#And then Mike comes crawling back every time with hearts in his eyes. Get out of here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sp0o0kylights · 2 years ago

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“Oh god it’s covered in hearts.” Gareth says, staring horrified at the stage that’s been set up in the cafeteria. Grant and Jeff stand next to him, eyeing the abomination of glitter, paper, and tinsel that’s been shaped into pink and red hearts with a microphone standing proud in the middle.

Several of Hawkin’s jocks are standing to the side, talking amongst themselves, but worse is the crowd of students accumulating in front of the stage.

“You don’t think they’re gonna serenade us for Valentine's Day, do you?” Jeff asks in a similar tone of horror.

Grant makes a disgusted face at the very thought.

“It’s about time they gave me my own mic!” Eddie cackles, slamming his hands down on Gareth and Jeff’s shoulders for leverage, jumping up for a better look (Grant smartly ducked away before his friend can crawl all over him too), “I’ve only been going on about the capitalistic horrors of Valentine's Day since middle school!”

They groan in unison..

Eddie’s got a look on his face that says he’s about to vault up on stage and do this year's rant in style; Gareth will be damned if he lets Eddie get detention on a Hellfire campaign night.

“Eddie, no.” Gareth warns, as his best friend tries to worm his way past them.

“Eddie, yes.” He grins, bolting forward even as multiple hands reach out to yank him back.

“Whatever they’re doing we do not want to get in the middle!” Jeff hisses in his ear as Grant reaches for his middle (already once tricked by grabbing Eddie’s jacket, which he simply shrugged out of). Gareth does his part, holding firmly onto one of Eddie’s hands. Eddie bravely tries to stagger forward, despite the efforts of what looks like some kind of mutant tangle of human limbs.

“Come here microphone, my beloved!” He pants, comically reaching his arms out towards the stage, before Grant promptly stops fooling around and hefts him into the air.

“Nooo--the people need to hear me!” Eddie wails, thrashing.

Gareth rolls his eyes and spots three familiar faces in doing so. Freezes so abruptly that the arm he was holding onto slips out of his grip, allowing Eddie to deploy a tickle attack.

The result is Grant almost throwing him to the floor, with Jeff forced to let go or fall.

Free to cause chaos, Eddie throws his hands in the air, grinning widely.

“Is that…the freshman, up there?” Gareth asks before his best friend can crow victory.

“I’m sure there’s many freshmen up there, buddy.” Grant says with false sincerity as he regains his breath.

“No, not--I mean our freshmen! Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair!” He points, and sure enough, on the side of the crowd opposite the jocks, there stood Hellfire’s youngest with their heads put together.

“Now just what are they up to, I wonder?” Eddie ponders aloud, before shrugging his jacket back in place and strutting forward.

Trading uneasy looks with each other, his friends follow.

xXx

“The auction isn’t kicking off until 6 pm.” Henderson says, as he carefully counts the individual bills in his hand. “We know that besides the basketball team and the cheerleading team, they’ve got like, the Mayor involved, and the fire department, which means--”

“A lot of people are going to be there.” Mike interrupts, arms crossed over his arms. “That’s what it means, Dustin. What’s the point if every girl there is going to be bidding on him?”

“Were you even listening, Mike? I just said there’s a bunch of other people they’re auctioning off!”

Wheeler Jr. pulls a face that nearly makes Eddie laugh (and thus give up the fact he was slowly sneaking up on them) before the kid shoots back, “We have five dollars total Dustin. I don’t think that’s going to be enough.”

“Not to buy a whole person.” Eddie says, voice dropping to imitate the current big bad in their D&D campaign, “But five dollars is a fair price for a body part I’d say…”

He trails off with a cackle as the three freshmen startle away from him like spooked horses. “Now what--or who--are you buying?”

“They’re gonna explain it here in a minute,” Dustin says after he recovers, waving at the girls in front of the stage with a hand. “But there’s some big charity fundraiser happening tonight. Right now they’re voting one guy from the basketball team and one girl from the cheerleading squad to represent the school, but they’re auctioning off a bunch of people.” Dustin explains, holding up his fistful of dollars with a wild grin.

“If you’re the highest bidder, you get to spend the day with the person you bid on.” Lucas adds, because Dustin skipped right over that part. “Since it’s Valentine's Day themed, they’re referring to them as “winning a date”.

Well that explained all the giggling cheerleaders.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “I’d ask if this is Sinclair’s bail money, but as my last two years remind me, it’s only for juniors and seniors. Not--” He playfully slings an arm around Lucas’s shoulders, “--for the darkside’s newest recruits.”

The uncomfortable look Lucas gives him is almost enough to make Eddie feel bad, but it’s not his fault Lucas was tempted by the evils of highschool sportsball. He figures the kid will come to his senses soon enough, and considering how awful the jocks are, it won’t be too long before Sinclair is 100% a Hellfire club member again.

“Which begs the question.” Eddie continues, slinging an arm over Mike’s shoulder as well. “What are you scheming? I’d ask if you’re buying me a date, but,'' He gives an over-dramatic sigh,” alas, no one can survive the charms of Eddie the Banished.”

“Charm is one word for it.” Jeff says, as the rest of Hellfire finally catches up. Gareth and Grant roll their eyes as Mike and Lucas chuckle weakly at Eddie’s exaggerated pout.

He drops his arms from his little lamb’s shoulders, taking a step back and looking around at the growing crowd.

“Hush Jeff. Let’s see if ol’ Eddie can guess who our brethren here have their eyes on. I wonder if…” He trails off, dragging out the last word as he does so before a bright, teasing smile lights up his face. “Aha! I see one Miss Cunningham. Are we bidding on her for Sir Gareth?”

A sputtering noise erupts behind him, as Eddie turns with glee to watch Gareth practically choke on soda he’d just taken a sip of, Grant thumping him on the back.

“Eddie.” Gareth hisses, and somehow it sounds like a warning even if his voice has a slight wheeze to it.

“What?” Eddie says, full of faux innocence. “We all know the lengths you’ve gone to get her attention recently.”

Gareth’s gone bright red, a testament to the fact that he’s been mooning over Chrissy Cunningham since the day she complimented one of his drawings.

His over-the-top moaning of how to woo her away from Jason is a prospect Eddie tolerates only because he himself has gone through great lengths to impress men that will never once look his way, let alone consider him as a romantic option.

(And also because Gareth, as Eddie’s best friend and confidant, was well aware of Eddie’s own crush on one Steve Harrington.

Apparently, Hellfire’s members were just cursed to fall for jocks.)

“They want to bet on Steve.” Mike says with an eye roll, apparently done with this entire charade.

For two seconds Eddie thinks that he’s somehow spoken the part about Steve aloud and that Mike is somehow echoing his deepest, innermost thoughts but is saved from panicking further by Dustin adding;

“We’re gonna make him play a campaign with us.”

The kid’s grin makes his eyes sparkle, which is completely at odds with the way Eddie’s stomach plummets.

“He played D&D with my sister, Eddie.” Lucas says, feigning a hurt look. “My kid sister, but not me?”

“Harrington played D&D?” Gareth’s voice implies he doesn’t believe it, and honestly? Had it not been for the freshmen, he wouldn’t have believed anything that was said about Harrington. He was on the verge of tears with laughter when they told him that the almighty King Steve was their chauffeur. They had to be lying about how often they hung out with Steve to begin with, right? Because there was just no way.

Except they weren’t. They really, really, weren’t.

It only took a handful of times of watching Steve pick them up from Hellfire, and then seeing the entire extended group (including Sinclair’s on-again-off-again girlfriend and Robin Buckley of all people) bouncing around Harrington like over excited puppies all over town.

The arcade. Downtown Hawkins. The local milkshake diner and the stupid movie theater.

Literally.

Everywhere.

“You guys are going to bid on Steve Harrington and make him play D&D.” Jeff clarifies, and Eddie doesn’t blame him for doing that either.

It’s the stupidest thing he’s heard all day, and he spent the last hour and a half listening to Mr. Rulf yawn on about parallelograms.

“Yeah! You guys wanna pitch in and help?”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie sneers. He can’t help himself--this is against everything he’s ever stood for.

Stupid thoughts of stupid Steve going on a stupid date with him, aside.

“Yeah guys, I think we’re gonna eat outside today. If you wanna listen to…whatever,” Jeff casts his eyes towards the cheerleader that’s bounding up the steps of the stage, ponytail bouncing, “ then go right ahead.”

“Oh we don’t need to listen to this.” Dustin dismisses the entire thing with a wave of his hand, making Mike roll his eyes again.

Somewhere in his campaign notes there’s a joke written about Wheeler Jr’s eyes getting stuck like that. Eddie hadn’t planned on bringing it out tonight, but a part of him really wants to.

Maybe if he can talk the freshman out of their idiotic idea, he’ll reward himself and do it tonight anyways.

….Or he could still steal that microphone.

xXx Steve xXx

Steve has no idea how he got talked into this.

Actually, that’s a lie, he knows how it started: a phone call, his mother, and a sudden way for her to be in the spotlight for her yearly fifteen minutes of Hawkins fame. He just can’t recall why he agreed to it.

“It's an opportunity, Steven." She says, heels clicking against the department store tile.

An embarrassment is what it was, but Steve knew better than to tell his mother that.

"You should be honored that Wendy--that’s the head chair of the charity board, you remember her don't you? She used to attend your piano recitals--she asked for you personally." His mother expertly plucked a shirt from the rack, holding it up to the light.

"Those were your parties mom, not my piano recitals." Steve reminds her as she holds the shirt out to him. He took it, adding it to the stack he had in his hands.

The parties were the exact same kind of shit this as this “Valentine's Day Fundraiser” a way for rich people to celebrate themselves by making others uncomfortable.

Only instead of being forced to play piano so his mothers friends could wine and dine with the famous Harrington's, he was being hauled up in front of the entire town (or whoever was attending this stupid event) and auctioned off as a “date” to the highest bidder.

(“It’s for one day, Steven, don’t be so dramatic. Why is your generation entirely incapable of taking a joke and having fun?” His mother had said, when he tried to tell her he wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

Of course there was no answer that would please her; soon enough, Steve found himself dragged about town as his mother played dress up.)

"You'll be standing alongside the Mayor, the fire department, even that idiot, Mary Marie--"

She stops for a moment, eyeing a jacket with a critical eye.

Just as quickly she dismisses it with a hum, prowling on to the next section.

"--the point is that there will be plenty of candidates for the children to pick from, but you’ll be the only hero up there."

That same critical eye turns on him, appraising him like he was no more than a horse in her stable, adding up imperfections and dividing amongst his best qualities.

(Despite a lifetime of training, it still takes everything in him not to squirm.)

"Not to mention a Harrington.” She purrs, taking a step closer to run a manicured hand down the front of his shirt, smoothing away a stray crease. “Women will be throwing money to win a day with you."

Steve has to fight not to outright shudder.

"Which means you have to look your best. Now stop whining, we’re almost done.”

Steve doubts that, but it doesn’t matter; he never had a choice to begin with.

xXx

Four hours, one shower, and several rounds of his mother’s nagging and meticulous styling, ,Steve finds himself back in Hawkin’s High, staring at the gym.

His mother had long swept past him, having spotted some high school friends and gone over to lord her lifestyle and general wealth over them.

For a fundraiser, the charity board in charge had spared no expense in dressing the gym up. Red, pink and white balloons decorated the doorways and a large stage hauled to one end.

Tables with thick, white table cloth are artfully arranged about the floor, caterers swiftly moving between them.

This is probably the fanciest this gym has ever looked, and Steve wants to be anywhere but inside it.

“Oh--Steve.” A gentle voice says next to him, and Steve turns his head in surprise to see Chrissy Cunningham look nervously up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Me neither honestly.” He tells her, watching the way that makes the younger woman smile. “But I’ve been volun-told to be auctioned off. What about yourself?”

Chrissy runs her hands down her dress, a modest if not beautiful blue halter dress , wincing as she snags a nail on it. “The school held a vote at lunch about who would represent the school tonight. All of the varsity cheerleaders and basketball players were involved.”

“I see.” Steve says, keeping his voice gentle and playful. There had always been a part of Chrissy that had reminded him of El. Someone who needed kind words in their life. “You got voted as tonight’s sacrifice, huh?”

Chrissy laughs at that, hand flying to cover her mouth. “I guess you could say that.” She says, and seems surprised at herself for it.

“Did Jason get picked too?” Steve asks. It would make sense if he was, the guy was the basketball Captain after all.

Chrissy nods, then chews on her lip. “Yes but--he’s not happy about it,”

Steve snorts and tries to cover it with a cough. “None of us are.”

“It’s more that I’m being auctioned off.”

Chrissy must catch the look on his face because she rushes to add; “You know, like any boyfriend would be! I know it’s just supposed to be a fun silly thing and they’re not really dates but…” She trails off, voice growing quieter at the end. “He worries.”

The word “worry” sounds like it means something else entirely.

Steve feels for her.

“Hey, if Jason’s an ass about it, let me know.” Steve says after a moment of shared silence. “You don’t deserve to deal with him being a kid about this shit.”

Chrissy blinks up at him at that, hand almost to her mouth as though she’d subconsciously raised them up to chew on her nails. “Thanks Steve. That’s nice of you.” She whispers it, and Steve nods and smiles at her.

“There you two are!” A woman says, rushing over with a clipboard. “Steve Harrington and Chrissy Cunningham, right? We’re gathering all the dates behind those doors.” She turns and points to the opposite end of the gym. “If you both would follow me please?”

Steve motions for Chrissy to go first, and moves to follow her when a flash of curls crushed down by a blur of white, blue and electric yellow catches his eye.

He turns automatically, seeking it out and sure enough, ducking down the hall is Henderson, Sinclair hot on his heels.

A familiar mixture of emotions lights up Steve’s spine, and he knows immediately he won’t be able to rest until he figures out what the gremlins are up to--because their Hellfire Club was supposedly canceled today on grounds that Munson had stolen a microphone, or some other crap.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll join you in a second!” Steve calls, before darting down the hall, after them.

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ynisreal · 1 year ago

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wires (1) - michael afton x reader

author´s note: i posted this on AO3 and thought, since i read a LOT of fanfiction in here as well, why not post here too? soooo here is my lil contribuition :D summary: A reader-insert in which you work as a security guard at Sister Location and you start to feel a little too drawn to the night security guard. Or Michael has already been scooped and can't get out of the establishment, becoming the night security guard. So the only entertainment he has is the cute daytime security guard who is a bit clumsy.

Chapter One

Since the incident that ended Michael's life, he hasn't been able to leave the same place where death found him. Fazbear Sister Location has become his home, not so comfortable, but it works for him. Michael knows that he won't be able to live a normal life in the state he's in, purple and ever-falling skin, exposed bones and black eyes. No longer alive. The animatronics who did this to him, including his sister, decided to let his body decompose in an alley, and he had no choice but to crawl to the place where he took his last breath.

He didn't blame his sister, far from it, he knew she was trying to protect herself and couldn't recognize her own brother's face. Imagine being so blinded by anger and fear that you can't recognize your sibling. Well, he knows he can blame the shitty father they both had for recent events. That was already a relief in his chest. Michael already carried a lot of guilt in his heart, he didn't need any more of it.

The days were monotonous. Henry came to visit one day or another, always with clothes in hand and a few items from Mike's place to comfort the undead. Michael was grateful for Henry, knowing that the poor man was still struggling with the grief of his own daughter, so he helped Michael in any way he could, welcoming him like the child he had lost. They talked, Henry hoping that he could build something to help Michael live normally again, which they both knew was unlikely. There was no going back, he had lost his life, now a ghost in his own rotting body.

Michael was now in charge of the establishment, forever a security guard who worked night and day shifts. Every hour of his day was spent walking the corridors, watching the same movies on the old television Henry had installed for him, cleaning the same toilets and reading any book or magazine he could find in the staff room.

"The other employees of the company are beginning to question why this establishment is still empty," Henry continues. Michael, who had been lost in his thoughts, returned to paying attention to what his father's former friend was saying. "Apparently, they want to start a bigger project on this site, and they need the place intact, so they're pressing to have a security guard here for when the construction company comes."

Oh yes, Michael wasn't officially the security guard. He was only officially dead.

"Create a false identity for me and I can take care of security," Michael shrugged, looking at the older man in front of him, "The establishment would be under observation all hours of the day, after all, I can't get out of here," he tried to make a joke, but neither he nor Henry seemed to find it funny.

"What about when the staff arrive to redesign the place during the day? Are you going to serve them little cups of coffee and cookies looking like that?" Henry says dryly. Ouch, that pained Michael. He knows what he was suggesting was a bit insane, the day shift would be impossible to avoid being spotted.

"Okay, so you're going to put a security guard on the day shift, and what about me? Am I going to beg him not to tell the others about me?" Michael replies in the same way, a little frustrated that the solution was so simple and yet so impossible at the same time: he just had to get out of here.

"No," Henry replies, "You stay hidden."

Michael doesn't answer the older man. He knows Henry is right, but it's so unfair to go through what he's been through and have to live in hiding. In the same shadows that those who killed him live in. His whole life was built on injustice, the death of his brother, the constant running away from his father, the terror the poor children suffered, his own death and what came after it. Injustice was no stranger to Michael, so he accepts what his reality will become in the coming days. Spending the day hiding in the small back room, locked up like an animal, until night comes and he is able to roam not so freely around the establishment where he died.

Great.

Henry gave Michael one last hug, saying he would be back in the next few days to bring the younger man some comfort items, promising to bring him some interesting new movies or books. Honestly, Henry knows that no movie or book would improve the situation of the man he considered his own son, but he had to play with the pieces he had.

The next two days passed in the same way as the others, Henry visiting, mopping the same floors, watching the same movies and reading the same magazines. On the third day, Henry had warned him that the new security guard would be arriving at 6 o'clock in the morning. She was apparently a woman a little younger than Mike, desperate to find a job to help support her younger sister. Henry described you as a sweet, quiet woman, who certainly won't bring any more problems into Michael's life. Mike sighed in relief.

The day began with Michael quickly locking the door to the room he was in. It was a spare back room used to store the remains of the animatronics that had escaped and other old things from other establishments, making it spacious enough for him to put a mattress on the floor and the small television that Henry had installed. Genuinely, it was the best Michael could ask for in this situation.

He hears you entering the main hall, the little-used doors making a loud noise down the corridors. He also hears that the sound of the doors startles you, causing you to let out a nervous yelp, which puts a small smile on Michael's face. If you are that easily frightened, perhaps it wasn't the best option to work in a place with a reputation as dirty and shady as Fazbear Entertainment's establishments.

You really had been startled by the loud noise from the doors, not expecting a noise assault at this time of the morning. It's 6 a.m. and you've barely slept, a little bit spooked by the rumors your little sister told you when you revealed where you were going to work. She was only 10, but she didn't seem to be afraid of anything, creating a hard shell after so many years of watching you deal with the difficulties of studying, working and looking after her at the same time. Your sister looked up to you, and wanted to help you in any way she could, so she didn't seem like a child at times. Some nights you were relieved that she was so mature, but soon you regretted it, feeling ignorant for not having been able to give her a normal childhood.

Your father threw your mother out of the house when he found out about her constant lovers, which led to you being thrown out too. You had nothing to do with what your mother did, you were just a child, which is why you loathe your father to this day. Your mother wasn't much help either, getting pregnant with your little sister a short time later, by a random man she met in the bar. She didn't make an effort to look after you or your sister, so it didn't surprise you to wake up one day and see her goodbye note with lunch money inside.

You walk through the main hall impressed by how clean it was. Oh well, the last security guard must have constantly cleaned everything. You think as you reach for the switch to turn on the lights, already reaching for the map you'd been given during your interview, explaining each room and what you had to do during your shift. It consisted of looking at the cameras to prevent intruders, keeping an eye on the employees who were going to redesign the establishment and locking the doors when either they or you leave, so that the night security guard could take over the next shift.

However, after looking at the clean and tidy state in which the last security guard left the corridors and rooms, you felt guilty for not keeping them clean too, wanting to maintain the hard work he had put in. As you sat down in the chair in the control room, you turned on the monitors to watch the cameras and wait for the architects who had said they would arrive today, placing a small napkin under your coffee cup to avoid staining the wood of the table. You´re welcome, last security.

The first few hours of your workday pass quietly, even a little tediously, as you stare at the screens in front of you, feeling your eyes burn at the image of empty corridors and stages just as blank. The sweet man who had interviewed you had told you about the transfer of the animatronics, but unfortunately for him, you had learned from a young age to spot when older people were lying to you. Whether it was intuition or pure coincidence, you had realized that he wasn't telling you the real reason why there were no animatronics on stage at the moment, and, combined with your sister's stories, you found yourself a little wary, not taking your eyes off the monitors.

"We're here, Y/n, open up here," you were startled by the sudden voice coming from the radio the company had given you, recognizing that it was the architects who had arrived on the scene. "Okay, I'll be right there," you reply almost immediately, getting up to walk to the main hall. The architects had already gone up the elevator and were standing behind the main door, waiting for you to unlock it.

"Wow, that door makes a loud fucking noise," the man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase said when you opened the doors, his voice sounding frantic. You flinched at the sound of such a rude voice ruining the silence you'd been in for hours. He was accompanied by a shorter woman, who was in more casual clothes and carrying too many materials for her small arms to hold. "You must be the new security guard," the architect in the suit looked at you, his tone not at all inviting.

"Yes, my name is-" you stop your sentence when you see that he hasn't waited for your answer, and instead started walking down the hall with a small notebook now in hand, leaving the briefcase at your feet.

You allow your mouth to drop into an expression of surprise, looking down at the briefcase at your foot, waiting to be picked up in your arms. "Sorry, Mr. Noah had a bad day," the woman in front of you says, a nervous smile on her face, trying to make up for what her boss was doing, "My name is Alice." She tries to extend her hand to greet you, but some of the materials she was holding fall to the floor.

You bend down to pick up what had fallen and the briefcase that was still on your feet. "My name is Y/n," you reply, still incredulous at the whole situation, helping Alice carry the materials and the briefcase, realizing how difficult it was to keep everything in just two hands. Wow, this woman has been carrying this around all day?. Alice starts to follow her boss, Noah, when she hears him call out, a little annoyed that his things had fallen. You had no choice but to follow her, going after the man who was so caught up in his own ego to notice his own actions.

You showed the map to both of them, taking them to the rooms they wanted to see. The two of them worked in a frustrating dynamic, with Noah constantly making observations and critiques of the establishment's architecture, coming up with ideas for the new attraction and who they should call in to help with the redesign, and Alice writing down every word that came out of the rude man's big mouth. You grew increasingly tired of the architect's voice, already exhausted from going back and forth to the hall where they had left the materials to bring some item he needed.

Noah seemed satisfied with his ideas when it started to get dark, as he finally shut up and, without warning, started walking towards the exit of Ballora's Gallery, calling Alice to follow him. Once again, you had no choice but to go after them both, the stress and tiredness already getting to you, but relieved that they seemed to be leaving. You open the doors for both of them, returning the small nod and smile that Alice gave you before disappearing into the elevator.

When you lock the door, you pull up the sleeves of your uniform to check the time. It was 5 o'clock in the afternoon, one hour before your workday ended and that of the night security guard would begin. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you quickly close your eyes, imagining your warm bed and the plate of food waiting for you at home. Man, I just want this first day to be over. You've been on your nerves all day, with Noah's absurdly annoying voice and your fear of the stories you've heard, your body going rigid every time you heard some strange noise.

Your legs practically carry you into the control room, dumping you into the chair, feeling the relief of letting your leg muscles rest from having stood too long watching Alice and Noah work. You adjusted your spine to rest against the back of the uncomfortable chair, prepared to spend the final hour letting the monitor screens burn your retina once again. But your body seemed to have another idea: as soon as you leaned your head against the palm of your hand, your eyes began to feel heavy, and with every second that passed, they felt heavier and heavier. At some point, you blinked and didn't open your eyes again, letting your head fall into your own arms and falling asleep on the control desk.

It's already 6 o'clock, why hasn't she left yet? Michael wondered when he didn't hear your footsteps or the doors closing. He had learned your name today, Y/n, several times hearing a female voice, which sounded like one of the employees who had visited today, call you by it. Alice and Noah were the employees. The constant "Yes, Mr. Noah" in a shy, nervous tone still burned his ears. It felt strange to hear so much commotion in the place he had lived quietly for a while, at least he liked your voice. Michael could hear your brief explanations of the features of each room, a really sweet voice like Henry had described. You spoke politely, even though your tone seemed irritated when you answered the arrogant man, you still expressed yourself calmly and with good manners.

Michael kept wondering how you managed to behave so calmly even though there was clear irritation in your voice. He was always the opposite, letting his emotions get the better of him, getting into unnecessary fights as a teenager, and not improving much as a young adult. His investigation with Henry helped him create a focus in his life after his brother's death and his father's crimes, centering his anger and violence on avenging those who had suffered at the hands of his father. So if it were him in your shoes today, Noah would probably have left the establishment with more than a black eye.

It was close to 6:30 and he still hadn't heard any sign of your departure. Michael immediately began to worry: Had the animatronics come back? Had you hurt yourself on an exposed wire? Had you gotten lost in a random room? As the minutes ticked by, Michael's worries grew louder and louder; he genuinely couldn't bear another death on his hands due to carelessness or negligence. With anxiety almost making him deaf, once again letting his emotions take over his consciousness, Michael tucks the "Security" vest into his hoodie, pulling the hood over his head, and opens the door of the room where he was hiding. He had to make sure you were all right, not wanting another person to die for this miserable franchise. You were almost his age and your sister was waiting for you at home, so you needed to be okay.

Michael walked quickly through the corridors that he had memorized in his mind, heading for the control room, knowing that the security guards were tasked with looking at the same monitors he already looked at. To his surprise, you weren't dead or lost, in fact, you were asleep. Little sighs escaped your lips, showing how tiring your first day had been, which made Michael smile slightly. How he missed being able to meet up with other people, only having Henry's company. And he was grateful that this lack of contact was broken by the sight of you lying on the control desk, a few strands of hair scattered over the controls, leaving your face visible to Michael's eyes. You were beautiful, Michael noticed, young and pretty, some features tired by the probable weight of looking after your sister alone. Perhaps in another life, he would have asked for your number in a bar or asked you out on a date. In another life, he wouldn't be cursed by his father's crimes and still alive. This last thought seemed to wake Michael from his daydream, and he quietly stepped away from the chair, going to hide behind the shadows that the corridors were creating, not wanting to be seen.

"Good night," he says in a loud, hoarse tone. This seems to surprise you, as you stand up wide-eyed and in a defensive position, letting a small yelp come out of your mouth. You rub your eyes, your tiredness immediately leaving your body to answer whoever was calling you. Your eyes scan the control room, finding no one, until your gaze meets the tall figure at the door. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his hood hid his face and his hands were in his pockets. You couldn't make out who he was or any trace of him, only the silhouette of a stranger in the shadows. From his voice and what the shadows let you see of his body, he seemed to be about your age, his shoulders broad and the sleeves of his jacket a little too tight around his biceps.

"Your shift is over," the man's shadow speaks again. You roll up the sleeves of your uniform to look at the time. Shit, it's almost 7 o'clock at night. Your eyes widen and your cheeks turn red, embarrassed at being caught sleeping on the job. Michael had to hold back the smile that wanted to grow, finding your reaction incredibly cute. You really were very beautiful, it was nice to see someone so beautiful after so long looking only at the floorboards and the cleaning products. If this was the last time he would have human contact, he was more than satisfied.

"Shit, I'm so sorry-" You quickly say, collecting your things from the table and tossing them rapidly into your backpack, which was leaning against the corner of the room. "I'm leaving, I'm really sorry," you repeated as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and walked towards the door. Michael sank a little further into the shadows, letting you pass him and start walking towards the front door. Although your steps were quick, you noticed as you passed him the difference in height that was made, the man had a remarkable presence, being much taller than you, with wide arms and a thick voice. You blushed a little more.

Michael wanted to follow you, take you to the door and extend the moment a little longer, not wanting the first human contact he had after such a long time to be so brief. He wanted more time to engrave your face. But he didn't follow you, he didn't want to risk being seen. He wasn't expecting you to suddenly stop in your tracks, turning your body towards him, with a shy smile on your face.

"Hm, good evening and good work..." You waited for the man in the shadows to respond with his name. Michael let his eyes wander down your body, the security uniform fitting your curves beautifully. Thank you for this last gift, whatever entity is up there listening to me.

"Michael," he replied, his voice a little less dry, a smile invisible to you taking over the man's features. You really wouldn't be any trouble for him, as Henry had said.

You crack a smile, raising your hand to wave goodbye to the night security guard.

"Y/n," you respond.

#fnaf #fnaf movie #michael afton #michael afton x reader #michael afton fanfic #scooped michael #fnaf fanfic #fnaf x reader #michael afton x you #fnaf michael afton #five nights at freddys

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steventhusiast · 2 years ago

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What if Steve and Eddie knew each other and were dating before everything happened with the Upside Down, but no one knew? What would the aftermath of Eddie’s death look like for Steve?

Also on AO3

It had been two days since their fight with Vecna. The fight that they’d won. But Steve didn’t feel like he’d won.

He felt like he’d lost everything.

“This is Slingshot. Come in, Babysitter, are you still driving us to the school today? over.”

“I don’t think Steve’s on the supercoms right now, Lucas… Over.”

“Hey! You were the one who said we had to use codenames, use your codename, Gold Leader! Babysitter, do you copy? Over.”

“Right… This is Gold Leader. I haven’t heard from Babysitter in a few days. Over.”

“What crawled up your ass, man? Over.”

The kids had been a source of non-stop chatter on the supercoms pretty much from the moment everyone had separated a day and a half ago. Dustin was definitely more subdued than usual, but Steve understood that on a level none of the kids were aware of. He knew he should reply, let them know he was in fact alive and ready for their plans later in the day, but he just couldn’t.

For the past twelve hours he hadn’t moved from his spot in bed; he lay on top of his sheets, still topless and coated in grime and bandages and dried blood, curled in on himself in an attempt to find comfort in the fetal position. In his hands, he gripped onto bloodied denim that he knew well. He hadn’t actually managed to let go of the denim vest since everything happened. It was either being worn, or being caressed, or being cuddled, or just held.

There was familiarity in holding it, even when its owner was nowhere to be found. Steve found himself thumbing over the uneven stitches at the edge of patches, just letting his hands fidget with what used to be his favourite piece of clothing Eddie owned. It just had so much of him in it. It was haphazard and rushed and focused more on cramming as many pins, cutouts and patches on as possible than on laying things out nicely. It was a little much, just like Eddie was. Steve didn’t like the addition of blood to it.

With a sigh, Steve closed his eyes, let his grip on the jacket tighten slightly, and imagined Eddie was still there, still wearing it. In his imagination all the dried blood was gone, and the only grime to be found were sauce stains. He imagined that Eddie was lying opposite him, curled onto his side too, hair splayed out on the pillow under his head and his arms curled up to his chest. Eddie would always lay like that, letting his eyes drink up Steve’s appearance every time like he’d never seen him before, occasionally ring-covered fingers coming up to trace over the freckles and moles that littered Steve’s face. But Eddie would never do that again.

Steve’s lips, that had slowly formed into a ghost of a smile, dipped into a frown again. His lips pursed without his permission, and he felt the traitorous stinging behind his eyes again. He told Eddie not to be a hero.

He opened his eyes, and slowly dragged his line of sight to the left pocket. His hands shook a bit, and his eyes started to blur, but he didn’t pay that any mind as he fumbled with the jacket to look at the inside of it, fingers searching for the back of where that left breast pocket was. Where he knew there was pink thread embroidered, the outline of a heart with a little ‘S’ in the centre– his pointer finger found it, and his vision blurred even more as a tear escaped. (“Gotta put the key to my heart over my heart, Stevie.” Eddie had said when he’d first shown Steve the messy stitches. He’d been smirking proudly, even as Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, milady. Pretend you hate it, I see that blush.”).

Steve sniffed harshly, and let one hand come away from the denim to wipe at his face.

He had two hours before he had to leave to pick up Dustin, Lucas, Mike and Will. He hoped they would be fine cramming themselves in the backseat, because Robin was coming with them too. No way would Steve be able to get through the day without his birdie there at least.

She had a way of just knowing when he needed her unwavering support. She’d be there for him, and not ask questions if he told her not. Even if she didn’t know what was going on, or why he was being the way he was.

None of them knew, really.

As far as the party was concerned, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson first officially met that night in the boathouse, when Eddie held a broken bottle up to Steve’s neck. They’d never had a chance to really become friends. But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was Steve and Eddie had properly known each other for about a year.

(Steve’s hands shook slightly as he drove toward the quarry. After a gruelling nightmare that left him feeling wide awake and wired, he gave up entirely on sleep and decided to go and watch the night sky until the sun rose.

The quarry and its quietness had always been a source of peace for him, and at—he glanced at his watch for a split second—three in the morning, he didn’t expect anyone else to be at the quarry.

So imagine his surprise when he pulled up next to a beat up van, and glanced out toward the cliff’s edge to see someone laying back with his legs carelessly hanging over the edge, a half-smoked joint in hand.

He sighed, but got out of the car anyway. Those moonlit dark curls looked somewhat familiar, so he felt safe doing so despite the time. He always had the nail bat in his car if the person ended up being not so friendly.

The sound of his car door shutting meant suddenly there were eyes on him, the curly haired man tilting his head back on the ground so he could squint at him.

“Harrington..?” The figure mumbled, squinting a little harder, “Why’re you upside down, man?”

Steve couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, and he walked closer to sit down cross legged by the stranger. He finally got a better look at him, the moonlight and lit spliff held up to the man’s face letting him recognise him. Not a stranger after all, but Eddie Munson, the school’s resident drug dealer.

“Ohhh you’re rightside up again, haha..” Eddie spoke to himself, relaxing back into the ground and letting his eyes go back to the sky.

“Munson, right?” Steve checked. He got a half smirk in response, and a raised eyebrow.

“The king knows who I am? Colour me flattered.”

Steve scoffed.

“Hardly a king anymore.”)

Talking to Eddie was easy, especially at night with the help of some weed. They were fast friends. And for about six months, Steve and Eddie had been more than friends. They became SteveandEddie. Inseparable. But different to how Steve and Robin were SteveandRobin. In his head, Steve had started to call Eddie his soulmate. He didn’t even think he believed in that kind of stuff, but he felt it deep within himself that he and Eddie were meant to know each other. Had always been fated to know each other like that.To love each other.

He wished he’d gotten over himself and told all his friends. Wished the new, tentative part of himself he’d discovered eight months ago hadn’t terrified him so deeply he couldn’t even talk about it with his platonic other half. Robin didn’t even know he’d had a sexuality crisis, let alone that he was mooning over Eddie Munson. She didn’t even know Steve knew Eddie Munson! But Steve wished Robin got to see his goofy smile that was strictly reserved for Eddie, wished she’d gotten to know Eddie because he just knew in his heart they’d be great friends. Just like how he knew in his heart that none of the party would care that he was dating a boy, and hadn’t told them anyway.

And now he was well and truly alone. No one knew he and Eddie had been together, no one knew they’d been friends, no one knew Steve was being eaten alive by grief. They all just wanted him to continue on, business as usual. Didn’t and wouldn’t understand that he wasn’t doing okay.

He huffed as his two-way radio came to life again.

“This is Birdie, I’m on my way to Babysitter HQ. You better not leave me hanging, dingus. Over.”

At least it was Robin this time, not one of the kids. He willed himself to sit up and reach over for the device.

“This is Babysitter. I copy, Birdie. See you soon.” His voice sounded rough and dull to his own ears, but as soon as he stopped sending, the radio lit up with noise again, so he held the push-to-talk button down again for a moment, “Over and out.”

And then he turned the radio off, because he had about twenty minutes before Robin got there, and his room and his person was a mess. He glanced down at the vest he still held with one hand and wondered if he could shower without letting go of his piece of Eddie.

(He couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep Eddie’s smell on the fabric, but he could keep it in his sight the whole time.)

Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

Robin did their stupid secret knock on the front door just as Steve decided he didn’t have the energy to go through his hair care routine. He ran a hand through it, sighed, and went downstairs, vest in hand still.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, Robin started up again, harsher this time.

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock–

He narrowly avoided getting punched in the face as Robin went to finish the knocking pattern. She blinked at him, taking in his appearance, and then promptly squinted at him in suspicion.

“What gives?” She asked, gently pushing on his chest so that he walked backwards and she could enter the Harrington household.

“What?” Steve frowned at her. He hadn’t even said anything to her yet, and she was already asking questions.

“Your face is all-” She gestured at him nonsensically, “-wrong.”

With a sniff, Steve shrugged and attempted to stand a little taller, hoping she hadn’t noticed the bundle of denim hanging from one hand.

“Trauma response, or whatever.” He explained half-heartedly, but Robin just levelled him with a look that said ‘I see through whatever you’re trying to do right now’.

“Even after being tortured by Russians you still did your hair everyday. What, now you’ve been… Now you’ve been attacked by a couple of bats, you can’t do your hair anymore? This was like, way less individually traumatising than last time. And you’re not even concussed this time! So what gives?”

He looked at the floor, shifted his grip on the battle vest in his left hand, and motioned with his head toward the living room.

“Hey, is that Eddie’s–”

“Sit down, Robbie.” Steve cut her off, sitting on the loveseat couch stiffly and gesturing next to him. He didn’t want her to ask like that, wanted to tell her instead.

Evidently, he wasn’t going to get through the day without anyone knowing what was going on. And Robin should have known long ago.

“I’m bisexual.” He blurted out, his thumb finding the sewn on heart again in the fabric.

“Okay.” Robin drew out the word, looking at him as she clearly tried to figure out why he looked so broken up about it, “Did you discover that over this last week or something? You look like you’re not doing so hot. You know that being bi is, like, fine, right? I can find you some zines if you drive me to Indi some time, there’s a bunch of these little stores that sell–”

The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Steve’s mouth. He loved Robin’s rambles. But he had to cut her off before she talked herself into a whole new conversation.

“I.. Figured it out about,” He paused, thinking back to when he first had a breakdown over the fact he wanted to kiss Eddie, “Eight months ago.”

It was quiet for a moment, and then Robin made an offended noise.

“You didn’t think you could talk to me about it?” Her voice was quiet, and she leaned into his side a little as his expression stayed somber.

“No, I just.. I don’t know. It was new. We were gonna tell you eventually, but…” He trailed off, and Robin raised her eyebrows.

“We?” She parrotted. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me and Eddie.” His voice had practically reached a whisper at that point, and his grip on the denim tightened as he looked down at it. The Motörhead patch was suddenly a lot more interesting to look at than Robin’s face was.

He didn’t even need to look at her to know the expressions she was going through as she processed his words and what they meant.

“You two were…?” She hesitated to ask, and Steve’s throat suddenly felt extremely tight. Like if he tried to get a word out, a scream would escape instead. He nodded.

“Oh Stevie,” Finally, she fully leaned into him and wrapped both arms around him from the side, “I’m so sorry.”

She was whispering, but it didn’t matter. Because his birdie was there, not asking any more questions because she knew it would break him. Because her head was on his shoulder, and she was rubbing circles into him the way she always did when they hugged, and Steve finally found it easy to let himself feel the emotions he’d been pushing back since he saw Dustin crying over his boyfriend’s body and gripping onto his guitar pick necklace. His vision was blurring again, and his throat felt unbelievably tight, but Robin was there to hold him together as he broke apart.

He just wanted his Eddie.

He finally let go of the vest to wrap his arms around his best friend and grip on for dear life. He finally let himself cry.

#steve harrington whump #steddie #(technically)#stobin #platonic stobin #stobin friendship #eddie munson #steve harrington #st #st4 #stranger things #haven't written in a while #sorry if it's shit #mywriting

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aloneinthehellfire · 2 years ago

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Chapter 14: Part 2: The Battle Of Starcourt

Season One | Season Two | Season Three

[Raining Hellfire Season Three]

Word Count: 2291 words

Warnings: swearing, attacks, use of knife, mentions of blood, death, powers, sad confessions, fire, guilt, mentions of possession

[A/N: It just got a whole lot more interesting. And depressing. Mostly interesting. Can't believe there's just one more chapter until the end of this season]

The Battle Of Starcourt

You ran into the Starcourt Mall just in time to see an epic display of fireworks.

The others had come back, bringing unexpected ammo with them as they blasted the streams of light towards the giant monster, it screeching out in pain. But they would have to run out eventually.

In front of the Mind Flayer, you see a struggle and immediately stagger towards it. Your eyes widen when you see Billy pinning El down, smashing her against the floor.

“NO!” You scream and you dive at Billy, hooking your arm around his body and pulling him down to the floor with you.

El coughs for air, scrambling away from Billy and the Mind Flayer while looking to you with a panicked expression.

Billy writhed in pain as Robin threw a firework bomb at the monster, their connection allowing the others to hit two birds with one stone.

But Billy was determined. He pounced at you, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you with strength no human should have.

“Y/N!” You heard Robin and Steve yell. They had no more ammo left to rid the monsters of their strength.

“Billy…” You struggled to speak, clawing at his hands around your neck as you aimlessly kick your legs. His dark eyes stared into yours, any soul they had gone forever.

You reach down into your pocket, feeling the familiar glint of metal brush against your fingers and you grasp the handle tightly. With one swift swing of the scalpel, you cut across Billy’s arm, causing him to hiss and drop you to the floor in pain and surprise.

You choke for air, crawling away.

“Let us finish this, Y/n” Billy stalked closer to you, a deep voice striking every nerve, “Once and for all”

You turn onto your back just as Billy reached down and brought up the scalpel again. But he was prepared this time. He grabbed your wrist and twisted it, hard, causing you to drop the small knife onto the floor.

He took the opportunity and straddled you, pinning you down, as he wrapped his hands around your head and smashed it against the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull made contact with the hard surface, eyes blinded by white spots in your vision.

“Y/N!” Max’s voice rang out as she and Mike ran into the mall.

You simply hold your hand out, stopping her from getting any closer. You bring your eyes to meet Billy’s as he lifts your head once again. Before he can repeat his past action, you delicately place your hand on his cheek and his movements still.

“Billy… it’s me. It’s me.” You whisper repetitively, eyes never leaving his.

His eyes seem to regain emotion, eyelids flickering slightly as he fought against himself.

“I’m the girl you saved at the beach, remember?” You try, breathing heavily, “I swam too far into the waves and you came out and saved me.”

Billy’s face flashes with memories, his gaze set on yours.

“You were with your mom. She wore a hat. With a blue ribbon.”

His eyes start to pool with tears, his breathing becoming shallower.

“You… you brought me to her.” You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, “You didn’t even know me but you told her I was your new best friend.”

“I wanted to teach you how to surf.” He whispers and your heart breaks. Billy was still in there.

“Remember how happy we were?”

Billy squeezes his eyes shut, nodding slowly as the rush of tears finally streamed down his face.

“I’m so so sorry, Billy.”

You cried, staring at the boy you shared so many memories with. The boy that had come into your life when you both needed someone. The boy you shared your first kiss with. The boy you could never not love. The boy you had cursed.

The Mind Flayer lets out a terrifying screech, quickly recovering from the blasts.

“Kill her”

Billy’s eyes widen as he hears the same echo, glancing up at the creature above you. Something flashes across his eyes before he looks back to you, lips quivering into a hint of a sad smile.

Suddenly, the Mind Flayer roars, opening it’s mouth and revealing rows of sharp teeth. A tentacle shoots out, opening up and aiming straight for you.

It never reached you.

Billy caught the tentacle with both hands, straining against its force as he stood above you. Protecting you.

You struggle to stand, trying to prop yourself up on your elbow before falling back down. Another tentacle shoots out. Billy shifts his body and it bites into his left side.

You watch in horror and regret as your childhood friend sacrifices his life for yours. The Mind Flayer has no choice but to eliminate him now. Another tentacle, another bite. And again, and again, and again…

Billy drops to his knees, the tentacle from the monster’s mouth retreats as he screams out in pain.

Billy shifts his gaze to you and you lock eyes. You stay paralysed, shaking your head. He was going to die. And he knew it.

He smiles, reassuring you just before the Mind Flayer shoots its tentacle straight through Billy’s chest.

“BILLY!” Max screams as you sob on the floor, watching the Mind Flayer take his life.

After a moment, the tentacles release him and he drops to the floor. Max immediately runs over, eyes set with panic as she stares down at her brother.

You slowly stand, head throbbing as you make your way over to them both. As you do, you feel something shift behind you and your arms trail with goosebumps.

“LOOK OUT!” Mike yells and you spin around just as the Mind Flayer shoots out more tentacles.

You didn’t know how it happened. In fact, it all happened so fast that you didn’t think anything through.

Your hands raised in front of you, reaching out as you felt a powerful rage build up inside of you. The corners of your vision darkened as you focused your anger on the rows of teeth in front of you. You screamed.

The tentacles suddenly froze in the air, barely inches away from your face as you stood in front of the kids. They squirmed and struggled with such force that they should have moved. It shouldn’t have been possible, not since El had lost her powers. But it wasn’t El doing this.

It was you.

You felt a darkness creeping through your spine and into your arms, faint black lines covering the skin. With a yell, you push your arms out and the tentacles stabbed straight into the Mind Flayer so quickly you almost missed it.

You stand your ground. The Mind Flayer struggled against itself, slowly pulling away each tentacle before roaring at you.

But its action caused it to start bleeding out from every wound you had caused. And that wasn’t the end.

A chill crept up your spine before your mind suddenly flooded with a high pitched scream. You wince, collapsing to the floor as the Mind Flayer screeches out in pain. It becomes unsteady on its legs; rocking back and forth as it struggles to stand. Stumbling, it crashes into a column.

You feel its life draining before it finally collapses to the floor and lays there, motionless. You breathe out as the static in your mind calms, air leaving your lips shakily.

They had done it. They had closed the gate.

Everyone stares at the dead creature from where they stand, relief coursing through them. And then they look to you... and you couldn't even begin to imagine what they were thinking.

“Billy?”

Max’s voice snapped you out of your trance and you turn your head to see her kneeling down beside him. Behind her, Mike held El as she cried.

“Billy.” Max continues, shaking her head as he struggles to breathe. “Billy. Get up, please. Billy, get up, please, please.”

You pull your body across the floor towards them, reaching him just in time for Billy whisper into the air.

“I’m sorry.”

You reach out to grab his hand and his eyes find yours, a tear rolling down.

He takes his final breath.

“Billy!” Max sobs, shaking his shoulders, “Billy, wake up. Please.”

You watch as your sister breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably. El takes her into her arms, rocking her back and forth.

“It’s okay.” She whispers and tears your heart apart, “It’s okay.”

The next hour felt like torture.

Military helicopters had shown up in the parking lot, a man in a lab coat leading them into the mall.

“I’m Dr. Owens.” He had said to you as the soldiers cleared out the mall. The way he looked at you was curious, like he had seen you before.

Outside, fire trucks and ambulances lined the Starcourt Mall. There wasn’t originally a fire in the building but now it was covered in flames. Just another cover up in Hawkins.

They even covered your father’s death with the flames.

You sat in the back of an ambulance, watching as your friends reunite with their families, crying and holding eachother. It was a numb feeling for you to be seeing that.

Susan and Neil had even appeared, pulling Max into a hug as Susan stared at the flames with a horrified expression. Neil didn’t even seem like he cared his own son had died.

El never reunited with Hopper. She had lost him just like you lost Jack. But she had Joyce, a woman who always saw the girl as her daughter ever since the night they met. She had a family, even with him gone.

And the last time you saw either Jack or Hopper was in the mall that was burning to the ground.

“Hey.”

Steve sits down next to you, wrapped in a blanket similar to your own. You smile at him before frowning, looking out into the crowds of people.

“Where are your parents?”

He let out a cold laugh, shaking his head. “Out of town. Probably won’t find out about any of this until they’re back. Not like they ever answer their damn phones.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, offering a smile.

Steve looks at you as your eyes are drawn back to the parking lot. Lucas’ mother was smothering him and Erica in kisses whilst their father held on to them.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks and you tear your eyes away from the Sinclairs. His eyes widen. “Shit, sorry. That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry.”

“I just-” You start, taking a breath. “I just wish I could go back in time. Do things differently. Maybe… maybe they’d still be alive.”

“None of us could have seen that coming.” Steve tries and you laugh bitterly.

“I should have. I mean, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that they died after I was told that everyone I loved would be taken away from me, you know? And what did I do? I dragged them into it anyway.”

“How can you blame yourself?” Steve furrows his brows, “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“But I did.” You say quietly, thinking back, “I stopped it. I- I don’t know how but I stopped it from attacking. I had that the whole time and I didn’t use it until it was too late.”

“I should have let it take me.” You add with the quietest whisper. Steve raised his eyebrow, clearly not hearing your last statement.

“How could you have known?” He offered. “You looked just as shocked as the rest of us.”

“I know.” You slowly nod, trying to convince yourself. “You’re right. I just… a lot happened.”

He reaches between the blankets and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “We’ll get through it. All of us.”

You look down at your hands with a gentle smile. You frown, remembering. “About-”

“It’s okay.” He whispers, planting a kiss on your temple. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

You squeeze your eyes shut at his touch, wanting nothing more than to give in.

“I don’t think either of us are ready.” You look up at him. “I was told once that… that time doesn’t heal by itself. I know you and Nancy didn’t work out but you loved her. And… and I know first hand that those feelings just don’t disappear in a couple of months.”

He nods along, glancing over at the Wheeler family reuniting.

“I know.” He smiles down at you, a laugh escaping him. “Why are we like this?”

“Hopeless?” You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I have no idea.”

Another kiss to your forehead and you close your eyes.

Just for now, in this moment, you wanted to pretend. Pretend like nothing ever happened.

The Russians didn’t try to open another gate. It didn’t lead to an investigation that got you and your friends kidnapped and tortured, not knowing if you’d make it out alive.

Billy was never possessed. It didn’t lead to him sacrificing himself for you. You were going to attend work tomorrow and roll your eyes at Billy’s dramatic entrance from the pool house. And Heather would be there too, fussing over colour-coded whistles.

Hopper didn’t go down into the Russian base. It didn’t lead him to getting caught in the blast as they shut the gate. He would come home, grumbling about Mike and El, making you laugh with his poor attempts at dad jokes.

Jack never came looking for you. He was going to be there waiting for you, in the house you shared as a family.

The black dust never possessed you on the eve of your 14th birthday.

You weren’t cursed.

You just wished you weren’t destined to live out your greatest fear...

Being alone.

Chapter 15: This Is Just The Beginning ->

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711/ @eddiesbirdie/ @livasaurasrex/ @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee / @chervbs/ @eternallyvenus / @nervouscatsuit / @f1nn-wolfhard / @hereiamhereigo / @ladybug0095 / @fangirling-4-ever / @astrolockley

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catierambles · 2 years ago

Text

Fated Ch.9

The last chapter came out March 8th 2023. Get caught up

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Clara Tunney (OFC)

WC 1465

Warnings: Some sensitive material, but nothing that hasn't been mentioned in previous chapters. Minors DNI 18+ ONLY

@brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @eldarwen333 , @omgkatinka , @identity2212 , @lucypaulette , @km-ffluv , @kebabgirl67 , @squeezyvalkyrie , @rebelangel1102 , @dopegardensaladhuman

Walter had ended up booting them both into the backyard to tussle before they broke something in the house, watching them bounce around and tackle each other from the back steps with a smile. They ended up shifting back in a heap on the ground, fully clothed, laughing and breathing heavily. She might have told him that it was genetics, but the fact that they were still clothed when they turned back told him that it may be more mystical than she thought. Mike crashed in what used to be Clara's room after they changed the sheets and she reassured him that no, it wasn't their sex bed. Clara was still smiling as she got ready for bed and it warmed Walter's heart to see her like this. Completely and utterly happy.

And yes, Mike snored like a motherfucker.

"He should probably get his septum looked at." Walter said as they lay in bed, still awake from the chainsaw going off down the hall. With a huff, she got out of bed and shut his door, shutting theirs too, and muffling the sound to a tolerable level. Crawling back into bed, she curled against his chest and he instantly wrapped an arm around her, holding her to his side.

“Walter?” She asked and he hummed, his eyes closed. “What if I am pregnant?”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.” He said.

“No. The bridge is too well guarded.” She said and he cracked an eye open to look down at her, smiling slightly at the reference before settling again.

When Walter woke the next morning, he was alone, her side of the bed empty but still slightly warm so she hadn’t been gone long. Getting out of bed, he pulled on a t-shirt to cover his chest, having gone to bed in just a pair of pants. He could hear talking out in the kitchen and he headed toward it.

“So you think he’s a recessive?” Mike asked and he stopped.

“Makes sense.” Clara said, “Wouldn’t have responded otherwise.”

“You know there’s a way to pull it out of him if he is.”

“Yeah, I know.” She said with a sigh. “But I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be into me biting him so hard he bleeds.”

“Never know until you try!” Mike said in a sing-song voice.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m never going to try!” Clara responded in the same way. “For real though, Mike. I’d have to Mark him, scar him, and as much as I want him to do that to me, he’s got a lot thrown at him right now and I’d rather not scramble his brain more than I already have.” Walter walked into the kitchen, going up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her neck.

“Blech.” Mike said, pulling a face at the display and Clara flipped him off. Walter traced the tip of his nose over her skin, breathing in her scent and he felt something stir inside him, a rumbling growl making his chest shake. Turning her around, he ducked down, throwing her over his shoulder and catching her squeak of surprise, Mike letting out a bark of laughter. He carried her from the kitchen, heading back to the bedroom and kicking the door closed behind him before throwing her onto the bed. Clara propped herself up on her elbows, looking at him with a smile as he pulled his shirt off, balling it up and throwing it to the side before he crawled onto the bed, moving up her slowly before capturing her lips with his own, pushing her back against the pillows as she wrapped herself around him.

“Need you.” She whined as he pulled away, ducking under her chin to mouth along her neck as he pushed up her shirt.

Walter sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair with a smile still on his face. Every time they were together it felt as if a tether between them pulled tighter, binding them to one another. He hadn’t told her that he had heard her and Mike talking, wanting to mull that over himself. By her own admission, she would need to bite him so hard he scarred, to pull…whatever it was inside of him out. Would he be able to shift like she and Mike could? He honestly didn’t know how he felt about that. Walter had spent his entire life believing that he was human, completely and fully, only to find out in the last couple days that he probably wasn’t, not completely and fully.

His phone rang and he snapped out of his thoughts, looking over at it before picking it up.

“Marshall.”

“I need you to come to my office.” It was his Captain, and he didn’t sound pleased. “The Tunneys’ have lodged a complaint against you, a serious one.”

“Of course they have.” Walter said, “On my way.” Hanging up the phone, he pushed up from his desk and left his office, walking down the hall to the Captains. The door was open so he went in, seeing his Captain behind his own desk as well as another man there in a suit.

“Shut the door, Walter.” The Captain said and he did. “Walter, this is Lieutenant Peters with Internal Affairs. Based on the nature of the complaint, they had to get involved.”

“What did the Tunneys’ say I did?” Walter asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“They’re saying you raped their daughter and are holding her and their son Mike against their will.” Lieutenant Peters said and Walter looked at him incredulously.

“Are you fucking--Captain, you don’t honestly believe them, do you? It’s bullshit! They’re just trying to get her back so they can hand her over to Daniel Marks!” Walter said. “Clara told me that the first time she escaped, she went to her brother to hide. Her parents found out, her father nearly beat Mike to death, and then they gave her back to Marks.”

“She told you this?” His Captain asked and Walter nodded.

“Mike backed it up, he said he still can’t breathe right through his nose because of it.” Walter said.

“We can’t just take your word for it, Lieutenant.” Peters said, “We’ll need to launch a full investigation. In the meantime, Clara Tunney will be removed from your supervision--”

“Absolutely not.” Walter said, “She’s not going anywhere.”

“Walter,” The Captain said. “I have to ask. Are you in a sexual relationship with Clara Tunney?”

“Yes.” Walter said, and his Captain sighed, “But it is entirely consensual. You said you can’t take my word for it, take hers.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his phone, selecting Mike from his contacts as he had added his number that morning before leaving. Putting it on speaker, it rang for a couple times before picking up.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” Mike asked.

“Mike, you’re on speaker, am I holding you against your will?” Walter asked and Mike snorted.

“Fuck no.” He said, “Let me guess, mom and dad are pulling some shit?”

“They’re also saying I raped Clara.” Walter said and there was a moment of silence.

“Are you fucking serious?” Mike said, his voice tense with anger, “They are so fucking unhinged!”

“Can you put Clara on?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course. Clare-bear!”

“What’s up Ninja Turtle?” They heard her call back, albeit faintly.

“Mom and dad are whacked and Walter needs to talk to you!” He said and there was a pause. “It’s on speaker, and don’t call me Ninja Turtle.”

“Don’t call me Clare-bear.” She said, her voice closer, “Hey, Walter.”

“Sweetheart, your parents lodged a complaint against me. They’re saying I…they’re saying I forced myself on you and am now holding you and Mike against your wills.” There was silence on the other end. “Love?”

“I didn’t think they would actually stoop that low.” She said, “They handed me to the man that hurt me, they supported what he did to me, and now they’re trying to get me taken away from my--it’s bullshit. Everything they’re saying is bullshit. You’re not holding me against my will, Mike wants to be here, and you in no way forced yourself on me. Everything we’ve done together I’ve wanted to, I consented to one-hundred and fifty percent.”

“Ms. Tunney,” Peters said, “My name is Lieutenant Peters with Internal Affairs. Would you be willing to make a formal statement to this in person?”

“I’ll do whatever I need to, Mike can make one too to back it up as they included him.”

“Yeah, of course.” They heard Mike say.

“Have the Sergeant’s bring you two to the station.” Walter said.

“Okay.” Clara said, “I’ll be there soon.”

#henry cavill #walter marshall #fated

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animatronicbutters · 2 years ago

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Chapter 2 - Mike's Security Desk

Mike Schmidt's job is both extremely stressful and incredibly boring. On one hand, if he fails to properly guard the facility, four horrific monsters could escape and wreak havoc on society. On the other hand, all those said monsters do is play guitar and eat pizza all day. It was fascinating to watch them at first, seeing how realistic they look, despite being robotic, but now it's mind-numbing.

"You know, this job would be a lot more engaging if we could hear what they're saying in there." Mike says, "I wonder what they talk about."

"There is a very good reason why you're not allowed audio." His manager, speaking through the phone tells him, "We can't risk anyone getting attached. Some of the things they say have been described as 'cute' or 'endearing'. Even 'humanizing'. Please remember that these animatronic characters are not human and will happily kill you if they see you."

Mike nods, "I know, I know. Just a bit boring. And what if they're planning something in there and we can't hear it?"

"It's your job to make sure they aren't doing anything that looks suspicious. If they're making plans, you need to be able to tell without audio. Now, I've still got to have calls with the other guards. Is there anything you need before I hang up?"

"I don't think so." Mike says, "Just another day at Freddy Fazbear's Pi-"

His monitors go black and the lights turn off. The entire facility is dark.

"The power's out."

The phone line is dead.

"No! Come back! The power is-" Mike jumps to his feet. The doors to the facility have a power lock on them. Without the power, the animatronics can just pry them open! And he can't use the cameras to see where they are!

Mike runs through the dark hallways of the facility, his flashlight on. He just needs to get to the emergency generator. It'll be fine if he works quickly. Nothing to worry about.

The halls are dark and hostile, the low ceiling giving a feeling of claustrophobia, despite how far they stretch. Where is everyone? The researchers must be on break or something. Where are the other guards? Somebody should be here!

Mike turns into the main research room, looking for any sign of human life. His heart climbs up his throat as he sees bodies covering the checkered floor. Are they… dead?!

Mike rushes to one of the researchers and kneels down to feel her pulse. She's breathing. She seems to be asleep.

"You should join the others." A voice stabs the back of his mind, speaking from inside his thoughts.

Mike stands up and whirls around, nearly tripping over the researcher's body. A Freddy Fazbear animatronic stands in the door. It is golden and translucent, appearing as some sort of ghost. The vision triggers a memory in Mike's mind, but he struggles to pin it down.

"Sleep." The ghost bear commands.

Mike feels exhaustion press down on his eyes, but he fights it, gritting his teeth.

"You should just let this happen, Michael." The bear says, "Sleep."

"No!" Mike breaks out of the influence of the monster and runs for the exit on the other side of the room.

"Michael. It's me."

Blood stains Mike's vision and he trips, slamming his head into the door just as he reaches it. He groans and pulls himself back to his feet. The memories in the back of his mind are crawling forward, demanding to be seen, but he pushes them away and shoves the door open.

He has a job to do.

The back halls on the way to the generator are even more cramped than before. Mike shines his flashlight at every shadow, terrified that something might be hiding within.

His footsteps echo as he walks, but the sound is interrupted by a loud screech as metal is dragged against metal. The security doors! Mike's stomach churns. He's running out of time. He needs to restore the power before the main facility doors are opened. Then he can initiate a lockdown and nobody will be able to get out.

He'll be trapped inside with them.

Mike forges ahead. He knew the risk when he signed up for this position. This is his job.

He stops at a crossroads, suddenly fighting to remember which way to go. Did he hit his head too hard earlier? He tries to remember. The generator is in a supply room. It's like a glorified closet. It's at the end of one of these hallways. However, on the end of the other hallway is an actual supply closet. Mike can't remember which closet is where.

He glances up and down each hall, but comes to the conclusion that he can't spend too much time debating. He heads down the left hall.

There are boxes crowding the hallway, leftovers from the researcher's new equipment. He told them several times to clean up after themselves, but that doesn't seem to have happened.

He tiptoes around a stack of boxes, having to flatten himself against the wall to keep from knocking it over. In his awkward position, he hears a soft footstep. Another guard?

Mike awkwardly positions his flashlight toward the sound and bites back a scream as two red eyes emerge from the darkness. An indigo beast stands in the hall, only a few feet away from him. Bonnie looks so much bigger than he does on the cameras.

Mike throws himself backward, but trips on the boxes, falling down. Bonnie stares down at him, his ears twitching. The animatronic seems surprised as well and after a moment of watching, bounds away into the darkness, disappearing from sight.

Mike's heart pounds in his chest. Why didn't it kill him? Is it telling the others so they can all gang up on him? He scrambles to his feet and runs down the hall in the opposite direction.

A voice calls from behind, "Foxy, the plan!"

Fast footsteps echo through the hall. Mike can hear boxes being knocked to the side as something barrels through them. Mike glances behind him for a split second, only able to see the shine of a yellow eye directly behind him.

"So, uh- if any of the animatronics escape, you should probably hide."

Mike remembers the training from his first week on the job. His manager did nothing but lecture him with pre-recorded voice messages, not even giving him personalized advice.

"After you've locked down the facility, of course, the best thing to do is find a secure place to hunker down until help arrives." The voice on the phone directs, "Your security office is the best place for that, actually. Um- under no circumstances should you try to run from or fight the animatronics. I mean- you can try, but you're just going to get killed and that's a lot of paperwork. Not to mention the cleanup…"

"Just- keep in mind you can't outrun an animatronic. Especially not Foxy. Although, now that I think about it- Foxy has really sensitive eyes! He's got special sensors built in that help him see electric signals and magnetic waves and a lot of other stuff. Maybe if you have a bright light or something you could stun him with it. Or not… he might just kill you anyway. Forget it, just hide."

The memory gives Mike the only idea he can think of. He whirls around, shining the flashlight in Foxy's face, surprising himself with how close the animatronic's deadly teeth are already.

Foxy makes a sound like a dog in pain and stumbles to the side, running past Mike. Mike watches as Foxy clutches his face and howls.

"Foxy?"

Mike shines his light back up the hall. Freddy Fazbear himself stares back at him. Behind him, Chica stares, her beak partially open as if she wants to devour Mike whole.

"What did you do to Foxy?" Freddy's eyes narrow and his fingers clench around his microphone.

Mike tries flashing the light at Freddy, but can't replicate the same effect, "L-leave me alone! Or I'll- I'll do the same thing to you!"

He keeps flashing the light as he backs away slowly. Freddy moves as he does. One moment the bear is holding a mic. The next he isn't.

The microphone smacks straight into Mike's nose, knocking him to the floor. He isn't sure if he is blacking out or if the hallway is just dark.

"Foxy, are you okay?" He hears Freddy say.

"He- he blinded me! That nasty son of a-"

"Take my paw. I'll lead you."

"I don't need a seeing-eye bear! I need to rip that human's eyes out of their sockets!"

"Uh- he… he disappeared. Sorry. Maybe next time."

Mike hears the animatronics head back down the hall, leaving him alone on the floor. He breathes a sigh of relief through his broken nose. They're leaving.

His eyes open wide in horror. They're leaving.

"Sleep."

Mike scrambles to his feet. His head feels like a block of cement. He squints in the light, determined to power through and stop the animatronics.

Wait. The light?

"Michael Schmidt?"

He focuses his eyes and sees a woman in a suit walking toward him. She does not look happy.

"Uh- it's just Mike, actually."

"Well, Mike, do you know what just happened at this facility?"

Mike groans, "Four killer animatronics just escaped?"

"So you are aware of the situation. Fantastic. And tell me, what is your job here?"

"I'm going to make a guess and say I don't have one anymore."

"Not at this facility, no." She pinches the bridge of her nose, "But you owe the company. So you and I? We're going to track them down and bring them back."

"That's not what I signed up to do." Mike says, "I don't know the first thing about field work."

"Oh, trust me. I know." She says, "But there just so happens to be a situation at another location, so all of our normal Nightguards are disposed."

"... Nightguards?"

The woman gives a dry smirk, "That's their name for us. Special agents who protect the world from animatronics under the cover of darkness. Nightguards."

"So you want me to be a… 'Nightguard', despite the fact that I failed and let four animatronics escape?"

She nods, "Everyone else in this facility was knocked unconscious by some kind of attack. Probably a feature of one of the animatronics that we don't have recorded. You seem to be the only person they had to physically incapacitate."

"Oh, the sleep thing?" Mike's memory of the event is already blurry, "Yeah, I have insomnia, so maybe that helped."

"Maybe." She shrugs, "Either way, you'll be helping me until we can get some real Nightguards on the case."

Mike nods, then tilts his head, "... Are you a real Nightguard?"

She pauses, but then nods, "I'm in charge of them, actually. I'm Vanessa, by the way."

Mike wonders why she hesitated to answer such a simple question, but he doesn't question it.

"Now come on, Mikey. We have some monsters to find."

"Just Mike."

"Michelangelo."

"Can I just be fired?"

"You're under contract."

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fanfic #fnaf au #mike schmidt #fnaf vanessa #fnaf vanny

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sabo-valcoran · 8 months ago

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(Retrospectively, I realized I misinterpreted the prompt slightly. Oh well. Spider cuddles are best cuddles.)

"You can't walk on the ceiling." I craned my neck upward toward Rachel as I re-explained to her for the umpteenth time that day. "If you're going to be coming to my family reunion, you have to be where people can see you. Humans get freaked out by spiders, sure, but especially if they come out of nowhere!"

The spider clicked her mandibles at me as she descended on a slick, wet strand of silk. "It's unfair!" She alighted on the floor and turned around to look at me. "I'm a spider, I was meant to walk on the ceiling. I don't want to get kicked or stepped on." I rolled my eyes. "For the last time, babe. You are staying where people can see you until I've managed to explain to everyone why my girlfriend is a spider."

Her eyes twinkled. "Is that not normal?" she muttered, knowing I would take the bait. "For humans to date spiders?" I took a deep breath, and with every amount of restraint I could muster said "No. It was one thing for them to accept I was gay. Some of them still haven't. This, though? I think Nana's going to have a fucking heart attack."

"Because I'm a spider or because you're dating a woman? Or is it because you're doing both? Or maybe it's because of the witch's curse? All three?" I chuckled, and motioned for her to slow down as I ran the curler through my hair. "Sometimes old people are just allergic to change." We had to leave in about fifteen minutes. I wanted to get there early so that I'd have some people there who'd seen Rachel before the main group did. Having to explain this to everyone singlehandedly was a tall order, after all, and I wanted help. Uncle Larry would probably get it. Uncle Mike, too, but not his wife. Cathy has arachnophobia, and George...

"Babe."

I turned my neck quickly toward her. "Huh? What's up?"

Rachel motioned for me to bend down. She crawled onto my back and hugged me with seven legs, saving one to stroke my hair with. "I can see it in your eyes. You're catastrophizing again. Arachnophizing? Whatever the word is, I don't fucking remember. You're worried and I can see it." I put a hand on her head and gave her a gentle pat, making sure not to hit her eyes. "I'm just worried I'll have to do all the talking. Our situation isn't... common. I'm worried they won't listen to you, or worse, they won't see you as a person and will try to hurt you somehow. Most people are afraid of spiders. There's no telling-"

I was interrupted by one of Rachel's legs being pressed into my lips in a shushing gesture. "Babe. It's okay. It's gonna be ok. If they give us shit, they can be idiots and we can go to dinner ourselves. I'm going because I wanna spend time with you! Who cares what they think?" My girlfriend leapt off my back and onto the floor again. The force was almost enough to make me drop my curling iron. "Watch it!" I half-laughed as I regained my balance. "We've gotta leave soon. You mind starting the car? It's a bit chilly."

As Rachel left the room to go start the car, I took a deep breath. My makeup was pretty much perfect, my hair was just about done, and my outfit would ordinarily be a show-stopper.

Despite all of that, the thing I wanted most in that very moment was to be in sweatpants watching Initial D with eight loving arms wrapped around me at once.

"Fuck expectations. We've got this." I said to my reflection, and turned toward the front door.

She’s been your best friend for years, she’s funny and intelligent, and has great legs and gorgeous eyes (and you’ve told her this too). She’s also a sapient spider the size of a mastiff and really can’t understand why that’s the sticking point to a relationship with her.

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c-is-for-circinate · 2 years ago

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But anyway, Stranger Things Steve and Robin story where things are Pretty Bad in Hawkins for a while after season 4, to the tune of regular monster incursions and more bumps and bruises and stitches and possible concussions than generally standard

and maybe six months in, after graduation, as Hawkins has come up with more and more unlikely stories to try and pretend that they're not sitting athwart a rising apocalypse, after Robin has deferred college for a year, if they all even live that long, because she loves Steve with every last corner of her heart and she won't, can't leave him here

and it's been another bumpy week in a string of bumpy weeks, and Steve doesn't have another concussion, thank god, but Mike needed seventeen stitches and Nancy has a new burn scar curling up over her left shoulder--

Robin goes to find Steve somewhere in the middle of the third load of laundry in the house where his parents haven't set foot since the "earthquakes" happened. Where she has her own permanent guest room, but just crawls in with Steve most nights anyway, because she cannot handle going home to face her own parents and their questions and their 'constructive criticism' and their attempts to be helpful any more.

And she just immediately starts pacing, back and forth across the basement while Steve tries to fold yet another fitted sheet that she could definitely be helping him with, and she says,

"So look, I have been having this really crazy idea, and I need you to tell me that it's a crazy idea, and I should just forget it, except that every time I try to think down that path I keep thinking of reasons that it's not a crazy idea, and it's actually a really good idea with very minimal drawbacks, at least in the near or foreseeable future, and if it ever does start to have drawbacks we can just undo it, because Indiana's had a no-fault divorce law since 1973, and all we'd have to do would be filing some paperwork, and you're just looking at me like I'm babbling again."

"Just like it, huh?" Steve asks, eyebrows raised with a little bit of 'really?' and all the affection of his heart, and when she stops, giving him that slightly-desperate look, he adds, "So, who's getting a divorce?"

"Us," Robin says, planting her feet and looking straight at him. "Eventually. Hopefully. Someday."

"Ooookay, kinda worried you're already planning my eventual divorce when I haven't had sex since Vecna showed up," Steve says, still not really sure where this is going but willing to follow the train at least a little farther, and Robin just shakes her head, eyes wide and focused.

"No," she says. "I mean you and me. I think we should get married."

Yeah, that makes about as much sense as anybody's crazy plans these days. Steve misses the days when he would have been too confused to keep up. He's still confused, he just so rarely expects to be anything else any more that it doesn't really make that much of a difference.

"Robin," he says, a whole sentence in one word, and then she's pacing again.

"Look," she says, wringing her hands the way she does when she's actually pretty upset about something. "Look, I know it's a stupid, crazy, stupid idea, and this isn't me coming on to you, you know this isn't me coming on to you, this is actually a really hard and scary thing for me to think about asking, but it's still like fifty times less hard and scary than what we do every week just living in this town and knowing what we know, because one of the things we know about living in this town is how dangerous it is, how many bad things could happen at any time, and-- and-- and--"

"Robin," Steve says again, and puts down the sheet in a heap to get in her path. He doesn't usually cut her off, but when she gets so worked up she runs out of words, that's when it's time to help Robin get back out of her own way. She lowers her hands into his and Steve squeezes them. "Hey. What's going on?"

"I'm scared," Robin says.

"Yeah, me too," Steve agrees, easily, because the sky outside is a hazy sort of blue-green that goes red-purple at night when it's not black, and when rain falls it sometimes leaves streaks of slick grime on everything it touches, and there are bludgeoning weapons and loaded firearms tucked into corners all over this house. He's been scared more on than off since 1983, and he hasn't bothered pretending not know it since '85.

"I'm scared for you," she says. "And I'm scared for me. I'm scared that none of us knew what was up with Nancy at the hospital for two hours the other day, because her mom showed up for Mike and they told her everything and Karen Wheeler hates us."

"Nancy's fine," Steve promises; her left arm's gonna be bandaged for a while, but she can still steady a rifle, and sometimes he thinks that's two-thirds of all Nancy really cares about any more. It's probably close to half of what all any of them have time and space to care about these days, which is a pretty depressing thought. But that's not a forever state of events, right? "She just got a little banged up. She's okay."

"Steve, what happens if you get hurt?" Robin asks. "Like, really hurt? If you get sick, or concussed again, or you need surgery like Max or Eddie, and you're not conscious enough to make your own medical decisions?"

"I don't know, I guess they call my parents, don't get an answer, and then operate anyway," Steve says, blowing it off like he always does. "Robin, I'm fine."

She's shaking her head, though, no, "I've just, I've been thinking, and I've been reading, and you know how hospitals are, it's been happening all over where people get sick and their friends, partners, can't even get in to see them, and families they haven't even talked to in years get to make medical decisions, because they're not married."

And Steve's not exactly smart but he's not completely dumb. Robin leaves absolutely anything that might even suggest she's a lesbian at Steve's house so her parents won't find it at home, which means there's a whole pile of blurry xeroxed zines and pamphlets and gay newsletters on his once-unused bedroom desk, shoved under a Russian-English dictionary, three spiral notebooks, and a book by some guy called Jung-pronounced-Young. Steve isn't really sure where they come from, because they only make maybe one supply run to Indianapolis a week between the whole group of them and Robin doesn't even usually go, but the newsletters keep multiplying. He's glanced at them before. He's heard Robin talk. He knows what she's thinking about.

"That's not what's happening here," Steve says, promises. "You know that's not the same thing. Nobody's getting sick."

"No, just...torn up by demobats, or haunted, or possessed, or who knows what else," Robin says. "Steve, I don't want my parents to be the ones visiting me if I'm in the hospital. I don't want them to be the ones in charge of deciding what happens to me. I don't want to wake up from a coma one day to find out I've been transferred to some hospital in another state because they decided Hawkins was too dangerous and now I never get to see you again."

"So you want me to be the one doing that?" Steve asks, and Robin looks up at him, hands still tight in his, and she says,

"Yes," like it's obvious. Like it's everything.

For one brief, bright-aching moment, Steve lets himself regret. He's not in love with Robin. Not like that, never like that, but -- there was a minute, once, where it could've been, for him. And it never could have been, for her, he knows that, and that's fine, that's great, because Robin still loves him more than anybody else in his entire life has ever loved him. And it is everything, and it's never going to be like that, and probably nobody is ever going to love him like that even half as much as Robin loves him like this.

"Sure," Steve says.

"And -- and look, it's selfish, and it's stupid, and it's terrible and I hate myself for thinking it, but if you die out there, and half of us are basically living in your house, and I know your parents don't want this house but they can't sell it because it's Hawkins and the housing market sucks, and you don't technically own it but it's all tied up in your trust fund, and if we were married that would give us at least the length of a court case to figure out where else to go, and we'd be able to take care of Max, and--"

"Robin, yeah," Steve says. "I'll do it. Sure, let's get married."

"Wait, really?" Steve doesn't know why she sounds so startled when it was her insane idea, unless she really did want to be talked out of it, but if she'd actually wanted to be talked out of it she should've gone to Nancy. Steve's not the guy who talks Robin out of things. He's the guy who talks Robin into her own brilliant ideas and all the things she desperately wants and doesn't think she can have. "Like, really?"

"Yeah, sure, let's go tomorrow," Steve says. It's a Tuesday, the little gremlins'll all be in school and their shift at Family Video doesn't start until five. "Do we need to get, like, a license or something?"

It's not like Steve doesn't get that this is a weird thing to do, and not a thing that most people would do with their platonic lesbian best friends, but honestly...like, Robin hadn't wanted to say it, but Steve knows he's probably more likely to die in the next couple of years than most other people they know. Doesn't matter how much he plays it off, Steve's always going to be there sticking his body between whichever kid or girl or random civilian and the danger of the day. He's not always there, which is how Mike ends up with a gash up his arm that better not be getting infected with Upside Down rot while Karen Wheeler is too busy pretending that Hawkins is still a normal town, how Nancy gets caught in the blowback from a molotov cocktail thrown just a little too short. Sometimes it feels like Steve's blaming himself in the middle of the night for not being there a little more every year. But he tries.

And if it gets him killed, the least he can do is make sure his stupid trust fund goes to Robin instead of back to his fucking parents. He's not dumb enough to think him dying wouldn't wreck at least Robin, at least for a little while, but he has to figure a pile of cash would make it a little better. He doesn't think it would make things worse.

Besides, Steve lets him think for just a second, what if they do actually figure out how to stop Henry Creel and all his Upside Down bullshit? If they find a way out of Hawkins without leaving the kids behind to die, and move on with their lives? Would being super-platonically married to Robin actually be that bad? He could put her through college with that stupid fucking trust fund while she got whatever genius degree she wanted, maybe end up her slacker house husband and fold all the goddamn fitted sheets by himself while she's off at work. Adopt a couple of kids, maybe, if he could talk her into it. Road trip over the summer in that Winnebago.

Not like Robin could marry someone she's actually in love with. He'd make it clear to whatever girlfriend she gets in the future that he's just there as window dressing and live-in laundry service. Not like Steve's ever going to find a girl who loves him half as much as Robin does, who gets it when the nightmares jolt him awake at three in the morning, who'll believe a single thing he says about the waking nightmare that is Hawkins, Indiana.

Really, it just means that Robin can't leave him behind. Which isn't fair to her, maybe, but it's her idea. She'll be the one slapping divorce papers down in front of him if she ever gets tired of it.

"Um, yeah," Robin says, still a little surprised for some fucking reason, but starting to soften into that smile she sometimes gets when they're being sincere, every once in a while. "Yeah, we just need birth certificates and ID, and like ten dollars for the license fee, and we can go right down to the courthouse tomorrow. Be done in time for work."

"Honeymoon at Family Video?" Steve asks, and yeah, maybe it's not the wedding he once would've pictured for himself, but fuck that guy anyway. This is Robin.

"We'll put on Back To The Future and actually watch it this time," Robin says, and she's grinning now, and Steve is starting to grin too, thinking about the bright hazy beautiful parts of a godawful night, the worst best bathroom floor in Indiana, about marrying the who-the-fuck-cares-if-it's-not-actually-romantic love of his life.

"Throw in some popcorn and you've got yourself a deal, Buckley," he says, and Robin lunges forward into him, wrapping her arms around him. Steve's arms fold around her shoulders like she belongs there.

He's almost not even annoyed that they kick over the laundry basket and send the goddamn sheets spilling out over the floor in the process.

#c writes things #stranger things #so um apparently I'm doing THIS now #I feel like this is meant to be a 5 Times story #Five Times Someone Was Surprised To Discover That Steve And Robin Were Technically Legally Married #(at least one of the times the person surprised is Steve)#(look it's been ten years since it seemed relevant okay sometimes he forgets these things)#anyway we'll see if more Stranger Things fic ever appears again but #enjoy!

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eddiesbug · 2 years ago

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YOU WRITE EDDIE SO WELL! Could you write something about him with a reader who gets awful headaches all the time? - and him just being a super respectful and caring boyfriend,also literally ready to murder anyone who raises their voice around the reader when they have a headache

thank you ml!! i love this hehe

The pain is bad today. Worse than usual; it feels like someone’s taken a jackhammer to your skull, and you’re stuck with this pounding vibration bouncing around the inside of your head. You play it off as nothing when Eddie takes a sidelong look at you, smiling and knocking into his side playfully, but your expression gives you away. You get this look about you when a headache comes on; your eyes scrunch and your lips pull tight into an unconscious grimace. You resist the urge to clasp your aching head in your hands.

“Come here, princess,” Eddie murmurs, keeping his voice low even as Dustin and Mike guffaw over something or other. You oblige him, clambering into his lap with as much grace as a newborn deer and pressing your face to his chest. He cradles the back of your head like you’re made of glass.

Tonight is Hellfire - obviously a perfect time for a flare up - but Eddie’s already on the verge of sending everybody home just from catching one glimpse of your pained face.

“It hurts,” you moan, mostly to yourself. He shushes soothingly.

“I know, babe. ‘m sorry.”

“‘s not your fault,” you chide, smiling through the pain; he can feel the imprint of your little smile - the slight upturning of your lips that you can’t hold in despite your throbbing temples - against his shirt and he exhales amusedly. You’ve gotten pretty good at disguising the sheer amount of turmoil these headaches cause you, but Eddie knows - he always knows. You hiccup into his chest, the beginnings of tears only serving to amplify the ache and the ringing in your ears that increases with every loud noise in the cramped caravan.

Mike shouts something at Dustin particularly loudly and Eddie shoots him daggers.

“Everyone out!” he declares. “We’re not doing this tonight.”

“What?” Dustin yells in that high pitched voice he gets when he’s shocked; you wince, pressing cold fingers to your forehead, “We’ve been planning this for weeks!”

“I said out, Henderson.” Eddie grits out.

“No, he’s right,” you grumble, voice croaking as you hold in painful tears, “Can’t cancel the whole campaign cos of me.”

“Baby girl, I don’t care about the campaign. I need you to feel better first.” You don’t have time to complain before his hands are on your head, rubbing the gentlest circles into your sore spots. You close your eyes, stretching until your limbs are squeezed underneath his.

Everybody shuffles out reluctantly with one more piercing look from him and then it’s quiet.

So blissfully quiet.

Eddie reluctantly lifts you from his lap, opting to lay you on his bed in the next room instead. He fetches you a cold, wet flannel to press to your head, one hand holding it still and the other traversing your face, tiny droplets of water settling themselves in your dimples as you smile gratefully to your boyfriend.

“Good girl, princess. I know this is the worst, but you’re doing so well.”

“Cuddle me?” you murmur, eyes screwing shut from the glaring lightbulb. He immediately catches it, rushing to switch it off and instead use the dimmer lamp to illuminate the room.

“Yeah, ‘ve got ya.” He bundles you into his arms, mindful of your head as he waits for you to position yourself comfortably; the last thing he wants is to accidentally exacerbate your pain. You peel the flannel from your face and settle yourself in the juncture of his neck, kissing his jaw. His heart melts a little - even when you’re in excruciating pain, all you want to do is love on him.

“Didn’t have to throw everyone out, Eds. I feel bad,” you croak, slipping your arms beneath his shirt. You’re almost trying to crawl into his skin, needing to be as close as possible as your fingers draw soft circles into his back.

“I wanted to, babe. My girl comes first. Always,” his voice rumbles, “I want to be here to take care of you when you’re feeling like this, you do it for me.”

“Love you, Eddie,” you tell him, humming as he pulls the covers over you.

“Love you more.” He tucks the pair of you in, holding you tight to his side. “Go to sleep, see if you feel any better when you wake up, alright?”

“‘kay.”

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grievedeeply · 3 years ago

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*slams down $20* I love your writing, can I ask for a fluffy oneshot post scooper-michael afton x reader where he comes home after vomiting up ennard and thinks the reader won't love him any more but she cleans him up comforts him OwO

OH MY GOD ANON YOURE A GENUIS!! the physical reaction i had while reading this. you can keep your money my payment is getting to do this incredible request omfg thank you

gn!reader, post-scooping michael

tws: kinda g0r3y because michael is yk.. dead. angst. a lot of self depreciation and mike thinking he isn't worthy. very sad until the end but it's worth it i promise!

always and forever — michael afton

almost a week had passed since you last saw michael.

he was your boyfriend, and the only person you ever truly loved in a romantic sense. sure, there were high school sweethearts, but as soon as he stepped into your life thoughts of anyone else faded and he took over your mind and heart immediately.

you'd been dating for a year, and with michael's new job, he worked nights. much to your dismay, since you had to wake up at 6:00AM to be sure you were awake to greet him when he came home.

though, it had been a few days without him showing up and it worried you.

you were aware of the circumstances he worked under, and the reasons. to put his little sister back together again. it was very vague, but you didn't want to pry or ask any more of him. anything involving his family was a sensitive subject and you knew it pained him to talk about it.

it wasn't uncommon for him to disappear for a day or two, telling you he needed to run an errand and that'd he'd be gone for a few days, but this time was different. he went to work and just.. never came back.

you began to fear for the worst, but you still hope that he would come home. though as the days passed, you became more and more tempted to file a missing persons report, and the first place you would check was his place of employment.

the place always scared you. michael had told you about it a few times and from what he had said it was an unpleasant, uncomfortable place. he had to crawl through the vents to get to other sections of the building. the things that lurked in the shadows there worried you, making you fear for the safety of your boyfriend, but you knew he could handle it. he was strong, he proved that with every day he came home.

he barely got any sleep, even from the first day you moved in together. he has at least 4 locks on the front door of your shared home, and you'd never asked about it. you assumed it was his paranoia that someone was out to get him for what his father had done.

you had begun watching the new episodes of his favorite tv show, 'the immortal and the restless,' to update him on when he got back.

if he ever did.

michael was confused at what had happened to him. he was so close, saving his sister was just out of reach. he was manipulated. no, she was manipulated. elizabeth, his sweet and innocent little sister, manipulated into a monster. he didn't even recognize her anymore.

a few low, but surprisingly loud beeps came from the scooper, and then it hit him. it wasn't painful at first. the feeling of death almost peaceful, until he opened his eyes again, laying on the sidewalk. he recognized his surroundings, but just barely.

he stood up. pain moved through his bones and his joints, and he looked down at his hands. he was purple. he looked down, at his body. more purple.

he wanted to wake up. all of this was just another nightmare.

quickly realizing he was in public in front of a bunch of strangers, he thought of the quickest way home. back home to you.

he cringed at the thought. you'd certainly leave him after seeing him like this. after his body was inhabited by that.. thing. giving a name for it would humanize it. but that thing had his sister, and he wouldn't stop until he was able to free her from it's clutches.

he limped down the road, turning down an alleyway to use the backroads preventing more people from seeing him. his mind lingered on you. he knew you wouldn't love him anymore. he didn't deserve you after this. he never deserved you at all.

he thought back to how you reacted when he told you about his family. his father, the serial killer and child murderer, responsible for all of those deaths at the freddy fazbear's pizza locations. his little brother, who's death he felt guilty for. the guilt often weighed him down, resting on his shoulders and never leaving. and his sister. he was told she disappeared, and he assumed that's all it was. until relatively recently.

you were so kind. you held him when he cried, encouraged him when he was down. you smiled at him, told him that you loved him.

"i will love you, always and forever."

the first time you said that to him was when he told you about his past. he didn't know how to react to it, his body tensing up as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands tangling in his hair. he froze in your touch, before relaxing, his arms tightly wrapped around your middle.

and he thought about it again.

'i will love you, always and forever.'

he knew you meant it back then, but he didn't think you would anymore. he hadn't even seen himself in a mirror but he knew he was hideous. he knew he was practically just skin and bones now, his hair almost completely gone. he lifted a hand to his cheek.

he didn't know how he was even still alive.

maybe it was for his sister. to truly save her and free her from the hell she'd been trapped in.

maybe it was for you. the one who'd loved him through everything. the person he always knew he could count on. he smiled, thinking of you.

he turned a corner, his shared home with you now in his line of sight. should he even bother coming home? what was there, other than you, that was important to him at all? he thought for a moment. there was nothing.

but then he thought of you. he knew you were worried. you had to be. you worried whenever he went out to the grocery store. he thought about you crying because of his disappearance. he thought about you thinking that he was dead.

he tried to take a breath, and then realized he couldn't.

he looked over to another road. he could turn away now, leaving you without answers forever. he looked back at your home, the one you'd bought together. the one you shared memories in together. he could continue his path and face you, knowing you wouldn't love him anymore.

both were painful options, but he knew he had to see you. he couldn't leave you worried about him for the rest of your life. he knew you were still holding onto hope that he was alive. you always did. whenever some's pet went missing in your neighborhood you always held faith that it would return. he knew you were feeling that way about him.

he was slower now. he didn't walk like a stereotypical zombie that came out of a horror movie. his back still stood up straight. he still had his spine, at least. he hesitated a few times, going back to deliberate his options again and again, too afraid to face you, fearful of what you would think of him.

he passed a dumpster, a large, oversized hoodie sticking out of it. it smelt horrible, but he put it on, desperately trying to cover himself up from the prying eyes of the world. it was simple, a plain, black sweatshirt. no designs, nothing. it wasn't special, and he wasn't either.

after he left, you would surely find someone else. you would move on and forget that you ever dated him in the first place. a pang struck his heart. he didn't want you to leave him.

he walked up the steps, finally standing at the front door. he looked around. the shutters on the windows, he remembered, you picked out. he shut his eyes. he could turn back now and you would never know he was even there.

he couldn't do that, though. not to you.

he reached into his pocket, bony fingers searching for his keys. he pulled them out, looking down at them. he found the key to the door. it had a cat on it. you picked it out. it's bright, green eyes, stared back at him, and he thought of you.

he thought of all the times you'd been there for him. every time he shed a tear, you were there. every time he woke up from a nightmare, sobbing so hard he couldn't breathe, you were there. you always were.

he put the key in the lot, wiggling it as he turned it so it would work. it didn't sometimes. you'd laugh whenever it failed on him. his hands were shaky as he unlocked the door and it swung open. you were nowhere to be seen, but he was only in the foyer. you weren't going to be standing right in front of the door waiting for his return forever.

he took a step inside. would you even recognize him at all? would you panic at the sight of a walking corpse in your home? the home you once shared with the man you called the love of your life? 'maybe.' he thought. his features were only slightly distorted from the decomposition. he wondered how long it had been since the scooping. he didn't want to think about it, anymore. he shook the thought out of his head, taking another few steps inside.

he turned, looking down the hallway. the hallway led to your shared bedroom and a bathroom, as well as a spare room you'd been using for storage. there were a few things you could never bring yourself to get rid of, and he loved that about you.

sometimes you would joke about that spare room being a child's. a child that you would have with michael. he'd brush away the idea. having a family was never on his mind, too afraid of turning into a spitting image of his father. after all, he already looked almost exactly like him physically. he couldn't become more similar to him than he already was.

michael's search got more frantic, suddenly desperate to see you as his pace quickened. he turned a corner to the living room. then he saw you.

sitting on the couch, watching 'the immortal and the restless'.

his chest suddenly felt heavy. you hated that show, but you watched it so intently, your face glued onto the screen. he could only see the back of your head and he was almost afraid to step into your field of view. you wouldn't love him anymore. he knew it.

you must not have noticed the door open. you were relaxed into the couch. he noticed his favorite drink sitting next to yours on the coffee table. it was untouched, unopened.

you'd been saving it for him, in hopes that he would come home.

he couldn't handle it anymore, and he walked a few paces forwards, body language non threatening. you didn't notice him at first, but you clearly tensed when you did. "who are you?" you asked, your voice shaky as you did so. you leaned against the arm of the couch, as far away from michael as you could be.

he didn't realize he had the hood up on the sweatshirt. he pulled it down, and your face softened. "mikey?" you asked, standing up and taking a few steps towards him.

he felt a twinge in his heart at the nickname. he'd hated it growing up, his father frequently using during his childhood. then he met you, who used it. and he was comfortable hearing it, only if it came from your lips.

he didn't even look up at you. he didn't want you to see him like this. you took another step forward, almost falling into his arms, "oh, mikey.." you muttered into the sweatshirt, your voice muffled but just loud enough to where he could hear you. he was weak, his muscles withering away. "i was so worried about you.." you spoke, more to yourself than to him.

his arms hung at his sides, too shocked to move. he thought you wouldn't love him anymore, but here you were, holding him as if nothing had changed. "you.. you still love me?" he croaked out. he hadn't spoken since the scooping.

"of course i do. i could never stop loving you." you said, pulling away from the hug. he finally made eye contact with you, and you smiled. you lifted a hand to his cheek. your touch was so warm. he hadn't realized how cold he'd been feeling until he felt your hand on his skin.

"what happened to you..?" you asked, letting yourself examine all of his features. michael still looked like him, the same man you woke up to see every day, albeit his skin was more gray now than before. his eyes were sunken in and his cheekbones hollowed out. you were worried about him standing, worried that his bones would give out.

he didn't answer, and you didn't care. he could talk about it when he was ready, the only thing that truly mattered was that he was back at home with you, and safe. you grabbed his hand, leading him to the couch. he sat down, and you followed.

he was truly so tiny. his height still remained the same, but he was noticeably smaller. you wanted to hug him so much tighter, but you didn't want to hurt him. "i missed you." you mumbled. it was so quiet you swore you'd be able to hear a pin drop.

you couldn't help but notice that the only breathing you were hearing was yours.

was michael.. dead? it seemed impossible, but knowing what he worked with, it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility. you didn't care. he was here, alive, in some way, and sitting right next to you.

you laid down on the couch, your arms extended out to him. he had a sad expression on his face. he noticed your gesture and moved closer to you, laying his head down on your chest.

he could hear how fast your heart was beating. did you really miss him that much? he noticed the huge smile on your face as soon as you realized it was him. he didn't think he had this much of an affect on you.

the episode of 'the immortal and the restless' continued on, but he couldn't even focus on it. he couldn't believe he was here with you again, curled up in your arms. he knew you could sense whenever something was bothering him, and the way you reacted was exactly what he needed.

"you still love me?" he asked again, his voice splitting the silence.

"i will love you. always and forever."

he looked up at you, and you looked down at him, your head angled in a way that looked incredibly uncomfortable but it didn't seem like you minded at all, your brain too focused on the man you loved.

"no matter what, okay? nothing is separating the two of us." you chuckled, running a hand through his hair. when you pulled your hand away, a few strands were stuck in between your fingers.

he relaxed. he loved whenever you played with his hair.

"always and forever?"

"always and forever."

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy's x reader #michael afton x reader #michael afton #fnaf michael afton

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brionysea · 2 years ago

Text

for the people asking for recs in the notes! they're all on ao3

if anyone wants to join in please feel free, we all need more mike wheeler angst in our lives

Left to Rot by Cate_Olivyn [multichapter, in progress, 23k so far. gave me something that i didn't even know was exactly what i wanted for mike's character until i got it]

“Oh.” Mike snapped his fingers, huffing out a laugh. “Oh, this is like that- that black and white movie my mom likes to put on at Christmas. The Jimmy Stewart one.” He stood a little taller, a wild look in his eyes. “Alright! I’ve learned my lesson! I can go home now, and appreciate my life, yada yada.”

Nothing happened. Mike snapped his fingers again, more urgently, before raising his voice in a yell.

“Lesson learned! I wanna go home!”

The world stayed as it was, broken and decayed, and Mike screamed into the cold, stale air.

—

Or: After a bad fight with his friends, Mike wakes up in an alternate reality that seems to be plunged into an apocalyptic nightmare.

its so hard to stop the rain. by mikewhlerdefendr [one shot, 3.9k]

Everything intentionally hurt him, but nobody needed to know that. He was simply a blunt, rude soul. He doesn’t accept Max into the party and he tells his best friend, who always got called slurs, that it wasn’t his fault he didn’t like girls. If he calls Nancy an asshole or tells Lucas to fuck off, nobody bats an eyelid, right? It’s just Mike Wheeler! Completely emotionally unavailable, let him get on with it, right?

Right.

And then Will crawled through his window a few days ago and told him that he felt like he was losing him, every aspect of him, that he wasn’t himself anymore in complete tears and all Mike could do was tell him that he was right here and he was still him.

He knew Will was right.

another misfit kid, another burned out town by a_pynch_of_spice [one shot, 2.9k]

Mike Wheeler knew he was fucked as soon as he heard the first distant wail of sirens. Shit, he thought. Not again.

He took a moment to compose himself, unwilling to let his defeat show, and turned around. Steve Harrington was leaning out the window of the car. He gave Mike a sad smile. “Get in the car, kid.’’

Mike didn’t look at Steve as he walked on shaky legs towards the car. He didn’t look at Steve as he got in the car, nor did he as Steve turned around on and began driving back towards Hawkins.

A Leap of Faith to Break a Fall by Izzy_sophie_marie [one shot, 3.4k]

“I don’t think that’ll go over very well,” Mike said. “I don’t think that’s a promise I can keep.” He was being honest, maybe too honest. If it came down to it, Mike would throw himself off that cliff for every single one of his friends. The thing was, he didn’t know where the line was between jumping for his friends and jumping just to make the free-falling sensation he was trapped in stop.

Dustin sighed heavily. “Fine. Well, then there’s no doing any of that bullshit alone. If you want to be a dumbass and jump off a cliff, then I have no choice but to follow you, I guess. But man, if we die together I will annoy the hell out of your ghost.”

Bottle it up until it overflows by GhoulSanderson [one shot, 9.7k]

Compared to his friends, Mike Wheeler has had it easy. What reason does he have to wake up screaming? To feel like he's got the weight of the world strapped to him like a backpack? And now his heart flutters every time Will comes near him and he just can't look him in the eye and smile honestly anymore.

So he runs, and he avoids his friends because it's easier than lying through his teeth.

---

In which Mike Wheeler has no coping mechanisms and I project onto my favourite characters.

if being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side by Claire10 [one shot, 11k of forbidden madwheeler friendship and mutual support. max makes him cry. it's great]

She ignored his apologies. “You really came every Wednesday?” Her voice was the smallest Mike had ever heard it. It made her seem impossibly young in the stark light of the hospital room. Her eyes are trained again on his face and he keeps eye contact.

“Of course I did, Mayfield.” He reached out to touch her hand where it lay by her side. Max turned her hand over to clasp his.

“Someone had to make sure you weren’t faking it for attention.”

stop asking me questions, ( i’d hate to see you cry ) by genevievive [one shot, 4.7k]

“Rationally Mike knows he’s been happy, but he also knows about the gnawing feeling that’s been following him since he was little, long before Will went missing and Barb died and everything went to shit. It’s an empty feeling, a dull pain at the back of his mind, creeping into his conversations and fumbling his words. It’s gotten worse since the Byers left, what used to be a muted feeling that crept into his lungs the second he got a moment to breathe has slowly turned into a void, dark and hollow trying to lure Mike into its arms, pleading to let it consume him.”

Mike deals with depression and the fact that maybe he’s just not needed anymore, maybe he’s completed his role in this story.

and they know who you are by agustplz (shout_out_lou) [one shot, 11k. actual perfection]

Mike Wheeler learns that love is an illusion, an unreliable promise that people tell themselves to make things seem better. Mike Wheeler learns anger and he doesn’t learn vulnerability, because to be open just means letting yourself be disappointed. But above all, Mike Wheeler learns to never expect anything from those he loves. Because he’s seen firsthand that love doesn’t lead to happiness, and he’s learned that anyone who loves him must be lying because there’s no good in him. There's nothing worthy of being loved.

i just wanted you to know (that this is me trying) by zenithaurora [multichapter, complete, 30k]

A character study of Mike Wheeler in the months between season 3 and season 4.

if you will excuse me i have very important business i must attend to (re-reading gut wrenching fanfiction about mike wheeler's rapidly deteriorating mental state)

#mike wheeler #fic recs

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eufezco · 2 years ago

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Helloooo. I have the most angsty heart wrenching billy fic idea.

So, you know when he’s about to sacrifice El in season 3 and then she brings up that one memory with his mom. Can you replace El with the reader in that scene. Like she knows this Bc he trusted her so much to the point that he told her everything ab his childhood and she just brings him back to reality. Then he sacrifices himself Bc he loves the reader?

This has been making me sob if you can write this I would totally appreciate it. If not no worries! Have a great rest of your day/night!

SUMMERTIME SADNESS - B.H. x FEM!READER

Billy held you in his arms like you were nothing, and you were too dazed to realize what was going on. Blood was coming out of your forehead and your nose, the metallic taste of it quickly getting to your lips and your taste buds as you started to remember how you ended up half unconscious in Billy's arms.

You were trying to escape from him with Mike, Max and El. The three kids were trying his hardest to keep you away from him, knowing that you were his main objective and that these past days he had been looking for you in every corner of Hawkins. Mike and El were trying to unlock the door that would have gotten you out of the situation you were in now when Billy found you. He kicked down the door that Max closed trying to gain more time as El and Mike struggled with the exit lock. Billy walked down the corridor, approaching his stepsister that seemed to be the last obstacle between you and him.

"Billy, you don't have to do this. Your name's Billy, Billy Hargrove. You live on 4819 Cherry Lane. The girl you're looking for is your girlfriend she's the only one–" And you saw how he slapped Max and the girl fell unconscious. You gasped after seeing your friend bleeding on the floor, taking a few steps backwards until your back found the corner of the room. El stood in front of you as Mike tried to reach Max but Billy slammed his head against the wall and Mike fell unconscious to the floor too. You tried to move El from your way, scared that the same fate awaited her as the girl stood stiffly on her feet, not listening to your cries and pleas for her to move. She tried to use her powers against him but he was quicker and stronger. He grabbed the girl's arm and put it down, and using his other hand he hit her head against the wall. Your breathing was quick and heavy, you didn't realize how dizzy it was making you feel until now. Until you were left unprotected with your boyfriend.

"You're coming with me." Billy stated. His voice was rougher than usual. Dark and thick veins were running through his whole body and he had his tank top stained with blood. You shook your head to his statement.

"No, Billy, I–" There were no 'no's for him and suddenly everything was dark.

You felt a sharp pain in your temples when you started to wake up in his arms. He was carrying you bride style but there was nothing romantic about the way he was doing it. Billy carefully left you on the floor and knelt beside you. Your vision was blurry, and you blinked slowly, trying to get used to the light of the place but you still could notice how both of his landed on both sides of your head, holding his body on top of yours as his face went to the crook of your neck. His lips brushed against your ear as he talked.

"Don't be afraid. It'll be over soon." You tried to keep your eyes from rolling into the back of your head, trying as hard as you could to not faint again. "Just try and stay... very still." Billy looked at the large hole in the roof of the mall. Your eyes hardly followed his and you gasped when you saw that big creature coming out of it and standing on its big legs in the middle of the mall, a few meters away from where you were laying. Billy stood up and faced the beast like a servant looking up at his master after having carried out his orders. awaiting for his master to give him some new ones. You crawled back, your eyes focused on the big monster and every move it made, scared that it could get you at any moment.

Billy was standing in front of the Mindflayer that had one arm coming out of its mouth in your direction when a firework hit its body and it let out a terrifying screech. You noticed how Billy writhed in pain after your friends started attacking the Mindflayer with the fireworks. Every time one of them collided with its body, your boyfriend squirmed in pain. He was on his four by your side, his back arching and grunts coming directly from his chest.

"Hey, Billy, baby, you're going to be okay." You held back your tears. One of your hands rubbing up and down his back. You looked up to the floor above, trying to find someone that could help you to get your boyfriend out of there. You couldn't say that you weren't looking for a specific person. After everything that happened between him and Billy, after nearly beating each other's asses to death, you knew that he would help you without thinking about it. You felt a strong relief as your eyes found Steve, one of his arms up in the air ready to throw another firework at the beast. He could help you. He would help you. Yeah, he was strong, you and he could lift Billy and walk him out. You started crawling your way out of there, calling your friend's name and getting his attention. You were using your hands and your knees to leave as fast as you could when Billy pulled from one of your legs, rough and with such extraordinary strength, and dragged you back to where you were before. He sat on top of you, raising your upper body from the floor by grabbing you by your t-shirt and then slamming your back against the floor and making you whine in pain.

Your friends didn't stop attacking the Mindflayer so Billy began to writhe again on top of you. The black veins on his face started to get thicker as you called his name multiple times and begged for him to let you go and let you help him. "I love you and I need you to let me go, Billy." You cried out. His hands stopped squeezing your arms that tightly after hearing you, but then again his grip tightened again. "I know that- I know that the Billy that loves me is somewhere in there." He turned his head and closed his eyes. You didn't know how nor in what way but where you were saying to him it was helping. "You remember– You remember when we went to California last month? It was so good. The best part of my summer. I told you that we could take a plane but you insisted on driving, and– and you took me to that beach and the sunset was so pretty. I told you that the sea reminded me of your eyes and you just made an annoying sound but I knew that you liked me saying that." Billy panted, wincing as his whole body continued to spasm but his hands on you loosened his grip. His eyes were glossy, probably because of all the pain he was going through as the Mindflayer tried to get out of him. "And we ate pizza on the beach and for the first time, you talked about yourself. You talked about the things you enjoy, about how your life used to be in California, about Max, about why you hate your father that much, about your mom. You told me that was the beach she used to take you when you were little." Billy's eyes connected with yours for the first time after you mentioned his mom. "You told me how caring she was, you told me about how she looked, and then you showed me that photo of her you always carry in your wallet. She was really pretty, Billy." One of your hands went to caress his cheeks. "And when you thought I was asleep I heard the things you said to me because I wasn't sleeping and I heard you telling me how much she would've loved me and I'm sure that I'd have loved her too." You sniffled, Billy's lips trembling as he closed his eyes, allowing some hot tears to roll down his cheeks as he enjoyed your hand cupping his cheek. The black veins on his face retracted and you knew that your boyfriend was back.

"We need to go, Billy." You said before he stood on his feet, freeing your body from his legs that were trapping it against the floor. You stood as well, still feeling dizzy and having to take a few seconds to focus on not falling. Once you turned to Billy you noticed how close the Mindflayer was getting, the long arm coming out of its mouth again in your direction. "Please, Billy, come on." You hugged him from the back and began to pull his body to you, trying to get him out of there but your efforts meant nothing to him who was determined to not leave.

"Hey, guys. We gotta go." Steve said behind you. You turned to look at him, your arms still around Billy as you shook your head. Steve pressed his lips together and before your friend could complain about the situation, Billy's sudden movement made his body push you and Steve to the floor.

"No, no, no, no." You mumbled, getting up as fast as you could to approach him again but Steve was faster than you, and before your feet could process the orders from your brain of running to Billy, Steve already had you trapped between his arms as your eyes stared at your boyfriend, perplex and feeling tears forming again. Steve didn't care about how much you tried to escape him, about how much you shook your body trying to free you from his arms, about how desperate and broken your screams sounded, about the tears coming out of your eyes, he couldn't let you go.

You saw more vines coming out of the Mindflayer and stabbing Billy's body and you squirmed listening to his screams, and then one of them went directly into his chest, your throat was dry and your mouth tasted like blood from screaming, and Steve's arms felt tighter around you.

His white tank top was soaked with blood, his eyes were almost closed shut and his face was stained with a black liquid that had come out straight out of his mouth when you knelt by his side. You placed his head on your knees, stroking his hair and hugging his immobile body closer to you, wanting to keep the warmth of it for as long as you could. You kissed his forehead, tasting your own tears as your lips were pressed against his skin, at first, begging him to hold on a little longer until the ambulance arrived, apologizing and saying your last 'i love you's to him as his eyes closed.

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ghostly-cabbage · 3 years ago

Text

Party In The Graveyard (Shiptember 2021 : Drunk)

It’s a day late but heres the Danny x Wes fic I wrote for @ghostgothgeek ‘s Ship Event!! Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Language, Underage Drinking, Mild Suggestive Themes Additional Tags: Post-Reveal, Aged Up Characters, Mutual Pining, Flirting, Getting Together

Summary: So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay? This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea. Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class. And it's just getting better and better. Why? Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

Or a fic in which Wes sees Danny getting shitfaced and says, "Is anyone else gonna take care of him, or?" and then doesn't wait for an answer.

Words: 6,233

Ao3

“I take back all my poor words. Talk is cheap, but my mind is rich When I close my eyes You grab my wrist, And pull me in to your cold dead lips”

So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay?

This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea.

Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class.

And it's just getting better and better.

Why?

Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

He walked in like he owned the goddamn place and the reaction went through everyone like a Whoop—like some kind of synchronized celebration of a miracle.

What, just ‘cause everyone knows he’s Phantom now?

Give him a fuckin’ break.

Currently, Wes is standing adjacent to the fridge, nursing a god-awful drink Kyle shoved into his hands before disappearing back into the throng.

Lighten up, bro, he’d said.

Yeah.

Sure.

The music pounds through the house—a heart beat—a fucking jack-hammer.

People talk and yell and spill their drinks on just about every surface that can stain.

A cheer goes up from the dining room and he rolls his eyes.

He slams his drink and focuses on the outdated calendar on the side of the fridge to keep from shuddering. It makes his mouth water, burns the whole way down and Jesus, seriously, what the fuck did Kyle put in this?

He throws his cup at the overflowing trash can.

His cheeks feel warm, but not even a buzz touches the wound up feeling in his chest.

He passes through the dining room, stops to watch Danny and Dash shotgunning sixteen ounce Mike’s Harder cans. From the looks of the table, they've already gone a few rounds.

Danny finishes five whole seconds before Dash. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crushes his can.

“Slowing down already, Baxter?” he says, a smug grin plastered across his face. His shoulders are slumped and he talks just a bit too loud.

Dash finishes his and tosses it over his shoulder, which—cool. Fucking nice, what, does he think they have a fucking maid?

“In your dreams, Fenton. We're just getting warmed up. No way I'm getting out-drank by a twig like you, half-ghost or not.”

“Guess we’ll see.” Danny shrugs. He talks like he’s one of those people, has always been one of those people.

Wes rolls his eyes and is just about to slip out of the room when—

“Ohhh shit! If it isn’t the one and only Wesley Weston!”

Fucking hell.

He turns and levels as unimpressed of a look as he can manage at Danny.

“Imagine that. It’s almost like I fucking live here.”

Danny swipes up a plastic cup and then proceeds to walk through the table towards him. People act like they’re finding out all over again.

“Oh come on, Wes. You’re not still mad are you?” He comes up to him and slouches against the archway’s frame.

Wes scrapes his tongue along his teeth. “Mad? What could I possibly be mad about?”

Danny looks at him like a puzzle.

When he talks his voice is quiet, hard to hear over the music. “I dunno, the fact that you knew all along but no one ever listened? They thought you were crazy and you weren’t but no one's even said sorry?” His lips quirk up at the corner and Wes can smell the artificial black cherry dancing on the top of the alcohol in his breath.

He wrinkles his nose and it has nothing to do with the smell.

“I was being facetious, prick.”

Danny smiles bigger, and his eyes glitter, something doe-eyed.

“Right. So you are still mad?”

He pushes air through his teeth.

“Not like it matters,” he says, looking away from Danny, drifting over the room. “Where’s your chaperones? Weird to see you anywhere alone.”

Danny just stares at him for a few seconds before understanding sparks.

“Ah. Sam’s got a family thing. Tuck took a closing shift.” He waves a hand and his head lolls against the wall with a thunk. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a swig.

Everything about him looks heavy. It’s weird for Danny.

“Have you tried the jungle juice your brother made?” he says. “It sucks. You’ve gotta try it.”

Wes lifts a brow and crosses his arms over his chest.

“How many’ve you had?”

Danny looks down into his cup, swirls its contents. It’s silent for several seconds too long.

“I’m not really sure, honestly. Didn’t know I was supposed to keep count.”

Wes slides a hand down his face.

Jesus Christ.

“Listen, maybe you should slow down—”

“Yo! Fenton! Stop flirting with Wes and fucking get over here, we’re not done.” Dash calls across the room and—

Flirting?!

They weren’t fucking flirting.

What the fuck.

Wes’s face heats up far beyond the liquor in his veins.

Danny looks up and flashes Dash a thumbs up. And then Danny is even closer—grabbing his arm. The chill of his hand goes right through to his stomach.

“Hey,” he breathes, “come watch me outdrink Dash.”

“Why would I wanna do that?” He ignores the way his breath flutters in his lungs, the way he feels light all the way to his toes.

Danny smiles like what he’s about to say is a secret—like it’s just for him, and all of a sudden Wes wants to be as far from Danny as humanly possible.

“Isn’t watching Dash lose at something for once reason enough?”

Wes forces himself to keep breathing and he swallows.

“Fine,” is all he can force out and then Danny is dragging him towards the table. He ignores all the people looking at them.

The fragmented group of A-listers cheer again and Dash slams a bottle of Fireball onto the table, making people's drinks jump and slosh.

“Let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” he says, grin just shy of evil.

“Where’d you get that?” Wes asks.

Dash cocks a brow. “Paulina found it? Duh.”

God, Kyle really wasn’t joking about getting people fucked up.

Wes is not going to clean up anyone’s puke this time. This shit is all on Kyle.

“Dude, is it even cold?” Danny asks.

“No, it wasn’t in the freezer long enough,” Paulina says. She’s drinking from a champagne flute for some fucking reason. He didn’t even know they had those.

“Gimme that,” Danny says, swiping it from Dash. “No way in hell I’m drinking warm whiskey.”

His eyes glow blue, and when he breathes out its a thin vapor. Frost creeps over the glass and Wes can’t help but shiver.

“Dude, fucking wicked. I’m still not over this,” Dash breathes, clapping his hands together.

How could Wes forget that Dash is Phantom’s number one fanboy after all?

But Danny isn’t looking at Dash—he’s looking at him.

Only it’s different this time. Because before it was always a taunt, blatantly rubbing it in Wes’ face when he used his powers and no one else noticed.

But the way Danny is looking at him now… like he’s waiting for something, thinking about something.

Danny hands back the Fireball and his eyes slip away from Wes and he feels like a fish wrenched from water.

What the hell was that?

“Fuck yeah, Fenton.” Dash unscrews the whiskey, flicks the cap off the mouth with a finger, sending it flying. He pours directly into their cups, the liquid glugging through the frosted neck of the bottle.

“Two shots of vodka,” someone says and everyone laughs.

“No chasers?” Danny asks, eyeing his cup.

Dash puts down the Fireball. “What’s the matter, you scared of the burn?”

“Not a chance,” he says, and holds out his cup to Dash. They cheers each other and then they’re throwing it back.

It sinks in his stomach like a rock. There’s no way this ends well.

It’s on the sixth round of Fireball that Dash starts to look green. He sets down his cup and leans on the table. He stares at the clear storage container of jungle juice and Kwan comes up beside him, pats his arm.

“Dude, maybe you should call it.”

“I’m fine, ‘s fine…” His words slur together. He tries to stand up straight and Kwan and Paulina both have to keep him up right.

Danny laughs. “Not lookin’ great, Baxter,” he says, his own words falling sluggishly from his mouth. Danny goes to lift his cup to his lips again and Wes puts his hand over it.

“Nope. You two are done.”

“Come on, Wes. Don’t be a buzzkill. I’m good!” Danny says. “Dash is the one that lost!” He flings his hand towards Dash and knocks the Fireball over, spilling it all over the table.

The group all crows at once, a choir of “oh shit” “nice one” and “duuuude noooo”’s. A few people rush to grab their phones from harm's way.

Danny blinks at the table. “Oops,” he says.

A smile splits his face and he starts chuckling. It builds from him, a laugh, something outside of him—beyond him.

He laughs until he’s doubled over, holding onto Wes to keep himself stable.

“Yeah, that’s it. You’ve had more than enough.” He grabs Danny’s cup from him before he can spill that too and drinks it himself. The cinnamon burns through his sinuses and he shudders. Ugh.

Danny straightens and sways just a bit, stumbling into him—their faces inches apart.

“Hey, that was mine,” he says, voice twisted in a pout. “Not cool.” His breath is cold, thick with the smell of whiskey.

Wes feels frozen, feels like he can’t breathe.

His heart pounds in his chest and he prays Danny isn’t so close he can feel it.

Around them the choir starts again, a chorus of suggestive “ooo”’s. He can feel their eyes on him and it makes his skin crawl.

Fucking dammit, this is all Fenton’s fault.

He pushes Danny away from him. Not fast or rough, just to arms length. He coughs.

“Star, you should go to the kitchen and get them both some water,” he says.

She gives him an annoyed look.

“I don’t see you doing anything else,” he snaps.

“I’m drunk too, you know,” she says, but gets up and leaves towards the kitchen.

Paulina and Kwan coax Dash into a chair, and he puts his head down on the table, groaning. A few others are sopping up the Fireball with paper towels.

Danny sags in his grip, goofy smile still plastered all over his face.

“I’ve never been drunk before, this is awesome,” he says.

Wes rolls his eyes, and maneuvers Danny into a chair. His head lolls back and he stares at the ceiling for a second before perking back up and trying to go for someone else's cup.

“Dude, I’m serious.” Wes moves the cup out of his reach. “Quit while you’re ahead.”

Danny groans, sinking down in his chair like he’s boneless.

“Come on, Wes,” he says. “You think I don’t know my own limits?”

“You just said this is your first time being drunk.”

Danny blows a raspberry.

Star walks back into the room and hands Wes a glass of water and then slides one across the table at Dash.

“Here. Wanna drink? Drink this.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says.

He’s a few swigs into it when he stops.

“God, it’s hot in here. Is anyone else hot?” And before anyone can answer his eyes glow that bright blue and a chill works through the air, plummets the temperature.

“Danny—” Goosebumps rise over Wes’ skin and his breath fogs from his mouth.

At varying levels of exasperation, the people around cry out.

“Dude, cut that out,” he says, smacking Danny’s arm.

“Ow, why are you hitting me?”

“Because you’re being a pain in the ass.”

Danny looks at him, blinks heavy eyelids. He smiles.

“What.”

“Nothing, you just… You’re cute when you’re all annoyed sometimes.”

The ground feels like it opens up underneath him.

His thoughts screech to a stop. It smells like burnt rubber, like cinnamon and black cherry.

It’s just the alcohol. No fucking way Danny of all people would say that to him.

“You really are drunk,” he says, but his voice sounds off kilter.

Across the house the last song fades out and Usher’s Yeah comes on. People scream and cheer.

“Holy shit, I love this song,” Danny says and stands up. He sways and catches himself on the edge of the table, starts laughing again. “Whew, that was close. The spinning is normal, right?”

Fucking Christ, how did he end up on babysitting duty again? He rubs his temples.

Is he really about to do this?

“You should lay down.” He heaves a sigh. “Come on.”

“Jeez, Wes, that's pretty forward,” Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Heat flashes through him.

“Would you just shut up,” he hisses. “And stop making it cold. Jesus.”

Danny snorts and when he moves from the table he wobbles. Wes grabs him before he topples and slings Danny’s arm over his shoulder to keep him up.

Danny leans into him, almost unbalances them.

“You got a problem with the cold, Wes?” he says, this time his cold breath is against the side of his neck. It sends chills down his spine.

“I don’t have to help you, you know,” he says, voice thick. “You can get alcohol poisoning for all I care.”

“You’re a bad liar, Wes.”

Wes yanks Danny along beside him and out of the dining room.

“Shut up, Danny. You’re drunk.”

He hauls Danny past the living room and the knot of people dancing and singing. A few call out to them, ask them to come have fun. He steers them away before Danny can pull away and join them.

“But I wanna have fun, Wes,” he whines.

“Dude, you can’t even stand without my help right now, you really wanna try dancing?”

“Dance with me, then.”

Wes stops. He looks over at Danny and…

He—

He blinks, shakes his head.

“No, not—not right now,” he mumbles.

“There’s a whole reason I came alone, you know,” Danny says.

“What, so you could get fucked up and no one would stop you?”

“Yeah! I mean… well, that’s part of it.”

Wes guides them towards the stairs, ignoring the looks.

“Your house is bigger than it looks from the outside,” Danny says.

“Thanks?”

“Mmhm.”

God. This is so not what he thought tonight was going to be like.

“Where are we going?” Danny asks.

“Somewhere you can lay down and sober up.”

“Tha’s not vague.”

Wes starts pulling Danny up the staircase. The second floor is dark, and he gropes around to hit the light.

The first few steps are fine, which is to say the next steps aren’t fine.

What he’s saying is that Danny says, “oh shit.”

And then he’s falling—pulling Wes down with him.

More accurately, Danny trips and pulls Wes down on top of him.

They end up in a heap and Danny groans like someone does when they fall on the fucking stairs.

“Ow.” He reaches for the back of his head. Then he’s laughing, like it's the funniest goddamn thing in the world, what just happened. His face screws up, the face of someone who doesn’t know he’s in pain, just pretending.

“Seriously?” Wes snaps. His shin smarts—must have hit it on the stairs.

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs each syllable. “You good?”

“No, I’m not—” And he looks down and he realizes how close they are. Realizes the way Danny’s hair falls into his face, the light catching the slope of his jaw.

Danny quiets at the same time and it’s like they get stuck there. Like nothing else exists other than this staircase and this moment and the way Danny feels cool and solid like a summer night underneath him.

“Hey,” Danny says—sounds almost breathless. “Come here often?”

Wes rolls his eyes and just like that the moment is over.

“Ugh.” He pushes himself up, detangles himself from Danny.

Danny reaches for him, that stupid smile back on his face.

“Oh come on, Wes,” he says.

“Quit messing around, dude.”

Danny pushes himself up, runs a hand through his hair and Wes tracks the motion with his eyes against his best wishes.

“You’re so mean. I could have a concussion and this is how you treat me?”

Wes stands up and straightens his clothes. “You’re fine.”

Danny gives him a look and then something sparks in his eyes. “I’m going to text Sam and Tucker and tell them how mean you are to me.”

Psh. He says that like they don’t already hate him.

“Would you just get up?”

“These stairs are actually kinda comfy,” he says, head rolling back, sinking back down and closing his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

Wes kicks his leg.

“You can lay down in the room. Get up.”

Danny heaves a sigh, throws an arm over his eyes.

“Fiiinnneee.” He pulls himself up by the handrail, stops in a sitting position. “Jesus,” he says, voice just above a whisper. His breathing gets weird. It makes Wes pause.

“You okay?”

“...Spinning,” Danny breathes. He’s quiet for a bit, and Wes just lets him sit there. Danny holds his head in his hands for a while.

Worry creeps into the back of his mind. Maybe Danny wasn’t kidding about the concussion thing. Maybe he should get someone—

Then Danny is standing up and Wes steadys his other arm.

“I got you,” he says. “Feeling okay?”

Danny sends him a weak smile. “Yeah. Laying down does sound good though," he mumbles.

They make it up the rest of the stairs, and Danny leans against the wall as Wes opens the door to his room.

It’s dark and quiet inside and he flips on the light.

He helps Danny in, and he flops face first onto his bed. He groans and rolls over.

“I’m thinking those last few shots of Fireball were a bad idea…”

Wes snorts and closes the door softly behind him.

“Oh, just the last few, huh?”

“I was havin’ fun, smartass,” Danny grumbles.

Wes leans back against his dresser and crosses his arms. “I said you should have stopped but noooo, no one listens to Wes.”

It gets quiet and he can feel the heaviness in the air. He clears his throat. “If you throw up in my bed, I’m kicking you out the window.”

“I’m not going to throw up.”

“Famous last words, Fenton.”

“Shaddup,” Danny says, and it gets quiet.

Wes can feel the bass from the music through the floor, the muffled sound of singing, laughing, talking. He’s used to ducking out at parties early. He’s used to laying in bed and listening to the songs through the walls until the voices slowly fade and the house is empty again. He listens to Kyle stumble up to bed and knock into the walls and yell “I’m okay” when he does.

He’s not used to having… company.

Danny sits up like a puppet on too few strings. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s still hot,” he sighs.

“It’s the alcohol, dude.”

Danny runs his hands over his face, and then reaches back and starts pulling his hoodie off. It drags his shirt up with it and Wes can’t help but look. He looks at the multitude of scars staining Danny’s skin and the way his muscles move over his ribs and—he pulls his gaze away and studies the floor instead.

“This is your bedroom, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t look how I thought it would.”

Wes wrinkles his nose. “How'd you think it would look?”

Danny takes his time looking around the room, hoodie pooled in his lap, before he looks at Wes and gives a boneless shrug.

“I dunno. More,” he holds his hands up, splays his fingers, “raah!”

“I… don’t know what that means.”

“You know! Like… newspaper-clipping red-web on all the walls,” Danny says, smile creeping back.

Wes squints at Danny. He pushes off his dresser.

“That’s still all you think of me?” He picks a pillow from his bed and throws it at Danny’s face. Danny lets out a yelp.

“Besides, I took all that shit down when the truth came out anyway,” he says, trying and failing to keep the inkling of a smile from his voice.

Danny looks at him blankly for a second before he starts to smile again.

“Wait, was that… Did you just make a joke?”

Wes snorts.

“You did! Holy shit, Wes has a sense of humor, this is bigger news than my shit. I gotta tell everyone.”

Danny looks soft, sitting like this in the middle of his bed, eyes warm in a way Wes didn’t realize they could be.

Something in him loosens.

“Good luck getting people to believe you…” he says.

“Oh, how the turn tables,” Danny says, and for a bit all they do is smile at each other.

Danny looks away first, he glances up at the light and squints.

“You got a light that isn’t so fuckin’ bright?”

“I thought the light sensitivity was supposed to happen the morning after drinking.”

“You’re full of jokes tonight.”

Wes rolls his eyes and flips on the bedside lamp and then shuts off the overhead light.

Danny hums and flops back down. “Better,” he says.

It’s silent for a few beats and Danny lifts his head to look at him. He smacks the comforter a few times with a flat hand.

Wes blanches; he’s all too aware of himself, of Danny and the dim light and the closed door.

“Dude, chill,” Danny says, like he can read his mind—wait, he can’t actually do that, right? Ghosts can’t do that?

“Sit down or something. You just standing there watching me is creepy,” Danny says.

Wes swallows his own heartbeat, shakes his head. “Seriously, between the two of us, I’m not the creepy one.”

“Says the stalker.”

“I didn’t stalk you.”

Danny gives him a look, with raised eyebrows and everything.

Wes sits on the side of the bed, scoots back so he’s leaned against the headboard.

“I was… investigating.”

Danny laughs. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say,” and his voice is like smoke—hickory and rough but winding through the air like silk.

They fall into an amiable silence, cotton soft, but cold. Danny has an arm over his eyes again, and his breathing is so slow it’s hard to pick out from the music downstairs.

He rakes a hand through his hair and takes out his phone. He unlocks it and scrolls mindlessly for a while.

He can’t focus.

Not with Danny so close like this. Not when everything is different now. His mind drifts off and he tries to keep track of every breath, wonders if he’s fallen asleep—

“Hey, Wes.”

He jumps. Just a little bit.

“Y-yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

He puts his phone down.

“...For what?”

“For making everyone think you were crazy.”

Wes twists his hand in his comforter. Why the hell is Danny apologizing to him? After everything he’s done to him… tried to do to him. It gets stuck in his throat.

“It’s… You don’t have to—” he wishes he’d had a few more drinks.

“Nah. I do. Looking back, I didn’t handle you knowing very well.”

He chews on his lip. He’s never felt so out of place.

“Danny…”

Danny moves his arm and looks up at him and his courage almost shrivels.

“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you. I—” He balls his hands into fists. “What I did, trying to basically out you, that wasn’t… that wasn’t okay.”

“You didn’t know the whole situation.”

“Did I need to? It was still fucked up and. I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in wanting to be right that I didn’t care what it could have done to you.”

It feels like glass coming up from his throat.

He’s lost sleep, engraved in the ceiling all the ways he fucked up, all the times he's glad now that no one listened to him. His eyes feel hot and there’s no way in hell he’s going to fucking get emotional in front of Danny.

“It all worked out in the end,” Danny says. He says it easy, gentle. “You were still technically right, though, so… There’s that.”

Wes huffs. “Yeah. I guess.” He fights through all the mess. “I don’t know how this didn’t happen sooner though. You were terrible at hiding it.”

Danny props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, I'm a great liar.”

Wes leans his head back on the headboard. “Sure, but you’re reckless as hell. How many times did you stick your arm through your locker in front of God and everyone?”

Danny smiles wide and bright.

“Honestly, after a while, it was just fun to see how far I could go before anyone noticed.”

Wes can’t help but chuckle. “Pretty far, obviously.”

“No kidding.”

Wes runs his palms over his jeans.

“You’re good though, right?” Wes looks anywhere but Danny. “At home and all that.”

“Oh. Yeah. It was, uhm, a lot for my parents. But we’re getting there.”

“Good… That’s good.” The words feel sharp and blocky, and he doesn’t know what else to say. What else can he say?

His buzz pulls away from him, pulls him down, makes his lids heavy.

“How do you think Dash is doing?” Danny says.

“Pf. If he isn’t hugging a trashcan right now, I’ll be shocked.”

Danny laughs.

Wes leans over onto some of his pillows.

“How are you this okay after drinking all that?”

Danny shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m feeling it. My guess is something to do with the healing factor ghost shit.”

“Right, makes sense.”

He feels tired and heavy and the darkness at the corners of the room get fuzzier.

“Paulina brought her own champagne glass,” Danny tells him. And he laughs because, who does that?

He rolls onto his back and they stare at the ceiling.

“Are you kidding? Paulina does that, it’s Paulina,” Danny says.

They stare at the ceiling like it’s not a ceiling, like it might become more than just ceiling. Wes imagines it disappearing completely.

Danny likes stars, doesn’t he?

When Danny talks again it’s like he’s far away. An arms length, an atmosphere’s length… he doesn’t know.

Danny says, “sucks that I’m missing the Super Smash Tournament.”

Wes tries to keep his eyes from slipping shut. The bed pulls him like quicksand, the smell of sleep. “Trust me, dude, Kyle always wins anyway.”

Danny says something, something about who he mains or doesn’t main. It becomes all the same, the sluggish rise and fall.

At some point between light and dark Wes decides that he likes the sound of Danny’s voice. He somehow likes that the room is colder than it usually is.

And maybe somewhere between all that he decides some other stuff too.

—

Wes wakes up before Danny. The sun streams in through a gap in his curtains, pooling on the wall and floor.

He doesn’t have a headache, but his neck hurts like hell.

Danny is lying on his side faced away from him and, fuck, thank God. He thinks about last night, about Danny in his arms and he—

He sits up and rubs his hands over his warm cheeks.

Water. He should get some water.

He slips out of his room and goes downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet.

Well.

Mostly.

He can hear the sink running and the clink of glass. When he comes around the corner he sees Kyle washing dishes. The house is only half as trashed as he thought it’d be.

Kyle looks up at him as he walks in.

“Morning.”

He grunts, going to pluck a clean glass from the drying rack.

“Hangover?”

“Nah. Slept wrong.” He fills his glass at the fridge and downs it all at once. The water helps wash the sour taste from his mouth. Ugh, he should still brush his teeth.

He fills the glass again and heads back upstairs. He pushes back into his room and when the door creaks he sees Danny jump.

He walks around the bed and offers the glass to a squinting Danny.

“Awake?” he asks.

Danny groans and pushes himself up. His hair is messy, hanging in his eyes. It's infuriating.

He rubs the side of his face and when he takes the cup their fingers brush.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“We have pop-tarts and cereal and shit downstairs.”

Danny gives him a thumbs up while he drinks.

He wants to ask if he’s okay... He decides to leave it for later.

Wes leaves his room and goes back to the kitchen. When he gets there, he pulls the pop-tarts down from the cabinet.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Kyle says, “if you wanna clean the dining room, I’ll clean the living room.”

“Nope, no. This was your thing, dude. You threw the party.”

“But Wes,” he whines, “Dad’s gonna be home tonight.”

“Then you should probably get started,” he says and claps him on the shoulder on his way to the toaster.

“Dude, cold blooded. You’re just gonna watch me slave away for hours and not even help your own brother?”

“Uh... yeah.” He slots the pop-tarts into the toaster. He turns towards Kyle and leans against the counter, grinning at him.

Kyle gives him a look.

“How much.”

“No. No, I’m not gonna be bought this time.”

“Twenty bucks.”

“Kyle.”

“Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Forty.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“‘This time?’ What happened last time?”

They jump and look at Danny as he comes down the stairs. He has his hoodie slung over a shoulder and the half empty water glass in his hand.

“Holy shit,” Kyle says.

“It’s not important,” he says, sending a glare at the back of Kyle’s head.

Danny walks up to the counter and sets the glass down to pull his hoodie on.

“No fucking way,” Kyle says, voice pitched up. “I didn’t believe it when everyone was talking about it last night, holy shit.”

Danny tugs the hem of his hoodie down and gives Kyle a confused look that he moves over to Wes.

He returns the look, just as lost.

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You two hooking up last night,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious.

It feels like for a second time stops—

Hooking up?

Hooking up?!

His heart skips in his chest and heat rushes to his face and the tips of his ears. He feels like he’s been slapped across the face.

Danny looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Uh—”

The toaster pops.

“Which, can I just say, I totally called it. I knew there had to be another reason Wes was so obsessed with yo—”

“Kyle!” he snaps, his voice higher than he anticipated. “Kyle, oh my fucking god, shut up. We didn’t— Nothing happened last night, we just—”

His breath feels tight in his throat and he wants to lock himself in his room forever. He can’t make himself look at Danny.

“Who the hell told you that-that we—”

“Uh, dude, a bunch of people saw you guys go into your room together. You know Pualina was telling me that Danny was all over yo—”

“Okay! Thank you, Kyle!” he cuts in. “Jesus fucking—” He buries his face in his hands.

This is it, this is how he’s going to die.

“I’m just glad for you two! I mean, like, jeez, finally!”

“Kyle, I’ll help you clean if you shut up right now and never bring this up ever again.”

Kyle stops, face lighting up. “Dude, deal.”

“Cool. Now please leave.”

“What?”

Wes grabs him by the arm and starts dragging him out of the kitchen. “Leave. Go get the cleaning shit from the garage or some shit, I don’t know.”

“Oh. Ohhhh, I see. I get you. I’ll leave you two kids alone to enjoy your breakfast together,” he says with a wink and holy fuck, he’s going to kill his fucking brother.

Kyle heads for the stairs and calls down, “Lemme know when it’s safe to come back down!”

Wes drags his hands down his face. He lets out a slow breath and he tries to ignore his pounding heart.

Wes goes to the nearest counter and puts his head down. The surface is cold against his burning skin. He groans like an injured animal and at this point he really wishes someone would put him out of his misery.

“Well…” Danny says from behind him.

He hears Danny moving and the sound of the fridge being opened. He looks up, watches as Danny takes orange juice from the fridge. When he turns around he sees his face is red too.

“I mean… hardly the worst rumor to get spread around about us,” he says. That stupid smile makes its way onto Danny’s face.

“I once had this dude tell everyone at school that I was a ghost. It was super weird.”

Wes shakes his head. “Dude, shut up.” But he can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips.

Danny laughs, a quieter thing today than it was last night.

“I can have some, right?” he asks, lifting the OJ.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

They fall into silence while Danny pours a glass and Wes goes to numbly retrieve his pop-tarts.

“It’s probably spread through all of Casper now, huh.”

Danny glances at him. Something dances through his expression. He hums as he takes a drink of his juice.

“Uh. Probably further than that, now that everyone knows I'm… you know.” Danny shoots him an uneasy look.

Right. Right.

This was just getting better and better.

He takes a bite of his pop-tart. It crumbles in his mouth like sand.

“Are you… okay?” Danny asks. He reaches back and rubs his neck, and dammit, now he’s just adding insult to injury.

He looks at him, and he sees the nerves in the way he holds himself, stitched into the way the light hits him. He’s not asking just one question.

Wes swallows.

“Yeah… Yeah, I mean, like you said. There could be way worse rumors,” he says. He looks at Danny like he’s too far away, like he enjoyed last night way more than he should have. And he sees it in Danny too, some sort of mirror.

“I think so too,” Danny says, heavy the way he exhales it.

They break eye contact and Wes doesn’t really know what to do, what to say.

“Well, uh. You have cleaning to do, I guess. I should probably get home before my parents get too freaked out.”

Wes nods. “Yeah, probably.” He wonders if Danny knows what’s in his voice. The dark from last night is clouding his mind, pulling him, begging him to just say it.

“Yeah… I’ll, uh, see you at school?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

But Danny doesn't move.

He lingers like a shadow. He looks like he wants to go. He looks like he wants to stay.

“Wes,” he says.

Wes looks at him.

He worries at his bottom lip and moves along the counter towards him.

“Thanks. For last night.”

He lets out a puff. “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t die the rest of the way from alcohol poisoning.”

Danny rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were pretty bad.”

“Not even.” Danny smiles.

And they’re close again, sharing each other's space.

“It wasn’t… awful, I guess,” he says before he can stop himself. “Even with you being a pain in the ass the entire time.”

“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” Danny murmurs.

“What, me looking after your drunk ass the whole night?”

Danny snorts. “No, I was thinking more like I match you drink for drink instead,” he says.

“At least then you’d last till the Smash tournament.”

Danny glances away.

“I didn’t mind missing it too much, actually.”

Wes’s breath gets stuck and his heart beats like a drum in his ribcage.

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

In some ways it’s just like last night; Danny’s close enough he can feel the movement of his breath between them.

“It’s way more fun, bothering you.”

It’s a slow motion sort of thing, a hair raising thing.

“Well you’re an expert at it by now.”

Wes thinks about theme parks. Sitting at the top of the sky and just before his stomach drops—

“Always room for improvement. I could get better at it if you want me to.”

And what if he does? What if he wants to see Danny in all the ways he can? What if he wants to know Danny for real this time?

Maybe he wants pictures, proof that it’s real.

Maybe it’s always been leading to this.

Maybe it’s fucked up.

Wes having the power to hurt him all over again.

“Drink for drink?” he says, barely a whisper.

“Drink for drink,” Danny says—closer, closer, breath against his lips.

Danny gives him time to pull away. But Wes doesn’t. Something to do with what he decided last night.

“Prove it.”

#Unidentified Flying Ship #danny/wes #Danny Phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #my writing #DP Shiptember 2021 #drunk prompt #one-shot #wes weston #wesley weston

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titan-fodder · 4 years ago

Text

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk.

“Erwin here?”

The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead.

He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

“What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy.

You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different.

“I needed to talk to you about something.”

Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?”

“Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

“You can shut it then.”

Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you.

“Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!”

Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

“And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping.

“That motherfucker,” he grunts.

“What?”

“You blocked his number.”

“What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

“My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list.

“Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal.

“Have what?”

“Tinder.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced.

Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself.

“Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

“Probably.”

“Might be a little difficult now, though.”

Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process.

“It, uh… It gets worse.”

Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry.

“I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling.

Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her.

“Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest.

There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him.

“Come on.”

“W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

“I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person.

“Fine, but put a shirt on.”

“Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand.

“We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze.

It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous.

He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy.

"Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand.

"Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

"I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable.

"Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

"I'll be there, Nile."

"Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth.

"So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back.

"Don't fucking tell me."

Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

"She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good.

"Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

"How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

"Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

"I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

"Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?"

"Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever."

It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it.

"Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

"I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

"As a distraction?"

Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?"

The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party."

It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house.

Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight.

Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on.

When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party.

Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him.

So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this?

And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink.

Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit.

She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?"

No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight.

They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism.

They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin.

Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you.

Oh, you don't like her.

"Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?"

Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

"Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

"Kind of?" You try.

Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?"

Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible.

Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe.

"Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

"Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

"I don't think that's really—"

"Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits.

"You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out.

For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands.

He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you.

"The fuck do you want, Jaeger?"

"Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?"

Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt.

"Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back.

"He's not worth it, Mike."

Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights.

He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him.

He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger.

You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now.

So he drinks.

He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch.

"What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him.

"I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

"I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!"

Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in.

"What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?"

"No!"

"Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms.

"Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head.

Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?"

Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

"Are you serious?"

Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile.

"I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!"

Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again.

"Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks.

"Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

"Including you."

Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him.

"Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?"

"Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests.

Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty).

Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak.

"What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice.

"It's just Adderall, I swear!"

Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren.

"Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up.

Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen.

"They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile.

"Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

"Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time.

Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way.

"Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back.

It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause.

"Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink.

He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind.

It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets.

He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts.

Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

"God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in.

Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels.

A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again.

"Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

"No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction.

"Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again.

"The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?"

"Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

"Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic.

"I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him.

Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

"He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker.

You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

"Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

"Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss.

He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand.

Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

"What? No."

"There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out."

Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea.

"Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

"So?"

"Erwin."

He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?"

"Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

"Text me if you need help, alright?"

"You got it, boss."

He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning.

How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass.

It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh.

People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place.

Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way.

More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of.

Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three.

Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep.

Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest.

After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it.

You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex.

You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long.

Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

"Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

"Nooo. No Miche."

"Yes, Miche," you laugh.

He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again.

When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again.

"Okay. Just Mike then."

He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again.

"You're a needy drunk, you know that?"

Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again.

"Sleep now," he mumbles.

"No, no sleep now."

"Sleep now."

"Oh my fucking god."

His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water.

He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday.

Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self.

So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid.

He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much.

"President… dumb boyyy."

"Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

"Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr."

There's really no pleasing him.

"Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

"Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you.

"You're fucking ridiculous."

Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub.

"Jesus Christ, Mike."

He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower.

"Water, pleeeease."

He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them.

"No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle.

"Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist.

He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright.

"ευχαριστώ."

"Come again?"

"Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward.

You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways.

Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze.

"You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time.

"Dunno."

"Can you tell who I am?"

Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

"Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

"That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun.

He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress.

Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel.

Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands.

"Can I help you?"

He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you.

"Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh.

Switching tactics, he pats his chest.

"Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

Not like this.

"Please. No more vom. Promise."

"I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants.

A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth.

This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin.

Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks.

"'m mad at you."

Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting.

"I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep.

"Still love you."

You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason.

"I love you too, Miche."

Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake.

You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?"

"Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub.

Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

"What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?"

He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!"

"You're disgusting."

"Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint.

"Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep.

"Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off.

"We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day.

"Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub.

"He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts.

"Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add.

Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing.

"We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile.

"Probably."

Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious.

It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look.

You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy.

There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him.

"'m still wet."

"You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

"Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

"Know how it works, dumb… butt."

"Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

"Don't panotrize me!"

You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

"That's what I said!"

It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard.

He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

"All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

"Why?"

"I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

"Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair.

It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot.

He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours.

A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest.

Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed.

Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it.

You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #tw manipulation #tw vomit

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