#angela is hard to write

[babychosen]

serendipity (Ch. 1/3, 2631 words) by Anonymous

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Angela Giarratana/Amanda Lehan-Canto

Summary: Two strangers, a kiss cam, and a free romantic getaway - what could go wrong?

i would like to dedicate this to (or just shoutout) the following people:

@sage-lights, @unknownteapot, @xxsuicidalravenxx, @okiankeno, @poppyfamily, and @shesmore-shoebill

big BIG thank you to all of you for writing fic and being supportive of this little amangela community. i would have quit fic a long time ago if it weren't for all of you incredibly kind folks and your inspiring works (and words!!)

[ssaahthings]

I PROMISE I'M A CREATIVE PERSON MY MIND JUST HATES ME I HAVE SO MANY WIPS AND IDEAS SOBS

[cjlouwho]

He wished he could say he knew it was a bad idea before it happened, but he didn't.

It wasn't until the saw blade had sliced straight down his leg and the blood started seeping onto his pants and pooling on the garage floor that he realized hey, maybe I should have been a little more careful.

Still, without allowing himself to panic, he made himself a tourniquet before getting into his truck and heading toward the hospital.

“I was going through your files, Thomas,” Tommy's nurse, Angela, said as she walked into his room, “and you have a blank space where your emergency contact should be. Why's that?”

“Well good morning to you too, Angela,” Tommy replied, plastering on a grin. “Lovely to see you, as always.”

She cocked her head to the side, resting a hand on her hip. “Mhm. You need an emergency contact, Thomas.”

“Nobody calls me Thomas, Angela.”

“And nobody calls me Angela, Thomas.”

Tommy pushed himself up in the bed, wincing slightly at the pain that radiated down his leg. “What do they call you then? Angie? Ang? Ella?”

“This is serious, Mr. Kinard.”

“Angel?”

Angela sighed. “With your career, it's very important to have an emergency contact on file.” She moved closer to him, maneuvering the tray table over his lap and setting some paperwork down with a pen. “Get to writing.”

“Okay, okay,” he relented, picking up the pen. She waited as his hand hovered over the form. After a few seconds, he blinked up at her. “What's your number?”

“I find it very hard to believe that a pretty boy like you doesn't have at least one name and number he can drag from his phone to that piece of paper right there.”

“Is that a no on your number?”

“As long as no infection gets in that leg, you'll be out of here tomorrow,” she said, ignoring his question. “You have to have a ride or we can't release you.”

“Oh, come on,” Tommy whined, “I drove myself here!”

“Which was stupid!” She replied. “A gash that big, nearly to the bone. You're lucky you didn't bleed out on your way in.”

“My tourniquet skills are unmatched.”

“Well your common sense skills could use some work.” She took a look at her watch, let out another sigh. “I'll leave the paperwork with you. I'll be back in two hours to change your dressing and give you some meds.” She tapped on the paper, “I want a name and a number when I get back.”

Tommy grinned up at her, “Yes, Ma'am.”

He kept the smile on his face until she was out of the room, then he dropped the act. He tossed the pen down and pushed the tray away from him, pressing the button on the side of his bed so he'd be lying down.

Carefully, as to not disturb his leg, he turned onto his side and closed his eyes, letting sleep take over.

*****

When Tommy woke up nearly an hour later, it was due to loud noises across the hall.

Laughter.

A lot of it.

There was some shushing, and things quieted down for a minute, then it started back up again. It almost sounded like they were having a party over there.

When another round of laughter started, Tommy decided to get up and take a look at what was causing all the commotion.

Moving around too much wasn't recommended after the surgery and stitches he had to have for the gash on his leg, but he was tired of doing nothing and the door wasn't that far away.

Cautiously, he sat up and swung his legs around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He pushed himself up, groaning slightly at the pain.

He clenched his teeth together and took a step, barely tiptoeing with his left foot to keep as much pressure on the right as he could.

He managed to make it to the door in five steps, leaning against the frame as he stared at the room across the hall.

The door was halfway open, filled with more people than Tommy thought was allowed in a room. He could see flowers on a corner table, and balloons nearby with GET WELL SOON written on them.

A man peeked around the corner, his smile turning into a grimace. “Sorry!” he exclaimed. “We're trying to keep it down over here.”

“Oh, you're fine,” Tommy assured him, motioning to his leg. “Needed to move around a bit.”

“Our boy over here just had surgery on his leg too,” the man said. “Trying to cheer him up since he'll be out of office for a couple months.”

Tommy forced a smile. “That's nice. Please, don't mind me. I'm not gonna be making it much further than here, just needed to get out of bed.”

“Alright. Feel better, Man.”

Tommy nodded. “Thanks.”

As the man disappeared back behind the door, Tommy turned back to his room. It'd been three days since his surgery, but there wasn't a balloon in sight. No flowers, no stuffed animals, no people. Nothing.

It was fine though. It wasn't like he needed those things. His captain had texted him that all his shifts had been covered, not to worry. A couple of coworkers had sent him teasing messages about hurting himself off the clock.

That was enough.

As he got back to the bed and laid down, he grabbed his phone off of the tray table. He was forever thankful to Angela for going downstairs to the gift shop on his first day in recovery to get him a charger.

He opened up the Uber app and clicked through all the steps to schedule a ride home tomorrow. He'd come back sometime soon to pick up his truck.

Once that was settled, he looked at the time. Angela would be back soon, and expecting a name and number on that piece of paper.

With a very dramatic eye roll, he grabbed the pen and quickly wrote down a name and a number.

*****

Twenty minutes after changing his dressing and getting his paperwork, Angela walked back into the room with a glare on her face. “You can't have Uber's corporate number as your emergency contact, Tommy.”

He gave her his award winning smile. “Hey, you called me Tommy!”

“I'm being serious with you. Who is Gary P.? Did you make him up?”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy gasped, feigning offense. “Gary P. is the lovely man who will be taking me home tomorrow. For the low, low price of $42.35. That's before tip, of course.”

“So you put your Uber driver down and added the corporate number?”

“You're in the wrong field, Angela,” Tommy said, wiggling his finger toward her. “You should be a detective.”

Tommy hadn't asked, but he was pretty sure by the face Angela was giving him that she was a mother. “What is this?” she asked. “Too macho to let anyone know you're hurt?”

“I've actually worked very hard to rid myself of toxic masculinity, thank you very much.”

“Tommy-”

“You've been a nurse a long time, Angela,” Tommy interrupted, beginning to feel a little irritated by her refusal to let it go. “I'm sure I'm not your first patient without an emergency contact.”

“You're not,” she agreed. “But with your job, you could have your captain or a coworker-”

“If I get hurt on the job, my captain and coworkers will already know. I'm not going to have them running down to the hospital because I didn't properly secure a saw. I texted my captain that I'd be out of commission for a while, he texted back. It's all good.”

“A parent?”

“No mom.”

“Your dad then?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Angela, please, don't joke like that.”

“If something serious were to happen to you, you need someone on the form.”

Tommy rested his head against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “If something serious were to happen to me, let it happen,” he said. “We're all gonna die anyway, don't need anyone to watch.”

He could feel her watching him. Could sense the pity. He closed his eyes, hoping she got the hint.

After a few seconds, he heard her shuffling around, and when he opened his eyes again, she was gone.

*****

Gary P. wasn't exactly the kindest man Tommy had ever met. He seemed frustrated that he had to pick Tommy up in the first place, as if he hadn't accepted the ride. He was impatient, huffy, took two wrong turns, and practically shooed Tommy out of the car the second they arrived at his house.

“You know, Gary,” Tommy said as he pushed the car door open and took a wobbly step onto his driveway, “I'm beginning to regret putting you as my emergency contact.”

Before Gary could even register what Tommy had said, he slammed the door and turned toward his house.

As soon as he got inside, he headed for the couch. He tossed down his keys, phone, and the bag of pain meds from the hospital pharmacy before sitting down himself. He propped his leg up on the coffee table and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and falling asleep.

When he woke back up it was due to a throbbing in his leg. He couldn't help the moan that escaped him as he tried to pull himself back up from the slumped position he'd sunk into.

He reached over for his meds and grabbed the bottle out of the bag, popping off the lid and shaking out one of the pills into his palm.

He needed water. He'd never been able to swallow pills without a drink of some kind. But water was all the way in the kitchen and the kitchen felt very far away right now. Especially when he could feel his heart beating in his leg.

Still, he knew the pain would only get worse if he didn't get up. So, he stood and his groans turned into whimpers with each step he took.

He ignored the pain as best as he could, stopping when he reached the fridge to lean against it with his hands gripping the door handle.

After letting himself take a few deep breaths, he opened the fridge and grabbed a water. He opened the bottle quickly and swallowed the pill, feeling a slight vindication at the fact that he'd done it and he could go back and rest again.

And that's when it hit him. Standing in the middle of his kitchen, staring back toward the living room, it hit him all at once.

He'd need to fix himself something to eat soon, or order something at least. Either way, he'd be walking to the kitchen or the front door. He needed to go to the bathroom. Needed a shower. Needed to rewrap his leg. He desperately wanted to sleep in his bed but wasn't sure if he could get back up after he laid down. Then he remembered he was in the middle of washing his sheets when he hurt himself so they were still in the washer, probably soured, which meant he needed to get his spare set of sheets out of the linen closet and make his bed.

He'd have to get another Uber in a day or two to go pick up his truck. God, what if he got Gary again? He needed to let his captain know when he'd be back at work. Needed to remember to get a release form when he went back to the doctor for a checkup. He needed to go grocery shopping. He needed to make sure all his bills were paid for the month. He needed... he needed help.

He needed someone.

He was so damn tired.

His eyes burned as he rested his elbows on his countertop, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes.

He was fine.

It was fine.

He didn't need anybody.

The couch would be fine for tonight.

He'd figure everything else out on his own.

He'd always figured everything out on his own.

This was no different. He just needed the pain to stop and to get some rest and he'd be fine.

With a deep breath, he straightened up. He ignored his blurry, wet eyes as he took each pain-filled step back to the couch. And if a few tears fell down his face on the way, well, at least no one would ever know.

*****

It took three and a half weeks before his leg was healed enough for him to return to work.

There was no big fanfare on his first day back, which he was thankful for.

A couple of people gave him a high five and asked him how gnarly the scar was. One guy told him he was forced to take three of his shifts, so Tommy owed him. His captain kept him on light duty and told him to make sure he let him know if he felt any pain.

Other than that, it was a regular day.

Another week passed until he could go back up in the chopper. He was thankful to be back in the air again. Back where he belonged. He could forget everything when he was in the air.

Just focus on flying. That's the way he liked it.

It was in the middle of his second shift back as pilot when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He stared at the name that lit up on his screen, eyebrows furrowed in confusion before answering.

“Howie? What's up, Man?”

“Hey, Tommy! Long time no talk, I know, but I, uh, I got a big favor to ask.”

[seddair]

Hmm

[centrally-unplanned]

I really enjoyed this video by Angela Collier as someone who is of the "Feynman Bros" generation without being a member of the thing itself. I was of course part of the "XKCD science nerd culture" of the 2000's where he was a valorized figure, but never read any of his books, and generally just wasn't a science person in general so the whole vibe didn't appeal. I certainly noticed the 2010's culture shift where people - rightly so in my opinion - noticed that many of his "anecdotes" were casually misogynistic or harassing. I know both sides of the track here decently well without having any stake in it.

So it was quite shocking to me to learn - spoilers - that Feynman never wrote a single book. Every one of those texts with his name splashed on it is by someone else, and sometimes with quite minimal involvement by him! He had this weird coterie of fans who just loved his stuff so much they collected his anecdotes, recorded lectures, and so on, and made books out of them, often well after the fact. And of course at certain point "cashing in" on the brand took over.

Which leads, inexorably, to the fact that it is a little difficult to glimpse the "real" Feynman, because half of the published stuff is just made up. Surely You're Joking is the exaggerated stories of a 50 year old man trying to impress a 20-something dude with how cool he is, telling tales decades after they happened. I had never read the book, so hearing direct quotes from it of Feynman "pretending to speak a language he didn't and being So Clever he tricked his audience" are just...obviously not true? What the fuck are you talking about??? The best part for me is that the book, of stories from the life of a physicist, never involves...other physicists. It is always random people at a bar or hotel. Because, you know, they can't contradict them? The one time he did name someone, Murray Gell-Mann, in a story, Murray objected on the grounds that it was false and they were forced to change it! You had one job and you fucked it up, person-who-isn't -Feynman-pretending-to-be-Feynman-while-writing-the-book.

This is very much a video in my wheelhouse of cultural history - Feynman is just a guy. His brand, like all brands, is manufactured, and so there is a story behind how it was manufactured & why. I think I can see Feynman's rise as part of the general rise of "nerd culture" that accelerated in the 1980's, and the very deep need to both be "pure" nerdy (something finally dropped in the late 2000's) but also cool, to fight back on the rep. A womanizing scientist deeply appealed at that time, one who can Have It All. The idea of being the Smartest Guy In The Room was admirable, not insufferable. Then times changed, and the whole edifice can be a bit cringe. With, of course, a real person behind it all that one has to sift through to see.

Also, you do sometimes look at the past and go "man, people really did act differently back then". And that is true! But part of that story is that people just felt way more comfortable bullshitting you about it. Makes it a bit hard to say how things really were.

[theivesofhearts]

he truly always did love her

shawngela in every episode → 5.07

[stevie-petey]

episode one: the hellfire club

Robin waves her hands in the air as if to get Steve’s voice away from her. “Ew! Gross, don’t say boobies–” “Boobies! It’s not a big deal–” You make a face. “It isn’t the most pleasant word.” “Oh, c’mon. You like boobies, Robin likes boobies, and we all know I love your boobies specifically–ow!”  You hit the back of Steve’s head with annoyance to get him to stop talking about your boobs. While he winces in pain and rubs his tender head, you turn towards Robin. “What my darling boyfriend is trying to say is that everyone likes boobs, and Vickie definitely likes them too.” 

Summary: el writes to you as if youre her husband away at war, you debate the intricate nature of liking boobies with robin and steve, lucas is your beloved while eddie munson is your sworn enemy, steve accidentally exposes your (horribly hidden) daddy issues, dustin is an angsty teen, and jonathan really loves to drop emotional bombshells on you. can you believe this all happens in one day ? lol cheers to senior year !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of abuse, allusions to bullying, trauma lol

Words: 13.5k (wrote half of this in one day)

Before you swing in: SHES HERE !!!! SEASON 4 !!! this season terrifies me. i spent so much time outlining and making sure it was perfect. i have some changes i want to do, some ideas, and its scary because we dont have season 5 yet and i hate messing with canon ,,, alas: here she is. my baby. my beloved. quick fun fact: theres a scene in here ive had planned since season 1 so .... enjoy !

–

March 21st, 1986.

Dear Y/N,

Congratulations on New York University! Joyce tells me that it is a very good college, and everyone was extremely happy when Jonathan told us the news. He even had a smile on his face! It has been a very long time since I have seen him smile, especially without that weird smell on him (am I allowed to tell you about the strange plants that Jonathan seems to like now? He says that you cannot find out about it, but friends don’t lie and he is your bestest friend). 

I asked Will about it, and he says that Jonathan now smells because he misses you. If you ask me, I think that Jonathan smells because he is scared. We are still waiting for his college letter, afterall. I know you want to go to school with him, but so does Nancy. Is it possible to go to two colleges? Anyways, it must be a lot of pressure, even more with all the waiting we have to do, but Joyce told us that sometimes colleges take a long time to respond. 

While I am positive that Jonathan will figure it all out soon, he pretends he does not care. But he is a very bad liar. He was very upset that Nancy could no longer visit us in California. Will was bummed too, but he was more sad that it was not you who was visiting. Joyce says that the Byers boys were born to miss you, and I think she is right. 

I also miss you. I am still bummed I never went to school with you. I bet Mike is over the moon to have you with him for high school, Dustin and Lucas also. How is Max? Is she still sad? I know school has been hard for her. I will admit that it is hard for me, too. While I am good at maths, and my grammar is getting better, I am still unsure when to use conjunctions or why Angela does not like me. Will tells me to ignore her, but I want to be her friend. She is nice to everyone else. It confuses me that she is not nice to me.

A lot about California confuses me. The flowers here are different, and sometimes I forget that I cannot go and visit you. I miss the smell of Bookstrordinary (did I spell it right?) and your cookies. Please send more as soon as you can. Will and I are almost dying to taste them again! Mike says he will try to bring some on the plane, but I am scared he will be told no by those scary airplane people.

Speaking of Mike, he is coming to California this week! I am very excited to see him. It has felt like years, I think I am even going crazy. I have planned everything for his week here. Spring break will be extra special! It will be a fun distraction from Angela and school. This week I can pretend to be someone else, someone cool, and Mike will be very impressed. I know you tell me to always be myself, so I hope that I can make you happy by taking your advice on focusing only on the good. 

To prove I will focus on the good from here on out, here is a good things list: 

Mike is visiting!

Will has almost finished his painting. I am very curious to see what he has made. He is really talented, he shows me the drawings he sends you sometimes. 

You got into NYU! Is this the correct way to abbreviate? I am still working on conjunctions, but I think I am supposed to use the first letter of every word in the school’s name to shorten it. At least, that is what Joyce says. 

Jonathan’s new best friend, Argyle, will give us free pizza to celebrate Mike’s arrival. It is really good pizza. 

Tasting your cookies again. Fingers crossed Mike’s plan succeeds!

I am sure there is more, but I am too excited about this week and my mind is going very fast. I miss you tons, maybe even more than Will and Jonathan do. Please come visit us soon. Like Joyce says, the Byers boys were born to miss you. Although I am not a Byers boy, I am still a part of the Byers family, and I miss you. 

Love, El.

P.S., thank you for the grammar books. I will be sure to become the best writer ever in California. 

–

Sweet, gentle, El. You can almost hear her voice, reading aloud to you as you used to do when she lived in Hopper’s cabin. She would stumble over the letters, ask you how to sound out particularly difficult words in Spider-Man comics; they helped her learn how to read. Now, almost a year later, she’s writing you letters. 

El has grown up so much within such a short few months, although it doesn’t surprise you.

Laughing softly as you reread the final line she’s written, you wipe your eyes and place El’s letter onto your desk. The piece of paper joins the others, nestled gently with a pile of her other letters that are housed on your desk. El sends you a new letter every week, detailing silly stories about Jonathan and Will or concerned ramblings about Angela.

The letters make you miss El terribly. They make you miss everyone terribly. 

Next to the letters are drawings from Will. He’s become such an artist during his time in California. He sends you beautiful sketches of landscapes in their neighborhood, doodles from class, and incredibly detailed drawings of you and the party. The drawings are Will’s special way to keep in contact with you, and it’s something you cherish so deeply. However, you didn’t know that he was working on a painting, and you’re curious to see what El is talking about. Eventually he’ll reveal his art to you, he always does.  

Skimming a finger over one of the more recent drawings from Will, your hand catches on the walkman that lays next to it. Jonathan’s messy handwriting is scrawled on the mixtape that sits within it.

For bug.

The words, familiar and loved, stare back at you. The mixtape contains songs that Jonathan so carefully chose for you. He spent countless hours selecting songs that he knew you’d love, songs that reminded him of you. It had been his gift for you before he moved away. And now he’s gone, and you miss him so much more than you ever thought you would. More than you ever thought you could miss anyone.  

Jonathan never did end up coming to Hawkins for spring break. 

“Dusty, what’s going on in there?” The sound of your mother pounding on Dustin’s door breaks you from your thoughts. “You’re gonna be late.”

“Don’t come in, I’m naked!” You hear the boy screech back at her, which you roll your eyes at. Steve will be here to pick you guys up any minute. Dustin knows he should be ready by now, the schedule has never changed. 

Throwing on the cardigan Steve got you for Christmas last year, you grab your walkman and storm over to Dustin’s room. At the same time, your mother nearly crashes into you in the hall. Her face is pale, horrified of the idea that she almost saw her son naked, and you pity the woman. Dustin has become relentless lately, even more difficult to deal with. 

“Y/N, my dear,” your mother clutches at her chest and fans her face. “Can you please make sure your brother is ready? I think that boy is trying to give me a heart attack.”

You sigh, figuring you would have to do so anyways. “Yeah, sure. Go finish getting ready, I’ll handle him.”

“This is why you’re my favorite daughter!” Your mother kisses your cheek before running off towards the kitchen to make her morning coffee. 

Once she’s gone, you immediately start banging on Dustin’s door. He knows you hate being late. Plus, it’s the Friday before spring break. You’re getting antsy waiting for this week to end. “Dustin Henderson, you have three seconds before I kick this door down.”

“Not now, Y/N!” Dustin shouts back, frantic and desperate. 

You narrow your eyes. He’s using his suspicious voice, the one he only uses when he’s doing something he absolutely shouldn’t be doing. Glancing down at your watch and noting the early hour, you curse in disbelief. “It’s not even seven yet, what the hell are you up to so early in the morning?”

“Nothing! Just go away, I’ll be out soon–”

“I swear, if you’re trying to sell my limited edition comics again I will hurt you.” You throw your body against the door, causing it to fly open as you stumble inside. Dustin is at his computer and he nearly falls off his chair in his haste to cover the screen from you. He’s remarkably horrible at playing cool. You’re about to tell him this when Suzie’s voice crackles through his radio’s speakers. 

“Yikes, Dusty.”

“Suzie?” You walk over to your brother and shove his hands off the computer screen. He falls to the ground with a loud thud, which pleases you. He may be a teenager now, but you’re still stronger than him. At least for now. “Why are you calling her right now–” Your eyes land on the screen and you recognize Hawkins High’s familiar orange and green school colors. “Is this the student gradebook?”

“No!” Dustin exclaims, but Suzie’s small and soft voice responds, “Yes.”

“Oh my God,” you cannot believe he’s making his girlfriend hack into your school’s database. Sure, she’s a genius, but you also know she’s incredibly religious. “Dustin, this is so illegal and goes against, like, all of Suzie’s religious morals–”

“I will repent later.” Suzie interrupts you, and you raise your eyebrows at what she’s just said. Before you can question her, Dustin’s computer refreshes. 

He leans forward, eyes scanning to see if they’ve succeeded, and he seems to like what he sees. Suddenly Dustin lets out a sudden whoop and fist bumps the air. “God, I love you Suzie.”

Curious, you lean over and read the screen as well. There, where you know Dustin had a D- in Latin not even a day ago, is now an A. There’s no possible way he was able to raise his grade in under twenty-four hours. He sucks at Latin, he hates it, which means… She did it. Suzie changed his grade. All she had to do was press one single button to save Dustin’s GPA. 

You have to admit, it’s impressive. And shamefully genius. 

“Hey, Suzie.” You bring the radio to your lips, shoving Dustin away when he tries to take it from you. “Do you think you could change my grade in calculus? Jonathan was the only reason I passed any of my other math classes.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Suzie’s voice raises a pitch, she doesn’t want to tell you no. She likes you, she really does, but her God figurine stares down at her with a disappointed look in his eyes. She’s sinned for love, but she doesn’t think she could ever do it again. 

You’re about to plead with Suzie, tell her NYU really prioritizes their student’s grades, but the sound of a car honking outside catches your attention; it’s Steve. Dustin yanks the radio from your hand and shoos you away. “Go, leave without me.”

“What, why? We always drive together.” You frown, feeling like a little kid when you cross your arms. Dustin smiles apologetically, a smile you’ve become familiar with. Your mood darkens, anger rises to your cheeks. You know exactly why Dustin is now skipping out on you. “Don’t tell me it’s that stupid Eddie Munson–”

“He wants me and Mike to work out some campaign details before lunch today!” Dustin scrambles to mediate. He hates that you don’t like Eddie, and you like everyone. It’s unnerving how much disdain you seem to carry for his friend. “Nance is driving us, but I swear I’ll ride with you and Steve after break!”

You scoff at Dustin, not at all believing his promise to you. Ever since September your brother has been at Eddie Muson’s beck-and-call, who dictates everything Dustin says or does. At first it was innocent enough, choosing to sit with the guy instead of you at lunch. Skipping out on a few weekend plans with you and Steve to campaign with Eddie. You’d been happy for Dustin. He was making new friends, no longer your little shadow; he was his own person with his own priorities and interests now.

But ever since getting into NYU last week, Dustin has been pulling away even more from you. You don’t know why, but he’s become even more obsessed with Eddie and his stupid Hellfire club. 

Eddie Munson is the air your brother now breathes, stifling the air Dustin once breathed for you.

And it seems to only be suffocating you, not him.

“Yeah, whatever.” Halfheartedly you ruffle Dustin’s hair, and he leans into the touch. You don’t want him to know his repeated absences are upsetting you. Deep down, you know you’re being irrational. You’re almost eighteen, soon you won’t even be living under the same roof as Dustin. He’s allowed to live his own life. “I guess I’ll see you at the pep rally. Tell Suzie I said bye, please?”

Dustin nods, though you don’t linger in the doorway like you desperately want to. Instead, you shut the door behind you and place a swift kiss to your mother’s cheek as you leave. 

Steve’s car is parked in its usual spot at the end of the driveway. The teen’s arm hangs out the window and his face breaks into a smile when he sees you approaching. Steve’s smile is infectious, it’s always charmed you, and it settles the ache in your chest from your brother’s earlier dismissal. Feeling a smile spread across your own face, you run towards Steve and poke your head through the open window.

“Hi,” you breathe out, nose almost bumping against his cheek.

“Hi, angel.” Steve kisses you, solidifying your morning tradition. Neither one of you really remembers who started it, but sometime during the school year you began to slip your head through Steve’s car window so that he could kiss you slow and sweet. 

And, as tradition follows, Robin starts boos. “Do you have to do that every morning?”

Steve makes a face at her and she punches his arm. He yelps in pain and you roll your eyes at the two of them before running over to the passenger’s side where Robin sits. Her window is rolled down as well and you duck your head inside. “Aw, Robin. If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just said so!” 

“A kiss–?” Your lips press against Robin’s cheek, smushing against her face while making a dramatic sound. She squeals and pushes you away, wiping her now wet cheek in disgust. “That is not what I wanted.”

You giggle at her and finally get into the car. It’s getting late, you see the assortment of Robin’s limited makeup dumped into her lap haphazardly. She’s been stressing about this morning’s pep rally all week, and clearly she isn’t coping very well. Trying to cheer her up, you flick her shoulder. “I’ll have you know that my cheek kisses are cherished in Hawkins.”

“How many people’s cheeks are you kissing?” Steve turns in his seat to face you, slightly alarmed. Then, noticing that there’s only one Henderson in his car, he frowns. “And where’s little Henderson?”

“Eddie Munson.”

“Woah, wait, you mean Eddie as in where Dustin is, right? Not, like, you’ve been kissing his cheek? I’m right, right? Please tell me I’m right.”

You roll your eyes fondly at Steve while Robin rolls hers in displeasure. “Just drive, Steve.”

–

It becomes pretty apparent five minutes into the car ride that no one seems to be having a good morning. Robin has spent the majority of the drive applying and reapplying her mascara while messing with her hair. She groans every time she looks in the mirror and her eyes lack their usual brilliance. 

Meanwhile, Steve has been complaining about yet another fight with his dad. Apparently they argued during breakfast, something that has become a common occurrence in the Harrington household. 

“The asshole again reminded me that I’m turning twenty soon. As if I don’t already know that! I mean,” Steve laughs in exasperation. “For weeks now he’s been asking me what my plans are, as if working at Family Video just isn’t good enough for him. As if my dad isn’t the sole reason I had to get a lousy minimum wage job in the first place!” 

“Family Video isn’t a lousy job–”

“Yes it is.” Both Steve and Robin say at the same time, which you sigh at. Can’t really argue with that. 

“Okay, yeah. It’s pretty lousy.”

Steve rubs his eyes tiredly. “And that isn’t even the worst part. There I was, pouring syrup over my pancakes, trying to enjoy the fact that my parents are actually home for once, when my asshole of a father tells me that if I don’t have a respectable job by the time I’m twenty, he’ll kick me out. I mean, can you believe that?” 

You suck in a breath. “Steve…”

Richard Harrington is a cruel, awful man. 

While you understand his frustrations towards Steve, it’s completely unreasonable to expect him to get a reputable job in a few short months without any college education. Steve’s right, it had been Richard’s idea to make him work at Scoops Ahoy in the first place. When the mall burned down, he had no other option but to work at Family Video soon after. 

“I’m sorry, honey.” You intertwine your fingers through Steve’s hair and rub your thumb up and down the nape of his neck in a soothing manner. Steve allows the touch, but he’s still tense. Guessing that he’s uncomfortable feeling so pitied, you try to make light of the situation with humor. “But hey, who knows? Maybe you can come live with me in New York if he ends up kicking you out.”

Steve risks a look at you, taking his eyes off the road for a few moments, and his eyes shine. He’s ecstatic over what you’ve just said. He looks like a little kid on Christmas Eve. “You really mean that?”

“Well, I mean…” It had mostly been a joke, a throwaway comment to try and get him to smile. But Steve’s body finally relaxes under your touch and you can’t tell him no. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You hear that, Robin?” Steve preens, wanting to get her attention. However, when he realizes that she hasn’t been listening to the entire conversation, he makes an offended sound. “Robin, are you listening to me?”

“Uh, yes?” Her eyes meet yours in the mirror, startled that she’s been caught. “You were-uh. Talking to Y/N about your dad. We-we hate him! Yeah, we hate the guy. He really… grinds my gears?”

Steve groans. “We all hate my dad, but that wasn’t what I was talking to you about!”

“Cut me some slack, please. Your relationship with your father is one of labyrinthine complexity–”

You poke your head between the two teens. “Actually, it’s not that complicated.”

Robin covers your mouth with her hand and continues with her rant. “It’s seven in the morning, we have the stupid pep rally, and I woke up looking like a total corpse!” 

“I think you look lovely as always, Robin.” You mumble through the girl’s hand, barely coherent.

Steve, however, isn’t as supportive. “You’re worried about a pep rally? You really expect me to believe that?”

“Yeah, so?” Robin removes her hand from your mouth and goes back to doing her makeup. She’s avoiding the conversation now, which only means that Steve is onto something. Why has she been so obsessed about this week’s pep rally? Robin has been in band for years now, she’s done a million pep rallies during her high school career. It can’t be performing that makes her nervous. 

Which means it has to be about someone. 

Locking eyes with Steve, he seems to be thinking what you are. “I think we all know what this is about, okay? Y/N and I aren’t buying that bullshit.”

“This is about Vickie.” You finish for him, a smirk on your face. For weeks now Vickie has been all Robin has talked about. Her hair, how pretty her smile is, how cute her freckles are. Vickie also happens to be in band with Robin. “C’mon, you can’t tell us we’re wrong.”

“I absolutely can tell you you’re wrong.” Robin denies what you and Steve are implying.

Steve shakes his head. “You know we’re right! And you know what else we think?”

“I really don’t care–”

“Y/N and I think that you gotta stop pretending to be someone else when you’re around her, okay? You just gotta be yourself.”

Robin doesn’t want to hear any of this. At least not from you and Steve. “You guys are biased, you do realize that?”

“What do you mean?” You’re practically laying across Steve’s car console in order to be a part of the conversation. “I think we’re objective people.”

“You’re telling me that all I have to do is be myself and Vickie will want to date me?”

You frown. “Yeah? What’s wrong with that?”

Robin throws her head back. “Because it took Steve months to ask you out. Mind you, this was when you were already in love with the guy! And he knew you were in love with him!”

“Okay, hey–” Steve doesn’t at all like what she’s insinuating. He didn’t necessarily know you were already in love with him, he just… had a small hunch. 

“I’m not done,” Robin holds her hand up. “All Steve had to do was man up and admit his feelings for you. He didn’t have to agonize over whether or not it’d blow up in his face. There was no risk, no danger, no world ending consequences. I mean, if you had rejected him then maybe Steve’s ego would’ve been bruised. But if I ask out the wrong girl? Bam! I’m a town pariah.”

“This is true,” you reluctantly agree. While you could never envision a world where you’d ever say no to Steve, you also recognize that the world where you somehow do wouldn’t be the same world as Robin’s. Things are different for her, whether you like it or not. Robin has to live with this knowledge, and her conversation with you about luck and love from last summer echoes in your mind. 

Steve places a hand on his chest, betrayed. “Whose side are you on, Y/N?”

“True love’s side.”

Robin snorts and Steve doesn’t bother to hide his smile. He wants to tease you for being a hopeless romantic, but now isn’t the time. Instead, he continues the previous conversation. “True love aside, we can’t ignore that Vickie is definitely not the wrong girl.”

“Oh, she definitely isn’t straight.” You agree.

“We don’t know that!” Robin quickly sprays some breath freshener in her mouth and gags, which you cringe at. Vickie is one lucky girl if Robin ever manages to become her girlfriend. 

Steve doesn’t let up, he’s convinced he has it all figured out. “She returned Fast Times paused at fifty-three minutes, five seconds.”

“The bikini scene, mind you.” You butt in, and Steve nods eagerly.

“And you know who pauses Fast Times at fifty-three minutes, five seconds? People who like boobies, Robin!” 

Robin waves her hands in the air as if to get Steve’s voice away from her. “Ew! Gross, don’t say boobies–”

“Boobies! It’s not a big deal–”

You make a face. “It isn’t the most pleasant word.”

“Oh, c’mon. You like boobies, Robin likes boobies, and we all know I love your boobies specifically–ow!” 

You hit the back of Steve’s head with annoyance to get him to stop talking about your boobs. While he winces in pain and rubs his tender head, you turn towards Robin. “What my darling boyfriend is trying to say is that everyone likes boobs, and Vickie definitely likes them too.” 

Robin can’t even look at the two of you, appalled by how many times the word “boobies” has been uttered during the duration of the conversation. You can’t blame her, the word has practically lost all meaning for you as well.

Steve, however, can’t seem to get enough of it. “It’s boobies!” He exclaims again to no one in particular.

You and Robin lock eyes, and then, without saying anything, your hand covers Steve’s mouth while Robin flicks his forehead, effectively putting the boob conversation to an end. 

– 

The moment Steve’s BMW slows in front of the school, Robin throws the door open and rushes out with a quick “see you later!” to you as she runs to follow after her bandmates. Steve waves weakly as she goes and sighs in disappointment.

“She’s never talking to Vickie, is she?”

“Not a chance,” you sigh as well, watching as Robin’s figure disappears in the crowd of students. Spring break looms over the student body, everyone buzzes with excitement over their week of freedom and tonight’s basketball game. The pep rally in just a few short minutes only adds to the exhilaration. Leaning forward, your lips graze against Steve’s. “Anyways, see you tonight?”

He bridges the gap between your lips, skin meets skin and warmth floods your stomach. “Of course, angel. I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey.” And with one last kiss, you exit Steve’s car and make your way towards the school. As always, Steve waits until you’re safely on the sidewalk before he pulls away and heads towards Family Video. He’s started picking up morning shifts to fill the time he isn’t with you.

On your way inside, you see Ms. Kelly talking to Max near the buses. The conversation is short, doesn’t last much longer than a few seconds, and when Max turns away you notice Ms. Kelly’s patient smile drop. Clearly Max still isn’t being cooperative when it comes to their sessions. She promised you she would start trying, but Max Mayfield has always been stubborn and you’ve always been slightly overbearing.

Not the best combination, honestly.

With a sigh, you make a mental note to ask Max about what the counselor talked to her about later. There’s too much going on this morning to focus on it, and you’re already pushing Max by having her attend the pep rally anyways. Originally she had wanted to skip it and hide in the stairwell, but after begging her about it, Max finally agreed.

The conversation can wait. For now, at least she’ll be next to you in the bleachers alongside the boys to cheer on Lucas.

The thought was enough to brighten your mood a little, but it quickly became a pain in the ass to corral the party into sitting together. It took you almost fifteen minutes to find Mike and Dustin in the mass of students heading into the gym. You’re not necessarily sure how it took so goddamn long given the fact that Mike towers over half of the students anyways. He’s grown freakishly tall since starting freshman year. It unnerves you. 

While his towering height annoys you, Mike likes that he can finally, literally, look down on you. 

“There you guys are!” You grab the back of Mike’s shirt and he lets out a startled yelp. Dustin stumbles back as well, and an annoyed sophomore glares at the three of you. Ignoring her, you grab your brother’s shirt and start dragging the two boys towards the bleachers. “Thought we agreed on meeting at the water fountain that squirts water in your face?”

“I thought it was the library?” Dustin gives you an odd look. “Wait, is there even a water fountain in the library?”

“You amaze me.” You remark, not even bothering to answer his question. He listens like a bag of rocks. Mike just allows you to pull him, not at all contributing to the conversation.

Max waits for you in the bleachers. She’s saved you seats, something that you feel slight relief over. The simple gesture is small, but it sparks just enough hope within your chest to make you exhale softly. Hope that she’s getting better. Hope that she’s finally trying again.

Thanking Max, you and the others fill the seats as the gym quickly fills with more and more students until it threatens to overflow. The roar of the crowd is nearly deafening. Across from the bleachers resides the marching band. They’re playing the school’s anthem as the cheerleaders start their routine. Chrissy Cunningham leads them, her smile lovely and beautiful, she shines so brightly upon the crowd that you can’t help but fall in love with her.

In the midst of the cheerleaders’ twists and flips, Robin manages to catch your eye from across the room.

You eagerly wave at her and mime playing the trumpet, copying her movements as she actually plays one. Robin laughs, and next to her is a girl with fiery red hair who laughs as well. She’s pretty, you’ve heard countless sonnets about her red hair and dotted freckles. Knowing the girl is Vickie, you point at her as you wink at Robin, who scoffs and goes back to playing the trumpet. 

Next to you, you catch the tail end of some bizarre conversation between Mike and Dustin.

“Look, I’m not saying that my girlfriend is better than yours.” Dustin is clarifying, glaring at you when he hears your sarcastic snort. “It’s just that Suzie’s, like, a certified genius.”

Mike crosses his arms, looking towards you as if somehow this is all your fault. “Your brother realizes that El saved the world twice, right?”

“Admittedly that is hard to beat,” you shrug. “That, and she has cool powers.”

Dustin points a finger at the two of you. “And yet Mike still has a C in Spanish while you’re barely passing calculus.”

Mike rolls his eyes and you shrug again. Your brother isn’t necessarily wrong either. El’s saved the world, Suzie has saved his GPA. Both are nearly impossible feats. “Touchy subject, but touché.”

“And what can your boyfriend do, Y/N?” Mike asks, now bringing the attention to your love life.

“He’s good with a bat.”

Both Dustin and Mike groan, but you shush them when the school’s broadcaster announces the Tigers basketball team. Applause breaks out across the bleachers and you notice Max looking around for Lucas. Though she tries to hide it, you can see the interest and excitement in her eyes. She’s happy for him, but it breaks your heart that she feels that she can’t show it.

Jason Carver, captain of the basketball team and former Scoops Ahoy patron before Steve spilled ice cream all over his pants, runs out first. The crowd goes wild, but you don’t start cheering until you see Lucas. He’s smiling wide, proud to be a part of the team. You scream as loud as you can for him, he’s come so far since confessing to you about wanting to join the team earlier this year. As Jason starts his speech, dramatic as he always is, Lucas sees you in the bleachers and waves shyly, a blush creeping across his face. Then, seeing Max next to you, his confidence seems to grow as he waves more enthusiastically at her. 

The moment is sweet, it makes you smile. 

Except Max doesn’t wave back. She crosses her arms, pretends she hasn’t seen him, and your smile drops alongside Lucas’. 

You know they’ve been having some trouble recently. With Max pulling away more and more each day, Lucas struggled to hold onto the fading girl. Despite his pleas and reassurances, Max still seems to be icing him out. According to Dustin, they broke up almost a month ago now. 

But they’ve always had a tumultuous relationship, long before nightmares and monsters darkened everything. The news hadn’t worried you at first, you thought it was simply another one of their weekly breakups over something small, innocent. Afterall, they were just kids when they first started dating. Their breakups were always childish, though endearing, and always temporary. 

Now, you’re scared that this time it’s permanent. 

You’re not sure what that means for Max. She already has so few people left in her life to tether her. Billy died, her mother works two jobs and is never home anymore, El is in California, and you and Lucas are breaking skin trying to claw onto whatever small hold you have left of the girl.

Another loud cheer from the crowd breaks you from your thoughts. Jason must’ve just said something important, something worthy enough of a roaring reaction. He’s always been popular in Hawkins, Steve used to complain about him to you back when he was still on the team. But when Steve graduated and Billy died, Hawkins High had needed a new King to crown.

Jason Carver was more than happy to ascend the throne. 

“Chrissy, I love you, babe.” Everyone awes and you see Chrissy blow Jason a kiss. It’s sweet, you suppose. They fit together nicely, head cheerleader with the star of the basketball team, and they seem genuinely happy. Chrissy’s shy and kind demeanor balances Jason’s loud and charismatic boldness. They truly are a good match. 

“I think I can speak for all of us when I say it’s been a tough year for Hawkins.” Jason continues his speech, the room is eerily silent as everyone listens with baited breath. “So much loss…” The gym almost exhales simultaneously, remembering all the people who died last summer.

Your own breath exhales, and beside you Max tenses. Billy’s ghost floats through your minds, in through hers and out through yours. Hopper’s own ghost follows after him, only he doesn’t haunt Max the way he haunts you. He lingers over you, his final words to you engraved into your skin. 

You’re the best of them.

“And sometimes I wonder, how much loss can one community take?”

Enough to fill a mall of burning bodies, you think bitterly. 

Jason paces the gym’s floor now, he almost seems to glow before the crowd. He rambles on about needing something to believe in. That everyone should be doing something to honor all the lives lost in July, that playing basketball can absolve all the despair. As if it can bring them back.

Deep below your ribcage, nestled right underneath your scar and just in front of your stomach, rests a pit of anger that always simmers. You were born with it, it has always followed you. It has grown with you, the anger almost possessed your body when your dad left. Now, hearing Jason recite all the names of the ones who died that Fourth of July, the anger’s low simmer heats into a soft boil. 

You try to quell it. Jason means well, he’s only trying to uplift the community in a passionate, albeit uncomfortably pastor-y way. He’s only doing what he knows best; he’s being a leader. In another life, one where Demogorgons never harmed you, you think you would’ve really admired Jason and his resilience. 

“Think of Billy,” Your breath stills, yet your hand instinctively finds Max’s. She turns away from you, but the room is spinning and you can’t remember how to inhale. But Jason keeps going. “Think about our heroic police chief, Jim Hopper.”

Next to you, in your haze of grief and panic, you think you can feel Mike and Dustin shift uncomfortably. Grief sinks her claws into the kids, and you want nothing more than to puncture Jason’s lungs with them. 

This was supposed to be a pep rally for the Tigers, it was supposed to be joyous, an opportunity to bring Max out of her shell. To distract her from the hell that she calls her life. The entire school knows what happened to Billy, they know that he had a little sister named Max Mayfield.

You hate Jason Carver.

But you’re here for Lucas. Today is about him. He’s finally happy, he’s smiling again. The least you can do is swallow down the anger and grief and hope that you don’t end up choking on them later. That they don’t strangle you in your dreams.

“And now tonight, we’re gonna bring home the championship trophy!” Jason screams into the mic, erupting a volcanic roar from the stadium. People throw paper into the air, whistling and jumping up and down at the prospect of Hawkins High finally winning a championship.

“Tonight?” Dustin’s agonized exclamation causes you to jump. He looks at you, bewildered and panicked. “How is that possible?”

Your heart still hasn’t steadied from the surge of fury Jason evoked. Swallowing once again, you clear your throat and shake your head at your brother. “What, you guys didn’t know about the game tonight?”

“They call it a tournament,” Max explains for you, figuring you need some time to clear your head. You squeeze her hand appreciatively. “You win one game, you go on until there’s only one team left.”

Mike and Dustin exchange frightened looks, and you eye them suspiciously. “Did you guys really not know? I thought Steve explained all of this to you already. Why is it such a big deal, anyways? I mean–wait,” the boys won’t meet your gaze. They avoid facing you, Mike stuffs his hands into his pockets and Dustin pretends to read someone’s poster. 

You know the fearful look on their faces. It’s the same look Dustin gave you this morning when he ditched you to ride with Nancy and Mike. 

Goddamn Eddie Munson. 

“Oh, don’t you guys dare.” They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t fucking dream of missing one of Lucas’ games for a stupid club centered around some guy with enormous ego problems. “I swear to God, if you two skip the game tonight–”

“We won’t! I-I mean… Well. It’s, uh. It’s complicated” Dustin gulps, elbowing his way through the crowd of departing students as the pep rally ends. Mike follows, ready to step in at any moment, while Max slips away before you can stop her. Seeing how contorted your body is from anger, Dustin tries to appease you. “Look, I can’t promise anything, alright? Eddie is… Eddie.”

You’re about to scream some very choice words about that curly haired emo asshole, but Lucas intercepts the group and joins you guys. He looks between you, Mike, and Dustin, sensing some underlying tension. “What about Eddie?”

Mike quickly explains, and the more he talks, the more you want to shove your knives down Eddie’s throat. It’s one night, one goddamn night, and here Mike and Dustin are, almost shitting their pants at the idea of missing one Hellfire meeting to support their friend. While it’s unfortunate that all of this is happening on the same night, and though you recognize how long a campaign can take and how much the game means to the party, for once you can’t bring yourself to understand Dustin’s side. 

A championship game versus one single campaign meeting that can easily be done tomorrow instead.

Seems like a pretty easy decision to you. 

Lucas doesn’t understand why Mike and Dustin are so conflicted either. “I don’t get the big deal.” You’re all outside now, heading towards the main building for your classes. “Just talk to Eddie. Get him to move Hellfire to another night.”

You nod, agreeing with him, and Dustin rolls his eyes. “‘Just talk to Eddie.’”

“You can’t be serious right now,” your shoulder brushes harshly against the boy’s. You’re barely containing your anger right now. “Why does Eddie have such a strong hold over you guys? Hasn’t he repeated senior year twice now?”

“Why does that matter?” Mike looks at you as if you’re the scum of the earth that he just so happened to step on. “Why can’t Lucas just talk to his coach and get him to move the game?”

Dustin quips that he thinks Mike’s idea is a great one, but you shove between them and throw your hands in the air in annoyance. “You can’t possibly think that’s the same thing, right? A nationally organized game being postponed for a board game.”

Mike and Dustin both gasp at you, acting as if you’ve just threatened to kill a baby bunny in front of them, which only annoys you more. Sure, maybe you’re being a little mean right now, but you’re not appreciating how they’re treating Lucas. He’s never done anything to warrant this blatant disrespect from them. They’re refusing to see his side, too lost in their Eddie induced high. 

“DnD isn’t just a board game, Y/N! I’m honestly disappointed that you of all people would even say that. You’ve seen the intricacies of a campaign. You know I’ve spent all month now preparing for the end of Eddie’s campaign!” Dustin waves his hands in front of him, he’s in his own ecstasy of anger and annoyance, something innate in the Henderson bloodline. “A semester of adventuring has led to this moment, and we need Lucas.”

“Yeah, and the Tigers don’t.” Mike looks over at Lucas. “I mean, no offense, but you’ve been on the bench all year–shit!”

You swat the back of Mike’s head, the sound of his yelp satisfying and the sting of the hit soothes you. He looks at you, offended, and you just shake your head at him. “No, that was out of line and you know it.”

“One day I’m gonna be too tall for you to hit me, you know.” Mike scowls at you as he rubs his head. 

“And I’ll mourn the day when that happens,” you respond dryly before pointing at Lucas. “Now, apologize to him before I hit you again.”

Lucas lowers your finger and shakes his head. “It’s fine, Y/N. Me being on the bench isn’t the point, anyways.”

“Please, arrive at the point.” Your brother drops his head back and closes his eyes. He’s tired, he regrets even starting this conversation in the first place. The more the four of you talk, the angrier he can feel you become. Mike’s head may now be sore, but Dustin lives with you. If anyone here is in danger of your lecturing, it’s him.

“If I get in good with these guys, I’ll be in the popular crowd, and then you guys will be too.” Lucas explains, looking between Dustin and Mike as he urges them to understand, but they don’t. Mike claims that they don’t want to be popular, something that Lucas doesn’t believe. “What, you wanna be stuck with the nerds and freaks for three more years?”

“We are nerds and freaks!” Dustin exclaims, causing a few students in the hall to look at you guys. You wave at them awkwardly, you’re starting to regret following the boys. This conversation feels personal, like you shouldn’t be intruding. Though you think Lucas has every right to want a good high school experience, you also think Mike and Dustin deserve to have their own experiences as well. If they don’t want to be popular, then that’s their decision just as much as it’s Lucas’ to want to be. 

You step between the three boys, finally getting their attention. “Guys, no one here is necessarily right or wrong. Lucas has every right to want to be a part of the basketball crowd, and you two,” you raise your eyebrows at Mike and Dustin, “have every right to want to stick with Eddie’s crowd.”

Dustin sighs, “thanks, Y/N–”

“I’m not finished,” you hold a hand up and shush your brother. “What isn’t right, however, is abandoning one another. You guys are friends, and right now Lucas wants you at his game tonight to support him. Tonight is special, everyone will be there, and I want you guys there as well. I know high school is hard, but it’s even harder when you’re alone.”

“Says the girl who is adored by everyone in this shitty town.” Mike huffs, he can’t believe how hypocritical you’re being. “You’ve never had to deal with what we do. No one has ever laughed at you or tried to make you jump off a cliff just because you’re different.”

You clench your jaw. Dustin looks at you wearily, he doesn’t like what Mike is saying, but he also can’t help but agree with his friend. You haven’t ever been bullied. All your life you’ve blended in, stood out only when you were kind to others, admired for your selflessness, but never enough to be invited to parties or dumped behind a dumpster.

“Mike…” Your brother tries to pull him away from you, but you both stand your ground.

“You’re right, Wheeler. I don’t know what it’s like.” You stare up at the boy, and Mike’s expression softens only slightly. He’s just as stubborn as you are, it’s why the two of you admire the other so much. “But you forget that I’m Jonathan’s best friend. The creep, the loser, the psychopath. Kids may not have ever targeted me, but I’ve seen what they do to the people they hate.”

All the times you had to ice Jonathan’s bruised face. The nights you spent in his room holding him as he cried because Lonnie’s fists and Tommy’s cruel words were too much. The sneers, the stares Jonathan received because he was different. Quiet. Being your best friend hadn’t lessened the blows. 

For years you wish you could’ve done more for Jonathan. Now, presented with Lucas’ opportunity to befriend the crowd that once was so cruel to your friend, you refuse to lose it. “That’s why I don’t want Lucas skipping the game tonight.”

It’s silent for a few moments, all three boys don’t know what to say. Taking a deep breath, Lucas stands beside you and breaks the silence. “We came to high school wanting things to be different, right? Now we have that chance. Like Y/N said, if I skip tonight, that’s all out the window. So I’m asking you guys, as a friend, just talk to Eddie. Get him to move Hellfire.”

Lucas pauses, he wets his lips and looks between his friends again. He feels so small, pleading for their attention. “Come to my game. Please.”

The bell rings, ending the conversation, and Lucas spares one last look at Dustin and Mike before mumbling a soft goodbye to you. He leaves you alone with the boys, who in turn mirror conflicted expressions. 

“Shit!” Dustin kicks his foot out and looks at you. “This is all your fault, you know that?”

“What is?”

“Me having empathy. I hate this. Why couldn’t you have raised me to be an asshole?”

You snort at Dustin before pulling him into a weak hug. You only have a few more minutes before you need to get to class, you can’t stay very long, but you also don’t want to leave the boys without some semblance of comfort. “You’re too charming to be an asshole. Just… Come to the game, alright? Both of you. I’ll even make brownies if I have to. I just-I’ve missed you guys. This will be good for all of us.”

Mike ducks his head and Dustin sighs once more. Neither want to say anything else, so you reluctantly release your brother and leave them alone to wallow in their self-created misery. 

They’ll do the right thing. You’re sure of it.

– 

Lunch comes and Alex sits next to you. He started sitting with you at lunch just after winter break, and you’re endlessly grateful for him. You’re no longer alone, and he’s good company. A part of you regrets that it took the two of you three years to grow your friendship outside of Bookstrorindary. 

You’ll miss him when you graduate. 

Max is with Ms. Kelly today, a change in their usual meeting schedule of Tuesdays and Thursdays, meaning you had been right. She did skip their meeting yesterday and the counselor had to corner her this morning to schedule another one. 

“Be honest, how excited are you to move to New York this summer?” Alex asks you, taking a bite out of his carrot stick. You’ve come to learn that he has a weird obsession with the vegetable, always packing at least twelve of them every day. 

You pick at your own lunch, a wilted salad and sandwich your mom left for you this morning. “Honestly? It hasn’t really hit me yet. I mean, I only got in last week. I think my mind is still trying to catch up with reality.”

“Oh, c’mon. You can’t tell me you’re not at least a little excited.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh and nudge the boy. “I’m a little excited. I just.. Haven’t really had time to think too much about it, you know? Between work, my brother, Steve, the kids, and…”

“Jonathan?” Alex finishes for you. He’s the only one who knows about how distant Jonathan has been. You’ve confided in him about how worried you are, about the phone calls while he’s high and the way Jonathan’s voice no longer sounds like his. 

You shove your lunch away, no longer hungry. “Yeah.”

“You guys call every Friday, right? Maybe tonight will be different!” Alex tries to cut through the tension that now corrodes your demeanor, which you smile at him gratefully for. 

“Yeah, who knows.” A piece of hair falls in your face and you push it behind your ear. Picking up your fork again, you attempt to finish your meal, but a sudden commotion interrupts the low buzz in the lunchroom. 

“As long as you’re into band, or science, or parties.” Eddie Munson sneers from the cafeteria table he’s standing on. He looks around the room as if everyone else is beneath him. Not worth his time just because they enjoy different things. Looking at Alex, you both sigh and prepare for whatever Eddie has to say today. His voice grows louder, shouting across the room towards the basketball team’s table. “Or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!”

Jason stands up and a few students whoop and cheer. “You want something, freak?”

Eddie sticks to fingers up behind his head as he creates little devil horns, snarling with his tongue out and hissing. Jason grimaces, you do too. 

“He’s a little much, isn’t he?” You say to Alex, relieved when Eddie starts to step down from the table. 

“He terrifies me.” Alex breathes out, not taking his eyes off Eddie in fear he’ll somehow cast a spell on him.

You laugh at your friend’s unnecessary fear. Eddie is harmless, Hellfire isn’t a demonic cult like some students at Hawkins seem to think. It really is just a club centered around a board game with impressive storytelling and detailed plotlines. From what Dustin has told you, Eddie truly is the best dungeon master in Indiana. 

And while you believe him, you can’t wrap your head around why your brother idolizes Eddie so much. The fascination runs deeper than just DnD. Dustin has spent almost every day of his freshman year wrapped around Eddie’s finger. He spends all his time with the teen now, rarely with you, but you’re not bitter. Of course you’re not. Dustin can have his own friends, you know this, but you also feel so… unneeded. 

Your little brother doesn’t need you anymore, and it’s a hard pill to swallow.

Truthfully, Alex’s question earlier about moving to New York in the summer sparked more than just your usual anxiety over Jonathan. It also reminded you that in only a few short months you’ll be in an entirely new state, a new city, far away from Dustin. 

“Y/N!” Dustin flies into the seat next to you, nearly upending the table itself with how violently he throws himself down.

Alex shrieks and you steady the table before anything can fall. Heart pounding, you clutch at your chest as your nerves settle. “Why must you always be so violent?”

“Because it’s fun,” Dustin responds, not even bothering to acknowledge Alex’s presence. Instead, his eyes are only on you, and there’s a crazed spark in them. He’s breathing heavily, frantic, and you dread where this is going. “Look, I need to ask you a huge favor.”

“Do you realize that this is the first time you’ve sat with me at lunch since the first day?”

He winces. “And I will repent every day for my horrendous sins. I promise, I just–Jesus you’re terrifying when you don’t blink.” Dustin removes his hat to fix his hair, a nervous tick of his. He’s stalling, he should’ve never come here. Gulping, he rips the band aid off. “I need you to sub for Lucas tonight.”

“I’m sorry?” You’re giving him an out, one chance to back down before you strangle him.

Only Dustin tightens the noose even more. “Please, Y/N! Eddie won’t move the campaign. He said something about sheep and-and finding subs because Mike and I are, uh. I guess the future of Hellfire and he needs us and did I mention how important this campaign is? It’s super cool, super gory and totally up your alley and–”

“No.”

“N-no?” Dustin practically deflates in front of you, the light in his eyes dies. 

You shove him away from you, you don’t want to look at his pathetic pouting. You’re so unbelievably hurt right now, so fucking infuriated. “You have spent every goddamn waking hour ass kissing Eddie. You haven’t so much as looked at me during lunch this entire year as if I’m a fucking plague. You’ve canceled plans, you’re hardly ever home, and now you expect me to abandon Lucas, someone who has spent time with me this year, someone who has made this entire year less lonely for me. Something, by the way, that you haven’t even noticed, all because you finally need me?”

Dustin’s mouth opens and closes, he doesn’t know what to say, but for once you don’t care. How could he possibly think you’d miss Lucas’ game tonight? You adore the boys, each and every one of them, and now Dustin expects you to just abandon one of them for the others? 

“You’re only here because it’s convenient for you.” You hiss, venom pouring from your voice. “For Eddie.” 

“Y/N…” Dustin’s voice breaks, he sounds like a little kid again, the baby brother you doted on your entire life. “Please.”

“No!” You scream at him. 

The word echoes throughout the cafeteria. A few students turn to you, some curious, some annoyed. Alex draws into himself, wishing he were anywhere but here right now. Dustin’s eyes widen, his skin pales, and you clamp your hand over your mouth, completely and utterly mortified. 

You’ve never, ever yelled at Dustin like this before. Not with so much malice, vitriol. 

You feel like you’re twelve again, your anger hurting your baby brother. 

Red hot with embarrassment and shame, you quickly get up from the table and flee the cafeteria. Dustin calls after you, but you stumble through the hallway towards the nearest bathroom. Tears burn your eyes, guilt wracks your body in painful thuds. 

By the time you lock yourself in the bathroom’s stall, your sobs have begun to claw their way out of your throat. Pressing your back against the wall, you sink to the ground and pull your knees into your chest as you finally allow yourself to cry.

Abandonment makes you cruel. Your father taught you that.

– 

You don’t see Dustin for the rest of the day. He’s missing Lucas’ game and you’re angry with him for that, but you also feel such an intense guilt over your outburst. You can’t stomach the thought of seeing him. 

School ends and Steve drives you to work. The shift will be a short one due to the championship game, and Steve is staying with you so that you can drive to the game together. However, the moment you get into his car, he notices the dried tears on your face and the redness in your eyes and immediately throws his arms around you. In between shaky breaths and cries, you explain what happened to Steve.

He soothes you, tells you that you can always talk to Dustin after tonight’s game. Right now you and your brother need space from one another, and you hate that Steve’s right. You’ll force Dustin into a code blue, you’re long overdue for one, anyways. He’s been acting weird for weeks now. Someone has to give in, you know this, and if it has to be you then you’ll do anything to get your brother back. 

For now, Steve holds your hand as he guides you through the crowd of people in the bleachers. They all cheer for Hawkins High, the energy in the gym is electric. Faces are painted, cheerleaders wave their pom-poms, and you’re wearing Steve’s old Tigers jersey. You’re not much for school spirit, but Steve almost crashed the car when he realized you were wearing the jersey, and you know Lucas will appreciate it too.

“Y/N, over here.” Steve’s hand falls onto the small of your back as he gently pushes you towards some open seats he’s found. You lean into his touch and sit beside him. With his body against yours, you try to immerse yourself in the joy from the crowd. 

The entire town is here tonight. Everyone is smiling, kids laugh and parents wave posters for their sons. Tonight will be a good night, you’ve decided this to be true. 

The national anthem is announced and everyone rises in their seats. When the broadcaster announces that Tammy Thompson will be singing, you and Steve look at each other incredulously. Laughter rises within you and you cackle when Robin finds the two of you in the crowd. There’s no way this won’t end in disaster. 

Tammy walks out, wearing a horrendous faux cowboy outfit, and almost immediately sings off-key. You cringe, ears stinging from the attack, and try desperately not to let out any laughter as she continues to butcher the song. 

Steve whispers over to Robin, “told you. Muppet.”

“Okay, she does sound like a muppet.” Robin agrees, which only makes it harder to contain your giggles. Tammy is worse than a muppet, she sounds like a goddamn muppet that broke into her dad’s alcohol stash. 

“You sound better, angel.” Steve whispers into your ear, breath warm against your skin. 

You lean back against him and smile sarcastically. “Anyone can sound better than her.”

Steve chuckles and you can’t help but join him. You know it’s rude, that Tammy is honestly not that bad, though definitely not good enough for Nashville, but you can’t help it. You can’t believe Robin ever had such a huge crush on the girl who now drones the national anthem like a dying parrot. 

In between breaths of laughter, you see Lucas looking up at the bleachers. His face is grim, he doesn’t see Mike or Dustin or Max. None of his friends showed up, and you watch him with sympathy. You can’t believe them. 

But then Lucas sees you, and he gives you a weak smile. Your attendance isn’t enough, you know it isn’t, but you hold up the poster you made for him and he laughs despite himself. 

The game starts, and from the moment the whistle is blown, it’s intense. The Tigers are neck and neck with the Falcons. Steve tries to explain what’s happening throughout the game, but it all goes over your head. The energy in the room is intoxicating, though. You lean forward in your seat, you cheer when everyone else does, boo when you think you should.

“Carver just loves hogging the spotlight, doesn’t he?” Steve says with disdain as he watches Jason side sweep his teammates to score. 

You poke his side, you know he’s only saying this because he’s still bitter that Jaosn tried asking you out last summer. “Honey, your jealousy is showing.” 

Steve tries to deny this, but then a player gets injured during a foul from Falcon, causing you and Steve to both spew insults at the player. You have no idea what the foul even is, but you’re enjoying the chaos of the game.

In the midst of your uproar, you almost miss Lucas being sent into the game. You slap Steve’s chest repeatedly to get his attention, you almost don’t believe what you’re seeing. “Steve! Is that–”

“Sinclair!” He whoops, but he quickly scrambles to catch you as you nearly throw yourself off the bleachers in your blind excitement cheering. You’re screaming your head off, hardly even registering Steve’s hands on your waist. You’re incoherent and ecstatic, drunk on adrenaline. 

Lucas is playing.

The game only gets more brutal from there. The points even out, both teams neck and neck. Anxious, you squeeze Steve’s hand with anticipation. Everything happens so fast, Lucas plays so naturally with the others, as if he was born to be there. 

“Go, Tigers!” You jump up and down as Lucas runs after Jason. They’re doing a new play, attempting to score the tie breaker. Jason shoots, the ball hits off the backboard and onto the rim. Your breath catches, there’s only three seconds left on the clock. The ball falls, and there isn’t any time left.

Until Lucas catches the missed shot. He dribbles the ball, you clutch Steve’s hand, neither one of you utters a single word as Lucas makes the final shot. It’s an all or nothing throw, a risk, but he takes it anyways. The ball soars through the air, hits the rim. The buzzer sounds, the game is over, and the ball spins around the rim before finally sinking through the net.

Your chest burns as you violently cheer, Steve flings himself into your arms. You’re both jumping around, screaming together like little kids. “Hey did it!” You scream, and Steve shakes you in his arms with the biggest smile on his face.

“Sinclair did it!”

Down below, Lucas’ face lights up as the crowd goes wild for him. This is the happiest you’ve seen the kid in so long. The entire basketball team swarms Lucas, they lift him into the air and you cheer alongside them.

Steve tells you he’ll go warm the car up and you practically run outside to find Lucas as soon as the game is done. Your body buzzes, you’re still breathless with exhilaration. When you find Lucas, he’s just left the crowd of teenage boys. Wanting to surprise him, you creep up slowly before throwing your arms from behind him. “There’s the star!”

He stumbles from your weight, but he knows it’s you. Laughing, he turns around and you pull him into a bone crushing hug. “You came!”

“Of course I did, you moron!” You giggle, pulling away to straighten his jacket. “I made you a poster and everything.”

Lucas looks down at the poster that hangs by your side. His eyes light up, he remembers seeing it in the stands at the beginning of the game, but he hadn’t been able to read it from so far away. “Can I see it?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t want to see it.” You unroll the poster and present it with a grand flourish. “Tada!” 

Sin to win, Sinclair!

You’re incredibly proud of the wordplay, and Lucas chuckles. It’s good, he has to admit. You’ve left no white space on the poster, littering with small 8’s for his jersey and millions of small stickers and decorations. The poster was made with love, and Lucas knows you spent hours making it.

“I love it, Y/N.” He does. It will hang on his wall as soon as he gets home.

You beam at him. Then, from behind you, you hear your brother’s own cheers as a door opens. Lucas’ smile fades, hurt creeps upon his face. Frowning, you turn and find Dustin and Mike high fiving their Hellfire friends as they all celebrate the end of their campaign. Erica is with them, cheering with everyone else. 

“Lucas…” Your breath gives out. He doesn’t deserve this. Tonight was supposed to be his night. You turn to him, wracking your brain to try and figure out what you’re even supposed to say at this moment. Fifty feet away Lucas’ close friends are celebrating a night without him, his sister overjoyed as well. They’ve forgotten about him.

For once, you can’t find the right words to say.

“Thanks for the poster, Y/N.” Lucas doesn’t want your sympathy. He leaves, crestfallen, and you’re left standing alone holding the poster he had been praising seconds ago. The late March air chills your bones. 

You’ve never been so disappointed in your brother before.

– 

Steve drives you home and you’re silent the entire time. 

“Dustin isn’t a bad kid, Y/N. You know that.” Steve tries to reason with you, but what your brother has done tonight leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. “I’m sure by tomorrow he’ll realize he was a jerk and apologize. He always does, he’s just being a stupid teen boy right now.”

You face the window, watching the trees fading into the distance. You know Steve is right, you know that Dustin is still growing up, making mistakes. Hell, no one is perfect at fifteen. When you were his age you were falling in love with your best friend as you hunted monsters together. Neither you or Jonathan or Nancy knew what the hell you guys were doing back then.

But this is different. Dustin has never betrayed his friends like this before. He, out of all of them, should understand the pain of being left behind. He spent half the summer upset that the party ditched him, and now he’s ditching Lucas?

“You know, I used to be a stupid teen boy.” Steve says, trying again to get you to say something. To look at him, at least.

It works, a small smile turns your lips. “I never knew.”

He laughs at the sarcasm in your voice, but he plays along anyways. “Oh, I totally was. I just hid it really well by, you know, making you hate me for a while by being annoying. But hey, look at me now! I’m still annoying, but at least I have it all figured out with you.”

“And what do you have figured out, honey?” You turn your head towards him, watch the street lamps illuminate his face.

Steve smiles. “Us. Our future. Sure, I may not know if I’ll ever get a better job, but I’m sure as shit staying with you, starting a life together so that I can annoy you for all eternity.”

“How romantic,” a giggle falls from your lips. You’ve been with Steve for nearly a year now, but you haven’t really talked about the future yet. At least not so intimately, with so much assurance that in the end it’ll be the two of you. “And where will we live, Romeo?”

“New York, obviously. As soon as you graduate, we’ll find some horrible, run down apartment that’s barely big enough for two people. We’ll move in, but there won’t be any air conditioning so we’ll almost murder each other in the heat. Everyone will hate the place, but we’ll love it.”

As Steve talks, the smile that had once been on your face begins to fade. He rambles on, not noticing the shift. He dreams up the plans, how he’ll stay home while you go to class. How he’ll fix the leaky faucet that will inevitably annoy everyone. Steve envisions himself waiting for you to come home after a long day of classes and falling into his arms. 

“Steve–” But he doesn’t hear you. He’s busy explaining how he’ll probably have to sell his car to afford the apartment, but that he doesn’t care, and you feel sick. It’s too much, he’s giving up too much. He’s willing to give up his entire life for you, drop everything and follow you without any questions asked. 

It’s what your mother did for your father. They met in college, both attending Purdue. Their relationship had been a whirlwind. Love at first sight, married as soon as they graduated, your father convinced your mom to follow him back to Virginia. To abandon her family and move two states over while pregnant with you. She didn’t know anyone in Virginia, her father moved them to a small town where only his name was known. 

The divorce that followed twelve years later ruined your mother’s life. She had been left all alone, no family to support her, no friends, in a state she never grew up in.

And now Steve wants to do the same for you.

Raising your voice slightly, you try to interrupt him again. “Steve!”

“What?” He looks over at you, words finally dying. “Do you want to keep the car?”

“You… you can’t.” 

Steve frowns. “I can’t what?”

Your hands shake. Your heart trembles. Your words die in your throat. There’s so much you want to say, you can feel the pit in your stomach build into a fist. You can’t let Steve do this. He doesn’t understand that he deserves more than this. “You-you can’t come to New York.”

Everything stills. You don’t dare to breathe, to disrupt the silence. Your words come out all wrong, you know they do, but they’re out in the open and Steve doesn’t look at you as he pulls into your driveway. Silent, he turns the car’s engine off.

“Y/N…” Steve still can’t look at you. He places his hands on the steering wheel, as if bracing himself for whatever will unfold tonight. He’s scared, he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. His mind flashes, and for a brief second he’s back at the Halloween party and you’re Nancy in his passenger seat. “Do you not see a future with me?”

“I do!” You sit up in your seat, reach over to touch Steve’s thigh. You need to feel him, to ground yourself to him. Everything about this feels wrong. As if you’re hanging over the edge of a chasm with a long, long fall. “God, of course I see a future with you, I just-this isn’t what you really want.”

Steve doesn’t want to move to New York, even if he doesn’t realize it now. What he’s really doing is chasing after a dream that isn’t his. The timing of this is off, he fought with his dad this morning about a future he was unsure of. You know Steve, maybe even better than he knows himself; he’s not doing it for your relationship or out of love. Steve only wants to appease his father, fulfill whatever desire he thinks you have. This isn’t what he wants, and he’s worked too hard to build the life he has now, without you, to simply throw it all away.

But he can’t see that right now.

“Of course this is what I want, Y/N! All I want is you.” Steve finally looks at you, but there’s a hardness in his eyes. He’s detaching himself from you, putting his walls up. “You and me, that’s what I want.”

You grab his hand, you try to keep your voice calm. “Steve, I love you so, so much, but I can’t-I can’t let you give everything up for me. Your life is here, in Hawkins. You have a job, you have your friends and-and your family, and it wouldn’t be fair to either one of us if you abandon it for me. You could-you could resent me for it later, you could realize you hate our life and wish you never followed me and–”

“Y/N, what did you think was going to happen when you were applying to all those colleges?” Steve runs a hand through his hair, he thought you were beside him this whole time. He assumed you’d been carving out the same future he had been. But he was wrong. “Did you really think I’d just stay behind and wait for you to come home every break?”

“I…” Shamefully, you hadn't been considering what would happen between you and Steve. In your mind, he was your future, he was in it, but the details were hazy. You weren’t sure how, or why, or when, but you knew that in the end, Steve was the person you’d spend forever with. 

Steve takes your hesitancy as his answer. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Steve–”

“You were just going to leave me.”

He tears his hand from yours and you blink back tears. You’ve never fought with him before, not like this. “I wasn’t just going to leave you! I just-Steve, please just listen!”

“I am, Y/N!” Steve exclaims, voice reverberating the car. You flinch away, and he immediately lowers his voice, apologetic. He hadn’t meant to scare you, he hadn’t meant to make you cry. Ashamed, Steve turns away from you. “I-I’m sorry.” 

He wants to wipe the tears he’s caused, but selfishly he also wants you to hurt like he’s hurting. You don’t see a future with Steve. You were going to leave him just like everyone else does. 

Steve should’ve known all of this was too good to be true. 

“I love you,” your voice is almost inaudible, the three words barely reach the light before they disappear into the dark night. You’re not sure why you say them, the words had built in your chest, the pressure heavy, and you needed to release them. To remind Steve of your oath to him. 

Silence fills the car. Steve doesn’t look at you, his shoulders are drawn together. His jaw clenches and you know he’s trying desperately to bite his tongue, withholding the cruel words that only heartbreak can provoke. 

“Honey,” you beg him to say something, anything. “Steve.”

“I think you should go.”

The dismissal punches your throat, knocks the wind out of you. He’s shutting you out, closing himself off from you, and you don’t understand how the two of you got here. “I… Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Steve’s words are cool, composed. Indifferent, almost. He still doesn’t look at you, his eyes remain focused on something in your driveway. “It’s late, you should get some sleep.”

“Okay,” you don’t want to leave, you know it isn’t good to go to bed angry with the one you love. Anger should never simmer, it should never be left unwatched. But Steve is silently asking you to give him space so that he can hurt, and you aren’t selfish enough to deny his request. And yet you’re selfish enough to press your lips to Steve’s cheek, but he doesn’t lean in like how normally does. Instead, he remains stoic, and you swallow down your tears and open the door to leave. “Drive home safe, honey.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he starts the car as soon as the door is closed and drives away. He doesn't look back, he doesn’t wait to see if you’ve made it inside your house safely. 

Tears spill down your face as you blindly walk towards your front door. Your argument with Steve replays over and over again in your head. You analyze every second, every word, you try to understand when everything fell apart. 

It’s dark in your home, your mother is asleep and Dustin’s door is closed, but right now all you want is your brother. You need to talk to him, cry into his shoulder and smell the shampoo he’s used ever since he was a baby. Your feet carry you to Dustin’s room and you pound on his door, begging him to let you in. You don’t bother masking the tears in your voice, you’re too exhausted to hide them from him. “Dustin, please let me in.”

“Go away!” There’s a thud on the door, he’s thrown something at it to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear some stupid lecture right now. He knows he was an asshole tonight, he regrets it, but right now all Dustin wants to do is sleep. He’ll deal with you tomorrow. 

“Code blue,” you press your forehead against the door, your tears fall to the ground. “C-code blue.” Your voice hiccups, more tears come, minutes pass, and your brother never answers.

For the first time since you were kids, Dustin rejects your request for a code blue. 

The phone rings. The sound pierces through your ears, cuts through the headache that is starting to form. It’s Friday night. Jonathan is calling. 

Squeezing your eyes shut as you head pounds, you inhale shakily. You have to answer him, otherwise he’ll only call over and over again with concern. You’ve never missed a phone call, not once in the months since Jonathan has moved, but tonight you’re exhausted. 

“Can we call tomorrow?” You’re too tired to greet him and voice cracks, revealing far too much already.

“Bug?” Jonathan’s high, he’s always high. And yet even in his cloudy haze of smoke he can hear the anguish in your voice. “Is everythin’ okay?”

His question only makes you cry more. You’ve always tried your best to put up a front for others, to pretend that everything is okay. You’ve never wanted to worry people, you’ve always pushed aside your own hurt for the sake of others. Now, as anger and grief and despair clasp their hands around your throat, you’re terrified you’ll suffocate. 

You’ve never been able to lie to Jonathan, and tonight you don’t think you can. “I’ve had… the worst night.” You confess to him, wiping away tears.

You tell him everything, your fight with Dustin, how you think he may resent you leaving for college. You tell Jonathan about Lucas, how you were so disappointed in Dustin and Mike. Choking through tears, you explain to Jonathan your fight with Steve. How your words failed you, how hurt he looked, that you can’t explain to him how he only wants his future to align with yours, but not with your relationship. 

Even though you know that Jonathan won’t remember any of this tomorrow, for once you’re grateful that he’s too high to remember anything. It feels good just being able to say it all out loud. 

“‘M sorry, bug.” Jonathan mumbles over the phone once you’ve finished explaining everything. He sounds far away, figuratively and literally. You can’t imagine how much his drugged mind retained, but you’re thankful to have gotten it all off your chest anyways. 

“It’s fine,” you inhale again, you’ve finally stopped crying, though your chest still hurts and your head still pounds. “Steve and I… We’ll figure it out.”

Jonathan pauses, and for a moment you think he’s fallen asleep, but then his voice floats through the telephone line. “Do you.. Do you ever wonder if we’ve made a mistake?”

He strings his words slowly together, says them one by one with a hesitancy, and you frown. You don’t understand what he’s trying to say. What mistakes could you have made together? “What do you mean, bee?”

“I just… everythin’ is so hard. With Nance. Feel like… like ‘m never enough for her. And you, Steve. ‘S hard between you guys.” Jonathan’s words slur, he’s almost too incoherent to understand, and later you will wish that you hadn’t been able to understand him at all. “But you ‘n me? ‘S easy. Always so easy.”

His words toe the line between you, he can’t mean any of it. You don’t want him to mean any of it, because then the fallout would be too catastrophic to contain.

He’s Jonathan. Your oldest, dearest friend. Your best friend. Years ago, you could’ve been something more, you almost were something more, but the time has passed. 

You’re with Steve now, you’re happy and so, so in love with him. Even though everything is tangled between you right now, even though you’re fighting, you know that you and Steve will figure it out. He’s the one. He’s the man you want to marry one day, if he’ll allow you to. 

Jonathan is your past, Steve is your future, and right now you’re terrified that soon you’ll lose them both.

“Jonathan,” you finally say, his name now heavy on your tongue. It feels like you’re betraying someone while saying his name, but you need to end this conversation. Before Jonathan says something he’ll regret in the morning. “You love Nancy, I love Steve, and you need to go to sleep.”

“Love you,” Jonathan’s words slur even more, his voice drifting off. “You, always you…”

You slam the phone done, ending the call, as a chill runs down your spine. Silence encases you, the house is still. The strings and threads from years ago constrict around your throat. You choke on the lines Jonathan has crossed tonight, the tightness in your head stabs against your skull. 

There is no one to hear you, no one there to hear your final words to your best friend. “Goodbye, Jonathan.”

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ i am no longer doing a taglist, my apologies ! however, please feel free to like, reblog, and comment instead :)

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕

Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin. 

   You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that. 

   Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight. 

   Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving. 

   Live. 

   Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason. 

   Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…

   That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel. 

   You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.

   You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush. 

   Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.

   Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity. 

   Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore. 

   You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope. 

   And that something is Joel.

   You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words. 

   Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try. 

   The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad. 

   They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop. 

   But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…

   You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent. 

   You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been. 

   You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you. 

   It’s too fucking much.

   Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before. 

   Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle. 

   Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight. 

   Holy shit. 

   Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace. 

   This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind. 

   You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything. 

   You could get lost in here.

   Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”

   When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm. 

   He’s warm. 

   “These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book. 

   “All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now. 

   “This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days. 

   He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost. 

   “You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into. 

   “I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable. 

   A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”

   “Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.

   “Really,” he nods with a smile.

   “Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”

   “Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.” 

   You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.

   Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window. 

   “Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.

   “Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.

   “You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room. 

   “I used to. A long time ago.”

   You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.

   He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.

   “Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind. 

   “‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind. 

   He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories. 

   “Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up. 

   His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest. 

   He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”

   When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar. 

   There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what. 

   Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”

   “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

   He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop. 

   This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask. 

   Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.

   When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.

   Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day. 

   Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.” 

   You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”

   He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets. 

   Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”

   “Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you. 

   You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”

   You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you. 

   Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”

   “Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.” 

   “Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.

   “Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips. 

   And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store. 

   You can do this. Fight the fear. 

   Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”

   Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself. 

   You can do this. 

   Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second. 

   The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine. 

   “Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.

   “Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.

   “That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public. 

   “You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song. 

   “Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.

   The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”

   “Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater. 

   “Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.

   You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”

   The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.

   “I’ll take you back.”

   Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…

   “What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face. 

   He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”

   You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…

   “Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.

   He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.

   “Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. 

   He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”

   “Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.

   “What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”

   You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”

   “‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”

   And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”

   He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”

   You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters? 

   “There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met. 

   He thinks you’re important. 

   “Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart. 

   He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.

   It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.

   You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”

   “What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

   The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose? 

   “They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”

   His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”

   You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it. 

   You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”

   “Is he still…”

   “He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”

   The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave. 

   He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.  

   “That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”

   You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this… 

   Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”

   It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. 

   His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”

   You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day. 

   You don’t have to be alone anymore. 

   The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you. 

   He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…

   After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot. 

   The parking lot…

   It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…

   “Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

   It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone. 

   You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.

   “N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death. 

   You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go. 

   Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot. 

   Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”

   “Joel… I…”

   “Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing. 

   “That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you. 

   “I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish. 

   You’re pathetic.

   “S’alright, sweetheart. M���right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are. 

   But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…

   You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat. 

   Warm. He’s so warm. 

   After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”

   He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”

   He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”

   He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.

   You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.

   As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”

   “Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”

   Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.

   “Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind. 

   As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”

   You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace. 

   Warm. He’s so warm.

   You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom. 

   So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.

   “Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.

   He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”

   “Mhm,” you hum back.

   A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now. 

   “Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel. 

   “Joel…” you reply back leery. 

   “You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.

   You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”

   He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.

   When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”

   You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.

   You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.

   “Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time. 

   You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home. 

   “There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears. 

   Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”

   It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.

   “You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

   “Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down. 

   “See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return. 

   When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember. 

   “I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.

   “That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”

   You’re so brave. He called you brave.

   The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems. 

   You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him. 

   “Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.

   Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”

   “Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”

   “You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.

   “Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

   “Okay,” you whisper.

   You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.

   When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.

   Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”

   You can do this. 

   Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.

   “Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.

   “Always.”

   You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist. 

   Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still. 

   “You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you. 

   “Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him. 

   “Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”

   You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes. 

   “Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”

   “Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again. 

   He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.

   “No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.

   “Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.

   “Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.

   “Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”

   Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.

   “Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.

   “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”

   You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue. 

   I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know. 

   Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds. 

   He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.

   The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are. 

   At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries. 

   He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first. 

   He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.

   You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one. 

   Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.  

   Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.

   With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth. 

   Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving. 

   Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”

   You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you. 

   Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get. 

   What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay. 

   Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want. 

   When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind. 

   A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that. 

   Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh. 

   “Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”

   You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”

   “No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. 

   “Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”

   Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?” 

   Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”

   He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”

   He’s proud of you.

   “I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”

   He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”

   “Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body. 

   It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”

   Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

   When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows. 

   “Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.

   “Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.

   “Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment. 

   It looks better on you. 

   You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body. 

   He gave you his flannel.

   Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?” 

   “Ice cream?”

   “Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.

   “Whatever for?” you giggle.

   “Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.

   “Well, yes. But…”

   “I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”

   You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”

   “The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is. 

   You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man? 

   “What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does. 

   No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.

   “You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”

   “And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.

   “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”

   He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

   “You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”

   Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.

   He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.

   “I’d love some ice cream.”

   “Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window. 

   “Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.

   “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

   “I think you’d like it,” you chirp.

   He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”

   “Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”

   He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”

   As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.

Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra

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@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie

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@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b

@valkyreally @northennlights

[fangirl-writes]

A Surprise Guest

Angela Giarratana x GN!Reader

Warning(s): none

Notes: I loved writing this one it totally flowed out of me. I hope y'all like it!

Summary: You make a surprise appearance in Smosh's newest video and Angela can't handle it.

You first met Angela on a Starkid set and hit it off immediately.

The connection felt strong, bouncing jokes and jabs off each other with ease. It was only natural the friendship would eventually blossom into something more.

You were around when Angela got cast at Smosh. It was the happiest you'd ever seen her, and she hugged you so tightly when she found out.

You watched her continue to do roles in Starkid and practically glowed with pride.

Everything was perfect.

Until your job decided to move you to a different state.

"You have to leave California?" She asked, nearly in tears.

You weren't much better, blinking them away. But this wouldn't be the end. You wouldn't let her go.

So, long distance it was.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, long distance relationships are hard.

She’d have to send you her schedule so you knew when to call, communicating mostly in texts and Snapchats.

You hadn’t seen each other in person in months and it was starting to wear on you both.

And then your Indeed profile dinged.

A job you’d applied for, that was in LA, was offering you an interview.

You were ecstatic, rushing to your phone to tell Angela but you stopped.

Oh, this could be fun.

Instead of pressing Angela’s contact, you hit Amanda’s.

“Y/N!” She greeted cheerily. “Angela’s on set.”

“That’s okay, you got a minute? I’m plotting.”

“Ooh, I love plotting, can we get Courtney in on this?” She asked.

You laughed. “Sure.”

So the three of you orchestrated a plot.

You scheduled your interview for late morning, when Angela would be at work, and you could fly in early morning.

Once your interview was over, you’d sneak over to Smosh headquarters and be snuck onto a set to surprise Angela.

The interview went well, you left feeling confident and eager to hear from them. But you were buzzing with anticipation to see your girlfriend.

Amanda met you at the door, letting you in and hurrying you towards the set.

It was a TNTL.

Which was perfect.

Amanda went in first, making sure Angela couldn’t see you.

She motioned for you to follow and you did, sneaking in and hiding behind some crew members.

Shayne, who was directing, noticed you and smiled.

“I think Angela should go next,” he said when it was time to change the hot seat.

Angela gave him a weird, confused look but agreed anyway.

You made sure not to move too much, but Amanda was still there, standing just enough in front of you that Angela wouldn’t be able to see you.

Each person went through: Keith, Noah, Damien, Tommy, and then it was Courtney’s turn.

“Close your eyes,” she said from behind the divider.

Angela did as she was told, mouth full of water.

Courtney gestured for you to come on set and you hurried up there, standing on Angela’s right side with Courtney on the left.

“Okay, open your eyes,” she said.

Angela did, looking at Courtney, confused by her lack of bit or costume, and then she noticed the second presence next to her.

She turned her head.

“Hi, babe.”

The water went everywhere. Spraying out of her mouth like a faucet.

“What the *beep*” she said.

Everyone laughed as Angela got up and almost tackled you in a hug.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she said.

“Everyone meet Angela’s partner, Y/N!” Shayne said through laughter.

“Did all you f***ers know about this?” Angela said, eyeing everyone in the room who made general confirmations.

You laughed. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“I’m surprised! I’m surprised!” She said. “Oh my god.”

“You can blame me and Amanda, we put the whole thing together with Y/N,” Courtney said.

“I don’t know whether to love you or hate you,” Angela said through near tears.

You hugged her tightly, but they had to finish the shoot so you went back to your seat to watch them.

This was your first time watching a Smosh shoot, first time having been at Smosh in general.

You watched the content, of course, but being there was a whole other thing. It was honestly amazing.

When it was over, Angela made a beeline for you, kissing you.

“I’m so glad you’re here but did you just come to surprise me?” She asked.

You smiled. “Well, yes, but I also had an interview today.”

“Here?” She asked, stars in her eyes.

“Yes. And I’m feeling good about it.”

She squealed, hugging you again and you laughed.

“I love you!” She said.

“I love you, too,” you replied.

[xxchumanixx]

Hey can you do one where reader (reader is Nyla rookie) is secretly engaged to Tim and Nyla starts to ask the reader questions about who she’s engaged to because the reader forgot to take her ring off before she got to work, and it’s plain clothes day and reader pulls Tim over on his day off because he was speeding ( he was doing something for his sister) and Nyla doesn’t know that is was Tim in the car until the next day when he comes back to work and Nyla and Angela starts to put two and two together

Elephant in the room

Tim Bradford x fiance!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, a little angst

Word count: tba

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! It was really fun to write and I hope you'll like it!

Enjoy!

She just wouldn't stop.

Ever since she saw the glittery and shiny engagement ring on your finger - of course it had to be one, 'cause it was just so shiny - she wouldn't stop asking questions.

Asking questions was an understatement, though - for someone who barely talked about her private life herself, she was really good at squeezing every bit of information out of you.

You had forgotten to take if off before heading to work, not even noticing until it was too late.

It was plain clothes day, she wasn't even supposed to talk, yet Nyla freakin' Harper wouldn't shut up.

Jaw clenched you tried to ignore her, until she threatened to make you fail.

"Wait what?" you almost screeched, parking at a sidewalk to turn towards her in your seat. She was smirking to herself, a shit eating grin that told you 'I have your future in my hands'.

And damn it, she had.

"I'm engaged." you pressed out through clenched teeth, trying to act nonchalant about it with a shrug of your shoulders.

"Do I know him?" she pressed further, and you bit your cheek.

She in fact did know him, but you would never tell her. At least not now, not when you were still her rookie, having promised Grey and Tim not to talk about it, until your training was done.

Which it would be in two weeks.

But the look she was giving you, gave you the sense of feeling that she'd give you a hard time, until you'd finally crack and tell her.

Which you couldn't.

Damn it.

Her brows rose, urging you to answer her question.

"No...?" you answered vaguely, and her head tilted with a pointed look. She didn't believe you for a second.

To be honest, you wouldn't have either.

"Do I?" she questioned, leaning closer. She tried to analyze you, see if you were lying to her.

"I mean, maybe you've met him at a grocery store, who knows?" you tried to shrug it off, heart racing in your chest, threatening to burst out of it any moment, at the look she was giving you.

If she wouldn't have been your TO, she would have made a good friend - whom you might have told, but she wasn't.

Yet, you hoped. She was a great person, and you could only hope to stay on her good side for the rest of your days.

"Mhhmmm..." she made, the sound drawn out, as she leaned back in her seat. "Maybe."

You breathed a sigh of relief inwardly, as someone sped past you on the otherwise quiet street.

Huffing to yourself, you turned on the siren, following the car as you motioned for them to turn over, though thankful for the distraction.

Only then did you notice what car it was - or rather whose.

Cursing under your breath, you had no other choice than to get out of the car now.

Approaching the car you were grateful it was plain clothes day, which meant that Nyla was staying near the shop, not having any sight into the car.

"Hello, do you know why I pulled you over?" you greeted, silently pleading he wouldn't act strange now.

"Driving too fast?" he guessed and you huffed to yourself again, biting your lip to stifle a laugh.

Never would you have thought you'd pull your own fiancé over.

Nodding, you took a step closer, almost crossing the line of getting too close; trying to ignore Nyla's boring gaze for the moment.

"Where are you heading to?" you asked, brows furrowed. "Everything okay?" He nodded at your second question, sending you a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, baby. Was heading to my sister's, she needs something done in her new house, but she has to work in an hour." he explained, biting his lip.

His sister had just recently moved to LA, after divorcing her now ex-husband.

"Tim, you know you should stick to the speed limit, even if you're late!" you quietly scolded him, brows drawn together. "What about being a good cop and all?"

He sighed, chuckling under his breath at your words and you couldn't help but split a smile as well, before clearing your throat, suddenly aware again, that Nyla was watching you.

"I'll let you go this time, sir, but please try and not drive too fast again." you spoke louder, knowing she'd hear.

He laughed quietly at that, blowing you a kiss.

"I love you." he told you, sending you a smile. "Thank you."

You nodded, smiling back. "Love you too. See you later."

Patting the rolled down window, you bid him goodbye, watching as he drove away.

When you returned, Nyla looked at you suspiciously. She knew the car, it seemed oddly familar, but she just couldn't place where from. Your behavior though, she was able to place.

"That your fiancé?" she shot straight to the point, as you two climbed back into the shop. Swallowing, you took a deep breath, stalling.

"Yep." you then announced, fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel. She hummed, nodding. "Well then, good you didn't give him a ticket." she mused, brows wiggling. "Who knows, maybe he wouldn't want to marry you anymore if you did?"

Rolling your eyes, you started the shop, shaking your head with a smile.

She really was one of a kind.

_____

"Oh my freakin' sweet Jesus!" Nyla exclaimed quietly, eyes wide as she stared at the car that was parked a few feet away.

It was the same you had pulled over yesterday.

Angela, who was walking beside her, stopped as Nyla did, confusion etched into her features.

"What's up with you?" she wanted to know, stiffling a yawn, not feeling quiet ready for a demanding conversation at this unholy hour in the morning.

"When I was on shift with Y/L/N yesterday, she told me she's engaged. Pulled that car over and guess what: it was the fiancé she refuses to tell me the identity off!"

Angela's eyes widened, nearly dropping her coffee as she stared at Nyla, who's brows knitted together at her look.

"That's Bradford's car!" Angela exclaimed in a hushed whisper, suddenly wide awake. Nyla's eyes could have competed with dinner plates at the size they became at the information.

And realization.

Tim Bradford was your fiancé.

Your fiancé was Tim motherfucking Bradford.

Nyla's mouth opened and closed like a fish's, not quiet grasping the words she was searching for, as her eyes went back to the truck.

No fucking way.

"That little-!" she exclaimed, staring at Angela in shock.

She was as equally as shocked as her friend, though she soon started to grin. "Who would have imagined?" she quipped, taking a sip of her coffee.

Nyla's head shook, still trying to wrap her mind around the information.

Oh, you were definitely in for something.

And you were.

You should have known something was up, when Nyla brought you a coffee, even smiling at you like she did when she was pregnant and couldn't control her hormones, scaring everyone.

You really should have known.

Especially when she offered to drive.

"Had a nice evening yesterday?" she asked with a smile. "After pulling over your own fiancé?"

She chuckled heartily at that, and that's what should have made you jump out of the shop, take your legs in your hands and run for your dear life.

Yet you were dumb enough to step right into her trap.

"Yeah, he wasn't mad, said he was glad I didn't spare him just because he was my fiancé and pulled him over nonetheless."

She hummed to herself in agreement, nodding along to it.

"And what did he say was the reason he was breaking the speed limit?"

Your brows furrowed, but you didn't question her. "Wanted to help his sister fix something over at her new house. She just moved here."

Nyla nodded again, lips pursed.

"Bradford's nice to help his little sister that much."

You stiffened at her words, thoughts crashing to a halt. She caught you - but how?

She smirked to herself, a dangerous one that told you not to lie to her now, or else you would regret it for the rest of your life.

Biting your lip, you sank further into your seat with your cheeks ablaze, praying the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

"I mean I get it." she spoke, eyes fixed on the street. "But lying to your TO? Nuh-uh."

"I'm sorry." you apologized, gaze fixed on your entwined hands, that started to sweat profusely. "But I had to promise Tim and Grey not to tell anyone."

She huffed, chuckling under her breath.

"Well, I'm a detective - and a good one." she told you, sending you a pointed look. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

That she only did with Angela's help, she didn't mention. She wanted to see you suffer, at least a little bit. That didn't mean she wasn't happy for you, though.

You were a lucky one with Tim Bradford as your soon to be husband.

"I expect an invitation for the wedding, of course."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed.

"Please, as if you wouldn't have been invited anyways." you retorted, sending her a pointed look.

She smiled at that, failing to hide it.

"Good."

_____

"Harper knows."

"Angela knows."

"Wait, what?" you both made, brows furrowed.

"Oh my, really should have expected it." you sighed, shaking your head. "Somehow, Nyla found out about it. I bet her and Angela did together."

Tim nodded at that, biting his lip. "Figured."

Sighing, you took off your jacket, before hanging it on the clothing rack. You didn't even get to greet him properly, having to get the news off your chest first.

He crossed the distance, wrapping his arms around you as his eyes met yours. "Should have expected that to happen." he said, lips pursed and you nodded.

"Yeah, they're detectives - and they're good at it." you repeated what Nyla had said earlier, causing Tim to chuckle. "Yeah, 'course she said that."

He leaned down and kissed you, tongue brushing yours, as your hands locked behind his neck.

"Not long and we can tell everyone." he promised, forehead leaning against yours. "And I'm glad when they finally know. Hate lying to them."

You nodded in agreement, pecking his lips again. "Me too."

He walked you backwards, lips brushing yours. "I love you." he murmured, blindly navigating you, and you sighed happily. It still felt like the first time, whenever he said it.

"I love you, too."

Tag List

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm

@augustvandyne @RookieTrek

@dhunhdchrih @nachofriess

[captainamericasshieldandhelmet]

Kaleidoscope | Spencer Agnew x Reader

Summary: You and Spencer dated for a few years in college, however, to live out your dream you move from LA to New York. You end up breaking up with him and are heartbroken. Fast forward to a few years later, you start working for Smosh and reunite with him again. Will you guys reconnect an old love?

A/n: Hi this is one of my first fanfics that I’ve written! There’s been a Spencer drought in fanfics on here so I decided to hop on and see if I can write something. It’s my first time writing for him so please let me know how I did and if you would like more! (If anyone even reads this 😭😭)

————���————————————————————————————————————

8 Years prior

“Spencer I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Your voice was heard through the phone. You heard Spencer sigh. “What?” You felt tears coming down your face, not that Spencer could see.

You took a deep breath, “it’s just so hard-.” You stopped yourself trying to hold back a sob. “We barely have time to talk, we’re both so busy a-and it’s just been getting too much between us and work.” You stuttered out.

You could hear Spencer crying on the other line. “So we’re just done?” He asked, his voice full of anger.

A sigh left your lips not knowing what to do. “Spencer we’re in different states all the way across the country from one another. We don’t have time for each other anymore. I thought that this would work but-.” You stopped yourself, not knowing what else to say.

Spencer let out a shaky breath as he spoke up. “Fine if you don’t want to try anymore and give up on three years of us, then do it.”

You started to let out your cries as you tried speaking. “No Spencer it’s not that! I love you so much I-.” And then the line went dead.

All you heard was a beep, knowing that he had hung up the phone. You tried calling him back, the call going straight to voicemail. You tried a few times until a text popped up. “We’re done.” Was all the message that Spencer had sent. You finally let yourself break, the tears falling freely. You guys were done and nothing could change that, you had just hoped that you made the right decision.

Present time

You heard your name being called and stood up to grab your coffee order. You bid them a thank you as you walked to the office. Today was your first day working for Smosh and you couldn’t have been more excited. About a month ago you had auditioned for them seeing that they had an opening. You thought it’d be perfect since you were moving back to LA and you had been a Smosh fan for a few years. Hearing back from them saying they thought you would fit in felt like a dream. You had applied to be both cast and crew, being able to edit some videos and be apart of the videos as well. Walking up to the office you took a deep breath and headed inside, ready for your first day.

Once you stepped inside, you headed to the office to start with introductions first. Reaching the office you ran into Selina who couldn’t be more excited to show you around.

“Hey y/n! So glad to see you again.” She said. “We’re going to start with introductions first just to get things situated and then we’ll show you where you’ll be working at.” You smiled at her joyfulness, “Sounds great, I can’t wait to meet everyone!” You said.

After meeting with Ian and Anthony of course, Selina took you to meet the rest of the cast and crew. Since they were about to start filming for a TNTL, she thought it’d be a great idea to be able to introduce you to more people. As you both stepped in you noticed how bright the set was, you could feel the excitement bubbling in you on being able to work here.

Selina grabbed everyone’s attention to let you have your introduction. From watching Smosh before, you had known who most of the cast were. You saw Courtney, Shayne, Angela, Amanda, Tommy, Chanse, and Arasha. You gave everyone a huge smile while introducing yourself. “It’s so nice to meet everyone! I’m y/n and I’ll be in a few videos with you guys as well as being able to edit them.”

Everyone had smiled at you and properly introduced themselves to you as well. Arasha was finishing her introduction when you heard the door open. “There he is! He’s barely becoming a cast member just like you too.” You heard Shayne say. As you went to turn around to introduce yourself, you heard Shayne say his name. “Y/n this is Spencer, Spencer this is y/n!” At that moment you were fully turned around to him.

You saw him, he looked the same from the last time you had seen him, only with a little more of a stubble now and older. You could see all the years you’ve been apart show in his face. You couldn’t remember in the moment just how long it had been, you just stood in shock as your eyes met Spencer’s.

Spencer looked down at you, shock in his face along with guilt and anger. “Y/n?” Was all he could say.

———————————————————————————

A/n: I hope this turned out good! Let me know if y’all would want me to continue this. :)) Also I’m naming this kaleidoscope after Chappell Roan’s song “kaleidoscope.” I don’t know if that makes sense…

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Room Away (No More)

Part 2 of A Room Away

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!roommate!reader

Summary: Your abusive ex reaches out, and you hide it from Tim until it's almost too late.

Warnings: angst, domestic violence, abuse, assault, anxiety/panic attacks, fluff and a happy ending guaranteed!!

Word Count: 3.7k+ words

A/N: A Room Away is one of the first Tim fics I wrote and it took me a few months, but I loved writing this continuation! I hope you enjoy!🤍

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim’s thumb brushes back and forth over a nearly invisible scar on your arm as you wait for your dinner guests. Remembering that it has been days since your last nightmare and nearly a week without a migraine makes you smile, and Tim glances at you but doesn’t ask any questions. The doorbell rings and he grumbles under his breath as he leaves your side. As he opens the door to invite Angela and Wesley in, your phone vibrates beside you. Tim is giving Angela a hard time, as usual, and you take the moment when her attention isn’t on you to read the new text.

Unknown There is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.

The sentence is familiar, too familiar. You read the message again, and before you finish another comes through.

Unknown Los Angeles isn’t big enough to hide you from me.

“Are you okay?” Angela asks.

You lock your phone quickly and clear your throat before you look up at her and nod. The message repeats over and over in your head. Your phone may not know who sent the text, but you do, and knowing that your ex is in the same city as you terrifies you. Deep down, you know you should tell Tim, but you can’t.

“How’s Timothy treating you?” Angela adds.

She sits beside you, and you try to forget about the text for now. “He still won’t reduce my rent,” you complain jokingly.

Tim watches you from his spot in the kitchen. The last few weeks have been good. Your nightmares are becoming less frequent, you let Tim touch you without flinching or panicking, but the look on your face right now isn’t right.

“How are things?” Wesley asks. “Need a prenup, yet?”

“Funny, Wesley,” Tim replies without looking away from you. “I hope Angela cleans you out in the divorce.”

“He can keep the kids,” Angela adds from beside you.

“Good luck getting rid of me,” Wesley says. He lowers his voice and turns away from Angela to ask, “Seriously, Tim, is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Things are good, great even. I just don’t want to do anything that makes us go backward.”

“Abusive relationships are hard to get over, but you’re helping her with that, Tim.”

“I hope so.”

“Wasn’t a question, Sergeant.”

Tim rolls his eyes as he puts your favorite food on a plate. It isn’t often that Angela and Wesley come over, but right now, Tim wishes he was alone with you so he could check on you. You don’t seem to hide things from him on purpose, and he understands the time it takes to trust people after having your trust betrayed and being abused. He’ll never push, but the moment you pull, he’s there. Never more than a phone call or a room away.

“Here you go,” Tim murmurs as he passes you a plate.

Your shoulders tense as he nears you but drop just as quickly. The jumpiness is something that was completely gone just yesterday, and Tim furrows his brows as he watches you accept the plate and look out the window. He runs a finger over your jawline to bring your attention back to him, and you smile at him.

“You alright?” he asks.

It seems to be everyone’s question tonight, and you once again lie, “Yeah.”

Tim nods and you thank him for the food before moving to sit by Angela. With his eyes on you throughout dinner, Tim decides that something is wrong, and he needs to get to the bottom of it. You open up as the night continues, yet when Angela and Wesley leave, you fall silent as you clear the table.

“Hey,” Tim calls softly.

He wraps a kind hand around your wrist to stop you, and you flinch away from him involuntarily. Tim raises his hands, and you drop your chin toward your chest and fight the tears threatening to spill. You’re scared because of the text, but that is no reason to move away from Tim. As you struggle not to panic, Tim whispers that everything is okay.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out.

Tim shakes his head to remind you that you never have to apologize. You step closer and pinch his shirt between your fingers before wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. Strong arms settle over your back, and you push your cheek over Tim’s heart.

“I’m just feeling off, or something,” you say. “Please don’t worry about me.”

Tim hums and moves a hand to brush your hair away from your face. He won’t agree not to worry about you, and it’s too late to pretend like he’s not already doing just that.

The next few days pass slowly, and as you continue to spend more time at home, Tim’s concerns grow. You’re up and moving around, so it’s not a migraine, but you haven’t worked more than eight hours in three days. Every time Tim sees you at home, he hugs you, kisses you, and silently reminds you that he’s right beside you, but you keep up your act that nothing is wrong. It’s a failing façade, though, and you’re just waiting to break.

When you wake just after 1 in the morning, you can’t stop the scream that escapes. Your ex was in your room, in Tim’s home, and when he was done with you he was going to cross the hall and do the same to Tim. Of all the nightmares you’ve had, seeing Tim moments away from being hurt was the scariest of them all. You pull your knees up to your chest and drop your head as you sob, your panicked scream making way for the fear you’ve been burying since you got the text.

Tim comes in without question or knocking, and when your door hits the wall, you lift your head and flinch to the other side of your bed. At the sight of Tim, however, you launch yourself toward him and let him pull you close. You cry against his chest as he whispers comforting promises, but the only thing that helps you is the tangible reminder that he is safe. You tell yourself over and over, clutch his shirt, and listen to his heartbeat. He’s safe, and he won’t let anything happen to either one of us.

As he holds you, Tim keeps you as close as possible. He knows that you shouldn’t ask questions now. Not that you’d give him an honest answer anyway, he thinks. Whatever you’ve been hiding is making you scared, and it breaks Tim’s heart to see you affected this way. Waking up to your scream scared him, so he can only imagine what must be going through your mind.

Unknown I saw the planetarium today. Can you see it from your new home?

Unknown Met a girl in the supermarket who looked like you. But I won’t settle for second best.

Unknown Clues, clues, clues. Am I getting closer, baby?

With each new text you receive, you have to talk yourself out of running from Tim. You don’t want to pull away from him, but you constantly worry that if you’re found, Tim will be in danger, too. A knock on your door draws your attention away from the newest message, and Tim smiles when you meet his eyes.

“Want to go to lunch? Just us?” he offers.

You should say no, but you nod before standing. Nothing bad can happen in public, and being beside Tim is the safest place to be, you think. Even as you try to convince yourself that going to lunch will be fine, you can feel the fear and anxiety building in your chest. It weighs down on you and makes it hard to breathe, so you measure each breath and focus on Tim instead of the adrenal responses flooding your body.

Tim turns into a random subdivision and slows down. You raise your brows and look at him, but he only offers a hand extended over the console. When you lay your hand over his, he intertwines his fingers with yours and pulls your hand closer to him. He makes another turn, and you realize that he’s not taking a shortcut to the restaurant.

“What are you doing?” you inquire quietly.

“I don’t want to push you too hard or too soon,” he says. “But something is bothering you, and I can’t help if you stop talking to me.”

“Tim, I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just been feeling off.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’ll pass.”

“What will pass? Pushing me away and blocking me out won’t fix whatever is happening!”

“And telling you will?” you ask. You’re getting defensive because you’re scared, and you try to pull your hand away so you can stop talking to him.

“Why did you ever let me in if it was just going to end like this? I’m with you, but why can’t you trust me enough to tell you what’s making you scream in the middle of the night and jump when I walk up behind you?”

“Because he can threaten me all he wants, but I don’t want Brent to find you too!” you snap.

“Brent?” Tim asks lowly. He pulls his hand away and sets his jaw to ask, “Brent who?”

You shrink in the passenger seat and whisper his last name. Tim’s brakes squeal as he presses the pedal to the floor and parks on the side of the road. You can tell without looking at him that he’s angry, and you slipping up and saying your ex’s name certainly didn’t help.

“Get out,” Tim orders.

“Are you serious?” you whisper brokenly.

“Out of my truck. Now.”

You slide out of the passenger seat and close the door behind you. Tears have been building in your eyes for a week, and you let them fall freely now. You’re scared and hurting, but Tim refuses to look at you as you stand on the curb.

“Tim, please don’t do this,” you plead through the rolled-down window.

Tim doesn’t answer, and when he shifts the truck back into drive, you know he’s serious about leaving you here.

“Tim, please!” you beg through your tears.

“Go home,” he says over the engine.

The truck pulls away from the curb where you stand, and you harshly wipe your tears away to clear your vision. As you dig for your phone, you know it’s time to take Angela up on her offer. She said to call if Tim was ever mean to you, and you think leaving you on the side of the road counts.

Tim turns around in a nearby cul-de-sac and parks behind a tree where you can’t see him, but he can keep an eye on you. He’s angry and needed a second to calm down, but he never intended to leave you. He sighs as he types the name of your ex into his phone. He’ll ask Angela to run it later. When Tim looks back up at you, you have your back to him, and your phone raised to your ear. Your shoulders shake as you cry, and Tim taps his knuckles against his steering wheel. He made you cry this time, and though he’s glad to have a few answers, he wishes this wasn’t how he got them.

After moving in, you confided in Tim that Angela told you to call her if he was ever mean to you. When her car pulls up and you climb into the passenger seat, Tim shakes his head fondly. You’re mad at him, but you’re still perfect in his eyes. Now that he knows you’re safe, Tim decides to stop by the station and do some digging on your ex.

“I think I’m going to text Tim,” you say.

“What? No! He abandoned you. Just eat your ice cream and wait for him to come and beg on his knees,” Angela replies. She points her spoon at you and adds, “You’re too good for him, anyway.”

“I think that’s the other way around.”

“Fine,” she groans. “Text him. But I’m still mad at him.”

Your text to Tim is short, a simple apology, just: I’m sorry. His response is nearly immediate, and you smile when his name pops up in the notification.

Tim I’m not mad at you. I know you’re with Angela. Want me to pick you up?

Tim You don’t have to come home if you’re not ready. Whatever you want.

Your response is a promise that what you want is to be with Tim. Angela rolls her eyes at your smile, but she’s happy for you and Tim. After all, it’s because of her that you found a place a live and met Tim. She begins to ask a question, but your ringing phone cuts her off.

“Tim?” you ask as you answer.

“When did the texts start?” he inquires.

“Uh, about a week ago, I guess.”

“Change of plans, then. Let me talk to Angela.”

You pass the phone to Angela, and she listens for a moment before she stands and walks into her bedroom. Whatever they’re talking about, they don’t want you to know about. Tim said there was a change of plans, which sounds suspiciously like he won’t be taking you home tonight. The panic from earlier returns slowly as you wonder if he’ll ever let you go home again.

“Your boyfriend wants to talk,” Angela says, cutting through your doubt as she returns your phone.

“Sorry,” Tim begins. “I looked into your ex. He flew into LAX about a week ago, so the texts weren’t just threats. He’s here. And a week is a long time when you’re trying to find someone. I want you to stay at Angela’s tonight, okay?”

“Are you- are you working tonight?” you ask softly.

“I am now. Brent’s got an arrest warrant, and the threats he sent you make him a higher priority. We’re gonna look for him. We will find him,” Tim promises.

“Be careful, Tim.”

“I will. I have to get home to you, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll call you later and check in. Let Angela know if you get more texts, please.”

“I will. Sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“I promise I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” you murmur. “See you later, Tim.”

Tim’s decision to drive by his house before he starts looking for your abusive ex was both a precaution and about Kojo. The house looks exactly as it had when he left with you for lunch, and Tim puts Kojo in the front seat of his shop before driving toward Angela and Wesley’s house. If Brent goes to his house to find you, both you and Kojo will be safe and sound with Angela Lopez prepared to defend you. There aren’t many people Tim trusts, but when you called Angela, he knew you made the right choice. It’s the one he would have made, too.

Kojo pushes past Angela to meet you when she opens the door. You happily invite him into your lap and hug him tightly. He soothes your nerves without trying, and you loosen your grip on him only to look up at Tim.

“Nothing yet,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m a call away if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Tim,” you reply.

He lays a hand on your shoulder and smiles as he promises, “I’ve got you.”

“Where’s your car?” Angela asks you.

“I just moved it. Public parking off Sepulveda,” Tim answers for you. “He doesn’t seem like the smartest guy in the world, but, just in case.”

“He’s not,” you agree.

Tim slowly pulls his hand away before he leaves again, and you lean closer to Kojo for his comfort. Angela disappears into her bedroom again a few minutes later and returns in a rush.

“I have to go. There’s been a homicide,” she explains. “I called Tim and he’ll be here in less than thirty minutes. Don’t answer the door for anyone; he and Wesley have keys.” She slows to ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go solve a homicide.”

She rushes out the front door and locks it behind her, but you stand and double-check it anyway. Your phone is empty of notifications, and you can only wait until Tim arrives. After you settle beside Kojo again, you give him your attention. You and he freeze simultaneously when your phone chimes on the coffee table.

Unknown Walk outside or you will cost them everything.

You read it twice before you realize what he’s asking you to do. The moment you step out in the open, he can do anything and everything he wants. But you look around and see the life Tim and Angela have built for themselves and know that you can’t do anything to jeopardize that or their safety. So, you quickly shepherd Kojo into a bedroom and lock the door before slowly flipping the locks on the front door and stepping out into the Los Angeles night. The sun recently set, but there’s enough light you can see someone standing at the corner of the yard. Tim can’t be more than a few minutes away, but his thirty-minute estimation feels like an eternity.

“Los Angeles,” Brent says before laughing. “I knew you’d run somewhere you could hide but the city of angels? You, baby, were never going to fit in here.”

“What do you want?” you ask, willing your voice to be strong.

Brent smiles and you take a step back as he moves closer. You stumble against the sidewalk behind you, and Brent surges forward to wrap a cruel hand around your arm. He twists your skin with his grip, and everything about his touch is the opposite of Tim’s. For the first time since you met Brent, you fight back. Your free hand makes contact with his jaw, but he recovers quickly and shoves you to the ground.

Pulling your knees up, you try to create momentum to knock Brent off of you, but he pushes your legs down and shoves the heel of his hand between your ribs. The air is driven from your lungs, but you know you can’t stop fighting. When Brent moves his hands, so one is holding your face and the other is reaching for something in his waistband, you panic. You need Tim, but he’s a call away, and you left your phone inside.

“Domestic dispute and assault in progress at…”

Tim doesn’t hear anything past Angela’s address, and he hits the lights as he makes the final turn onto her street. Several neighbors are gathered on the opposite side of the street and watching an altercation in Angela’s front yard when he reaches the curb. A woman screams, and Tim slams the shop into park when he sees the glint of a gun being pulled. He opens the shop door and immediately ducks as a shot is fired. “L.A.P.D. Put down the weapon!” he yells from behind his open door.

He calls your name, but there’s no sound. No reply, no calls or screams from the neighbors, and Tim peeks around the door. Slowly, the gun is tossed to the side and the man, your ex, slowly clambers onto his hands and knees. When he sits back and puts his hands up, Tim has a clear view of you lying on the ground. There’s blood on your face, and you’re not moving, so Tim rushes forward. Two more police cars join Tim’s shop, but his complete focus is on you. He kneels beside you and pushes two fingers against your pulse point.

“I’m okay,” you whisper when you feel Tim’s skin on yours.

Tim sighs and drops his head before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling your torso off the ground and into a hug. You return his tight grip as he sits on the sidewalk and holds you close. Two other officers handcuff Brent and put him in the back of a cruiser, and you’re surprised but pleased with the lack of threats directed toward you.

“Sergeant Bradford, the weapon was discharged, but the bullet was fired into a tree. CSU will gather data for ballistics,” an officer tells Tim quickly.

His grip tightens on you at the mention of the gunshot, and you sigh against his shoulder. As you lean up, he gets a better look at the bruise under your jaw and the fresh blood pooling against the older, dried blood under your nose. He moves you gently so he can stand and calls for a paramedic.

“Tim, I’m fine,” you say with a painful chuckle.

“Respectfully, I want a second opinion,” he replies. “And then we’re going home.”

“Don’t forget Kojo.”

“I’ll get him.”

“Oh, you may need a key.”

Tim furrows his brows at you but doesn’t ask what you’re talking about as he lowers beside you again. His hand in yours distracts you from the pokes and prods of the paramedics, and your mind is no longer anxious and scared, but excited to go home and remind Tim how much you appreciate his protectiveness.

Tim doesn’t let you out of his sight or his hold from the moment you enter his house. He pulls you against him and sits on the couch, inviting Kojo to join you. You’re finally okay, and it makes it easier for both you and Tim to show the affection you’ve been avoiding.

“I don’t want to be a call away anymore,” Tim confesses softly. “Not a room away… I need to be right beside you.”

“Tim, I only asked for the separation because I had to have it. Thinking that he would come after me was concerning, but the closer I got to you, the more worried I was he’d hurt you, too.”

“I understand that, but it’s over now. So, it’s your choice again.”

You nod and tilt your bruised face up from Tim’s chest to look into his eyes. “I don’t want to be a room away either,” you whisper.

Tim smiles and brushes a gentle thumb over your cheekbone before withdrawing his touch from your face. He kisses you gently, a series of pecks more than a real kiss, before allowing you to move closer.

As you fall asleep in Tim’s arms, you’ve never felt more at home. His touch, his presence, his protectiveness, and his care make him special, and he’s the best roommate-turned-more you could have asked for.

“I love you,” Tim whispers, and you wake up faster than ever.

[blackbleedingrose]

Long Lost Morningstar - Part Three

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing(s): Charlie x reader (platonic), Vaggie x reader (platonic), Emily x reader (platonic), Sera x reader (platonic), Charlie x Vaggie

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Betrayal

Warning(s): Cursing, lies, betrayal

Notes: This is the third installment of LLM. This part will be shorter than part 2 and will finally go over the trial and (Y/N)'s reaction the extermination. I'm going to be honest, I'm dropping my other hazbin mini series. This is only until I can find the time and motivation to write it. I'm really busy with school and work, and lately my obsession with Hazbin has started to die down. I still love the series and fandom, but that's just something that happens to me from time to time when I watch a new series or get into a fandom. It comes and it goes, and I've been reading a lot of hazbin stuff but now it's starting to feel like an obligation I've set for myself and it makes reading less fun and more like a chore. I have no doubt my obsession will come back when the 2nd season comes out. This happens will all the fandoms I am apart of - like right now, I'm obsessing over Avatar the last airbender again after rewatching the series (not the live action). Don't worry, I'll continue this series as I don't want this to end up unfinished. I have the outline pretty much written, but it will take time to finish - so, please, bare with me.

Singing Colors: Adam, Lute, Charlie, Emily, Sera, (Y/N).

Words: 1631

"If Hell is forever, than Heaven must be a lie!".

As the time of the trial drew closer, there seemed to be a few hiccups on Heaven's side of things.

The angel who was supposed to be the trial's stenographer got a nasty cold and all the replacements had their own responsibilities to attend to. The only angel available just so happened to be (Y/N) herself.

When one of the court angels asked (Y/N) if she could do it, she didn't hesitate to accept.

Now she had the perfect excuse to watch Charlie's trial without having to sneak in!

Imagine Sera's surprise and horror when she saw (Y/N) sitting at the stenographer's desk.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing here? Where's Angela?" Sera asked. She was a bit panicked, but did her best to hide it. (Y/N) smiled politely at the higher seraphim, clearly oblivious to Sera's rigid demeanor. "She got a pretty bad cold last minute and all of the other replacements were busy today; and since I was the only one who was available - here I am!".

Sera gave her an uneasy smile, "I see. Thank you for your help today, it's much appreciated". This was the last thing she wanted. The resemblance between (Y/N) and the Princess of Hell was very difficult to ignore and could raise questions if it wasn't for the stardust story Heaven fed everyone.

Sera had wanted to keep (Y/N) away from the trial in hopes of avoiding any contact between her and Charlie. She didn't want (Y/N) to accidently discover the truth about her lineage.

Sera loved (Y/N) like a daughter.

When (Y/N) was younger Michael would sometimes have Sera babysit while he attended to his more serious duties.

She practically helped raise her and she refused to let some misguided demon princess and her partner ruin that.

Unfortunately, the court needed a stenographer.

With no one else available, she was left with no other option.

Sera thanked (Y/N) for her hard work and for stepping in.

She gave the girl a gentle forehead kiss before leaving her to prepare for the trial.

It was only for today and once this pointless trial was over everything would go back to the way it was.

And (Y/N) would be none the wiser and away from that misguided influence.

However, things weren't as perfect as Sera had hoped for.

The moment Charlie and Vaggie entered the courtroom and saw (Y/N) sitting at the stenographer's desk, the two cousins eagerly waved at each other.

Sera's eyes widened in horror. No. This wasn't supposed to happen - it was the worse case scenario.

When did those two meet?!

She sighed in frustration already knowing that (Y/N) must have sought the girl out herself.

Dammit Emily.

(Y/N)'s curiosity was her biggest flaw and was going to end up getting her into serious trouble if not handled properly.

Sera quickly composed herself. No point in losing herself and catching any unnecessary attention.

She still had a trial to run and then she'll have a talk with (Y/N) later.

Now, (Y/N) was nice to just about everyone. She could get along with just about anyone she's ever met. But there was one person, or rather two, she just couldn't stand.

Adam and his little crony Lute.

These two irritated her to no ends with how high and mighty they acted. How either of them managed to stay in Heaven was beyond her.

Her father just told her to bare it, despite him also disliking the two of them - especially that narcissistic douchebag Adam.

(Y/N) did her best to hide her grimace whenever Adam spoke during the trial.

As the trial went on (Y/N) felt a little nervous when Charlie was shut down from making anymore definition references. She could see how nervous her poor cousin was getting.

When Charlie looked over at her, (Y/N) made sure to give her a small smile and mouthed, "You've got this".

This managed to help calm Charlie's nerves enough for her to regain her composure. Charlie got a little more confident when presenting Angel Dust, the hotel's first patron.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes when Adam spoke up again trying to discredit her cousin.

"Well if you know so much, what do you think it takes to get into Heaven?".

Charlie's question stumped more than just Adam. (Y/N) had to take a moment to think - how does someone get into Heaven?

Being Heaven-born (Y/N)'s never had to be on the other end with humans who had to earn their place in paradise. And if someone as crude and vile as Adam can get into Heaven then what did it take for others, especially the damned who didn't deserve Hell - like children, for example.

Adam quickly wrote on a piece of paper before giving it to Vaggie to read aloud.

"'Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man?' - are you fucking serious?".

"Uh, yeah. Sure got me here, didn't it? Right, Sera?".

(Y/N) raised a brow. That's all it took to get someone into Heaven?

Charlie tried to argue Angel was doing all of those things, to which the court decided to observe Angel through the courtroom's orb. At first, things weren't looking good for Charlie when Angel gave into peer pressure.

(Y/N) bit her lip, silently hoping this would somehow take a turn for the better. She really wanted Charlie to show her hotel worked and for Adam to eat his words.

Luckily, things did start looking up when Angel took care of his friend, Nifty, and defended her from that awful moth demon.

"Then why isn't he here, huh?".

(Y/N) paused her typing - why isn't he here?

This started a whole argument at the unfairness of it all. How even those in Hell could be redeemed if only given the chance. (Y/N) and Emily saw the change in Angel and how he did everything on Adam's list.

"A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month".

. . . Wait what?

(Y/N) furrowed her brows in confusion. One month? What was he talking about?

"Gotta say I can't wait to-"

"Adam".

(Y/N) looked up at Sera, did she know what he was talking about? What the hell was going on?!

"Come down and exterminate you".

. . . WHAT?!

(Y/N) and Emily looked horrified at the shocking news.

"Wait!".

"Shit!".

(Y/N) and Emily fly over to Charlie, Vaggie, Adam, and Lute looking sadly at the orb showing the residents in Hell being mercilessly killed by the exorcists.

"What are you saying?"

"Let me get this straight".

"You go down there and kill those poor souls?".

"You didn't know?".

Charlie was shocked to hear that not all of Heaven knew about the exterminations. She was relieved to hear that her cousin didn't know and that she seemed to be against it.

"Whoops!".

"Guess the cat's outta the bag!".

"What's the big deal?".

(Y/N) and Emily turned and looked up at Sera.

"Sera tell us that you didn't know".

"I thought since I'm older, it's my load to shoulder".

"No".

"You have to listen, it was such a hard decision".

Sera flew down from her seat.

"I wanted to save you".

She took (Y/N) and Emily's hand in her own.

"The anguish it takes to, do what was required".

The hellfire reflecting in Sera's eyes unnerved (Y/N) and Emily - almost like she enjoyed the suffering and senseless murder of the sinners in Hell.

The two glared at Sera.

"To think that we admired you".

They tore their hands from hers and flew back away from her.

"Well, we don't need your condescension! We're not children to protect! Was talk of virtue just pretention? Were we too naive to expect you, to head the morals you're purveying?".

The two flew back down in front of the orb.

"That's what the fuck I've been saying!".

Charlie walked over to the two angel's grabbing their hands.

(Y/N), Charlie, and Emily moved up and stood on top of the orb showing the exorcists killing sinners.

"If Hell is forever, than Heaven must be a lie!".

"Emily! (Y/N)!".

"If angels can do whatever and remain in the sky!".

The three jumped down and stood before Sera.

"The rules are shades of gray when you don't do as you say! When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again!".

Things only continued getting worse with Charlie finding out Vaggie was an angel and an ex-exorcist, Sera's final ruling of no evidence of sinners being able to be redeemed, and Adam's threat of coming to their hotel first.

"Charlie, it will be okay! I'll find a way to help you - I promise!" (Y/N) called out before Charlie and Vaggie were forced to back to Hell.

After Sera had finished talking to Emily, she went after (Y/N) who had already left the courtroom.

"(Y/N)! Wait, please!" Sera begged grabbing (Y/N) by her wrist. "Please, let me explain!".

(Y/N) turned her head and glared at Sera with such intensity it sent shivers down the High Seraphim's spine. She's never seen (Y/N) look at her like that before.

It broke her heart to see the girl she's helped raise and thought of as a surrogate daughter look at her with such anger and disgust.

"Explain what, Sera?! That you've been here playing God and allowing the murder of sinners! They're already in Hell, what more could you possibly want?! They don't deserve this!" (Y/N) yanked her wrist from Sera's hold and flew away.

She couldn't believe this had been going on and she never even knew! Tears filled her eyes as she thought about her poor cousin. She knew needed to do something to help Charlie.

But first, she needed to see whether or not her father and the other archangels knew about this all along.

Taglist:

@soobryu @kyo-kyo1 @miyako-night20 @charliecharlie65 @unknow-sama @myluckymoon @lbcreations-blog @moonchaos18 @sirenetheblogger @jagharamira @el-hajj @azharyy @glowymxxn @itsmonicabc

[bradleybeachbabe]

Ok so there is a serious shortage of Tim Bradford stuff on tumblr and the gasp i gusped when i saw you were taking requests was very big.

So how about him being his usual hard and grumpy self and his pregnant wife coming to the station angry about something and him turning into a big softie. Like she’s almost scolding him about something and the others staring like ‚who is this man?‘. Obviously Angela knows what’s up but the rookie are like 🫨

Thanks so much!!💗

here you go anon <3 hope i did you justice on this! also i really enjoyed writing this!

warnings: pregnancy, not beta read

a/n: i haven’t posted in blurbs in forever, so please bare with me on this!

you have been angry at the slightest things lately, whether it being how hot it is outside, not being able to put on your shoes, not having your favorite ice cream in your freezer, etc. the list could go on, and yet it could be to the fact that you’re seven months and half pregnant, because ever since you entered your third trimester the slightest things have been making you angry. and now you’re even angrier than you have been throughout your third trimester, and it’s all because the air conditioning has decided to stop working in your house, so with that being said you have decided to head down to the station to tell tim, your husband, all about it.

when you arrived at the station, you were lucky enough that you didn’t have to wait in the front lobby of the station for tim to come out and talk to you. the officer who was working at the front desk knew who you were, so you were able to just go to the back where all of the officers’ desks are, to find tim.

when you entered the back, you were lucky enough to find tim sitting at his desk, talking to angela about whatever. when you were walking over to where his desk was, angela spotted you.

“looks like you got some company,” angela nodded her head toward your direction.

tim turned his head and saw you waddling towards him.

“i’m gonna give you two some privacy,” angela said as she left tim’s desk and walked over to where john, lucy, and jackson were standing.

“who’s that?” jackson quipped when angela approached.

“tim’s wife, y/n,” angela answered.

“tim has a wife?” lucy, john, and jackson all asked at the time.

“yeah, they have been married for about three years now. and of course, they are now expecting their first baby in a few months.”

“wow, i did not know that,” lucy said.

“yeah, tim tends to keep his work and personal life separate,” angela said.

“hmm…now i’m wondering why she showed up to talk to tim,” lucy said.

“honestly, whatever it is, it’s gonna look good on his end,” angela smirked as she took a sip of her coffee.

“what are you doing here?” tim asked with a confused tone when you approached his desk. “is everything okay? is the baby okay?” he added.

“no, everything is not okay. the bright side is, that the baby is okay.”

“well, what’s wrong then?” tim asked.

“what’s wrong is that the air conditioning has stopped working at the house, and now i’m super hot, sweaty, i'm upset, and especially angry because of that,” you explained.

tim just looked at you with soft eyes. he felt bad for you. he hated seeing you angry and upset. he knew how irritated you could get whenever you’re hot.

“i can try and fix it when i get home later today,” tim stated.

“what time will you be home?” you questioned him.

“maybe around five, it all just depends if i can get all this paperwork done before that time.”

“oh,” you frowned.

tim sighed, “you want me to leave work right now, so then i can fix the air conditioning? don’t you?”

“please.”

you already knew what tim’s answer was gonna be. he wasn’t gonna, ‘no’ or anything like that. plus, if he did, most likely he would end up sleeping on the couch for the night.

“okay, i’ll leave right now,” tim said. “let me go inform sergeant grey that i’m gonna leave early.”

tim got up from his seat at his desk to head to sergeant grey office. and when he did get up, he quickly kissed your temple, and quickly laid one of his hands on your bump, before he walked off.

while you were waiting for tim to get back from sergeant grey’s office, you saw out of the corner of your eye, angela and by the looks of it, three rookies standing with her. the three rookies had shocking looks on their faces while angela couldn’t help herself from smirking. you already knew why angela had that smirk on her face. she already knew that tim has a huge soft side, and that soft side is only reserved for you, and your baby who is gonna be born in a few months. on the other hand, the rookies didn’t know tim’s soft side at all, so of course all of them had shocking looks on their faces.

“sergeant grey is okay with me going home early today,” tim said as he approached you.

“did he ask why you’re going home early today?”

“yes,” tim nodded his head.

“did he think your reason for leaving early was kinda odd and crazy,” you asked.

“yeah,” tim nodded. “but luckily he isn’t giving me a hard time about this,” he added.

“well, that’s good then.”

tim turned off his computer and pushed his desk car in, and you two walked out hand in hand with each other.

“told ya,” angela said as she walked off. while lucy, john, and jackson were still standing there with shocking looks on their faces, trying to gather the pieces together that tim has a soft side.

blurb night!

[simp-ly-writes]

hiiii im currently looking for spencer and Alex fics and i found your Page. Could you mabey write one with spencer? Mabey with the reader working in art Departement and reader and spencer are Engaged?? And they film a who memed it Episode with spencer cortney and Angela and reader is in the "crowd" and gave in a meme about spencer and he is the only one who knows that it was reader, because its like an inside joke and they are all cute and sweet when it happenes and after and all that :))))). (Sorry if its Hard to understand im writing this in a hurry)

Meet-Cute

─────── · · A Smosh FanFic

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x Fiancé!Reader

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, fluff, attempt at humour, meet-cute, pre-established relationship/engagement, feel-good.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 964

─ · · A/N: hope you all are having good weeks! 🫶 thank you for the ask, anon, this was was so cute and sweet! and I had way to much for doing that drawing XD

─────── · ·

You met your fiancé at work, most people would think that not to be the most romantic starting point for a relationship and they would be correct. On the first night you and Spencer met, an editor and sculptor both thinking to be the only one left in the office and needing a moment before continuing working. You decided to take a nap on the Games couch.

Bringing a blanket from your desk and a pillow from on of the offices, you set your alarm before practically throwing yourself onto what you thought to be just couch... but how wrong you would be.

(Charles) Spencer Agnew would find himself already on the couch, separate alarm set and forgotten about and fast asleep. That was until his now fiancé landed right into his arms with an abrupt thud before you both were jumping off the couch and screaming like little girls.

─────── · ·

You chuckle to yourself when a meme of that exact scenario flashes up on screen (of your own doing) and do your best to conceal your laughter at the memory while sitting behind camera. The fellow arts department staff also snicker to one another yet everyone else in the room had no clue why a couch and two poorly drawn, MS-paint stick figures with pink-tails were on screen. Everyone but Spencer.

Courtney and Angela, the other two contestants competing against Spencer for the title of winner today take to the crowd as you all neutralize your expressions and mask indifference when Angela's eyes catch your own and squint, trying to pry into your brain yet you only shrug and smile before knocking your shoulder against Shayne who appears equally confused as the rest of the cast members.

"Can we have our answers written on the boards, please," Tommy politely asks. Courtney taps her marker lid against the table, confusion if evident on her face as she looks to Spencer who looks all too content with his answer. "You know who it is, Spence?" She asks, raising a brow as this meme seemed obscenely obscure.

Spencer just shrugged, smiling towards the camera, his left hand tapping his board in a subtle hint that no one but you caught on to as you too started twiddling the fingers on your left hand before Tommy was calling time. "I DON'T KNOW, GIVE ME ONE MORE MINUTE," Angela begged, now standing up from the table before writing down her answer with a huff. Courtney looked positively stressed, "Spencer c'mon give me a hint, I've gotta feeling that I'm going to be made fun of for not knowing this one!" Courtney pleaded as Spencer's grin only grew and yours did too.

"I can't help ya," Spencer replied, now leaning onto the table, curious as to what the others answers would be. "Angela could you present first please," Tommy asked extending his hand out to point at her board.

Flipping it around, in small letters Angela wrote, Alex Tran. "I think its Alex... I guess? I mean Spencer wrote down his answer WAY too fast, so it has to be someone close to him-"

"See that's what I thought too," Courtney added, turning her board around now, and she had written down, SHAYNE, in big, bold capital letters. "I know they hang out a lot together outside of work and by the poorly drawn figures, I don't know on purpose or not, it could be him."

"And Spencer, reveal the answer please," Tommy asked, already knowing his would be the correct one. "I said, (name)."

"And do tell us and the viewers at home, why you choose them."

"Well, (name) and I recently got engaged, woohoo!" Spencer cheers as the office claps and whistles, you start slipping down your chair, embarrassed but flail your ring in the air like a white flag offering. "and this is a meme of our first time meeting each other. We both were staying overnight at the office and didn't think that someone else would also be staying and nevertheless using the couch so we ended up falling on one another and screamed like little girls in panic," Spencer continued yet barley, laughing so harshly in between and everyone seemed to as well as Tommy was knelt over, face red and gasping for air.

"Now that is a story, congratulations you two! And congratulations to Spencer for winning Who Meme'd It with that final point!" You stand up and cheer and Spencer points to you in the crowd, the cameras panning over before you shout. "Thats my man!" and everyone is in tears, clenching their stomaches of laughter.

─────── · ·

Once the cameras were all shut off and the office was going back to their offices and stations, you waited patiently by the door to greet Spencer before he had to direct a Games Video. "I'm surprised not many people knew how we met," he comments, wrapping an arm around your waist as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"I am too, but well, we are quite private about our relationship in the first place. So it would make sense," you say, walking over to the kitchen to grab water bottles for the two of you.

"Well, I'm sure thats going to change now," Spencer says, looking over your shoulder and you do the same. A wild group of cast members are all rushing over to you both as a thousand questions are being waterfall into your face and next thing you both knew, a thirty minute lunch had turned into a two-hour one. But when sharing a kickstarter and some snacks with Spencer's arm wrapped securely around you, his laughter in your ear as he whispered things only for you to hear, you wouldn't have it any other way.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: 🥹

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt

[buckyshoneybunny]

Beautiful

 Bucky Barnes + Curvy!Female!Reader 

Summary- Bucky proves to you that you are beautiful. 

W.C.- 2623 

Warnings- Fluff, tiny bit of angst(?), smut, 18+ Mdni! Oral (female), fingering, P in V sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that) 

A/N- First time writing smut, hope you like it. This got a little personal 😬 but to all my fellow curvy + plus size girls you are beautiful 😘. I’m thinking of writing a series, with either Alpha, roommate, neighbor, or biker Bucky, I can’t pick. Any suggestions or ideas, I will gladly listen. Also, thank you so much for all the love on my first story!! Please don’t post or steal my work, feedback is welcome. Hope you enjoy!  

Masterlist

You took another deep, shaky breath as you studied your reflection for the hundredth time in the last five minutes. Tonight was the big night; you and Bucky were going to be taking the next step in your relationship. After many dates and late-night talks, you were finally ready to take the next step. Bucky, the ever so perfect guy he is, was patient with you, assured you that he was perfectly fine waiting until you were ready. 

You and Bucky were making out on your couch, you straddling his lap, when you pulled away with a gasp. Bucky starts kissing down your neck, as his hands start to slide up your shirt you freeze.  

Having noticed this, he immediately stops and pull back to look at you. “You okay, peach?” You look away. 

He gently cups your face, his cold, metal hand soothing your burning cheeks. “Talk to me Babygirl, what’s wrong?”  

You bite your lip. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” you whisper. “I know I should have said something sooner instead of waiting until we’re both worked up but I-” 

“Peach, breathe,” be cuts off your nervous ramble. He rearranges you both so that you’re not positioned over his bulge. “It’s okay, if you aren’t ready then we wait, okay?” He says softly. 

You glance down at his lap feeling guilty. “But what about-” 

“No, don’t worry about that. It’ll go away shortly. How about we cuddle and watch our show? I’m dying to see what happened to Angela,” he suggests. 

You nod after a moment and hug him. “Thank you, Bucky,” you mumble into his neck.  

“Anything for you, peach” 

It wasn’t because you were a virgin or wanted to do things the ‘proper’ way, although you never told Bucky why, he guessed it was because of how insecure you are of your weight. Okay, yes, you were a little curvy, yes multiple guys had laughed at you when you tried to get their attention or looked at you in disgust whenever you tried to wear something that showed a little skin. 

Yes, you were insecure about your weight, but that wasn’t the reason you wanted to wait. Bucky had made sure you knew he loved your curves, no matter how hard you tried to hide them. You often chose pants over shorts and never wore tank tops, but it wasn’t because of your weight- the team made sure you knew they loved you for you, you felt comfortable around them- no, it was because of your skin. 

See, you weren’t one of those girls who had smooth, shiny skin, and that’s why you never showed off anything more than your arms. You had cellulite, bumps everywhere, and pimples in places you wished you didn’t. Not one spot on your body was smooth or clear, it didn’t matter where you shaved or moisturized, every time you slide your hands up your arms or down your legs it was bumpy. You tried everything under the sun but nothing helped, only few things made it a little better, you couldn’t even use your favorite scented lotions that often because it only made them worse. The tan on your skin helped hide it, but it was still there. 

A ding from your phone pulled you back to the present, you picked it up and noticed Bucky had texted you. 

💖My love- Hey, peach! I’m really excited for tonight, and since tonight is a very special night, I got you a little something (with the help of Nat of course), check your closet 😉.  

You walk into your closet to see a long, white, plastic bag hung up with your other dresses. When you unzip it, you can’t help but gasp.  The dress is a long, V-neck red satin dress with double slits. Phone in hand, you text him back. 

You-This is gorgeous Buck, but I don’t know if it’ll look right on me. 

💖My love-I know it’s way out of your comfort zone but believe me, you’ll be the sexiest woman to have ever existed, you already are but you’ll look even more gorgeous. You don’t have to wear it but I hope you do, see you soon, peach 😘. 

Trusting Bucky, you decide to wear it. You put on some plum scented lotion, damn your skin- at least it’ll be soft-, and put the dress on. It fits perfectly, your tan hides your skins secrets and the dress hugs your curves, for once you actually feel sexy. You take your hair out of the French braids and spray on some watermelon scented perfume. Right as you finish putting on your heels, there’s a knock at the door. You grab your clutch and look at yourself in the mirror one last time. Taking a deep breath you open the door. 

Bucky’s eyes widen as he takes you in, you do the same when you see him. He’s in a perfectly fitting suit that shows off his defined muscles, it’s cotton and black, he has a white button up under the jacket with a red tie.  

“How do I look?’ You ask nervously. When he doesn’t answer you start to overthink.  

“God damn,” he mumbles under his breath. His eyes sweep over your body again. “I don’t think I have ever wanted your thighs wrapped around my head more than I do now,” he says distractedly, staring at your thighs.  

“Bucky!” You gasp and playfully smack his chest. He grins, grabbing your wrists, he puts them around his neck as his hands settle on your waist.  

He chuckles. “Seriously though, you look absolutely gorgeous.” He kisses you then slides over to kiss your neck; he breathes in deeply and groans. “Mmm. You smell delicious,” he mumbles against your skin. He slides his hands up your sides.  

“Cut it out, we’re gonna be late,” you giggle and move before his hands can reach the bare skin of your arms, avoiding his touch. He notices.  

“Alright, alright, come on, peach.” He grins and leads you to the elevator, his hand in yours.  

As the elevator closes, he asks, “When the hell did you get that tan?” 

“When everyone was gone on that one mission.” 

“Damn, I missed this gorgeous body half naked in the sun?” He playfully pouts.   

You snort and shake your head. 

Once you both get to the restaurant, the hostess takes you to your table. It’s the fancy Italian restaurant that takes months in advance to get a reservation.  

As the waiter leaves with your orders you ask, “How did you get a table here? It takes months in advance.” 

“Tony called in a few favors,” he grins. “I want tonight to be special,” he adds softly. His hand covers yours on the table. You smile at him and interlace your fingers together. 

“How come you won’t let me touch you?” He blurts out.  

You give him a confused look, “What do you mean? You’re touching me right now.” 

“No, I mean, you won’t let me touch your bare skin. At first, I thought maybe you had scars or something, that maybe that’s way you never wear shorts. But seeing you tonight, in that dress, I can’t fathom why you would hide your body.” He pauses for a moment. “Is it because of me?” He whispers, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. 

You quickly cup his face, “God no Bucky” You take a deep breath. “It’s just...” you trail off, unsure of how to put it. 

“What, peach? Please, tell me. I understand you wanting to wait for this long, I respect that, but every time we kissed or got a little handsy I could see that you wanted to keep going but you always stopped.” 

You sigh. “Part of it is my weight-” he goes to cut you off but you keep going. “But you’ve helped me feel more confident in my weight, but the insecurities are still there. The main reason is my skin...” 

“Your skin?” He deadpans. 

“The bumps everywhere, cellulite, and pimples everywhere Bucky. I don’t have that smooth clear skin like Wanda or Nat. That’s what I’m afraid of, that you’ll see the marks, feel the bumps on my legs, stomach, hell even my ass. That you’ll see the pimples in places that shouldn’t have any and you’ll break up with me or be disgusted,” you rant.  

“Okay, Y/N, deep breath. First of all, if I ever look at you in disgust, HYDRA must’ve taken over me. I love you and a few bumps and pimples won’t change that.” He holds your hands in his.  

“It’s more than just a few Bucky.” He narrows his eyes as he studies you. The waiter brings your food, Bucky starts to shovel the food into his mouth.  

“Eat,” he says around a mouthful of garlic bread. “I need to get you home to prove to you how beautiful you are.” 

Once you both are done, he pays and all but drags you out to the car. He pushes you up against the side of the car, smashing his lips to yours.  

“If you’ll let me, I want to show you how much I love you and this body.” He says breathlessly. “Please,” he adds, almost whining. You nod.  

On the drive back, you get a burst of confidence. You glance over at Bucky, he’s tense, barely maintaining the speed limit, desperate to get home. You look down and see a very large, very noticeable bulge. Fuck he looks huge. 

You reach over and place your hand on his thigh, slowly sliding it up. Bucky glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Peach,” he warns. You cup his bulge and he inhales sharply. You trace your finger over him, teasing. You cup him again and squeeze, right as he stops for a red light. He groans and bucks his hip up into your hand, his reaction sending a shoot of arousal through you. 

Once you finally reach the tower, he drags you to his room, once inside he shoves you against the door and devours you mouth with his. He spins you around and grabs the zipper of the dress.  

“You sure you’re ready, peach?” You nod. “I need words baby,” he whispers against your neck. 

“Yes Bucky, I’m ready.” He, painfully slow, pulls the zipper down. The dress pools at your feet, he turns you back around. 

His knees almost buckle. You’re standing there in nothing but a baby pink lingerie set and black heels. “Fuck peach,” he moans. He drops to his knees and kisses your stomach. “These curves” he grips your hips, “This ass,” his hands move to squeeze your ass, bordering painful. “This body, baby, I’m never letting you keep it from me again.” His kisses his way down your stomach. “You many have bumps and pimples, and cellulite, but that just add to the uniqueness of the gorgeous body. Y/N, baby, you are perfect, so fucking sexy, just looking at you I could cum in my pants.” He throws your right leg over his shoulder.  

“Bucky,” you whimper. He noses your panty covered clit, inhaling deeply. 

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He pauses, “Do you have plum scented lotion on?” 

“Yeah...” You answer hesitantly. 

He shoves his nose in the crease of your thigh. “Fuck, I didn’t know they made that,” he groans.  

“You like it?” You giggle. 

“I fucking love it, peach.” He licks your cloth covered core, making you moan. He pulls your panties to the side and growls. “This has got to be the prettiest pussy I have ever seen Babygirl.” That’s the only warning you get before he’s eating you out like a starved man.  

He swirls his tongue around your clit before sucking it into his mouth. He brings his metal hand up and slowly inserts his pointer finger. You buck against his face, you lace your fingers through his hair, him being the only thing keeping you upright.  

“Fuck you taste so good, so fucking tight,” he moans into your pussy, sending vibrations through you. He slowly adds a second finger, then a third. Curling them to hit that spongy spot, making you see stars.  

“I-I’m close... Please don’t stop Bucky,” you moan.  

“Wouldn’t dream on it Babygirl, cum for me.” 

You go limp against the door as you cum, gripping his hair tighter, almost to the point of painful, but it only makes him harder. He continues to fuck you with his fingers, helping you ride out your high. Once you come down, he pulls away and stands up. You yank him down by his tie, crashing your lips to his, moaning at your taste on his tongue.  

“How ya feeling, peach?” He whispers against your lips. 

“I want you inside me, now,” you answer. 

He chuckles, “Yes ma’am.” He quickly sheds the rest of your clothes and shoves you on his bed, not before smothering your chest in open mouthed kisses though.  You lean up on your elbows to watch him undress, gasping as his cock springs free from his boxers.  

“Don’t worry, it’ll fit,” he winks and joins you on the bed. Siting on his haunches, he wraps your legs around his waist and shoves his knees under your thighs. He rubs the head of his cock through your folds, teasing you.  

“Bucky please,” you whine. 

“I like the sound of you begging,” his voice deep and rough. In one smooth motion he enters you. You gasp and he moans once he’s fully sheathed inside you. 

“Fuck you’re so big,” you moan and dig your nails into his back. He stays still, letting you adjust. When you buck your hips up to let him know you're ready, he just groans and buries his face in your neck. 

“Fuck, give me a minute,” he mumbles, already pussy drunk.  

You giggle and card your fingers through his hair. After a second, he pulls almost all the way out and sets a punishing pace.  

“God damn you’re tight, almost made me cum like a horny teenager.” You moan at his words. With atilt of his hips, the tip of his cock pounds into your g-spot.  

“James!” You moan, nails dragging down his back.  

He shivers. “Fuck, say my name again.” 

“James harder! I’m gonna cum, James, please let me cum.” You whine in his ear.  

He groans and fucks you harder. “Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock like a good girl.” 

Your thighs squeeze his hips. Back arching, head thrown back, nails digging into his sides you cum, squirting all over his cock.  

“Holy shit,” he moans as he watches you. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, just barely hold his off. His thrusts grow sloppy. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum baby, where do you want it?”  

You lock your ankles on his lower back, your hands grip his ass, nails digging into the plump flesh. “Inside, please, James, I want your cum in me” 

“Fuck! Y/N!” He roars as he cums. He buries himself as deep as he can as ropes of cum shoot into you. He collapses onto of you, panting. You rub his back and scratch at his scalp as you both catch your breath; he places open mouthed kisses on your neck. He sucks a hickey on your neck, you shiver.  

“Believe me now when is say you’re gorgeous?” He picks his head up to look at you. 

You lean your forehead against his, “I don’t know, I think I might need some more convincing.” He grins, already getting hard again thanks to the serum.  

“My pleasure.” It was going to be a looong night. 

Needless to say, you were much more confident in your looks after that.