#I’m finally almost done with this hell of a damn chapter

[uefb]

I love the Goldstein sisters 😭

[stevie-petey]

episode five: the flea and the acrobat

“Steve, what-” He pushes past you in a frenzied hurry to get to his car, but you grab his jacket and force him to stop. “Answer me! Is Nancy okay? Was Jonathan with her?” Steve whips around and sneers at you. “Why do you even care about them? About him?” “Because we’re friends,” you say, and for the first time you really mean it. Nancy has become someone you’d call a friend.  Another cruel laugh escapes Steve’s lips. “Friends, huh? Yeah, those two looked real fucking cozy in her bed.”

summary: you and dustin have a long overdue Sibling Moment, at will's funeral you and jonathan exchange information and surprise ! it's all horrible news ! nancy has awful timing and when you leave her alone with jonathan one damn time you and steve end up trauma bonded on her front porch #bffs.

rating: general, though there's the use of guns in here for plot point sake, as well as cursing

warnings: use of guns, cursing, fem!reader, and use of y/n.

words: 14.4k (whew)

before you swing in: i'm back gang ! fall semester is almost done and i am in the trenches, so i leave y'all with this monster of a chapter before hell week (i have three finals in one day next week, no i don't want to talk about it). please enjoy this beauty, i had so much fun messing with character relationships in this and it was very ;)

-

With how many times you’ve knocked on the Wheeler’s door this week, you’d think that Mrs. Wheeler would stop looking so surprised when she answers. 

“Y/N?”

You give the woman a small smile. “Hi, Mrs. Wheeler. Is, uh, Mike home?”

“Yes… he stayed home today because of Will. Is there something you need?” The usually friendly woman seems beaten down from this week’s events as well, which you’re understanding of. 

“I was wondering if I could come in and see how he’s doing? Dustin is really shaken up about it, so I figured…” You shrug, trying to come across as a concerned older sister figure rather than a worried and horrible babysitter who should really retire. 

Mrs. Wheeler places a hand over her heart. “Oh, Y/N. You’ve always been so good with the boys, of course you can check on him. It means a lot that you care.”

Oh, no problem, but if we’re being honest I’m here because I’m scared I accidentally let your son get involved with the supernatural and dangerous monster men thingies that I honestly can’t wrap my head around!

Of course you can’t tell the woman this, so instead you thank her and let yourself in. Immediately you head towards the basement and fling the door open. You like Mrs. Wheeler, but the amount of times her son has snuck out of the house without her noticing honestly concerns you, so you’re a bit unsure if Mike even is home.

You get deja-vu from a few days ago as you head down the basement steps, once again hearing the three boys panicking as they try to hide El. Unlike last time, which had only annoyed you, seeing them scramble to hide the girl makes you relieved. 

They’re here, alive and well. You’d let Steve distract you from your worrying on the drive over, so the relief hits you like a damn truck. 

“Oh god not again!” Dustin groans when he sees you, worried that he’s once again going to get yelled at for being at the Wheeler’s with El. 

You ignore his theatrics and walk over to the girl, who is laying face down on the couch. You notice that she’s dressed in one of Nancy’s old costumes and a blonde wig that suits her well. What the hell did the kids get up to today? 

“Do I want to know why El is dressed like a doll and almost passed out on the couch?” 

“That depends on if you’re going to yell at us again,” Mike says. 

You shoot him a glare, but you guess he has a point. The last few times you’ve been with the kids you’ve ended up yelling at them one way or another. You feel bad about that, but then again: they won’t stop getting into trouble. 

El manages to raise her head from the couch, “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, sweetie,” you approach the couch and gently nudge her to the side so that you can sit down and place her head on your lap. She nuzzles into your warmth and lets out a sleepy sigh. “And to answer your question, Mike: I’m not here to yell at you guys. I just… Please tell me what’s been going on. I know I haven’t been here for you guys like I should’ve, but-”

“Your boyfriend needed you more,” Mike quips, though there’s some resentment in his voice that causes you to feel even worse.

Dustin hits his shoulder against the boy. “He isn’t her boyfriend, but she couldn’t just abandon him; he needed her. Besides, we have been sneaking off without telling her anything.” 

You cast an appreciative smile at your brother, thankful that even though he’s a pain in your ass, he always has your back like you do his. It’s something he’s always done with you and Mike; being so similar, you and him are constantly butting heads, yet Dustin has always been the first to defend you against his friend (even if you’ve never needed it in the first place). 

“I’m sorry, okay? I messed up, but I’m here now and I really, really need to know if I’m being paranoid. What mess did you dweebs manage to get into?”

The three boys suddenly can’t look at you. Their heads turn in different directions, Lucas scratches the back of his neck, Mike kicks at a board piece on the ground, and Dustin whistles a tune. 

Your shoulders slump. “Is it that bad?”

“It started this morning,” 

“Lucas!”

“Mike, she could help us! The weirdo clearly likes her,” he gestures over to El practically asleep in your lap, “plus, she’s the only sane one left in this group. I need backup.” 

“Backup?” You ask. 

Mike throws his head back in annoyance and lets out a groan as if he’s dying. Truly, this kid is the most dramatic person you’ve ever met. “Fine, we’ll tell you everything if you agree to stop hounding us for sneaking around. Will is missing, he’s our friend, and no one in the party gets left behind.”

You think this over for a moment, weighing the pros and cons in your head. “I will agree to those terms if you guys agree to keep me updated on everything at all times.” 

The boys try to argue, but you don’t let them. 

“I mean it, another person is missing. Nancy’s friend, Barb, was in the same woods that Will was, the same woods that you guys keep insisting on trekking through without supervision. This is serious, guys. Whatever, or whoever, is out there… it’s dangerous, and I-” You swallow down some tears that claw against your throat. “I can’t lose anyone else, okay?” 

The mood in the room is solemn, the three boys silent as your words hang in the air. Naturally, you try to lighten things up. “I’ll deny this if anyone asks, but unfortunately I love you boys.” 

As expected, they immediately begin to gag and pretend that they’ve been impaled with something as they all scream “ew” and “yuck” at your words. You laugh, which causes El to laugh as well, and for a moment it feels like nothing has changed. 

“So?” You ask after the boys have finished their gross theatrics. 

Dustin is the one who makes the decision for them. “We promise to keep you updated, for real this time.” 

“Good, now again I ask: why is El dressed like a doll and half asleep on my lap as we speak?” 

Lucas, Dustin, and Mike begin to talk all at once. 

“Mike radioed for me to head over, claiming he heard Will on the walkie.”

“Yeah, and then they radioed me to join. Sorry, by the way. I would’ve woken you up, but you and Jonathan looked so cozy in your bed so-”

“I thought you said they weren’t dating?”

“Not now, Mike.”

It continues like this for a while as they explain everything they did today. Sneaking El into the school, having to to talk to Mr. Clark, attending the assembly for Will, Mike fighting some idiotic kids for making fun of him before El made the head bully pee himself. 

You look down at the girl in your lap. “You can really make people pee themselves?”

“Sometimes,” she shrugs. 

“Lovely.” 

“That’s what you focus on, Y/N?” Mike asks you, and you simply shrug your shoulders in response. Sue you for still having doubts about Will being alive, you’ve gotten your hopes up one too many times. 

“Are you suggesting I believe that you heard Will through your cheap little walkies?” 

Dustin puts his head in his hands in defeat while Lucas gestures over to you. “See, she’s the sane backup I need.” 

Mike groans at you once more. “No, that’s why we snuck El into the radio room and used the heathkit that Mr. Clark got us. Keep up!”

“What, did you tell the guy that El was a new student?” 

“Don’t be stupid, we told Mr. Clark that she’s my cousin.” 

“Uhh, Y/N,” Dustin laughs nervously, motioning for you to stop talking. “You promised you’d be cool about everything if we told you.”

Knowing that your brother is right, you deflate a bit against the couch and start playing with El’s hair. “I am being cool, I just have so many questions.”

“Oh, just wait.” Lucas snorts. 

Mike now crosses the room to stand in front of you, as if he’s gearing up to tell you some major news. “We heard Will on the heathkit. El, she managed to use her powers to communicate with him.”

Like always, the seriousness in his voice concerns yet intrigues you. “Lucas, do you really believe that it was Will?”

The boy nods at you, his face grim. You don’t like how scared he looks, because out of the entire group he’s the one who is always the most reasonable. If he’s willingly telling you that he thinks it was Will, then you have to start taking the situation at hand seriously. 

“Okay, tell me exactly what you guys heard.”

And they do. One by one they tell you about Will’s pleading for his mom, telling her that it’s like home but cold and dark, the banging that followed after his words, how El had used so much of her energy trying to maintain the communication before the radio caught fire and she was too exhausted to do much else. 

“So, you believe us now?” Mike asks after you’re silent for a moment. 

You look down at the girl in your lap, in awe that someone so small and shy could hold so much power. This time you believe what the boys tell you without much conviction. Now that you know that Barb is missing as well, lost in the same woods as Will, the same woods where you found El, the photos from Nancy and the figure she claims she saw… It’s all starting to come together. 

You’re not sure exactly what you’re caught up in, but you know it’s too late to back out. Whatever is going on, whatever thing took Will and transported him to some unknown place with possibly the same powers that El has, you know it’s your responsibility to handle it. 

“Yes,” you respond, and the boys all sigh with relief. “Just one question though,”

Dustin sighs. “Yes, Y/N?”

“How did it take you guys so long to set fire to the school? Honestly, Jonathan and I thought it’d happen sooner.” 

“You’re hilarious.” Mike deadpans, which only causes you and El to giggle together again. 

“I hate to ruin the good mood, but we seriously need to figure out what Will meant when he said that wherever he is ‘is like home’.” Your brother interrupts. 

Mike spins to face him. “He said, ‘like home, but dark’, right?”

“And ‘empty’.” Lucas adds. 

“‘Empty’ and ‘cold’. Wait, did he say cold?” Dustin asks the group.

You nod your head. “You mentioned cold earlier.”

Lucas throws his hands up in the air in frustration. “The stupid radio kept going in and out!” 

“It’s like riddles in the dark…” Your brother sighs, which you hum in agreement to. 

Will’s words were pretty vague, but you wish you had been there at the middle school as well. Maybe if you had heard the tone of Will’s voice, you’d be of more help.

Mike continues to mumble about “like home” and “dark” for a few more seconds, now pacing around the room. You watch from the couch, El still resting with her head in your lap, and as you’re playing with her hair she finally speaks up after having been silent for a while. 

“Upside down.”

“What’d she say?” Lucas asks.

“Upside down? I guess?” Is all you can tell him. 

“What?” 

While you, Dustin, and Lucas are confused by El’s words, Mike rushes over to the forgotten board from a few days ago and sits down. He frantically flips it over and motions for you to come and join him. You hesitate for a second, but he only doubles down on his waving you over, so you gently lift El’s head up and walk over. 

“God, took you long enough.”

“I was literally three feet away from you on the couch, why did I have to move?”

Mike ignores your question and begins to explain the thirty million thoughts flying through his head at the moment, “When El showed us where Will was, she flipped the board over, remember?” 

You nod, slowly understanding where he’s going with this. “She flipped it upside down.”

“Exactly! Dark. Empty.” 

Lucas looks over at you and Dustin, unamused. “Do you understand what he’s talking about?”

“No,” your brother says at the same time as you saying “the upside down part? Yes. The dark and empty part? No.”

Mike tries to explain further. “Guys, come on, think about it. When El took us to find Will, she took us to his house, right?” 

“You mean last night when they found Will’s body in the water?” You ask, not really understanding where Mike is going with all this. 

“Like Y/N said, he wasn’t there.” Lucas reminds everyone, but Mike still tries to get his point across.

“But what if he was there? What if we just couldn’t see him, what if he was on the other side?”

You think about Jonathan’s words from earlier today in the car while on the way to the funeral home, trying to calm down from his fight with his mom. He had told you about how Joyce was convinced that Will was in the walls within their home, that the body they saw in the morgue hadn’t been his. 

“Hold on,” you interrupt Mike, “you guys said that there was some, like, banging where Will was, right? And that he had been begging his mom to come get him?” 

“Yeah, it was like some sick sci-fi movie!” 

You glare at your brother. “Ignoring you. Anyways, did you guys hear Mrs. Byers on the radio as well?” 

Mike shakes his head. “No, all we could hear was the banging and something... Growling, I guess.”

Knowing Joyce, you’d bet money that the banging had been her. You know that the next time you go over to their house, the walls might actually be destroyed, but she’d been right all along. Will is alive, he has to be. The pieces that you’ve slowly been collecting this past week fall together one by one. 

“That explains the walls and the weird monster thing in Jonathan’s picture,” you mumble to yourself, but Lucas hears you. 

“Do I wanna know?”

You purse your lips. “Let’s focus on figuring out where Will is, then I’ll tell you guys what I’ve been up to this week.” 

“Okay, so,” Mike begins again, now grabbing the board game and flipping it onto its normal, light side. “What if this is Hawkins,” he flips it upside down onto its dark side, “and this is where Will is?” 

“The Upside Down.” You finish for him. 

“The Upside Down.” Mike confirms. 

Slowly Dustin follows along. “Like the Vale of Shadows.”

Somehow you always end up the one confused when it comes to these damn kids. “The Vale of Shadows? What the hell is that?”

Dustin runs over to the bookshelf and pulls out a thick binder full of paper, but as he flips through it you realize it’s a rulebook for Dungeons and Dragons. He lands on the page he’s looking for, and you feel your shoulders drop. Great. More confusing terminology ahead. 

“‘The Vale of Shadows’,” he begins to read, “‘is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters’.”

“Wait, didn’t you say something about a monster, Y/N?” Lucas asks, but you shush him so you don't miss whatever else Dustin will say next. 

“‘It is right next to you, and you don’t even see it’.” He finishes. 

His words hang in the air for a moment, but Mike, always somehow three steps ahead, pieces it together. “An alternate dimension.” 

Lucas finally accepts what’s happening. “But how do we get there?” 

“I’m sorry, we?” You look between all three boys, their faces still young and holding the childish innocence that you once had yourself. “No, there’s no ‘we’ in this. I may not know much about alternate dimensions, but there’s no way I’m letting you guys try to find and go to one.”

Mike rolls his eyes at you. “Well what choice do we have? Do you want to tell that mean police chief about this?”

“I…well… I mean-no.” You sink down in the seat, annoyed that Mike is right. No way Hopper believes any of this, you hardly believe any of it. 

“Can we cast shadow walk?” Dustin focuses back on the conversation at hand.

You don’t bother to ask what that means. 

“In real life, dummy.” Lucas reminds him. 

“We can’t shadow walk, but…” Your brother’s eyes land on El, who is still laying on the couch, silent and unmoving. “Maybe she can.”

The four of you turn towards the girl, and Mike voices his own question. “Do you know how we get there? To the Upside Down?”

El meets your eyes, and you can see that she’s hesitant about something. She’s been quieter than usual, almost suspiciously so, and you know that the more Mike figures things out, the more hesitant she becomes. She shakes her head at you, and you give her a sad smile. 

Lucas flings his head back and groans. “Oh my god!”

Mike and Dustin seem to be thinking the same thing, disappointed by El’s lack of help. You don’t blame them, also frustrated by the fact that it feels like you guys are so close to discovering something big. You can feel hope reignite in your chest; you haven’t been this close to an explanation about Will all week. This has to be it. It’s the only way you can explain everything that’s been happening lately. 

Speaking of which:

“Remember how I mentioned Barb and a possible monster?” 

You tell them everything, about Jonathan’s worry for his mom, how their phone got charred by lightning, Hopper’s theory that Will had been running from something, Nancy and Barb attending Steve’s party and how Barb had been on her own near the woods. You tell them about how Barb has been missing ever since and the photos Jonathan took (leaving out the horrible ones of Nancy) that Nancy brought to your attention at the funeral home. The figure in the background, looming over Barb, how it didn’t seem to have a face.

Then you tell them about Joyce and her spiral, though now you know she actually wasn’t crazy. You tell them about the Christmas lights and Will communicating with her through them. How she claimed that she could hear him through the wall and that the body in the quarry hadn’t been him. 

When you’re finally done catching them up, they stare at you with their jaws open. 

“Dustin,” Mike says, “remind me to never leave your sister out ever again.”

“Noted.” 

– 

The events from the day had left El exhausted and she refuses to say anything else after you explain everything to the boys. Her eyes droop while Mike interrogates you for answers you can’t give him, so finally you take pity on the poor girl and tell him that you’ll talk more in the morning. 

Mike isn’t too happy about being shut down, but when you point towards a half asleep El he reluctantly gives in. “Fine, but as soon as the funeral is over we’re discussing this further.”

Right. Will’s funeral is tomorrow. 

“Yeah, sure,” you tuck your hair behind your ears and motion over to Dustin. “We need to go, it’s late and mom will be wondering where we are.” 

He tries to argue with you but you just gather your things and head for the stairs. There’s still a lot you need to think about and a million things you need to sort before the funeral tomorrow. Did Jonathan even buy the coffin? Who had made the arrangements after you and him left the funeral home with Nancy?

There’s a lot you need to talk about when you call him tonight. 

The bike ride home with Lucas and Dustin is a quiet one, both boys understanding that you need some time to think about everything you learned tonight. 

You make a list in your head of what you do know, but it’s a frustratingly short list. 

1) El, one way or another, has powers that enable her to communicate with Will in some weird upside down universe that you can’t actually get to (can you even count this as something you know?)

2) Hopper was right: Will went missing because he was running from something (probably the same faceless thing that’s in Jonathan’s photo). 

3) Whatever took Will also took Barb, bringing Nancy into this wonderfully confusing mess (you still don’t know if her involvement is a good or bad thing). 

Everything else? You have no fucking clue what’s going on. 

When you get home with Dustin, it’s late; the two of you have to sneak past your mom, who fell asleep with Mews on her lap in the living room. Dustin heads straight for his room but you stop him, motioning for him to come into yours for a second. 

“What-”

“Shh!” You quickly shut your door to ensure that your mom won’t hear anything. 

Dustin groans. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna yell at me?”

You roll your eyes at him. “I yell at you guys twice after years of patience, now suddenly I’m a screaming monster,” he doesn’t say anything and flings himself onto the bean bag by your bed. “Anyways, we’re long overdue for a code blue.” 

Your brother shoots up from the bean bag, eyes wide. “No.”

“Yes,” you join him on the bean bag. “Code blue time, we’re going to talk about our feelings after the hellish week we’ve had. C’mon, you know the drill.” 

Code blue was something the two of you came up with when your dad left. You had been twelve when it happened, Dustin had been nine. It’d been a really rough few months for you guys, dealing with the betrayal of your dad while also moving away from your hometown in Virginia all within a year. Neither of you had adjusted well to the sudden changes, and though you were angry and bitter about what had happened, the moment you saw that it was affecting your brother you decided to implement code blue. 

It’s simple, really. Whoever calls for a code blue gets to talk about or ask whatever they want while the other is required to answer. Originally it was so that you could force Dustin into telling you his feelings, but over the years it’s become a way to bond with each other and know that no matter what you’ll be there for one another. No half truths or a vague “I’m fine”; it’s a time for you guys to be vulnerable with one another without using it as leverage against the other. 

Dustin plops his head back down. “Fine, but I’m tired so can this be quick?”

“Hey, no complaining during code blue. That’s like, rule number one.” 

“Y/N.” His tone is one of annoyance and you know that if you don’t start talking soon then you’ll lose his interest.

“Right, sorry. Okay,” you clear your throat and face your brother. “Today’s code blue topic is this: I’m worried about you getting your hopes up about Will. We don’t know that he’s alive just yet.” 

As expected, Dustin is unhappy with what you’ve said. “We do know that he’s alive, I heard him on the heathkit. He’s alive, Y/N.” He sees the uncertainty on your face and doubles down on what he’s saying. “He is.”

You bite your lip, scared that you’ll say the wrong thing. “Dustin, nothing is certain. Even though we’re definitely onto something, and while I believe that you heard Will on the radio, that doesn’t change the fact that there’s something else out there that wants to hurt him. I mean, he’s trapped in some weird alternate dimension that we have no idea how to even get into. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

You think about the way your brother’s face fell when they pulled Will’s body out of the water. How the hope that had been in his eyes immediately died alongside his childhood naivety. He had built all of his hope upon a shaky foundation; the moment it collapsed he fell apart. 

“Look I know you’re trying to look out for me, but Will is a part of the party. He’s our friend, we can’t just lose hope and leave him behind. He needs us.” Dustin speaks with so much certainty and an aura of maturity that almost makes you forget that he’s twelve. 

“I’m not saying it’s dangerous to have hope, but I need you to promise me that you’ll protect yourself from whatever happens next. How’s that sound?”

Dustin thinks for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. “Hmm, I think I can make that deal if you promise the same thing. I mean, c’mon, it’s obvious that you’re the sensitive one out of the two of us. You and hope? Doomed.” 

You laugh, knowing he’s right. You’ve always been branded by hope; hopeful for love, for dreams, and for those who may not always deserve it. You and hope haven’t always gotten along, but she’s become a familiar friend. 

“I think you’ve got yourself a deal. Now, it’s late and I have to call Jonathan and catch him up on everything, so let’s conclude code blue with its mandatory hug.” 

“Woah woah woah, I don’t think we gotta-”

Dustin’s words become muffled as you throw yourself on top of him and squish him into a hug. He squirms against you for a second, claiming he can’t breathe, but you shush him and force him to accept the hug. Though you won’t ever tell him this, losing Will has only made you more appreciative of having a wonderfully annoying little brother. 

After code blue, Dustin goes to his room claiming that “alternate dimensions are super draining”, and before he leaves you tell him to be ready tomorrow by nine for the funeral and that your mom will take him. You’ll be at the Byers’ helping Jonathan. 

Once he’s gone you give yourself a few moments to sit in silence, letting the events from today settle over you. It seems like all you’ve felt this week is exhaustion and hurt and at the rate everything is going, there’s no telling how long you’ll feel this way. 

The moment you’re done wallowing you roll off the bean bag and walk over to your desk to call Jonathan. You’re honestly not sure what you’ll even tell him tonight, there’s no way you’ll be able to cover everything before the night ends. The two of you have a long day tomorrow, so you figure you’ll have to make do with the limited time you have and summarize. 

Jonathan answers after a few rings. “How’d your little secret mission go?”

You make a face. “Is it even a secret mission if I told you I was going on it?”

“It is if you refuse to tell me what you did during it.” 

“Touche, bee.” 

He laughs, which sends a cascading warmth throughout your body. You can envision him perfectly on the other end of the line, leaning against his kitchen wall with the phone wire wrapped around his finger as he absent mindedly fiddles with it while he talks to you. 

You clear your throat and shake the thought from your mind, you called him for a reason. “Anyways… we need to talk.”

Jonathan is silent for a moment and you can feel the playfulness fade away. “Yeah, you first though. You already know what Nance and I were up to.” 

Nance?

Awesome. Cool. Totally not going to be consumed by that later. 

“Right. Uh, well. I went looking for Dustin because the other night when I was with the boys we stumbled upon this, well, this little girl.” 

“A girl?”

“Yeah, she’s bald.”

“Okay… is that important or…?”

“Unsure, but it felt important to tell you. Sorry,” you take a deep breath, “I’m not sure why I’m so nervous right now.”

“It’s okay, bug. It’s me, you can tell me anything.” 

No I can’t.

“Sure, yeah, totally. Um, so anyways we found her, her name is El, and she’s our only connection to Will right now.”

A beat of silence. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she kinda has… powers?”

“Powers,”

“Powers.”

You hear Jonathan sigh on the other end of the call. “Bug, you’re not seriously telling me that the boys have somehow dragged you into one of their little schemes, right?”

Yeah, he’s reacting exactly how you figured he would. 

“I know what it sounds like, but Jonathan… How else would you explain everything going on? Will disappeared, Barb did too, your mom and her lights. Now that thing Nancy saw in the woods, which I know you definitely have an update that will only further prove how weird this all is.”

Again Jonathan is quiet, and this time you envision him pacing little circles in the kitchen as he carefully thinks through your words, trying to piece it all together. “We developed the photo again and you’re right, there’s something behind Barb in it.” 

You close your eyes and exhale. “So, you believe me now?”

“Guess I don’t really have a choice.”

“You don’t.” 

“Then we’ll talk about it after the funeral tomorrow.” He concedes. 

“Yeah,” you let out a shaky breath, “the funeral. I’ll make my way over the second I wake up tomorrow to help with everything.” 

“You don’t have to-”

“I know.” 

More silence settles over the two of you. It’s still hard to wrap your head around the fact that it was only a week ago where everything was normal. No disappearances, no weird feelings, no heartbreak and confusion. 

“Bug?” Jonathan is practically whispering. 

“Yeah?”

“Lonnie is here.”

The words hit you hard. Why the fuck is Lonnie back in Hawkins? “Do you need to spend the night? I can finally bake those cookies for your mom and we can watch whatever you want.” 

“No,” he sounds exhausted. “He hasn’t been a problem yet, and I can’t…” 

“Leave your mom with him?” You finish. 

“He thinks she’s crazy and her axing down one of our walls doesn’t help-”

So you were right, Joyce did indeed break down her wall to try and get to Will.

“Jonathan, it’s okay. I understand, stay with her and get some rest. Sleep, that’s an order.”

He lets out a weak laugh. “I love you, bug.” 

Like how I love you?

“I love you too, bee.” The words burn your tongue. 

“Goodnight,”

“Sleep well.”

– 

You’re up before the sun this morning.

You spent hours tossing and turning last night, hardly getting any sleep. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to turn your mind off. All you could think about was Jonathan, his smile and his voice and the way he kisses your forehead whenever you’ve done something especially endearing to him. You were surrounded by him last night. 

Now you stand outside his front door holding a tin of cookies, dressed in a simple knitted black dress and tights with mary janes that used to belong to your mom for Will’s funeral. The shoes are your favorite, but now you’re afraid they’re tainted by the occasion you’re wearing them for. 

It’s Lonnie who opens the door. “Well if it isn’t little miss Henderson. I missed ya, sweetheart.” 

You haven’t seen the man in two years, having been fourteen when he left Joyce and the kids. Since then he’s only aged horribly, his eyes slightly yellowed and his beer gut now more prominent. Clearly he still prefers alcohol over human company. Figures. 

“Can’t say the same about you.” Your shoulder hits his as you walk in and he lets out an annoyed huff. 

The man follows you but you pay him no attention. Instead you head straight towards Joyce and the second she sees you she runs into your arms; you only have a few seconds to place down the cookies before she’s in your arms. 

“Y/N! You’re here!” She squeezes you tight and you melt into her embrace. She’s always given the best hugs whenever you’ve needed the comfort, but now it’s your turn to be the one offering the support. 

“Of course, Mrs. Byers. Who else will make sure Jonathan is ready on time?” You mean for it to be a joke, but the way that Joyce’s eyes harden tells you that the funeral is a sore topic for her. She still doesn’t believe that Will is dead and it breaks your fucking heart that you can’t tell her she’s right. 

Joyce wipes away a tear before pulling away. She goes to say something before seeing the tin of cookies on the counter; she immediately pulls you into another hug. “Oatmeal raisin,” 

“They’re your favorite.”

“And Will’s.”

“And Will’s favorite. You know I gotta take care of my Byers.” You whisper into her ear, feeling Lonnie’s eyes on you during the exchange. You have to bite back your tongue, though his presence always makes you feel a type of anger that’s normally foreign to you. 

Joyce pulls away and you know it’s taking everything in her to give you a smile. “You’re too good, sweetie,” she tucks a loose strand of hair that came out of its braid. “Jonathan’s in his room.” 

You grab her hand and give it a squeeze, trying to convey just how much you love and admire her into a simple gesture, before letting go and walking over to Jonathan’s door. 

He’s struggling with his tie when you let yourself in. He’s dressed in the only nice white button down he owns, something he bought for his aunt’s funeral a few years ago that now hardly fits. You can tell that he’s getting frustrated with the tie, so you walk over and help. 

“Here, let me,” you wrap your fingers around the piece of cloth and quickly fashion it into a tie. The two of you don’t talk while you fix the clothing and you know that today will be a wordless day with Jonathan. 

When you’ve finished, you begin to pull away before he places his hands around yours. He cups your hands at the base of his neck as they rest against his collarbones; your fingers are still wrapped around his tie. He squeezes your hands and brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles so softly that you feel all the love within you simmer.

You know he’s only trying to express his gratitude for you but the butterflies in your stomach make you feel faint. 

You’d do anything for him. 

– 

The funeral has a surprising turnout, not because you ever doubted Will’s incredible ability to be loved by anyone he meets, but because you see faces in the crowd who you’ve never seen before. 

You stand behind Jonathan during the funeral with your hand on his shoulder as he sits with his family in a weak attempt to provide comfort during the service. It’s really fucking bleak. Your other hand is on Dustin’s shoulder as he stands next to you while Mike and Lucas are to the right of him.

Your mother is in the back of the crowd having known she’d cry the entire service, and faintly you can hear her blow her nose into a tissue and sniffle. 

The pastor drones on for a while about how a tragedy like this won’t separate everyone from God’s love, but if attending the funeral for a twelve year old boy is how God shows his love then you want no part in it. Joyce sits stoic alongside Lonnie, Jonathan hasn’t moved at all since the service began; they’re a family brought together by grief. This isn’t love. 

“Just wait until we tell Will that Jennifer Hayes was crying at his funeral,” Dustin snickers, effectively breaking you from your thoughts. You hit his shoulder and shush him as Mrs. Wheeler reminds the boys to be quiet. You flash her an apologetic smile for your brother’s actions. 

You know how firmly the boys believe Will is alive and you honestly can’t say you don’t think so as well, but nothing is certain. Even if he’s alive there’s no way you guys can get to wherever he is; you wish the boys would use some caution with how quickly they’re building their hopes up. 

After the service you walk up to Will’s grave and bend down. You bring one of the yellow roses from the funeral director up to your lips and whisper, “If you’re out there little bee, please, come home.”

Before dropping the rose in you give it a gentle kiss, inhaling its sweet scent and watching as it falls down onto his coffin. Jonathan finds you there crouched down and sees the rose right as it lands. He doesn’t say anything, he just grabs your hand and helps you stand up to bring you over to where Nancy is waiting a couple yards away. 

“Hey, Y/N.” 

You don’t have it in you to do anything other than wave at the girl, but she seems to understand and gives you a sympathetic smile. 

Soon the three of you are settled on the ground with your backs against an old rickety fence behind some tombstones. Jonathan is in the middle of you and Nancy and you rest your head against his shoulder, already exhausted from the day. It’s not the coziest spot to be sitting, but at least you’re away from prying eyes. 

Once you’re seated, Jonathan finally talks for the first time today. “Alright, I already told you this over the phone last night bug, but Nancy was right. After we redeveloped the photo there’s definitely some kind of figure behind Barb, and we thought maybe if my mom has been right all along about some monster-”

“Then she’s right about Will being alive.” You finish for him, having already come to the same conclusion yourself.

“And Barb has to be alive if Will is.” Nancy says, and there’s a spark of hope in her voice that surprises you. You’re ashamed to admit that you didn’t think her and Barb were that close, but seeing how worried she’s been for the girl makes you realize that you’d been a fool not to have seen it sooner. Barb was Nancy’s closest friend. You don’t know what you’d do if Jonathan ever disappeared like Barb did. 

Jonathan pushes your head with his shoulder. “Anything you want to share with the class?”

You look between him and Nancy and try to decide how much you should tell them. While you’ve already told Jonathan a little bit about El, you’re not sure if you can trust the information with Nancy. However, seeing her urgency to find her friend leaves you feeling a bit safer disclosing the information to her. 

“It started the night after Will disappeared…”

It takes a while to tell them everything, and while Jonathan butts in a few times to ask questions, Nancy remains silent and eagerly listens. She nods when she’s supposed to, engages with the story as if her life depends on it. You’re incredibly impressed by her intelligence and openness to the situation at hand. Had it been anyone else they would’ve scoffed at you and called you insane. But Nancy? She holds onto every word and trusts that what you’re saying is true. 

You’re starting to admire her, as painful as it is to admit. But Nancy Wheeler is fucking brilliant, there’s no denying that. 

When you’re finally done explaining El and the Upside Down, Nancy finally speaks. “Let me make sure I’m understanding correctly, you’ve been helping my brother harbor a girl with superpowers in my basement?”

Huh. 

You hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“Ya know, you make a good point.”

Thankfully she laughs and doesn’t seem too upset, which relieves you. You reassure her that they’re fine and that El is someone you trust, and Nancy seems to take comfort in your words. It’s not that you purposely hid the situation from her, but looking back you definitely could’ve used her help now that you know how cool she is. 

As the two of you are laughing, Jonathan pulls out a piece of paper. 

“What’s that?” You ask. 

He shows you. “I printed out a map of Hawkins and drew x’s on every place we know for sure the monster has been.” 

“Two questions: one, so we’re officially calling it the monster now? And two, why don’t you ever put in this much effort for school projects we do together?” 

Jonathan flicks the paper in your face. “Funny. And yes, we’re calling it the monster now. Can you pay attention please?”

“Sorry,”

Nancy shuffles in closer and her head is practically on Jonathan’s shoulder as well (you’re choosing to ignore that) and she studies the paper and points to one of the x’s. “So that’s-”

“Steve’s house,” Jonathan points to another x, “and that’s the woods where they found Will’s bike and where Y/N last saw him,” the familiar feeling of guilt washes over you, “and that’s my house.” 

Nancy reaches over Jonathan and grabs your hand, surprising you both. “You saw Will last?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, your mouth now suddenly dry. 

“I’m sorry,” her tone is sincere.

“We should get back to the map…” You dodge, highly uncomfortable with Nancy’s comfort. You appreciate it, but you’ve never been good at accepting help from others. 

“Right, sorry,” Nancy clears her throat. “The x’s, they’re all so close.”

Jonathan observes the interaction with slight confusion but decides not to say anything besides, “Yeah, exactly. I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it’s not traveling far.”

There’s a look in his eyes as he speaks, one of determination and disdain for whatever that thing is, and before you can tell him no, it’s Nancy who voices your concern first. “You want to go out there.”

Jonathan nods and you feel uneasy. “I trust you won’t try going alone again, right?” It’s a question, but he hears the underlying try and I’ll kill you hidden beneath your words.

“No, not this time… but we might not find anything.” 

“I found something,” Nancy reminds him, which you nod at. She’s the only one out of the three of you who has seen the monster in person, and if you had to place any bets, she’s the one who will be able to figure out what the fuck to do with it. 

Actually, what are you guys going to do?

“Do we, like, have a plan for after we’re done monster sightseeing? Or are we just going to take a look at it and call it a night?” You ask the two of them. 

Nancy bites her lip and looks down, also unsure what exactly the three of you are supposed to do. It’s Jonathan who remains stone faced, and there’s a newfound sense of confidence within him that you’ve never seen when he boldly states, “We kill it.”

“Alright there tough guy,” you hit his chest with your hand and snort. “Sure, we kill it. Obviously.”

“Well, do you have any other ideas? For all we know, Mike and the others will be out there in those woods later looking for Will.”

“We don’t know that-”

“Bug, humor me, how did they find El again?”

You’re silent. He’s right, if you guys don’t go and find this monster before tonight then there’s a high chance the boys and El will find it themselves. Fuck. 

“Nancy,” you say to the girl, “it seems like we’re now officially monster hunters.”

– 

Of course Lonnie has a goddamn handgun just casually stored in his glove box.

You’re not entirely on board with this whole gun situation and apparently Nancy isn’t either, immediately questioning Jonathan when he picks the lock to get the gun.

“What, you want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it? Better yet, why doesn’t Y/N just round up the boys and El and have them take it down.”  

“Okay, hey,” you point at Jonathan. “Out of line.” 

He mumbles an apology under his breath while Nancy claims that this is all a terrible idea. You’re not sure where you fall in regards to what’s happening, but you’d say at the moment you’re a solid mix between Jonathan’s no time for nonsense mood and Nancy’s hey let’s slow down hesitation. 

You kick a rock and watch as it dings against Lonnie’s car, which pleases you. “Oh it’s definitely a terrible idea, Nancy. Unfortunately it’s all we have going for us at the moment.” 

Jonathan nods at your words. “She’s right, no one’s going to believe us if we tell them. You know that.” 

“Your mom would.” Nancy responds, jutting her jaw out in defiance. 

You cringe, unsure how Jonathan will respond to what she’s said. Joyce is a sore topic for him, he’s always been so protective of her.

“She’s been through enough,” he sighs, and you hum in agreement. 

Nancy grows more frustrated. “She deserves to know!”

You step in between them. “Look, you’re right. Mrs. Byers deserves to know, but right now she isn’t well enough to handle the idea of her only remaining son actively seeking out a monster that may have taken her other son who could possibly be alive. If we’re wrong or Jonathan gets hurt, it might actually kill her.”

“Yeah, we’ll tell her when this thing is dead.” You note Jonathan’s word choice, saying “when” instead of “if”. In the four years you’ve been his friend, you’ve never seen him so self-assured before. You’d be proud of him if the circumstances weren’t so damn grim. 

“What about the kids?” Nancy finally says after a few seconds of silence. 

“They can’t get involved, I won’t let them.” You tell her and she nods as if expecting you’d say that. 

She gestures over to the funeral home where the crowd of attendees are now gathered for the post burial service. “I know my brother, so you better go and tell him that they need to stay at our house while we deal with the monster. They like you better than they like me, they’ll listen to you if you explain what we’re doing.” 

You’re flattered by her words, honestly. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas listening to you about staying put while you guys go monster hunting? They’d be out the door before you’d be even able to finish saying the phrase “monster hunting”. No way they’ll listen, and you’re about to say exactly that before catching the look Jonathan is giving you. 

You groan at him. “You don’t actually believe they’ll listen to me, right? C’mon, you know those boys as well as I do. This is just a giant DnD game for them at this point.” 

He shrugs, “It doesn’t hurt to try?”

Nancy gives you a hopeful look and bats her eyelashes at you, which, okay, shouldn’t work on you but does. Jonathan does the same, except instead of batting his eyelashes he winks at you and suddenly you’re very confused by the onslaught of emotions that wash over you.

“Ugh, fine. But when they show up in the woods later you guys are on your own!” 

– 

When you step inside the service hall, everyone is gathered into small groups talking amongst themselves. You scan the room for the kids and spot them across the room sitting at a table with Mr. Clark. He’s talking to them about something while holding a paper plate up. You’re not sure what exactly he’s saying to the boys, but they’re leaning in close to him and are listening intently. 

This worries you. 

You try to make your way over as quickly as you can, but being Jonathan’s best friend has some challenges. Every few steps you take you’re stopped by an extended family member of the Byers to ask how you are or a stranger stops to offer you their condolences because you’re close with the family. You do your best to make small talk and thank the people, but you don’t have time to say much else besides, “thank you” or “you were Will’s favorite great aunt”.

By the time you finally get to the table with Mr. Clark and the boys, the man has folded up the paper plate and stabs it with a pen. You really, really don’t want to know whatever the hell this man is explaining to the kids. 

“You create a doorway,” he explains, holding up the plate and smiling at the boys. 

Dustin looks enthralled. “Like a gate?”

“Sure, like a gate. But again, this is all-”

“Theoretical.” Lucas says, nodding his head.

A gate?

What are the odds the boys are talking about a gate to Disneyland?

You sigh, not liking the odds at all.

You slide yourself into Dustin’s chair and force your brother to share with you. He squeaks in surprise and you flash him a tight lipped smile, which causes him to gulp. He knows he’s been busted. 

Mike scoffs at your arrival. “Gee, wonder why you’re here Y/N.”

“Go on, continue this conversation with Mr. Clark here. I wanna hear it.” 

Mr. Clark looks at you uncertainly but Mike simply carries on with the conversation as if you aren’t even here. “But what if this gate already existed?”

“Well, if it did I think we’d know.”

You snort. “Wanna bet?”

Again the man looks at you uncertainly and clears his throat, uncomfortable by your presence. “What I mean to say is that it would disrupt gravity, the magnetic field, our environment.”

“So if there is a gate, it’d be really bad?” You ask, but you already know the answer. 

“Oh, definitely. It might even swallow us up whole!” 

You and the boys look around the table at one another, not at all liking what Mr. Clark is saying. Swallow you guys up whole? That’s not really something you’re interested in. 

Mr. Clark sees your nervousness and shrugs. “Science is neat, but it’s not very forgiving.”

Silence falls upon the table. 

Mr. Clark is such a peachy person.

“Well!” You throw your hands upon the table and the loud noise causes everyone to flinch. “Thank you so much for that lovely information, Mr. Clark. It was truly riveting, but would you mind giving me and the boys a second alone? I just, I want to make sure they’re doing okay after today.” 

You bat your eyes at the man, something you never do, and he clears his throat and excuses himself. The second he’s gone you snap your finger in the boys’ faces. “Hey, listen up. Whatever you guys are planning? Don’t.”

As usual, Mike is the one who argues. “But-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what we’re-”

“No.”

“Can you at least let me-”

“Sure,”

“Really?”

“No.”

Lucas and Dustin watch the interaction with slight pleasure, amused by your ability to shut Mike up, but when he turns to them for help they reluctantly give in. 

“Y/N,” Dustin sighs, “honestly, how many times are we gonna do this whole ‘we’re not allowed but we’re going to do it anyways’ bit?” 

You glare at your brother. “However many times it takes for you guys to finally listen.”

“Cool. Then we’ll expect you to bust down Mike’s door later tonight.”

“I’m not kidding,” you face all the kids and make sure they’re listening. “Whatever you’re trying to do, don’t. Jonathan and I-”

“You told Jonathan?” Mike exclaims but Lucas shushes him. 

“We’re going to handle it, we already have a plan but whatever you do: stay out of the woods from here on out. We think… We think there’s a monster out there hiding. I just want to make sure you guys are safe.”

“Monster hunting?” Dustin’s eyes light up and you silently curse Jonathan and Nancy for even suggesting you do this in the first place.

“Technically… yes, but you guys absolutely have to stay put.”

They stare at you as if you’re insane.

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” Dustin asks. 

You flick his head. “Yes, and I’m putting a lot of trust in you guys right now. I’ll let you guys do whatever you want so long as it doesn’t include the woods. Until you get an all clear from me, it’s off limits.” 

Mike thinks this over. “Can we look for the gate then?”

You sigh. There’s no other way to appease them. “If you don’t go near the woods… then fine.”

The boys begin to cheer, which causes several funeral guests to stare at you with judgment. You realize now that this probably hadn’t been the right setting to have this conversation in. Oh well.

You don’t let the boys cheer for long. “However-”

“There she goes,” Lucas sinks into his seat and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“I get full updates whenever I please. I don’t care if I have to track you guys down from the gates of hell itself, but I will find you and you will tell me everything. Deal?”

Lucas, Dustin, and Mike gather close together and duck their heads down so whisper to one another. You roll your eyes but wait for them to finish. When they’ve reached a decision, Mike interlocks his fingers and places his hands on the table. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

– 

As soon as you’ve changed out of your funeral clothes and into a simple pair of jeans and a sweater, Jonathan arrives at your house. You kiss your mom’s cheek before leaving and shout over your shoulder, “Remember the deal, Dustin!” 

You don’t quite catch what your brother responds with but you honestly don’t care enough as you run over to Jonathan’s car and hop into the passenger seat. 

“You certainly didn’t waste any time getting here,” you say in lieu of a hello. 

Jonathan shrugs. “No time to waste when it comes to monster hunting.”

“You do realize that we’re only scouting out the woods tonight, right?” 

You, Jonathan, and Nancy had decided earlier to simply go and explore the woods for any clues of the monster and then figure out how, or even if, you can kill it. 

“I know, but monster hunting sounds cooler.”

“Bless you, bee.” 

The two of you get to the field in no time. Jonathan had been the one to suggest the spot a few yards behind his house for target practice and Nancy had agreed to bring a bat just in case you needed more protection. 

And you?

You’re bringing the cans to serve as targets for shooting. Your family has never owned a gun and last time you checked, Dustin doesn’t play any sports, so all you can offer is your emptied recycling bin contents. 

It doesn’t take long for you and Jonathan to set up the cans on top of the tree trunks before he begins shooting. Jonathan takes a deep breath and holds the gun up so it’s eye level and looks over at you. “Ready?”

You take a deep breath as well and prepare yourself, knowing it’s about to become loud. “Yeah, start shootin cowboy.” 

The first shot hits a tree behind the can, nowhere near its intended target, and you wince. It’s looking like the monster might actually win at the rate Jonathan’s aim is going. 

“It’s okay,” you tell your friend. “The tree looked at me funny, he had it coming.” 

Jonathan snorts. “You’re laughing now, but I can’t exactly hunt a monster if I can’t even shoot it.” 

“Maybe you could talk nicely to it?”

“And say what, exactly? ‘Hey, Mr. Monster, where are you hiding my brother?’”

You step closer to him so that you’re now side by side and you nudge his shoulder. “Hey, you never know. It could work.”

Jonathan readjusts his grip on the gun and aims it once more. He takes another shot, this time it lands a bit closer to the can, but not by much. He lets out an agitated, “Fuck!”

He tries shooting again and again but each shot is as unpredictable as the last. After his sixth round of firing you can see how tense his shoulders are and the way he’s clenching his fists against the weapon. You remember how he acted earlier today, the newfound anger and resentment within Jonathan that had originally impressed you. Now it only frightens you. 

When he goes to re-aim the gun for the seventh time, you grab at his hand and stop him. 

“Bug, what are you-”

“Let’s go for a walk.” 

Jonathan looks at you like you’re crazy but you simply take the gun from his hands, click the safety back on, and then walk over to the tree stumps to rest it against one of them. When you’re done you walk back over to the boy and interlock your fingers with his to drag him along. 

There’s not a whole bunch of room in the clearing for a walk per say, but there’s enough to go a few laps around for Jonathan to take a breather. You’re not sure exactly what’s going on with him but a walk has never hurt anyone. 

Jonathan’s silent the first lap around. You’re content with this and you admire the fall weather and enjoy the slight warmth from the sun as it kisses your face. When you’re on the third lap you decide to ask a question that’s been on your mind since yesterday when Nancy showed up at the funeral home. 

“Do you really believe Will is alive?”

Jonathan thinks the question over for a moment, and as he’s lost in thought you notice that he begins gently swinging your hands back and forth absentmindedly. “I can still feel him.”

“Feel him?”

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy but…”

“No, I think I get it. I mean, I’d be able to feel if something bad happened to Dustin. I know I’d be able to, even if there’s not necessarily a science behind it. It’s like there’s a lifeline connecting us, like some unspoken sibling thread that neither one of us can sever.”

“A sibling thread?” Jonathan asks, a slight laugh accompanying his question. 

“Oh, you know what I mean, bee.” 

“No, no. I wanna hear all about this thread theory of yours.” 

Jonathan’s bright mood is back, reminiscent of the boy you once believed you knew better than you knew yourself, so you entertain his teasing if only to sustain his light a little longer. “If I explain this theory you have to promise not to laugh at me.”

“I promise,” he says and he gives your hand a light squeeze. 

“Alright, but if you decide I’m insane after this, just know that you legally cannot leave me. You signed a contract.” 

“Oh, did I?”

“You sure did, bee. Anyways, back to me,” a slight breeze surrounds you for a moment and you let the crisp air fill your lungs. “I have this theory that we’re all connected to each other in some way by different threads. Some threads are older than others, stronger, or maybe even more rigid, but they’re there. Whether it’s a thread between you and your family, the love of your life, or a stranger you happen to pass on the street one day, none of it happens by accident.” 

“The threads are the reason it all happens?”

“Not necessarily, but yeah. To put it simply, I guess you could say that.” 

“So, for our thread,” Jonathan stops walking and tugs at you to stop as well. “After everything we’ve been through, all that we’ve done for one another, what thread would you say our’s is?”

His question catches you off guard; you can hear your heart beating within your chest. There’s so many things you wish you could tell him.

Our thread is one of romance, of lovers, of soulmates, even. 

The feelings build within you and the words threaten to spill out. The November sun is beginning to set and everything is golden in its light and Jonathan is a part of it all. His brown eyes are like warm honey on a cold winter morning and his hair is slightly ruffled from the wind that leaves his cheeks flushed and rosy. 

“Our thread,” your voice catches in your throat for a moment. “You know what our thread is, bee.”

He pulls you closer to him and in this moment all you can focus on are the slight freckles that dot across his face and neck. “Do I?”

Jonathan has never, ever looked at you like this before. There’s an intensity within his eyes that frightens you and leaves you feeling bare before him. Does he know? Has he figured it all out?

“I…” You can’t form the words you want to say; the three words that have been weighing upon you feel even heavier than before. They’re thick on your tongue, syrupy and dense and you feel as if you can’t breathe.

“Y/N?” He whispers, but you can only shake your head. 

It’s too much. It’s all too much. 

And then suddenly Jonathan leans in. 

Maybe you’re imagining it. 

Maybe you’re delirious after almost a week of sleepless nights and exhausting encounters. 

Or maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way about you. 

You lean in as well and allow yourself to close your eyes; you believe that just this once you can be selfish and accept more than you may deserve.

“Hey! Guys!”

Nancy’s shout causes you and Jonathan to spring apart. 

You want to scream. 

Of course it’s Nancy fucking Wheeler. 

Jonathan drops your hand and waves the girl over while you stand there, trying to collect yourself. As she walks over, you have just enough pride left over to say, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

The question is one Jonathan isn’t expecting. He steps back a bit, now even more aware of the close proximity the two of you had only seconds ago. “Of course I do, bug. You’re my best friend.”

Best friend. 

The words hurt more than they should, really. 

“Right. Best friend, ha.” You step even further away from Jonathan, which he raises his eyebrows at. 

“Did I miss something or…?”

If you had the time, you’d ask him why he wanted to know about the thread between the two of you. Why he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the entire room. Why, just minutes ago, he leaned in as if to kiss you. 

But Nancy is now only a couple feet away and it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to give the two of you some privacy. You spot the bat in her hand and it serves as a reminder of what the three of you are here for in the first place. 

Will, Barb, the monster. 

“No, of course not,” you clear your throat and greet Nancy as she arrives. “Hey, Nancy.”

She smiles at you and then says hello to Jonathan. “Hey, where’s the gun?”

You point over to the cans and the tree stumps. “Over there, we just wanted to go for a little walk after shooting a few rounds.”

Nancy nods and walks over to inspect the undamaged cans. “You said you already shot a few rounds?”

Jonathan ducks his head down. “Yeah, well. It’s not as easy as it looks in the movies.” 

“Y/N, did you try shooting?” 

“Pfft, I’m definitely not a weapons kind of girl. I prefer to use my crippling good looks instead.”

While you and Nancy talk, Jonathan walks back over to the gun and reloads it. He motions for the two of you to step back and he shoots a few more times. Not once does he hit the can. You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. 

“You’re awful at this, bee.”

“Yeah,” Nancy agrees.

Jonathan looks over at her. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

She scoffs. “Have you met my parents?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Wheeler seems like the type to have a hidden gun.” You say, and Nancy waves you off. 

“Well, I haven’t shot one since I was ten. My dad took me hunting on my birthday and made me kill a rabbit.” Jonathan’s words make you frown. Every day he gives you another reason to hate Lonnie. 

Nancy sympathizes with Jonathan and the two of them fall into an easy banter that you’ve never seen before with him. He’s comfortable around her in a way that makes your stomach twist. He tells her about his parents and how they may have loved each other at one point but now no longer do. He’s opening up to her after only a few days of really knowing her. 

Lovely. 

Nancy shares some details about her own family and how she believes her parents never loved each other, which you can relate to. You watch as Jonathan hands her the gun as she explains how her mom had been younger than her father. “He had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So, they bought a nice house at the end of a cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family.”

“Isn’t it funny how the fathers never seem to suffer the same fate as the mothers?” You ask, and Nancy looks over at you in confusion, so you explain further. “My own parents, they were like yours except the moment my mom was no longer young, my dad left. Found a newer and cheaper model back home in Virginia.” 

“I didn’t know that, I’m sorry Y/N.” 

You shrug. “It’s not like I go and advertise it. Besides, he was an asshole anyways and my mom is better off without him. She’s the sweetest woman in the world who was forced to run back to her family in Hawkins. Nuclear families aren’t all they’re cracked out to be.”

Jonathan ruffles your hair to get you to laugh, which he succeeds in doing. “Screw that.”

 Nancy raises the gun to eye level and closes one of her eyes, her beautiful face now scrunched in concentration. “Yeah, screw that.”

And with that, she shoots a perfectly aimed shot and knocks the can off the stump. You and Jonathan look at her, stunned, but she can only laugh. 

“Damn, Jonathan. Remind me to never piss Nancy off.” You say, still staring at the fallen can. 

Only he doesn’t hear what you’ve said because he’s too busy staring at Nancy. You can tell he’s impressed by her hidden shooting talent and the way she holds herself with such confidence. His eyes shine as he stares at her and he almost seems to come to life whenever she looks back at him. 

Jonathan looks at Nancy and you know he sees what everyone in Hawkins sees: a beautiful, fierce, and incredible girl. 

Nancy Wheeler, the perfect enigma.

Suddenly it clicks. 

Jonathan is in love with her, or at least he’s beginning to fall in love with her. 

You want to hate her. Afterall, she already has Harrington head over heels for her, and yet you can’t blame either one of the boys. She’s perfect and brilliant and everything you’re not. You’d fall in love with her too if you weren’t already in love with someone else. 

You watch as Nancy and Jonathan become lost in their own little world, him helping her reload the gun as she flashes him a shy smile, and you no longer exist near their presence. It feels like a fucking stab to your already open wound of a heart. You watch the way he ducks his head down whenever she looks at him and the way she stares at him when he isn’t looking. 

Nancy shoots a few more rounds and each shot feels like a hammer coming down onto your own coffin. Each time Jonathan looks at her you feel another nail enter. 

Clearly there’s no room for you here. 

Which is fucking ironic given that you’re in a giant field outside. 

You reach for Jonathan’s hand and tug him forward. He gives you a look as if asking is everything okay? and you wish more than ever that things were different between the two of you. You give him a soft shake of the head. “I can feel a headache coming on and I just remembered that I have a shift tonight, so I should get going.” 

He frowns. “But what about the monster? We can’t look for him without you.”

“You’ll be fine without me,” to your horror you can feel tears forming, which you quickly wipe away before Jonathan can notice. “I doubt I’d be any help, anyways. I suck with guns. Nancy’s the professional here.” 

“I mean, I guess, but…” He looks over at Nancy, who is busy firing the gun and hitting every target she aims for, before pulling you even closer to him. “Are we okay? I feel like, I don’t know… like I’m losing you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He could never, ever lose you, but if you don’t leave now then you’re afraid that maybe you’ll lose yourself. 

“Don’t be silly, bee. You’re not losing me, no matter how much you may want me to.” You try to tease him, but your heart isn’t in it. 

“You didn’t answer my question, Y/N. Are we okay?” He’s looking at you with so much adoration and concern in his eyes that it almost makes you sick. 

“Of course we are. I promise. I think it’s all just catching up to me, if I’m being honest. Between finding Will and tracking down my own brother, I think this monster hunting business may break me.” 

Jonathan eyes you for a moment as if to try and catch you in a lie, but while you’re only telling him this as an excuse to get away from him and Nancy, it’s not technically a lie. You are exhausted. Plus, you really do have a shift. 

The boy scans your face once more before deciding that you’re telling the truth. You know he suspects there’s something else behind your words, but thankfully he doesn’t pry. “Let me tell Nance that I’m driving you home,” 

And there it is again. 

Nance.

The nickname is like a punch to your gut and only solidifies that you should go. “It’s okay, bee. It’s still nice out, figured I’d walk home and get some sun before winter officially takes over Hawkins.” 

“You can’t expect me to let you walk alone now that we know there’s a monster out there taking people, bug.” 

You kiss his cheek, letting your lips linger for a little longer than necessary. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Stay with Nancy and call me tonight after you guys are done scouting around. We’ll figure out where to go from there. Okay?”

You don’t give Jonathan time to argue because you pull away and inform Nancy of your departure. She also frowns at the idea but has already learned that you’re not one to be told what to do. She understands this aspect of you, and you understand it within her as well, so she wishes you goodbye and tells you to stay safe before going back to shooting.

As you leave, you feel Jonathan’s eyes follow after you. 

– 

The walk ends up being more than enough to clear your head. You haven’t had any time to be alone in god knows how long, so it’s nice to have some time to just think and enjoy the quiet. There’s a lot you need to think about, but at the very forefront of your concerns are Will and El. You still have no idea how they’re connected or how the monster comes into play.

Then there’s Steve, oddly enough. 

You’re not really sure why he’s in the midst of your thoughts, but there he is. Smiling at you and laughing at your jokes and telling you that you’re pretty as he instills a carefree sense within you that feels foreign to enjoy. 

As his words ring through your head, you find your thoughts drifting towards Jonathan and the way he holds your hand every time you’re worried about something and the way he kisses your hair after a particularly hard day.

You’re not sure why the two boys almost seem to clash within your mind, but you don’t have time to look into it. Your shift starts soon and god knows how long your coworker Alex can survive on his own if you’re late. 

Work is slow as usual tonight, but you find the downtime a pleasant relief. It gives you the opportunity to skim some new books that shipped in and catch up on some Spidey storylines. In between stocking books and arranging comic displays you find yourself wondering just how true to his word Dustin stayed earlier. 

Like hell those kids really stayed out of the woods. 

Your question is answered as soon as you get home and find your brother crying in his room. Panic immediately swells within your chest and you run over to him.

“What’s wrong?” You check Dustin’s body for any sign of injury and he lets you as he cries, too upset to wave you away. When you’re assured that he’s okay, you feel your heartbeat calm down again. 

Christ, everytime you see this kid he takes ten damn years off of your life. 

You pull a chair from his desk and sit in front of him. “Dustin, do we need to have another code blue?”

“Maybe,” Dustin sniffles, wiping away a few tears. 

“Okay, then code blue. What happened? Is everyone okay? Is it El?” At the mention of the girl’s name, Dustin flinches. Your blood runs cold. “Dustin, what happened with El?” 

“You won’t yell at me?”

You smooth down his always wild hair. “Never during code blue. Please talk to me, bud.”

Dustin explains how he and the group had gone looking for the gate like they told you they would. He explained how they’d followed the train tracks throughout Hawkins for what seemed like hours. 

“The train tracks that go through the same woods I told you not to go in?”

“Like hell we were gonna listen to you.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

This gets Dustin to laugh a bit, which you’re relieved to see, before he continues his story. When he reveals El’s weird behavior and the way she seemed to be hiding something from them, you feel dread creep in. “Did she… Did she do something to prevent you guys from finding the gate?”

“She used her powers to mess with the compass. Lucas found the blood on her jacket.”

You sense that there’s more. “And then?”

“Mike and Lucas… they-they started fighting.” Dustin’s voice breaks, “they started really going at it, and I tried to stop them. I swear I tried, Y/N!”

“Shh,” you reach for his hand to try and calm him down. “I know you did, but I also know how Mike can get when he’s protective of someone and I know that Lucas isn’t El’s biggest fan. It was a recipe for disaster.”

Dustin snorts, “No kidding.” Then his face darkens once more, “but they wouldn’t listen, and that’s when El screamed.” 

“She screamed?”

“I think she was overwhelmed, but she used her powers on Lucas and flung him across the yard and he hit his head pretty hard…”

“She what-”

“She didn’t mean to! She looked really upset after, and Lucas was fine after he woke up-”

“He was knocked unconscious?”

“And then he stormed off and El ran off. We searched for her, but…” 

You stare at your brother in shock. That definitely hadn’t been what you were expecting. El never struck you as a violent girl, but she knocked Lucas out with her mind. Sure, she may have been trying to break up the fight, but you’re willing to bet that she lost control for a moment and Lucas ended up getting hurt as a result.

Maybe you don’t want superpowers. 

“Y/N, have I lost all my friends?” Dustin asks. 

You shush him once more. “No, of course not. You three boys have always been so drastically different from one another, and this week has been one from pure hell. It makes sense that Lucas and Mike finally snapped, but I promise you that they’ll bounce back eventually.” 

“And El?”

“I’m not sure what to make of her,” you admit. “She isn’t violent, I know she’s not. But we also clearly don’t know her as well as we think we do. I just, I need you to be careful around her, okay? Fight for her, defend her like you would for the boys, but be cautious as well.”

“Cautious, got it.” He cocks his head at you, “but what about Lucas and Mike? They’re still friends, right?”

“Of course they are. Just… sometimes friendship can be hard, but it’s almost always worth fighting for. It’s rare to find friends as loyal as Mike or as brave as Lucas or even as sincere as Will. Yet look at you guys, all together; you’re all incredibly lucky to have one another.”

“Lucky like you and Jonathan?” Dustin asks, a sly glint in his eyes. 

You smile, even if he’s teasing you. “Yeah, like me and Jonathan.”

Dustin returns your smile and you squeeze his hand. “Anyways, I say give Lucas some time to calm down. I think he was scared, more than anything. Tomorrow you can try to talk to him again.” 

Your brother nods at your words and he seems better than he did when you first started the conversation, so you open your arms wide and engulf him into a hug. 

“Code blue concluded, I guess.” Dustin mumbles against your chest, which causes the two of you to laugh.

– 

After your talk with Dustin, you head back to your room and wait for Jonathan to call. You glance at the clock and figure that maybe him and Nancy were still out scouting for clues, so you busy yourself with some homework.

When it nears ten at night and the phone still hasn’t rung, you sigh and reach over for the phone on your desk. You dial Jonathan’s number and hope he simply forgot to call, but when no one answers after your fifth time calling: you begin to worry. 

Ya know, maybe it wasn’t your best idea letting him and Nancy go off alone with a monster on the loose. 

You find yourself frantically biking to the Wheeler’s house before you can even think about it. The night blurs past you and as you walk up their driveway and try to rest your bike against their mailbox, a familiar BMW parks next to you. 

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, Henderson.” Steve says as he sends you a wink. 

You almost greet the boy before Tommy’s head pops out from the passenger side window. “Hey good lookin.”

You hear Carol berate him and the two begin to bicker as Steve gets out of the car. 

Great. He brought the idiots.

Steve walks over and takes your bike from your hands. After a couple seconds of repositioning and balancing, he finally manages to get the bike to stay upright. “Tada!”

“I almost had it,” you glare at him. 

“Sure ya did.”

Steve’s presence is frustrating as always, but you spot Jonathan’s car parked down the street and Carol’s shrill voice becomes increasingly irritating. You don’t have time for this right now. “What are you doing here, Harrington?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” When you glare at him, he finally says, “Nancy promised she’d call me but hasn’t, so I wanted to check on her.”

His sincerity is why you say, “I’m here for…” You realize you can’t necessarily tell Steve about Jonathan possibly being here. You have a feeling it wouldn’t end well, but you’re also not keen on lying to the boy. You’re already keeping secrets from practically everyone in your life; you don’t want to add Steve to the list. Not when he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I’m looking for Jonathan,” you confess, worried about Steve’s reaction. 

He frowns. “Why would Byers be here?”

“Him and Nancy have this… thing for english. Due tomorrow. A big thing. Like, huge. So they’re working on it together. In the house. Where Nancy lives. Here.” You stumble over your words, more nervous than usual, but you weren’t expecting Steve to be here or that you’d need a cover story. 

“Uh huh,” something almost aggressive flickers across Steve’s face and you silently curse to yourself. You said the wrong thing. 

“Funny, Nancy told me she was only helping Byers for the funeral.” 

Shit.

Tommy and Carol watch from the car, obviously amused by the whole situation. 

“Right! She was, now she’s working on an assignment with him.” Technically not a lie, you’re just omitting the fact that the assignment in question is monster hunting. 

“You’re really bad at lying, Henderson.” Steve walks past you, now over the conversation, and you struggle to keep up. You try to block his path, assuming that he’ll use the front door, but as you near the front step he side steps you and starts heading towards the bushes. 

“What are you doing?” You whisper loudly, trying not to draw too much attention to yourself. 

Steve ignores your whispered yelling and jumps on top of the radiator. Once he’s up, he begins to pull himself over the overhang and up onto the roof. There’s a window just above the ledge with a light on, which you presume to be Nancy’s room due to the practiced ease in which Steve scaled the house. 

You don’t try to climb up after him in fear that you’ll only end up embarrassing yourself. “Ya know, Mrs. Wheeler loves me, I could’ve just knocked on the door.”

Steve peers down at you, an easygoing smile now back on his face. “Relax, this is quicker. Besides, you gotta admit it was impressive to watch.”

Again he winks at you and you feel your cheeks flush. He’s right, it had been impressive to watch; he had made it look so easy. While you struggle to come up with a witty retort, Steve almost knocks on Nancy’s window before his smile drops.

You notice the way his face hardens. “Steve?”

He doesn’t respond, which only concerns you more. You begin to think about the millions of possibilities surrounding Nancy, Jonathan, and monster hunting; fear creeps in. “Is Nancy there? Is she okay?”

“Of course you’d be worried about Nancy right now,” Steve laughs bitterly. You frown at his words, unsure what they mean, but before you can ask anything else Steve angrily climbs back down.

“Steve, what-” He pushes past you in a frenzied hurry to get to his car, but you grab his jacket and force him to stop. “Answer me! Is Nancy okay? Was Jonathan with her?”

Steve whips around and sneers at you. “Why do you even care about them? About him?”

“Because we’re friends,” you say, and for the first time you really mean it. Nancy has become someone you’d call a friend. 

Another cruel laugh escapes Steve’s lips. “Friends, huh? Yeah, those two looked real fucking cozy in her bed.”

A wave of nausea hits you.

“W-what?” You drop your hand and release his jacket. 

“It’s incredible, really. Byers has some fucking nerve.” Steve runs a hand through his hair in agitation and begins to pace. You’re too numb to stop him. “I mean, look at you! He has everything he could possibly want, but he decides to go after my girlfriend.”

“It’s not like that-” 

“Did he tell you they’d be in her room, alone in her bed, underneath her blanket?”

More nausea hits you. “No,”

They were supposed to look for any signs of the monster in the woods. That’s all he told me, you think. 

“So he’s a liar, too.” Steve scoffs, “you deserve better, Y/N.”

And with that, he heads back to his car and drives away, leaving you standing alone once more in the Wheeler’s driveway. You get a sense of deja-vu, watching Steve’s BMW descend down the street, but only this time there’s no warmth fluttering within your stomach as he leaves. 

All you feel is nausea. 

You don’t remember the bike ride home; you’re not sure how you even made it back safely without crashing into anything. All you remember is that you cried the entire way. 

You’ve lost Jonathan, there’s no denying that now. He’s Nancy’s, wholly and truly, he’s hers. 

He was never yours in the first place, you remind yourself. 

But if he was never yours in the first place, then why does it feel like you were almost something?

No. 

You don’t want to think about it that way. 

Yours or not, you can’t afford to lose Jonathan. 

Something or everything, you’ll take whatever you can when it comes to him. 

Everything, anything, nothing. Whatever he gives you, you know you’ll cling onto it with all that’s within you.

But your friendship with Jonathan is too precious to lose, too meaningful to let stupid feelings ruin it. You refuse to let anything come between your friendship with him, and you swear to yourself to shove everything down. Every hurt feeling, all the pain stabbing within your chest, you force it all down to focus on finding Will. 

He’s all that matters right now, even if it feels like the thread connecting you to Jonathan has begun to wither.

Will has to come first. 

You have to find him, something good and lovely has to come from this. You can’t let this all be for nothing.

-

⌑ series masterlist

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[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 3: Window of Opportunity

Pairing: Gojo x fem! reader

Warnings: language, Gojo being well Gojo, domestic violence, thank y'all for sharing your experience with me, it helped me so much understanding childhood trauma and made me transform it into this fic <3

Synopsis: Being the daughter of the Zenin clan made it your mission to defeat him. Him, Satoru Gojo, the honored one. Him, who makes your life a living hell. Him, who begins to get so much more than your curse...

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Hurt to Comfort

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

„Oh, did you say something? I can’t understand you when you’re crying like a baby”, you purr as the eyes of the man who writhes in front of you like a little worm fill with tears of sheer fear.

Your grin grows wider and wider, satisfaction filling you to the brim. Maybe that mission isn’t so bad after all when you’re finally able to use your special abilities again.

While you are a skilled combat fighter, the director strictly forbids you to use Phobia Projection against another member of Jujutsu High since your former classmate almost hung himself because of it. You roll your eyes out of instinct.

As if it was his fault that his mind is so damn weak.

“I know he tried to kill us a few seconds ago. But don’t you think you’re going a little too harsh on him, (y/n)?”, Geto questions while manspreading the whole couch and eying you up and down.

“I’m not harsh on him. He’s seeing his own fears, I have nothing to do with that”, you defend yourself with a casual shoulder shrug.

How is it your fault that this guy acts like a baby? You let yourself sink next to Geto, watch from afar how the little bug continues to cry out in agony.

Unfortunately, your powers don’t allow you an insight into what your opponents go through. Is his worst fear a spider, a monster, or even worse…a human? Too bad there’s no way to find out since they never tell you afterwards. Maybe you’ll be able to torture it out of him. With a little bit of cutting and a whole lot of punching-

“P-please, make it stop!”, he yells out over and over.

The violent ringing of Geto’s phone rips you out of your chuckling and more than entertaining thoughts with an annoyed groan. Urgh, who the hell is interrupting that wonderful moment?

“Did you beat him already? I hope the dirty Zenin brat wasn’t in the way.”

You don’t have to look at the screen to know who’s calling, pulse rising to the rooftop. It’s him, the white-haired douchebag. Much to your liking, Geto decided it would be best if you accompany him instead of Gojo. But even if you’re not forced to be next to him physically right now, you’re still doing this mission together. Which means that he’s always there – like herpes.

“Spare your stinky breath. We were done before you decided to-“

“HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

“Can you shut the fuck up? I’m having a serious call with a douchebag right now”, you bark at the man rolling on the floor.

“You’re an evil witch”, Gojo comments dryly on the other side of the phone.

“Evil, huh? Well, at least I’m not as dumb as-“

“Can you two just stop? We have him here as well as the vessel. I’ll send you the location. Don’t cause trouble.”

“Tell that this little-“

Oh right, the plasma vessel. You eye the girl lying opposite of you up and down, her dark hair falling into her closed eyes like a curtain. Must be rough, knowing your only reason walking on this planet is the stinging fact that a part of you will get killed within the next years.

How is she different from you, though?

You, with your family pressuring you into pouring your heart and soul into training, who never accepted you despite your heart work. You, who lost a part of herself in the process of forcing the best version of (y/n) onto you. You, who slowly but surely turned into a frightening resemblance of her family’s shadow, crossing a path she never imagined she’d land on as a kid. You sacrificed your smile, your dignity, your heart for the mission to become better than Gojo Satoru.

Aren’t you just like her?

“Hey, are you good?”

The sheer feeling of Geto’s warm hand resting against your shoulder rips you out of your daydreaming immediately.

“I’m not that Gojo weakling. You don’t need to watch over me”, you reply dryly, gifting him with the deadliest side-eye you have in store.

Well, maybe not the deadliest. That gaze is reserved for Naoya and Gojo only.

“Is there a reason apart from Satoru being a member of the Gojo clan why you hate him? I never understood what’s the deal between both of you.

You can’t help but tilt your head to the side, mind going blank for a second. Now that you think of it…Is there really a reason apart from the fact that your family taught you to hate him for your huge dislike? When you two first saw each other that one evening, he was nothing but a nice boy your age through your innocent eyes. A boy with a quite charming smile, who always had a cheeky reply in store. A boy with a strict family himself. Yes, you actually had a lot in common. And to some point, you began to like him in the few minutes you talked to each other.

Until you came back home and realized who exactly you were talking to.

“You did what?”, your father hissed through gritted teeth. 

Another ruthless slap. Blood spilled to the ground, discoloured everything around you crimson. Eyes widen and teary, lips trembling when his flat palm crushed into your face again.

Over and over.

Again and again.

Until you weren’t able to feel your face anymore, eyes so swollen that your vision faded.

“Let me remind you of wrong little thing.”

He grabbed you by the hair Gojo complimented just a few minutes ago roughly and yanked you into the air.

“You are nothing, the biggest disappointment in my whole life. If it was for me, you’d be dead already. But because of your other lousy family members, you get the chance to surpass that Gojo brat. And you?”

Another slap, your feet tangled in the air like a wind chime.

“You actually befriend him. You disgust me, (y/n). And you always will. You’ll never bring honor to your family.”

“He’s himself, that’s enough”, you press out.

“What do we have here, dreaming about me, (y/n)?”

Speaking of the devil. Before you’re even able to accept his existence in the same room, he stands in front of you and grins you down.

That fucker, the reason for your suffering, for the fact that your family doesn’t accept you…

Your hand reacts faster than the rest of your body. A ruthless slap sends Satoru Gojo straight back to reality, echoes through the room without mercy. Your palm begins to burn like hell while your uneven breath hangs in the thick air between both of you.

“What was that, huh?”

He roams closer, his redden skin showing your act of violence way too clearly.

“Who the hell do you think you are, little bitch?”

Your throat begins to tighten uncomfortably, the veins in your arms throbbing in an all too familiar way.

Hatred. You feel nothing but hatred.

“You’d deserve even more than that, asshole”, you bite back.

He’s so close that you’re able to sense the heat radiating from his body and how his breath wanders over your face. You feel like burning alive, so unusual aroused that it’s hard to keep a straight face. Did he always look at you with his lips slightly parted, his eyes glowing like they normally do in serious fights? You are trapped between both of his arms, roasted by his heat, defeated by the way he looks down at you without saying another word.

What is that? And most importantly, do you want it to stop?

You can’t decide for yourself. In the split of a second you find yourself surrounded by broken glass, free fall down from the 15th floor.

Fuck, who’s responsible for this? Did Gojo go this far, would he actually throw you out of a skyscraper just to get rid of you? He might be the biggest asshole walking on this planet, but he’d never do something so damn basic. No, it has to be someone who is chasing after the star plasma vessel, someone who kept an eye on you this entire time.

Well, who’s responsible for this mess isn’t your biggest problem. At the moment, you are on your rapid way to crash into the ground, your guts feeling as if they’ll spill out of your mouth any given minute. And even though you’re able to inhibit the impact, this will still hurt like hell.

Do you have another way out of here, though? Getting hurt is better than crying for anyone’s help, after all. You close your eyes, embrace yourself for multiple broken bones and a wave of pain as soon as you hit the ground.

But it never happens.

“Aren’t so brave anymore, huh? If you only had told me that I would have to throw you out of a sky-high window to get you to shut up, brat.”

Just to let y'all know, I'm still over here giggling like an idiot over the title of that chapter hehehehe

Tags: @whereismysane @risuola @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @livmarauder @sapphireandange

@madaqueue @chilichopsticks @sugurulefttesticle @boba-is-a-soup @jennapancake

@kentocalls @mrshlf @byakuya61085 @polarbvnny @rzcnlb

@m0k0k0

[britcision]

FRIENDS IT IS HERE. As promised even! We are technically just under 20k for this chapter, but still not small enough that cutting it in half has stopped it from brutally murdering the app, so…. We’ll see how this posts! 😅

I did myself a whole honkin’ reread on the whole thing too, refreshed my lil reminders of what I named things and all the lil threads I was playing with… and hot damn it’s a beast huh?

The good news is, although we are getting into plot, we are getting out of the heavy stuff, at least for the next little bit! Back to our silly happy fun times with the boys 🥰

And, y’know, dealing with Jason’s death and first transformation and all. Totally all fine! Nothing to worry about! 😇

Today’s chapter is a lil Bruce-heavy in this front half because the main thing stopping me was that I got most of the way through before I realized I needed to rewrite Jason’s entire first scene, but I’m a lot happier with it now 😁

First Chapter and AO3:

Previous Chapter:

——————————

The Finished Core part 1

When it finally happened, Jason’s core coming in was pretty anticlimactic. For all they’d worried it might trigger a transformation, rile up the pit, or even have a physical shockwave… the event itself was almost disappointing. Buried busily in some paperwork for the library, Jason himself hadn’t actually noticed.

He’d already started feeling what he thought might be his core over the past few days; like a vibrating ball of energy, usually in the middle of his chest (although it wandered in all directions). Which would make the knot of tension that sometimes sat in his gut and sometimes went as far up as his throat… probably Pitty.

Not fun having a distinct sensation that went along with everything else the Pit was. Did nothing at all to ease his worries about what the hell would happen when they were both actually completed.

But when the day finally came… yeah, nothing. The soft, warm glow in his chest when he thought about the project had grown steadily stronger over the week and a bit he’d known Danny at that point, so he hadn’t really paid enough attention to notice a change.

They’d still been seeing each other every day, although now that the new school semester had started up it had slowed down to a couple hours in the evening. Jason had dived headlong into his restoration project both on Frostbite’s advice, and to keep himself from counting the hours. Which, apparently, worked?

The biggest disruption was actually Danny blasting in through the wall not a minute later, invisible until he dived through one of Jason’s freshly legal goons and almost knocked the table over. Luckily there were no actual Red Hood links lying around - Catherine’s name was staying clean, which was for the best since Jason still hadn’t thought of a way to bring it up.

Even now, back from another appointment with Frostbite to confirm all was well, Jason didn’t actually feel any different? It was official though; both cores were complete, and now all they had to do was wait until the pit matured enough to actually leave Jason’s body and do its own thing.

Now that he didn’t have any choice but to confront it, he couldn’t have said what he’d expected anyway, but… well, surely there should have been something? More energy? More corruption? Hell, even increased ghost senses or some indication that the powers would be coming in.

According to Danny, intangibility usually came with the pit dropping out of your stomach and feeling floaty. Accidental floating came with a head rush or feeling like falling. Invisibility just fucking happened.

All he felt was weirdly normal? The fancy ecto ice was working, and his little ghost succulent - that or all the time with Danny; even Pitty’s flares of emotion were manageable. The green haze hadn’t come back since meeting Lady Gotham.

And okay, maybe he was pushing that by going right back to the manor the next day, but listen. Frostbite had reminded him to do calming tasks, since Pitty should start being more aware of their surroundings now.

Baking with Alfred was as calming and soothing as Jason could imagine, without stapling himself to Danny in classes. And sure, he’d helped with Danny’s homework the past couple nights, but the guy would get sick of him eventually. Faster if they stayed attached at the hip.

(And that had been another “fun” tidbit Frostbite had dropped on them; if they were actually making their own ghost baby, they’d have been able to trade the core off between them. Jason hadn’t thought anything could make that idea sound appealing, but if he coulda just stuffed Pitty into someone else… well, he probably wouldn’t actually wish its corruption and constant tantrums on anyone else, but having a break woulda been nice.)

Now that his core was done, technically the daily hanging out probably wasn’t as necessary. So long as Jason had some backup plans to keep himself calm and in control. Which should mean that they could go from hanging out as a necessary chore to just… friends.

And since no one in the city wound Jason up like Bruce, if he happened to also be at the manor he’d have a trial-by-fire for his shiny new core. He’d kept his word and tapped out of patrol since meeting Lady Gotham (and apparently Harley had taken the manor in fire and glory the night after and locked Bruce… somewhere for two full days), so he’d not heard from B since.

According to Tim, Constantine hadn’t returned to Gotham at all.

The thought of their names only stirred angry bubbles from Pitty, and Jason absolutely wasn’t self destructive or a masochist, so he was just testing to see how far that’d last. How careful he’d need to be, and how aware the little guy was.

So obviously he wasn’t even all the way into the manor before he ran into the man himself.

Stopping short, Jason’s fist clenched more from force of habit than any actual desire. Sucking in a deep breath, he thought of his ghost succulent (which had started glowing faintly blue a couple nights ago, which was hopefully a good thing?) and carefully unclenched. Nodded a little stiffly.

This would be the first time they’d been alone together since… shit, he didn’t even know. He hadn’t seen the guy without the buffer of at least one other bat in months.

“Bruce,” he said warily, half hoping the man could just… be normal. For once. Nod, say hi, fuck off about his own business. He couldn’t still be on his anti-Danny crusade, could he?

The man actually flinched, face twitching through a couple of expressions Jason couldn’t even guess at. A sudden urge between his shoulder blades did nothing to help, distracting him long enough for everything to be smoothed under the usual masks.

If Bruce just had a damn aura… okay, that’d be one change with the completed core. All of his attempts to reach out with his own aura before had basically involved his whole body actually leaning in the same direction.

That… urge, itch between his shoulders, if that had been his aura trying to reach out, felt more like an entirely new muscle group. Curiosity won and Jason focused, trying to follow the urge and reach out… and wasn’t sure it had worked at all.

Because all he could feel was sorrow and regret, and that didn’t sound like B. At all. His compartmentalizing was out the ass, sure, but what the hell would he actually feel sorry for?

“Jason?” And from the sound of it, not the first time he’d said his name. Great.

Shelving the apparently-faulty aura for now, Jason frowned back.

“I’m here to see Alfred.” It wasn’t exactly a warning. Wasn’t exactly a threat, although it carried the possibility. Meant that if B pissed him off enough to leave, he’d face some British disapproval.

Bruce’s shoulders sagged just a little, and then he drew himself up, his face firm and resolved. Jason tensed automatically; if he actually tried to bar him from seeing Danny face to face, would he still be able to walk away?

That was why he’d brought the glacierfrost. Slipping a hand into his back pocket, he crushed a crystal quickly before the man could open his mouth. Wintergreen mint burst across the back of his tongue, another brief flicker of distraction that, for some reason, came with another pang of sorrow.

“I’m sorry.”

Jason nearly stumbled, and he hadn’t even been moving. Bruce looked… tired, all of a sudden. More tired than he could remember ever seeing him.

“Wait… what?”

Bruce gave him a sad smile.

“It’s been brought to my attention… multiple times… that you should have heard that from me alone first. And then I kept adding more and more to be sorry for. And I know you don’t want to see me, so now seems like the best time to start.” It was jerky, and awkward, and probably the most uncomfortable Jason had ever seen Bruce in a conversation.

Which only served to confuse him further. Bruce overplanned everything; he never acted without at least two layers of backups. It was why he had a million plans for every possible micro-scenario. He didn’t do spontaneous.

“What are you even talking about?” He asked, half exasperated, and Bruce’s smile widened a fraction. That only made it more self deprecating.

“There are too many things to count, but… Jason, I’m sorry I sprung the apology on you at the gala. I thought having the world as my witnesses would show you I meant it, but I should have asked first. I should have apologized first, to you. Alone. I’m… aware what it says about me that I couldn’t.” He was almost wearing one of Brucie’s self-deprecating smiles now, but the edges were raw. Unpolished. Certainly not camera ready.

Real?

Jason’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his brain entirely short-circuited. Of all the things Bruce could have said to him… of all the things the man might apologize for, he’d honestly forgotten all about the damn gala speech.

Forcing himself to focus, he folded his arms and regarded his former father figure warily.

“Sure, that’s a place to start,” he agreed, more sarcastically than he’d meant to. But he couldn’t take it back.

There was another moment of stiffness, and then Bruce’s shoulders sagged as well as he breathed out, still looking… well, so much more human. More breakable, more fallible. Or was that just from hearing him admit he’d been wrong?

“I do mean it, Jason. I did mean it,” he said softly, piercing blue eyes unusually gentle as he looked him over, and suddenly Jason knew what was bothering him.

The mask. The iron mask of Batman, the bumbling shield of Brucie. B always had a mask, over every interaction. Every situation, every possible scene, B always had a character to play. And he played them well.

That was what looked wrong about him. He wasn’t… intentional. His posture was open and unthreatening, his face lax in a way it never was while he held every muscle in check.

This was just actual, sincere B.

Jason wasn’t completely sure why that made him want to run or cry, but it said a fuck of a lot about him too.

More that he just couldn’t bring himself to return it.

Sucking in a sharp breath, seriously considering grabbing for another crystal, he nodded sharply.

“Okay. Now what.” Because that was the thing; Jason had never wanted B to be sorry that he hadn’t come for Jason. That he finally hadn’t been on time to save him from himself.

He didn’t want the apology, he wanted things to change. To be better. For Bruce to accept that it had happened, and Jason was who he was now because he’d decided to be, not the pits or Tallia or the Joker.

He wanted so many things.

Bruce was searching his face, eyes sharp even as he consciously kept the rest of the expression open. Jason could see the tick of muscle in his cheek. Fuck, was it that hard for Bruce not to put on the act?

After a moment, he spread his hands. A gesture of peace? Not holding a weapon, not tensed for an attack?

“That’s all. For now. I just… wanted you to know. I’m sorry. And I’m…” the expression pulled a little, becoming pained, “I have been told I am overreacting to the news from Amity Park as well. I should trust your judgement. So I’m pulling myself from the case to focus on the Anti-Ecto Acts.”

This time Jason’s jaw just dropped. B… Bruce never. Never pulled himself from a case. Not for broken bones, ruptured organs, not even if he’d died.

It was almost worse than the rage; all of a sudden he was lost at sea, the one grounding, immovable rock in his life swept away. Part of him was even angry at that - at B suddenly deciding that now, this time he was going to be reasonable.

When all Jason expected from him was judgement, antagonism, stupid overbearing demands and being held at arm’s length, now all of a sudden the Bat was human.

It was too late to pretend the moment hadn’t happened, to completely hide his shock, but he also couldn’t stop the bluster from rising. Not the way his eyes narrowed suspiciously, even when every part of him that had been Robin desperately hoped this was real.

“And what the hell brought that on?” Not the accusation in his voice, although for once Bruce didn’t rise to it. He just chuckled dryly, like he’d been expecting Jason’s reaction.

“Because you were right.”

And now Jason was fully on edge again, scanning the man more closely for any signs of hypnotism, mind control, that this was a clone or a replacement. A trap or a trick. Because B… Bruce would never…

Bruce raised both hands quickly, possibly expecting Jason to just… jump him. Which, to be fair, would have been a more normal interaction.

“You were the one who brought the Amity Park situation to our attention. And you’re right, that I can’t expect your doctor or any other ghost to come here to help you until it is safe for them to do so,” he added quickly, and Jason rocked back onto his heels.

Of course, the caveat. That made sense, bitter in the back of his throat as it was. Just an inarguable set of facts.

Not like he’d ever actually admit that Jason’s judgement was reliable or anything. Folding his arms again (partly to stop his fists from clenching), he gave Bruce a sceptical look.

“Right, so what finally yanked your head out of your ass about it?” He asked sharply. Bruce gave him that same wry smile.

“Diana. And Harley. And Alfred. And Selena. I have been… extensively informed I had my head up my ass. So. I’m sorry for that too. I just wanted to tell you before I left, since I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.”

And it shouldn’t have been funny that he actually looked more pained talking about this, admitting a mistake, than he had when nursing broken ribs in the infirmary. Than he’d looked during any of their fights, than when Jason had all but grabbed his face and forced him to see that it really was him, that his dear little Robin came back wrong.

But dark humour was a refuge for all the bats, and if Jason didn’t laugh he had a horrible feeling he’d cry. All that tension, all those days he’d worried about what he’d say or do when they came face to face again… he’d never have imagined any of this.

Could imagine another bloody battle before imagining Bruce saying sorry.

All of a sudden he was just tired. Ha. Dead tired.

Nothing drained the life out of him like dealing with Bruce.

“Great. So where are you going?” It was almost a rhetorical question; he didn’t really expect an answer.

Should have, though. Obviously B had to stick his foot in it again.

“Amity Park. As Bruce Wayne, not Batman,” he added quickly when Jason’s head snapped up, glare sharpening, “it seems the logical place to begin work on the acts.”

And alright, Bruce didn’t sound defensive. He never did; just obstinate, which meant so many things that guessing when it meant what was a losing game.

Jason groaned loudly, raising both hands to scrub down across his face. Because of course all that weirdness hadn’t changed a damn thing. B was gonna B, creepy and intrusive and all.

“And look into Danny.” He said flatly, locking eyes with Bruce in time to see his expression twitch. Was he actually gonna lie?

Apparently not. Bruce sighed and nodded.

“My focus will be on establishing a connection between “Brucie” and the Anti-Ecto Acts, and investigating the GIW. Danny has been involved in both, and Zatanna has requested the elder Fentons provide me with protection,” he said like it was anything but a weak excuse.

Jason stared at him for a long moment, and then figured fuck it. Actually telling them before he left was technically still an improvement, and Danny and Jason were both well aware that there was gonna be some nosy bullshit.

He’d warned Danny this was gonna happen, and Danny had said it was fine. That he didn’t care about anything Batman might find… and knowing just how badly the Justice League had fucked up was going to eat the asshole alive. Which he could have avoided just by listening.

About to just walk away, Jason hesitated. There was actually one thing… technically not a necessary for a halfa, but fuck it. Might as well get B used to some ghostly etiquette early.

“Have you asked Danny?”

Bruce stilled, giving Jason a complicated look that mostly felt like judgement. Like Jason should know better than to ask.

“I was under the impression that removing the Anti-Ecto Acts is a priority?” He said stiffly, all awkward tension again.

Jason really did roll his eyes this time.

“Sure, but you’re going to his haunt. You text Superman before investigating in Metropolis.” Which technically hadn’t even been true when Jason was actually Robin, but B did text Clark before getting caught investigating in Metropolis. By anything but Kryptonian hearing.

The protocol basically only applied whenever another hero wanted to operate within Gotham because only Batman cared, but it was on the League’s books.

Bruce had picked up the wording though, because of course he had.

“His haunt?” He asked carefully, that tiny tick between his brows that meant he was processing starting up.

Jason rolled his eyes harder. For emphasis. Had JL Dark actually missed this part of the briefing? He was so not writing up Ghost Etiquette 101 for the league. No way.

But. It. Might be kinda cool. To have for himself. Especially since it was gonna be increasingly relevant.

“He’s a ghost hero, B. He died there, he protects the city. He’s like, the only one who’ll actually get your territorial crap, because in his case it’s part of his makeup.”

Actually, might be part of B’s too. Danny hadn’t said how liminal Bruce in particular was, but it really wouldn’t surprise Jason if claiming a haunt was part of it. Or if Lady Gotham had already picked out a spot for him.

That thought stung, so he dismissed it immediately and turned towards the kitchen. Hell with the brownies he’d been planning, he was gonna need something much more complicated to keep his mind off the latest wave of bullshit.

Alfred liked soufflés. Jason could activate the house defences to keep the little gremlins out until they were done.

“Just fucking text him, B. Entering a ghost’s haunt without permission is declaring intent to throw down, and that’s a fight none of us need.” No matter how much he might like to watch B go up against the ridiculous power-set Danny was packing.

Sure, the Bat went toe to toe with the gods, but that was with plans, tech, and often, backup. Apparently he still didn’t know shit about ghosts, so it’d be fun to watch him try and adapt on the fly… especially when even Danny wasn’t sure how many actual powers were on the table.

**

Bruce hesitated for a long moment, looking at Jason’s retreating back.

That had gone… frankly he did not trust his own read on Jason enough to tell. Neither of them had yelled. He’d said what he was prepared to; he was still working on the appropriate format for the rest.

Jason… hadn’t reacted. Not with anger, which was a blessed relief, but not with anything else either. Except disbelief. Exasperation. Shock.

Not really any aggression, though. That had to be a decided improvement. And while part of Bruce suspected he’d been told to inform Danny so the boy could hide anything unsavoury….

He’d known that was likely to happen when he told Jason his plans. Jason would tell Danny; his allegiances there were firmly (and worryingly quickly) established.

Telling Danny himself… there was a chance that Jason had been serious about it being a matter of protocol. A formal request, for contact with an inter-dimensional entity.

Despite that entity being present and active in Bruce’s own city without so much as a nod to the Bat. But then, Batman was not a ghost, despite what the goons liked to suppose.

Firmly marshalling his own suspicions, Bruce pulled out his phone to message the youngest Fenton.

Stopped.

Bruce Wayne didn’t have the boy’s number. But Danny knew at least Nightwing’s identity; it was possible he knew them all.

He was going to Amity Park as Brucie Wayne, not Batman. But Brucie Wayne had no way to get the correct phone number. Unexpected contact from Batman was… well, expected, to an extent.

And his investigations would be handled and presented as Batman. Surely no one would challenge Brucie Wayne to a fight?

Mind made up, Bruce took his vigilante phone out and did a quick scan through his childrens’ updated contact lists. Most of them seemed to have been enjoying the company of the Amity Parkers; it wouldn’t be hard to get Danny’s contact information.

**

So. New year, new problems. Danny used to say it as a joke, but this year it was looking pretty darn literal.

Last year, for example, he hadn’t had to worry about his parents finding out about his supposed “love life” from a magazine (that Jazz must have sent them after they’d gone back to Amity Park, the traitor), and calling to hound him for details.

He’d managed to talk them out of driving the GAV straight to Gotham to threaten Jason into “treating him right”… which Jason thought was funny solely because he still didn’t actually know how large Jack Fenton was, nor how intense Maddie could be.

He still thought of them as civilians, and maybe a little less than competent, thanks to the database and their zero capture record.

Maybe Danny was cultivating that ignorance specifically so he could watch the moment of truth in person. Sue him, it was funny.

Unfortunately, since the magazine had also included that the gala they’d been “hooking up” at had been to celebrate Jason’s return from the dead, his mom had reached the halfa conclusion on her own. Danny had wanted to let Jason decide when to tell her, but that very first phone call the first words out of her mouth had been “Daniel James Fenton, have you met another halfa without telling us?”

And Danny had been so taken aback by them actually noticing anything (it was to do with ghosts, of course they’d noticed, he’d kicked himself for days after) that she’d taken his speechlessness as confirmation.

So.

They had that out of the way before they even said hi.

Despite Danny’s firm assurances that he and Jason weren’t actually dating, the papers were making the whole thing up (the photos hadn’t helped, but his dad seemed to buy that he’d been. Trying to help Jason fix his shirt. After the rogue attack, y’know), his parents had insisted on another call with Jason.

And Jazz. Because he had to introduce his sister to his new boyfriend too.

Jason had… taken it well? Hadn’t gotten much of a word in edgewise, around Jack Fenton’s boisterous laughter and insistence that he come around some time soon. He’d agreed with Danny that they definitely were not dating, which.

They weren’t.

They just weren’t.

They were just. Friends. Who hung out after classes in the evening. And texted all day. And told each other their deepest darkest soul secrets in like, a week after they’d met.

Danny’s mom had seemed a little more convinced by the end of the call, but still insisted Jason should come down to Amity Park anyway, to get to know the family.

Danny was still in denial about it being even a little bit helpful, but Jason had decided to drop the Fright Knight bomb right away. It was the actual real reason they were so close now, so it made sense as an explanation that wasn’t them being partners or whatever.

(Danny still hated it. Resented he couldn’t be trusted to just… have a friend. It always had to be something stupid and dramatic.

And he was totally offended by how immediately relieved his mom had been that he’d have someone “looking after him”. Like he wasn’t a whole ass adult for years already, and the king of a realm for longer than that.)

And now he was gonna have to call them back, and probably get a message to Fright Knight, because Danny’s newest problem was that Batman now had his phone number.

And was asking his permission to go to Amity Park to deal with the Anti-Ecto Acts.

(“Brucie Wayne” was officially the one going for the Acts, the message only said that Batman would be escorting the billionaire and gathering evidence separately, but Danny wasn’t fucking buying it.

And since Batman had his phone number and had used it, Tucker could technically get into Batman’s phone and prove it. Like Constantine showing up at Wayne Manor left a shadow of a doubt.

But noooo, Danny knew all about dramatics and billionaires and their sketchy underground labs. He could play along.)

Which, technically, might wind up solving one of his biggest problems.

It was also gonna completely ruin all the work he and Jason had done persuading the Fentons they weren’t dating; he could already hear his dad booming delightedly about meeting future in-laws. Because why else would Jason’s dad go to visit?

Not like there were actual laws on the books declaring Danny as a mandatory extermination target. Or like the Justice League might finally have gotten their thumbs out of their asses and want to check in.

Clearly Danny’s love life was the only thing that mattered.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about that crap from Frighty; all the ghosts were gonna know all about Danny and Jason’s soul resonance (be still his beating fucking heart that was still ridiculous). He would have to let him know a superhero was gonna be in town though.

Actual ghosts weren’t likely to mistake Batman for one of their own and these days most of Danny’s rogue gallery was cool about not picking fights with humans without Fenton tech, but Danny figured better safe than sorry.

And.

Maybe.

Really wanted to see Batman and Fright Knight hang out. They were gonna totally love or totally hate each other, and either way he was a little sorry he was gonna miss it.

Unless he gave in and took time off class, kidnapped Jason from whatever work he did, and made the trip home… because he’d been direly warned that if he did show up without Jason, Jack Fenton would drive him back to Gotham personally. So, no. Nope. Not happening.

The long and the short of it was that instead of being blissfully free of his parents nagging him to visit until the summer, he was now fielding calls and texts demanding he come back home for March Break, at the latest. And bring Jason.

Mom wanted to “assess him”, which was fucking terrifying and the more Jason didn’t take it seriously the more Danny was tempted to actually make the trip. It would at least come with a defined end date. And force Jazz to take a break if she wanted to come too.

She at least had been less insistent on calling him every single day to bug him about it; probably because she was busy frying herself to death at university. She’d apologized for missing the group chat too, and the first family phone call, but it wasn’t a huge surprise.

Jazz had had the helicopter parent firmly knocked out of her by double majors, which Danny used to think was a good thing. Now he considered it might actually be a sign she was… not cracking under the pressure? But not taking care of herself.

Hopefully it wouldn’t return full force once she got some actual sleep and decent food in her.

Honestly, Danny wasn’t unaware that this was the most normal his problems had ever been. Just a few years ago he’d have done anything but wish to Desiree that his biggest problem would be “my parents think I’m dating one of my friends”.

Right now it was looking pretty good too, actually. Because at this precise second, Danny’s biggest problem was that he was running out of excuses not to talk to Nocturn.

***

Tim was beginning to think he had a bit of a crush on Tucker Foley. It was a surprise to him as much as anyone else; normally the kind of fawning adoration that tech geeks usually followed him with was an instant turn off. There was just… no point getting close to people who saw him as an idea, not a person.

And, frankly? The mere existence of Timblr probably would have been a red flag for anyone else. Sure, Tucker had closed it down, but it still existed - and Tucker Foley could have taken care of that easily.

The thing was… even under the hero worship he’d caught in Tucker’s eyes when they were first introduced… well, Tucker wasn’t exactly respectful to his heroes. That did tend to follow along with a friend in a teen hero career; everyone else was instantly less cool by association.

Tucker just plain wasn’t a good fanboy. He hung on Tim’s every word, right up until they started talking tech - the subject he most admired Tim for. Didn’t admire him enough not to cut him off half way through an explanation, call an idea “archaic”, or ask if Tim was serious.

(And okay, once or twice he hadn’t been; just testing his technical chops.)

The thing was, Tucker wasn’t only a genius with regular technology, he was a prodigy in an entirely new field of software and occult collusion, and he knew it. He was delighted to upgrade Tim’s systems (although Danny would still need to do the full ecto-infusions; Tucker could interface, but didn’t produce his own ectoplasm), and more than happy to point out everywhere they needed improving.

Tim genuinely respected his opinion, which wasn’t a distinction he gave to many people who’d never worn a cape; he’d already cc’d the other, Lucius Fox, into his and Tucker’s email chains. (Lucius was very enthusiastic about the oncoming apprenticeship - for him.)

And Tucker was funny, allergic to personal privacy, and… well, Tim was pretty sure he’d felt those first twinges when, as promised, he tagged Tucker in to help interrogate the Riddler.

Digitally, obviously. With Tucker’s classes starting back up and the New Years hangovers finally clearing the board, the next time they saw each other in person might be upsettingly far out. But Tucker had cheerfully hacked his way into Gotham PD’s systems and made himself comfortable while Red Robin and Batwoman waited for Riddler to be brought in.

Tim had so few pure pleasures in his life, but watching Kate try to keep a straight face when the interrogation room’s speakers began blasting what was essentially a stripper theme perfect for Eddie Nygma the second the door closed?

Riddler had been utterly baffled as well, talking over the beginning until they reached the chorus, where the singer practically spelled out his name. His stunned silence had given way to a burst of offended protest that was entirely undercut by the way his fingers kept time.

As the teen hero in the room, Red Robin was allowed to snicker at him, but Batwoman had to pretend to be an adult about it.

And when the first song ended, silence had fallen for what must have been a perfectly calculated fifteen seconds, and then the Jeopardy theme began playing.

Of course, soundtracking hadn’t been Tucker’s only contribution to the interrogation, just Tim’s favourite. Red Robin had the tablet from the gala back from evidence, from which Tucker had cheerfully admitted in Matrix style scrolling green text that he’d been the one back-hacking Nygma’s files… and locking him out of them.

And replacing every single link Nygma had clicked from the night of the gala to the day Batwoman hauled him in to a random page from Riddles.com, which Riddler had declared a new vendetta against every time anyone would listen. It was beautiful.

Robins were professionally annoying, it was part natural talent on all of their parts (except Damian) and part intensive training on how to disrupt thought patterns and push people into mistakes. Tucker could have led the class, and Tim had been overtaken by a powerful urge to kiss the smug grin he could feel through Tucker’s text straight off his face.

Of course, Tim had a boyfriend. And had been overtaken more than once by similar urges for almost every one of his friends, when they did something brilliant.

Steph called it oral fixation, Tim preferred positive reinforcement. Conner found the whole thing extremely funny, especially since Tucker still stumbled over his words if Conner was so much as looking at him.

Which made all of his siblings trying to tease him about Tucker’s “crush” on Tim look ridiculous, by the way. Tucker Foley was not a subtle man; he couldn’t even string a sentence together around someone he actually liked.

He could string plenty of sentences together around Tim, the two of them could finish each others’ half the time.

(He wasn’t upset about Tucker’s obvious interest in Conner either; Tim knew damn well his boyfriend was an incredible catch and he was lucky to have him. Tucker’s crush was just… peer review.)

Already he was counting down the days until March Break, when Tucker was going to visit in person again. Honestly, he might push to get a zeta put in nearer to MIT in the meantime.

It wasn’t like the institute was never targeted by supervillains, it would just be practical.

But Tim himself couldn’t suggest that now, because then all of his siblings would jump on the Tucker thing and he’d never hear the end of it. It was a dilemma… because even if Conner or Danny could just go and pick him up again, zeta was just faster.

It had nothing to do with missing time that Conner and Tucker were bonding, or being a puppy waiting for his master to come home, whatever Steph said.

(And honestly, Tucker Foley? Not exactly commanding “master” material. Until he was talking about his area of expertise. Then he was certain and confident and got this really attractive gleam in his eye…)

The quickest solution would be getting all of Team Phantom officially involved in the Justice League, of course. Then he wouldn’t even need to suggest it; close zeta access was vital for all of the heroes.

But Team Phantom couldn’t join the League until Phantom’s existence was no longer illegal. So they had to dismantle the Anti Ecto Acts. Bruce was investigating the GIW, and planning what he probably thought was a secret trip to Amity Park, but none of it was happening fast enough for Tim… because it probably wouldn’t be done by March Break. In two months.

He’d broken more than just the American government in two months; all it took was the right leverage. And a complete lack of self restraint.

So, y’know, Tim had a new side project in and around his other Gotham cases. All he needed was a house and then senate majority, and they could get those laws repealed the second the government came back from break.

Lois Lane was already working on the story, Clark would probably join Bruce in Amity Park (whether he knew Bruce was there or not) for interviews. There was only so much public pressure could do though, and that never worked fast enough either.

Not compared to Tim’s preferred methods. He liked the personal touch.

****

Fun fact, slower core formation? Had not meant slower ghost powers. Not in Jason’s case, anyway; not even a week after his core came in, a coffee cup had slipped straight through his hand and shattered on the floor.

He’d stopped handling Alfred’s good china that day, mindful of Danny’s many horror stories about the school lab’s glassware. Alfred hadn’t actually questioned it, although he’d gotten a couple of raised eyebrows when he slid a junk mug toward the kettle.

It was just a good thing he’d already cut down patrolling; he’d been planning to take a step back anyway for a while. Just until he got the balance right between being Red Hood and the newly resurrected Jason Todd.

He’d had to stop entirely, at least until he got the intangibility under control. Sure, becoming temporarily impervious to weapons would be convenient when he got to choose when it switched off or on. Phasing various limbs half way through solid surfaces and getting stuck though?

No.

Not a chance in Hell. That was not an acceptable risk.

Invisibility had started not long after, which had definitely complicated his trips to the manor; all the bats were good, but vanishing completely out of the blue? That would raise comment.

The good news was that the glacierfrost seemed to be helping there too; either because of the ecto in the ice, or just keeping his emotions regulated, which kept the powers from acting up. Jason wasn’t taking unnecessary risks, but he’d noticed that for at least a couple hours after a hit, he was in more control.

Intentionally turning the powers on was still a struggle, but apparently that’d just get better with time. And probably fighting - that was the common denominator under all his ghost problems.

Ghost Fight Club was officially starting the second he’d got the transformation down, but how exactly they were going to try and trigger that in a controlled environment was still… less clear than Jason would like.

They’d have to work it out soon though; the only other ability that was likely to kick in before he could transform was flight, according to Danny. Time was a-tickin’.

And… alright. It wasn’t like Jason was sat at home every night; that was what he and Danny were doing after school now that they’d cut back to at least a couple days a week. A little practice on budding ghost powers, with backup.

“Surveying his haunt” was what Danny called it, but it basically meant Danny going ghost and Jason putting on a domino he claimed he borrowed from Dick, and the two of them bouncing around the Alley. And occasionally Danny pushing him off roofs to see if flight had kicked in yet.

(It hadn’t, but he still had his grapples, and refused to let Danny rescue him from his own bullshit.)

Sensing the city’s natural ecto had gotten much easier with his core fully developed, and Danny was teaching him how to mark it with his own. Pitty’s ongoing corruption was fucking it up though; it was still producing corrupted ectoplasm, and actually more of it now that they were both whole.

(Jason had started sleeping with Frostbite’s ghost succulent next to his pillow. That was how he’d noticed the new blue glow, which he still meant to ask about. It was still firm and strong, and it… didn’t feel sick?)

Corrupted ecto reeked so strongly of that corruption that it was completely useless for anything else, apparently. So until they finally finished purging Pitty, what all their little adventures actually amounted to was tagging.

Danny made them special ecto-spray-paint, and they spent the nights finding weirder and weirder corners to spray a little mark onto. Jason would have liked to use something to do with Red Hood, for the symmetry, but. Well. He hadn’t worked out how to have that conversation yet.

He’d been making do with little ghost doodles. It had been years since he’d done any real graffiti art, but it was like riding a bike, and the ecto sprayed really well. A cartoon ghost wasn’t all that hard anyway; an elongated little blob, occasionally with little fangs or unattached clawed hands.

He’d been going for something like an Among Us bean, but Danny had declared that he was drawing Pitty, and well… it stuck. Doodling little Pit ghosts was the order of the day, ranging from cute little Pittys (modelling good behaviour, Danny called it) or vicious little bastards, depending on how both Jason and Pitty had been that day.

Because that was definitely one piece of good news, in with all the bullshit new ghost powers was causing. Before he’d felt surges of rage, the moments where the Pit was reaching out and trying to affect him. Universally bad, aggressive, and violent, pre-Danny.

He could kinda feel it all the time now, like a heated scarf draped over his body, or the constant breathing of a dog just behind his ear. It was quiet mostly, and he was beginning to suspect it had cost more energy than he’d ever expected for it to reach out to him at all.

For all that he’d worried about it being too much like raising a kid, it… well, the nice way to say it was probably that it wasn’t that bright. It could talk to him in ghostspeak, kind of; most of what he actually heard felt like emotional reactions, closer to speaking through auras than words despite how much it’d felt like it was crawling up his throat.

The Pit could handle basic concepts, recognised Danny’s name, but other than that? It mostly seemed to follow Jason’s emotional lead… and then dial it up to eleven. Which, yeah, was exactly what he’d been scared of when he thought it might be like, a whole ass person. Toddlers were terrifying little sponges.

Jason’s experience of kids wasn’t exactly what he’d call normal, sure, but Pitty was reminding him less of a kid and more and more of some kind of small and bitey animal.

Which, y’know, was a relief. Sort of. It wasn’t like he could fuck up an animal in the same way as he could a kid. Nowhere near the same level of responsibility.

Just. When he thought about the pit rage, the idea of it being attached to something which literally had fangs and claws was not exactly reassuring. Even at the size of a chihuahua.

A little impromptu art therapy while they marked his haunt wasn’t exactly helping with that part, but it wasn’t hurting. And he was trying to explain that feeling bad was not actually dangerous or harmful… via spray paint.

He was only about 70% sure that Pitty could see.

But it got him out and about, kept him in shape at least for swinging from roof tops, and gave him an excuse to hang out with Danny. It did involve actively avoiding anything he’d normally investigate (at least until he had a reasonable explanation… or brought up the Red Hood thing)… but it felt good. It was soothing.

Even knowing full well he’d made plans, prepared extensively, still had his guys making sure the Alley was safe and all was well, he still found himself itching to patrol on the nights he stayed in.

He could only assume that was part of the whole Haunt thing; he had good people working under him, and a couple of bright lieutenants that while he’d never let them wear the hood, he was comfortable giving them some solo enforcement missions to keep the fear of Red Hood in everyone’s hearts. All relevant parties, anyway.

Luckily he still had the library project as a convenient excuse for the bats. It kept them off his ass, and Jason could admit that it probably wouldn’t have taken much to persuade him to take a night run.

And get his ass stuck half way through some fucking wall somewhere, or lose a foot to a rooftop, and need to break himself free or call Danny in the fucking suit. Nope.

(He’d been tempted to let his family think he was saving his nights for Danny, which wasn’t even completely untrue; Danny wasn’t over every night anymore, not with his school schedule, but if he wasn’t over they texted.

Jason had begun saving a meme folder just for things to show Danny, which had quickly absorbed his full folder for death jokes and just kept going. Danny was going to be a very supportive “father” for their fake pit-kid, and had clearly been stockpiling dad jokes to send back.)

Honestly though, Jason was just relieved he’d already planned to slow the vigilante side for a while in the wake of his official revival; there was a lot that had to be done to come back from the dead, and a lot more he could do with official Wayne backing for areas of Crime Alley that Hood couldn’t touch.

He’d even let some of the bats in on those plans before Danny showed up; it wasn’t a surprise that he wasn’t patrolling. They were mostly leaving him alone about it, although Dick had offered to pop his Red Hood gear on and run a couple of patrols if things got too rowdy.

Jason had told him to fuck off, then got his street kids spreading the rumour that Hood was gearing up for something big. Let people think that the momentary quiet was just the first rumbles for an oncoming storm.

Hell, let them think Hood was in cahoots with Jason Todd-Wayne; that or preparing to run him out of the Alley. Let both of his lives work together for a while. The rumours shut half the fucking low-level dealers up; no one was pushing anything within three blocks of his territory, in case Hood was planning an expansion.

That’d boil over after a while and bite him in the ass if he didn’t go and kick something down, but for now it worked. He had so much to do for the library, for the new shelters from the Wayne foundation, for the soup kitchens. He actually was pretty busy, even on his nights in.

Fuck, he’d even taken time to hang out with the actual Alley kids, as Jason and Hood. The mouthy little shits kept him grounded, and maybe he’d tried it as a trial run for Pitty, but since that wasn’t gonna be the same problem he’d kept it up as a test of his own patience.

Which had. Very abruptly. Become the cause of one of his biggest concerns. Because the biggest change since his core came in had actually taken him a couple more days to notice.

Because now, Jason could see the fingerprints of the new entity.

That hadn’t been fun to work out; he’d been intentionally taking it slow until his core formed. Part of him had been sorta hoping to be able to just avoid anything that might set them both off until the Pit was ready to pop out on its own. Nothing related to the new case he couldn’t start, nothing related to the Joker or pits or any of that shit.

So when some of the kids had been showing up with some weird shadowy smudge on their clothes, he’d assumed it was the usual Gotham grime. They claimed not to see it, he threw them at the laundry room and cussed them out, it always came off.

Now the Curse, the Curse was staying out of Crime Alley entirely. He’d seen it during the day once or twice, a shadow attached where it shouldn’t be, a flicker over Damian or Tim’s shoulder. He always knew when the Curse was around now, a frosty fog filled his lungs whenever it was close.

(Danny had called it his “ghost sense”, which was lame but Jason didn’t have a better idea.)

And those smudges didn’t have the same kind of ozone-aftertaste that the Curse left in his mouth.

And then one of his girls, maybe seven years old, had come in with that same kind of smeared shadow sticking through soft black hair. He’d had some sharp fucking words with the older kids about that, he didn’t expect them to stay pristine at all times, but for fucks sake it was clumping.

Basic hygiene fucking mattered on the street, none of them could afford a proper de-matting or even a decent razor to shave their heads, so Jason had instilled the importance of bare-minimum finger combing in every one of them years ago. You could live with a fucking rug dragging at your skull, but it made absolutely everything harder.

He’d sat the girl on a stool and washed her hair in a bucket himself, while repeating the same fucking lecture to the other girls. Noticed half way through that while the sticky shit was indeed washing out of her hair, it wasn’t being broken down by the soap.

It was clinging to him instead, seeping into the creases of his fingers and under his nails. He’d tried not to visibly react, giving her a last rinse and wrapping her hair in a towel-hat that she didn’t stop touching for the next forty minutes, fucking it up a dozen times.

The smudgy crap had washed off his hands eventually, but when he saw Danny the next day he’d visibly backed up a few steps, then given Jason about six shots of ecto because his was apparently rancid again. No prizes for spotting the connection, and from there it was obvious.

And then he’d seen Harley the next day, that same smudgy crap a handprint around her fucking throat, and he’d seen red. Hot, angry, blood red, and it not being green had startled the life out of him.

(Harley noticed. Duh. It was her thing. And while Jason couldn’t just tell her some malevolent fucking entity made from her shitty ex was crawling through the city, he’d been as honest as he could be.

Harley definitely couldn’t see the smudges. Danny hadn’t had any answers or way to make it stop fucking touching people.)

Hypothetically, this was all gonna be good in the end. It’d make things easier, being able to see and track this shitstain’s work.

It did not feature in his “don’t get pissed off or think about work” plan.

It was just faintly possible that obsession, self flagellation, and a desire to be personally responsible for fucking everything might be more than just Bruce’s problem. Could maybe be a family affair.

Jason made more pies. Occasionally narrating what he was doing aloud, half for Pitty’s benefit and half for Danny’s when the little shit was crashing on his couch.

It was fine. He was coping. Another couple weeks, Danny reckoned, and Pitty would be out of his body and he could get back to his fucking life.

With a pet Pit ghost in tow, apparently, but if the worst came to the worst he could fucking soup the thing once it was outside him.

(He was also going to teach Danny to make soup. Proper soup. On principle.)

**

Preparing for his trip to Amity Park had taken longer than Bruce had expected. Not least because Alfred had finally run out of patience, and sentenced him to bedrest for the next 12 hours after he returned from the Justice League meeting lest he unlock the tranquilizer guns and give his children free reign.

In the old days, when he’d just become Batman, Bruce had assumed Alfred would never be able to catch him anyway. He’d been cocky and confident in his skills, and often ignored Alfred’s demands.

And yet the man always seemed to know, raising a disapproving eyebrow at Bruce every time he’d slipped back into the room just before Alfred made his rounds.

And then Steph came into his life, and Bruce learned all too fast that Alfred had merely been waiting for appropriate safeguards. That was three kids along of course, but by now Bruce knew exactly why it had been Steph Alfred had waited for.

His relationship with Dick was too tumultuous. While Dick never feared Bruce and was perfectly happy to join Alfred in nagging and bossing him around, by the time Dick moved out Bruce had half expected to only see his son at Justice League meetings, if at all.

They were different men, and Dick had always had an anger in him that Bruce couldn’t fathom. He’d mastered it, his control very rarely slipping, but… Bruce had trained Dick himself, and he was one of a very short list of people that Bruce had no concrete backup plan for.

Nothing but hope to make him cocky with the first attack, and pray the second caught him off guard.

His relationship with Dick hadn’t improved until Tim came into his life… and helped him get his head out of his ass.

Jason? Jason had been an angel. A scruffy, beaten down angel with badly bruised wings when Bruce first picked him up, but he’d flourished in Wayne Manor. He’d taken to Robin with joy and enthusiasm, but had more devotion to his studies than any of Bruce’s kids before or since.

He’d even stay in to study for tests, and if things had been different… perhaps he’d have been the one to break Bruce’s obsession with his night life.

But Bruce had begun taking that good heart for granted, pushed when he should have listened, and sent Jason to his death.

Tim had a hard enough time keeping Bruce from killing himself, along with anyone who stood in the way of his mission. He was a solemn, serious little boy from the start, and though Dick took a more active role this time around and declared himself a big brother (possibly to spite Bruce)… well.

It had to be Steph.

Steph, who would vehemently deny being one of his from whoa to go, was just like all of his children; a feral little gremlin. But Steph had that one more element too, the one which young Dick had had in spades but pulled back from with Bruce years before.

Steph liked to have fun.

Tim treated Bruce as a mission just as much as Gotham was Bruce’s, and Dick had never forgiven him for Jason. Or the fights that went before. Neither could pick up a Nerf gun and hunt him through the city in pure play in those days.

Until Steph gave them the guns, of course. Now any and every one of his children would happily take a tranq gun from Alfred and merrily stalk him through the manor and city at large, and even to the Watchtower if he tempted fate (and Tim).

Bruce was powerless against them, although pride warred with frustration every single time one of them managed to drug him to sleep. He’d trained them well. Well enough that they’d put what was right over what he wanted, that none of them were even a little afraid of him.

He’d planted the seeds of his own destruction.

So when he’d seen Duke and Dick hanging “casually” around the halls while Alfred escorted him to bed, he’d resigned himself to twelve hours of rest.

He’d slept for sixteen. And woke feeling much better, to his own chagrin. His head felt clearer, the migraine almost gone, and the sudden swoops of nausea had finally begun to pass.

He still had odd moments, especially when he’d been on the computer planning the trip to Amity Park for too long, but he’d reluctantly agreed with Alfred. He needed to fully recover from his concussion; that meant rest. And taking days and weeks instead of hours.

Amity Park would still be there, after all. He couldn’t get back the years they’d been late. He’d had to concede another two weeks.

Zatanna had also demanded an explanation for why he was suddenly interested in the town - luckily the Anti-Ecto Acts provided a sufficient cover. They were even most of the reason he was going.

She could also see the gravity of the situation, and offered to put him in touch with some local specialists who claimed to have tech that would keep him from being possessed. Specialists named “Fenton”. Because of course they were.

She’d offered him a ward as well, but mostly in jest. She knew how Bruce felt about magic, and had told him science was on the table almost immediately.

Bruce knew full well it wasn’t a coincidence. Formerly regarded as quacks, the Fentons had been featured prominently in all of their Amity Park news sources. Usually as menaces and a hazard to society, which aligned with what the Mansons had told him.

Still, their actions had nothing to do with the character of their son. Danny Phantom had been Amity Park’s protector for six years, although he’d not had many serious ghosts to fight for the last three.

As Foley had claimed, the ghosts seemed to have settled into a status of local nuisance that was oddly aligned with the Fentons senior; loud, intrusive, and often an inconvenience to your day, but not the threats to life, limb, or infrastructure that had characterised the first years after the portal opened.

Amity Park’s general consensus seemed to be that Danny Phantom had tamed the ghosts, won over the Fentons, and quite efficiently saved the day. He hadn’t been sighted there much in the past year, but that was because he’d been in Gotham.

In school. Finally being able to study and look towards his future.

His main heroic endeavours in the last three years of his career had involved the same GIW, the Ghost Investigation Ward that Foley had told Tim about. They unfortunately had not followed the general trend of de-escalation… although they had been rather subdued in the last year.

It felt different to Bruce, though. Incidents were less frequent, but those occurrences where they did find a ghost had become markedly more violent. The decreased frequency seemed to have lulled the townsfolk into believing they were also less of a threat, but the problem with pushing your enemies into a corner was how much more dangerous a cornered animal became.

There was something worrying happening with the GIW, that would have borne looking into even if he wasn’t also looking to understand Danny better. Preparing everything he’d need for the official investigation was most of what had slowed him down.

Of course, he was going to Amity Park as Brucie Wayne, not as Batman. Vlad Masters’ friendship was going to help him there; the man had been delighted to invite him down for the weekend when Bruce had reached out.

A little faked enthusiasm for football and interest in Vlad’s favourite team and he was a seemingly completely open book. He was more than happy to give Brucie the grand tour of his little town, and even promised a personal escort from the airport.

Bruce was beginning to suspect that getting away from the man might be more of a challenge, although he was another potentially useful source of information on the Amity Park situation.

Not that Masters was a particularly high priority source. But Bruce could admit he may have been hasty to dismiss his views on Danny as being biased, and as mayor he should know something about the GIW operations in his city… and given how many contracts with the agency could be traced back to his companies in the early days of the agency’s formations, he would be a much more serious subject for investigation than a source.

The good news was, everything was now in place. He had Danny’s permission and would be flying down to Amity Park in a matter of hours, and had already bought out the entire top floor of a local hotel, so he should have plenty of privacy to operate from.

With any luck, being able to set things in motion to repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts could also be a first step towards patching things up with Jason… and with Danny. No matter what conclusions Bruce came to in Amity Park, the Justice League owed Danny Phantom a serious apology, and the Infinite Realms some swift action.

Their negligence could have sparked an inter-dimensional war, and nearly had cost a young man his future. Bruce was self aware enough to admit that the guilt of that knowledge was a major factor in why he hadn’t spoken to Danny face to face again.

Yet.

At least Danny had given him permission to visit and explore his haunt. That had to count for something.

He was going to apologize. Probably after giving Jason the proper apology his son so richly deserved. Perhaps Jason would even be willing to help him work out how to properly apologize to Danny too; Bruce wasn’t good at apologies at the very best of times, but Harley had made it explicitly clear that he was going to be getting in a lot of practice.

**

Now, ya can call Harley Quinn a lot of things (and people definitely have), but one thing she ain’t despite the goofball act? Stupid.

Somethin’ was up in Gotham, somethin’ one heck of a lot weirder than all the weird shit that had marked her time in the city.

Oh, she’d gone an’ had another word with Brucie after Waylon told her how Jason’d had to leave through the roof after his talk with Constantine.

(She’d hunt Johnny-boy down later too, probably just after he decided she wasn’t gonna come for ‘im and stopped hiding, but odds on? Brucie’s fault, and Connie was just his unfortunate messenger.)

The thing was, he’d decided to sicc Johnny on poor Jason before they’d had their little talk, so by the time she caught him again he was already all downcast and shamefaced. Already admitting he done fucked up.

And it just wasn’t satisfyin’ to kick him while he was down, an’ while he was already tryin’. He’d even decided on his own to leave both boys alone for now, to let things cool down before tryin’ again.

Now, Mama Quinzel didn’t raise no dummy, she could see a million ways ol’ Brucie’s plan to go and try an’ fix Amity Park for Danny was gonna go wrong. But she wasn’t an expert at this ghost business, so she didn’t pretend to be.

She did exactly what she’d told Brucie to do; consulted an actual expert.

She asked Sammy and Jazzy, Danny’s big sis who was just a real darlin’, in their group chat (which had been popping off since Sammy was a lil sweetheart and set it up for ‘em; Jazzy-boo was of doin’ all kinds of neurological shit but she’d read some psych textbooks in her day, and Harley loved watching a self taught student grow). An’ then she hunted down Jason and Danny, to ask ‘em directly.

Which had been when she’d got her first clue that somethin’ was up; when Jason looked at her like she was still wearin’ a certain other clown’s paint, all stiff and locked up and full of anger.

See, that’d happened before. When they first met, him fresh outta the grave, her fresh outta Hell. When he’d asked if she and Joker were really through, an’ she’d told him hell yeah.

When he’d asked if she’d get in his way of killing the asshole.

That anger, all tight an’ tense an’ burstin’ had been wrapped around his throat then, chokin’ him on it. It was cooler now, more human, more like somethin’ the sweet lil sunshine child who could melt her heart with his tears could feel.

It still wasn’t, ya’know, in the vague vicinity of healthy, but she’d seen Jason Todd about to lose his shit before. An’ his hands shook when he touched her, when he asked what the hell she’d done to her neck.

Harley’d taken a good long look in several bathroom mirrors since. There was nothin’ she could see there, but Harley Quinn had been a short term guest in more than one Hell. There was plenty of shit she was all too happy not ta see.

Then there was ol’ Harvey. She’d run him down faster’n the bats, because she wasn’t also chasin’ Riddler, Great White Shark, at least three new plots from ol’ Pengy, or a suspiciously quiet and freshly escaped Scarecrow.

Two-Face had been all quiet an’ polite since his heist on the young Mr Todd’s party went tits up, so he’d flown under their radar.

Not hers.

Harley always made time for her old friends.

And Harvey had been weird too. Twitchy, on edge, jumpin’ at shadows. That happened if he thought the ol’ Bat was after ‘im, but he’d had no reason to think that. An’ for all he’d flipped his little coin and played up the bit, Harley knew when her friends were off.

Something had put Harvey on edge. Stuffed a bee up his ass and made him all snappy.

He’d even tried to pull a gun! On her! His sweet, darlin’, perfectly loveable and innocent Harleen!

So, ya’know, when she’d touched ground again an’ he’d run outta bullets, she’d knocked it outta his hands before he could reload and reminded him there were more than just Bats to fear. There was also her bat.

An’ by the time they were both all tired out and slumped against each other to order smoothies, he’d admitted he didn’t know why he’d decided to go fer young Jason. To attack their buddy Brucie’s boy.

Now, Harley wasn’t sure Harvey knew silly ol’ Brucie was the Big Bad Bat. She suspected he did, somewhere, in the part of him he hid from all the unpleasantness.

If he knew, he was repressin’ it real deep.

But he’d seen word of the gala, an’ something inside him went dark, and he’d flipped a coin. Got all sorts of plastic explosive of all things ready to really give Gotham a show they wouldn’t forget.

An’ then when it was time to roll out, nunna his cars’d start. An’ he’d flipped the coin again. And stayed home.

She snagged the detonators on his explosives on the way out, on principle. There were some rules after all, and while the Bats could certainly handle anythin’ ol’ Harvey could build, he shouldn’a shot at her.

Harley Quinn was officially out of the rogue game, but that had nothin’ ta do with shit disturbing. She was beginning to wonder though.

Somethin’ was weird in Gotham, a kinda energy in the streets that wasn’t the same black stubbornness she’d known and loved. Somethin’ that felt a little nastier. A little closer to biting.

Now, Harley Quinn was a lotta things. She also wasn’t a lotta the things everyone else thought she was.

She was no quitter. She was no fool. She was no coward to turn tail from some nasty vibes. She might still be a teensy weensy bit mentally disturbed, as you say, but she had her shit together.

An’ she knew when somethin’ else was tryin’ ta play with her head.

Much as she loved Gotham like a second home, she was beginnin’ ta wonder if she shouldn’t head back to Pammy an’ let their mystery of who was givin’ Coney Island a hard time sit with the Bats.

——————

The song Tucker’s playing for Tim and Nygma is here:

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IMPORTANT NOTE! Since about half the tag list no longer links to a blog, I will probably be retiring it for chapter 20, so either comment and let me know you still wanna be on it, or proceed on over to AO3 for alerts!

Part two:

[hischierswhore]

FOR THE BETTER | chapter 1

✰ warnings: cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of violence, if i missed anything please please please let me know

✰ nat’s note: hellooo everyone! i’m finally back after a bit of a hiatus, and i finally have motivation to write again! i hope to stay consistent with this series. if you have any suggestions as to what you’d like to see in this AU, send it to my inbox!

✰ masterlist

january 30th

Betrayed. That's exactly what you felt as you scrolled through the messages between your boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend. The conversation was a thread of addresses, heart emojis, and plenty of pictures. Oh, how you wished you hadn't scrolled. 

You were just supposed to text yourself a picture that he took of you from his phone while he was in the shower. You scrolled through his messages app, trying to find your contact when you stumbled across one with the name "D ❤️". You thought it was a bit weird so you clicked on the message, ultimately regretting your decision. 

You felt the tears well in your eyes, your vision suddenly becoming blurry as you heard the bathroom door open. You refused to make eye contact with the man you loved, choosing to stare at the ground instead. 

"Y/n? What's wrong?" Trevor asked as he ruffled the towel through his damp hair. When you didn't respond, he grabbed your arm in hopes of getting your attention. 

"Earth to Y/n?" He waved his hand in front of your face, thinking that you were just lost in thought. 

"How long?" You looked up at him, tears slowly beginning to trickle down your face. 

"How long what? What are you talking about?" He visibly appeared confused.

"Don't act stupid, Trevor. How long have you been texting Dixie?" Those were the last words he expected to hear come from your mouth. 

"I'm not-" He tried to speak before you interrupted him. 

"Don't even lie. I saw the messages. Now answer my question: how long?"

"5 months..." He was the one to look down now, ashamed. 

"So... you've been cheating on me for the majority of our relationship? So for 5 out of the 8 months we were together you were also with Dixie?"

"Yeah..."

"Why? Why keep me around if you were sneaking around with someone else? Do you understand how disgusting that makes me feel? Hell, you don't even seem like you're sorry!"

"I am sorry, I just don't know what to say"

"There's nothing to say anymore, Trevor! When we first got together, you knew damn well that there was nothing I hated more than a liar & a cheater, and you turned out to be both, so congratulations to you for losing the one person you could rely on" You yelled as you stood up from the bed, the thought of being in the same room as him disgusted you, nonetheless on the same bed as him. 

"Where are you going?" Trevor followed you throughout his apartment, watching as you grabbed your suitcase and your keys. 

"I'm leaving, I'm done. I can't be with someone who doesn't respect me. Have a great life with Dixie. Wishing you both the worst"

And with that, you walked out of Trevor's apartment and his life. The downside to this decision? You had nowhere to go; you weren't from California. You were visiting Trevor for 2 weeks, and unfortunately, your trip was cut short due to your now ex-boyfriend's choices. 

Not knowing what to do, you called Quinn, hoping he would know what to do. 

"Y/n? It's 9:30 pm on a Friday, and you're in Cali. Is everything okay?" Quinn spoke through the phone. 

"Quinn me and Trevor just broke up and I'm in the middle of LA and I don't have anywhere to go and I don't know what to do" You rambled to your older brother, hoping he could help you out. 

"Woah woah woah calm down. Take a deep breath. For starters, call an Uber to LAX. I'll book you the first flight out of there to New Jersey. Secondly, what happened?"

"I found out Trevor was cheating on me for 5 months with Dixie" You whispered, almost as if you were afraid to say it louder. You heard a commotion on the other end of the phone. 

"I'll fucking beat his ass next time I see him. Whether it be on the ice or off" You could tell Quinn was seething on the other end of the line simply based on his tone. 

"I'll be okay, Q. I just want to be home" Tears started falling once again. 

"You'll be there soon, I promise. Just go to LAX, get on the flight and I'll tell Jack & Luke to pick you up. I'll come visit as soon as I possibly can, okay? I love you, Y/n/n" Poor Quinn's heart ached for you. He knew you'd need all the love & support you could get, seeing as this was your first serious relationship and unfortunately, your first major heartbreak. 

"Love you too, Q. I'll see you soon, thank you" You wiped the tears from your eyes as you called an Uber to the airport. 

february 1st

2 days had passed since you & Trevor broke up. You were completely isolated from everyone within those 2 days. The only times you came out of your room were to eat and go to the bathroom. You didn't want to tell your brothers what had happened because both of them were close with your now ex-boyfriend. You knew you'd end up having to tell them because Quinn was on his way and you knew it would truly suck if he told them before you did.

About 30 minutes later, Quinn arrived and settled himself into the guest bedroom. Jack & Luke knew he was coming, but the reason being unknown. It was now or never, you thought to yourself. You inhaled as you exitted your room and made your way to the living room where your 3 brothers were sitting. They appeared to be mid-conversation when you walked in, all 3 of them immediately directing their attention to you.

You sat on one of the single-seater couches, trying hard not to have a full breakdown infront of your brothers.

"I think it's best we address the elephant in the room" You started, looking up to see all 3 of the boys nodding their heads in agreement.

"I wasn't supposed to be back from Cali for another week or so, but my trip got cut short, and I don't think I'll be going back anytime soon" You watched as Jack & Luke's eyebrows scrunched and they tilted their heads; you could see the gears trying to turn in their heads.

"But Trevor?" Luke managed to get out, still not fully comprehending what you were saying. You sighed heavily.

"There's no more Trevor. I uhm- I found out he was cheating on me with his ex..." You fiddled with your fingers, trying to avoid eye contact with them.

"What?" Jack was shocked. He couldn't process what was being said right now.

"How'd you find out? You don't have to say if you don't want to" Quinn asked, already knowing the basics but not the details.

"It's alright. He told me to go on his phone and send myself the pictures he took of me earlier in the day. I looked through his messages trying to find my name and I saw one that looked odd so I clicked on it. I saw more than I would have liked. He admitted to cheating for 5 out of the 8 months we were together" You watched as Quinn got up from his spot and came over to give you a big hug, one you desperately needed.

Jack and Luke both sat in silence, mouths agape as they tried to take it in.

"Y/n/n, we're so sorry" Both boys said in unison as they too joined in the hug.

"I'll be okay eventually. It just really sucks. But I promise I'll be fine" You reassured the boys, holding onto them tighter before letting them go back to their original seats.

"So what've you been doing since you got back?" Quinn asked, trying to start a semi-normal conversation.

"Writing. Lots of writing. Decided to scrap the original songs I had planned for the album and started fresh. Got 3 songs written so far, just gotta record"

"That's good. Are they bangers or like super depressing songs?” Luke piped in.

“So far it’s a mix. One is kind of a ballad and the other 2 are more upbeat” You shrugged. Jack sat in his spot, still in shock.

“You okay, Rowdy?” You checked in on your older brother, bringing him back to reality.

“Oh yeah, I’m good. I’m still just trying to process that Z would do that, especially to you of all people”

“Just know that all 3 of us will be fighting him both on & off the ice. We do not care” Quinn added, hoping to get a laugh out of you, which he did successfully.

“Well thanks guys. I really appreciate it. I’ll try to not be so mopey anymore, I promise”

“As long as you let us go with you to the studio!” Luke loved going with you to the studio. He thought it was the coolest thing ever.

“Why not? All 3 of you can come with me”

✰ taglist: @lovelynikol16

✰ nat’s note: if you’d like to be added to the taglist, send a reply & i’ll add you on :)

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 12

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

Over the next three weeks, you were trying your hardest to tell yourself that Tom going to Hawaii for two months wasn’t a big deal and that it would give you a chance to really throw yourself into work, and maybe even have a chance to sleep with other people. The problem was you were finding it increasingly harder to imagine sleeping with anyone other than Tom. Maybe that’s why some distance from each other was exactly what the two of you needed. Afterall, you thought there was a good chance that Tom might end up starting something with his co-star, Evelyn Dawson, in Hawaii. She was gorgeous and single and they would be spending a lot of time together in a beautiful, tropical oasis. You were trying with all your might not to get jealous at the thought, but you were only human. What he does in Hawaii is his business, you’d tell yourself. And what I do while he’s gone is mine. 

Meanwhile, as Tom was between jobs, he was clearly bored. He texted you while you were at work almost everyday, and he fucked you like an animal almost every night. It was as if he was making damn sure you would miss him when he was gone, and unfortunately, it was working. 

“Oh yeah, right there. Right there! That’s it! Fuck!” you moaned as he thrusted up into you from behind. It was early morning. You and Tom had woken up spooning, and before you knew it, his cock was sliding into your pussy, and making you cum in no time. Morning quickies had become sort of a regular thing for the two of you, and you weren’t complaining.

“F-fuck!” He groaned your name as he came along with you, his breath fanning the shell of your ear. When his hips finally stilled, you checked the time on your phone.

“Shit,” you huffed. “I have to get up.” With a sigh, you sat up and pulled the covers off of you.

“I hate when you leave immediately after sex,” Tom said as his arm wrapped around your waist.

You turned and leaned down, bringing your face close to his. “Then don’t have sex with me on mornings when I have to work.”

“Then don’t turn me on so much in the mornings.”

You chuckled. “I’ll try my best not to.”

“No you won’t.”

“No I won’t.” You gave him a cheeky grin as you kissed him once more, before getting up and getting ready for work.

Your new job was nothing compared to the last, as you had expected. Yes, special effects makeup was much more fun, and you had a large team to work with to accommodate a much larger cast, but Tom wasn’t there to brighten your day like he’d always done. Still, you could always count on a text.

Before you knew it, it was the night before Tom’s flight to Hawaii, and you had to work later than usual. You’d had an exhausting day, and your body was telling you to go to bed, but you were hoping to spend one more night with him before he left. As if on cue, he texted you as you were leaving work.

“Tom?” you called when you let yourself into his place. 

“In the bedroom,” you heard him reply.

Cutting right to the chase then are we? you thought with a smile as you made your way to his bedroom. What you walked in on, however, wasn’t quite what you had in mind. Tom was sitting on the floor in front of his suitcase, surrounded by clothes. “Wait, you actually called me over here to help you pack?”

“Yes,” he chuckled.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Not for sex?”

“I’m afraid not.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Well that was misleading!”

“I literally asked you if you wanted to help me pack,” he defended, with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“I thought it was a euphemism,” you explained in aggravation. “I also thought you’d be packed already! You leave tomorrow!”

“I’m well aware of that, darling. That’s why I asked for your help.”

“How the hell am I supposed to help you pack?” You asked as you flopped down onto his bed on your stomach.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Make sure I don’t over or under pack? Mainly just keep me company?”

Resting your chin on your folded arms at the edge of the bed, you shot him a look of annoyance. “So what I’m hearing is that I didn’t need to come over at all.”

“Come on, Y/n,” he implored. “This is my last night in London for a while. Humor me?” He looked at you with those puppy dog eyes you just couldn’t resist. 

You rolled your eyes and huffed in frustration. “You know I should just leave in order to punish you for procrastinating…”

“But…?” Tom said hopefully.

“But I guess if I want to get laid I ought to stick around,” you teased. 

“What a kind and generous friend you are.”

“Anything for you, love.” You gave him a wink and he shook his head and laughed.

Tom didn’t finish packing for another couple of hours, probably twice as long as it would have taken had you not been there to distract him, and you felt yourself beginning to get tired. After he finally put all of his luggage by the front door and joined you back in the bedroom, you attempted to fight back a yawn, but he caught you.

“If you’re too tired, we can just go to sleep, sweetheart,” he suggested as he sat down next to you on the bed, putting his hand on your thigh.

“Absolutely not,” you protested, shaking your head. You draped your arms around his neck, a stern expression on your face. “You’re going to fuck me one last time whether you like it or not, Hiddleston.” 

He laughed as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Darling, I’m going away for a couple of months, I’m not dying.”

“You know what I mean.” As you leaned in to kiss him, another yawn snuck up on you. “Fuck. Just ignore that.”

Tom chuckled again. “Lay down.”

“I’m not going to sleep.”

“I didn’t say that you were.” He raised his eyebrows at you with an expectant smirk. 

“Okay…” you replied suspiciously. “Can I take my clothes off first?”

“Please,” he agreed. He watched as you stood up to remove your clothes, taking your time and enjoying his gaze while he undressed as well.

Once your clothes were gone, you laid down on the bed like he requested, gesturing for him to join you.  He looked down at you with hooded lids and smiled as he crawled to hover over you, immediately capturing your lips in a slow, but deep kiss. You sighed as you ran your fingers through his hair.

Eventually his lips made their way to your ear. “Now just relax and let me have my way with you, okay, sweetheart?”

With your eyes closed, you simply replied with a contented sigh, melting into the mattress as Tom began to place slow, languid kisses to your neck. Occasionally, he’d suck on just the right spots to rouse you just enough from your deep state of relaxation to usher a breathy moan from your lungs. The fire of your arousal was battling the heavy blanket of your exhaustion, and you thought for a moment that the latter might just win, feeling like you were on the brink of unconsciousness, until you felt Tom’s tongue suddenly flick against your clit. Your eyes flew open as you gasped and arched your back. You looked down at Tom who gave you a devilish grin before diving back into your wet pussy. With one hand tangled in his curls and the other gripping the sheets, you bucked your hips, grinding against his face. 

“Someone’s awake now,” Tom teased, lifting his head.

“Shut up and finish me off,” you panted, pushing his head back down. Vibrations coursed through you as he chuckled against your cunt. He continued to lick and suck as if he was savoring your taste, and it was driving you mad, but in the best way. “Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop,” you whined, writhing uncontrollably underneath him. But he did. As soon as you reached the edge, he released your throbbing clit from his mouth and crawled back up to you. Before you could protest, however, he kissed you as the tip of his cock, hard and leaking precum, took the place of his tongue, rubbing against your clit and pushing you over the edge instantly. You moaned into his mouth while he continued kissing you passionately through your orgasm. 

Once you’d finished, Tom finally parted his lips from yours and quickly reached for a condom. After rolling it on, he smiled down at you in a way that told you the night was far from over.

…

After a long night of amazing sex, you were only able to get a few hours of sleep before you heard Tom’s voice whisper softly in your ear. “Y/n? Sweetheart?” You groaned sleepily and buried your face in his chest. He stroked your hair for a moment before speaking again. “What am I going to do without you for two months?”

“Find someone else to pester when they’re trying to sleep?” you grumbled against his chest, which began to shake with laughter. 

“And who will you cuddle with in the mornings?” he asked, his finger lightly tracing the outline of your shoulder blades. 

“I can make a few calls.”

“If that’s a joke, it’s not funny.”

“I’m funnier when I’m awake.”

“Are you though?”

“If you think I won’t kick you out of your own bed, you are highly bloody mistaken.”

He laughed and hugged you tight against him. “My, you are quite grumpy this morning.”

“Oh, bugger off to Hawaii, why don’t you.”

He pulled away slightly in an attempt to look at you. “Is that why you’re being such a bear? Because I’m leaving today?”

“No,” you mumbled unconvincingly as you tried to hide your face further.

He lifted your chin to look at him. “I’ll miss you too, Sweets,” he cooed with a smile as he leaned down to kiss you.

“Text me when you get on the plane,” you told him when your lips parted.

“I will.”

“And when you land… at every layover too. Otherwise I’ll worry you’ve died in a horrible crash.”

“Tread lightly, darling, or I might just think you care about me,” he teased.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked down at him. “Of course I care about you, you idiot!”

“I know, but now I’ve gotten you to admit it.” You both grinned as you kissed him again, this time rolling on top of him and slipping your tongue in his mouth. He hummed with approval as his hands roamed your body. Before the two of you could go any further, however, Tom’s alarm went off. “Fuck,” he huffed, breaking the kiss to silence his phone. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

With a groan you rolled off of him and sat up in bed. “Just as well,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes, as Tom got up to get dressed. “I need to go home and get some sleep anyway, because someone kept me up all night.”

“Oh no you don’t,” he argued as he pulled his trousers on. “I gave you every opportunity to go to sleep, but you kept begging me to fuck you again and again.”

“Excuse me,” you protested as you got up to get dressed as well. “I do not beg!”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Fine. Demanded.” 

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but only the first time! You were the one who wanted to keep going after that.”

“As I recall,” he began as he hooked his finger in the waistband of your leggings and pulled you close to him. “You weren’t exactly complaining, my dear.” With his hands on your waist, he smirked down at you as he slowly leaned in

Feigning a look of disapproval, you shook your head. “Don’t you kiss me again, Thomas Hiddleston, or you might just miss your plane.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he replied softly, bringing his lips to yours. 

Just before he made contact, however, you pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m leaving before you make this more difficult than it already is.” 

He sighed, looking deflated as he drew back. “Can I at least get a hug goodbye?” 

“I suppose.” You wrapped your arms around his neck while he squeezed you tightly around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“I’ll see you soon, Sweets,” he muttered against your skin. You felt a lump form in your throat and your vision began to blur with tears.

Nope, you told yourself, you are not going to cry. You blinked back the tears and swallowed hard. “Be good, Tommy boy,” you said, giving his back a pat before pulling away. 

He chuckled slightly. “I’ll try my best.” And after exchanging solemn smiles, you left. Only making it to your car before your traitorous tears began to fall.

Taglist: @chronicallybubbly, @the-princess-of-loki, @princess-ofthe-pages, @darcylikesloki, @kikster606, @foxherder

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love, 

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

*

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

*

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

*

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

*

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

*

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

*

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

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[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 41

Daryl 

Later, with the sun fully set and the darkness deep around them, the crickets’ chirps are the only sounds breaking the quiet night. Daryl and Beth sit across from one another on the porch railing, the silence heavy but not tense—more like an uneasy understanding has finally been reached.

Beth sighs, the words coming out slowly. “I get why my dad stopped drinkin’.”

“Ya feel sick?” Daryl asks, absently digging his knife into the wooden post in front of him.

“Nope. I wish I could feel like this all the time.” She pauses, the admission still with an edge of playfulness in her voice, “That’s bad.”

“You’re lucky you’re a happy drunk,” Daryl mutters, his voice softer than before, almost as if he's trying not to break the fragile peace.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” Beth says wryly, “ Some people can be real jerks when they drink.”

Daryl breathes out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I’m a real dick when I’m drunk,” he admits, his gaze distant. After a pause, he adds, “Merle had this dealer. Janky little white guy–tweaker. One day, I went lookin’ for Merle, figured he’d be over there watchin’ TV with his buddies.”

Beth watches him carefully, sensing the shift in his tone as he speaks.

“It wasn’t even noon,” he continues, his voice dropping to a low rasp. “Place reeked of weed and cheap beer. I could hear folks talkin’ inside, but the TV was on so damn loud, I couldn’t tell who it was.” He pauses, a visible tension in his jaw as he tries to force the words out. His voice grows quieter, rougher, almost as if he's unsure if he can say it.

“But… Y/N…” He stops, the weight of her name lingering in the air, his throat working as he forms the name out loud, swallowing hard. It’s like saying it makes the memory more real, more painful, and he has to blink a few times to steady himself before continuing, voice hoarse and raw. “She was there. We weren’t on good terms. Hadn’t been for months. She’d gone off to school, was seein’ Shane. But when I walked in and saw her…”

“They had their hands on her,” he says finally, his words almost a growl, “Like a pack of hungry wolves. I hadn’t seen her in so long, and then I see that. I snapped.” His eyes darken, his grip on the knife tightening, shaking his head, “I grabbed those bastards off her and started swingin’. All I saw was red. I hit ‘em hard, as hard as I could.”

Beth stays silent, her eyes wide with sympathy.

“Merle finally came back inside, pulled me off and she ran out. And when those assholes got back on their feet, one of ‘em pulled a gun on me. Had it right in my face, said, ‘I’m gonna kill you, bitch.’ I thought I was done for. Merle pulled his gun too, ready to go down with me.”

“How’d you get out of it?” Beth asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Tweaker punched me in the gut. I puked, right there in front of ‘em,” Daryl says bitterly. “They laughed, patched up their faces, and I saw ‘em back at Merle’s the next day, like nothin’ even happened.”

Beth doesn’t know what to say. The weight of it all hangs in the air between them.

“You wanna know what I was before all this?” Daryl says suddenly, his voice low. “I was driftin’. Mostly with her, till she went off to school. Then it was just me and Merle, doin’ whatever the hell he said we’d do that day. I was nobody. Nothin’. Some redneck asshole and an even bigger asshole for a brother.”

Beth’s eyes soften, her own pain visible in the dim light. “You miss her, don’t you? And your brother.”

Daryl doesn’t answer, his jaw tight. The words catch somewhere deep in his chest.

Beth takes a shaky breath. “I miss Maggie,” she says softly. “I miss her bossin’ me around. I miss my big brother Shawn. He was so annoying, so overprotective. And my dad… I thought he’d live the rest of his life in peace, y’know? I thought Maggie and Glenn would have a baby, and he’d get to be a grandpa. I thought we’d have birthdays and holidays…summer picnics. He’d get old, and he’d be surrounded by people he loved.” Her voice cracks, tears welling up in her eyes. “That’s how unbelievably stupid I am.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Daryl says gently, his voice surprisingly soft.

Beth looks down, her face crumpling. “I wish I could just…change.”

“You did,” he says after a pause.

“Not enough,” she replies, wiping her tears. “Not like you. You and Y/N… it’s like you two were made for this.”

“Just used to it,” Daryl mutters, eyes shifting away. “Things bein’ ugly. Growin’ up in a place like this.”

“But you got away from it,” Beth insists.

“I didn’t,” he snaps quickly, his voice rough.

“You did,” Beth presses.

“Maybe you gotta keep remindin’ me sometimes,” he says, and though his tone is gruff, there’s a flicker of something almost playful in his eyes.

“No, you can’t depend on anybody for anythin’, right?” Beth laughs weakly, then her face shifts, her voice turning serious. “I’ll be gone someday.”

“Stop,” Daryl says sharply.

“I will,” Beth continues firmly, but not with sadness. “You’re gonna be the last man standin’. You and Y/N. But you’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone, Daryl Dixon.”

“Man, you ain’t a happy drunk at all,” Daryl mutters, almost amused despite himself.

“Yeah, I’m happy,” Beth says with a small, sad smile. “Just not blind. You gotta stay who you are, not who you were. Places like this…you have to put it away.”

“What if you can’t?” Daryl asks, his voice low, eyes distant.

“You have to,” Beth says quietly. “Or it kills you… here.” She puts a hand over her heart.

Daryl’s gaze lingers on her for a moment, the raw vulnerability of the moment palpable. “We should go inside,” he says finally, his voice rough.

Beth wipes her eyes but a smile appears on her lips, and after a long moment, she says, “We should burn it down.”

Daryl stands, grabbing the moonshine. He walks to the door, then pauses. “We’re gonna need more booze,” he mutters, giving her a half-hearted grin before stepping inside, the darkness swallowing him up again.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Flames engulf the small house, the crackling fire consuming everything inside with a ruthless finality. Memories of Y/N fill Daryl’s mind—her laughter in that living room, the warmth of her body pressed against his on the worn couch, and the soft moments of peace that were so rare. Now, those moments are swallowed by fire, the heat searing away what’s left of his connection to her. It’s as if the flames are taking not just the house, but every last scrap of what they once had, reducing it all to ash.

But the memories don’t stop there. They dig deeper, pulling up images from his childhood, the kind he’s spent years trying to forget: broken glass on the floor, the stench of cigarettes, his father’s drunken rages. All of it is burning now, the orange glow illuminating the yard in a mix of destruction and twisted liberation. The flames lick at the night sky, sparks flying upward like dying stars, leaving behind nothing but smoke and charred wood.

Beth stands beside him, her face awash in the fiery glow. Her eyes are wild, filled with a strange mixture of excitement and catharsis. She nudges Daryl with her shoulder, grinning as she throws her middle finger high into the air. Daryl hesitates for a moment, his hand hanging limply by his side. He’s not sure if he’s ready to let go, not sure if he’s ready to raise that middle finger to everything that house represents—to Y/N, to his past, to everything that’s made him who he is. But then something inside him breaks loose, a dam that’s been holding back years of anger, regret, and pain. Slowly, he lifts his arm, raising his middle finger high. It feels raw, almost too real, as he aims the gesture at the burning wreckage. It’s a defiant act, one that carries every bit of his frustration and grief. He’s flipping off not just the house, but the entire twisted life that led him here—the mistakes, the heartbreak, and the endless goddamn survival that’s taken more from him than it’s ever given. Beside him, Beth smiles, a wild, reckless look that seems to match the chaos of the fire. The flames dance in her eyes, reflecting a strange sort of triumph. For a moment, it’s like they’re both shedding something old, something rotten that’s been weighing them down for far too long.

However, the reality of the world dawns, and they can only stand there so long. The fire has caught the attention of nearby walkers who begin to descend on the scene, attracted to the sudden rush of light illuminating the woods, and Daryl touches her arm, turning Beth around to leave. But for the first time in a long while, it feels like he’s done something that’s his choice, not survival’s. The anger still simmers, but there’s a strange, raw satisfaction that cuts through the heaviness in his chest. It’s not joy—he hasn’t felt that in longer than he can remember—but it’s a victory, however small and bitter. With one last look at the dying flames, he turns away from the burning wreckage, that hint of a smile still tugging at his lips. For now, it’s enough. It’s a step forward, however small, and for once, he’s leaving something behind on his own terms.

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 13: Benchwarmers

Chapter Thirteen.

Say what you want, but say it like you mean it, With your fists for once, A long cold war, with your kids at the front, Just give it one more day, then you're done, I do what I want, crying in the bleachers, And I said it was fun, I don't need anything from anyone, It's just not my year, But I'm all good out here

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

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

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

Words: 6,098

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, physical violence, Steve gets his ass beat but good God did he try, forced drug use (kinda. If you've seen the episode then I'm sure you understand)

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, no use of y/n, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Chapter Thirteen: Benchwarmers

“Are you okay? When you weren’t at the cabin I… I thought you’d gone to find Mike, and then he was with Will and… I thought you left. I thought you were in danger-”

“I’m okay,” the girl tried to reassure you as you held her face between your palms, eyes watery as she tried her best not to cry.

Once you had double-checked her for injuries and wiped her nose with the sleeve of your jacket, you pulled her tight against you once more, “Don’t ever run off like that again, okay? Promise me, El.”

The girl nodded, a quiet ‘I promise’ falling from her mouth as you finally pulled away. Her eyes wandered around the group, falling on the boy she’d been desperate to see for almost a year.

“Eleven?”

“Mike,” This time, the tears fell from the young girl as she tightly gripped the boy. This was all she had wanted for three hundred and fifty-three days.

Hopper placed an arm across your shoulders, pulling you close once you’d moved back next to him, a relieved expression on his features, despite feeling dubious about the sight in front of him. The whole reason he had kept Eleven’s survival shrouded in secrecy was to protect her. To protect all of you, really. And now, the cat was out of the bag. Yet without her, you’d all most likely be Demo-dog food right now.

“That’s her? The girl with the…” Steve wiggled his fingers around slightly, “magic?”

Unable to pull your eyes away from El, thankful that she was here and safe, you simply nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were there? That you were okay?”

“Because I wouldn’t let her.” Hopper intervened, causing Mike to turn, a glare settling on his dark brows as the man walked between the two and turned his attention to the girl, “The hell is this? Where have you been?”

“Hop-” you sighed, head already pounding, you refused to witness another fight.

“Where have you been?” El answered back, big brown eyes still brimming with tears. Hopper didn’t reply, and instead pulled her toward him, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

As if the clogs in Mike’s brain finally began to turn, connecting pieces of a puzzle previously hidden from him, he realized that Eleven had been here all along. And both yourself and Hopper knew about it.

“You’ve been hiding her. You’ve been hiding her this whole time!”

Mike shoved Hopper’s back, and despite the man barely moving, you still stepped in, placing a hand on Mike’s arm, only for the boy to shrug it off as he turned back to you, “You too! You were both hiding her, letting us think she was dead… or trapped in the Upside Down. But you knew. This whole time, you knew.”

“Hey,” Hopper grabbed a hold of Mike’s shirt, tugging him down the corridor, “Let’s talk. Alone.”

Your leg bounced as you leaned against the arm of the couch, the sounds of Mike’s pained and frustrated shouts heard from the living room, and despite the boys surrounding El and pulling her into a group hug, you felt several pairs of eyes fall on you.

Your eyes caught with Joyce’s just as she pulled the girl into her own hug, a gentle kiss placed against El’s gelled hair — a personal choice of hers that you'd decided you wouldn’t comment on — before you turned your gaze elsewhere, the older woman leading El through the house to see Will.

“You knew where she was this whole time?” Max asked, a little perplexed by El’s apparent coldness toward her, despite this being their first time meeting.

“Look, Hopper was protecting her. I wasn’t gonna go against that. It was in everyone’s best interest.”

Inhaling deeply, Max shrugged before standing with you, looking around at the drawings that covered the walls, “So this is all real? Not some stupid joke to pull on the new girl?”

A small laugh fell from your lips as you shook your head, “I wish it was joke, but no. All this shit… It’s happened before. Kind of, anyway. I just… I thought it was over with. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged along in this. I shouldn’t have ever told you to-”

“I’d rather know about the Demo-dogs that wanna eat me,” Max’s mouth pulled up in a half-smirk, despite her eyes still holding fear.

Sure, Eleven was here now, which significantly raised your chances of helping Will. But as you learned from last year, someone always gets hurt. Bob was dead and those… things were roaming around in the tunnels under the city, growing by the minute.

“Do you think if we got you back there, you could close it?”

Joyce’s question pulled your attention away from the small redhead, who followed you as you made your way toward where the older woman and Eleven now stood.

“Yes,” El all but whispered, dark eyes full of certainty, “I can close it.”

Standing next to El, her hand clinging to your own, you sighed as the group discussed their choices.

“The place is crawling with those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin interrupted, much to Hopper’s dismay, “Like Demogorgon and dogs… You put them together, it sounds pretty badass-”

“How is this important right now?"

“It’s not. I’m sorry.” The boy sighed, returning his attention to the table you were all standing around, a map of the tunnels spread out.

“I can do it,” El said, no hesitation in her voice at all.

“You’re not hearing me,” Hopper sighed with exasperation, arms folded over his chest.

But El pressed, “I’m hearing you. I can do it.”

“Even if El can, there’s still another problem.” Mike interrupted before the two could begin another argument, “If the brain dies, the body dies.”

“I thought that was the whole point,” Max questioned, confusion lining her brow.

Your head snapped round toward Mike, eyes slightly wider as you sharply inhaled. The boy — who had barely sent you a second look since coming back from his talk with Hopper — watched you across the table, dark eyes peering into yours as you caught on, asking quietly,

“If El closes the gate and kills the mind flayer’s army… What happens to Will?”

“Will’s a part of that army…” Lucas sighed, connecting the dots.

“Closing the gate will kill him,” Mike confirmed, causing everyone’s eyes to fall on Joyce as she pushed her dining chair backward and rushed into Will's room.

The group followed Joyce, eyes peering over Will as he led, still unconscious in bed. Joyce looked around the room, brows pulled together as she racked her brain for answers. Anything that could save Will, whilst still closing the gate.

Your eyes fell from the boy, to the walls where even more papers were taped to the wall. Clogs in your brain turning, you blinked a few times before speaking up.

“You said it’s like a virus, right?”

“That’s what Dr. Owens said, why?” Joyce questioned, her doe eyes turning toward you, almost begging for a solution.

“When you told me he was sick, you said… You said that he liked it cold, right? Will didn't mean himself, did he?”

Joyce’s eyes widened as she darted further into the room, shutting the open window, “We keep giving it what it wants.”

“If this is a virus, and Will’s the host then…” Nancy began, glancing toward you,

“Then we need to make the host inhabitable.” Jonathan finished for her.

“So if he likes it cold…”

“What are you talking about?” Hopper questioned, brow furrowed as he looked around the room.

Sighing, you turned your attention back toward Joyce, the poor woman tearing at her bottom lip with her teeth, “Then we need to burn that motherfucker out of him.”

Hopper had carried Will out toward his car, giving Jonathan directions toward his cabin as Joyce followed behind whilst Steve and Nancy made their way toward the garden to collect anything that would emit heat. You’d told them you’d thrown a decent heater out there whilst clearing the shed, so the two decided to start there.

“You should go with him,” Steve spoke quietly, sifting through the pile of junk.

“What?”

“With Jonathan.”

Nancy scoffed, digging around the other side of the pile, “No, I’m… I’m not just gonna leave Mike.”

Steve’s eyes turned toward the kitchen window as he placed down a ball of tangled Christmas lights, attempting to swallow down the mild dread that still settled in his stomach a year later.

He caught sight of you, standing with your hip against the sink as you spoke to Mike and the others. He could tell by how you struggled to swallow that you were most likely explaining your reasoning for keeping El’s whereabouts hidden. When Mike finally returned your glance, saying something Steve couldn’t make out before nodding, his face softening when you placed an apprehensive hand on his shoulder and pulled the begrudging boy into a half hug. Regardless of the fact he was sure it felt as awkward as it looked, he couldn’t help the small, upward tug of his lips.

“No one’s leaving anyone,” Steve continued, eyes darting toward the large fan that Nancy had lifted when he realized the girl was watching him, “I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but… turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter.”

Steve pulled out the small heater, handing it to Nancy who remained silent for a moment, a look of guilt and understanding written across her soft features when she finally looked toward him, “Steve…”

“It’s okay, Nance… It’s okay.

“If I thought for a second it wouldn’t keep you safe… wouldn’t keep El safe too, then I would’ve fought harder to tell you all, I promise.”

Mike sighed, eyebrows still furrowed together as he kept his eyes on his sneakers, “I thought I’d never see her again.”

“I just… I wanted to protect you. All of you.” You sighed as your fingers pulled at the skin around your nails.

“She’s done more than enough to prove that,” Lucas sent you a small smile across the kitchen, perched at the dining table, and you sent him a tight-lipped smile back, forcing down the bile that threatened to crawl its way up your throat whenever you thought of last year. Of what you did.

“We forgive her, right?” Dustin shrugged.

Lucas nodded in agreement, “Yeah. We get it.”

“I really am sorry, Mike.” You sighed, somehow feeling like a weight had lifted from your shoulders, only to be placed on your chest as you awaited the boy’s response.

“It’s okay,” Mike sighed, before sending you a small nod, “I forgive you, too.”

Placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, you pulled him reluctantly toward you, and despite the scoff that fell from his lips and the eye roll he had most likely sent to the rest of the group, you could feel the smile pull at his cheek.

Looking out the kitchen window, you observed Steve and Nancy awkwardly sifting through the pile of junk you and Hopper had haphazardly thrown outside. Nancy was holding up a large fan that would be useful in the summer months, and you watched as Steve approached her slowly, the former glancing up at him with her large blue eyes.

Frowning, you could only be grateful you had remained inside with the kids and not stuck in the middle of whatever that was. Pushing yourself from the sink, you made your way outside to where El stood.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked quietly, watching as Hopper loaded Will into Jonathan’s car.

“I can do this,” she began, sighing slightly.

Turning toward her, you grabbed one of her hands, “That’s not what I asked. You have a choice in this, no matter what the outcome might be without you. So, are you sure?”

Eleven’s gaze mapped out your face, eyes softening almost instantly, “I’m sure.”

Nodding, you blinked in an attempt to clear your vision from the tears that threatened to fall, “Then you better stay safe, alright? Don’t do anything that you don’t absolutely need to.”

The girl sent you her own nod before her eyes caught something behind you, causing her to inhale deeply. Turning, you watched over your shoulder as Mike slowly approached and decided to head over toward Hopper to give the two some semblance of privacy.

“That goes for you, too.” You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. You knew that Hopper had most likely been listening to your conversation, just as he now had to pretend that he wasn’t eavesdropping on the one El was having with Mike.

“I think you need to be looking in a mirror, Kid.”

“I’m not joking, Hop. Just… Make sure you both come back.”

Hopper’s full attention was now on you as his brow furrowed. Instead of reassuring words, the man simply stepped forward, pulling you into a strong embrace, and if the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed, you would’ve complained about his bear-like strength and knocked his hat from where it perched on his head.

Instead, you felt your tense shoulders relax slightly as the man pressed his lips against the top of your head, mumbling as he promised you a safe return, quietly pleading with you to remain in the house and stay safe, to keep the kids safe.

Once you’d separated, the man pulled a cigarette from his pack, a sharp glare sent in your direction as you swiftly grabbed one too, but his attention was quickly stolen by the two young teenagers standing suspiciously close together.

“El… Come on, let’s go. It’s time.”

His large hand gripped your shoulder reassuringly one last time before you made your way toward the porch, watching as Hopper and El clambered into the former’s car, Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce behind in the eldest Byers siblings vehicle, Will’s head resting against Joyce’s lap.

As they drove down the long, winding dirt drive, you stood next to Steve, the gang of teens surrounding you as you watched them all leave, the feeling of helplessness weighing heavily on you all.

Everyone had returned inside, leaving you alone on the porch to stew in your feelings. You’d barely been in the house a minute after everyone left, lighting your stolen cigarette on Joyce’s stove before strolling back out and settling down on the hardwood.

As you ran a hand over your face you felt the exhaustion finally settle deep in your bones. Despite feeling useless, you couldn’t help but be glad you were left here to look after the kids. God knows you wouldn’t be of any help in this state.

Head bent backward, you blew up a cloud of smoke, watching as it danced around in the cold November air and clouded the stars above you for just a moment before you inhaled another deep breath, eyes falling closed as you held your breath, the smoke gradually burning your lungs.

“Heard that’s bad for your health.”

The sudden interruption of silence caused your body to jerk, the smoke finally escaping you as you spluttered, feeling like you were hacking up a lung.

Steve settled beside you on the porch step, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder as he waited for you to either stop coughing or keel over and die. He hadn’t meant to scare you half to death, but a smirk pulled at his mouth regardless when you finally turned to him with a glare,

“You are bad for my health, Harrington.”

Taking a second to consider what you’d said, his smirk only grew, “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” you huffed before offering him the cigarette.

He contemplated it for a moment before declining with a shake of his head, “After surviving Demo-dogs, you think I’m gonna let these things take me out?”

“I’m going to take you out in a minute if you don’t shut up,” you grumbled, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette.

“Didn’t realize I was your type,” the boy quipped, “I’m a fan of Enzo’s, they have unlimited breadsticks. Not too sure it’s in your budget, though.”

Your glare was much more intense as you stared him down, “You’re not, and God… Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

Steve nudged your shoulder with his own before leaning his arms onto his long, slender legs that were bent awkwardly in front of him, “If you think I’m an ass, you should see what Henderson’s done.”

“What do you mean?” You questioned suspiciously.

“Let's just say,” Steve rubbed a hand through his hair, causing it to look wilder than normal “If Mrs. Byers invites you round for dinner, I'd pass.”

“In the fridge?” You all but screeched, pushing the front door open, eyes darting around for the curly-haired kid, “You put that goddamn dog in Mrs. Byers's fridge?”

“Demo-dog,” you heard Dustin call from the kitchen, making his appearance, “And yes, obviously. As a woman of science, I thought you'd-”

Your nose scrunched up as you shook your head, “No. No, don’t call me that ever again.”

“But I thought-”

“Look, whatever little science fair project you plan on doing with it, fine. Whatever. That’s your business. But you’re cleaning that mess up, and you can explain to Mrs. Byers why there’s a monster in her fridge-”

“Demo-dog,” Dustin stressed again, exasperated.

Rolling your eyes, you turned away from the boy who quickly made his way back to the kitchen and began picking up the abandoned refrigerated food, throwing it straight into the bin.

“Mike, would you stop already?” Lucas sighed, hands holding the dustpan as Max swept up the remaining glass that littered the floor from the Demo-dog's grand entrance.

“You weren’t in there, okay, Lucas?” Mike glared, finally stopping his pacing, “That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs!” Dustin hollered, clearly annoyed with everyone’s lack of detail.

“The Chief will take care of her,” Lucas tried to reassure the boy, but Mike only rolled his eyes, Max scoffing that the girl clearly didn’t need protection.

Steve made his way toward Mike, trying his best to keep the peace, “Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?”

“Okay, first of all, this isn’t some stupid sports game. And second, we’re not even in the game. We’re on the bench.”

“Right, so, my point is…” Steve stammered, glancing toward you as five pairs of eyes settled on him, “A little help here?”

You merely shrugged, picking at your cuticle, “Oh, I don’t do sports analogies.”

His mouth opened and closed several times as he sent you an exasperated glare, “…Right. Yeah, we’re on the bench, so, uh… there’s nothing we can do.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Dustin spoke up, causing Steve to peer at him over his shoulder, “I mean, these Demo-dogs… They have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away.”

“So if we get their attention…”

“Maybe we can draw them from the lab.” Max finished Lucas’s thought aloud.

“And clear a path to the gate.”

You could almost smell the gears in their head begin to spin.

“Yeah, and then we all die,” Steve chided, his hands falling to his narrow hips and you noticed the dish towel still slung over his shoulder, like an irritated mother.

“That’s one point of view,” Dustin shrugged.

“No, that’s not a point of view, man. That’s a fact.”

“I got it,” Mike pushed through the two, leading you all toward one of the drawings that hung on the wall, “This is where the Chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel. So…”

Moving back toward the living room, he stood on top of where some drawings were taped together on the floor, all tunnels seemingly leading to that point, “So, you got all the tunnels feeding in here. Maybe if we set this on fire…”

“Oh, yeah? That’s a no.” Steve interrupted, unamused and unwilling to hear the boy out, but the gang was already considering it.

“The Mind Flayer would call away his army.”

“They’d all come to stop us.”

“Hey… Guys.” Steve tried to interrupt once again, his patience well and truly leaving the building as they continued to talk over him, “Hey, hey, hey!”

Everyone turned their attention toward the boy as he lowered his voice, “This is not happening.”

“But-”

“No, no, no, no, no. No buts. We promised that we’d keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing, right?”

Realizing Steve was now looking to you for backup, your mouth opened and closed a few times, much like a goldfish aimlessly swimming around a too-small bowl. Your eyes darted between the kids almost pleading looks, and Steve’s stern stare. Sighing, you closed your mouth and shrugged, silently agreeing with the older teen, even if the plan seemed… workable.

“We’re staying here, on the bench, and we’re waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand?”

“This isn’t a stupid sports game, ”Mike tried to argue one last time, but it fell on deaf ears.

Pulling the towel from his shoulder and using it to point at the group, Steve repeated himself, “I said does everybody understand that? I need a yes.”

Before any of the kids could agree, the sound of an engine revving outside pulled everyone’s attention away. It was way too early for anyone to be back, plus, the only one of you who could afford a car that made that kind of noise was standing opposite you.

Max, clearly recognizing the sound, dashed toward the window, Lucas next to her as they watched the familiar blue Camero drive up the path, headlights blinding as he drove a little too fast.

“It’s my brother,” Max sighed, “He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

The sound of screeching tires caused your feet to move toward the door before your brain could calculate a plan. Steve, however, caught hold of your elbow, brows almost pinching together as he shook his head,

“Where are you going?”

“He’s not gonna just go away. He knows someone is home, it wouldn’t be weird for me to be here.”

“And what exactly are you gonna say to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought maybe I’d ask him on a coffee date. What the hell do you think I’m gonna say.”

Steve scoffed, his hand falling from your elbow as he crossed his arms over his chest, “I’m not… I’m not gonna let you go out there after what happened. He said-”

“I don’t care what he said, Harrington. He isn’t going to just leave.”

“I’ll go-”

“Oh, please. He’s been gunning for you all week.”

Grabbing the towel from his shoulder, Steve pushed it into your hands, a serious expression falling over his features, “Stay here with them. I got this, alright?”

Leaning against the closed door, you could barely hear the boy’s conversation but you knew damn well that Steve, in fact, did not have this. Your eyes were closed as you concentrated on the mumbled words spoken between the two outside.

The younger teens suddenly fell onto the sofa underneath them, eyes wide with panic.

“Shit, did he see us?” Dustin questioned, causing you to straighten up.

Sending them an incredulous glare, you pushed away from the door slightly, “Oh my God, get away from the window!”

The sound of a body hitting the ground, quickly followed by a second grunt caused you to try and peer through the frosted glass of the door, unsure as to whether it was Harrington, or Hargrove who was now making their way up the porch.

You barely had enough time to dodge out of the way as the door swung open and bumped harshly against your shoulder, the momentum causing you to stumble to the floor as Billy stepped foot in the Byers home.

His cruel eyes darted between where you were sprawled out on the floor, and Max as she stood surrounded by the boys, face remaining stoic as he slammed the door shut behind him, blocking your view of Steve, who was taking a moment to recover out on the driveway, “Well, well, well…”

Stepping over you, Billy’s eyes now focused on his primary target, “Lucas Sinclair. What a surprise.”

Your brows furrowed together as you pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the ache in your arm as your eyes bore into the back of Billy’s head as he approached his step-sister, “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max.”

“Billy, go away.” Max’s voice shook, but she stood her ground.

“Hargrove, c’mon…” You stepped forward, heart thumping against your rib cage in what seemed like a great escape.

“You disobeyed me,” the older teen said, low and gruff, using his height to leer over the girl, “And you know what happens when you disobey me… I break things.”

Billy moved quickly, and before you had a chance to stop him, he grabbed Lucas by the collar of his jacket, dragging him across the kitchen and slamming him into the small shelving unit.

The kids yelled for him to stop as you launched yourself across the room, “Hargrove! Get off of him!”

Your hand made contact with Billy’s burgundy shirt, attempting to tug him off the younger boy, but he was much stronger than you. His right arm shot out, knocking you away from him and causing your head to hit the corner of the cabinet behind you on your way to the floor, unable to catch yourself.

Billy leaned in close, threatening Lucas once more, but you could barely hear him, the whooshing sound that reverberated between your ears taking front and center of your attention as your hand reluctantly touched the crown of your head, causing you to flinch and pull your now blood-stained fingers away quickly.

Before you knew what had happened, Billy was forced away from him, Lucas’s foot connecting with a much more sensitive body part of the older boys.

Billy merely took seconds to recover, his eyes now full of fire, “You’re so dead, Sinclair! You’re dead.”

“No,” a strained voice came from behind, forcing the older boy away and allowing you to see Steve who had finally made his way off the floor outside, “No. You are.”

Steve’s fist flew, connecting with Billy’s nose and causing the boy to spin, but not quite fall, his sneakers barely missing your fingers that were staining the linoleum.

Steve’s eyes glanced over at your huddled frame as he shook out his fist before they found Lucas — who was now the center of a group hug before Billy’s loud, mocking laughter caught his attention,

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh?” Billy practically shouted, blood slowly trickling from his nose, “I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about.”

Steve remained stoic as Billy approached him, a firm hand against his chest as he pushed the boy away slightly, “Get out.”

But Billy wasn’t leaving without a fight.

Steve managed to duck, avoiding Billy’s initial attack, and land his own punch against the boy’s cheek causing him to bump into the table. Pulling himself back up quickly, Billy continued to taunt Steve as he laughed out loud, even when Steve hit him again and again, pushing the boy past you, and into the kitchen sink.

The kids yelled for Steve, cheering him on, and you were genuinely impressed. Either Steve had been practicing since last year, or Billy was a much better fighter with his words and not his fists.

That thought, however, quickly changed when Billy lifted a clean plate from the draining board next to the sink, smashing it over Steve’s head and causing the boy to lose his bearing. Which made the next punch all too easy.

“Hargrove, stop!” You tried to yell, attempting to push yourself upright, but your sneaker slipped on a small piece of china, causing you to crash back down, your vision dotted.

With a swift headbutt, Billy continued his relentless attack, even once Steve was on the floor and unable to fight back. A dirty fighter, that made much more sense.

Billy crowded over Steve, his fists flying as he took out a wave of anger that seemed far too exorbitant to be over a step-sister he claimed he really didn’t like.

Finally managing to steady your footing, you used the cabinet to pull yourself up, smearing bits of blood over the counter as you stumbled over toward the sink, looking for something, anything to stop Billy’s attack.

Your fingers found the glass you’d been drinking out of earlier — the one you’d originally poured for Steve — and cursed slightly as it fumbled from your grasp. Once you were sure your grip was tight enough, you raised your arm, throwing the glass directly at Billy. Whether it hit his head or his back, you couldn’t quite make out, but when he halted his vicious attack on Steve and slowly peered over his shoulder at you, your hands grasped onto another plate that had been draining on the side.

Billy’s mouth pulled up into a sardonic smirk, goading you as if you hadn't already thrown a glass at him. His smile dropped quickly, however, when he found himself having to raise an arm to block the plate as you threw it like a frisbee, this time purposely aiming for his head.

You couldn’t tell whether it was through your fear or your potential concussion, but it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Billy pushed himself up, chest heaving with hostility as he approached you, and it felt like you were underwater, unable to move quick enough to escape his wrath.

“People like you never learn, do you? What did I tell you last time?” Billy didn’t give you a chance to answer as he — almost tauntingly — made his way toward you with slow, steady steps as he licked his lips, “I said, I wouldn’t be so nice about you hitting me again.”

Thankfully, Max had already darted into action. Grabbing the spare needle from the side, Max dashed toward Billy, injecting him in the neck from behind before he could reach you.

You saw the confusion fall over Billy’s face as he turned slightly, eyes meeting the enraged stare of his step-sister. The room remained quiet, everyone watching with bated breath as Billy tried to step forward but his wobbling legs were unable to hold him up properly, the sedative already working its way through his body.

“What the hell is this?” Billy’s bloodied hands fumbled with the syringe, finally managing to pull it out of his neck before he fell to his knees, “You little shit, what did you do?”

Max sidestepped him easily, the boy’s body seemingly turning boneless as he fell from his knees, flat out onto his back. Still, he continued to jeeringly laugh.

Grabbing the nailed bat and raising it high, Max made her way toward Billy, “From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?”

“Screw you,” Billy practically babbled, his eyes trying to focus on the redhead.

The bat swung down harshly, right between the boy's legs, causing him to peer down, shock evident on his face.

Ripping the bat from where it stuck into the floor, Max raised it again, “Say you understand! Say it!”

“I understand,” Billy mumbled, his vision tunneling as his fight to remain conscious became a losing battle.

Once it was clear Billy was not waking up any time soon, you all began to move. Dustin and Mike made their way over to Steve, both fussing before Mike rushed off to get a wet cloth in an attempt to wipe off some of the blood, whilst Lucas wrapped an arm around your waist, helping you toward where Steve lay, sprawled across the floor.

“Holy shit,” you grumbled as you took in the boy's battered and bruised face as you rested on your knees next to him. Mike returned with the cloth, handing it to you as you tried your best to stop the blood from gushing out of Steve’s nose. You wouldn’t be shocked if it was broken, especially as one of his eyes was already beginning to blacken and swell.

“I found these,” Dustin huffed, pulling out a few decorated plasters from Mrs. Byers's first aid kit.

“I don’t think they’re gonna do much-”

“We need to get out of here. If we’re gonna do this, we need to leave now.”

“We can’t just leave him,” Dustin huffed. Steve had just almost kicked Billy’s ass for them, he wasn’t about to leave him here.

“Especially not with Billy. If he wakes up first, there’s no knowing what he’ll do.”

Mike’s head whipped around in your direction, “Then what do you suggest?”

Blinking a few times in an attempt to focus your slightly blurred vision, you released a sigh, “You can’t just go down into the tunnels.”

Lucas shook his head, “We can’t just stay here and do nothing, either.”

“I’m not… That’s not what I’m saying,” the group turned toward you, faces shrouded in confusion, “I’m just saying we can’t just go into the tunnels. We need to be able to get out of them, too. And we don’t know what’s down there, or how it affects us. We need supplies.”

Mike stepped forward, eyes watching you warily, “We’re gonna do this? You're in?”

“I thought it was a pretty decent plan, so yeah, I'm in… I'm all in.”

You had argued for a solid five minutes that you should be the one to drive Billy’s car, considering you were the only conscious person in the room old enough for a license. But as you stood to make your way toward Max, hand held out of the keys, your vision tunneled, causing you to stumble, swallowing down the wave of nausea that felt unrelenting.

So, somehow you ended up sitting next to Dustin in the back seat of the Camero, Steve’s head resting on your lap as you held an ice pack to his face, the other hand grasping the passenger seat’s headrest, cursing Max under your breath whenever she took a turn a little too sharply.

Too occupied with keeping yourself firmly in the car, you didn’t notice Steve wake up until he began to grumble, his eyes meeting yours as he gazed up at you. You caught his hand as he tried to rub at his bruised face when Max hit a pothole a little zealously, and placed it back over his chest, “It’s best if you don’t touch it.”

“Hey, buddy,” Dustin cooed, smiling down at Steve as the boy began to look around, unsure of where he was, or how he got there, “It’s okay, you put up a good fight. He kicked your ass, but you put up a fight.”

“Henderson, that’s not really helping.” You scolded the boy as you rearranged the ice pack when Steve tried to bat it away.

“Okay, you’re gonna keep straight for a half mile, then make a left on Mount Sinai.”

“What’s going on?” Steve grumbled, his words slurred slightly as he looked up at Max peering over the steering wheel. Then at you.

Then at Max again, because why the hell was a thirteen-year-old driving?

Adrenaline flooded Steve’s system, causing him to begin to panic, “Oh my god…”

The boy tried to sit up, despite laying across the entire back seat, and essentially over yourself, Dustin, and Mike. Pushing his shoulder, you tried soothing him, “Steve, it’s fine, alright? You just need to calm down-”

“What’s going on?!” He asked, his voice much higher than before as Max floored it. If Steve had panicked before, he was now well on his way to having a coronary, “Stop the car! Slow down!”

“I told you he’d freak out,” Mike glared toward Dustin as Steve continued to do just that, leading to Max screaming at them all to shut up and let her concentrate.

After a — once again — too-sharp left turn, you passed Mount Sinai, taking an all too innocent mailbox with you, your knuckles aching from how hard you clutched at the passenger seat, uncaring if you tore the leather.

That would be the least of Billy’s worries.

[captainvastolation]

Looked around AO3 and said “why the hell hasn’t anybody written Michael helping Gerry dye his hair??” and my first fic was born. 21k later, we finally got to the original inspiration.

“Fucking hell,” he sighed to himself and crouched to rummage around in the cabinets. He swatted at Michael’s legs to get it to lift them out of the way, and it obliged with a pointed look.

“What are you doing now?” It peered down at him from behind its knees. It had curled up into a tight fold on the counter much like it had on the couch the first time it had showed up at his flat. Gerry found the effect quite funny, actually. How it could go from something so large and imposing into such a relatively small ball was beyond him.

He rummaged around blindly, pushing past old, rough towels and half-used but long-forgotten tubes of toothpaste before his fingers brushed against what he was hoping for: the smooth edge of a little box he’d stolen from the chemist a few months ago, probably whenever he did his hair last.

In a few practiced motions, the various chemicals were in a small plastic bottle, and he shook it hard with his thumb over the top. His free hand riffled through the instructions and other nonsense in the box. What, no shit plastic gloves? It wasn’t that he cared if the dye stained his skin some, but he’d done his hair before without any precautions, and the deep bluish stains on his hands and nail beds took eons to fade. It almost made it look like his hands were unevenly rotting, and it was something he’d done his best to avoid since. He set the bottle back down to properly search through the few drawers under the sink. Hadn’t he had gloves at some point?

Ah, yes. The empty box laughed at him in his hand. Gerry of the past really enjoyed making things difficult for Gerry of the future. Presently, he was vexed with himself.

Michael’s question lingered unanswered as he chewed the piercing scar inside his lip. He glanced up at it, and its eyebrows still raised as if asking again what the hell he was up to. He sighed deeply and leaned back against the opposite wall.

“I need to do my damn hair, but I’m out of gloves, and since I get the cheap stuff it stains like hell. And I hate dealing with majorly stained hands for weeks.” He took another swig from the bottle of whiskey. It was nearly empty. “Guess I’ll just try to do it fast and scrub my hands while it’s processing.”

“I did not realize I was interrupting your regularly-scheduled grooming day,” it said with a giggle. It bounced in its bizarre echoes around the small space, but he found that he was pretty unphased by it at this point. Or maybe he was just still recovering from looking at it in the mirror and didn’t notice the additional headache.

“Oh, piss off. Guess I’m having uh, one of those…” he snapped his fingers a few times searching for the word. “Self care days! Yeah, that’s what rich white women call it. Why not.”

“Self care day?” It tittered back at him.

“Yeah, it’s when you do shit for yourself so you want to die a little less, or something like that.” He found a hair tie in the depths of another drawer and pulled the top part of his hair up into a tight bun. He grimaced slightly at the sight of it. Preppy did not suit him.

He focused on the task at hand, tracing the sectioned part with the nozzle, rubbing it into his scalp, moving to the next little section. He hadn’t realized until he put it up just how long his hair had gotten. Tilting his head to the side, a section spilled around to the front. It was damn near to his shoulder blades. Might not have enough dye. Shit. It was a problem for later. He’d already started; no stopping now.

As he continued working around the back of his head, he stopped to stretch his neck and shoulders. Twisting around to try to cover his scalp evenly was wearing on him, especially as the tipsiness settled into a comfortable drunk. Already paused, he tipped back the bottle and finished it off. Tasted like shit and burned going down. Between the burn in his throat and the sharp smell of hair dye, he reveled in the familiar discomforts.

He tried to turn his head in the mirror to see where he might have left off. He was trying to use his hands as little as possible at this point, since it would hardly be seen anyway. Michael’s soft laugh wrapped around him again, and he shot it a glance.

“Can I help you? You’re the one loitering in my flat watching me do this.”

“Oh, does someone not enjoy being observed? How curious,” it replied casually. “I find it funny that the Little Watcher has no eyes in the back of his head to see what he is doing.”

Gerry snorted and raised a middle finger to it, equally casual. He saw the first dark splotch sinking into the whorls of his fingerprint. Dammit.

It broke into a full laugh like he hadn’t heard before. It was a true belly laugh, with its head tipped back and its eyes closed. Its shoulders and chest shook with the force of it, and the sound deeper and fuller than its usual creeping giggles, washing over him in waves from every direction. Try as he might to keep a stern face, the unfettered joy was contagious. He had to set down the dye bottle and use both hands to hold onto the counter as he joined in. It was beyond ridiculous, every part of this. But dammit, for the first time in a long time, he was actually having fun.

“Christ, alright,” he finally said, carefully wiping the tears from his eyes with the knuckles that were least likely to have dye on them. “You have to let me actually do this in a timely manner, otherwise it’s gonna look even worse than usual.” He gingerly tapped a finger along the part to find where he had left off and was rewarded with glob of dye on his finger when he pulled it back. What a fucking pain. The acrid smell of the chemicals was getting to be overwhelming. He regretted finishing off the bottle already.

He stopped again to roll his shoulders and stretch his neck, sighing deeply through the familiar ritual. Push the parts that hurt, see how much more they could take, carry on.

“Gerard?” Michael asked into the quiet that had settled over them.

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up, still stretching his neck.

“Do you need help?”

Gerry’s attention snapped up to it. “Nah, I’ve done this forever. Just getting too old for my bullshit, I suppose.” He studied its face. No shit eating grin, no mischievous quirk of an eyebrow. Its eyes flitted through a series of barely-there pastels in an almost opalescent glow. “Besides, I don’t need you going all Scissorhands on me,” he joked gesturing at its hands folded in its lap.

It chuckled and held them up for him to see. “Mr. Scissorhands, I am not.” Like in Bristol, the fingers had lost their sharp edges, and the proportions were shockingly normal. He chewed on the inside of his lip. “Friends,” its voice caught slightly on the word. “Friends help each other, yes?”

[vintagebunnies]

silver springs

rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader (daisy jones & the six au)

Corroded Coffin is in a desperate need for a new female lead, ready to change it up. Open auditions are held, people come and go, get turned away, until you eventually show up. (6.6k)

fem!reader, enemies to lovers, drug usage/mention, alcohol consumption, swearing, some angst, eddie’s a major douchebag! 18+ only!

chapter 1: rock ‘n’ roll suicide.

ཐི♡ཋྀ

Corroded Coffin was finally hitting it off. They were selling out stadiums and albums left and right, now known as one of the biggest thrash metal bands of the 90’s.

The boys never thought they’d get to this point, the highlight of rock ‘n’ roll. Having an opportunity to experience it all, being able to get the hell out of Hawkins without looking back. Girls practically fell at their feet, a huge difference from High School.

They don’t get strange looks anymore. Now if someone were staring at them, it would be because they were recognized out in public instead of degrading names and harsh glares. Getting gawked at by men and women alike.

Eddie had just finished writing a new song for their new album; Circle of Death.

Despite the harsh title, the songs were nothing of the sort. Eddie wanted to try diverging into something a little different. More softer.

Nothing too soft of course, as that would completely take away from their scene. But every metal band has done slower songs once, right?

The album was solely based around their lives as teenagers, lost love, and anything else someone’s mind can wander to. During the time Eddie spent planning and writing for this album, he basically isolated himself from everyone else. He wanted time to think things out thoroughly, making sure everything comes out properly and entertaining for their thousands of fans.

“Damn, he’s been in there for the past hour and a half,” Jeff stood in their studio, pacing and waiting for Eddie to get out of his daydream in the next room over.

“Think we should check up on him?” Gareth questioned.

“Yeah, he’s wasting time that we could’ve spent recording-“ Jeff was cut off by the sound of a heavy door slamming open.

“I finally finished this shit!” Eddie yelled with joy on his face.

“Jesus Christ!” Jeff jumped back.

Eddie barely paid any mind, grinning from ear to ear at his new song creation.

“What’s got you so happy?” Grant asked.

“Here, read it yourself,” Eddie handed Grant his notebook, a closed-mouth smile on his face.

Grant started reading it over, noticing all of the words that could’ve been but were erased. Eddie’s handwriting was almost hard to read, if the guys weren’t in the studio with him while he was jotting this down, they would’ve thought he was in a rush.

“Shit man, this is actually pretty good,” Grant handed the notebook over to Jeff who was reading over his shoulder. “Are you gonna make this a duet or somethin’?”

“Pfft, no,” Eddie snatched the notebook out of Jeff’s hands.

“Hey-“

“I’m perfectly capable of singing this myself,” Eddie closed the notebook shut. “I’ve done it before and I can do it again.”

“That’s actually a good idea Grant, maybe we should find someone to sing this with you,” Jeff suggested.

Eddie threw himself down on one of the plush velvet couches, tossing his notebook on the cushion right next to him. “What? One of you guys wanna sing a love song with me?”

“Of course I do, Eddie-bear,” Gareth joked, making kissy noises at Eddie. Eddie threw a pillow at Gareth’s head.

“No dude, I mean like-“ Jeff picked up the notebook, opening to the wrinkled page with the lyrics. “-what if we held auditions? I’m sure there will be plenty of girls lining up for the part.”

Eddie had his arms crossed over his chest, staring at Jeff. He must’ve been pondering the idea as he looked completely lost in thought. Eventually, he did speak up.

“What happens if we don’t find someone?” He argued.

“Then it’ll just be a solo song, but hey, we’re fucking rockstars now dude, we have to change it up somehow.” Jeff declared.

The other guys agreed, this new album was supposed to be different from their other albums, it was supposed to contrast to their usual songs.

“Okay okay, fine, but you’ll have to ask Jim about it ‘cus he might not even agree.” Eddie grumbled out.

There were cheers filtering throughout the room, it was usually more difficult to get through Eddie and get him to agree with something, but the guys had a point. They needed to branch out into different styles, it’ll attract larger crowds.

So that’s what they did.

—

The next day rolled around pretty quickly, Jeff had already gone to Jim with their current idea for this new song.

Jim was their manager, he managed their music, he had the majority of the say on the do’s and don'ts of their music. He was mostly pretty lenient with them though, he thinks that whatever idea they all collectively have and agree on is a choice they can make for themselves.

He didn’t want to entirely make all of the rules for the band, letting them choose their own decisions.

So when Jeff came to him with the duet idea, he thought it was actually a pretty great idea. They’ve never done duets of this sort before, so it was bound to be a tad peculiar for them to do, but not necessarily a terrible idea.

“Alright boys, pull your pants up, auditions are in an hour.” Jim walked into the trailer that the boys shared.

It was nothing like the trailer Eddie lived in growing up, this trailer was much larger and spacious. There were only two rooms in total, but these rooms weren’t cramped and were just enough to fit them.

Eddie jumped up at the sound of Jim’s voice reverberating off the walls, he had a look of confusion on his face and his hair was all mussed up.

“An hour?” Eddie questioned.

“Thanks for notifying us in advance, man.” Eddie mumbled sarcastically.

It didn’t take long for the boys to get ready anyways, but Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least the slightest bit against the idea. He didn’t tell them his doubts, but he didn’t think that they needed another singer to make the band ‘different’.

He thought they were all perfectly fine with where they were at, content with the normalcy.

When the band arrived at the studio, there was already a line of people waiting to be let in. The message about auditions was just sent out yesterday, but since they grew such a large fan base, it wasn’t hard for the word to get around.

“Look at all these people man!” Gareth said excitedly.

Everyone except for Eddie was excited. This was their chance of change and trying things out.

They decided that it was best to let one person in at a time, as letting everyone in at once would be total chaos and strenuous.

Eddie was sat in a hard plastic chair right in the middle of the other guys. He looked disinterested and frankly uncaring for what was happening.

Some people sounded decent and some just sounded absolutely awful. You could pinpoint who exactly only came here to get into bed with the band. The line for auditions was getting shorter and shorter by the minute, and not one person has caught their eye.

They had no clue what they were looking for, but they just wanted someone good. Someone who had potential.

As they were calling the last of the names on the list, Eddie’s ears perked up at the sound of your name. You weren’t quite a prominent figure in the scene, but anyone who was in a band at the time at least knew your name.

You were a singer-songwriter. Anytime you’ve tried to release your first album, with songs already written for, you were turned away or always had someone trying to change up your own music. You became infuriated at the disrespect, most record labels only did it because you were a woman, and thought ‘this sounds better for you’.

That was bullshit. You knew what was better for you, and it was everything you’ve already had in your little journal you keep in your purse at all times.

When you walked into the padded recording room, it’s like everyone’s eyes lit up.

It was almost like you just had this orange aura surrounding you, you looked a lot different then the wannabe rockers that stepped into the studio that day.

You had these large gold hoops that hung from your ears, bangle bracelets decorating your wrists and jingling with every movement, these extremely short cut off denim shorts that showcased your legs, and brown suede knee high boots on your feet.

It was like you time traveled from the 70’s to the 90’s, this is what the band needed. If they wanted change then hell, were they going to get it.

When you sang, you drew everyone to you, just like a siren's song. It was impossible for Eddie to keep his eyes off of you. There was a slight raspiness to your voice when you sang, but still a soft honeyed undertone.

Eddie looked over to the boys next to him, they must’ve been lured in too, as their eyes could not leave you. He could practically read their minds and their every waking thought just by the looks on their faces.

You sang just a small snippet of Janis Joplin's Move Over.

When you spoke, it broke the trance they were in.

“Was that good?” You had your hands on the bulky headphones sitting on your ears, a slight smile on your lips.

The boys shared a mutual look. They finally found someone for the duet.

What better person than someone who was an aspiring musician anyhow?

Eddie was the first person to give you an applause, the first applause today for that matter. The guys all joined in, giving you approving smiles.

“That was definitely the best performance we’ve seen all day,” Jeff announced.

The boys all agreed, voicing their satisfaction.

They all made their way to the recording room you were in to greet you. You were absolutely over the moon, this moment felt surreal to you, your own career as a musician would finally take off.

Eddie didn’t really say much, just staying quiet the whole time. He thought you did great, just as the others did, but he still wasn’t sure about the duet. He felt that having someone else singing with him would throw him off, it also didn’t help that he just could not keep his eyes off of you.

“So, I’m gonna guess the applause meant I did good?” You asked.

“Yeah, absolutely! That was fucking awesome,” Gareth said exuberantly. “How ‘bout you Eddie?”

“Uh, yeah, you did good.” He was short with his words, giving a tight lipped smile.

All you did was slightly nod your head to his response, looking around the room. You could feel the tension, you didn’t want to just barge in on an already formed band, but they did have auditions. You weren’t going to miss your only opportunity.

Jeff slapped Eddie’s bicep with the back of his hand.

“Ow man, what the fuck?”

“So, Jim! Whatcha think?” Jeff turned to Jim.

“Well, she had the only decent performance today. It’s up to you guys,” Jim already knew you were going to be chosen for the spot.

Everyone but Eddie verbally agreed that you were perfect for the song, you had the look and the voice for it. You weren’t sure what was up with Eddie and why he was so distant from everybody, but you just chalked it up to that he just wasn’t a social person and went on.

This was just the beginning.

—

When you got back to your apartment later that night, you were elated. Everything went well, you were officially going to be able to release your own music now. If the guys like the way you perform in the duet, they were willing to let you in the band permanently.

It was perfect, you were able to set the future for young girls who aspired to become a musician. Being able to be that prominent figure in the scene right next to Joan Jett and Stevie Nicks.

The first thing you did when you got back was chuck your shoes off. You felt drained from the day you had, but you couldn’t complain. All you could think about was unwinding.

Your apartment was small, there were no hallways, everything was connected and separated just by thin walls.

When you got to your bedroom, you opened your bedside table drawer and took out a small baggie, taking it with you into your tiny living room.

You emptied the crushed powder onto your coffee table, inhaling it up your nose in one go. The burn hurt wonderfully. Giving you enough reprieve for the rest of the night. Everyone told you this was a horrible addiction, but you’ve heard it all already. You know.

But you weren’t going to let someone else run your life. This is what you wanted.

Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.

Meanwhile, back at the trailer that the guys shared, Eddie was the only one who was still awake. He was drinking straight from the whiskey bottle, chugging large gulps after one another.

Eddie didn’t do well with change, he had enough of it for a lifetime. He didn’t want to do it again, so that’s why he refused to welcome you to the band with open arms.

He knew you’d do good during the actual performance on stage. He also knew what would happen afterwards. You’d be an official member of Corroded Coffin. It didn’t feel right to him.

Corroded Coffin was formed by four teenage boys who were trying to escape reality. They always dreamed of getting where they’re at now, but Eddie didn’t think they’d ever have to make room in the band for one more.

His only solution was to drink all of his problems away. He’d feel numb enough to finally fall asleep. Just like you, a fleeting moment of reprieve.

Eddie downed the last drop of the alcohol, it felt like fire in his throat, but filling up an empty spot in his stomach. He eventually succumbed to his fatigue, falling into sleep.

—

It was a Monday.

Monday’s are known to be the worst day of the week, but for the band, they’d probably say it was the best day of the week. They’re now able to practice and record as many songs as they possibly can, preparing for the long week ahead.

Eddie wasn’t so enthusiastic today though. For the entirety of this new upcoming week, you’d be officially recording the duet with him. He had really nothing to say to you, but his attitude spoke volumes.

The guys even realized his brooding mood, not once smiling, cracking jokes, or overall enjoying himself while doing the thing he loves the most. You started to become frustrated. You weren’t sure of what you did to be on whatever hate list Eddie has. Hell, the man hasn’t even fully gotten to know you yet!

If he was going to be that way, well, so were you.

“I think this line should be sung a little softer, I don’t think the screamo works for the lyrics.” You suggested.

“Softer? What about this band looks soft?” Eddie retaliated.

The both of you were standing in the recording room, side by side with Eddie’s tattered notebook on a stand for you to both read from. Eddie had to sort out which lines you were going to sing, and what he’d sing.

“I’m jus’ saying, maybe your fans would enjoy the slight change,” You said with a smug grin. You were trying to lighten the mood, unaware that you were just pissing him off even more.

“Well those fans, became fans cus’ of the ‘screamo’ you speak of,” Eddie put up air quotation marks with his fingers. “Besides, I was the one who wrote the song, so therefore I get a say on how it gets sung.”

“I’m not singing it then.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You wanted a duet partner so you’re going to get a duet partner,” You placed your hands on your hips. “Sometimes you don’t always get what you want.”

“Excuse me? Do I have to remind you that you were the one who chose to show up to those shitty auditions?” Eddie’s brows furrowed. You could tell you pulled a nerve.

“Do I also have to remind you that you were the one who also agreed to bring me into this? Why complain when I’m right here?” You stood face to face with him now. “I am the solution to this duet! If you don’t like my requests then fine, tell me to leave.”

Eddie was looking down at you, anger in his eyes and all over his face. He was actually really beautiful when you could see him this close. His freckles were like constellations on his cheeks and his nose, bangs resting lightly on his forehead.

He didn’t say anything, just scoffed and turned back to the lyrics in front of him.

“Fine, but that’s it. You start changing up these lyrics and you’re on your own.”

You smiled, delighted that you got your way.

Your cute little smile just irked Eddie even more. He was never this easy to negotiate with, but you were right. He did agree on letting you in the band for this song.

The both of you got right to rehearsing, not needing anymore time to have a dispute over the theme of the song. But you couldn’t help to notice that every time you attempted to sing, Eddie would just sing right over you even louder.

“Y’know, it would be great if I could actually hear myself,” You placed your hand on the notebook to catch his attention.

“It’s not my fault you can’t sing any louder.” Eddie mumbled, it was so quiet you just barely missed it.

“I don’t know what the fuck crawled up your ass today, but I highly suggest you pick it out.” You said with more irritation laced in your tone.

Eddie didn’t even respond, just placed his guitar back on the stand and walked towards the door, completely abandoning you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You questioned.

“Going to pick that thing you mentioned out of my ass.”

He just opened the door to the room and walked out, joining the other guys who were mindlessly fiddling with their instruments.

“What the fuck!” The guys in the other room looked up after hearing your muffled yelling from the next room over. You were standing there in the room alone, arms up next to you to display your annoyance.

“What happened in there, man?” Gareth asked.

“Nothin’.” Eddie said while grabbing a water bottle, then throwing himself down onto one of the couches.

Everyone’s attention diverted over to you when the heavy door slammed against the wall, and you stood there with a scowl on your face. Eddie didn’t even pay you any mind, keeping his concentration on the water bottle in his hands.

“You’re just gonna walk out like that?! We have yet to get anything done!” You yelled, the sound of your bracelets clanking together with every movement.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’, still not looking at you.

“You stormed out of the room over a stupid comment, I don’t know how the hell you made it this far in this industry with your huge ass ego.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

Your response seemed to throw him off guard.

“Oh yeah, ‘cus my ego brought me to auditions for a band right? Hopin’ to make it big through someone else’s fame. Hoping that maybe the songs in my notebook will make it further than the same four walls of my room.” Eddie stood up after that, throwing the plastic bottle onto the cushions.

You were speechless. Embarrassed. You didn’t want the other guys to think you were using them to boost your own music, but Eddie made it loud and clear how he thought about you. You weren’t sure you could take anymore of his cold attitude.

“Fine. Have it your way then, good luck finding someone else who will deal with you, ‘cus I’m fucking done.” With that, you turned on your heels and gathered your stuff, making your way to the exit.

“Hey! Wait!” Jeff tried to get you to come back.

You ignored their protests to get you to turn around, slamming the door behind you leaving a resounding ‘thud’ through the room.

“What the fuck man!” The guys were all visibly pissed at Eddie, you were their only chance at change, and they felt like Eddie blew it for them all.

“Dude, do you realize how difficult it was to find someone in this city who was actually good?!” Gareth was equally just as upset.

“We’ll find someone else, it’s L.A. It’s not the end of the world.” That’s all Eddie said to them, following right behind you and leaving himself.

No one chased after him, letting him go figure out this mess on his own. They didn’t know why he was being such an asshole, he was usually never like this towards anyone. Always giving everyone a chance and the benefit of the doubt. But he just couldn’t make an exception for you.

—

It’s been days since the guys have heard from you, you went completely silent. If only they knew what was really happening.

Since that day, you’ve fallen in a complete catatonic state, shutting out the rest of the world around you. Everything was for once going your way, and now it just crashed and burned. Eddie absolutely humiliated you, and showed no remorse for doing so.

You found solace in a bag of quaaludes you found in your kitchen drawer, it was the only thing among other drugs that calmed your racing mind. Right now you laid haphazardly on your couch, staring up into the ceiling. The world was spinning, but that was normal. You took more than usual tonight, but nothing beyond the point than you’ve taken before.

You wanted nothing more than to punch Eddie’s beautiful face, maybe tell everyone who adored him how he really was. He was nothing more than a douchebag.

Fame must’ve fucked him up, made him grow some type of superiority complex. He tells the same sad story of his childhood to get sympathy from thousands of people, but behind closed doors he’s nothing more than a narcissistic douchebag.

The few pills you’ve taken weren’t enough, you needed something else to take your anger away. Something to calm you down more.

You stood up on shaky legs, staggering over to your kitchen holding onto the counters as you go. You grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey from your counter, drinking straight from the bottle. Your hands were just as unstable as your legs, barely able to hold the glass bottle.

You made the trek back over to your living room, right before your legs decided that they didn’t want to work properly anymore, making you stumble over your own two feet and dropping the bottle. The glass shards slid everywhere, the brown liquid inside creating a puddle. At that point, all you wanted to do was curl up and sleep for the rest of your life.

As cautiously as possible to avoid getting glass up your foot, you crawled over the couch and face planted into the cushions. Hoping by the time you woke up, you’d be reoriented enough to function properly.

You woke up what felt like days later to a heavy hand banging on your front door.

“Go away.” Your scratchy voice yelled out.

The knocking just got louder, not showing any sign of stopping.

“I said, fucking go away!” You lifted your head from the cushions.

“It’s me. Jeff.” His voice was muffled from the barrier of the door.

Hearing his name, you shot up. You’ve been refusing to speak with them since the argument, wanting to stay as far from Eddie as possible.

You sobered up since a few hours ago, the world wasn’t spinning as much anymore, making it easier to stand up and walk. You made sure to keep a look out of the scattered glass, staying physically aware of furniture around you.

When you got to the door, you unlocked the locks on your flimsy door handle, opening the door just enough so that he’d see you and not get a peek at your apartment's current state.

“Hi.” Your throat burned.

You were sure you looked like a mess. Only wearing a tank top and a pair of panties. Your hair was most definitely all over the place, and your makeup was smeared all over your cheeks.

“Hey,” Jeff’s eyes lit up when you opened the door. “Jus’ wanted to check up on you, you haven’t returned our calls,”

“Oops, forgot to pay the phone bill.” You tried to joke, but no smile found its way on your face.

“Can we talk? I didn’t have a chance to fully speak with you after, y’know..” He scratched the back of his head, looking away briefly.

You laughed through your nose, “After Eddie was a dick to me? Yeah, kinda wanted to keep my distance.”

“Uhm, ignore the mess..” You mumbled while hastily sweeping up the broken glass shards. The majority of the whiskey had dried up, leaving a decent size stain in the wood flooring.

“Oh shit- Lemme help with that.” Jeff went and grabbed paper towels, wiping up whatever liquid was left.

The clutter of glass was quickly cleaned. You’d have to get a rug to cover the stain.

“Sooo, what did you want to talk to me about?” You turned to him, throwing yourself onto your tiny sofa and crossing your legs criss-cross.

“Everything, really,” Jeff chuckled. “I feel like we left off on a bad note. With Eddie freaking out and then walking out, I couldn’t really say much to you.”

You were picking at a loose thread on the couch.

“Listen, we would love you to be in the band. Fuck what Eddie says. It’s three against one, his word means nothing,” He leaned forward, his hands clasped together in front of him.

“Eddie didn’t have it easy growing up, so anyone new that comes in his life, he has this habit of just sabotaging himself and his image. He didn’t mean it.” He had sincerity in his eyes.

“Sometimes he’ll be that way, but it’s just Eddie. He never really opened up to us about anything that’s goin’ on in his head, but that’s ‘cus he’s scared of being ignored.” Jeff looked down to his hands. “Please don’t tell him that I told you this.” He looked back up at you.

You just laughed, leaning back onto the couch and drawing your knees to your chest.

“I had a shit life too, but you don’t see me goin’ around and being a total asshole to people.” You said.

“My mom only had me to make another man jealous, to show him that she can get laid and have another man’s baby. She never loved me. By the time I was fourteen? My mom was gone,” You hugged your arms around yourself. “She ran off with said man who she tried to make jealous.”

There was silence, tension even. It was so thick it was suffocating, no one said anything.

“To this day she refuses to talk to me, trust me, I’ve tried. But if there’s one way to get her to hear me, see me, it’s this. I wanna show her I made something of myself without her shit parenting.” Your brows were furrowed, anger infiltrated your mind at the mere thought of your mother.

Silence again. You looked up to Jeff to see if he was even listening, and there it was. He was looking at you with pity. You wish there was a rewind button so you could just turn back time and not say anything at all. Just keep quiet and let him think Eddie is the victim. You hated the pitying looks you’d get, the last thing you need is for someone to feel sorry for you.

You’ve experienced enough sorrow.

“Anyways, I’ll come back. Eddie’s not gonna run me out, he’s gonna deal with me whether he likes it or not.” You said, sitting up straight.

Jeff’s face just lit up, akin to a child’s face in a toy store. He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you, you won’t regret this. I promise you this time.” He replied, making his way to the front door. You stood up and followed right behind him.

“You can come back on Saturday, the weekends are less hectic and Eddie is less likely to blow up,” He turned around to look at you, hand on the doorknob.

“And.. I’m sorry about what happened with you and your mother,” He placed his hand on your shoulder. “You’re going to go far, Y/N.”

He gave you a small smile and left.

Those words will replay in your head for the rest of the night. Hell, probably for the rest of your life.

You’re gonna go far, you’re gonna shove it in your mothers face and tell her, ‘I did it’.

—

Saturday came very quickly.

Maybe you were trapped in your mind, but you were nervous. You felt like a kid going to a new school. You aren’t new, though. You’ve been here before, you’ve done this.

Walking into the studio granted you a little relief, Eddie wasn’t there yet. It was only Jeff, Gareth, Grant, and yourself. It was almost like a weight was lifted off your chest. Sure, maybe him arriving and you already being there was worse than getting there when he was here, but the guys aren’t going to let him boss you around.

“We’re so glad you’re back, it didn’t feel right without you here.” Gareth voiced.

“Let’s hope I don’t regret coming back.” You said with a smile.

A few minutes in, and all of the guys were conversing with you. It felt like you’ve known them for years. You were so deep in conversation that you didn’t notice Eddie walk through the door. He just stood there in the doorway, staring at you.

“What’s she doin’ here?” He questioned.

“She’s here ‘cus we need her, you know that.” Jeff replied.

Eddie just rolled his eyes and walked in, walking right to the recording room. “Well? We just gonna sit here, or are we gonna get shit done?” Eddie questioned bitterly.

“Yup.” You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag that was resting on the ground and grabbing the pill bottle inside.

The small pills rattled around in the bottle. Your drug of choice today was Dextroamphetamine. Different from the usual quaaludes, but it was all you had in your bag currently and you knew you were going to need it.

You quickly popped a few of the pills into your mouth, swallowing them with ease. Dexies help you focus more, and maybe you’ll be more calm throughout rehearsing.

You hurriedly made your way to the live room, not wanting to fuel the fire that was already brewing inside Eddie.

“We’re gonna need to start over, since you probably don’t remember where we left off.” Eddie said emotionless, not even looking at you.

“I actually do remember where we left off, but we should start from the top anyhow. You were the one who stormed out.” You were quick with your response, not looking at him either.

“That’s funny, ‘cus I’m not the one popping pills.” He lowered his voice.

Your hand tightened around the mic stand you were holding. You weren’t going to respond to him, no matter what you said back it wouldn’t warrant a great reaction from him.

The guys walked into the room with big smiles on their faces, laughing and fooling around.

“You guys ready to officially start this!” Gareth yelled out.

Neither you or Eddie really replied, both murmuring out a quiet ‘mhm’. At that everyone immediately took their places; Gareth at the drums, Jeff at the bass, Grant at guitar, you and Eddie both doing vocals while Eddie has his guitar as well.

The song started out slowly, no need for heavy instruments. This song didn’t necessarily require anything heavy anyways, but it was still nice to keep a few of the thrash metal elements to the music, no matter how fast or slow the song was. You had the majority of the vocals, but Eddie had a few.

Things were just a little different this time. You weren’t expecting Eddie to let you off that easily, he only asked why you were here and that’s it. You felt that was a major upgrade from last time. But of course, it wouldn’t be Eddie if he didn’t ignore you most of the time.

You could tell he was trying his hardest to not make eye contact with you. You were able to feel him glancing at you, but whenever you made the move to turn your head and look at him yourself, he’d quickly turn away, putting his focus back into the written lyrics or his guitar.

By the end of the first half of practice, your throat hurt. Your voice had a raspiness to it from the strain, but it felt great. You were on cloud nine. Everything was finally falling back into place, you felt that high that you’d only get when you smoked weed and drank, even though you only took a few pills.

“Holy shit! That was fucking awesome!” Grant shouted out.

“Hell yeah it was! This rehearsal was so much better than last time!” Gareth yelled back.

It was time for a much needed break, everyone made their way back into the main room of the studio.

“What did you guys think of that?” You asked while sitting on the red velvet armchair, taking a small sip out of your bottled water.

“That was even better than your audition, dude! I mean, not that your audition wasn’t good, but this was like, hundred times fucking better!” Jeff exclaimed.

You giggled at his enthusiasm. Jeff reminded you of a brother you never had, you’d picture this is what having a brother would feel like. Even though you’ve known him for a total of a week, he treated you like you’ve known him for ages. Never once letting the awkwardness of meeting someone for the first time appear between you both.

“Maybe once this album gets debuted, we can record some of the songs I’ve written? We can release it as an album for the band as a whole,” You suggested.

Eddie looked up at you at that one.

“Already planning that far ahead?” He asked. “We have yet to even perform this one, why don’t you wait before jumping to something new?”

You scowled. “No need to get so uptight, it was just a suggestion.” You bit back. His attitude towards you has been hot and cold all day, sending out mixed signals constantly. You were never able to tell how he was actually feeling, one minute he acted like he liked you at least a little, then the next he acted as if you were the worst thing to walk this planet.

“I’m jus’ sayin’.” Eddie had a bored expression on his face, as if your existence was an inconvenience.

You just rolled your eyes, not interested in getting into another heated debate with him. You chugged half of your water bottle, knowing that once you leave the studio today you’d have to stop at the liquor store to buy another bottle of whiskey, or maybe something stronger.

“Okaaay you two! Maybe we should end break early today, we need to practice as much as we can.” Grant suggested.

Jeff and Gareth both agreed, Eddie only nodding in response. You didn’t really care for the break, wanting to take up as much practice as you can.

Walking into the recording room was less exciting as it was before, it seems like Eddie ruined the mood once again with his comments towards you.

“Maybe we should find a certain part of the song to focus on, there’s some parts we need to fix,” You offered. Eddie seemed to hate that idea, as he scoffed.

“I thought the guys sounded fine, so I’m not sure what parts need fixing.” Eddie responded. The statement wasn’t outright rude, but it was just the tone in his voice that set you off. As if he was suggesting you were the problem.

“I don’t know, you wrote the lyrics, so you tell me.”

“It’s definitely not the lyrics, maybe it’s the person who’s singing them.”

“Okay, I get it. We left on a bad note last time, but I still don’t understand why you’re always such a bitch to me. I have done nothing to you!” You threw your hands in the air.

“How the fuck am I supposed to get anything done when you’ve had this, I don’t know, two-faced attitude towards me,” You were fuming at this point, you didn’t care the guys were watching. “One minute you seem fine with me being here, maybe even enjoying my presence, and then the next minute you’re just- you’re- an egotistical prick!”

“Let’s not do this. We gave you a second chance, you’re lucky you’re even back here. We have shit we have to get done.” Eddie surprisingly showed no want in arguing, but you knew deep down he’d love nothing more than to get under your skin. But you also didn’t want to argue. But you also couldn’t stand him shutting you out and trying to silence you.

“This is what I fucking mean.” Your response was less fierce. The ongoing back and forth between you two was tiring, it was getting hard to keep up with, and you’ve only been here for a day and a half.

You just sighed and turned your attention back to the sheet music. You knew when to continue fights and when to stop them, and in this moment it was best to just let it go for now. Mainly for the sake of the others, not Eddie.

The rest of rehearsal was a bit rocky, some pauses here and there and sharp glares exchanged between you and Eddie. You made sure you stopped to grab another bottle of whiskey before heading home for the night.

Next week was going to be a long, long week.

ཐི♡ཋྀ

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Next we’ve got the Shannon stories!

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟 (omg poor eddie! He’s really going through it I mean he’s left his son in the care of almost strangers, he’s had to give up hope of finding shannon, he’s finally accepted his sexuality, and then the first time he wakes up after hooking up with a guy it’s to a gun in his face, the woman who’s still technically his wife, his hookup’s ex, and taylor kelly! It’s really his worst nightmare and I’m LOVING it!!!)

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼 (major props on the tsunami arc it was super well done! Now bring on the lawsuit!)

- PCA <3

YEAH SHANNON!

96 for 🧟 (Yeah I put him through it!!!!! But maybe some clarity this chapter?? Maybe??):

---

Actually, he really hopes there’s… Well, he hopes there’s a second time on the horizon. Maybe more than just a second time. But, then again, maybe after the disaster that was this morning, Buck won’t be interested. 

Everyone sort of waits in the kitchen of the mansion Eddie and Buck broke into, awkward and uncomfortable. Except the younger redhead. Taylor? She sits on the counter, eating one of the raided snacks from the cupboard. She seems completely at ease with this scenario. Eddie thinks she must be certifiably insane. 

“You guys are acting like there’s zero relief in knowing the other person is alive,” she sighs, crunching on a chip. “Get over the melodrama and talk it out or whatever it is you’re going to do.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Eddie grumbles. 

“Hey, don’t give me lip,” she says. “I know all about you.”

Eddie shoots Shannon a more withering look than he intends. Her face burns red.

“Taylor is right,” Shannon says, voice tight. “We do need to talk.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. We do.”

Then, because it seems wrong to abandon Buck with his ex and what appears to be a demon, he turns to his… Wait, what is he? Friend? Lover? Traveling companion? Whatever. He turns to Buck.

“You good?” He asks.

Buck nods tightly. “Peachy.”

“Alright,” Eddie says. “See you soon.”

“If I don’t shoot one of you,” Taylor smiles. 

“Taylor,” Abby hisses. 

“Where should we talk?” Shannon asks as they walk away. 

“Uh… Anywhere but the movie theater,” Eddie says. 

Shannon looks confused. “Fine. Backyard?”

“Fine.”

Neither of them says another word again until they are outside, with the french doors shut behind them. 

It’s a windy day.  Not cool. Just mild and breezy. Shannon’s hair blows in her face a little. She keeps brushing it out of the way, irritated. 

“Where’s Chris?” She asks immediately. “Is he… Is he alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive. He’s perfectly fine,” Eddie replies, voice more defensive than he expects. “Glad you care.”

From the immediate flash of fury in her eyes, he can tell this last part was the exact wrong thing to say. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” She demands. “You have no idea what it would be like not knowing if my son had been killed.” 

“Well, then why would you leave absolutely zero indication on how to find you? How the hell was I supposed to tell you he’s fine, Shannon?” Eddie fires back. “I brought him across the country in a damn zombie apocalypse to find you, and you were just gone!”

She laughs bitterly. “How was I supposed to know you’d do that, huh? You wouldn’t come when everything was fine!”

“That’s not fair!” He argues. 

“Is it not?”

“I was too fucked up at first, Shannon! Being over there fucked me up a little, okay? And then… And then I thought you’d come back. If not for me, then for Christopher.”

Her expression falls. She sighs.

“I thought I would, too.”

There’s a prolonged silence after that. The wind is the only thing that seems to keep up the argument, picking up speed and starting to howl a little. Eddie feels it in his bones. 

“Where is he?” Shannon asks eventually. 

“The settlement where Buck is from,” Eddie says. “North of Santa Barbara. I didn’t think it was safe to bring him into the city.”

She nods. “That was smart.”

“Yeah, I don’t regret it, given how well the trip has gone,” Eddie grumbles. 

“You sleep with men now?” She asks. 

Eddie flushes. “Uh, well just him. At this point.”

---

33 for 🔼 (THANKS! and yesssss lawsuit):

---

“Yeah,” she replies. “So just… I guess just tell me if you need me to take him. Or if you want to split the cost of the appointment, I can-”

“Oh, it’s covered. LAFD takes mental health pretty seriously these days. Even for dependents.” 

“Well, good,” Shannon says. “That’s good.”

There’s a pause. Then…

“Shannon, that applies to spouses, too. Just so you know.” 

Shannon swallows. She’s never been to therapy before. She either didn’t have the money, or when Eddie’s military benefits might have covered it, the time. She was always taking care of someone. Chris. Eddie, when he first got home. Her mother. 

What’s stopping her now? 

Well, an impending baby. But she’s still got thirteen weeks. Theoretically. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she tells Eddie. “And maybe you should, too.”

“Me?” 

“Don’t play dumb,” Shannon warns.

Another, longer pause.

“I’ll think about it.” 

After they hang up, Shannon starts doing research. She makes an appointment. She doesn’t know if Eddie ever does. 

[eyes-of-rock]

Revenge

Paul Stanley X OC

Chapter Two

-> {Prologue // Chapter one} (would love to link it but can't)

I do one final look at myself to make sure everything is perfect. I'm wearing a beautiful satin emerald green tea-length dress. It is sleeved with a plunging v-neckline, and the fabric gathers up at the torso. The dress looks stunning to me—the perfect revenge dress. I look damn good.

I look at my living room wall clock—two minutes till four. I take my clutch off the table and head out the door. As I leave my apartment building, a slick black Porsche pulls up.

I know there is no one living around here with a car that nice. The most excellent vehicle I've seen is my Toyota. So it has to be Paul. Right on time. Impressive. I note. More than I can say for Jack, my ex and groom of the wedding I'm about to attend.

The car is sexy as hell. I haven't ever seen a Porsche in person before, at least not this close. You might think it is crazy, considering I live in Los Angeles, but I don't live in the Hollywood part.

Paul seems to be understanding the assignment. I know no one is going to be pulling up to this wedding in a car this nice.

I walk up to the car and open the door. The interior is a sexy black leather. This is the most excellent car I've ever been in. It almost feels wrong to be sitting in a Porsche with Paul Stanley of KISS. I'm a security guard at an office with an awful dating history. I'm not a model or an actress.

“You look stunning.” Paul compliments me, sliding his sunglasses down his nose for a better look.

“Thank you.” I smile, “You look pretty good yourself.”

He's wearing a nice black double-breasted suit jacket, a black striped vest underneath it, and a white low-cut t-shirt under the vest, and he's showing off just a peak of his chest hair. Then he's wearing some nice black jeans. He looks perfect.

I think that wedding is about to be hit by a big surprise, and I can't fucking wait. That's what they fucking deserve.

———————————————

“Lorna.” My mother greets me coldly. “I didn't expect you'd come.”

If you can't tell, she took Vanessa’s side. It's not surprising. She's always been her favourite and could do no wrong. It was always my fault, even when she was in the wrong. This situation is no different.

She eyes up Paul. She wants me to introduce her to my date because she's too proud to introduce herself. Every single guy I've ever brought home, and there haven't been many, she's done this same thing, too. Meanwhile, with Vanessa, it’s always been a friendly smile and an introduction.

“I know that's why I came,” I tell her, “and this is Paul Stanley. Paul, this is my mother.”

“Are you two seeing each other?” She asks in a rather demanding tone. She sounds rather unimpressed. Good.

I don't know how to answer that. I want to say yes, to get her back because we are now that I took him to this wedding technically. But this is also the first time we've gone out if this even counts as going out. I don't want to overstep and say something untrue. Who knows how he's feeling about this? However, something about our conversation a few days ago tells me he’s hoping it is going in that direction. For whatever reason. I still can't figure out why he even went after me, to begin with.

I’m not against the idea. He's been nothing but a gentleman all night so far. Paul is an adorable, caring guy behind the Starchild persona. I don't know if I'm someone he'd want on his arm at the end of the day.

“Yes, and your daughter is a lovely woman,” Paul answers for me, putting his hand on the small of my back and pulling me closer.

“Oh. Isn’t he a little old to look like a teenage degenerate?” My mother asks me, being a snotty cunt as per-usual. I know she's referring to the fact Paul has long hair.

“Isn't Jack a little young to be balding?” I fire back without thinking. His hair is thinner than a piece of paper. At least Paul still has all his hair and is older than Jack.

“You need to check your attitude, Lorna!” my mother gasps, scolding me and holding her hand to slap me. Like she always did to punish me as a kid.

I'm just going to take it like a grown women. I've been hit by her so many times it doesn't even hurt anymore.

“I wouldn't hit her if I were you,” Paul warns her, his voice level and calm.

My mother stops dead in her tracks and looks utterly shocked. I'm just as amazed as her. No one has ever actually stood up for me before. I'm not used to that; my mother isn't used to being told no.

“I want to hit my daughter for being disrespectful, and I will.” My mother gasped, horrified someone told her no, that someone stood up for me.

“Not while I'm here.” Paul insists.

“You’ve always been a spiteful girl; of course, you brought a little guard dog. Just don't ruin this day for your sister.” my mother spits at me, sounding disgusted.

Then, before I can retaliate, she turns and stomps off. I make sure to flip the bird her way real quick. That's what she deserves after that interaction.

I watch her walk over to my sister, hug and kiss her. When only moments ago, she was going to slap me in the face. It fucking hurts. I don't know why I've never been good enough for her. I wish I could have been. I fucking do.

I shouldn't have come. I know being around my family fills me with both anger and hurt. Yet here I am, and I refuse to look like they are getting to me, so I leave early.

At least I'm not alone. Paul is in my corner, which is very sweet of him. He didn't have to defend me, but he did, proving him to be a good guy.

“What a lovely woman,” Paul says sarcastically, an unpleasant look on his face.

“Yeah.” I agree, “Thank you.”

“I wasn't going to let her hit you.” He tells me, sounding like it's just a no-brainer. “Any normal person would have reacted the same way.”

“Well, you say that, but Jack let her hit me in front of him once,” I tell him.

“He’s a jackass,” Paul says, “I mean, come on, he let you go.”

“He did me a favour.” I admit, “I could be the idiot marrying him.”

“Exactly.” He agrees. “This won't be their last marriage.”

“You think?” I ask curiously.

“It’s not a good sign when the couple meets through adultery. Then you have to factor in he's an asshole.” He explains, “I promise you, this marriage will end eventually.”

“I hope you’re right,” I say as we sit at the table. Naturally, my sister put me in one near the back. Not with the rest of my family.

“Hello everyone.” The maid of honour, Vanessa’s best friend since middle school, speaks into the mic at the front of the venue with the rest of the wedding party.

“I’m the maid of honour.” She introduces herself.

“This is a love story for the ages.” She continues, and I roll my eyes. This is going to be a long speech.

“When Vanessa met Jack on that fateful rainy day in October at the Oldstone Bar. They locked eyes, and even though Vanessa had never met him, she knew her destiny was to be with him. So she walked up to him, and their love story began, even though she had to deal with jealousy from her sister of all people they made it through.”

“What the fuck?!” I blurt out in utter shock at the lies from that woman's mouth.

Are they out here spinning it like I made the whole thing up? Like they never knew each other, and I was jealous and getting in the fucking way? When there is undeniable proof that Jack dated me and they had a fucking affair? His entire family met me as his girlfriend. We dated for two whole fucking years. If anyone was jealous, it was Vanessa; she broke us up.

I'm so angry right now I can't even think straight. All I can think about is walking up on that stage and telling everyone the truth. I know I shouldn't, but I can't let this fucking slide. I can't let them tell a fucking lie to everyone and get away with it. I'm done. I’m not holding my tongue any longer.

I stand up.

“WHAT A LOAD OF BULLSHIT!” I yell to catch everyone's attention.

Everyone gasps, and the room falls silent.

“You two are such fucking liars.” I ask, “Would you like to know how they met?”

“I was dating Jackass over there,” I say, pointing right at Jack’s stupid fucking balding head.

He looks as terrified as he should be.

“and then he goes and cheats with my bitch of a sister Vanessa. Who never so much as felt a drop of rumours. So if anyone in that situation was because it was her.”

“Lorna, please-” My father bags; he doesn't ever get involved. He spent my whole childhood just letting everyone treat me like shit.

“No.” I snap, standing firm, “You don't deserve me to stop; I'm done with all of you.”

“You two deserve each other,” I say, pointing towards my sister, who's crying crocodile tears and her pussy ass husband.

“I wish you a short and miserable marriage.” I pick up the champagne glass and cheer it towards them.

Then I start walking towards the door, everyone looking at me. I hold my head up high. I don't regret it. It had to be said, and I don't care if a single one of these fuckers talks to me again.

I take a deep breath once I'm outside. I don't even feel sad. I don't feel like I’m losing something, but I am walking away from them. From cutting them off. I probably should have done this years ago.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” I apologize to Paul; I feel slightly embarrassed, so I just blew up in front of the frontman of KISS.

“I get it if you don't want to see me again.”

He didn't know me well and had to put up with all my family drama. He's been very nice about it, but he must think I'm insane now.

“Don’t apologize.” He says, “They had it coming.”

“Really? You don't think I'm crazy?” I ask, surprised.

“You’re the most normal one there.” He laughs, “I’d love to take you out again, maybe this time without your family.”

“I’d like that.” I smile at him, “And don't worry, I don't think I’ll be talking to them anymore.”

And I wholeheartedly mean every word of that. This wedding had a better ending than I could have thought. I did get my revenge.

[artificial-red-head]

Hell Bent For Leather Part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader, Minor Steve Rogers X Natasha Romanov

Summary: Bucky talks to you again to convince you to come back the the clubhouse. But can you trust him?

Tags/Warnings: Biker AU, Paste Abusive Relationships, Dialogue Heavy

A/N: I'm not dead. I did finish this at 3 AM so I make no promises on how good this is.

Chapter 3: All await, engine is ticking over

Bucky had another talk with Steve and Natasha in the morning. After talking with Nat about her possibly still alive, long-lost sister, she finally gave them a name.  

Y/N. 

The name replayed in his head. He remembers a couple of months prior to him leaving Hydra that Rumlow was throwing that name around. Back then, Bucky did not care about whatever woman Brock was trying to pursue, but now he wished he would have done something. Anything to prevent this mess of a situation from happening. 

He wishes he would have shot Rumlow right between the eyes the night that he left. 

Both Steve and Bucky agreed that if the woman from the diner was who they thought she was, then Bucky would take her to the clubhouse–if he could convince her. If she were anything like Natasha then she was definitely stubborn, but that was not going to stop him. 

Bucky went back to the Maximoffs first, not wanting to go all the way past the motel to the diner if you were not there. 

Pietro sat behind the front desk with his feet raised on the desk and flipping a butterfly knife around only stopping when he saw Bucky. He was more than willing to tell him that you had gone to the diner early that morning and were not going to be back until dark. 

Bucky was not a patient man–something his ma told him quite often–and was not going to wait until you got back. He needed to talk to you now.   

Under any other circumstances, he would have not been this terrified to talk to a woman. James Buchanan Barnes was a smooth talker and could get his way with just about any woman, and damn did he know it. But the more he thought about the situation the more freaked out he was, not even the rumbling of the engine in his motorcycle was enough to calm his nerves. 

He sat in the little parking lot in front of the diner for a couple of minutes, mauling over his thoughts. 

How would you react? 

Was this a good idea? 

Could he convince you? 

After convincing himself that he could convince almost any woman to do just about anything he wanted–jesus, he sounded like a man whore–he finally got off his bike and went into the diner before he could psych himself out.   

Upon entering the door he noticed that you now had a name tag attached to the little retro dress that you had been wearing, neither of which he had not noticed before. He stepped closer to read the name tag. 

Y/N. 

It could not have been a fucking coincidence he told himself. 

He needed to talk to you now but from the way that you were avoiding him, he knew that you definitely did not want to talk to him. Instead of waiting for you to come to him, he sat down at one of the booths in your area, keeping his eyes down on the table until you had to come up to him.

“Why are you here?” You asked him harshly and in a lowered tone. 

“I needed to talk to ya.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I don’t even know you.” 

He took a deep breath, “I’m Bucky Barnes of the Howling Commandos Motorcycle Club.” 

Your eyes widened a bit at his name. You looked back at the kitchen before placing your hands down on the table and leaning over, “I'm on the clock.” 

“Fine, then I would like a coffee.” 

You left his table and returned with a mug and a pot of coffee–who knows how long ago it brewed–and started pouring slowly. Bucky took this as his sign to talk. “Look, I got an offer for you.” 

You looked up from the coffee pot with a look in your eyes that he could not pinpoint, uncertainty maybe, but he continued, “You don't have to take it, but I think it will be better than your situation here. The club owns a bar in the next town over and we’re understaffed. You’ll be paid a hell of a lot better there and we can offer you a room at the clubhouse.”  

He could see the panic on your face as soon as he mentioned the clubhouse. You placed the coffee pot roughly on the table, for a moment he thought that it would break. “I don't want a room in the clubhouse.” You stated. 

“Sit down,” Bucky whispered. This was not going how he planned. “Please.”

You looked back at the kitchen again before deciding to sit down across from him. 

“You were a part of Hydra.” He stated bluntly. 

“How did-” 

He cut you off, “It doesn't matter how I know. You're far enough out to be safe but take the job at the bar and me and my club will protect you.”

There was nervousness in your eyes as you scanned the restaurant. “No, no more clubs.” You said still not looking at him.

Bucky snapped his fingers in front of you on the table to get your attention. “Look at me, sweetheart. We’re nothing like those sick bastards, I know of the horrors that happened there because I’ve also witnessed it first hand. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Howling Commandos from someone or other that strayed from Hydra.” His voice lowered even more when he mentioned Hydra.

He took a deep breath, “If you don’t want the job that’s fine, at least come with me to our territory, you’ll have plenty of job options and I can keep an eye on ya. Please.” 

You looked away from him again as you thought about it. He knew what he was saying was a lot to take in at once considering you had just recently left Hydra territory. But he was trying his hardest to convince you that you would be safer with them. 

“I’ll take it.” You said, making eye contact with him but there was still nervousness in your voice. 

Bucky looked you gently in the eyes and said in all sincerity, “I promise you doll, nothin’ gonna happen to you.”

Before Bucky left the diner he told you that he would meet you at the Maximoff’s after you got off of work before he took you back to the clubhouse. You had asked him how he knew that you were there and he explained to you that they were technically their territory since they were under the Camandos’ protection. And he also mentioned that Pietro had called and said that there was a possible gang member in the area. You had just huffed a small laugh at him and told him to leave before he could have gotten you into trouble. 

Bucky had called from the Maximoff’s phone to tell Steve that he was successful and would be bringing you back in a couple of hours. 

“Where was she?” Steve had asked. 

“Working down at Peggy's old place and stayin' at the Maximoffs.” 

“Sharon owns it now, doesn’t she?” Bucky could hear his sigh from the other end of the line.

“Yeah, and you should go talk to her and tell her that we just snatched one of her waitresses.” 

Steve scoffed out a laugh, “And ya couldn’t have done it while you were there?”

“I was too busy trying to convince this poor girl that she should come with me to the clubhouse. She was scared out of her mind and probably thought that I was gonna bring her back to that hell hole for steppin’ in our territory.” 

Steve ended up hanging up on him after he mentioned that he should have gone to see Sharon a long time ago. Better two years late than never. Steve had scoffed at him again and told him to mind his damn business. 

He was sitting in the motel lobby looking at a magazine when you came back. He told you to change your clothes and pack up and he would tell Pietro and Wanda that he was getting you out of their hair. You ended up rolling your eyes at him when you thought that he was no longer looking at you. 

Wanda had asked him if that was Natasha’s sister after you left. He questioned the woman and she had just told him that it was intuition. Bucky called her a witch and she shrugged her shoulders and smiled. 

You came back to the lobby about fifteen minutes later with wet hair and a small bag. Bucky raised an eye at you before remembering that you were quite literally on the run from Hydra.

He told you to follow behind him on the way to the clubhouse. By now the sun was setting and the look on your face before they had rolled out of the parking lot he could tell that you were tired. Tired of working a double shift or tired of being on the road, he was unsure. 

You followed quietly behind him, Bucky had to look back every once in a while to make sure that you were still there. He had made it this far and he did not want to lose you now that he was so close. 

By the time you had both made it back to the clubhouse, he could tell that you were barely awake. He offered to take your bag and you did not even put up a fight, just nodded your head and held it out for him. 

You followed him into the clubhouse, waking up slightly from the lights and looking around.

He saw the look in your eyes the exact moment you saw her. Your eyes had started to water. 

“Natalia?”

Taglist: @vicmc624 @emmabarnes

[stealingyourbones]

Ask the writer ask game! Tagged by @gremlin-bot

1.) how many works do you have on ao3?

8!

2.) what’s your total ao3 word count?

50k!

3.) what fandoms do you write for?

Primarily DPxDC but I enjoy writing DC and I greatly enjoy writing D&D campaigns!

4.) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Falling in Love (In the Most Literal Sense)

Short DPxDC Prompts

I've Grown a Mouth So Sharp and Cruel (It's All That I Can Give To You)

What the Hell?! (UP FOR ADOPTION)

Dream of a Peaceful Slumber

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I’m simply too busy with my tumblr to respond to people on ao3. If I try to focus on more than one website at a time I’ll lose my mind 😅. I promise I Look at each and every one!

6.) what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending

There’s a sander sides fic i wrote like 8 years ago that had all of the sides get slowly and very brutally murdered one by one in hella graphic detail. I was trying to experiment with descriptors and visuals at that time. Definitely that one. I don’t think it’s on ao3 but it’s somewhere on my old Wattpad account

7.) what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Definitely Falling In Love (In The Most Literal Sense) or an unpublished eldritch smut horror DeadOnMain fic that’s forever staying in WIP hell. Falling In Love first and foremost has an ending, secondly they get along and it’s cute :)

8.) do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I occasionally get questions or criticism on my tumblr but that’s either advice or someone wanting answers and that isn’t hate.

9.) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have tried my hand at smut before. Mostly smutty scenes with kinda sorta fade to black, solely because I’m terrible at painting a mental picture for the reader so it always flows terribly. I’ve written that eldritch DeadOnMain thing as I said previously, and some of Jason’s matches Malone persona OF ideas.

10.) do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one?

Somewhere in my WIPs there is a homestuck AU DPxDC fic where DP kids are the humans and DC folks (primarily the teen titans) are the trolls. Definitely that one.

11.) have you ever had a fic stolen?

No fics but I’ve been sent asks that are word for word one of my prompts. I just delete those and go on with my day. Idk I don’t have a tiktok and someone’s probably imitating me on there with my prompts so possibly????

12.) have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13.) have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes!! I’ve Grown A Mouth So Sharp And Cruel (It’s All That I Can Give To You My Dear) (eventually I’ll get around to working on it I have so much stuff going on like preparing to move and finals creeping up aUGH)

14.) what’s your all time fav ship?

Ooooo It’s a solid tie between Kon/Tim and Dave/Karkat. One is my current favorite and the other is one that’s been my favorite ship for the longest time.

15.) what’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I have a WIP in my files that’s a DPxDC Dash/Danny fic where Dash is a bomb disposal tech and Danny just moved into Gotham. I have the entire outline written and almost a solid chapter done but I heavily doubt I’ll have the motivation to touch it again.

16.) what are your writing strengths?

I don’t think I have any, (I haven’t written a full length fic in so long I can’t really tell 😅) but I’m very good at setting tone. Idk what do y’all think?

17.) writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. 100% dialogue. It always feels clunky and unconversational whenever I read it back. I swear the second I start writing talking I forget how conversations work.

18.) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I’d probably throw a simple word here in there of the other language if I’m writing a bilingual speaker or ask a pal to help me with translations because I only know English and I know damn well that friends are better translators than google.

19.) first fandom you wrote for?

Sander Sides! I wrote a solid 500ish prompts for that fandom and like 70k worth of fics. It was what got me into writing and for that I’m so very glad.

20.) Fav fic you’ve ever written?

Definitely my Batman mermaid au. I love it to bits and I’m so proud of the designs and I’m always kinda sad that I’m the only one as enthused about this work as I am. None the less I reread it at least every 3 months and it always makes me smile doing so.

Ooo who to tag… @chromatographic @halfagone @susiron

[meganwiththeknees]

Distant

Chapter 11

Summary:

Everyone in Japan seems to know something you don’t.

As the weekend rolled around you realized you needed to do some much-needed cleaning up that you hadn’t gotten done from your week of being sick. With all your grocery shopping and other things out of the way from days prior, you could get right down to the nitty-gritty, which was a deep cleaning.

You gathered all the supplies you needed and popped on your favorite playlist. You sang along to the music as you went around the house trying to scrub down every surface. As you were in the middle of sweeping your floor “I’m Goin’ Down” by Mary J. Blige came on. You grabbed your broom like a microphone and nearly started screaming into it.

“I’m goin’ doooown, I’m goin’ dooown, cause you ain’t arooound baby. My whooole world's uppp-side dooown!” You scream into the broom and slide down it for dramatic effect.

You get up from the floor and the next song comes on. You go back to cleaning and get about 75 percent done when you suddenly hear loud ass banging on your front door and the doorbell ringing like it’s about to break. You nearly jump out of your skin as you run to see who could possibly be at your door trying to break it down. You look through the peephole to see a crazy-looking pinkette screaming your name. You open the door and she immediately comes rushing past you.

“Damn, Mina what the hell? This better be a real emergency- you almost made me piss my pants.” You follow behind her as she walks over and plops down on your couch.

“Girl- shut up and listen! This is serious!” Mina exasperates as she frantically grabs the remote and turns on the TV. She flicks through a couple of channels until she finally lands on what she’s looking for. It’s one of those talk shows where the ladies sit around a table and gossip about frivolous topics. Mina likes to watch these types of things on her days off and ramble to you about whatever the hottest gossip is.

“Mina, if this is about one of your celebrity crushes getting into another relationship, this could have simply been done over FaceTime-”

“Sh sh shh!!” Your words were cut off by Mina placing a finger on your lips.

“Girl, didn’t I tell you to shut up? Look at the TV right now!” Mina pulls her hand away from your lips and points at the screen.

Usually, Mina isn’t one to shout at you unless that matter is serious. So you indulge her and look up at the TV. The talk show seems to be coming back from a commercial break and getting into a new segment.

“Now for our next segment; it seems to me like love is in the air! And not too long after the new year” A lady with a blonde, short bob shares with the audience and the other ladies in the room.

Everyone hold onto their seats because I can assure you these next clips are the real deal.” The blonde winks as the screen pans to a picture of you and Izuku at the grocery store then transitions to a video of the two of you walking to your car and Izuku holding your groceries while he helps you unload everything into the car.

Your eyes go as wide as saucers and you don’t know what to say or even think. You can only sit there and watch as they continue with their conversations.

“Could this be Deku’s not-so-secret lover? Are we finally going to see the number one settle down?” The lady practically has stars in her eyes as she looks at the other women sitting around the table.

“You know this is a very rare sighting. We never get a look into the number one's love life!” A brunette lady in a pink suit speaks up, with a slightly more intrigued look in her eyes. “He has kept it a really well-hidden secret for quite some time. Hell, we’ve even seen a glimpse into the number two hero Dynamight’s love life - and he seems to hate everyone!” The brunette at the table exclaims and the crowd begins to laugh.

“Well, what if that means this encounter was not meant to be so secret after all and this was a way of letting people know our number one is officially off the market?” The blonde lady turns her attention to the audience. “I mean come on people, he’s spotted in broad daylight with the girl at a public place with his hero suit on. Also, I’m pretty sure she attended the Hero Gala with hero pinky a couple months back. So, come on, how much more proof do you people need?”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right I think I do remember seeing her at the event! And here did you guys see the way he looks at her, like if that isn’t love I don’t know what is!” The third lady at the table adds as the camera pans to the audience to see their reactions. Everyone in the audience seems to have puzzled looks on their faces as if they are considering what the lady has said to be true.

“Now let’s take a look at what the people have to say!” The brunette lady announces as the screen transitions to clips of different Twitter replies to the talk show page based on the situation.

“Dekuslover1226 states, ‘she’s not even that pretty fr.🙄’ “Oooh dekuslover I think many others who have spoken about this topic seem to think otherwise. Let’s see what the audience thinks.” The camera pans to the audience.

“Twitter is so fucking toxic,” A plump woman says when asked about your appearance. “If Twitter is saying you're ugly, you’re obviously not.”

“Yeah she’s pretty hot,” A boy with a cheesy grin says. “A solid 9/10.”

A couple of more people are asked their opinions on your looks, and they do indeed think you are quite beautiful.

The host goes back to the Twitter comments. “Dekus_no.1_fan says, ‘I think they look cute together whoever doesn’t think so are a bunch of haters and don’t want to see our #1 happy. Get a life.’ We think they make a really cute couple as well. All of us over here in this studio today want to see our number one happy!” The crowd starts to cheer after that statement.

“Our last tweet from nina_nini23 claims ‘is it just me or does she look a lil pregnant??👀’ Oh, it seems we have a true analysis on our hands. Take us back to the picture.” As the first lady at the table says her last statement the screen pans back to the picture of you and Izuku standing in front of the grocery store from a side angle and zooms in on your belly.

You grab the remote and shut off the TV. Your face feels hot and you sit there on the couch in complete awe. Maybe this was just one big prank that Mina was pulling on you. It just had to be.

“How did you find out about this?” You get up from the couch and start pacing around.

“Well…I was sitting down on my couch at home watching the talk show.” Mina puts her finger on her lips as she recalls what happened, “They were talking about some new beauty products at first - then they started talking about what would be coming up in the next segments right before a commercial break. The next segment was going to be: Up and Coming Top 10 Hottest New Heroes! Stay tuned!” Mina giggles as she imitates what she heard. “Thennn, they said the next one was going to be about the number one hero having a secret lover! I was so confused so I kept looking and it was a picture of Izuku standing with ‘some girl’ in front of a grocery store.” You nod your head in understanding as Mina continues her story.

“Your face in the picture was blurred out because I guess they only wanted to give people a sneak peek of what was to come next. They couldn’t fool me though!” Mina hops up off the couch and squeezes your cheeks. “Cause I know that brown milk chocolate skin and signature low puff anywhere I see it.” You push Mina away as she continues. “So, I got up from my couch and rushed over here as fast as I could before the segment started so you could see it.” Mina clasps her hands together, finishing her recap.

“Mhmmm, well this is all one big ass misunderstanding.” You turn away as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Well the people certainly don’t know that and they are eating this shit up,” Mina claims with the same cheesy grin on her face that boy on TV had.

“Mina none of this is funny and these people are crazy.” You sigh as you walk over to your bedroom and start fishing through your closet for some clothes.

“No, this is in fact hilarious cause I was just talking about this the other day. Now the whole of Japan seems to ship the two of you. How cute!” Mina gushes as she follows behind you.

“No, it’s not. Oh god, I wonder if he’s found out about this yet?” You question as you pull on a hoodie and some leggings along with a winter hat and some uggs.

“Oh, trust me girl, if the whole internet knows then him and his PR team definitely know. Also, why the hell are you getting dressed?” Mina tilts her head in question as you walk over to your coat rack and throw on your biggest winter jacket.

“I have to put a stop to this. All these people have the wrong idea.” You reach for the door handle and try to open the door.

“Wait! You can’t go out there all regularly like nothing happened.” Mina wraps her hand around yours. “People know what you look like now and probably want some answers. You have to go,” Mina puts some shades on you, “Incognito.”

“Oh damn, I didn’t even think about that. I’ll go get a mask or something.” You walk back to your room to grab the mask.

“That’s why you have me here girl” Mina grabs another one of your shades and puts them on. “And by the way, I’m coming with you. We can take my car.” Mina insists as she pulls on her coat and waits by the door for you.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to impose on your day off. I know you don’t get many of those.” You say looking at Mina.

“Impose?! Girl, this just made my day ten times better and now I have to see the rest of this through!” Mina grabs your hand. “Ei’s not even home yet so there’s not much to do anyway. Besides, I know my way around Izuku’s agency way better than you do, so I can get us in without you being seen.” Mina opens the door for you and the two of you walk to her car.

You two get in the car and begin your drive to Izuku’s agency. As you two are in the car Mina shuffles through the radio stations until she finds one she’s satisfied with. The two of you sing along to a couple of songs before the music goes out for a commercial break. When the commercial break starts it’s one of the radio podcasts and they are talking about the situation with you and Izuku.

“Wellllll looks like that’s enough radio for today.” Mina laughs awkwardly as she cuts off the radio.

As the two of you approach the agency you see a herd of paparazzi crowding the front doors to the building. Luckily, Mina turns the car in a different direction and goes to an underground parking area. You need access to get down there and this was the best place for you to get in the building without people seeing you.

“See, now what would you do without me?” Mina parks the car and the two of you get out.

Mina leads the way to an elevator in the parking garage that will take you to the lobby of the building. The two of you arrive on the floor the lobby is on and begin to walk to the reception desk. However, the two of you are immediately stopped in your tracks by the commotion going on outside the lobby doors.

Mina grabs your arm and yanks you behind a corner from the peering eyes outside the building trying to get a look inside. The paparazzi are swarming the building trying to get inside while police officers are guarding the door inside and out to keep them at bay.

“Oh my god, I knew it would be bad but not this bad…These people are animals!” Mina looks at you with worry written all over her face.

“What are we gonna do now? We can’t go to the receptionist or the paparazzi will see me.” You peek over the corner to get a better look at how bad the situation is outside.

“You know what? Screw the receptionist, we'll just walk right into his office and demand this be resolved as one big misunderstanding.” Mina yanks your arm once again and leads you to another elevator.

The two of you get in the elevator and Mina pushes the button to take the two of you to the floor Izuku stays on. As you arrive on the floor Mina leads the way to Izuku’s office and barges right in the doors, but the doors open to an on-suite that belongs to Izuku’s assistant. The big doors ahead lead to his actual office.

“Oh! Good afternoon Mrs. Pinky, I’m sorry but Mr. Deku is in a meeting right now and isn’t seeing anyone for the rest of the day, but I can squeeze you in for an early appointment tomorrow at 8 am.” Izuku’s assistant explains as she scrambles to get Mina out of the office.

“I don’t care if he’s in a meeting, we need to see him now, this problem can’t wait till tomorrow. Meeting be damned, we’re going in.” Mina insists as she goes to the office doors and throws them open. As the doors open the two of you are met with the sight of an empty office.

“I’m sorry but I thought you said he was in a meeting? Where is he exactly?” You question as you walk back to Izuku's assistant.

“I’m not allowed to disclose that information. He’s in a closed-door meeting which means no interactions. I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask the two of you to leave and come back tomorrow when this all hopefully blows over.” Izuku’s assistant sighs as she tries to guide you and Mina out of the office for the second time.

“Wait, so I’m assuming this meeting is based on what’s going on downstairs going off what you just said. Where is it? We need to be at that meeting!” Mina demands again as she stops in her tracks.

“Like I told you two before, I'm not allowed to disclose that information. Now you need to leave.” Izuku’s assistant repeats.

“Fine, we'll leave. Sorry about this and thank you anyway. We’ll take that meeting for 8 am. Now come on Mina, let's get out of here.” You apologize as you take Mina’s hand and guide her out of the office and hear the door shut behind you

“Girl what? We can’t just give up like-” You cut Mina off by covering her mouth with your hand and dragging her down the hallway.

“We’re not giving up, girl. He has to be in one of the offices. We’ll just have to check all of them to find the one he is in.” You shrug as you look at Mina with indifference written all over your face.

“Oh my god, I think I’ve become a bad influence on you. I like it!” Mina laughs.

The search begins with the two of you knocking on practically every door on the floor and peeking inside till you see a green head of hair. So far the search has ended with a lot of “sorry wrong door.” Till finally the two of you had a breakthrough and came across a door where you heard a couple of other voices and what sounded like Izuku.

The two of you burst through the doors and are met with the green-haired man you were looking for.

“Oh- hey! What are you doing here?” Izuku jumps up from his seat to greet you.

“I’m here because of all of this,” You say as you look around the room and see two women and one man sitting around the table Izuku recently was sitting down at. “I’ve seen the news Izuku, about us and everything that’s going on and it needs to be put to a stop for the sake of you and me. I don’t want everyone in the entire world to get the wrong idea when we’re just…”

You pause for a moment. “Just friends that happened to bump into each other and have a friendly encounter.” You chuckle awkwardly as you try to make light of the situation and what happened.

“Right, just friends…” Izuku trails off as he looks down at you.

You look back up in Izuku's direction and realize it’s been a long while since you got a good look at him. You realize how much his features have matured over the years, but he still manages to keep his same boyish charm. You also notice how his haircut is fresh and faded at both sides and back leaving his signature emerald green curls neatly trimmed at the top. You turn your head to the side looking back at Mina to see what she thinks about the whole situation and she’s looking like a giddy high school girl trying to hide her excitement.

You looking back at Mina seem to snap Izuku out of whatever trance he was in and he begins to speak again.

“Um-,” Izuku clears his throat, “Right, like I was explaining to my PR team,” Izuku says as he introduces the other people in the room to you and Mina. “You and I are just good friends and all of the news and articles are blowing things way out of proportion.”

“Okay, great, so we’re all on the same page here. So, how do we get this issue resolved so I can go back to my regularly scheduled life?” You walk over to a seat around the table and sit, making yourself part of the meeting. Mina soon follows behind you and sits in the seat next to you seeming fully invested in what’s happening at the moment.

“As we were saying, the best way for the two of you to resolve this issue is for Deku to schedule a meeting with the press as soon as possible to address that this is all a misunderstanding. We’ve crafted a list of news articles and shows for you to contact in order to discuss these issues.” One of the women at the table states as she slides over a folder with the list of people they want Izuku to speak to.

“Review these tonight and tell us which ones you want us to contact by tomorrow morning so we can schedule your meetings with them.” The second lady demands as she continues with her next proposition. “We also need the two of you to keep in-person interactions to a minimum till everything calms down. If the two of you must see each other through, make sure it is in private where no one can see you.”

“Ok that all sounds easy enough. I honestly don’t even see Izuku that often. We really just happened to bump into each other. So, how long do you guys think this will take to all blow over?” You look around the table for an answer.

“Well miss that all depends on you as well. The last thing that needs to be done to sweep this whole thing under the rug is for you to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. So, this means disregarding your normal routines for about a month. Apart from going to work of course. Also if the press happens to catch up to you don’t answer any of their questions and get away from them as quickly as possible.” The man at the table explains.

“Okay, that all sounds very easy to do. I’ll just make sure to be more mindful when I go out in public. So, is that the end of the meeting?”

“Well yes, that’s all we have to say and that’s what we think the best course of action is for the two of you, but this only works if Mr. Deku agrees with this proposal.” The first lady that spoke states as she gathers her things.

“I think it’s the best course of action. I’ll talk to these publishers and you can set up meetings with them for me as early as possible tomorrow.” Izuku highlights the press companies he wants to speak with and hands the folder back to the second lady at the table.

After a few small exchanges between Izuku and his PR team, they leave the office. You stand up with Mina following suit and begin to leave the office as well. However, as you reach for the door you are suddenly stopped in your tracks.

“Wait, I was hoping I could get a minute to talk with you since I have you here,” Izuku interjects as he gets up from his seat once again.

“Listen Izuku, if you're going to apologize to me I promise it’s okay. This isn’t either one of our faults, it’s the press for being nosey and misinterpreting things.” You reassure Izuku as you turn around to face him.

“But it is my fault. If I hadn’t been so careless you wouldn’t even be in this mess. When I saw you at the grocery store I wasn’t even thinking, all of this could have been avoided if I had just been a little more careful.” Izuku sighs, stepping closer to you.

“I promise I will be fine, and like your PR team said this should all end soon! Then there should be nothing to worry about.” You look up at him and give him a soft smile.

“That’s the thing though; this will never fully calm down now that people know you are associated with me. I’m the number one hero and that comes with a lot of responsibilities and baggage.” Izuku pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Basically what I’m trying to say is I deal with a lot of bad people and I would hate for them to get the wrong idea about us and try to harm you in any way. I would never want you to be in any sort of danger, especially not from a stupid mistake I made.” Izuku brings his hands to rest on either side of your arms and looks down at you.

You look back up at Izuku without much to say. You never even began to think of things in the way he just described. Izuku is the number one hero, which means he has a lot of eyes on him constantly, even ones he may not want. You also begin to think how naive you had been about the whole situation, only thinking about yourself and not the other person involved as well.

Izuku was right, there was nothing little about this whole situation and it would never truly be over unless you literally disappeared. Maybe it was right to come here because it allowed you to look at the situation from a whole new perspective.

“Look, I understand what you are saying and I promise I will be extra careful when I go out on my own from now on. I’ll even go as far as to change you to my emergency contact.” Those words seem to put Izuku at ease a little as you watch his face change from worry to a soft smile.

“Okay, that does make me feel a bit better but don’t ever hesitate to call me if you feel like something is wrong. This is the least I can do for you after getting you into this mess.” Izuku agrees to your proposition as he slowly backs away from you and heads to the door to walk you and Mina out.

You, Mina, and Izuku walk out of the office, and you and Mina exchange goodbyes with Izuku. He offered to walk the two of you to the car but you declined, insisting that you and Mina had to sneak past the reception desk to get up here and the paparazzi would more than likely catch sight of him if he followed the two of you.

You and Mina arrive safely back to the car without encountering any lingering cameras or eyes and begin the journey back to your place.

“Oh girllll, he got it bad for you.” Mina slaps the steering wheel for emphasis. “Like did you see the way he was looking at you and when he held your arms?? Girl I was practically melting for you!” Mina fans her face, “And did you hear the part where he said ‘he never wanted to see you in danger’ he basically signed himself up to be your Superman.” Mina kept rambling on about how she was 110% sure that Izuku had the hots for you.

“Girl, if you don’t hurry up and snatch that man up before someone else comes along and does. He’s offering himself up to you on a damn silver platter.” Mina insists for what feels like the entire car ride back to your place as you sit in silence and listen to everything she rambles about.

Mina finally pulls up to your place and you thank her for everything as you get out of the car and walk to your door. Before you finally enter your home to get back to your cleaning you turn back to Mina and shout.

“You know you're really delusional!”

Extra Notes:

Let’s pretend I posted this on time! Also don’t mind the large spaces in between…idk why that’s there. But enjoy!!