were still soft. It was all nice, but you thought he was being too gentle.

“I’ve missed you every fucking day.” Despite the roughness of his voice, he was touching you as if you were going to break if he applied any more pressure. Where were the scratches? Where were the marks from how hard his fingers were pressing into your skin? Your lips pressed harder against his as your hands went for his jacket. You removed it and let it fall to the floor before reaching for any inch of skin you could find. You grabbed onto his arms, pressing your thumbs into the skin.

You pulled away to catch your breath, taking some time to look at him. The top he had on was cropped, the bottom of it uneven, like he had done it himself with a pair of scissors and you wondered if it actually looked good or if you were just biased. It was just short enough that you could see a good amount of his stomach. It wasn’t toned and he didn’t have a six pack or anything, but you liked that. You liked that it was soft and that you could see a little pudge sticking out.

“Like what you see,” he teased but knew that you did in fact like what you saw. He did wear the whole thing for you so your opinion was important to him.

“I think this is your best look yet.” You reached up, playing with the hem of the shirt. As if reading your mind, he lifted his arms up and you pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I think you have me beat. This is a nice little thing, sweetheart.” He moved his hands up your shirt and traced the lace on the top of the cups with his fingers. “You wear this for me?”

“I did,” you nodded. “You like it?” You bat your eyelashes innocently and it was driving Eddie wild.

“Love it.” His eyes were filled with lust and you were eating up the way he was looking at you.

“It’s the first time I’ve worn it so you should consider yourself lucky.” Eddie was going to have to buy a scratch off with how lucky he was feeling that night.

“Oh I do,” he eyes lit up as they found yours. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m the luckiest man in the world.” You were convinced that your knees were giving out at his compliment. He was good.

“In the world,” you gasped. “Well, how lucky would you feel if I took this off?” You looped your thumbs under the straps and Eddie could feel his cock hardening even more.

“Pretty fucking lucky.” He almost moaned as he spoke. You hadn’t even fucked yet and he was already coming undone. He was so close to just ripping his pants off so the two of you could get to it. But he didn’t. He wanted to go slow to make sure you were comfortable.

Eddie pressed his lips to yours again, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your skin was so warm against his. So soft. He planted kisses all over your face and you couldn’t help but giggle, only making him want to continue so he could keep hearing the lovely sound.

His lips then moved to your jaw and you moved your head to the side to give him more access. You closed your eyes as his lips ghosted over the space right under your ear. He pressed a few opened mouthed kisses to the spot and just when you were enjoying the feeling, his nose moved along just under your jaw.

“Smell so good, angel.” Goosebumps rose on your arms at the nickname. That one was your favorite out of all the things he had called you.

“I only wear the perfume on special occasions.” You felt silly admitting it, but you knew that Eddie would appreciate your honesty.

“Glad we both agree on how special this is.” He pressed his lips to yours once more. “Can’t express how happy I am that you’re here.”

“I can think of a few ways.”

“Hm,” he hummed. “And which way were you wanting me to express my happiness?”

“You pick.” Your hands wound into his hair again. “I’m feeling generous tonight.”

“Oh,” he chuckled. “Well, if it’s my choice, then I guess we’ll just pick up where we left off.”

“Sounds good to me.” Your tongue found its way into his mouth once again while Eddie’s hands traveled down to your ass, giving it a squeeze. You let out little squeal and Eddie just laughed, letting his hands travel lower. He bent down and grabbed onto the back of your thighs and you took the hint and jumped. He caught you and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist while yours went to his neck. Your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, your ankles locking together at his back.

Eddie backed up slowly, his kisses becoming sloppy and sloven. He collapsed back onto the couch, the two of you still connected. You were now straddling his waist while he was sitting there, ready to let you have your way with him. He thought it was only right since he took the reins last time.

You pulled back to look at him and Eddie just admired you, a dazed look in his eyes. He looked so pretty with his lips red and plump from your kisses. His cheeks were also flushed and you loved the look on him. And knowing that you were the cause of it made you feel all warm and gooey, like a cookie fresh from the oven.

You dove back in for more and Eddie was letting himself be kissed, pliant under your touch. You took his bottom lip between your teeth, focusing your attention on it. You sucked and nibbled, causing him to let out a little whimper.

“Fuck, angel,” he whined. “Do that again.” You took his bottom lip between your teeth again and nibbled a little harder this time and Eddie’s whimper was louder. “Harder,” he breathed when you let his lip fall back into place.

“Eddie, if I bite you any harder, you’re going to have teeth marks.”

“I don’t care,” he shook his head. “Do my top lip this time.” You obeyed and did the same thing to his top lip, biting down as hard as you could without breaking the skin.

“Oh, angel,” he moaned. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You pecked his lips then pulled back to gauge his reaction. You pecked them one more time but his lips slotted between yours before you could move away. This one was rough and sloppy unlike your other ones. His nose was pressed roughly into the spot next to yours but you weirdly liked it. The way he was taking what he wanted from you while gripping your waist tightly. His fingers dug into your skin and you let out a gasp at the feeling. You loved the way it felt, knowing that it was going to leave imprints of his nails on your skin.

Your fingers wound themselves into his hair once again, loving how it felt against your fingers. It was soft but coarse and he always made it the perfect amount of messy. Your fingers wrapped around some strands at the base of his scalp and you gave it a light tug. You could hear him whine into your mouth and you took that as an invitation to repeat the action, harder this time.

“Angel,” your nickname fell from his lips and your heart raced in your chest at the name. That was the name that made you feel something. That he saw you as something that wasn’t even part of this world. That you were heaven-sent. And as far as he was concerned, you were. Eddie wasn’t sure if he believed in a God, but what he did know was that he had been destined to meet you at that festival. And the fact that he had seen you again at the party must have meant something.

“Yes, Eddie baby,” you asked sweetly and Eddie was convinced that he was going to melt into the couch at your tone of voice. It was light and airy and there was something so filthy about it.

“You are-“ he cut himself off, his hands digging further into your skin.

“What am I, honey?” He loved all of these terms of endearment you were giving him. Sure, people had given those kinds of names during moments like that, but they had never said them with such meaning. They were just trying to get a reaction whereas you just wanted him to know that you had cared about him.

“Amazing.” He emphasized the word and you couldn’t help but blush. He was eating up your every move and you were loving it. You had him wrapped around your finger and knew that he would do whatever you asked, no matter what it was.

You pulled back to look at Eddie and felt your heart race in your chest as he smiled up at you. You could see little dimples forming in his cheeks as he was drunk on the absolute bliss he had been experiencing. He never really made out with people. He usually just got straight to the act, not much kissing or tender touches being involved. All the people he ended up going home with just wanted to be fucked roughly and he had no problem with that.

But he liked kissing you. Loved it, even. He had dreamt about your soft, plump lips every night since he last kissed you. They had tasted fruity from the lipgloss you had applied in the bathroom at The Ruby Room. And he didn’t even care if you didn’t want to fuck him. He could have kissed you for hours and been completely satisfied. He wanted to kiss you whenever he wanted. When he got home from recording or before he went on stage. He wanted to kiss you goodnight before you both went to bed, wanting to get one last taste of your sweet mouth before the two of you fell asleep. He even wanted to kiss you after declaring that he’d take you in sickness and in health until death did you part in front of the people that you loved.

Just by looking at you, Eddie had realized that he had fallen even more for you when you had been apart. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way for you. Or maybe he did. You were sweet and kind and despite the fact that you were going through your own shit, you had offered to cover up a punch that he had received from your ex boyfriend. You hadn’t even known him and helped him, not expecting anything in return.

“What,” you asked finally and Eddie only smiled wider.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “I just like looking at you.” You didn’t know what it was about Eddie’s simple compliments that always made you come undone. He just said it all so matter-of-factly and with such confidence. It made your heart swell and you wondered how you had gotten so lucky not once, but twice. Even when you had tried to push him away to protect yourself, he had been nothing but nice to you, doing whatever he could to convince you that he was telling the truth.

Over time, you had tried to deny your feelings for Eddie, but you just couldn’t. You didn’t care if it seemed silly because you had only actually spent a few hours together. His absence only made you like him more. You missed his kisses. You missed his touch. You missed his stupid nicknames that somehow made you weak in the knees. You missed him. And you had almost let him slip through your fingers because you were too stubborn to see that what had happened with your number had only been an unfortunate accident.

“I like looking at you too.” You smiled back at him, all teeth. He was full on grinning and you liked the look on him. You liked that he was happy and it was a bonus that you were the cause of it.

Eddie pressed his lips to yours despite the two of you not being able to keep your smiles off your faces. You laughed into his mouth and it was music to his ears. It was a sound of pure joy and he hoped he could hear you laugh many more times throughout the rest of his days. Eddie joined in on the laughter and the two of you were cackling out of pure joy, you both just grateful to be in each other’s presence.

“I fucking missed you, angel,” he said once you both had sobered up. His look had been completely serious, the little twinkle gone from his eyes.

“I fucking missed you too, honey.”

“ can’t lose you again.” His eyebrows furrowed and you could have sworn that he had been afraid.

“You won’t, Eds. You don’t have to be scared. I’m right here.” You pressed your hands to his cheeks, hoping that the physical touch would help calm him down.

“You’re just so-“ Eddie cut himself off, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped. He was actually about to say it. Vulnerability scared the hell out of him, but you made it so easy.

“So what?” You titled your head to the side, wondering what he was going to say.

“You’re so beautiful.” It hadn’t been a lie, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell you that you had been special to him like he had intended. He wasn’t ready and he definitely didn’t want to freak you out.

“Well, thank you, baby,” you pecked his lips. “You’re beautiful too.”

“You mean it?” His face lit up in feigned shock.

“Oh shut up,” you scoffed. “You know exactly how attractive you are.” Of course Eddie knew how hot he was, but he thought he wanted to hear you say it.

“Idon’t know, doll. Do I?” He leaned his head back so he could get a better look at you. The mischievous sparkle came back to his eyes but you took the bait anyway. You were going to have some fun with it.

“You’re so hot,” you pressed a kiss to one of his cheeks. “And sweet.” Your lips moved to the other cheek, lingering a bit longer. “You’re thoughtful and caring even though people think you’re a dick because you look scary.”

“You’re supposed to be telling me how hot I am, but I’ll take the other compliments too. And maybe some more kisses.” He closed his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. His arms were now splayed across the back of the couch and you missed his touch.

You removed yourself from Eddie’s lap and stood up, fixing your top that had gotten messed up in all the activity. Eddie’s eyes opened once he realized you weren’t on top of him, but he didn’t move. He just sat there, his mouth still wearing that damn smirk.

“I think you’re getting a little greedy, superstar. You want my compliments and my kisses?” You put your hands on your hips and Eddie was thought even your feigned anger was hot. “I think that’s a lot to ask for.”

“I don’t think so.” Eddie strode towards you, taking you into his arms. “But if you’d like to reverse the roles, I’d be happy to tell you just how hot you are.” He put on a devilish grin and the idea was sounding very appealing to you. You had always been confident in yourself, especially when it came to your body, but sometimes it was just nice to hear the words from someone else.

“Okay,” you nodded, your arms wrapping around his waist. “Tell me then.”

“God, where do I even start,” he let out a chuckle. “You’re so fucking hot, angel. Like, goddamn. Your curves and your thighs. Your fucking thighs, doll. Might be your best feature.” He pulled you even closer to him, his arms tightening around your waist. “I know that people can be dicks.” He was specifically thinking about Derek but he wasn’t going to bring up what he had heard him call you. He didn’t think that was any of his business.

“But I love your body. I just want to tell you that I like you. All of you.”

“All of me?”

“Every.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Single.” Your other cheek. “Bit.” And finally, your lips, slotting his between yours. He pulled you even closer to him, his arms wrapping even tighter around your waist. Your mimicked his actions, trying to minimize the space between your bodies despite the fact that you couldn’t have been any closer to each other.

Eddie buried his face into your neck, pressing a few kisses there before leaning his head on your shoulder. He breathed in your scent, and focused on your touch, the only two things that told him he wasn’t dreaming. He had to be, though, right? This moment was so perfect that he had to be dreaming. He’d wake up only to find that he was alone in a random hotel room yet again.

You held onto him, rubbing circles along his back gently. His closed his eyes, not afraid to this time. For once, he was at absolute peace and it was all thanks to you. You made him feel safe. Like nothing bad could happen to him as long as he was in your arms. Even the scary thoughts that always seemed to followed him. They completely disappeared when he was with you.

“I could get used to this,” he sighed. Your hands continued to rub circles along his back and you knew that you could get used to it too. You wanted to be able to hold him any time to wanted to. To hug him any chance you got. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces and you were both thinking the same thing but you didn’t want to ruin the moment by talking about your feelings. That was a sensitive subject for the two of you.

“To what,” you asked even though you knew exactly what he was referring to.

“To this.” He nuzzled even further into your neck, pressing another gentle kiss there. He then pulled back to look at you, that serious look back on his face. “Got out with me.”

“Okay.” Eddie had never had someone agree because they actually liked him. Most people just wanted to either fuck him or use him for his fame or money. But you were a breath of fresh air. He didn’t wonder if you liked him for who he was because he knew you did. It was in the way you treated him. He realized it when you were upset that he didn’t call. You wanted him to call and not because you wanted to have phone sex like the others. You wanted to talk to him about his day and even plan a time when the two of you could meet up again.

“How does tomorrow sound?” If it hadn’t been so late, he would have taken you out right then. He honestly couldn’t wait.

“You’re still going to be in the city?” You knew that they had to head to their next tour stop eventually.

“For you, yeah.” The band had a day off and he was planning on spending every single second with you. He’d take you anywhere you wanted to go and spend however much he had to just to make you happy.

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

“Perfect. I’ll call you with the details.” He winked and all you could do was shake your head.

“Are you gonna wine and dine me?” Eddie wasn’t that kind of guy but he could be if you wanted him to. He hated all of those fancy places and wine was the last drink he would choose, but he would have gladly taken you somewhere nice and even drank wine if you had asked.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “You’ll just have to see.”

“Okay.” You kissed him again and broke away just as Eddie was getting into it. He chased your lips and you let him, him capturing your top one between his two. He poured everything he had into it, hoping that you could see just how much he wanted you just by how he was kissing you.

Despite your terrible luck in the dating department, you were ready to dive head first into a relationship with Eddie. He had been the guy that had deserved the entire time and you were going to let yourself be loved by him despite how much it scared you. He had helped you through a really hard time and didn’t judge you when you weren’t ready to have sex with him like other men definitely would have. He had been nothing but a gentleman and breath of fresh air compared to the other men in the industry. You knew that the way he had treated you was the bare fucking minimum, but comparing him to your ex, Eddie was a goddamn gentleman.

It had been late, so the two of you had decided that to call it a night. Eddie took you by the hand and led you to a fancy car where the two of you gotten into the backseat. You scooted close, leaving no space between the two of you and Eddie was quick to place his hand on your thigh, giving it loving squeezes at the car took the two of you to your place.

You couldn’t seem to keep your lips or hands off of each other, the small space in the backseat being the perfect excuse to be close to each other, stealing kisses from the other’s mouth. Eddie’s hand moved around your waist to your other thigh, favoring that one so you could get more comfortable against his body. His other hand rested on your cheek while. Yours rested on his upper arms. The kisses were slow, like you thought you had all the time in the world. And sweet just like the two of you thought the other were.

The kisses never lasted long because of your happy giggling, but it didn’t stop you from trying. Your teeth kept clinking together but that only made you laugh more, the two of you only laughing more because of it. You didn’t think you had ever been that happy in your life and Eddie felt the same. Now that you had found each other, he could finally breathe again. All of his worries about you had vanished. You were right there in his arms and he was never letting you go.

The car had finally pulled up to your building and the two of you hesitantly got out. Eddie walked you inside, the two of you taking your sweet time going up the stairs. For the first time, you hadn’t been annoyed that your apartment had been on the top floor or that the elevators had been broken. Again. You didn’t even care that you had to go up the three flights nor that you were moving at a glacial pace. You were trying to soak up any extra time you could get with Eddie despite the fact that you wrestle going to se him in a matter of hours.

You finally got to your apartment and you lingered, gingerly opening your purse, holding onto your keys, but not wanting to unlock the door. Eddie stepped closer and took you in his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away but still keeping a tight grip on your body.

“I have to go,” you told him, but he just held on tighter, burying his face into your neck again.

“No,” he whined and you just laughed, resting the hand that wasn’t holding your purse on top of his head, running your fingers through his hair as a way to comfort him.

“I’ll see you later.” You made no move to get out of his grasp, still running your fingers through his hair.

“No.” He rubbed his nose against your shoulder, still making no move to let go.

“Do you want to come inside, then?” You nodded your head towards the door. Eddie found the invitation very appealing but he felt weird being in the same space as your friends like that. He was still unsure of the protocol when people he was going home with had roommates.

“I should get back to the guys. Make sure they haven’t trashed the place, you know?”

“Sure,” you nodded even though you were a bit disappointed. You still had plenty of time to share a bed with Eddie again, though. And if you played your card right, you could do that exact thing every night. He stole another kiss from you before pulling away from you completely. He let you unlock your door and you slip inside, closing it behind you. He was quick to knock and you opened up, knowing exactly what he was wanting.

“I forgot something.”

“Right,” you nod, deciding to play along. “And what’s that?” He answered by pressing his lips to yours, one more time, smiling into the kiss. You pushed him away, a smirk on your lips. “Get some sleep, honey.”

You closed the door and Eddie stared at it for a few seconds before heading down the hallway and the stairs to get to his car, thrusting his fist into the air just like Bender had done in the Breakfast Club. For once in his goddamn life, he had gotten the girl. And he hadn’t even done much to get her. He had truly won the lottery and wondered what he had done to deserve you.

You snuck into your room, careful not to wake your roommates, even though all you wanted to do was scream in excitement. You couldn’t remember the last time you had ever been that happy. You made your way to your room and threw your purse onto your desk before collapsing onto your bed. You let out an excited giggle while kicking your feet in the air. You didn’t even have to go on the date with Eddie to know that there would be a second. And a third. There was an unexplainable bond between the two of you. An invisible string tying the two of you together.

You and Eddie both went to sleep thinking about what your future together would be like. Unbeknownst to the other, you had very similar idea of what you were looking for. A walk down the aisle. A white picket fence. A dog running around the yard while your little ones chased it. The two of you would sit on your porch, sharing loving looks with each other, wondering how you each got so lucky to end up with the other while you drank your coffee. That sounded like a great life to both of you if you were being honest.

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#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x plus size reader

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sturniozo · 3 months

Text

In The Shadows IV

Masterlist

“Just one?” Matt asks as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

I look down with a deep blush. “I really have to go-“ I mumble.

“My love, you’ll be happy to give in.” He murmurs as he leans in closer to me.

“Matt-“

“Shhh” he shushes me and presses his finger to my lips. “Just let me…” he trails off. He removes his hand from my lips and leans in close, his lips inches from mine. My heart pounds as I feel him breath on my face.

My eyes snap open as the sound of my alarm rings through the room. I sit up in my bed and shut off the constant beeping. I look around the room. No Matt. It was all just a dream. A horrible dream. Like I’d let anything like that happen between Matt and I.

I rub my face in my hands before I throw the covers of the bed off my body. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the cold hardwood floor.

Before I can even stand up from my bed there’s a knock on my door. “Hey, did you get up yet?” Matt asks.

I groan. “Yeah, now leave so I can get dressed.” I snap at him.

As much as I despise Matt, I hate mornings much more. The mix of the two is probably the closest thing to my own living hell there is.

“I made breakfast.” He replies through the door.

I shake my head. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

I can hear Matt’s groan through the door. “Come on, I spent so long trying to get the waffles perfect. I burnt like four batches just to get them right for you.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to try to get on my good side when we’re alone.”

“I’m not trying anything. I thought you’d want breakfast.” He says softly.

I take a deep breath. “I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Alright.” Matt says. I hear his footsteps walking away down the hall.

I stand up from my bed, walking to my suitcase in the corner. I pull it over and set it down on the bed, digging through for some clothes for the day.

A party. I can’t believe he’s already gotten us into a party. We only found out about the whole assignment the other day. How could he have pulled this off so quickly? It’s going to be suspicious that we’re the only people no one has heard of in that party of wealthy beneficiaries.

I shake my head. I’ve never been one for dresses or dressing up of any sort. “Foods getting cold!” Matt tells from downstairs.

I roll my eyes and head for the door. I walk downstairs and turn to the right, entering the kitchen.

The counter is a mess, covered in batter and broken eggshells. There’s a pan full of sausage grease burning on the stove, and a plate of overcooked omelettes sitting on the one burner of the stove that’s not in use.

“Matt, what the fuck?” I ask.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, the burns are mostly cheese!” He says as he picks up the plate of omelettes.

“Where are the waffles?” I ask as I sit down at the table.

“Uh, here!” Matt picks up a plate that was covered by paper towels.

“Why are there paper towels on the waffles?” I laugh as I ask.

“They had sausage grease on them.”

“Why?”

“I spilled it.”

“How?”

Matt shrugs. “What do you think?” He asks as he places all the plates on the table. A plate of sausages, waffles, and omelettes.

“Is there enough in our budget to hire a chef?” I ask as I poke the inedible sausage with a fork.

“Hey, I tried!” Matt laughs.

“Not very hard.” I mumble.

“What was that?” Matt asks.

“I said we should throw this out before it mutates and eats us.” I stand up from the table.

Matt frowns and pokes at the omelette that looks like an orange blobfish. “I suppose we can go out for breakfast. Make a face for ourselves.”

“Yeah. You should clean this up first.” I turn around to walk back upstairs.

“You aren’t going to help me?”

“I didn’t make the mess.” I shrug.

“God, you’re like my brother.” He groans.

“That’s a rude thing to say to your wife.” I laugh. “Especially since I know your brother, that’s not a kind comparison.”

Matt laughs. “But really though, aren’t you going to at least help me clean up?” He asks again.

“Can’t hear you, I’m already upstairs!” I yell back as I run up the stairs and to my room. I close the door behind me and giggle as I hear Matt groan loudly and stomp up the stairs.

He opens my door. “You’re sure a child.” I say as I search through my clothes for something to wear to go to breakfast in.

“You’re missing something.” Matt mumbles.

I turn around to face him, confused. “What?”

“Something you’re supposed to be wearing.”

I look down. Shirt, shorts, socks… “What are you talking about?” I ask.

Matt walks up to me. He takes my hand and slips a ring on my finger. “The thing that married people wear.” He says.

“Oh, yeah, that.” I look at the ring. It’s beautiful. Large diamond in the middle with smaller diamonds around it, and it fits perfectly on my finger. “Where did this come from?” I ask. “Did my dad or the case manager pick it out?”

“It’s mine.” Matt says. I look up.

“What?”

“Well, my grandmothers.”

“You’re having me wear your grandmothers ring? For a fake marriage?”

“Why not?” Matt shrugs. He turns around.

“Wait!” I stop him.

“Well if you want to really get married-“ he starts to say.

“What? No, god no!” I laugh and cross my arms. “I just thought you should save your grandmothers ring for someone you really love and are going to marry for real.” I take the ring off and hand it back to him. “We should get different matching ones for the cover.”

“So we’re just going to walk around ringless and hope people know we’re married?” Matt laughs.

“We’ll get-“

Matt shuts me up. “Put the ring back on.”

“You should save it-“

“For someone I really love?” Matt stares at me. “I think that’s passed, don’t you?”

I look down. “Matt, I-“

“No, that was my choice.” He sighs. “Just put the ring on. We should get going before the breakfast hours are over.” He turns around to leave, shutting the door behind him.

“Matt!” I yell through the door.

“Yes, love?” He replies.

“We should match.”

“Match?”

“Yeah, match outfits.”

“Okay.” Matt says. “What did you have in mind?”

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peterman-spideyparker · 3 months

Text

my tears ricochet (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader) 3/5

Author’s Note: Hi! This part is more angst, I’m sorry. I promise things will turn up eventually! I wouldn't put everyone through all this angst for nothing! Enjoy!

Summary: You're alive, but barely. Matt blames himself.

Warnings: Angst, unresolved feelings, canon-typical violence, vague wound descriptions/unconsciousness, friends arguing, post-season two/pre-Defenders era Matt, swearing

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 1,193

Matt’s thankful for every beep on the monitor that he hears, but he can’t help but hate it. The robotic, cold monotone mocks him. It announces his shortcomings, his failures. He wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, good enough to save you or Elektra that night. Elektra’s dead, and the doctors aren’t exactly sure where you stand. You made it through surgery, a long surgery, but there was a lot of trauma and blood loss. A waiting game, they said. He’s always hated that phrase. Nothing attached to those words has ever been fun, only painful. And now it’s attached to you and your life.

He remembers when he first met you at Columbia. You had walked by him in the hall, your pomegranate and honey shampoo catching his attention. When he went into his next class about a half hour later, you were there, second row to the front, just off center to the right. Matt’s feet led him to the open seat next to you, using his cane to push the guy with the expensive cologne away from the coveted free seat to your right. He gave you a small smile as he sat down, and he could tell you did the same, softly introducing yourself and making small talk until class began. It took you a while to tell him about your family and your background, and he could tell that you were nervous as you did, waiting for some kind of shoe to drop when you finished—maybe that you expected him to ask for money or if you could help him get a job somewhere. You didn’t expect him to appreciate you for you, only what you could potentially do for him. When he gave you a smile and cracked a joke, saying that he still wouldn’t let you pay for ice cream next time you guys walked through Central Park, you let out a little laugh. His heart skipped a beat when he heard that, how your posture relaxed, and when he sensed how you smiled back at him. After that, it was always you, him, and Foggy, and if Foggy wasn't around, Matt would manage to find his way to your side—it was a pace he never wanted to leave. A place that felt like home. Something he hadn’t really felt since his dad died.

But when Matt met Elektra, everything changed and he pushed you away. Part of Matt always thought you’d be there for him—you’re his friend through thick and thin, why wouldn’t you still be there for him? But when that relationship went up in flames and Matt needed refuge to lick his wounds and work through his feelings, you were long gone, tired of waiting for him to come around, hurt by the last person—the only person—that you thought you could really, truly trust. And now you’re here, barely hanging on because you re-entered his life at the wrong time.

He's a real fucking lucky charm, isn't he?

Matt leans back in the uncomfortable hospital chair, letting out a long breath as he lets a new wave of shame roll over him. Foggy puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Two people I love are hurt because of me,” Matt croaks, hanging his head. “Elektra is dead, and (Y/N/N) is barely hanging on.”

“We’d be in worse trouble if you didn’t do any of what you did on the rooftop,” Foggy tries to console him. Matt’s still surprised he’s in the same room as him after how he has treated his best friend and partner.

“I ruin everything I touch, huh?” He angrily wipes away a tear.

“Matt, this was beyond anything anyone could have imagined. It—.”

“It’s the best if I stay out of all your lives. That way, no one else gets hurt. I won’t let anyone else down.”

“Matt, don’t be obtuse, that’s ridiculous.”

“But it’d be effective.” He sniffles and stands, putting his glasses back on. “It’s the way it has to be. It’s the only way I can keep people safe.”

“So what’s gonna happen when (Y/N/N) wakes up and wants to talk to you? ‘Sorry, he’s ghosting everyone because he’s going full Batman broody.’ She’ll need you—you were with her that night, you’re the only person who knows what kind of trauma she went through—.”

“And that’s exactly why I should leave!” he snaps. “You heard the doctor—she barely had enough blood in her to keep her organs in salvageable when she got here, and the blade absolutely shredded her internally. It barely missed her spinal column. She could have been paralyzed if it was a half inch over. It’s better for everyone if I disappear. She doesn’t have to see me and remember anything from that rooftop or remember everything I’ve done to her.”

“You don’t think she’d think about that without seeing you? And what about when she sees her scars? What about when she needs to talk to someone, to have a shoulder to cry on, because everything from that night haunts her? Who’s she gonna call when she has nightmares? No one knows what she went through but her and you. You can’t leave her alone again.”

“I didn’t leave her the first time.”

“Bullshit. You left. You chose not to stay. You cut her out cold. You weren’t around to see it, but that’s when she changed. That’s when she closed herself off, started to do everything her parents wanted. That’s when she lost herself. It was heartbreaking to watch that, Matt, but you wouldn’t know, because even after Elektra, you didn’t care enough to rebuild that bridge and see the damage you did.”

Matt’s voice is cold and low when he speaks next: “You have no idea how much I cared.”

“You say you care, but you’re so ready to let her suffer alone.”

“You don’t have a goddamn right to say shit like that. She didn’t want to see me.”

“How do you know? Did you try?”

“Foggy—.”

“There was still half of the school year left for you to fix things. You didn’t even try to—.”

“We’re done talking about this.”

“Right. Walking away because it’s easier and because it didn’t go your way. God forbid you actually have to address your feelings!”

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t juggle school and Elektra, so you were ready to throw it all away. Hell, you almost did. This time, you couldn't juggle your job and Elektra, so you walked away from the people who needed and relied on you. Now, when that fell apart even further, you’re walking away from the consequences and once more, the people that need you most." Foggy scoffs, venom dripping from his words. "You know what? It is probably best that you’re not here when she wakes up, because if you’re not even the person I called my best friend for years, you’re sure as shit not who she loved in college.” Foggy grabs his things as he walks toward the door, leaving Matt alone with his consequences that weigh him down like cement bricks in the Hudson.

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

Note

I'm really curious about what happened to tongue tied mc before she was with the boys. Can we get a glimpse of her past like maybe when she was coming to the hynr building or just in general when she was in a shelter?

Obvious Warnings for angst.

---

Sometimes, you think of yourself as a ghost.

No one really looks at you, no one talks to you because you can't hold a proper conversation, and so no one bothers to really try and interact with you. It's the same right now, as your caretaker leads you along with her and the new, unfamiliar people talking up front. They're talking about you- but it's like you're not even there.

"Does she need any safety measures or anything? We only have category two hybrids here, that's why I'm asking." A more older man asks, and your caretaker shakes her head.

"We initially put her at more of a category three anyways, but then in her last home things went a little wrong- you know how it goes-, so now most of her issues stem from past brain injury more or less." She clarifies, and the man nods.

"Alright so she can stay on her own?" He only wants to know, and your caretaker nods.

"Mostly." She laughs. "Its not like she can complain, so we just assume, really. But she rarely ever gets hurt; and if she does, she learns pretty quickly not to do it again." She seems to joke, and everyone laughs.

Except you. Because you don't think it's all that funny.

"Great, alright! I mean, I don't know if she can read so I didn't buy anything for her to I don't know.. occupy herself with, but I guess we might buy something in the future." The man shrugs, opening the door to a standard furnished small apartment. It looks like you; mostly white, no color, bland and lifeless.

Like a ghost.

"I mean, we can't tell either, so I'm not sure about that." The lady holding your hand explains. "Alright! You've signed everything, all is approved- I guess that's done then!" She says, almost a bit too happy, as she puts your hand and backpack into a younger woman's hands. "Now don't cause any trouble alright?" Your caretaker tells you, and only now does it really dawn on you.

You're going today. You're leaving today. You're staying here, right now.

And while no, the carecenter wasn't a great place to live, it's still familiar and comforting and somewhat home- you don't want to stay here, not today, not like this- but it's clear that it's not your choice.

Because it never is.

"No no don't cry now- keep a good hold of her alright darling? She's got a tendency to run off, and the last time she did- well, you see the results for yourself." Your former caretaker tells the young woman almost as if shes joking, before she leaves.

No amount of whining, crying or fighting against the new woman's hand is gonna help, and you know that.

But as a hybrid, you can't help your behavior, you can't help but at least try, at least somehow let the people around you know that you do not agree with this because they don't listen to anything else you do. They never listen.

Only when you're doing something bad- only then do they seem to see you.

And it shows, moments later- because as soon as you stop struggling, as soon as you accept your situation, the door to the apartment closes, electronic lock beeping to signal its now secured, all while you stand in the middle of the empty and cold apartment while rain patters against the windows. And weirdly enough, as you stand in the silent living room, no one around to look at you or notice you, you only ask yourself one thing;

Is this truly that much different from where you came from anyways?

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #hybrid imagine

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marwritesgood · 1 year

Text

Stepping on the Last Train

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader

Summary: Tensions in the Hopper household come to a peak when El runs away under Y/n's supervision.

series masterlist // main masterlist

A/N: this is a side-story (though technically a back-story) to my Steve series, Cardigan. i recommend reading the first two parts of the main storyline, if you haven't already, for better context.

September 18th, 1978

Sara let out a tired yawn as her older sister read the last sentence of her favourite storybook. The hospital bed was the least bit comforting, nothing at all like her bed at home. Sara frowned as her sister closed the book shut.

"The end," Y/n sighed, relieved one of the longest days of her life was finally coming to an end.

Between school, her neglected chores and the daily trips to the hospital, she had barely any time to sleep. Even when she did catch a break, she never could go to sleep. Not when her baby sister was sitting in a cold gloomy hospital room, their parents both a mere shell of the lively people they once were.

Some nights, Y/n would dream the four of them were all dancing in the living again. Her stepping on her dad’s toes as her mum lifted Sara up in the air. On those nights, she could not help but wish she could sleep and dream that forever.

Y/n turned to place the book down on the chair beside the bed, but Sara grasped her arm and stopper her. She huffed, knowing where this was going.

"Again," the little girl spoke softly.

Her big sister's voice was a significant upgrade from the hospital ambiance and the annoying beeps from the heart monitor. The older girl sighed. Those days, it felt like everyone wanted more from her than what little she had left to give.

"No, Sara, I'm really tired."

The young girl pouted, sticking out her bottom lip and staring up at her sister until her eyes watered. She had gone from almost always having her way to not having any say at all. It wasn't fair, they both thought.

"Pleeease, Y/n," she pleaded, weakly grasping onto her sister’s forearm.

Y/n frowned, her heart sinking. Sara huffed defeatedly as her sister leaned in and kissed her temple apologetically.

"It's getting late, Sara bear,” Y/n whispered with a weak smile. Time was no one’s friend in the hospital. “- We should really get some sleep.”

As Y/n shift the hospital bedsheets to sit up, the faint sound of her father's voice could be heard. Her eyes shot up to the silhouette of her parents through window, as their conversation in the corridor escalated just as it always did.

"I'm doing everything I can!”

Hopper threw his hands up in frustration which only infuriated his wife more. Livid, she inched closer with a deathly glare and a horrified expression.

"What, and I'm not?!"

Y/n winced and instantly looked down to Sara. Their parents fighting had become routine now, but she knew that didn’t stop the youngest Hopper from trembling in fear every time.

Y/n shifted back into her original spot and wrapped her arms around her baby sister. What was one more late night, she told her. Sara already had her fair share of things to worry about.

"Let's read it one more time, ok?”

Sara sniffled and looked up to her big sister, nodding her head as she tried to bring herself to smile. Y/n frowned before leaning in and kissing her temple softly. She opened the book to the first page again and made a point of raising her voice and doing extra goofy character voices to drown out the sound of her parents.

***

December 20th, 1983

Y/n gulped down a mouthful of soda as she studied her father from across the room. He said goodnight Eleven and carefully closed shut to the door that Y/n guessed would now be her bedroom.

Once he turned to approach the kitchen table, Hopper met his daughter's hard gaze with glazed over eyes riddled with guilt. He was grateful she waited until he sat down opposite her before ripping him a new one. El needed a decent night's sleep, among so many other things.

His daughter huffed, surrendering the death grip she had on her soda can. How was he so calm and casual about something that impacted their day-to-day lives massively? Y/n leaned in and glared at him with knitted brows.

“What the hell, dad?”

She spoke in hushed tone, yet her voice still projected with a piercing sharpness. Hopper sighed. He knew his daughter well enough to suspect she would not take the news of El moving well. Even so, he couldn't help but hope it bode over a hell of a lot more smoothly.

“Listen, bug, I know-“

Y/n scoffed, cutting whatever explanation he had short.

“Look, I get that she’s alone and needs a safe place to stay," she reasoned. "- but you can’t just take in a child we only met a few weeks ago and just expect me to be on board.”

Hopper pursed his lips as his posture slumped. That was a fair point, one he had always been aware of but chose to overlook. It was easy to do when El looked up at him the way she did.

“I know it’s a big change-"

"It's a massive change," Y/n corrected.

This was a much bigger deal than bringing in a stray cat. Eleven was an entire person who needed and deserved more than what Y/n had been just barely getting by with that last few years.

Hopper leaned back against his chair and ran his hand over his mouth. After a moment's deliberation, he turned to his daughter once more. Y/n felt uneasy as he looked to her with pleading eyes. She knew then he was not going to give up easy, and that only made her feel worse.

"I just thought that maybe after all she's done and all she's been through…” Hopper shook his head, unable to even fathom just how much that little girl had endured.

He looked to his daughter and sighed once more. They could go back and forth all night about what it was that led him to making such a rash decision. However, ultimately, Hopper's reasoning was simple.

“She needs me, bug.”

Y/n winced. Finally, she was able to put her finger on what it was that made her so uneasy. In one chance encounter in the woods, Hopper dropped everything to bring El home. In one encounter, he made the call to step into her life and be a parent with seemingly little hesitation.

Where had this version of him been for the last few years?

Hopper reached out and placed his hand atop Y/n's, causing her to jump. He waited until she finally looked back before pressing further.

“She needs us.”

Y/n stared blankly at him. She blinked a few times then moved her hand away. This was not a movie, or some storybook tale. There were very real factors to account for and very real considerations to make. He needed a cold hard reality check, Y/n told herself.

"You work first thing in the morning and show up drunk in the middle of the night almost every night, dad,.” Y/n’s voice was calm and level, which sent chills down her father’s spine.

He didn’t feel like the parent in their conversation. He felt like a kid sitting in the principal’s office. Y/n sat back and narrowed her eyes, only heightening that very feeling.

"Do you really think your guardianship is what she needs right now?"

Hopper scoffed defensively.

"Hey, now that's not fair.”

He wasn’t new to the parenting scene. Sure, it had been just him and Y/n for a while and sure, he had been asleep at the wheel for a while too. But he was still a parent.

Y/n eyes only narrowed further.

"It isn’t?"

She licked her lips and swallowed thickly. She knew she was in the right, but that did not stop the guilt from creeping in. Maybe there was a nicer way of going about it. Maybe she was being a bit harsh.

Y/n dismissed that train of thought immediately. If not for Eleven’s sake, then it would be for hers. She already had her hands full trying to keep the lights running with just herself and Hopper. Adding another kid into the mix would only complicate things further and Y/n knew if things went south she would be the one to have to step up.

Lord knows he father knew nothing about doing that.

"Look, I don't want El to be out on the streets, but... and I'm not trying to be cruel,” she had to make sure he knew. “I just… I don't see how she's gonna be better off here."

Hopper’s stomach sank as he struggled to think of a decent retort. There was none. Their kitchen was a mess of dirty dishes, half-empty pizza boxes and a plethora of empty and almost-empty beer bottles. Their living room was no improvement. Old boxes Hopper had moved out of the spare room to make space for El, piles of policework and cigarette burns all over their sofa.

Y/n pressed further, though she suspected he was already getting the hint.

“I mean… how do you plan to look after her when you've barely been able to look after yourself the past few years?"

Much less her, the person he was already responsible for.

Y/n had to look away and excuse herself from the table. If she stayed and kept looking at him, she knew she was either going to scream or cry hysterically. Waiting for him to come to his senses was pointless, but she always struggled to resist doing it.

She was still his daughter, after all.

Hopper heard Y/n’s bedroom door close and leaned forqard again, this time putting his head in his hands and lettig out a quiet groan. What had he done? What had he gotten himself into.

Y/n words echoed through his head as he tried to figure out the best way around it. He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to reach for the whiskey he kept in the kitchen cabinet. She was right, he realised.

He hated that she was right.

Balling his hands into a fist, Hopper glanced over once more to the pile of dirty dishes among the mess that was the kitchen. That was one way to start. He let out a huff and then got up from his chair and approached the mess, turning the faucet on and making a start on what he knew would be a long journey and an ongoing process.

If for nothing else, then it was to make sure Y/n thought of him as more than a drunken deadbeat.

***

October 31st, 1984

El looked up to Y/n with glossy eyes and pouted, her shoulders slumping defeatedly. She knew it was a long shot, but Y/n always came to the rescue when El had disagreements with Hopper. She did not thing she was asking for much.

Y/n sighed and glaced past her little sister. She could just make out Steve’s car pulling up to front of the cabin. As much as she hated disappointing El, Y/n did not want to get caught in the crossfire.

"That's Steve. I have to go now.”

She sped past the pouty young girl and reached for her bag from the kitchen table. Before she could make it to the door, El raced to block her path, this time with her hands clutched together pleadingly. That was new.

"Y/n, please,” El cried.

One night. All she wanted was one night out of the cabin doing somethings kids her age were doing. Something Mike was probably doing, though she would never know for sure because of Hopper’s stupid rules. Y/n frowned.

"I'm sorry, El, Hopper already said no."

Usually, Y/n could not care less what Hopper had to say, but when it came to El he was an otherworldly kind of strict. If Hopper banned Steve from coming over for a week after she missed her curfew twice in a row, Y/n dreaded imagining what he would do if she took her little sister out.

"I never leave," El complained, her brows knitting together as her frustration reached an all-time high. If Y/n was not going to take her side, what were the chances that anything was going to be different?

"C'mon, you know I don't agree with him, but I can't just-"

"Please, Y/n.”

Y/n froze for a moment. El sounded different. She didn’t sound like a kid throwing a tantrum because her dad wasn’t letting her go and play.

She sound like a kid who desparately wanted a break. She sounded like someone who needed their big sister. She sounded like Sara. That was enough for Y/n to give in.

"Go put on your costume."

El didn’t need to be told twice before bolting to her room and coming back out with the white bed sheet she had cut out holes into. Y/n could not help but smile as she opened the door for her and followed her out to where the BMW parked.

Steve had been waiting outside, leaning back against the hood of his car. As El came racing out towards him, he instantly stood straight and embraced her as she hugged him excitedly. Y/n smiled nervously as he looked to her in confusion.

"What's going on?"

Y/n shoved her house keys back into her bag and crossed her arms anxiously. It was too late to go back now.

"El wants to go trick or treating,” she explained nervously. Steve toyed with the car keys in his hands as he only felt more puzzled.

"I thought your dad said-"

"It's too dangerous," Y/n nodded. Glancing between her little sister and her boyfriend, she scratched the back of her head. "So- I don't know- I was thinking we could just drive around and El could stay in the backseat and watch? That way no one sees her."

Steve couldn't help but feel bummed their movie plans were being given a rain-check, but one look at El and her adorable costume and he knew he could not say no.

"Yeah, sure.”

He went to open the door for Y/n when he took notice of the way El lowered her head and left out a huff. Even with her expression concealed behind the white sheet, Steve could tell she was disappointed.

He reached his hand out for Y/n's, halting her from getting into the passenger's seat. She turned to him, puzzled.

“Or maybe..." Steve gave El a small smile before turning to her older sister. It would be worth a shot. He gave his wristwatch a once-over. "I mean it’s only 5 o’clock. Muncie's just a little over an hour away, and we don't know anyone there."

Y/n furrowed her brows, unsure whether she felt more startled or touched by what Steve was implicating.

"You wanna drive to Muncie?"

Steve shrugged, as if it was no big deal. To Y/n, it was. He stood behind El and placed his hands on her shoulder, feeling assured he was doing a good thing by the way the young girl was already jumping with excitement.

Maybe it wasn't trick-or-treating with Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will, but it was a hell of a lot better than sitting in the backseat on the outside looking in.

"I want El to have the full Halloween experience."

"I do too, but it's risky," Y/n argued, folding her arms and taking a step towards the two of them. "What if someone sees her?"

"C'mon, she has the best costume to disguise her," Steve nudged El's shoulder gently, prompting her to lift her hands up.

"Boo!"

"See? Terrifying."

Y/n laughed beneath her breath then pulled Steve closer to her as El stood behind with a hopeful gaze. As much as she wanted to indulge, she could not ignore how risky it would be.

"Steve," she whispered. "If my dad finds out, he's gonna be pissed."

"I’ll get you both home before he gets off work, I promise," Steve assured, snaking his arms around her waist and closing the gap between them almost entirely.

Y/n pursed her lips, still unsure. Steve, not wanting to let El down after already getting her hopes up, pressed a soft kiss against his girlfriend's temple and then leaned his against hers until she met his eyes.

"Please, baby?"

Her knees weakened. Something about the way he called her baby always seemed to have that effect on Y/n. As if she was not already convinced, a small hand tugged on the bottom of her t-shirt.

"Yeah, please, Y/n?"

With two pair of eyes glued onto her, Y/n felt completely cornered. How was she to say no to the two people she loved most? Letting out a sigh, she playfully rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms.

"Ok, fine."

El hugged her briefly before speeding to the BMW, where Steve stood holding both right-side doors open. Y/n was glad he brought up the idea of going to Muncie. El deserved a normal kid-experience. Maybe they could even make a habit of it.

Steve upheld his promise and got both Hopper girls home safe well before Hopper was due back. While Y/n turned in early, El stayed awake. Between the bucket of candy she had to hide in her closet and the numerous exchanges she had with kids and other families, she was awestruck. El didn't know when or how.

All she knew was that she wanted to go again, and soon.

***

November 10th, 1984

Hopper's truck was already parked outside the cabin when Steve pulled up with Y/n in the passenger seat. She mumbled a curse beneath her breath, dreading having to leave the car. She leaned back against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut.

“My dad’s gonna kill me.”

This was beyond missing curfew or letting El outside in broad daylight. After their massive argument and broken television, Hopper stressed that his eldest keep an extra close eye on his youngest. And now she was nowhere to be found. There was no telling how Hopper was going to react.

She tried not to think about the worst case scenario. Just the situation in itself made her a nervous wreck. Feeling helpless, Steve reached for her hand and held onto it firmly.

“We can keep looking, baby," he spoke softly. If she wanted him to drive her halfway across the country, he would. There was very little he hated more than seeing her so upset.

“It’s no use,” Y/n huffed defeatedly. “We’ve looked everywhere.”

There was no other place in Hawkins she could think of that they had not already been to. Even if there was a place they had missed, it had been hours now. There was a greater chance El was out of Hawkins entirely, maybe even Indiana.

Y/n unbuckled her seatbelt and sat up straight. The longer she stayed in Steve's car, the more time she would have to psych herself out.

It was time to face the music.

“Do you want me to come inside with you?”

Steve's offer caught her by surprise. She smiled weakly and shook her head. Showing up with Steve would only agitate Hopper more given how much he already had against him.

“It’s ok."

Y/n waited until Steve was out of the driveway before going inside. The cabin was eerily silent, so much so Y/n was beginning to think Hopper was in his room. The she turned to the kitchen.

“Where is she?”

Hopper ascended from the shadows of their dimly lit kitchen until he and Y/n stood facing each other from opposite ends of the kitchen table. He crossed his arms and waited for a response, though he already knew the answer.

“Dad, I can explain,” Y/n whimpered quietly.

However, before she could even start, Hopper was muttering something about a report a woman made to the station with a description that matched El to a tee.

“What the hell happened?”

His voice was chillingly level, in a way that made Y/n's chest hurt.

“I came home from school with Steve, and El was still really upset and she asked me for some eggos, but we had none left. So I told her I would be super quick, and I was!”

Hopper furrowed his brows.

“You left her?”

“For five minutes, dad,” Y/n reasoned, her voice breaking. Suddenly, she felt like a little kid again. “Steve and I drove to the nearest store, got some eggos and came back but she was already gone.”

If it weren't for Steve suggesting different solutions, Y/n would have probably been on her knees crying and hyperventilating for hours. She looked to her dad and hoped he would at least acknowledge how distressing that must have been, but his expression was unchanged.

He was still looking at her like she was a sorry excuse of a person. Like she should have been the one missing, not El.

“And you didn’t call me?”

Y/n winced. Steve suggested doing that, but the prospect of it terrified her.

“I thought maybe she wouldn’t have gotten that far yet," Y/n defended, though it was a mere half-truth. "- so Steve and I drove around looking for her.”

“How could you be so irresponsible?"

She clenched her jaw. He did not have the right to say that to her. Not with his track record. Even so, Y/n bit her tongue. Escalating the situation was the last thing she needed, but he was sure testing her.

“If you had kept an eye on her, she would have never left," Hopper added, inching closer and narrowing his eyes at his daughter.

He could not believe it. The one person he thought he could always count on let him down massively. Adding insult to injury, she scoffed at him. Hopper's blood was boiling.

“Well, maybe if you had given her a bit of freedom she wouldn’t feel the need to retaliate by running away," Y/n hissed. Had he already forgotten the very reason he and El fought just a mere day ago?

“Don’t turn this around on me," Hopper growled, pointing his index finger at her. She was toeing the line of going too far, something she once never did but seemed to make a habit of in recent years. "I'm not the one who lost her.”

“No, of course not," Y/n laughed dryly, her tone saturated in a sarcasm that only angered her father more. "You can never do any wrong, all your rules are completely reasonable and not at all controlling.”

“El never disobeyed my rules until you started encouraging her to," Hopper argued pointedly.

"You mean until I listened to her and encouraged her to exercise her freedom of choice?”

“Since when does lashing out at and keeping secrets from their dad fall under freedom of choice?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. Did he not know anything about teenaged girls? Maybe if he was sober when she was 13 he would have even a semblance of a clue as to what El was going through.

“Oh my god, fine!" Y/n yelled. "- sue me for thinking a 13 year old girl should have a bit privacy and be allowed to say how she feels.”

“Don’t do that," Hopper shook his head, doubling back. "You don’t have a monopoly over knowing what’s best for El, I know a thing or two about raising a teenager.”

He was still the parent, Hopper told himself. That had to count for something.

Y/n stared at him, bewildered. He really believed that, didn't he? She knew then any attempt she could make at convincing him otherwise would be in vain. She shook her head.

“But you have no idea what its like being a teenage girl," she pointed out. "- especially one that has to live with you, because let me tell you…”

She stopped herself. While she found great satisfaction in ripping her father a new one, now was not the time. Not with El missing and her father still oblivious as to what could have compelled her to leave.

Hopper narrowed his eyes.

“Go on," he retorted.

Y/n sighed. This was about El.

“She had questions, dad." Y/n voice and expression softened. “- Questions about where she came from and what she can do and how long she has to stay cooped up in here, and all you do is give her vague answers or no answers at all, and it just…”

She tried to find the right words. She tried to think of a way of getting the message across without provoking him further, or making him defensive.

“You know, living with you and… and being your daughter, it’s…” Y/n shook her head. Maybe there wasn't a nice way of going about it. She looked to him and let out a huff. “You make it really hard sometimes.”

Hopper's brows rose, taken aback. He nodded his head, and for a second Y/n let herself be convinced that he got it. That he finally got it. But then he clenched his jaw and suddenly his gaze became a cold glare.

“Yeah well, being your dad hasn’t been all that great either either.”

Regret seeped in the very instant the words left his lips. Hopper inhaled sharply, watching his daughter intently, terrified of another screaming match. It would be two nights in a row.

However, Y/n did not scream at him. She didn’t even flinch. Hopper didn't think it was possible but, somehow, that left him feeling a hundred times worse. Y/n shrugged her shoulders with a deflated frown. She had only one response.

“You stopped being my dad years ago.”

There was no other emotion in her voice, only exhaustion. She could never understand how he had it in him to say such horrid things to her. Perhaps there was time where she would have become livid by him saying what he did, but Y/n had little to nothing left in her.

They could go back and fourth as long as they wanted, but what use would it be? It would always end the same way; with Y/n walking away even more hurt and traumatised than she already was.

***

February 20th, 1986

“You got kids, American?"

Hopper's train of thought was swiftly intercepted as the Russian man seated next to him waited expectedly. He nodded once.

"Two girls," Hopper stated shortly.

He leaned back against the stone wall behind him and closed his eyes. If he tried, he could picture the two of them in his head and it would feel real enough to give him some comfort. It was the way he kept himself grounded and determined to stay alive.

"My youngest, she’s great," he explained, smiling to himself as he remembered El.

He recalled the way she kept him on his toes and brought so much light into his life. He could not remember how long it had been since their last movie night. He wondered how long her hair was now. God, did he miss her. Both of them.

"And my oldest? My god..." Hopper opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. His Y/n was really something. What he would give to see her again. "- She’s the spitting image of her mom, but she’s got my stubbornness."

No description could do her justice, but in simple words that was Y/n in a nutshell. All the best part of her mother and all the rough edges of her dad. Hopper knew that was part of the reason they butted heads so often.

He also knew he shouldered the rest of the blame for that.

“I was supposed to be the parent, but…” Hopper sighed, his shame getting the best of him as he remembered all he did wrong and how she always put up with it. “- Every step of the way she’s been the one looking out for me, keeping things in line and… calling me out on my bullshit.”

It was never fair, he knew that. He knew he should have never put her in a position where she had to be the one keeping the lights running and keeping him in check. Yet, even so, she did it.

She was resilient and patient and forgiving when she had every reason to be vengeful and leave him in the dumps.

“And she’s become one hell of a kid… in spite of me. Not because."

Maybe he would tell her that, if he ever made it home to her and El. Hopper tried not to think about it too much. In order to get home, he needed to get out of whatever hellhole he was in. In order to do that, he needed to stay alive long enough to figure out how.

***

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All I Ever Knew, Only You 7: There Is A Hole In My Soul That Can Never Be Filled

Chapter Seven.

Oh, the truth, The damn hard truth, That I didn't think I was capable of love, Loving anyone, even you, But then you, undeniable you, You came to me like a dream, And you changed me through and through, Oh because I, I was a broken man, Never thought that I could love again, I thought I'd leave this world a lonely man, But then you, undeniable you, Changed me through and through

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 9,528

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of hospitals, mentions of money problems, parental style arguing with Hop, mentions of possible near-death experiences, mentions of mental health conditions, allusions to addictions, eye contact. Lots of eye contact. We're almost through the Stancy storyline, I promise.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Chapter Seven: There Is A Hole In My Soul That Can Never Be Filled

The incessant beeps were driving you insane.

Your head was pounding and all you wanted to do was sleep. Sleep until nothing hurts anymore. But that god-forsaken beeping wouldn’t stop.

You could hear chatter around you, muffled and distant, but there nonetheless yet you couldn’t recognize any of the voices. For a moment, you wondered if you were in one of those half-awake states. That you had slept through your alarm and your body was too slow in waking up, knowing that the school rush would be hectic.

You wanted to slam your arm on top of the alarm clock and throw it across the room in an attempt to quieten it, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force your arm to move.

Trying with all your might, you tried to peel your eyes open, the beeping increasing in tempo when you realized it shouldn’t be this hard to wake up. The voices around you drew closer, your name falling from unrecognizable mouths, a futile attempt to pacify you as you began to panic.

Everything smelt a little too clean as if someone had scrubbed every inch of the room with bleach before bathing in antiseptic. An underlying bitter smell, leaving an aftertaste on your tongue akin to that of iron.

It wasn’t until your eyes finally peeled open that worry bubbled into panic, settling under your skin, merging and fusing with your bones as you realized you didn’t recognize this place, and the insistent beeping was not your alarm clock.

You expected the pain to hit you, but your body remained numb, tingly almost, as if you hadn’t moved in too long, pins and needles bursting through your limbs and you weren’t sure whether to remain still and let them fade or to shake your body in hopes of forcing them from you.

Turns out, the latter wasn’t even an option.

More mummers from around the room, a soft, soothing voice trying to reassure you of your safety, but the words of strangers fell flat. Your body was still in fight or flight, and all you wanted to do was run.

Run far away from this place. Far away from Hawkins. Far away from the Midwest.

The private waiting room wasn’t as full as it was earlier in the evening, and despite the young boys’ insistence, Mr and Mrs. Wheeler had driven them home an hour or so ago.

Nancy, however, remained in her seat, Steve’s offer to drive her home being the only reason her mother had allowed her to stay. Her leg bounced as she checked her watch for what felt like the millionth time in the last couple of hours.

Will had woken up earlier, a sigh of relief erupting from the small waiting room, but she refused to leave until she heard how you were.

They’d rushed you to Hawkins Memorial in Steve’s — much faster — car, your head resting in Nancy’s lap, the girl trying her best to keep you conscious as Jonathan continued to hold the stained pillow against your body.

It was there that they ran into Joyce and Hopper, the kids turning up a little later to be checked over, and once they’d realized Will had been found, they refused to leave, so Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler offered to drop the rest of the kids home when they got news on the boy.

Jonathan had rushed home to pack him a small box of items and had since returned to his brother's side, unwilling to leave him, Joyce was much the same.

Although Hopper was beyond relieved that he had managed to find the boy and rush him to the hospital, the teens’ pale, worried faces as he questioned your whereabouts made his heart drop.

Nancy had explained what had happened, why you were here, and Hopper was certain the minute you were out of surgery he would kill you himself.

His head shot up, watching as a nurse entered the small room, her eyes looking around for someone she wasn’t going to find, eventually settling on the Chief instead,

“She’s awake, but she’s very groggy.”

Hopper stood, stepping over his fallen hat without a second thought as he made his way toward the door, only to be stopped by the nurse’s outstretched hand, “I’m being serious, Chief. She lost a lot of blood, and she’s very confused. She doesn’t need a grilling from the police right now-”

His eyebrows pulled together, a mixture of annoyance and offense at the nurse’s words, “I’m not here to question her.”

Despite his effort to move forward, he was halted once again, “Then I’m afraid it’s only parents or guardians at this time. I’ve already told the last officer-”

“Look around, do you see her parents anywhere? Now I’m going-”

“Other officer?” Nancy questioned, her eyes darting between Hopper and the nurse, “What other officer?”

“The one hanging about by the room... Chief? Chief!” Hopper bumped the nurse out of the way, long legs marching down the corridor until he reached your room. His hand flexed over the gun that was resting in his holster. There were no officers outside, and as he peered through the small window of your door, he couldn’t see anyone in there either.

Pushing the door open, Hopper froze as he looked over your frame, finding himself unable to fully catch his breath.

He hated the clinical smell of hospitals, and if he closed his eyes, he could’ve easily been transported back to 1978. To New York… To that hospital.

Forcing a deep inhale through his nose, Hopper pushed himself forward, one step at a time as he approached your bed, his heart pounding in his ears, and the slow, steady beeping of the monitor was the only thing that kept him grounded. You were here, and you were alive.

Your name fell softly from his lips as if he was almost too scared to wake you. Or himself. Because what if he was back in that waiting room, life forever on a loop of tragedies that began and ended in a hospital? He couldn’t help but believe that he definitely was cursed.

It took two more calls of your name — and the feather-light drag of fingertips along your forearm — before you arose, eyes wider and more alert than before, gasping for breath as much as you were for something to ground you. Something you recognized.

The beeping — the same annoying, unceasing noise — seemed to get louder, the tempo increasing more and more as you panted, your heart feeling like it was going to burst from your chest at any given moment.

You could hear your name being called, at first gently, almost soothing, before that too became more frenzied, a strong hand gripping you as you sat up, stopping you as your frantic hands tried to rip the wires from your body and off your face, panic and flight set in all too quickly, evading your senses and blinding you to what was really there, the pain from your tugging stitches merely a thought on the back burner of your mind.

More voices joined the chaos, but you focused on one. The only familiar voice in the room, the one now telling you to breathe, instructing your breaths as if you were a child.

His scent was less familiar. Once tinged with a dark-colored liquor, now only the faint stale smell of smoked cigarettes and a sheen of sweat invaded your senses, but above all, a deep, woody smell that you could never quite describe. Not cologne or aftershave, but something wholly natural. Something utterly Jim.

It was Jim.

The nurses surrounded you — ready to sedate you — but Hopper shooed them off, his grip only tightening as you clung to him, words babbling out of your mouth without much control as your weary, drug-addled brain tried to fight its way out of the fog. Stuttering, you couldn’t contain the tears that fell from your eyes when you finally realized you were safe. You’d lost consciousness in the back of Harrington’s car, but your night was foggy even before that, unable to fully recollect how you had got here, the fragmented memory of tonight only coming back in flashes.

Once your heart rate settled the nurses backed off, but Hopper continued to hold you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks and dropping onto the top of your head and for a long while, the room was filled with silence.

It was Hopper who eventually broke it, his voice gruff before he cleared his throat, “What the hell were you thinking, Kid?”

You didn’t reply, and he didn’t give you a chance to, “You could’ve been seriously hurt. God dammit, you were seriously hurt.”

Of course, he knew why you’d agreed to go with Nancy and Jonathan, the former explaining everything to him once her own parents had left the hospital. The monster would’ve been heading right for himself and Joyce, and they would've been completely unaware. You had to distract it, to lead it away. You were willing to sacrifice your safety for Will’s, Joyce’s, and his own.

In hindsight, it really was a terrible plan. Dangerous, too. But once you’d seen Joyce’s warm, brown gaze from your doorway the next morning, her bottom lip wobbling as she approached you slowly, you knew you’d do it again and again. Without question or hesitation, and despite any trepidation.

She had explained how Hopper and herself had found Will, that he had managed to find his way to Castle Byers — a den he and Jonathan had made the day their father left home for the last time — and was on the brink of death. How Hopper had revived him, and that the boy was now healing only a few rooms away.

Once he was well enough, Joyce wheeled him down to see you and despite her not wanting to leave his side, she entrusted you with him when she went home to shower and collect some more items for the boy. Plus, Jonathan wasn’t far from his side most of the time.

Will sat quietly coloring whilst you stared at the hospital door, waiting for the one person you wanted to see to walk in. But, as usual, you were left disappointed and embarrassed.

You couldn’t leave until a parent or guardian had signed you out, and you were already feeling nauseous about how much this visit was going to cost you.

Will and Jonathan had returned to the boy’s own room earlier — Will was still recovering and needed his rest — when the door handle of your room turned, your heart leaping to your throat in desperate hope.

Everyone you had expected to see had already visited you. Nancy had come by earlier that morning, the tension between herself and Jonathan almost palpable, awkward enough that you were prepared to leap from your 10th-story window just to get away from it.

You’d questioned the girl once Jonathan had left, but Nancy shrugged and told you Jonathan was focusing on his mother and brother right now, and she understood that. It was then you realized the one thing Nancy Wheeler couldn’t do was feign nonchalance.

It was the tall head of hair that pulled your brow into a frown, forehead wrinkling as you watched the boy almost timidly slip into your room with one hand behind his back before he settled on the uncomfortable chair that had been placed in your room per Hopper’s demand.

You watched him for a moment as he looked anywhere but your direction, discomfort evident on his face, and it took a solid two minutes before either of you spoke.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” your voice was still a little gravely, and you watched as Steve picked up the cup of water from your bedside table, only to place it back when you shook your head.

One hand scratched the back of his neck as the other clung to a denim jacket, “I, uh… I didn’t know whether or not I should come. I mean, I didn’t think that you’d wanna see me.”

“And yet, here you are, Harrington.”

You didn’t mean to sound so standoffish, but this situation was still so surreal. If you’d been told just two weeks ago that Steve Harrington, of all people, would be visiting your bedside you would've slapped them silly. It wasn’t until you saw the dusty rose on his cheeks that you backtracked,

“I just… I didn’t expect to see you here.” His cheeks remained stained pink, but his eyes finally met yours.

“I didn’t know if I was actually gonna come,” he sent you a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his amber eyes, “Was even less sure that you’d actually want me here.”

Nodding, you couldn’t help but scan your gaze over his still bruised face, wondering what he’d told his parents about his injuries, or if they’d even been home to notice them.

“Why did you come back?”

Your question caused Steve’s dark eyes to dart away from you, eyebrows furrowed as if that night was the last thing he wanted to think about because he could still hear your blood-curdling scream when it was too quiet. Running his hand through his hair before scratching at the back of his neck again, Steve eventually met your eyes, “I uh… I was about to get in my car when I saw the lights flickering. I heard everyone yelling, and then I heard a scream...”

His voice trailed off as he peered up at you from underneath his lashes as if he was revealing some dark secret and wasn’t sure how you’d respond. Instead, you nodded, fingers playing with the rough hospital blanket,

“Thanks, Harrington. I owe you. And I’m sorry if I stained the back of your Beamer,” at his confusion, you continued, “Nancy told me that you drove me here. I’d offer to pay for the cleaning, but I think this place draining any savings that I already don’t have.”

You said it in jest, but Steve could see the underlying trepidation that you tried to repress.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

You nodded as the room filled with silence, the repetitive sound of your heart monitor only adding to your restlessness. You were positive the noise was now embedded in your brain.

Steve’s thumb traced over a button on the jacket he was still clinging to, his heart stinging a little at the other girl’s name. After dropping Nancy home the first night, she hadn’t spoken to him. He had only tried to contact her once, Mrs. Wheeler letting him know she was busy, and Steve had realized he needed to give her time despite wanting nothing more than to drive to her house and apologize profusely. Instead, Steve had put all his efforts into this stupid, denim jacket.

As if the thought had prompted him to remember why he was here, he placed the jacket on the bed, ignoring your perplexed gaze, “I uh… I found this on the Byers' driveway. Kinda why I stopped, too.”

Unfolding the jacket, you couldn’t hold in the huff of laughter, gratitude pulling at the corners of your mouth.

Cheeks painted pink, the boy stuttered for a second, refusing to make eye contact, “I… I managed to get most of the blood out. My Mom only has Daz, I hope that’s okay-”

“Steve,” your voice stopped his babbling, his big, doe eyes gazing toward you, “Thank you.”

A moment’s silence passed between you both despite Steve’s mouth opening and closing a few times as though he was doing his best impression of a fish. You knew he was looking for the right words to say, but knowing Steve Harrington, it could take a while.

Before Steve managed to find those words, the door swung open a little too quickly, Hopper wandering in with a brown bag filled with what you presumed was lunch. His step halted as his eyes darted between yourself and the boy, watching with a furrowed brow as Steve stood up, brushing the nonexistent dirt from his hands onto his jeans.

“Chief,” an awkward smile pulled at his lips, much more of a grimace than anything else.

“Harrington.”

Hopper didn’t bother to move, forcing Steve to make his way around him instead after bidding farewell as he finally took his leave.

Once the door was closed, Hopper made his way toward you, reclaiming the chair Steve had just left, “Didn’t know you two were friends.”

Rolling your eyes, you released a petulant sigh, “We’re not, he was just dropping something off.”

It took Hopper a few seconds, but eventually, he muttered a half-assed reply before pulling out two sandwiches from the bag. He held the two options up, allowing you to pick which one you’d prefer before unwrapping his own.

Inhaling sharply, your hands gripped around the scratchy hospital gown as if that could stem the pain you felt as you tried to sit up.

“Hey, hey, hey! Go careful, or you’ll tear a stitch.”

“It hurts,” you grumbled, allowing Hopper to help you sit up a little despite his mouth being full of turkey and bread.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s what the drugs are for.”

“I know, but I’m not using any,” unwrapping your own sandwich, you picked at the crusts as Hopper sent you a sharp glare that you could only roll your eyes at, “Do you know how much they charge for that shit? Hop, I’m never going to be able to pay these bills, and the only reason the hospital hasn’t kicked me out on my ass yet is because of you.”

Swallowing down a bite of his sandwich, Hopper wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, brushing the crumbs onto your bed, not that you took much notice, “Kiddo… You need that pain medication. Don’t worry about anything else-”

“My Mom lost her job,” your previous hunger had all but vacated the building, leaving you to place your food back onto the Saran wrap, “and somehow, I don’t think my shitty part-time job at the arcade is gonna pay the bills. We can barely afford the heating in winter, these hospital bills are going to absolutely crush us.”

Hopper’s blue eyes met yours, hardened over the years but somehow still soft, “You ain’t paying for shit, Kid. It’s covered, don’t worry about it-”

“I am not taking money from you, Hop-”

“Relax, it’s not mine. There’s uh… Some people are gonna come meet us later. Scientists. They’re talking to everyone involved, already paying the Byers’ hospital bills… They’re paying for yours, too. So enjoy the free morphine and eat your damn sandwich.”

Turns out, Hopper wasn’t yanking your chain. Sam Owens — apparently the new director of operations at Hawkins’ lab — had personally visited you. He’d explained that the lab had all of your hospital bills paid for, as they did Will’s, and that you, along with everyone else involved, would need to sign an iron-clad NDA, and despite the almost feral urge to throw the money back in their face and refuse the help, you knew you had no say this time and so, your silence was bought.

The official story was simple. You had made your way to the Byers house when a bear attacked you. To your own ears, it sounded wildly ridiculous. Even your doctor seemed uncertain, but his questions were quickly cut off by an agitated Chief of Police.

Once given the all-clear, you were finally allowed to leave. Your mother was yet to return home, and instead, Hopper had signed you out despite the receptionist's complaints.

“Are you sure you want to stay here? Joyce said she could make up the sofa for you-”

“I’m not intruding on Mrs. Byers.”

Rubbing his hand over his beard, Hopper released a sigh, “She said it wasn't a problem. Or you could stay-”

“I am not sharing a one-bedroom cabin with you, Hop. Thank you for the offer, but it’s not happening. I know how loudly you snore.”

Although it didn’t sound very glamorous to the man himself, he still found his eyebrows pulling together in slight offense, “I just don’t feel comfortable with you being here alone-”

“My mom will be home eventually,” you waved a hand dismissively as you made your way up the rickety porch, happy to finally be home.

Hopper was close on your heels, almost running right into the back of you as you crossed the threshold, not really expecting the sight you saw, “I’m sure she will, but we don’t know when that’ll be... What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just… Has someone been here?” Looking around the lounge, the broken glass had been swept, the coffee table fixed, and it even looked as though someone had vacuumed. It was too much of a stretch to believe that your mother could’ve been here.

“Oh, yeah. That Wheeler girl grabbed you some clothes for me to bring in. Why?”

You were too ashamed to tell him the real reason, so instead, you sent him a shrug and continued into the small house as Hopper threw your backpack that held the few essential items Nancy had grabbed.

“I need to leave soon, but if you need anything-”

“I think ringing an emergency line would be frowned upon. Especially if Flo’s there.”

Annoyance evident on his face, Hopper huffed out a long sigh, “Well, don’t go calling it for a pizza or anything. But if you need me, I’ll be there until 6. You have my number for the cabin, right?”

Despite knowing the number by heart, your mother still kept the crumpled napkin that Hopper had used to scribble down his number when they were first reacquainted in a drawer in the kitchen.

“You’re good to go, Hop. I’ll be fine.”

Hesitating in the doorway for a second, he watched as you slowly made your way to the couch, cautiously laying yourself down as you pulled out a cigarette from an abandoned pack Nancy must’ve found under the sofa and grabbed the lighter left next to it.

“Those things will kill you, Kid.”

Waving a hand around, you sent him a smirk, “Looks like it’ll have to get in line.”

Sending an unamused glare, Hopper finally shut the door, his own cigarette already dangling from his mouth before he’d even reached his vehicle.

Your mother had returned home a few days later, unbothered and unaware of the events that had transpired since you’d last left. Apparently, she had met someone in a bar just outside of town, and the two had a whirlwind romance and decided to take a road trip to Minneapolis until they eventually grew sick of each other — or rather, sobered up — and she all but raced back.

She didn’t ask what had happened, and you had no intentions of telling her, either. If the bills were paid for, then she needn’t worry, and if she found your blood-soaked jeans in the trashcan, she never bothered to mention it.

You had seen Nancy a few times — both of you still haunted by the loss of Barb — and she had confided in you about how she’d heard Mike down in the basement, trying to contact Eleven every day since, hoping that she was out there somewhere. Eventually, she tried to contact Jonathan, but the boy always seemed busy. He was hesitant to let his brother out of sight, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell Nancy that the boy blamed himself for his brother’s disappearance, even now. He worked extra shifts to help his mother, but the two alternated, making sure someone was home. He was dropped at the Wheeler’s house for their DND nights and picked up, no longer allowed to ride his bike alone, especially at night.

At first, Will had thought that it was great having a personal chauffeur, but Jonathan had confided in you that he knew the boy had grown sick of the constant observations. In less than 4 months he would officially be a teenager, and Jonathan knew they couldn’t coddle him much longer. But he still saw the uncertainty storm in his mother’s dark eyes — the same expression he was sure he wore himself — whenever his brother left their sights, counting down the hours until she would be picking him up.

Only a month had passed, and life had seemingly returned to normal. Despite your mother losing her job at The Hideout, she had managed to score a Christmas temp job at Bradley’s Big Buy, and although it wasn’t the best-paying job in town, it paid more than her bartending and at least took the pressure off of you a little. Despite being told to take it easy, you had returned to school after only missing a week or so and went back to work acting as if nothing had ever happened. Keith agreed to swap a few shifts with you, covering your few days off if you worked over the Christmas period. Not that he had any parties to attend, but hey... Neither did you.

Jonathan had picked you up from the closing shift and offered you a ride home. After everything you’d risked for his family, he felt it was the least he could offer. He told you he had to stop off at the Wheeler’s house and pick up Will, and you knew it would be the first time he’d possibly run into Nancy. It wasn’t that he was actively avoiding her, but you knew that once rumors had surfaced around the school halls that Nancy and Steve were back on, the boy presumed things would return to normal. Steve — and Nancy, by association — were popular kids, and he was just… Jonathan Byers, the loner. And he was okay with that.

Mrs. Wheeler answered the door — one hand holding a glass of white wine and a dirty look sent her husband’s way — with eyebrows raised in surprise as she eyed you from the other side of the doorway. Jonathan had all but dragged you from the car once he’d seen Steve’s familiar burgundy BWM parked on the drive. You didn’t have the guts to tell him that you already knew about the teenagers getting back together. In fact, you seemingly helped push them back together.

Jonathan headed down to collect Will as you remained in the kitchen speaking to Nancy’s mother,

“I can give her a shout if you’d like? She’s only in the living room-”

Waving her off, you pulled your woolen beanie from your head and placed it on the counter, “Oh, no, really, it’s fine. I’m sure the boys won’t be long.”

Nodding, Mrs. Wheeler took a big gulp of her drink as she continued to sprinkle icing sugar over one of her many Christmas desserts. For a moment, you wondered if in another lifetime, another dimension, maybe your mother was a master baker, too. Maybe she’d whip up fresh apple pies in the summer, leaving them to cool on the window’s ledge, and in Fall, she’d make cinnamon rolls and pumpkin whoopie pies for all of your neighbors. You’d decorate the house in beautiful string lights — although that thought didn’t seem too comforting recently — and make DIY Christmas wreaths. You’d donate extra cans of food to those in need instead of being the ones to line up at the holiday canned food drive every Christmas and Thanksgiving.

But your mother wasn’t, so you didn’t, and despite your heart longing for a simple childhood, something a little softer, you had come to terms a long time ago that life had dealt you these cards. Yet you still couldn’t stem the bubbling jealousy under your skin that cooled into uncomfortable guilt as you looked around the Wheeler’s clean and spacious kitchen in their fancy house with their white picket fence family.

As if thinking of the girl drew her toward you, Nancy appeared in the kitchen doorway, almost as surprised to see you as you were her, despite it being her own house.

“Hey, when Jonathan comes back can you get him to hang on just a minute? I have something for him.”

Nodding, you watched as she jogged past you and disappeared up the stairs.

Rather than standing in the kitchen awkwardly with Mrs. Wheeler, you made your way toward the basement door, ready to call down to the boys. You could hear their faint giggling as your hand grabbed the door handle, and you decided to leave them be. Five more minutes with his friends — even if it were at your detriment — was the least Will deserved.

Your eyes skimmed past Nancy’s father, fast asleep in the armchair as you looked over their decorations, the stockings hanging above the fireplace, no doubt embroidered with each of their names, the cards from friends and family and neighbors delicately placed with precision.

Someone clearing their throat caused you to jump a little, forced out of your own head before you began to spiral too deep.

Your eyes darted toward the sound, meeting Steve’s. The boy had been quietly watching you trace the room with wistful eyes and decided to make his way over to you.

“Jesus, that’s a fashion choice.” You joked, wishing you could suck the words right back into your throat when his cheeks began to redden, his hand scratching at the back of his neck as he looked at your attire.

“Who are you dressed as? Scrooge?”

You looked down toward your — albeit, all black — outfit, brows pulled together before glaring at the boy, his own eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, which only made your frown deepen.

“Well, excuse me for not feeling all that festive this year.”

The silence that fell between you was uncomfortable, and the heat radiating from the warm kitchen made you want to tug at your collar.

“How is… you know… that?” Steve asked, his eyes darting toward your stomach for just a second.

Swallowing the same lump that formed every time you saw or felt the ghastly, puckered skin across your stomach, you shrugged, eyes looking anywhere but at the boy. You’d seen the people he hung out with, the girls he’d dated. Steve Harrington was shallow, as most high school boys were, and you weren’t about to let him in on how grotesque your new scar made you feel.

“It’s fine. Doctors said it's healing well, so nothing to write home about.”

For a moment, Steve pondered whether you’d even told your mother what had happened or if she knew about the ‘bear attack’ that had left you pouring blood in the back of his BMW. About the probable scar that you buried under layers of clothes. He hadn’t uttered a word to his own parents, merely heading upstairs and shutting himself away in his room for the evening when he heard his mother mention it on the phone to one of her friends.

But secrets didn’t stay secret for very long in a town as quaint as Hawkins, and despite being in totally different friendship groups growing up, even Steve was aware of your turbulent upbringing. Your father left unexpectedly after the death of your sibling, and your mother has an attachment to a certain Mr. Jack Daniels.

His mother wasn’t one to gossip — or so she’d tell her friends during her wine and book club — but your mother had a reputation around town. For however long she could remain sober, she’d spend twice as long stumbling around town drunk.

'It won’t be long until she’s chanting that it’s the end of the world like her crazy mother,’ he’d once overheard her say before downing her glass of white wine and inspecting the clock, waiting for her husband to come home with barely visible lipstick staining his shirt collar, and smelling faintly of a floral perfume that didn’t belong to her.

Steve knew firsthand that everyone had secrets.

“I uh… I wanted to thank you, by the way,” Steve hesitated, taking a moment to run his hand through his hair, “Nance told me what you said to her at the hospital. About how you knew it wasn’t me who spray painted the marquee.”

Brows pinching together, you watched the boy quietly for a moment as he struggled in your silence before eventually putting him out of his misery, “I hope she still gave you shit for hanging around whilst your friends did it.”

“She did. Trust me. And I went back that day and washed it off. I just… I wanted to know why. I mean, how did you even know I didn’t do it?”

Shrugging, your eyes met the TV as you feigned an interest in the silenced TV advert, “Wasn’t your handwriting.”

The boy’s face scrunched in confusion as your eyes widened slightly, realizing how it sounded, “Jesus, Harrington. I’m not like, a stalker or anything. I just… Last year, I did something kind of stupid, and Tommy spray-painted my locker. I recognized his handwriting.”

Steve tried to rack his brain, only slightly remembering the rumor that had spread quickly around the school.

It had started at a party — the first and last that you had attended so far in high school — and you’d gotten a little too drunk, leading you to get a little too friendly with a boy named Reed. He was on the school's wrestling team and in Steve’s grade, but the boy didn’t know him all that well. The rumor that you’d slept with him went around school for a few days until the next big story broke. But Steve couldn’t remember Tommy defacing your locker. Then again, there weren’t enough hours in the day to remember all the times Tommy and Carol had involved themselves in gossip that had nothing to do with them.

“-Bitch doesn’t quite have the same impact when it’s missing the T, so… Yeah. That’s how I knew.”

Steve nodded slowly, his eyes watching you with an expression you’d never seen come from the boy before. Your skin felt too hot and itchy when you realized it was probably a look of pity.

“Ready to go?”

Jonathan’s voice broke the tension, both you and Steve were suddenly much more interested in the carpeted floor in the Wheeler’s living room than each other. Before you could answer him, you heard Nancy return downstairs, a wrapped gift in her hands as she led the eldest Byers sibling away for a moment, Will remaining by your side as you turned your attention to him.

Steve remained in the doorway, silently watching as you spoke to the younger boy. A little under two months ago, and Steve wouldn’t have been able to pick Will out of a lineup. He didn’t care about his disappearance, barely giving his missing posters more than a glance. He didn’t stop for a second to think how the boy being missing had affected anyone. Not Mrs. Byers, nor Jonathan. Not you. Not even Nancy.

Your conversation with Will was cut short as Nancy returned, her cheeks speckled with a light pink dusting and a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she passed by.

“You ready?” Jonathan asked, dark eyes meeting those of his brother, his own cheeks warmed under the soft lightening of the hallway.

“Yeah.”

You followed after them, wishing Mrs. Wheeler a Merry Christmas as you passed back through the kitchen, hot on Jonathan’s heels.

You’d only made it halfway down the drive when you heard Steve’s voice again, calling out your name. The boy stood in the doorway with his arm around Nancy, watching you ruffle Will’s hair gently.

“Is it really that bad?”

He didn’t divulge any further, despite the perplexed looks he received from everyone else, including his girlfriend, as his grin pulled up on one side, causing your grin to try and force its way across your lips.

Taking one last look at his atrocity of a Christmas sweater, you laughed silently and began to walk backward, heedless to the ice that lined the sidewalks and streets, “The absolute worst, Harrington. Merry Christmas.”

Jonathan had extended the offer of dinner at his house on his mother’s behalf, but you had begrudgingly declined, not wanting to intrude on the family’s meal. So instead, the boy dropped you home, but not until you and Will forced him to open his gift from Nancy.

The Pentax camera was brand new and much better than his old one. A part of you knew that despite Nancy never having to go without, Steve definitely would’ve had to put a decent chunk of money down for her to afford the gift.

The old Ford pulled onto the gravel outside your house, and the headlights lit up a sight you were shocked to see.

“Is that-”

“No,” you shook your head, peering through the windshield as if you'd see better, “No, it’s not. Look, I’ll uh… I’ll talk to you later, alright? Tell your Mom Merry Christmas for me.”

You didn’t wait around for the boy’s response, and despite being unsure whether or not to leave, Jonathan knew his mother would be stressing over the stove, so he did as you asked, driving back home for the evening.

Slowly, as if it could attack you on sight, you made your way toward the front of your house, staring at the bike that leaned against it, a red bow stuck to the front. It couldn’t have been your old bike, that was lost to the claws and teeth of the Demogorgon last month, damaged beyond repair. This bike was new, with no rust whatsoever, and a black helmet hung from a handlebar.

Ripping both the bow and helmet off, you dumped them onto your lawn, the falling snow seeping into them slowly as you jumped on, darting towards downtown.

Hopper threw some chicken tenders into his Tupperware container, cigarette hanging from his mouth, all but ready to leave. Tonight was the annual Christmas Eve party, and he’d shown his face for a while, but he had other, more important plans.

“You leaving already, Chief?” Powell questioned, his own plate filled high with finger foods.

“Oh, come on, you think I actually wanted to come to this thing? I was just hungry,” Jim told them in jest.

“Oh yeah, that’s the spirit.”

Jim made his way back out through the room, coming to a stop when Florence blocked his exit.

Taking the cigarette from his mouth with the glare of a mother, she let out a sigh and nodded her head to the side, “You have a visitor.”

Brows furrowed, Jim looked behind the older woman and spotted you standing by the door, jaw clenched and arms folded in front of you. Before he could leave, Flo patted his chest and wished him a Merry Christmas.

“What’s wrong, Kid?” Hopper asked as he approached you, much like he would a wounded animal.

“Take it back,” you told him harshly, swallowing down a ball of anger mixed with a tinge of regret, “I don’t need a pity gift, Hopper. And I know it was you. So just... Take it back.”

You turned and pushed through the door, more than willing to walk the long distance home, when the door swung behind you, the large man blocking the light as he made his way out, Tupperware container still in hand,

“Did you even wear the helmet when you rode down here? Jesus Christ, Kid. I’ll superglue it to your head next time I see you without it-”

“There won’t be a next time because I’m not taking it. So return it, donate it, do whatever. I don’t care.”

A large sigh fell from his mouth, and Jim had to try his best to dampen his temper, “It wasn’t a pity gift, or whatever you said. It’s a Christmas present. Simple as that.”

“Should I ring the ‘Hawkins Post’? Let them know you're gonna be flying around in a police cruiser handing out presents tonight? A real-life Santa, right here in Hawkins, Indiana? Who’d have thought!”

You turned around, strolling past the bike and across the parking lot. Your spiteful words left the bitter aftertaste of acid on your tongue, but you pressed on, stomping through the snow.

You heard Hopper open a car door, seemingly heaving the bike into the back before the door slammed, and he was on your tail. A hand wrapped around your elbow, stopping you in your tracks despite the lack of force behind it.

“If you wanna argue about this, then fine. But get in the car, and we can do it there.”

“I don’t want to argue, Hop. I wanna go home.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim took a moment to calm himself, wishing Flo hadn’t taken his cigarette, “Fine. Just get in.”

Hopper made his way to his vehicle, leaving you to weigh up your options for just a moment. You could walk back home, past the woods that still haunted your dreams most nights, or you could put up with him for 10 miserable minutes and be back home in your somewhat warm, somewhat safe house.

With your decision made, you kicked up snow as you made your way to his car, only half slamming the door when you were settled, ignoring Hopper’s side eye for doing so.

“You hungry?” He asked, eyes remaining on the road as he nodded toward the container.

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, Hopper’s fingers itched for another smoke, but he kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel instead, “I know you well enough to know you’re only this crabby when you haven’t eaten properly-”

“I’m not crabby, Hop. God.”

Remaining silent for a moment, Hopper swallowed down his annoyance, “The hell you angry for, then? I’m the one who bought the damn thing, and you’re acting like a spoiled brat who didn’t get the color they wanted.”

“I’m embarrassed, okay?!”

Hopper felt his face drop as he lifted his hand to run over his beard. He really didn’t think this through. “You haven’t got to feel embarrassed, alright? It’s just me. And it’s just a bike. If you feel that strongly, I’ll take it back. But I didn’t get it for you because I pity you. Your old one got chewed up and spat out — literally — and I just wanted… I thought maybe it could make up for all the shit that’s happened.”

Unclenching your aching jaw, you watched the man closely for a moment as guilt pooled in his eyes, “None of that was your fault, Hop. The world tore itself a new asshole, and a monster crawled through. You weren’t to blame for-”

“-I don’t mean that shit,” he sighed, eyes now avoiding you like the plague, “I mean everything before. Everything with your Mom and… leaving. Leaving you there with her.”

The silence between you two grew with guilt and awkwardness, choking you both from the inside out.

“It isn’t your place to worry about that.”

“I worry about you,” he sighed, knuckles whitening as he clenched his hands over the steering wheel, “I knew that shit wasn’t right, and I still packed up and left.”

“You’re not my dad, Hop. If he doesn’t feel guilty about leaving, neither should you-”

“Yeah, well, your dad’s an asshole.

Unable to stifle the small laugh that fell from your lips, you nodded in agreement, “Yeah, he is.”

Despite a weight being lifted from his shoulders, Jim couldn’t help the tinge of guilt he still felt — and probably always would feel — when he looked at you, his cornflower blue eyes watching your hands as they fiddled with the threads of your jacket sleeves.

“I wasn’t ready, you know? I’d been back a year, and it had only been two since…” Clearing his throat, Jim forced himself to continue, “Since I lost Sara. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I shouldn’t have been involved with anyone. Especially someone with a child.”

Hopper didn’t want to admit it, but he hadn’t intended on staying with your mother for as long as he did. Sure, she was fun to drink with back then, but he hadn’t planned on it lasting longer than the night. Then that morning, as he shuffled into your cramped kitchen, mind foggy with lack of sleep and most likely still a little drunk, he came across a 12-year-old you, perched at the breakfast table eating no more than a handful of stale cornflakes, sans the milk.

You’d looked him over, one brow lifted slightly in contempt — an expression he still witnessed to this day — as you moved past him, grabbing your threadbare backpack from the floor. You didn’t utter a single word, nor did you spare him a second glance as you left for school.

It would’ve been so easy to leave and never look back. But the next thing he knew, he was in 'Bradley’s Big Buy' throwing a box of ‘Frosted Flakes’ into his basket, along with a carton of milk. When he’d bumped into you the next morning, once again sat at the table, spoon hanging from your mouth as you looked up from your bowl, you remained silent. It wasn’t until you placed your bowl in the sink — knowing full well it would still be there when you returned home from school — that you uttered your first words to him as you took your leave,

“Coffee’s in the pot.”

He should’ve left when it was easy. But Hopper’s heart was broken and bruised, and he was nothing if not sadistic. He’d grown attached, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to remain in your life and that you wouldn’t ever fix the hole in his entire being that losing Sara had caused, just as his being there hadn’t healed the ever-lasting pain that having a parent walk out had caused. But for a while, the bandages held in place, allowing you both to bond and soften the chipped parts of your souls.

“When I lost Sara… I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance, you know? Hell, I didn’t want one, anyway. I lost my baby girl, and nothing in this world could’ve replaced that, you know? But shit, Kid… You come pretty damn close.”

His eyes met yours as he pulled to the side of the road, eventually turning the engine off, “I’m sorry for a lot, you know? I’m sorry I forced my way into your life when I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay, and I’m sorry for not believing you when all this shit started to happen. I’m sorry for the shitty cards you’ve been dealt in life. But I don’t pity you alright? Shit, you risked your life for a kid you barely know. I think you’re brave, and fuckin’ stupid sometimes, but… I think the world of you, Kid. Always have, and always will. No matter what dumbass thing you do next.”

Sniffling, you could feel his eyes boring into the side of your face as you turned away, wiping your nose.

“You alright over there?” He asked, eyes a little teary himself, not that he'd ever admit that to you.

Shrugging, you cleared your throat, “Flu season, right?”

You heard a soft laugh fall from his mouth as the man undid his seatbelt, reaching over to grab the container from the dashboard before he opened his door, “C’mon, we haven’t got all night.”

Ripping your seatbelt off, you followed the man, confusion written all over your face, “Where the hell are we going? You got a new hobby feeding the wildlife or something?”

Hopper passed you the container of food as he turned on his flashlight, making his way into the woods as you followed, practically on his heel. You both remained silent during the short walk, your footprints in the soft snow being the only indicator that you were even there until Hopper opened a lockbox. Taking the container from you, he placed it in before pulling something from his pocket — you were pretty sure it was two Eggo waffles, wrapped in Saran wrap — and placed it on top. Closing the box, Hopper took a moment to look around the woods before standing up. He didn’t utter a single word until you were back in the car, driving towards your home.

“You think she’s gonna come back?”

Shrugging, Hopper took off his hat, “I don’t even know if she can.”

You sent him a small, genuine smile, “If she can, she will.”

“You sound awfully optimistic.” Hopper couldn’t deny that he, too, hoped Eleven could… hoped she would come back.

Shrugging, you pulled your jacket closer around you as you turned up the radio, the bass of The Waitresses ‘Christmas Wrapping’ filling the short ride home.

Pulling up outside your house, Jim noticed the lack of Christmas decorations — something that wasn’t abnormal in your home — but decided not to comment on it. Your mother’s car was haphazardly parked on the driveway, and despite knowing you wouldn’t be alone in the house, it didn’t help him feel any more at ease.

“You gonna be alright on your own tonight?”

Your question caught him off-guard, halting his actions as he was half out of the car, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Got some beer at home, and CBS is showing re-runs of ‘Dukes of Hazard’ all night.”

Rolling your eyes, you closed his door — this time much more gently — and watched as he pulled the bike out of the backseat. Pushing it toward you, he watched as you apprehensively took it. Hopper's eyes softened as he pulled you into a hug, the heat from his body and jacket swamping you for a moment in all the best ways.

You heard the front door open and your mother's footsteps as she stepped onto the porch. Calling your name, she watched as Hopper placed a gentle, barely there kiss on the top of your head. You could hear the porch creak under her as she shuffled slightly, calling your name once more, only this time a little more firmly,

“Time to come in now.”

Pulling away from the man, you began to push your bike toward the porch where you’d leave it out of the snow. A call of your name — this time in the other direction — stopped you in your tracks, and you watched as Hopper tipped his hat slightly to your mother. She rolled her eyes, but backed up into the doorway a little — her half-assed attempt at giving you privacy.

“Wear your damn helmet next time, alright?”

Rolling your eyes, you quickly found the helmet covered in snow, grabbing it and wrapping it over the handlebars.

Hopper returned to his car, waiting until you were safely inside before pulling away.

This year, Christmas Eve hadn’t been the worst. Your mother — as usual — had drank a little more than she should’ve, her questions surrounding Hopper turning into a borderline inquisition, but eventually, she wandered off into the living room, glass of brandy in her hand as you prepared some boxed Mac’n’Cheese.

By the time you were finished, she’d fallen asleep, sprawled out on the sofa as the TV blared. Grabbing the duvet from her room, you placed it over her and took her now empty glass to wash up.

The clock had struck 12am before you knew it and despite the need to sleep nipping at your heels, you remained steadfast in your search. You’d pulled out the few clothes you had that no longer fit you, checking through the size tags before making a small pile of ones that were decent enough.

If Hopper believed that Eleven could come back, you would make sure she had something to come back to. Telekinetic powers or not, she’d freeze to death in the bitter, unforgiving winters of the Midwest.

A quiet knock at your front door halted your actions, an old jacket held halfway to a pile. Waiting for a few seconds, you heard no other noise and continued to fold the clothes, until you heard another — slightly louder — knock.

Cautiously making your way toward the front door, you took a deep breath before tugging the door open, cringing as it creaked loudly.

Steve stood, hand raised in the air as if to knock again, honey-colored eyes wide as if he didn’t expect the door to be answered at this time of night, despite knocking twice.

“Harrington? What the hell are you doing here?” You whispered, eyes darting around behind him as if you expected his gang of idiots to pop up behind his car and pelt you with snowballs.

The boy looked unsure, following your suspicious glances behind him, “I, uh-”

Eyes widening, you shushed him before turning, watching your mother stir slightly from his voice in the all too quiet house. Stepping out into the cold night air, you closed the door behind you, hoping the mechanism wouldn’t jam and lock you out.

Steve stepped back a moment too late — your body bumping into his to make room — and caused a loud creak on the unsteady porch, causing you both to wince. Looking up toward you with a feeble smile painted on his face, he apologized quietly.

“I just came by to bring you this. You left it at Nancy’s.”

Pulling your hat out of his coat pocket, you carefully took it from him, holding it in a tight grip in hopes it would warm your already chilled fingers, “You really didn’t have to drive all the way out here just to give it back to me, but... Thanks.”

The boy nodded, both his hands shoved into his pockets, ignoring the snowflakes that had yet to melt from his hair, “It’s cool.”

You both stood for a moment, equally unsure as to what to say or do next. Being cordial with someone like Steve didn’t come naturally to you, but the boy was clearly making an effort, and for now, you would too.

“You know, if you’re not asleep when Father Christmas comes, he won’t leave you any presents.”

A cloud of air fell from the boys mouth along with his soft laugh, “Yeah well, I’m not sure I deserve much more than coal this year.”

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and biting down on it for a moment, you tried to keep your opinion to yourself, “I mean, you were an asshole for a solid 70% of the year.”

“Giving me a whole 30%? Someones in a good mood.”

Shrugging, you tried to keep the smile from your face, “I mean, it’s the holidays. It’s all about charity and giving, right?”

Scoffing slightly, Steve rocked on the balls of his feet, stopping quickly when the porch groaned under his weight, “So I’ve heard.”

A cold wind blew through, rattling the front door and causing a burst of goosebumps to cover your skin. Pajamas really weren’t outdoor clothes. Steve watched as you shivered slightly and decided to take his leave, but before he could excuse himself, you caught him off guard,

“Won’t your parents be wondering where you are?”

This time, his scoff seemed much less friendly, “Yeah, I doubt they even knew I left. They, uh... They have their annual Harrington Christmas Eve party. Not really my kind of thing, I guess.”

“Free alcohol and rich folks having pissing contests. Thought that would’ve been right up there on your list of things you enjoy.”

Despite his hands still being firmly pressed in his pockets, his fingers twitched with the desire to tug at his hair, “Oh yeah, it’s a ball.”

This time you were unable to hide the broad smile that split across your face, shoulders shaking slightly from a silent laugh. It felt weird to know that Steve Harrington of all people didn’t feel at home in his own house. Your skin felt itchy and hot, and you yearned to rip it from the bone as if you knew a secret about the boy that you probably shouldn’t.

It wasn’t unknown that the Harrington’s were away often, that’s how Steve had managed to throw so many parties over the years. But not knowing if he preferred it that way or not — something even he was unsure of — made you feel uncomfortably connected to the boy.

“Is your mom…”

“Asleep on the couch, half a bottle of brandy in. Just like every other day ending in a Y.”

Steve nodded, “Right. I uh, I should go.”

You watched as Steve made his way down the driveway toward his car, his hand finally reaching up to his mop of hair to ruffle the snow from it. Before he could get in the car, you called his name, one last time,

“Merry Christmas, Harrington.”

“Merry Christmas.”

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