#I dodged four cars the first week I was back- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whowrotethenote · 1 month ago

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𝐀 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰

A/N // A short set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place four months after the Prom Night short.

Warnings // Angst // Profanity // Fluff...I think lol

Word count // 3.8k

Disclaimer // Part Three // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

September 27, 2024

Well—he’s doing it again.

I haven’t heard from him or Paul in over a month. Counted the days as they passed me by in a blur. The color in my life glitching. Just like it was the months leading up to that first time in the Hamptons.

I don’t know who or what has captured his attention this time around. It’s irrelevant. My life has to keep moving or else I’ll fall into the deepest pit of misery, trying to fill the void he leaves every time.

The trip to Belize was everything to me. It unlocked an entire new universe of feelings toward him. Deeper than anything romantic. I felt bound to him in a way that I do with people I’ve known for years. The way I can recognize the weight Demi’s footsteps in the dark. The way I can immediately acknowledge Chanel 9 and picture my mother’s face because it's been her signature scent since I knew what smell was. The kind of binding and familiarity only associated with one thing. That forbidden four letter word.

I thought that week meant something to him. I was terribly wrong like I always am when it comes to him. Summer is over. No longer in paradise. The leaves are starting to turn. Nights getting unbearably colder.

In a desperate-adjacent attempt to ignite some type of spark or color back into my life, is how I find myself fresh off a first-class plane ride to Green Bay and seated in one of the most upscale restaurants I’ve ever been in. Under the comforting ambient lighting, seated across from me, smelling of that overpowering and alluring Creed scent—is a man that promises so much more than what I’ve been given—and he hasn’t even said it outright.

It’s wedged in the lines of how he had everything already planned, to the point where I haven’t lifted a finger or dug into my pockets once. The way he felt the need to emphasize that this is in fact a date. The way he spoke of the future and included me in it.

I’ve said it before. There’s no guess work with him. I know what it is at all times. It’s healthy. It’s loud. It’s rejuvenating. I can breathe around him. I don’t feel so overwhelmed with emotions that I’m suffocating. I don’t have to hide, duck and dodge. I’m not in an underhanded competition with anyone or anything else. If I am, he does a damn good job at concealing it.

I hate to compare the two. There’s nothing to be compared. Two different ends of the spectrum. Spiraled into my life at two different paces under completely different circumstances. Serving two different purposes. Receiving two different Lana’s.

Maybe I’m being spiteful being here with him. I don’t know entirely. I don’t know what to feel or even how to feel. The lines between right and wrong have been skewed since he inserted himself in my life. Only thing I was certain of, is that I needed a change of scenery and different company. Anything really that doesn’t remind me of him. The sad truth is he’s become a parasite. He’s attached hisself to all the best parts of me and most memorable factions of my life now. Making it nearly impossible to evade him. He’s everywhere. Everything reminds me of him. Even the man in front of me right now.

Jaire Alexander. I already knew the basics about him from previous late night car conversation or the occasional FaceTime. But tonight he’s dissected himself in a broader manner. Summing up twenty-seven years of life into a nearing hour conversation.

He and I have closer roots than I imagined. He was born in Southwest Philly. Only an hour away from where I grew up in New Jersey. His family packed it up and moved to the midwest just before he hit middle school. He’s the only boy, with two older sisters—which explains the unadulterated softness he displays despite being outline in secure masculinity. You can always tell which men have actually known and been around women before. They just move a little differently.

He was a beast in high school—at least that’s the picture all the articles he showed me painted. Everybody just knew he was going places. The NFL was written in his story before he even received his diploma. That is until injury after injury sat him down earlier than he ever intended.

“It was as if the devil had his hands on my shoulders, pushing all his weight down on me,” he describes.

This all happened after the pillar of his family—his grandmother passed and his father went shortly after. His father wasn’t dead—but he might as well had been. Just left one day and never came back. So the injuries and clipped ball dreams hit him harder than he’d ever knocked any quarterback on the field.

Offers reneged, benched for half the season of his senior year, and all hope disintegrating—he almost gave up on all of it.

“But I’m resilient. And I knew if I wasn’t gonna do it for myself—the least I could do, was do it for my grandma. My mother and my sisters.”

And he did. He pushed through. Molding a way when there wasn’t one to begin with.

He tells me tales of his college years. Says he felt untouchable. The way he glided through the four years like a stingray in the ocean. Earning privileges his peers couldn’t fathom. More girls than he could count, dropping to his feet—literally and figuratively. Willingly finishing his homework and him, for nothing in return but just the opportunity to say they did so.

“If I could spend a day and go back in time to any portion of my life—I’d go back to undergrad. They treated us like gods on campus, man,” he told me. A glint in his eye projecting the past.

“And when I got drafted, it was like undergrad times ten. Only it was more on the line. Money just didn’t stop rolling in. Sponsorships—parties with people I had only seen on TV before—people breaking their neck to make me comfortable.”

He said he got a taste of that world and went a little too off the deep end. He was fresh meat. He had a target on his back and the vultures didn’t waste any time.

“I almost got drowned out—almost lost myself, but God threw me a lifeline. I’m good now.”

All in all, Jaire is a man. Filling in the gaps his dad left behind, he made something out of nothing. And after hearing him break down all his fears and the hurdles he hopped to get to where he is now—he’s earned a newfound respect from me.

My phone lights up on the table next to my half empty plate. Wiseman. My heart skips a beat. Reality of the situation hitting me immediately after. Instead of racing to unveil the contents of the text message, I flip the phone face down. Cupping the back of my neck trying not to let these thoughts infect my brain and mood, but they double down.

Who the fuck does he think he is? Who the fuck does he think I am?

I can’t even believe I let it get to this point. Spending nearly my entire summer in Miami in that condo where the ghost of him lingers every time he leaves. His scent burned into the sheets and the pillow. Steamy and woody smell of his body soap lingering after we shower and he leaves for the day. His shirts—wrinkled and thrown everywhere, leaving a footmark and telling the story of where we started and ended up upon his arrival. Background noise of Love Island playing, as we opt for the entertainment of each other instead.

I’ll forever remember the summer after I graduated college as his summer. Actual days, lost in one another—following the endless trails, walking the different path’s of each other’s brains—mixed with long humid and lustful nights, turned to morning all over again. First time flying out of the country—exploring the world and seeing how other people live—and it was with him.

“You need to get that?” His voice thrusts me back to the present after sinking into a pit of nostalgia. Sinking so deep I didn’t even feel the consistent vibrating of my phone against the wooden table.

Flipping the phone back over, my lips tighten reading Wiseman again. I push hard on the lock button to reject the call before tossing it deep into the contents of the Dior bag hanging on my chair.

“Nope.”

“Hot commodity, I see.” He laughs.

“Not really.” I rest my chin in the palm of my hand. “What?” A smirk tugs at my lips as our eyes tip toe over each other’s faces. I can’t suppress the giddiness around him. Even in the wake of all the bullshit he’s ignorant to.

He shakes his head. His tongue resting over his perfect top row of teeth for a second. “Still in shock I got you here.” A sting of guilt in my chest forces me to break our trance. Would I even be here if he wasn’t on his shit? “Am I overstepping by asking what all the apprehension was for?” He asks.

I blow out a breath searching for the right words. I don’t even have a rational answer for him. Playing house with a married man all summer had me taking the biggest step back from him. Calls unanswered. Texts responded to only when I got a second to duck off and coach Demi on what to say. No more parked car conversations. And all for what? For somebody that left me in the same state I left Jaire in? Ghosted, without any communication as to why, leaving my head to make up all the worst scenarios.

“I think I have an idea.” He speaks again.

“Let me hear it,” I encourage.

He pauses for a minute. “The normal. I was tryna sit in a seat already reserved for somebody else.”

If only he knew. I call myself forging a seat that is already full. The seat merely exists in my dreams. He never fails to wake up to this harsh and cold reality—that everything about us is temporary and none of it is for real. That he occupies way more space in my life than I ever could his.

I adjust the diamond studded bracelet, now overflowing with different charms he’s added.

“It's complicated,” I finally say.

“We all got complicated,” he counters. I stop for a second, really digesting him and his words. I’ve been so wrapped up in the telenovela that is my life, I think I’ve abandoned the fact that Jaire is still his own person. Selfishly, I’ve reduced him to just a character in my saga when he has own life, his own goals, and challenges—just as I. Women on his line probably in the same predicament I am with him.

I need an anecdote for this hole inside of me. And no—not another person. The anecdote has to work with just me. Just Lana. People are going to come and go as they already have. They’re going to keep coming and keep going because that’s just the natural order of things. The toughest lesson I had to learn as a teenage girl—tossing and turning in the wee hours of the night, thinking every time the phone rang, it was the hospital calling to tell us the cancer had won. While the rest of my peers got to live in fantasy and fairytales—life was teaching me the darkest lesson that everything has to go eventually. Life, people, money—all of it.

I have to figure out how to be okay without anybody else. I have to be able to go on after he goes. Cause he clearly will go.

His head flicks to the right in a slight nod. “Come on—I wanna show you something.” He stands, reaching into his pocket counting off bills. I’m stunned and mostly confused as fuck. Too many Benjamins for me to count land on the dinner table and he holds a big hand out inching to my side of the table.

So, I take it. Willing to go anywhere with him if it means not sitting here to wallow in self pity as the phone rings all night.

He leads us out the maze to exit the restaurant, stopping twice to sign his autograph and take a few pictures. I clutch the fox fur coat tighter to me upon meeting the brisk air of Wisconsin. The consistent fever of Miami had me spoiled. I almost forgot what cold really felt like.

We’re not even all the way out the glass-door entrance of the building and onto the street before we’re being jumped. White and yellow lights at every turn from the faceless men shouting things I can barely make sense of.

He’s so chill and down to earth, I forget he is in fact famous. I use one hand to cover my eyes. The other rests comfortably in his while he leads me to the passenger side after retrieving the keys from valet. He moves with such confidence and ease, as if there isn’t a herd of photographers in his personal space—snapping pictures of a moment as intimate as a first date.

“You’re okay with that?” I study him while blinking at the blinding lights of cameras.

He hooks his seatbelt before resting one tatted hand on the steering wheel. “Yeah, why? You got somebody you need to be ducking?”

It's so far off from cheating but this rush of excitement and anxiety is very reminiscent of cheating. “I can pay them to get rid of them.” He informs after I pause.

Without thinking too deeply into it I shake my head. “No, we’re good.”

The phone buzzes in my hand again and I ignore the fuck out of it like the previous ten times.

In Jaire’s territory, I couldn’t tell you where we are. We flew on the highway for a while, exiting onto a back-way of some sorts, until he led us to a dirt road with land that stretched for miles it seemed, with no signs of human life. I probably should’ve been scared. In this secluded space with a man I didn’t know, in a state I never been. But his energy—familiar and comforting like a hug from an elder—has me suppressing any type of anxiety. The occasional swipe of his thumb on my hand where we connected atop the center console, paired with glances that read, “are you okay,” every other minute—was enough to settle me.

The headlights of his car cascade along a fence with a clear DO NOT ENTER sign hanging from it. Despite the obvious, he hops out anyway. Somehow unhooking and unlocking the chains to open one side for entry.

I use this time to finally open the thread, floored by the endless texts in grey.

He’s asking for you You left Miami? Is everything okay? I’m concerned now Call me back when you get a chance WiseMan 13 Missed Calls

I let all the angst out in the air that puffs from my nose. The fucking nerve. It’s been nearly two months and now I am expected to jump for him? Draining. That’s what this whole thing has been. He’s lifted me up—taken me to heights I never even thought I’d see at this age. Just as quickly he’s popped the bubble and I’ve been free falling since I last saw him.

It might sound ungrateful. He’s done so much for me in such a small amount of time. Got me through my last year of school. Gifted me a G Wagon straight off the lot and filled it with my favorite flowers. I live comfortably in the heart of Manhattan. Blending in with general wealth and nepotism.

My life looks the way it did in a young Lana’s dreams, who snuck to binge Sex and The City and took day trips uptown just to gawk at all the designer through the window. This newfound peace of mind means nothing if it can be taken away just as easy. It’s stupid. I should take what I’m given, be grateful for the adventures and opportunity, and just leave with my memories at best. But that’s the thing. I’m past that now. It can never be just memories anymore. And it puts a chill in my bones to think it's just memories to him—if that.

So when Jaire cuts the engine before rounding the car to open my door—I leave the phone and him behind.

“You gon’ be okay walking?” He eyes my Shark Boots. “It's further up.”

“Uh…” I peak down, assessing the two thousand dollar, leather boots.

“Just jump.”

“Huh?” I look back up. My confusions stumped, seeing his back to me.

I hop on and he carries me the whole way effortlessly. No huffing and puffing—not even breaking a sweat.

Letting me down gently, I scope the scenery. I figured from the walk up—with all its twists and turns that we’d end up on a cliff like we are now—but the sight before me exceeds any imagery I thought I’d find at the top.

The whole entire city of Green Bay from a single vantage point. I felt like a god having access to this much of the world in one sitting.

He’s quiet and I’m grateful for it. The day turning to night. A pink glow on top of the skyline. Nothing but the whistle of wind surrounding us. Everything up here is just…quiet and still. So easy for your mind to go blank.

“Surrounded by noise all the time. Big family. Always apart of a team. Games packed out with thousands of people screaming.” His hands rest in the pockets of his black jeans. “I come up here to drown all that out. Get a break from all the noise. Always so deep in everybody else—in the crowd—I forget about Jaire. Standing up here I remember. I can remember I’m still somebody too.” He steps down sauntering back to me. Sage eyes putting a spell on me. “You just seemed like you needed a second to remember Lana is somebody too. I don’t care who come and go—what’s easy or complicated.” I giggle as he bows his head making wide eyes. “Don’t let nobody drown you out,” he continues. “Not me. Not Mr. Complicated. Nobody.”

I never felt more seen by a man in such close proximity to the first time meeting him. It usually takes moving mountains to get a man to come to his senses and hone in. Not with him though. He’s almost too good to be true.

I nod. Tears threatening to spill, but I suck them up. No more sad girl. I’m better than that. It’s a shame it took a man that barely knows me to tell me so.

“Promise?” He holds out a long pinky adorned with a ring that winks at me. I hook mine onto his.

“I promise.”

He steps back allowing me a path to the spot he left. In these less than comfortable Givency boots, I step carefully over and around the scattered rocks, over the sand and patchy grass until I’m on top of the same flat plated rock he came off of.

The view is unreal. I can see everything up here, but it’s still nothing but echoes of silence. No noise. No world. No expectations. No worries. Just me separated from them. Separated from him.

“I got a game in two days,” he informs me. “I’d really like if I knew you was out there in the stands—watching me.”

I turn still on top of the rock so his voice isn’t hitting my back anymore. “And you better not lose.”

He snickers. “With my good luck charm there? Never. I’ll have to give them motherfuckers the greatest pep talk of their life in that locker room.”

My smile grows. The battle of my heart he didn’t even know he was affiliated with before today, lingering. Yeah, he lost a couple rounds in the beginning. He had all the right materials and couldn’t do anything with them because my attention had been abducted by someone who didn’t even deserve it.

The better man might just win this time.

Finally back in the five-star hotel room, I stare at the name on the screen calling again. I let it ring two more times before swiping.

“Paul?” But I can tell it's not him. I don’t know how I know—I just know.

“You left Miami?” His voice is authoritative—making the question sound more like a statement. “I don’t see your suitcase here.”

“I did,” I confirm after a moment. Heart skipping a few beats. From guilt? Excitement that I resent from hearing his voice after months? I don’t even know.

“Where’d you go?”

“Back home,” I lie. Eyes shut tight. I’ve never done that with him. I never had to.

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Every second that passes feels longer than the one before. And for a split second, I feel like he knows the truth or at least knows what I’ve told him isn’t the truth. Like he has his own eyes on me at the moment.

“I’d really appreciate if you came back, Lana.”

Theres almost an underlying desperateness in his voice. Like his wellbeing depends on my presence—when he’s just demonstrated to me that it doesn’t. I remove the phone from my ear. Eyes opening at an agonizingly slow pace to face myself in the mirror. Why do I always feel so weak for him? So helpless like I don’t have any say over my own actions—my own body.

Staring back at the girl in the mirror I shake my head at her. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fall for it…fall for him.

This game he’s been playing—it's unfair. It’s cruel. He’s set it up so he’s the only winner.

The overwhelming feeling he brings to me—congesting my mind and making me forgo all the contempt and smoke I previously had in the chamber for him. Then, the promise I just made to Jaire not even an hour before, forces itself to the forefront of my mind. He won’t drown me or my intuition out this time.

I stick the phone back to the side of my face. “I can’t,” I tell him. Voice so delicate and pliant—not even hiding the fact that I can be easily persuaded. So, to eliminate any chance of it—I press that red button. He won’t win this round.

A/N // it’s been so long friends. so much has happened since my last update…still in shock btw. so let’s disassociate and be delu together in this au😂

1. what the helly is going on with Joe? why has he gone ghost again?

2. do you think Lana genuinely likes Jaire or is she just trying to fill the space?

3. this girl spent her whole summer in Miami—what do you think happened between them? (don’t worry a good portion of the rest of the shorts take place during this time)

4. he took this girl out the country😂 any thoughts?

5. do we think him going ghost again paired with Jaire’s new presence is enough to make her split from Joe?

As always, so grateful for everyone reading especially in light of recent events. Feedback is always welcomed💗

Next update will be another short about Wrestle-mania 40. It will be up every soon. If not tonight, tomorrow night.

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demonic0angel · 9 months ago

Note

(Prompt: Clockwork gave Danny, Jazz and Jason a mission: Capture the Four Perils and bring them back to Ghost Zone)

"Hundun, Qiongqi, Taowu, and Taotie," Jazz said as she, Danny and Jason were looking at the cave. "the Four Perils. These creatures were said to be the ghosts of the four ancient criminals namely Huandou, Gun, Gonggong, and Sanmiao. You may knows Sanmiao is identified with Chiyou, a bull warrior that rebels against the Jade Emperor."

"There was a guy named Gun?" Danny asked.

"Yes, but his name is just means big fish in Chinese..." Jazz explained.

"So what're these creatures actually looked like?" Jason asked.

"Hundun is a yellow winged creature of chaos with six legs and no face, Qiongqi is monstrous tiger with wings that eats people, Taowu a reckless and stubborn tiger-like creature with boar teeth and human-like face, and Taotie is gluttonous... sheep and boar hybrid?" Jazz replied. "That's all the informations Clockwork gave to me."

"Ok, so now we've to those catch these guys, right?"

(An odd choice of capture targets but aight lmao)

“Yep,” Danny said. “Easy peezy.”

“You’re going to jinx us,” Jazz scolded, and Danny obliged her worries by knocking on the cave wall in place of wood.

But it was too late.

They hadn’t even needed to look for the Qiongqi. The moment the three of them had stepped out of the cave with intentions to go into the city to continue their search, the tiger-like monster immediately swooped in and tried to eat their faces off.

“Oh! I forgot that it bites off the noses of noble and righteous people!” Jazz recalled, and Jason immediately grabbed her and pulled her down as the beast lunged at them.

“Thanks for the info, Princess, but we’re in the middle of something?! Stop getting distracted and catch the damn thing!”

So while Jazz and Jason were fighting off the Qiongqi, Danny ran off to capture the Taowu, which was trying in vain to fight the cars in the middle of a street, blocking an intersection with its body as people screamed and ran away from it. Seeming to think that the screams were cheers, the Taowu preened and was even more enthusiastic in trying to kill the cars as Danny dodged its chaotic moves to try and catch it.

The Taotie was slightly more difficult to find after the three of them struggled to capture the first two. It had been found inside of a restaurant, hiding within the freezer and eating everything in sight, even the metal walls. It took a few days before anyone found it and reported it.

Finally, the three of them only needed to find the Hundun. It took a long, long time, almost a week before they found the faceless creature helping the Joker in a new plan to torment everyone in Gotham. It was quickly solved with some ghostly technology, but by the end, Jason’s eye was twitching and Danny looked like he was about to wring the necks of anyone who was about to approach him.

Clockwork watched them with a small smile on his face as they all trudged up the steps to his lair.

“You found them?” He asked, his form shifting.

“If you weren’t Jazz and Danny’s grandpa, I’d tell you to fuck yourself,” Jason hissed as he tossed the special container that held all Four Perils to Clockwork. Clockwork caught it and chuckled.

“But you got to spend time with Jazz, right? It’s not all bad.”

Danny growled, crossing his arms, “It was bad for me. You’re on thin ice, old man.”

“Maybe next time, I’ll send you on a mission with—”

“SHUT!!”

138 notes · View notes

wilsonthemoose · 8 months ago

Text

Warning Signs

John doesn't mind that they play so much basketball. It lends itself quite naturally to their training.

Whumptober Day 10: Blow to the Head

Teen and Up | John, Sam, and Dean | Pre-series | Sports | Head Injury

Sam is four days old the first time John thinks he might lose him— the jaundice sets in fast in the middle of the night and they don't notice till next morning. They're told they did the right thing bringing him into the hospital and in the same sure tone of voice assured that it's quite common and Sam should pull through by day seven.

They bring him back in a gift shop romper with 'World's Greatest Basketball Player' printed on the front. John has mixed feeling about the romper but Dean insists on saving it when they're sorting through clothes Sam has grown out of.

Sam is two months old when he's gifted his first basketball— it's a plush toy with a long tag that Sam tries to use to fling the ball around. He's five months old the first time he manages to clear the top of the crib and Dean yells with delight.

Sam is six months old the second time John fears for his life and after that, no matter how much he may try to temper that fear, it never quite goes away. John doesn't try very hard, and then not at all.

Sam is a few weeks short of three years old when he manages to copy Dean and bounce the ball up and down twice; Dean proudly declares that Sam will make a fine dribbler the way he's going and John agrees as he lifts him up into the air, shrieking.

John doesn't mind that they play so much. It lends itself quite naturally to their training— Sam at eight is fast, a sprinter off the blocks, a rabbit leading a chase, changing direction quicker that John can think to suggest it, and Dean is strong, puts his weight quite naturally into his punches without John ever having to say a word about proper technique.

Sam is 14 when John is forced to admit— not in so many words— that he's afraid for Sam's life. Sam sneaks away behind John's back and gets tested to see if he's a match for donating part of his liver to the wife of one of John's friends, Laura, who took care of the boys when they were younger. John yells and shouts when he finds out, threatens and punishes, forbids. "You're fourteen which means I have to okay this thing and I'm not okaying shit!" he yells, flinging a ceramic mug into the wall next to where Sam is standing. Later, when Sam is sitting on the steps outside, arms around his knees, shivering, John goes out and puts an arm around him. "How am I supposed to protect you from dying on an operating table, Sammy?" he asks and hopes it answers a lifetime of doubts.

John will stop the car outside basketball courts or on empty backroads in the middle of the night when cabin fever is likely, otherwise, to provoke a fight, and let the two of them out for a game or two. He doesn't encourage rough play but he does turn a blind eye to it. They get rowdy as they get older.

Sam, at fifteen didn't quite know what to do with his long limbs, awkward as a doe on ice, but at sixteen he seems to have grown into them. He'll dodge out in front of Dean, snatch the ball right out of the air and dribble away. He's good, in his way. He doesn't make as many baskets as Dean but he's good at making Dean not make as many baskets as Dean. He provokes Dean into taking risks and forces him to make stupid mistakes. Dean ends up angry, Sam ends up smug. John recognizes the tune of their lives but decides to use this too as training: he yells at Dean from the sidelines to keep calm, to not be so stupid. He yells at Sam about proper technique, ("Get low if you want to jump high, Sam") and just to wipe the smug look off Sam's face, steps in himself. He walks away impressed.

If circumstances were different, Sam might've made a hell of a college player, maybe even a decent pro.

They stop playing so much. Dean provokes Sam instead into sparring with him. It's almost a shame.

They get good at taking care of their own scrapes and bruises. Sam will fish out bits of gravel from his elbows under a flickering light. Dean will wait till John turns his back to take a furtive swig of the whiskey he's supposed to be using to clean his wounds. John wonders if it's possible to pinpoint exactly when they stopped playing. Was it on the broken court in Colorado with a camping lamp for light or was it in the parking lot of the motel in Indiana when Sam stumbled back and Dean didn't stop to let him get up again?

John tires them out by putting them through a mini boot camp every time he comes back from a hunt, or by making them do drills in the early hours of the morning when they're with him.

Sam is seventeen when John thinks this time he really is dead. The gunshot echoes in his head, his heart stops in his chest, tumbles to his knees, his lungs feel suddenly empty, and he hurtles through the door, trips down the stairs, and throws himself out of the house to where he stationed Sam to keep watch. This wasn't supposed to happen— he was supposed to be safe out there. He was supposed to be—

Sam takes a ragged breath, his face shines pale in the darkness. The bullet's torn into his side. John holds his hands over the wound, presses down, whispers "Sorry, Sam," when Sam bites down on a yelp, and presses harder. Dean lead-foots them to the hospital with John on his knees in the backseat holding firm pressure on the wound.

In the waiting room, John paces like a caged animal and Dean sits hunched over in a chair.

They're allowed in to visit when Sam comes out of surgery but they're told he might not wake up for a few hours yet.

The gift shop is near empty when John goes in to re-check, see if there's anything Dean missed. Surely, surely, there has to be something in Sam's size sitting around there somewhere. He's shown the same white shirt with the large orange basketball emblazoned on the front that Dean's already bought for Sam. John wonders if he can convince Sam to wear one of the unwashed shirts lying in the trunk instead but then thinks better of it.

Confined to bed for days, Sam reaches an arm out from under the covers and dribbles the ball on the carpeted floor. When the man in the room opposite bangs on the door and tells John to put a stop to the racket, John tells him to go to hell.

Sam bounces back pretty fast. He always does.

Sam was seven the first time he came to John with his head all bloody, swaying where he stood until John looked up from his journal, then he stumbled into John's lap. He was nine the first time John felt he was getting past Dean without Dean letting him. He was ten the first time John had to break up a fight between his sons. He was fourteen when an errant fist crashed into John's arm instead of Dean and Sam froze in horror, genuinely apologetic, earning himself a hard left hook to the jaw from Dean before Dean had a chance to check his blow. He was sixteen the first time he ended up with a concussion bad enough to have John worried. He complained every single time John tried to check up on him that weekend. He's nearly eighteen and John doesn't take it seriously for a long moment as Sam's arms flail, one almost reaching up to his face. John almost dismisses the gesture as reflex. The ball seems to float in limbo, one bright speck of fresh red imprinted just under a black rib of the ball. John sees Sam's pupils, pinpricks, blow out. Or maybe he imagines the detail. The ball thumps to the ground and rebounds thrice, rolling away. "You okay?" Dean calls over his shoulder as he moves to get the ball, then turns around again, confused. It starts to rain, softly. A drop falls to Sam's face, joins the tiny rivulet of blood dripping out of his nose. There's very little of it. Hardly any at all.

John feels himself move forwards, registers pain as the concrete crashes up into his knees, he leans over Sam, takes his shoulder, gently for some reason when he should be shaking Sam, telling him to get up, get in the car. Telling him he doesn't want the two of them taking damp clothes into the car so skedaddle. A drop of blood splatters on the faded grey-blue concrete of the court. John moves his hand under Sam's head— he doesn't remember lifting to cradle it but he must have— and finds a small wound. Small enough that it doesn't even need stitching. Not even a bandage.

"Okay kiddo?" he asks like he honestly expects an answer. Dean's still standing where he stopped, fingers bunched in his hair, palms pressed against his temples. He looks somewhat crazed.

John gathers Sam up, snaps at Dean to help him and they get Sam into the car, make it, somehow, to the hospital. John doesn't want to let go when they tell him they need to take Sam in for a CT, some insane part of him protesting that it's futile, but he signs the form they give him and signs again later— hemorrhage? half listening when the doctor explains about the surgery.

Dean's at Sam's bedside, trying to apologize and trying not to cry, garbling his words so he achieves neither objective.

"Sir? Do you understand?"

"Yes."

They wheel him away.

He can tell by the long walk along the corridor from the elevators, by the way the doctor looks at him for a fleeting moment and then lowers his eyes for the rest of the way until he reaches the chairs, knows it before the man opens his mouth to break the news. "We did everything we could—" and so on.

Actually, he's still alive, in a technical, not-really-there sort of way. They didn't let him go, when his body gave out. "I'd like to talk to you about organ donation." A new voice this time. Sympathetic tilt of the head, hushed tone, muted, sober clothes like this is the exact conversation they keep her around for. He should never have let them cut him open. His head is bandaged as if it makes a difference. John thinks maybe he should shout and tell them to leave him alone but he can't bring himself to do it.

"Sir?" She asks, gently.

He looks up. "No," he growls. "And fuck off," he adds.

Behind him, for the first time since the court, Dean speaks up. "Yes," he says and clears his throat. "He's a match for Laura," he says "She needs a liver—" this to the woman. "He promised her."

"Shit happens." John hears himself reply. "She can find her own liver." The kind of flippancy that Sam always hated.

"He's eighteen in a few hours," Dean's voice cracks. It's probably that, John thinks, that makes him walk out of the room and let Dean sign away Sam's organs.

"He might not have liked hunting but he liked saving people, Dad," Dean tells him later. The woman tells him about a man with cystic fibrosis who will live another several years because of Sam, a little girl who won't need dialysis anymore, a woman who can plan for more than the next few weeks and for more than hospital visits and bills, a firefighter just four beds down who just might make it now. John can't be bothered with saying he wishes them all a speedy death and he supposes, someday, he won't think it either.

They bury him— what's left of him— in the same graveyard as Mary. They never visit.

Laura tries to get into contact, leaves him tearful messages, "He was like a son to me too, John." John blocks her number. When Dean strikes off on his own for the odd hunt here and there, John doesn't object. He tosses the basketball into a storage unit and doesn't bother to go in and look when it bounds into something and breaks it.

Days and weeks muddle past. One day suddenly Sam is nineteen years old except that he never even got to eighteen. They've stopped talking about him.

Given what he knows— what he's learnt about Sam— it might be all for the best, except that he doesn't believe in that kind of thing and since when has fate dealt him a kind hand anyway? At least he died innocent, John thinks sometimes, usually at the bottom of a bottle.

Weeks and months turn into another year, then two, and three. John will stop the car sometimes outside basketball courts and stand there for hours, remembering the squeak and scuffle of shoes on asphalt, the huffing of breaths, cut-off curses, the snatch of a laugh.

Given what he knows— what he'd learnt about Sam— he really should have seen it for what it was. When he hears about the man in Oregon, the little girl with the half-familiar name, the woman, the firefighter, Laura— he doesn't do anything. When he gets a call from a payphone in Illinois and hears Sam's voice, panicked, "Dad?" John realizes it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise.

#Supernatural fic #Sam winchester #John winchester #Fics tag #(in this house we do not miss whumptober) < person who missed it last year BUT I WAS A FAIRY HELPER IT'S FINE!#(they were supposed to have grown up normal in this but that was not fun for me. So excuse the ***** ******** it made more sense in the au)

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television-overload · 1 year ago

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 2/34 - decaf coffee

[Read on AO3]

In the next week, the topic of adoption doesn’t come up again, and she tries to put it out of her mind as much as possible. They wrap up their case, spending several dull hours working on their reports, and wait impatiently for something else to come across their desk, ideally something a little more intellectually stimulating than the last few duds they’ve worked.

The good thing about not having any cases, though, is that no one blinks twice when they take a long lunch here, or leave work a few minutes early at the end of the day there. A spontaneous mid-morning coffee break at their favorite cafe down the street gets them out of the building, enjoying a rare warm day in December.

On the way to the coffee shop, they walk side by side—as always—until Scully stops suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Oh, Mulder. Look,” she says sadly.

He follows her gaze to the other side of the street, where a little boy no older than four stands with frightened eyes, looking back and forth helplessly while busy businessmen and women in suits pass by without sparing him a glance.

Mulder checks for cars quickly before jogging across the street, giving Scully little warning before taking off. She follows behind, carefully dodging traffic as it approaches.

“Hey, buddy, you lost?” Mulder asks, approaching the boy and kneeling down to his height.

The boy nods, red-faced and eyes brimming with tears.

“That’s okay, we’ll help you get this figured out,” he says consolingly. “Are you here with your mom?”

“Uh huh,” the little boy answers shakily.

Mulder gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile. “Alright, well let’s find her, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“I’m Fox and this is Dana,” he says, nodding up at her. “We work for the FBI, do you know what that is?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, we’re kind of like cops.”

He sniffles.

“What’s your name, bud?”

“William.”

The world slows to a halt, and Scully’s eyes widen.

It’s a common name. So common, in fact, that she can name at least six Williams, Wills, or Bills off the top of her head without hesitating. But that’s exactly the problem.

It’s a family name. Both her family, and Mulder’s.

Fox William Mulder.

“William? Hey, that’s my middle name!”

She won’t think about it. She won’t think about the way that she wanted to use that name, if they were lucky enough to succeed at in vitro fertilization. She won’t think of that little boy she pictured, or the man she hoped would stay and be his father.

“Really?” William asks, eyes lighting up for the first time.

Mulder smiles. “Yeah, better than Fox, right?”

She hears a giggle, and remembers Emily. Mulder got her to laugh, too, even under the most harrowing circumstances. She shakes her head, focusing on the situation at hand. She won’t be of any help if she can’t get her head out of the clouds.

Mulder asks, “You know what your mommy’s name is?”

“Um—Susan,” William answers.

“That’s great. Good job, buddy, that helps. Where did you last see her?”

“We goed to get me shoes for playing soccer,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Soccer, huh? I’m partial to baseball myself—”

“Mulder—” Scully stops him, tapping him on the shoulder. When he looks at her, she points to the other side of the road, and he nods his thanks.

“Hey, look, there’s a shoe store across the street,” he says triumphantly, refocusing in on William. “I bet you she’s right over there looking for you!”

He stands, reaching out his hand for William to hold, and they cross the street together with Scully following closely behind. She watches them, and thinks that if she were a passerby, she might think they were father and son, out for a midday stroll.

It’s a side of Mulder she doesn’t often get to see. A side she suspected lay dormant for a long time after Samantha disappeared, but it’s still there, popping up here and there when it is needed.

“Hey, Scully, can you go in and check if there’s a Susan in there?” Mulder asks, looking to her for assistance. “I want to stay out here in case she comes by looking for him.”

She nods, clearing her head once again of the swirling thoughts that had occupied her. “Yeah, of course.”

She goes in and comes back out just as quickly, shaking her head despondently.

“The clerk said she and her son left about 10 minutes ago,” she reports.

“Did he say which way they went?”

“To the right.”

Mulder glances in that direction and nods. “10 minutes, well she couldn’t have gotten far. We found him just over there,” he says optimistically. “William, keep an eye out for if you see her.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

They head to the right, Mulder now carrying William on his shoulders up above the crowds. They pass a few stores, finding no luck so far, but then are startled when some pedestrians up in front of them nearly get bowled over by the sudden opening of a shop door. A frantic woman exits, then darts off, apologizing as she goes.

Mulder starts jogging, knowing that it must be the mother. He dodges other people walking, skirting between them expertly, which leaves Scully behind by a fair few paces. Luckily, she’s used to it. The woman is poised to enter the next shop when he calls out, “Susan?”

She turns.

“I think this little one belongs to you.”

An instant wave of relief washes over the woman’s face, and she runs to reach them. “William!” she gasps.

The boy all but leaps into her arms, curling in close while she strokes the back of his head, comforting them both.

“Where did you find him?” she asks through tears, holding tight to her wayward son.

“Just across the street,” Mulder says with a smile, pointing to where they came from.

Susan sighs in muted frustration. “There’s an ice cream shop over there, I should have known.”

“My sister did the same thing when I was about 9. Gave us all a heart attack,” Mulder chuckles.

The casual mention of his sister causes Scully to look at him in shock, but he’s too preoccupied to notice.

“I can’t thank you enough. I turned my back for one second.”

“No problem, just glad he’s back where he belongs,” Mulder responds.

After waving goodbye to William, he turns around, a content smile on his face. He starts in the direction of the coffee shop, as if the events of the last few minutes had never happened. Expecting Scully to follow, he walks right past her, but she stands frozen in place.

It’s insane. It’s impulsive. She’s going to do it anyway.

“Okay.”

He pauses and glances back at the statue that is Dana Scully. Amusement plays at his lips, though there’s more than a little confusion there too.

“Huh?”

“Okay.”

He laughs, backtracking a few steps so he is closer to her.

“You’re gonna have to say more words, Scully, I don’t know what you’re—”

“I want to adopt a baby.”

His eyes widen, and he looks to his right and left as if someone might overhear their personal conversation and go tell on them to their supervisors.

“You’re bringing this up now?” he asks, a little incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“And– and you’ve thought this through? You’re sure?”

No, not really. To be honest, she’d barely thought through this at all. There are so many reasons why they shouldn’t, why this is a terrible idea. They’re not ordinary people. They have enemies who could use this against them, careers that have proven to be life threatening on multiple occasions.

And yet…

“Mulder, seeing you with that boy…” she says, her eyes trailing off in the direction the mother and son had disappeared. “Yes, I’m sure. Only if the offer still stands, I won’t hold it against you if you’ve changed your—”

He stops her. “No! No, I’m in. Let’s do it. Let’s– We should talk about this.” He grabs her elbow and starts toward the coffee shop with her in tow, and the pace of his step forces her to walk faster to keep up. “Buy you a cup of coffee? Breakfast sandwich?” he asks, scrambling for something to say.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Just the coffee then.”

The bell jingles as they enter. They sit down at a booth and Mulder leans in, his voice low and placating.

“Okay, no need to panic. We’re just talking about it, yeah? Breathe.”

She huffs out a laugh. “How are you so calm about this?”

He smirks. “I’ve been reading about this stuff for months. You only found my stash of brochures last week.”

“Months?” she breathes, voice laced with disbelief. Her head feels like it’s spinning. “It’s just a little… overwhelming, I suppose,” she says.

“I have that effect on people,” he jokes. “It’s not a rush. If we do this, it will take time, we just have to decide if it’s something we want to pursue. There’s an application process, and getting approved, not to mention finding the right placement...”

Scully feels out of her depth. He knows a lot more about this than she does. She almost wants to ask if he has a slide show prepared.

“I want to do it. I do,” she assures him, carefully choosing her words, “I just don’t know where to begin. It sounds like a crazy idea. Is it crazy?”

“Probably,” he says with a shrug and a grin. “Kind of just makes me want to do it more.”

She’d never admit it, but she feels the same way. Maybe Bill’s right. He has rubbed off on her.

“So… where do we start? What do we need to do?” she asks, needing more information before she starts spiraling.

“Why don’t we take it slow? Start with you and me and an actual adult conversation about our priorities, and then maybe this weekend I can stop by with some Chinese and we can look into next steps.”

She takes a deep breath, heart rate slowing back down to normal.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

How do we do this? How do we have this conversation we should have had months ago?

Before they get a chance, a waitress stops by to take their orders, and Scully opts for decaf. As electrified and anxious as she feels right now, she really doesn’t need caffeine to make it even worse. She can feel her knee bouncing relentlessly under the table.

Once the waitress is gone, Mulder gets the ball rolling with the first order of business.

“I guess to start us off, I need to know how involved you want me to be. I can help you find an agency and be your personal reference on your application, or I could—” he pauses. Breathes. “Like I said, I’ll be as involved as you want. I just need to know what you’re thinking.”

She shakes her head. “Mulder, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I should tell you that the agencies favor couples over single parents,” he adds before she can finish, “It might be more difficult to get approved on your own, but if that’s what you want, I’ll help you.”

She studies him, the nuance of every microexpression on his face. She knows what her heart is wishing for, but what about him? Would she be asking too much of him?

“What do you want?”

He ducks his head, staring at the chipped surface of the table before glancing up at her with an apologetic smile.

“I’m a selfish man.”

She looks at him, needing more of an answer before she dares to respond. If he doesn’t mean what she thinks he means, one wrong word could spell disaster. Upset the delicate balance that is their friendship. She has to hear it straight from his mouth, this is no time for assumptions.

He sits back in his booth, and she braces herself for what he’s about to say.

“I want to coach little league,” he confesses. “I want to drive an ugly minivan, the ugliest one you’ve ever seen. I want to help with math homework, to tell crazy stories at bedtime and go on camping trips together.”

He looks deep in her eyes, and she shudders, feeling like his words have penetrated her very soul.

“I want it all, Scully. I want a family.”

I want you.

She feels tears pool in her eyes, her throat closing with emotion.

“I want that too,” she chokes out, unable to form any more words.

He reaches out a hand across the table and takes hers. She holds on tight.

“Well, that’s one thing settled,” he says, blinking back the pinpricks of tears in his own eyes.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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deceptive-daydreams · 2 years ago

Text

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Four - Roadkill

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - A moody car ride and muddled emotions.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

9.9K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, mentions of blood, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I put my soul into this chapter like I just wanted everything to be right and for things to add up. Anyway, I'm so glad to finally share it as we reveal more about their story.

Masterlist

Prev | Next

Hawkins High - English Class, Sophomore Year

The clock ticked by tauntingly slowly, five minutes feeling like an eternity in the stale classroom flooded with white and beige, each desk meticulously placed in their respective rows, all uniform and not one out of line as each student occupied their own. A pop quiz rested in front of every anxious student, Mrs. O’Donnell being overly unfair in springing the assignment on everyone after only going over the unit one time in the span of fifteen minutes.

Only the sound of pencils gliding across paper and the ticking of the clock were evident among the prison-like room. Just outside of the window to your right was a perfect view of the large oak tree you’d claimed as your lunch spot. Though Steve had asked you to sit with him and his friends at lunch, you declined. The mere idea of having to face all of those preppy and popular kids was terrifying and you’d rather enjoy your lunch in solitude. Steve seemed like a promising friend the deeper you got into highschool but you’d settle for sitting with him in class if it meant you could avoid the jocks he hung out with.

Stomach grumbling, you only prayed that the next two class periods would go by faster than the first period had been dragging along. It was only a week into sophomore year and you were already counting the days until summer. You thought you’d be able to avoid Mrs. O’Donnell’s dreaded English class throughout all four years but sadly in only your second year you were cursed with her name on your schedule. Everyone knew her class was the one to dodge if at all possible.

Marking your answer to the last question on the quiz, you bashfully stood to set it on Mrs. O’Donnell’s desk, noting the way she glared at you before heading back to your desk as quietly as you could. There was no pleasing the woman, she was alway miserable. Being one of the shyest students in the class, she still made it known that not even you were safe from her wrath. Just as you reached into your bag to retrieve your copy of Of Mice & Men which was assigned at the very beginning of the week, the classroom door swung open, the hinges squeaking in protest.

“Oh, Mrs. O’Donnell!” A boy’s voice sang as he sauntered through the door, skateboard in hand and backpack in rough condition barely hanging onto his lanky shoulder. It was the same boy from the ice cream social, he was wearing pretty much the same thing, black jeans with noticeable rips and a matching t-shirt with ‘Iron Maiden’ on the front. The chain hanging from his jeans clinked as he walked and his tousled brunette curls swayed with the movement. Eddie, as you recall. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he came to a stop in front of the teacher’s desk, her face displaying a different kind of disdain for the boy in front of her, his dimples still framing his smile regardless.

“Munson, it is not polite to interrupt my class. Where are your manners?” The older woman seemed to gain more wrinkles just by engaging with him.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. You get to experience another glorious year with yours truly.” He had no fear, he was dripping confidence and from the looks of it he didn’t care if Mrs. O’Donnell wasn’t having it. You were suddenly envious of his charisma, only wishing you could absorb some of the self-assurance he was possessing in the few seconds he had walked in the door.

“I’ll be the judge of that, you’re not on my roster.” O’Donnell suddenly stands, her gaze would intimidate you but Eddie only sighed and ran a hand through his hair as if this wasn’t his first rodeo with her.

“I swear, the office sent me here directly. Call them.” Before she could scold him, he had made his way toward the back of the room, tossing his backpack on the ground next to the empty desk just behind you and slumping into the chair while crossing his arms. So it seemed he was in your grade. Every other guy your age was still struggling with voice cracks and puberty mustaches but he seemed to have a grasp on things and was more mature looking than them. Or maybe he was in another grade and just in a sophomore English class. Whatever the case, he sat right behind you and it made you nervous, the kind of nervousness that makes you question if you tried hard enough on your appearance, wishing you would’ve taken more care in the mirror that morning.

Who were you kidding? Boys didn’t even look your way so what made this one any different? He wasn’t. You were just riling yourself up again only to let yourself down by setting unrealistic expectations. And all within a few seconds, that dream was discarded and you came back to reality.

Only for some reason you dared to sneak a glance over your shoulder at him. Where that sudden bravery came from, you’d never know. But you’d never forget the way his eyelashes casted perfect shadows along his cheeks even in the annoyingly fluorescent lighting of the classroom and the way a dimple peeked out at you as he offered a boyish close mouthed smile, by far the most charming smile you’d ever seen. It happened so quickly you started to question if you were daydreaming.

—

Present Day

There are a lot of things to focus on in Eddie’s van. The big gulp cup in his cup holder filled a third of the way with change, food wrappers littering the floor which he must have shoved away to make room, a few cassettes among the trash—who used cassettes anymore? There was a car parts catalog on the dashboard, a pair of headphones on top, and next to it a small box of unopened guitar strings. Among the many things happening visually in the van, it was all very Eddie from what you currently knew about him against your will. Even the lingering smells screamed his name, the hint of cigarettes, a little bit of the pine air freshener dangling from the mirror, a tinge of skunk-like bitterness, and the spice from his cologne.

It was silent, not even the radio he famously blared at high volumes playing, only the sound of the engine rumbling. You didn’t dare look to your left at him, embarrassment seeping through your pores from earlier. There was no way you would talk about being that vulnerable in front of Eddie Munson out of all people. Hell, you weren’t even sure why you were riding in the passenger seat of his van and had you been coherent enough when he guided you to sit, you would’ve refused and walked home, paying no mind that it would’ve taken around thirty minutes. Now you were stuck in one of the most uncomfortable positions of your life, riding shotgun in your nemesis’ car and on shaky ground with your best friends. The more you thought about it, Steve couldn’t even look at you when you’d asked if Robin knew about his sneaky endeavors. It was as though you were subject to isolation with no reparations in the foreseeable future.

“Pull over.” You were surprised by how strong your voice had sounded despite how much you’d been crying before.

A glance your way was all you received as you watched him in your peripheral. Why was it that the most common occurrence tonight was to be unresponsive?

“Pull over.” You repeated a bit louder.

Still, he ignored you.

“Pull over or I’m going to jump out.”

The threat was lost on him, earning you no reaction however you took him by surprise when you reached for the handle, pulling and cracking the door open as the pavement beneath zoomed past and the wind sucked the breath out of your lungs, the crisp fall air felt like a punch to the face in contrast to the warm cabin of the van.

“What the fuck!? Do you have a death wish or something!?” Eddie kept a hand on the wheel while simultaneously stretching his arm across you as he reached for the handle to pull it closed but failing in his first attempt. “Shut the damn door!” Unsure of what you were trying to gain from this, you tugged the door toward you with a scoff, Eddie shifting his eyes between you and the road. What would be your next move? You hurl yourself out of a moving van and end up roadkill? It wasn’t a very well thought out plan.

“Just pull over.” You couldn’t stand being trapped within the confines of his van much longer.

Everyone and everything you knew was turning out to be a lie, straight to your face and the pressure was only building up inside. And it all boiled down to one person who happened to be sitting just to your left. “Dammit! Just pull over! I wanna walk!” You shifted, now turned toward him, his brows furrowed and his lips downturned, complete displeasure written on his face.

“Would you quit being such a fucking brat!?” There he was. This is the Eddie you knew of, a complete contrast to the one that had emerged earlier. He was unrecognizable as he played the part of the neutral party between you and Steve. And he had no right either, you would be sure he knew that.

“Then fucking pull over!”

“We’re almost there, then you can do whatever the hell you want. See if I give a shit.” His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, a pinky tapping against it as he seemed to try and keep himself calm.

“You don’t even know where I live. Let me out. Right here, pull over.” It was a constant battle, neither of you having the slightest urge to just give it up although it looked like you were going to win when the brakes screeched, the van halting to a stop in the middle of the road. You were at a bend with nothing but forest on either side so you could either step out with your pride, also bearing the possibility of becoming a news headline in the morning: ‘Girl found dead on side of the road’, or you could let him win this one and make it home in one piece.

“Go on then. You wanted to walk? Have at it.” Eddie gestures to the open road, very clearly unwalkable from this point. You remained silent, contemplating your options. “What? I give you what you want and it's still not enough?” He huffs in annoyance, head shaking.

“You did that on purpose.” You mumble, barely audible but he catches it anyway.

“Did what? Drive you home so you wouldn’t strangle Harrington?” He was very clearly trying to push your buttons and he was going to end up being the one strangled if he kept it up.

“You know what?” The sound of your seatbelt clicking alerted him that you were about to hop out, your hand reaching for the door. “You want me to be roadkill so bad? Fine.” And with that you stepped out into the crisp fall air, a light sprinkling of rain painting your skin as you stomped down the road.

The van’s engine didn’t rumble which told you he hadn’t sped off yet, most likely watching in victory as you began your trek home. The frigid air started to bite at your skin, your cheeks and nose beginning to hurt and lose feeling. You didn’t get very far when you began to regret leaving the warmth of the van, you just had to pick this battle and now it seemed you lost in the end anyway.

It still hadn’t zoomed past you like you envisioned, only the sound of someone running behind you was heard which in all honesty only freaked you out even more. This was the worst case scenario for how the night was supposed to end. Maybe some serial killer had gotten Eddie and now you were their next victim. A new headline flashed in your brain, something along the lines of ‘Young couple found murdered near the woods in Hawkins, Indiana’ and you nearly puked as you began sprinting, the downpour of rain becoming heavier as you did. Lungs on fire, you forced yourself to keep going no matter how ridiculous the thoughts racing through your mind were. Maybe it was the quickest way to get home after all, to imagine you were being hunted for sport the whole time. The nightmare you conjured up quickly came to an end when you slammed into something firm, almost being knocked to the ground only to be stabilized by two hands gripping your arms. Your eyes were shut tight, avoiding whatever fate was awaiting you. Were you being dramatic? Yes, however it couldn’t be helped especially being just next to the woods in nearly pitch black. The basis for a classic horror film.

“Are you crazy!? Get back in the van! You’re gonna get killed out here, you can’t see shit.” Much to your relief just this once, you were happy to open your eyes and find Eddie, out of breath with his curls dripping, a few sticking to his face.

His eyes were more doe like than ever, staring down at you, the headlights from the van barely reaching the two of you allowing you to make out his features. His stare flickered between you and the road urgently. “If a car comes around the corner we’re fucked, LETS GO!” If he had any remaining patience, it was gone because suddenly his arms wrapped around your legs and waist, throwing you over his shoulder without struggle, jogging back to the van as you were left breathless. Ending up tossed over Eddie Munson’s shoulder was the last possible outcome you’d imagined tonight and yet here you were.

“Put me down!” You still protested, delivering a firm smack to his shoulder blade. If he obeyed, you had no plan so you weren’t sure what your motive was here however he continued on without so much as a flinch.

“Oh yeah, look what happened the last time I listened to you. Had to fuckin’ chase you down.” The passenger door was left open from when you took off as you glanced over Eddie’s shoulder.

“You didn’t have to! I could’ve made it home perfectly fine!” You weren’t one hundred percent sure about that but you could sell the lie. In your defense, he took a completely different route than what you had originally walked earlier in the day since you had to stop by the Byers’.

Suddenly you were placed in the passenger seat again, and not very gently either. Eddie’s intense gaze only egged you on, returning the favor as you looked up at him, narrowing your eyes.

“Yeah? You sure about that Roadkill?”

You’d had it and there was very little if any fight left in you. Teeth chattering and hair wet, you came to the realization that your clothes were almost completely soaked and before you could huddle in on yourself for warmth, a leather jacket was tossed at you before the passenger door was slammed shut, Eddie quickly returning to the driver’s side, a displeased expression remaining on his features as he shifted into drive.

–

Rain dotted the windshield and other than that and the squeaking of the wipers against the glass, it had been silent. Five minutes had passed but it was easy to mistake it for five hours with how tense the air in the van was. Eddie released a heavy and dramatic breath every so often and if he was searching for a reaction in you, you weren’t interested in partaking. Home wasn’t far, you only needed to endure a couple more minutes in the stuffy but thankfully, warm confines of the vehicle.

Maybe you were delirious, your brain muddled in the events of tonight because Eddie had finally been silent that full five minutes and you stupidly took it upon yourself to engage in further conversation.

“Roadkill? Really?”

The green traffic lights overhead created a glow around him, painting him almost like a picture, a renaissance painting you might even say. If a renaissance painting could include a grumpy metalhead adorned in rings, tattoos, and a demonic t-shirt. So no, not a renaissance painting and yet, you couldn’t find another way to phrase it in your mind. Why?

“Roadkill. That’s all you have to say?” Offense lingered in his tone, his eyes glancing to you briefly.

Your body turned toward the door, even more than it already had been as you watched the scenery race by, deciding to go mute again. There was no civil conversation with him, only snarky comments and full blown arguments.

“Better than Socks.” A smirk graces his lips when you turn to look back over at him and there was no way to tell if it was playful or cynical.

Should you bite and comment back or should you remain ignorant? You’d started it after all. This time he wasn’t the one breaking silence to torture you, it was the other way around and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why you yearned to instigate.

“I will not be called ‘Roadkill’ if that’s what you’re getting at.” It was said cruelly however just beneath the surface, if he was intelligent enough to pull at the corners of your gaze with his, he may find a seed planted deep within your depths.

Could it have been that the way he stepped in earlier was in some regard an olive branch? Extended with the means to mend what was previously shattered beyond repair, an intention. No. It couldn’t be, not even in the slightest. Because he was Eddie and you were you, this is how your stories were written and engraved into the margins of the universe. That didn’t mean you didn’t wonder why he had been so tangled up in the ball of yarn that was your life for so long if not to infinitely cause an ache from wounds slashed into your soul years ago.

“I think you’ve definitely been upgraded from Socks to Roadkill.” Though he was snarky there was a glimmer in his eyes.

“Hell no. If I’m Roadkill then what are you?” Arms crossed, you shifted to turn your body further toward him, brow raised in expectancy.

“I don’t do nicknames.” It was a short and simple answer and it simply wouldn’t do.

“You can’t just go by Munson, you need some kind of…some kind of earned name for some dumb shit you would do—or have done!” You snap your fingers at him, a smile playing at your lips and he swears he hasn’t seen that kind of smile directed his way in years. It’s enough to bring a flush of pink to his cheeks that he hopes is hidden by the darkness and won’t become evident under the street lights passing by.

“What, like running into the open road in the pitch black during the rain—at a bend in the road, might I add?”

“Well…don’t—don’t even pretend I’ve done even half of the dumb shit you’ve done!” That smile still pulls at your lips uncontrollably and he’s not sure if you’ve given up trying to hold it back or if you’re so beyond tired and delusional that you’ve forgotten who you were talking to. Either way this moment would be burned into his memory, even if it would be the last time you’d offer him the upturn of your lips, even if you were sleep deprived and not in your right mind.

You continue to ramble, searching your brain as he admires to the best of his ability while driving, eyes drifting from you to the road and back. “Like—like the raccoon thing! Yeah you’re Racoon Boy!”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Really? Racoon Boy? That’s the best you can come up with? Doesn’t really roll off the tongue like Roadkill.”

His criticism earned a glare from you but not the kind of glare he was so used to receiving from you. This one held some kind of spark if he lingered long enough, large eyes beaming at you if you cared to notice.

“Okay well, a raccoon becomes Roadkill, right?. If I’m Roadkill, you’re Roadkill.” You decide.

Eddie doesn’t know why he has butterflies, all he knows is that the way you incorporated him into the phrase is making his palms sweat, just like when he was sixteen. And the fact that you had even put his jacket on was something he never imagined in his wildest dreams. Nevertheless, he keeps his cool.

“And you think I’m gonna stand for being called Roadkill? You’re out of your mind. Try again.” His head shakes in disapproval.

“Oh please, would you rather be called Liar?” Just like that everything reverted back to the way it was, as it intended to be.

“Or Friend Fucker?”

He knew it was too good to be true, the way your eyes crinkled as you grinned just seconds ago, how you teetered on the brink of giggling as you attempted to conjure up a nickname for him, the sole fact that you were even trying to give him a nickname. It was all a facade put on to deliver a blow of karma that he rightfully deserved and though it may not have been a facade on your part, he knew somehow the puppet strings controlled by the universe created this moment to torture him. The air turned eerie, sour almost.

Disgusting.

He felt disgusting.

Because you didn’t know how wrong you were about him and yet he kept further providing reasons for you to keep believing it.

Suddenly he’s seventeen in the stairwell of the Harrington’s basement regretting every move made that night. And you were sixteen trying to make sense of it all, asking yourself, why?

And now you were still begging the question, why? Why did Steve have to ruin everything? Why was Eddie still causing destruction even now? After all, he played just as big of a part when you’d seen them both leaving the van, so why did you offer him the courtesy of bestowing a nickname upon him as if you were old friends? As if he hadn’t taken your heart, played with it, made it beat for him all those years ago only to take a dagger to it and leave you bleeding and devoid of the ability to beat for anyone else.

Your apartment came into view, an escape from the toxic atmosphere that you’d tricked yourself into breathing in, under the illusion of sleep deprivation and wounded feelings. This wasn’t some redemption arc for Eddie as you’d begun to imagine in your deliriousness, this was you caving in at a moment of fragility and venturing to the nearest soul in hopes to cling onto some of your sanity. But what you failed to realize in your misconception was that there was not one soul to sympathize with in your agony. As the van came to a stop, you dared to glance over once more. His eyes looked almost black, the absence of sunlight keeping every brown hue hidden in the shadows which only further fed into the idea that he was cold and heartless. And as you exhaled a final time into the void created between two opposing forces, you were hoping that would be the end of it, that he wouldn’t do as he normally did and fabricate a reason to fuel a never ending war. But then again you never had faith in him in the first place.

“I’ve told you. I’m not a liar.” His nostrils flared, ringed hand tightly gripping the steering wheel once again.

“You’re not a liar?”

“Did I stutter?”

“What do you call it then when someone withholds the truth from you? You’re saying that doesn’t make them a liar?”

Your name was muttered under his breath as if it were a curse. “Dammit! When will you just let it go!?” His face contorted in anger, brows furrowed in misery. “Why do you have to fucking hold on to this thing that happened ages ago!? I never once lied to you and you keep trying to throw it back in my face!”

“Never once lied to me, right.” You laughed, however there was no humor behind it.

“Do you know how many times we’ve had this argument? Do you ever think maybe I keep fighting back because you’re wrong?”

“Oh, I’m wrong!? Was I wrong when I caught you and Steve just now in the parking lot? Was I wrong about that too? Was it my imagination when you planted one on Steve? At least I’m not a fucking liar!” Tears welled up in your eyes and you’d never forgive yourself for it but it was inevitable, the anger demanded to be poured from your eyes.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it, I have never once lied to you.” He sucked back his lip as if trying to hold himself back, fist now clenched in his lap.

“Another lie!” You tried to stop them, oh how you tried but the tears began to trail down your cheeks one by one, sucking them back only did so much due to the overflow already gracing your waterline.

Eddie debated digging up the old box in his heart that he locked up and swore off forever, promising to never let another soul touch it. But he was Eddie and he didn’t know how to let others open him up, only knew how to push everything deeper until it was forgotten about and collecting dust. All he could do was what he did best. Shut down and push back. He regretted inheriting even a sliver of the temper his father held.

“Get out.” The demand was met with your wet eyes burning into him as he faced forward, gaze set straight ahead with no sign of meeting yours. His jaw clenched, you could see him swallow. Before you could offer any further comments, he caught you off guard. “Get out. Get the hell out.” His arm was suddenly reaching over you to open the door, his damp curls tickling your cheek briefly until he was scowling at you from the driver’s side once again. You remained sitting, not because you wanted to but because your brain simply refused to cooperate, leaving you staring dumbly at the floor of his van. “Well, I’m not lying this time am I!? Get out!”

The way his voice raised made you wince and you had that gnawing feeling settling in your stomach and your chest. Hands trembling, that random pang of anxiety began to take over and you wanted so badly to run and find some sense of comfort in your little apartment just upstairs but you were frozen. The energy of the confrontation just endured shocked your nervous system and though you’d argued with Eddie before many times, it had to have been the build up throughout the night, the betrayal you’d experienced only adding that much more strain. Everything was spiraling and it was as though a weight too heavy for anyone to carry was placed on your shoulders. And you were left to bear it alone.

Eddie stared expectantly, brow raised though he couldn’t catch your line of sight even if he tried, you were too in your head by this point and it seemed that the contents of the trashed floor was far more interesting however he was able to lower his head to catch the trace of fear—or maybe it wasn’t fear maybe it was loneliness topped off with uneasiness—either way he was able to detect it among your features and the way you were absent from the van, your mouth ajar and hands shaking in fists balled up at your sides. Maybe he’d gone too far? Or at least that was his initial conclusion but it didn’t make much sense seeing as you’d mouthed off to each other several times before and you’d both said things far worse. Whatever the case, he knew he’d be laying on his lumpy mattress tonight wondering what he could’ve done differently.

“Shit.” He mumbles while putting the van in park, undoing his seatbelt and inching the slightest bit closer to you. “You still with me?” It came out shakier than he’d intended, not really having the knowledge of what to do. Sure he knew what he’d need to do for himself for the most part if it were him but comforting others was not something he specialized in. Was it even comfort you needed? He didn’t know, but there was something wrong and your body language was telling him that you were stuck in some kind of a panic.

But before he could even make a decision on how to proceed, you’d snapped out of it right before his eyes, a wobbly breath escaping you before your eyes darted up to his wide ones. He was too close for your liking, and far too close for someone who had just yelled at you to get the hell out. It was frigid, the air from outside stinging your cheeks as the door remained open. In the blink of an eye you were gone, your feet carrying you up the cement stairs of the complex and away from him, his jacket still engulfing your frame, sleeves falling over your hands and slapping against your legs as you scurried. You hadn’t bothered to shut the door in your quick departure, raindrops finding their way onto the fabric of the seat and covering the interior. At the top of the stairs, he caught a glimpse of you momentarily with your head in your hands before you rounded the corner and disappeared. If he never saw his jacket again because it provided you with warmth, well he figured that would be just fine.

“If I’m Roadkill, you’re Roadkill.” He muttered with his eyes glued to the ceiling.

—

The Harrington House, December of Junior Year

“Munson, did you bring the stuff?”

“Yeah, what’re you looking to buy?”

“What? You brought everything?”

“Just about, what’s your poison?”

Eddie rummaged through the little black metal box full of various substances, naming each one aloud to the jock that had spotted him across the living room, the music bumping as he shouted over it. Was his name Ben? Brady? Eddie couldn’t recall and if he’s honest, he didn’t really care. The only time the guy acknowledged his existence was to buy from him at whatever party they happened to be at. This time it was Steve Harrington’s ugly Christmas sweater party, the second one in the making of an annual event. Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those nasty sweaters with bells and tinsel but he certainly had no problem with making money off of the spoiled rich kids who would pay out the ass to pop a pill and let loose for the night. And so he found himself lingering in the dark corner of the living room, awaiting those who would recognize him, giving them their fix in exchange for a fat stack of cash. They seemed pathetic in his eyes, all decorated in their multi patterned sweaters with all kinds of crap dangling off of them, fiending for a high as they kept their interaction with him as minimal as possible. It wasn’t his business though, his business was to sell and collect until his supply ran out and if he thought hard enough about it, both parties were doing the same song and dance of quick exchanges with not a smidge of regard for the other’s presence once the deal was done. That’s just how it was and he wasn’t going to complain so long as he got paid.

So he sold Ben–whatever his name was, a few grams of weed and some ecstasy. That guy would forget Eddie’s existence until the next party. That or until he wanted to buy some more weed from him at school. The guy was relatively mellow with Eddie when alone but once other senior jocks were in the equation they threw every name in the book at him and tried to make his life hell. Key word, tried. Eddie was tough and a few names were nothing, hell even the few times he’d been jumped by them in the school parking lot didn’t phase him. You learn to pick your battles when your dad is the antagonist of your life. That didn’t mean he didn’t lash out every now and then at them, cause he did. He just knew which fights were worth a black eye and bloody knuckles and which ones to surrender on, let them shove him around a little bit, maybe take a kick to the ribs and then move on. The less he struggled against them, the quicker they would get bored and call him a slur before marching off with their chests puffed out.

It was only nine, the night was still young and he had already made enough to sneak a good amount into his Uncle Wayne’s wallet with enough leftover to pay for the week’s groceries. He’d sooner just put the money into his own bank account and transfer it to Wayne’s but his old man was old fashioned and stuck mainly to cash. That cash would usually go toward utilities if Eddie already handled the groceries. By the end of the night he should have made enough of a profit to buy that new part for the van he was fixing up. He’d made a deal with the guy at the junkyard that if he could get it working and get it the hell off his lot that it was his. Sure it was an older model, a little rusty with a funky smell clinging to the interior but he could make anything work and he’d rather drive that than keep borrowing his uncle's pickup truck or hitch a ride with someone. It just wasn’t reliable and he had his own agenda though he’d never tell Wayne exactly what that agenda was. As far as he knew, Eddie was working odd jobs around town, repairing the neighbor’s sink, mowing lawns, fixing cars. It wasn’t a lie–it was just that according to Wayne it generated a suspiciously large income. Eddie always insisted his charm was a contributing factor and the moms up in the fancy neighborhoods would pay him extra for being ‘so sweet’. Which wasn’t a lie either. Those moms knew of his reputation but were reaching the point of their mid-life crisis and it seemed they were willing to do anything for a smidge of excitement while their boring husbands left for a business trip every other week. He never entertained them past telling them how wonderful they looked. But he would never admit outright to his uncle that he had been in contact with Rick who his dad had been involved with before going to prison. Now it seemed at only seventeen he was following the same path however it was to keep food on the table and the strain of all of the financials off of Wayne’s aching back. ‘This is different.’ He’d keep telling himself that but sometimes he’d look in the mirror and his father would be staring right back at him.

Becoming bored with the clientele of the living room corner, he made the decision to migrate to the hall just near the basement door. There was heavy foot traffic and a possibility that he could sell out the rest of his supply in minutes to those desperate enough for a good time. Leaning against the wall, he heard shouts from the basement, a beer pong game with high stakes no doubt. A younger kid, most definitely a freshman shuffled by with six unopened beers clinking together in his arms and without drawing any attention to himself, Eddie snatched the one that was just seconds away from toppling over onto the floor. It went unnoticed as the freshman continued down the hall toward the back door, a satisfying crisp snap filling his ears as he opened the stolen beer. As the fizzy ale met his lips, he was grateful it was cold with condensation collecting on the glass since the house was stuffy and hot despite the contrasting weather outside.

In about ten minutes he’d sold almost everything, people were drawn to him like a moth to flame, knowing he was the go to for anything good. It always sucked trying to get rid of the last of it, which made the night even longer since he just wanted to be done and leave. Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck and a dip in the Harrington’s pool seemed like heaven right about now even in the freezing cold snow. He was just about ready to give up and head down to the basement to start marketing his product to the rowdy football boys so he could get out of the muggy hallway when he caught someone’s gaze from the opposite end of the hall. The only person he really hoped to see at this dumb party and he was intuitive enough to know that she would show up due to her friendship with King Steve. Before he knew it she was making her way toward him, dodging other teenagers.

You kept your eyes on him throughout the several people in the way, reaching him being your only goal for the moment while Nancy and Robin–the new girl with the pretty blue eyes and freckles–rolled their eyes at your gawking and patiently waited while you wandered away. It was loud but you tuned out everything as you took in his curls, longer than they were last year when you’d first noticed him. He still seemed to be growing it out, brunette locks now covering his ears and a few hanging in his eyes as he bowed his head but still kept his focus on you. You’d seen him just last week at school but you were only now noticing the progress on his hair growth, usually too enamored in his molasses pools of eyes. He wore his standard getup, a black leather jacket, black jeans with a few holes, and some black boots. Maybe it was the single shot you’d taken with Nancy and Robin back in the kitchen but he was looking especially handsome and you feared your heart was going to leap out of your chest right in front of him.

“Thought you swore off parties.” You shouted over the bass vibrating the house.

Shaking the little metal box he held at you, you understood that he was ‘working’.

“Parties are my biggest sellers so I couldn’t really keep my word on that one.”

“Fair enough.” You leaned your shoulder against the same wall he leaned his back on, turned toward him with all of your attention solely on him right now.

“Was just about to get outta here though. I got roughly enough for one last sale, just need to find someone to bite.” Taking a swig of his beer, he glanced around for any takers but still found no success.

“Well, what do you have?” Your innocent eyes stared up at him, your ridiculous Christmas sweater being the only one he actually liked out of the hundreds he had seen that night.

“I don’t sell to children.” He teases. You were only a year younger after all.

“I am not a child! You’re a year older, c’mon! What do you have?” You whined, bouncing on your toes.

“No way, sweetheart. I have the right to refuse service and I’m refusing yours.” A smirk graced his lips as he turned his body toward you, mirroring your stance as you each leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“Munson-”

“Nope, closed for business.” Tucking the little metal box under his leather jacket as if to hide it from your view, you playfully shoved at his shoulder.

“I guess I’ll just have to get my weed from some other sketchy guy.” You sighed dramatically.

“Whoa whoa, are you calling me sketchy? I’ll have you know I am probably the least sketchy drug dealer you could hope for.” He showed fake offense in the knitting of his brows and a hand thrown over his chest.

“I dunno, that sounds like something a sketchy drug dealer would say.”

His eyes squinted at you in thought and he was definitely not going to sell you drugs however he could extend you an offer.

“How about…I keep a joint with your name on it on supply and you come get me when you wanna smoke?”

Before you were able to answer, a group of jocks came tumbling into the hallway, one of them bumping into you particularly hard in his drunken state. Eddie had already intervened before you could tell him that it was okay and that you were sure it was an accident.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

His hand shoved the muscular guy back with no problem and had that guy not been completely wasted, a fight would’ve broken out but it seemed he couldn't register what was going on as he began roughhousing with one of his friends once again, thankfully making their way into the basement.

“I-uh-how–how much?” You stuttered, ignoring the interruption.

His plush lips tightened before his tongue darted out, one of his nervous habits.

“Share it with me and we’ll call it good.” Your heart fluttered, face heating.

It was flirting. It was in your face, outright, one hundred percent flirting and yet you couldn’t let yourself believe it. He was just being friendly. Because boys didn’t like you like that, they never have and they probably never will. Especially the one in front of you who everyone warned you against associating yourself with. It never stopped you from talking with him in the classes you shared or waving to him in the halls, him always returning the favor. Your experiences clearly indicated that he wasn’t always rough around the edges like everyone said, he was actually a sweetheart with a lot of nerdy tendencies. At least that's what you learned from your shared time at school. There were select occasions outside of school such as previous parties where he’d sell that you would approach him with a shy smile and he would be as charming as always. And there were times where he led you to think that maybe, just maybe he liked you as much as you liked him. But you’d never act on it, having never even had a boyfriend before so what experience was there to guide you? He was one of the only boys to offer you that kind of attention but it was never expected of you to cross a boundary and he let you take the lead, accounting for your bashfulness and fully realizing that he couldn’t just hook up with you and leave it at that. Because there was something else there and he didn’t want to ruin whatever it was.

“Well, I have to pay. Seriously, how much?”

His arm was braced against the wall as he leaned toward you, breath fanning over your cheek, you didn’t even mind the smell of beer filling your nose.

“Your money’s no good here.” His dimples had you hypnotized.

“That’s not fair.” You breathed, your eyes sparkling while looking up at him.

“No?”

“No.”

“Alright Munson, quit hitting on my friend. You got any weed left or are you done here?”

Steve Harrington was going to get a mouthful from you later.

–

Present Day

You’d never existed in that van if anyone were to ask, not that they would. It had been the shittiest night you’d experienced in a good while. The worst part of it all was that you couldn’t even call Robin or Steve to rant to them about how shitty of a night it was because they were part of the reason. Loneliness was the most debilitating illness and it was conquering you from the inside out. Sure you could probably confide in Jonathan but your brain was screaming at you to suffer alone. No one else needed to be bothered by your whining when they had their own lives to live. This was now between you and yourself.

Living in a small town had never been such an issue. Working in the same coffee shop as your best friends as well as your biggest enemy was proving to be a stupid idea but you were in no position to change jobs, not when you could barely make rent and no other jobs would have the flexibility to keep you around with your class schedule. Plus no one was even hiring, they’d already secured their seasonal hires. So back to the drawing board you went. No more arriving at work early, minimizing the chance of interaction with Steve and Robin and keeping to yourself your entire shift as a means to tune Eddie out no matter how hard he would try and press your buttons. It was going to be hell but what other option did you have at this point in time? There was always the choice to drop out of college but then that’d be a waste of a scholarship you’d received based on your low income in combination with a well written essay your senior year. Senior year you would punch you in the face if you dropped out all because of the poorly thought out actions of others. All that hard work down the drain for a couple of dumbasses? Absolutely not.

No. You were not going to alter your life just because of them. Although it felt you were being somewhat dramatic, you weren’t going to let this go. It was as if they’d isolated you and laughed about it behind your back. Left you in the dark and giggled to each other about how pathetic you were. No one should ever have to endure this pain, especially not at the hands of the people who you’d thought mattered to you most but seemingly proved that they were just like everyone else. You figured you still had the kids but then quickly remembered whose house they mainly hung out at and it left you defeated. At least you could always stop in at the Byers, that much you knew. Even so, you didn’t want to bother them with the sudden friendship politics, it seemed childish on your part and Will definitely didn’t need to hear you complain about the other two people he looked up to. That was not a road you were willing to go down, he’d had enough of seeing adults bicker to last several lifetimes and you already vowed to shield him from any more of it.

That night was honestly even more awful the second your back hit your shitty mattress. Sobs racked your body and it was nearly enough to make you throw up. Nearly. You held it down but still dry heaved, curled up in a ball like a loser while everyone else seemed fine. The cherry on top was the way Eddie clawed at old wounds, your guts may as well have left a bloody trail from the street where he dropped you off all the way up the stairs to your apartment. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the fact that he yelled at you to get out of his van that was inducing the vomit rising in the back of your throat. It certainly contributed but what brought the taste of bile to your tongue was the way that you’d bantered for a split second just like in high school—when there was a chance. When you were naive and sadly mistaken. A love sick puppy for a boy who had only misled you and mistreated you. You suppose some of the blame could’ve been on you, letting yourself fall harder and harder each time you’d seen his contagious smile in the halls and in class. You know how they say some people peak in high school? Well you could say that you hit rock bottom which to be honest, felt far more embarrassing than peaking. All because of a stupid boy.

Was this really what you’d become? A sorry excuse of a woman muffling sobs into your pillow over some mistakenly split open feelings for a boy—now a man still taunting your everyday life? Why did he have this power over you all of the sudden? For the past few years you had felt nothing but disgust for him and now it felt like you were dealing with the heartbreak all over again, as if that night happened just hours ago.

And Steve had practically spit on the heartbreak that he’d witnessed before his eyes. That he’d helped nurse you through, drying your tears with countless tissues, lending his shoulder to cry on. That version of him was flushed down the drain the minute he stepped out of that damn van. Where you used to see kind and caring brown eyes with that sympathetic wrinkle in the middle of his eyebrows, you now saw betrayal in human form.

—

The smudged mirror of the public bathroom in Hawkins Community did little to enhance any beauty you may have held at some point. It only added to your dark under eyes, hues of purple beneath the skin along with a puffy redness from non stop crying. To sum it up, you looked swollen and you were sorry to anyone that had to witness the sight. The cool water you splashed on your face from the sputtering faucet didn’t do as much as the internet said it would. If anything you only looked worse but now your nerves were shocked from the temperature change. You had to get over yourself eventually, just suck it up and go to work.

With one last wipe of a gritty paper towel, your nose raw from constantly wiping snot away, you gave up the pity party and forced yourself out of the depressing, poorly lit bathroom. A push of the germy door with your shoulder has you moving on to brave the rest of the day—the hard part of the day. The part that you’d dreaded and played out in your mind like a projector on a screen. Every scenario laid out before you like a deck of cards and so unsure of which one would become your fate.

The sky looked an eerie gray, more rain expected to accompany that morning's light drizzle, casting the hallways in a darker light than they usually led on. It was beyond you that you kept leaving your umbrella at home when rain was almost always on the forecast these days. You suppose the sky reflected your mood and that was fair enough.

Stepping outside as the metal door slammed shut behind you, your skin erupted in goosebumps, wind swirling in your hair as mother nature declared its fury in thunderous echoes in the sky. It was only a fifteen minute walk, just endure the unusually strong winds and keep on, that’s what you told yourself. Things can’t get any shittier, they just can’t.

—

Slowly The Under-Ground came into view as did the downtown square where not one person lingered due to the weather. Each bench was devoid of its regular users and it seemed like a ghost town more than anything. The faint smell of chimney smoke crossed your senses and it only made you wish you’d be able to just cozy up next to a fire and forget this cursed timeline you were in. You could just imagine the families in their homes just a few blocks over, probably preparing for dinner in their well manicured kitchens while their kids enjoyed the warmth of the fireplace and watched a wholesome movie. What you’d give to be in their position again. Young and free of responsibility.

Fat rain drops began to paint the pavement and you thanked whatever higher power that it had waited until you arrived at work to unleash the beginnings of what seemed to be a storm. You now only bargained with Mother Nature that it would be kind enough to let up by the time your shift ended. The Fall rain seemed to be treating Hawkins extra cruelly this year.

You’d scurried as fast as you could to the front French doors of the shop, swinging one open as the bell chimes above and a blanket of warmth cocoons you, allowing you to take in the rich, chocolatey smell of a recently warmed brownie mixed with notes of espresso. It was 4:55 PM, just five minutes shy of when your shift was supposed to start, aiming to keep it as close as possible to avoid Steve and Robin the best you could.

There wasn’t a single customer in sight, a brief whiff of bleach filling your nose as you walked by a ‘Caution Wet’ sign propped in the middle of the floor. You didn’t even give whoever was behind the counter so much as a glance as you kept your focus on the floor, making your way toward the back to hopefully avoid everyone so you could set your things in your locker and prepare yourself for your shift. The typical jazzy music played over the speakers and you could just barely hear a whisper of what had to be Robin’s voice directed at Steve. Something along the lines of ‘fix it, right now’. If she was referencing what you suspected, she was naive to think that Steve could just ‘fix it’ right here right now. In your eyes she was practically telling him to slap a band-aid onto a bloody gash that would actually require a severe amount of stitches.

Your gaze remained glued to the dark tiled floor, the grout interesting you more than the hushed conversation between two traitors. The hope was to ignore any and all attempts to make amends at this point in time on Steve’s part. And to dodge any reasoning Robin tried to sprinkle on top. But hopes are often lost and before you could reach the back, Steve’s scuffed Adidas forced their way into your line of sight. Your name fell from his tongue like an apology that you were far from accepting.

“Listen, can we-can we talk?” He sounded as if he was begging for his life and you were too mad to look into his eyes to further read him.

All you offered was a scoff as you tried to push past him however he stood in your way, a bold move for someone on such thin ice.

“Please?” His head ducked down in an effort to meet your eyes, succeeding for a mere second where you caught that stupid sympathetic wrinkle in between his eyebrows and his apologetic stare. It didn’t work this time.

“Move.” You were stern as you bit your lip to keep from showing any kind of emotion.

“We have to talk about it—“

“We don’t have to talk about anything.” You snapped bitterly.

Robin seemed to understand to keep her mouth shut in this instance, she knew this wasn’t some dumb disagreement that you’d end up laughing about at the end of the day. This was grounds for a possible severed bond. So there she stood, wide eyed as she pretended to clean the already sparkling countertop, blue polish chipping from her nails as she gripped the rag with apprehension.

And Steve seemed to know his place as he stepped aside, comprehending that he would not make much progress with you right now and that you may not even forgive him ever. It terrified him but what could he do? He fucked up and he was suffering the damages, a far greater loss than his selfish needs were worth. Respecting your boundaries was the most he could do right now and it gutted him from the inside out.

You were lucky that only a single tear escaped and trailed down your cheek, your skilled ability to not cry in public proving very useful in the moment. Wiping it away with dignity, you proceeded to the back room, only wishing to have a minute alone to recover before having to put on a facade. Your locker was your only target but you’d fumbled as your mind worked quicker than your legs, bag flying off of your shoulder and spilling out a tube of mascara, a half eaten bag of chips, and a few papers from an assignment you’d tried to work on last night to take your mind away from the endless sobbing. It felt as though the dark clouds outside were following you and wreaking more havoc than could handle. Quickly, you scooped up each item and shoved them back in your bag, a few curses uttered under your breath and when you were about to push yourself up off the sticky ground, you were met with a pair of abyss-like brown eyes.

He was tying his decked out apron around his waist, looking down at you with concern. You hadn’t even seen him upon first walking in, his presence residing in the corner of the room where it seemed he placed his helmet on the window sill farthest from the door. He was early. And he was never early. Without a word between you, his hands were up in surrender as he spun back around towards the window, back facing you as he pulled a pen from the apron and seemed to scribble on something. The interaction seemed strange as he didn’t offer some insult about how clumsy you were. And you didn’t snap at him the moment he laid eyes on you.

Seeing him still made you beyond upset but the tension in the air carried something far more complicated that you couldn’t distinguish. So you left it, swinging open your locker and snatching your apron before shoving your bag inside, the metal clanking noisily as you did. A breeze brushed past you while you secured your apron to your satisfaction and when you finally glanced behind you, Eddie was no longer in the room.

Patting at your pockets dumbly for your phone before departing out to the front, you were having trouble locating the device. You double checked your bag but no success, even feeling around the inside of the locker just in case. It wasn’t until you turned around that you realized you must have abandoned it on the foldable break room table in your uncoordinated walk earlier. And there it was sitting atop the table—with a steaming to-go cup next to it? Surely that wasn’t there before, you would have definitely knocked it over with how close it was to your phone and how ungraceful you were in your movements. You were starting to question how insane you were going with everything swirling around in your brain since last night, did you make yourself a coffee in the midst of Steve trying to coax you into a conversation? That must have been it.

Except as you further inspected, there was some kind of writing on the side of the cup. Scribbled in black sharpie was a single word. And realization hits you like a train when you read it.

“Roadkill”

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #st fic #eddie fic #eddie munson series #eddie munson fics #the under-ground

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stevesxyellowxsweater · 2 years ago

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Stay

PAIRING: Jim Hopper x gn!reader WC: 1200+ CW: MINORS DON'T INTERACT!! Swearing, jealousy, implied sex, reader is an fbi agent, unedited work. SUMMARY: You're sent to Hawkins to find out about the disappearance of Barbara Holland and Will Byers' death and resurrection. You find yourself hitting it off with the police chief, but it seems he's only interested in a one time thing. AUTHOR NOTES: This is just a simple bit of fluffy angst that I've been thinking about, it's unedited so please ignore mistakes. First time writing Hopper so enjoy.

Jim Hopper was a stubborn guy, it was a fact you knew all too well from the moment you became friends with the guy. You'd been in town looking into what had been happening with these disappearances and Jesus like comeback of Will Byers. The FBI had become very interested and sent you to investigate. Hawkins wasn't somewhere you'd expected to be, yet you found yourself there.

You'd sat in Hopper's office, the pair of you trying to be more stubborn than the other. You refusing to believe his answers and him trying hard to dodge your questions or giving you a pack of lies. He'd finally given up and sighed.

“We've been at this all day, can I buy you a beer?”

“That's the smartest thing you've said all day.”

That was how the friendship started, you sat in the bar together that night discussing your love for old westerns. Talking about his divorce and about your separation from your high school sweetheart, you discussed law enforcement, and when the night came to an end you both ended up in your hotel room making the beast with two backs.

Of course your supervisor was less than happy when you called the next day to report that you learnt nothing. Orders to stay there till you did were made very clearly and you found yourself stuck in Hawkins trying to interview everyone that seemed to be connected to Will Byers and Barbra Holland.

Since that night with Jim though, he became increasingly distant, always making up excuses so you couldn't talk to him, always saying he had things to do.

He'd been dodging you for nearly a week when you discovered that the reason he was blowing you off constantly was because of Joyce Byers, you couldn't help but feel a twang of jealousy each and every time you heard her name, or saw her.

They were close, maybe closer than close. All you knew was that you and Hopper were now one and done. Especially while Joyce was around.

You began to become frustrated, all the time you found yourself stuck in this stupid town, wanting to go back home. Whenever you went into Melvald’s and Hopper was there talking to Joyce you became increasingly irritated and eventually started to ignore them. Throwing down your stuff, paying for it without a word and leaving.

It had been about four times that you'd done this when Hopper finally had enough and came out after you.

“Don't you think you're being a little childish?”

“Oh I'm being childish am I? Says the guy who has been avoiding me for nearly two months. I've been stuck here, which is your fault by the way!”

“How exactly is it my fault that you keep reaching dead ends?”

“Because you won't talk to me! I need to finish my damn interview with you, but you're acting as if I'm going to jump on you if we do!”

“I've been busy.”

“So I noticed Jim.”

There was a bitterness to your tone as you looked at him, unimpressed and unhappy.

“Tomorrow, I will be at your office first thing so I can get this shit over with and leave this Damn town!”

“Fine!”

You stared at each other for a moment before storming away in different directions. Joyce stood inside the shop smirking as she watched you two.

“What was that about?”

Bob asked, stepping inside and looking at Joyce.

“Young love.”

Everything over the last two months had brought you to this moment, standing outside his cabin. You'd walked into the office bright and early to find he wasn't coming in today. Anger and annoyance bubbled inside you. You stormed out, got in your car and drove to his place.

“Hopper!”

You'd wanted to be calm and collected, but the moment your knuckles touched the door you banged loudly and angrily.

“Open the damn door now!”

You yelled through the wooden door.

“I know you're in there, this isn't funny. Open up now!”

The door opened and you stormed inside, you didn't even bother to look at him.

“It's one thing keeping whatever happened here a secret. But keeping me here when you know I can't leave without some sort of report from you isn't fair!”

You turned to look at him, his nose was red, his eyes glassy, and he had some sort of ugly blanket wrapped around his body keeping his chest warm.

“Your sick.”

“That right there is why you're in the FBI, so smart.”

His voice was croaky and dripping with sarcasm, you couldn't help but find it hot even though he was very sick.

“Can you get out, I'll give you a report when I'm better.”

The door slammed practically in your face as he ushered you out, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you stood there.

You couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered every time you were near him, couldn't deny that you enjoyed his scent, or the way he made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Damn you Hopper.”

You left, only to come back armed with cold and flu medicines, vapor rub, soup, and a few other things to make him feel better. The look on his face had been a picture, shock and confusion as you pushed inside and placed down the cold and flu tabs. The Vapour rub, and everything else.

“Take those, I'll get you some soup.”

He stared for a minute or two, before he did as he was told. It had been a long time since Jim had been looked after when he was sick. Every single stubborn bone inside told him to tell you to go, but as he watched you he couldn't deny how badly he was enjoying watching you in his kitchen.

Placing down the soup as well as some fresh bread, you looked at him and smiled.

“You should eat up and then you should rest.”

There was an awkward air between the two of you as you stood there, he sat up and nodded only letting out a grunt before tucking into the soup.

“Feel better Jim.”

Picking up your bag, you headed toward the door.

“Stay.”

His word caught you off guard, you froze too scared to look at him. He was busy slurping soup and you couldn't help but think you had imagined it. Shaking your head, you carried on walking.

“I said stay.”

It was clearer that time, so much so. Your heart fluttered as you turned to look at him.

“Why?”

Hopper took a breath, getting up he hunted around and found a piece of paper.

“Because I like you, and I don't want you to leave Hawkins.”

Walking over you took the piece of paper, you looked at the scribbled messages of him trying to explain how he felt and smiled.

“Joyce has been helping me to try and figure out how to tell you.”

“It's been two months, Hop.”

“I know, I'm a coward.” He said softly as he looked at you.

“You should eat your soup.”

“You should respond to my question.”

“It was more of a demand, Jim. Besides it took you two months to tell me, I'm sure I at least get till you finish your soup.”

Hopper smiled and sat back down, he looked at you and patted the chair beside him. You couldn't help but smile and dropped your bag on the floor and walked over to sit down.

Once he'd finished his soup, he fell asleep. You kept yourself busy until he woke up and told you he was feeling better. But that didn't mean he got out of bed, simply that you joined him.

#Jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #gn reader x Jim hopper #Jim hopper x gn reader #Jim hopper drabble #Jim hopper one shot #Jim hopper imagine #Stranger things fanfic #hopper x reader

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gigizsn · 11 months ago

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deaths explained + time travelling kids au

so, when achilles crane-cardew, plutarch heavensbee, aelia ravinstill and athena creed are fourteen, all their parents die.

after their parents’ death, the kids were extremely distraught and were full of grief (athena more so than the others).

and when they’re eighteen, they finally find out how and who killed their parents. they’re all revengeful when they find out it was the same person that killed their parents. coriolanus snow.

here’s how they died

felix and clemensia were killed in a car accident. festus and persephone died due to food poisoning. hilarius and vipsania had a posca overdose. livia and arachne both had a sudden cardiac arrest.

felix and clemensia had been the first couple to die. they were both on the way home to their fourteen-year-old daughter from a social event. then, they got into a mysterious car accident. all the cctv footages of the car accident were gone. they all mysteriously disappeared. no one was able to figure it out until their own daughter, aelia ravinstill did the day she turned eighteen.

festus and persephone had passed a week after felix and clemensia. similarly, they were both in an event. coriolanus offered them food, and they both simply started choking and death came for them. the cctv cameras were broken that night. later when flavius was sixteen, he’d then take his own life. athena was the only price-creed left.

(help i lowkey do not know how to explain livia & arachne’s and hilarius & vipsania’s…like it just happened. or maybe that’s what coriolanus said what happened…who knows?)

time travelling kids au (scenario one)

in this au, the kids create a time travelling machine with the help of io jasper and urban canville’s son: albert canville (much to aelia’s dismay). they’re not technically sure about this whole time travelling thing, but they decided it’s the only way they could get their parents back and make sure coriolanus doesn’t end up a total prick like he is now.

they test out the time travelling machine, and the group of four actually did it. albert canville actually did it. they were now in the beginning of their parents’ senior year.

since they were wearing the academy uniform, professor demigloss/dean highbottom thinks they’re new students and tells them to go to the orientation. the four of them see each of their parents there + coriolanus and they just panic.

this is the first time they’ve seen their parents & co. in four years and when professor demigloss tells them to introduce themselves, all four of them would go like: “uh, um, well” for a few moments until arachne raises an eyebrow and give them that look.

they just make fake last names similar (in a way?) to their actual last names. so now, they’re achilles byrd-shaw, athena cress, aelia heron, and plutarch whimslou. (i actually do not know.)

coriolanus is suspicious of them immediately. when he asked them “why did you guys just enroll in the academy when we’re about to graduate?” and “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you around before?”, but they always dodge the topic somehow.

they’re a few days in and then all of a sudden, albert canville and june ruby snow show up. though, this one was by accident due to june ruby accidentally stumbling across the time travel machine and albert just tries to hide it, and they hit the button by accident.

them being there creates more chaos and albert and aelia get into an argument in front of everybody and they’re all like: hey, they remind me of felix and urban?

and to top it all off, albert literally says: “well, at least coriolanus snow didn’t murder my parents!” in front of coriolanus snow himself.

everyone is just shocked.

the kids explain everything to them- except for the part whrre they’re some of their children.

coriolanus is now terrified and doesn’t murder his friends in the future.

everyone’s happy and well in the future and june ruby still exists!

i was going to add scenario two in here but the post was already long enough (also, i haven’t thought fully about scenario two at all😭), so it’ll be in another post coming soon!

#tbosas #vipsania sickle #felix ravinstill #festus creed #hilarius heavensbee #livia cardew #clemensia dovecote #persephone price #arachne crane #coriolanus snow #oc: june ruby snow #oc: aelia ravinstill #oc: achilles crane cardew #oc: athena creed #plutarch heavensbee #thg #au #headcanons #this took me hours lol

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eyeslikewatercoolers · 2 years ago

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Four Halloweens-Sashnetra

Happy spooky season! Set in the Wedding Planner AU, here's four Halloween-themed drabbles in different points in Sasha's life.

Thank you to @kitty-padilla for betaing ❤️

Featuring Beyoncé, Shark Tale, Pregnetra, and the search for the bestest pumpkin ever.

read on ao3

Sasha age 19, Halloween

This was Sasha’s first Halloween as herself, so she had to make it count this year.

Actually, this was her first Halloween ever, but that was beside the point.

Sasha’s been waiting nearly her whole life to wear a costume that she felt like Sasha in, so this would be a big moment for her.

Except that she had no idea what she wanted to be for Halloween. Or where she would wear said costume.

It took several weeks to scrounge up enough money to cover a costume. She took out some of the money she earned from her (very small) wedding photography side business.

But Sasha will worry about that later. First, she needed to scope out the local Spirit Halloween store and see their options.

Walking through the women’s section, Sasha wasn’t too impressed by the choices. Cheerleader, Disney princesses, and an entire wall of random skimpy costumes. She wouldn’t be opposed to wearing these specific costumes, if she was a little bit further into her transition and was happier with her body.

Sasha walked out of the store empty-handed and disappointed. As she turned on her old clunker of a car, the radio came to life with the top 40 station she always kept on. Upon listening to Beyoncé on the stereo system, she knew immediately what her costume would be.

Know that I can't get over you 'Cause everything I see is you And I don't want no substitute Baby I swear it's Déjà Vu

Sasha pulled into the nearest Goodwill and excitedly walked inside. She immediately went straight to the women’s section, dodging any older women who gave her a look for interrupting their shopping.

She searched through all the options on the rack and instantly gravitated to a shimmering silver dress. It’ll be some work for her, but it was the perfect option.

A blonde woman around her age looked at the dress from where she stood at the other end of the rack.

“That’s a real pretty one you found.” she said, with a deep Southern twang to her voice. “It’ll make you feel amazing, I promise.” She lowered her voice for only Sasha to hear.

This girl was just like her. Her hair was growing past her shoulders, and her makeup brought the feminine features out of her face.

“It’s gorgeous, but I’m using it for my Halloween costume,” Sasha explained. “But maybe I’ll try it on first, just to see it for myself.” She and the girl shared a knowing smile.

“It was nice to meet you, I’m Kylie.” The blonde said after they both checked out.

“Sasha.” She smiled brightly at her new friend.

After several days of cutting the dress and hand-sewing it back together, Sasha made it into a top and short skirt. She curled her hair into tight spirals and put on her outfit in an excited rush. When she looked at herself in the full-length mirror, a wide grin never left her face.

Sasha grabbed her camera from its case and started snapping pictures of her poses in the mirror. She had nowhere to wear this outfit, but she did not care if no one saw her right now.

Maybe one day she’ll have someone to share the holiday with, but for right now, this Halloween was all for herself.

Sasha age 27, Halloween

“What are you wearing?”

“No, what are you wearing?”

This was Sasha’s first Halloween together with her girlfriend, so they planned to wear matching couple’s costumes. But with whatever Anetra was wearing? Sasha was left very confused.

“You said you were going to be Lola for Halloween. Both you and Marcia told me about it!” Sasha said, crossing her arms.

“I am Lola,” Anetra said as she showed off her long white, flowy dress with thin red lines running horizontally over it. “That’s her name, isn’t it?”

“Baby, nobody calls her by her name. Everyone calls her the sexy fish from Shark Tale!” Sasha said with a playful smile. She knew Anetra grew up very sheltered and only started watching non-Christian movies soon before they started dating.

But she didn’t think Anetra was this out of touch with her generation.

“Oh,” Anetra said, eyes slightly downcast. “Is that why you chose that costume?” she asked.

Sasha nodded. “I assumed you meant Lola Bunny. So I wanted to surprise you with a Jessica Rabbit.” she gestured to the red, sparkly gown that she and Kylie worked on together making for the past week.

“We should have talked a bit more about this, huh?” Anetra said as she crossed her arms, slightly closing herself off.

Sasha nodded, “It’s too late for us to find a second option too.”

She and Anetra have only been together for six months, so their communication wasn’t perfect just yet. They were still in the very beginning of this relationship, and this was just a small roadblock for them.

Sasha reached out to hold Anetra’s hand, “It’ll be okay, maybe it’s going to be like a little inside joke for us?” she offered as the front door to her apartment opened, letting in Luxx and Marcia.

“Look at our Shark Tale group! We are so winning the costume contest,” Luxx said before their eyes landed on Sasha.

Silence fell between all four of them. Luxx was dressed in a fitted and bedazzled blue and yellow tracksuit, and Marcia wore a hooded shark-themed mini-dress.

Anetra spoke up, “At least you’ll be the hottest Jessica Rabbit there," she said as an offering to Sasha.

“Next year we’ll be sexy M&M’s. Easy, simple, and no confusion,” Sasha said as she grabbed her purse, ready to go to the party.

Sasha age 34, Halloween

Pulling her car into the garage next to Anetra’s (tarp-covered) motorcycle, Sasha felt mentally exhausted. For the autumn being the off-season for weddings, she had just put a busy day at the bridal shop behind her.

She met with several winter (and some Valentine’s Day) brides, helped with alterations while Loosey was out sick, and oversaw a Halloween-themed ceremony and reception.

She was mentally and physically exhausted, but it was a Friday and Halloween night. Kerri was going to a classmate’s party, and then spending the night with Jasmine.

Sasha looked forward to having a quiet night in with her wife as they would set up a bowl of candy outside, letting trick-or-treaters help themselves.

Tonight would be one of the last nights they’d have alone until their baby arrived in a couple more weeks. Both of them were needing a quiet and relaxing night before life with a newborn took over.

After putting her purse on the hook and placing her shoes under the bench in the mud room, Sasha followed a pair of voices down the hall toward her daughter’s bedroom.

Except the hallway bathroom with the light still on caused her a quick detour. She was about to feel for the light switch but looked in shock at the state of the bathroom.

Orange paint was in almost every spot. It was in streaks around the sink, the toilet, and some on the floor. Some of it was mixed with green paint and some with brown. Upon closer inspection, the paint looked like it was from a face paint kit.

“What’s with all the paint in the bathroom?” Sasha stood in the doorway to Kerri’s bedroom, looking at the two teenagers sitting on the bed, cross-legged.

“One second, Mama. We’re doing eye makeup here.” Kerri said without turning around, holding an eyeliner pencil to Jasmine’s eye.

While she waited, Sasha walked closer to the room. Makeup was scattered around the bed, but none of it looked like face paint. Their costumes were hung against the closet door, as the two were still in their clothes from school.

When Kerri finished, she looked at her mother, “We haven’t been using paint today, so I have no idea where it came from,” She shrugged as she looked at her lip glosses.

Sasha sighed, realizing that this was the not-as-easy part of being the parent of a teenager. “So neither of you know why there’s orange paint all over the bathroom?”

Both teenagers shook their heads, “We’ve been in Kerri’s room since we got back from school,” Jasmine added.

“I’ll just ask your mom then if she knows,” Sasha said as she walked back to the doorway, before turning back. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I think I heard her and Marcia go to the backyard a while ago.” Kerri said before picking up a small bottle of setting spray, turning her attention back to Jasmine, “Now, close your eyes and hold still.”

Several minutes later, Sasha opened the French doors to the backyard and saw Marcia and Anetra sitting in the still-green grass. Marcia sat directly in front of Anetra, while Anetra was facing away from Sasha’s view.

“One last line and...” Marcia said with a face of concentration. “…done!” she said, holding up a paintbrush with orange paint on it.

“Is that why the bathroom is covered in face paint?” Sasha asked, and the two turned to look at her. Despite the mess, she couldn’t help but smile at the two.

“Sash! Look what Marcia made!” Anetra looked at her excitedly, trying to carefully move herself around to show her rounded bump to her wife. Painted on her outstretched skin was a detailed pumpkin with a brown stem and green leaves on the outer edges.

“It looks nice, but why?”

“I know we agreed on no costumes this year, but I’ve been so bored waiting for this baby to come. We found this kit when we went shopping today and decided to put it to use.” Anetra smiled as she looked at the painting on her round belly, still holding up her shirt.

“I’ll go get my phone so we can take pictures!” Marcia jumped up and started walking back into the house.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” Sasha asked her.

Marcia turned around to see Anetra struggling to get off the ground, trying to maneuver her pregnant belly into a place where she could stand up. Sasha helped Marcia by grabbing one of Anetra’s hands and pulling her up to stand.

The bathroom could wait until later to be cleaned. For now, she might as well join in on the Halloween fun.

Sasha age 37, (a few days before) Halloween

“What about this one?”

“Too big.”

“This one?”

“Too lumpy.”

“How about this one here?”

“'Netra, I think that one is a gourd.”

“Oh.”

Sasha watched her wife’s face fall slightly as she placed the round gourd back on the ground. Feeling slightly bad for correcting her, Sasha placed a peck on Anetra’s cheek when their daughter wasn’t looking.

“It’s not your fault that toddlers are so picky.” Sasha pointed out as they continued to search through the pumpkin field. They had meant to spend the whole day doing different activities at the local farm that held a seasonal pumpkin patch, but they’d been stuck looking for ‘The bestest pumpkin ever.’

“It doesn’t help that she’s a little perfectionist like her Momma.” Anetra retorted, giving Sasha a pointed look.

Sasha knew that her wife was right. Their daughter always colored inside the lines, hated her food touching and had to have her toys sitting from biggest to smallest. Delia might look like the mini version of Anetra, but Sasha really rubbed off on her personality.

They watched as Delia carefully examined the pumpkins. The rest of the guests at the pumpkin patch slowly left to get on the hay rides back to the front of the farm.

“I’ll go talk to her, and you go get us a good spot on the next hay ride,” Sasha told her wife as they parted ways.

Sasha kneeled in front of the pumpkin that Delia just moved onto, and carefully rolled it out of the way.

“I can’t find the bestest pumpkin.” The toddler looked at her, worry growing in her eyes.

Sasha held her hands out with the palms up, inviting Delia to hold hands with her. Smaller hands were enveloped by larger ones, and Delia had her full attention.

“I’m sorry, Dee, but the pumpkins aren’t grown to be perfect.”

“They aren’t?”

Sasha shook her head, “Nope. Pumpkins are like people. A lot of us aren’t born with what we like about ourselves, but we can change things to make us happy. Like how we carve pumpkins to give them smiles.”

“What do you mean, Momma?” Delia asked.

Sasha and Anetra weren’t ready to dive fully into explaining everything about trans people to their toddler, but luckily she hasn’t asked yet. They’ve collected some advice from other trans parents, so they were prepared when the time came.

Sasha looked over at Anetra standing at the front of the trailer, waiting for the hay ride to start. Then she got the perfect idea for an explanation.

“You know how Mommy has red hair and we have brown hair?” Sasha asked, to which Delia nodded.

“She actually was born with brown hair like us. But she realized that she is happier with red hair, so she keeps it that color.”

“Mommy’s hair isn’t really red?” Delia looked back at her in shock.

“Nope, but don’t tell her I told you.” Sasha playfully tapped Delia’s nose as she stood back up. “Now let’s find a pumpkin that we can make the bestest.”

The pumpkin they found had a too-short stem and leaned when sat upright, but they later cut and carved it into the bestest jack-o-lantern just for them.

#sashnetra #wedding planner au #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr s15 #my fics #my writing

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