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munson-blurbs · 8 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Summary: A trip to the thrift store becomes overwhelming for Harris, and you and Eddie have to work as a team. But the real test of your relationship's strength is the crisis that unfolds days later.

Warnings: financial insecurity, school lock-in, missing child, police presence, mention of kidnapping, mention of drug addiction, blood (no gore)

WC: 8.5k

Chapter 19/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie has already been awake for two hours when the phone rings. One part of parenthood that he hadn’t anticipated is that children do not understand the concept of weekends. Harris had flung himself out of his racecar bed promptly at 6:30 in the morning, crawling under Eddie’s sheets and poking his nose until he woke up.

“Har, go back to sleep,” Eddie had grumbled, the last word extended in a whine. One cheek was smushed against his pillow, muffling his complaint. “It’s Saturday; you don’t have school.”

In response, Harris pursed his lips into a perfect pout and used his thumb to peel Eddie’s eyelid open, getting as close to his face as possible. His morning breath was tinged with the scent of chocolate; Eddie groggily made a mental note to better supervise his nighttime teeth brushing routine.

“‘M hungry.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself pouring his third cup of coffee while his son keeps his eyes glued to the TV screen, watching Doug stutter and stammer in front of Patti. Eddie smiles, a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that that’s probably what he looks like around you.

“‘Lo?” He cradles the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, wincing as he clumsily clinks the carafe into place. There isn’t enough coffee left to slosh over the side, a small miracle in and of itself, although he’ll have to brew some more if the caffeine doesn’t kick in soon.

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is sleepy yet sweet, smoothing all the creases of the morning. “Did I wake you up?”

Eddie laughs and takes a sip from his favorite mug, the one that proudly declares #1 Dad. It’s stained and chipped, but he’ll never throw it out. Wayne had bought it for him on his very first Father’s Day; ironically, Eddie had bought him a #1 Grandpa mug that year, probably from the same kiosk at the mall.

“Not even close,” he says, tongue flicking to the corner of his lip to catch the drip of coffee that’s pooled in the crevice. “Someone was up bright and early this morning.” His gaze flits over to the bowl of Cheerios snug between Harris’s criss-crossed legs, mostly uneaten despite his earlier protests that would make an outsider believe he was starving. “How was your sleep?” he asks, swinging back to your conversation.

You switch the phone from one ear to the other. “It was good. Would’ve been better if you were next to me, though,” you add, twirling the cord around your forefinger. If you could, you would capture the safety of his embrace and bottle it, releasing a bit each time you craved his gentle touch. “I might’ve even let you be the little spoon.”

He balks at this with a playful scoff, nearly spilling his coffee with the sudden movement. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles, licking the side of the mug before the bitter liquid can slide off and hit the ground. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Admittedly, his skepticism is rooted in truth; whenever you do get the chance to cuddle in bed, he’s always the one wrapping his arm around your waist, often taking the opportunity to snake a hand up your shirt and let the pads of his fingers brush over your breasts. It isn’t always a display of sexuality or desire–though you can’t say you mind that–but a connection, a way of ensuring that you stay close.

“Just a few more weeks until we get to find out for ourselves,” you tease, though he needs no reminding. Only sixteen days remain until you officially move in together, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s counting down. “Speaking of which,” you continue, glancing at the clock, “I was wondering if you and Harris wanted to do some furniture shopping for his new room.” You knew that he would be keeping his racecar bed; it’s unlikely he’ll part with it until he’s outgrown it completely. “Y’know, a new dresser or nightstand or something.”

There’s an extended pause on Eddie’s side of the line. You think the call dropped and are about to hang up and redial when you hear him say, “I, um…I don’t get paid until next week…” He nervously scratches the countertop with one fingernail.

“Oh.” You grapple with a response, trying to strike a balance of empathy without condescension. “Well, I was going to surprise you, but I sold some of Grandma’s old—”

“No way,” Eddie interjects, firmly but not harshly. “I’m not having you spend your money on me. We can just wait until payday.”

“I want to buy this for Harris. I…I probably should have cleared out Grandma’s room months ago, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could, but it felt wrong because I had nothing to put in its place.” You don’t care that you’re babbling on, forging ahead with your impromptu monologue. “It would’ve been too empty, but with you and Harris here, it won’t be empty anymore.”

Eddie tucks his thumbnail between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he prods, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

“Positive.” You’re much more assured in your reply. “If she knew Harris before she got sick, she would’ve spoiled the hell out of him, anyway.” The moment she saw him happily digging into the Oreos, she would have ensured that the cupboard remained stocked with Double Stuf. “In a way, s’like she gets to spoil him now.”

You can sense Eddie’s resistance tempering with an audible exhale. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure,” he muses, buying time to process the influx of emotions flooding his body. There’s the obvious gratitude that you’re so eager to take care of his son, but it’s cut with the insecurity of him not being able to do so. If you’re going to buy Harris furniture, it should be because you want to, not because he can’t. What if you hold this against him? What if, in the future, there’s an argument and you fire back with a retort about his shortcomings as a father?

Except…you have never done that. Ever. Not that night in the emergency room, or when you’d found out about the CPS report filed that evening. Not even when Eddie had made it his personal mission to tear you down, pulling insults from the depths and hurling them at you with reckless abandon.

You hadn’t brought up the way he’d helplessly panicked when confronted with the possibility of Harris’s learning disability, or how he’d let anxiety overtake him when he officially received a classification. With everything the two of you had endured, you’d never once echoed his anxieties about his parenting abilities; it was quite the opposite. With you by his side, he feels as though he can take on whatever challenge life chucks at him.

“Eds? Is everything okay?” Your tone is thick with concern; Eddie realizes that you probably think you’ve upset him. “We don’t have to go—we can do something else, or—”

“Sweet girl,” he says in one exhale, both to reassure you and to remind himself that you’re his, and he’s yours. Love surges through the phone lines when he speaks. “We can pick you up in an hour, if that works? I should be able to wrangle Harris by then.”

“Y’sure?” And, Christ, how his heart sinks when you shrink inward, reflexively making yourself smaller when you’re worried that you’ve offended someone.

Eddie doesn’t answer you directly, instead, calls out his son’s name. “Hey, Harris?” He frowns when Harris completely ignores him in favor of watching the cartoon. Using his free hand, he cups his mouth in a makeshift megaphone, amplifying his voice. “Harris Wayne Munson!”

The sudden sound jolts him out of his TV-induced stupor. “Huh?”

“Go get dressed and brush your teeth; we’re gonna go shopping with Ms. Sweetheart!” Eddie grins as Harris turns to him with a wide smile of his own. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Harris jumps up without further hesitation, inadvertently tossing his bowl from the makeshift table of his legs. Milk splatters, instantly soaking into the carpet, and the Cheerios topple out and land in a soggy pile. “Nooo, my bref-ist!” His big eyes well up with tears. “Daddy, you made me drop my bref-ist!”

“You, uh, wanna deal with that?” You can’t hide your amusement at the usual Munson chaos.

“Probably should, huh?” Eddie jokes back, stretching the phone cord as far as he can and reaching for the paper towel roll. “I love you, babe. See you in a bit.”

“I love you, Eds,” you tell him. “And Harris, too, of course.”

Some more static and shuffling; then, an energetic voice greets you. “Hi Ms. Sweetheart! Daddy made me drop my bref-ist,” the little boy reports.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Har.” You’ve perfected the art of mustering up sympathy for children’s not-soearth-shattering issues, a skill that every preschool teacher must possess. “Why don’t you help him clean up? That way, I can see you even faster.”

Harris pauses, mulling over his options. “Yeah, okay! Gotta go! Bye!”

You hear the clunk of him struggling to replace the phone on the hook, followed by Eddie saying, “Let me say good-bye before you hang—” click.

Pulling your own receiver from your ear, you stare at it with mild amusement. Never a dull moment with my boys.

Your boys drive up to your building just over an hour later. You stand up from the bench outside the entrance and smooth down your shorts where they’ve creased.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Eddie lets the pet name roll off of his tongue. He wants to kiss you as you slide into the passenger seat, but he withholds his affection for Harris’s sake. It seems silly, considering you’ll all be living together, but he doesn’t know how his son will react to the romance aspect of it. Will he be happy? Excited? Disgusted by any display of affection?

You give his hand a subtle squeeze, turning around to greet Harris. “Ready to shop till we drop?”

“Till we drop?” Harris wrinkles his nose, glancing between you and his dad. “Why would we drop?”

“It’s just an expression,” you explain, catching a glimpse of the smile tugging at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Just means that we’re going to shop until we’re too tired to shop anymore.”

“I never get tired,” Harris declares, sticking his legs straight out so his flexed feet push up against the back of the driver’s seat, nudging Eddie slightly forward. “Grampa Wayne calls me an ‘Energizer Bunny.’” He bounces up and down in his booster seat to prove his point.

Eddie reaches his right arm around, keeping his left firmly gripping the wheel, as he moves Harris’s feet from where they’re planted into his lower back. “So, Har,” he starts, easing his weight onto the brake as he approaches a red light, “we’re gonna look for a new dresser for you, and maybe a nightstand.” He takes a deep breath as he delivers the news: “That means we’re not making any pit stops for toys. Got it?”

You want to interject, to let Eddie know that you don’t mind splurging on a small treat for Harris, but you bite it back. Whether or not you have the spare funds is irrelevant: this is the boundary he’s set for his son, and you have to respect it, regardless of your desire to spoil him.

Harris, however, does not accept the announcement as readily. “Not even, like, a little one?” he presses, holding his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “Even if I’m really, really good?” He gives a hopeful smile, eyes blinking expectantly.

Eddie looks at you, serving as your cue to provide your input. You nod your approval, trying to hide your delight in being asked to make a parenting decision, regardless of how menial it may seem. He peers up through the rearview mirror at his son’s waiting face. “If you’re really, really good,” he acquiesces, features pinching into a grimace when Harris’s exuberant squeal echoes through the sedan. “You have to use your inside voice and stay next to us the whole time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harris confirms. “Deal, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Deal.” Laughter bubbles up inside you and you let it spill out uninhibited. You know that telling a child he can get a toy is an easy part of parenthood, but you silently swear to never take for granted being included in that choice. Harris joins you, though he’s not quite sure why he’s laughing, but your joy is contagious.

You lean your head against the car window, listening to the buzz of the radio filling the silence. Harris hums along, more on-key than the average five-year-old, which you can safely attribute to him having a musician for a dad.

“I’m not getting a new bed, right?” Harris says with sudden urgency. “Because I wanna keep my racecar bed.”

“Mhm,” you affirm, smiling when Harris relaxes back against the headrest. “Your racecar bed will be in your new room, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” That response satisfies him until he thinks up another question. “An’ you’re bringing your bed, Daddy?”

Eddie chuckles as he pulls into the Goodwill parking lot. He picks a spot close to the store, right next to a green Ford with a faded “Clinton ‘96” bumper sticker. “Um, no. I’m not bringing my bed.”

“So are you getting a new bed?” His eyes dart from side to side as he assesses the size of the car. “Where’s it gonna fit?”

“I’m, uh, not buying a new bed, either.” Eddie kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, swiveling to face Harris, who is more confused than ever. “Ms. Sweetheart and I are going to share her bed.”

Harris kicks his feet, processing this new information. “But you didn’t get married yet,” he points out, “so how can you share a bed?”

You rest your palm on Eddie’s forearm in quiet reassurance. “Some people share a bed before they get married,” you explain simply, knowing that less is often more when talking to young children.

“When are you gonna get married?” he asks, more curious than meddling. “Because it’s taking forever. My friends’ mommies and daddies are already married.”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Harris essentially referred to you as his mommy; instead, he slowly exhales. “I’d like to marry Ms. Sweetheart someday, and I think she’d like to marry me, too.” He looks over at you with a sheepish grin, and you give his hand an agreeing squeeze. “But, for now, we’re just going to try out living together. How does that sound?”

“I guess that’s okay.” Harris isn’t completely thrilled with his dad’s response, but he relents anyway.

“While, we’re, uh, on the subject,” Eddie continues, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he carefully considers his words. He chews on the inside of his lower lip. Is he really doing this? Is he opening his son up to this relationship? “You know that Ms. Sweetheart and I love each other very much, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes,” Eddie continues with only some trepidation, “sometimes, when grown-ups love each other a lot, they hold hands o-or kiss. Would that be weird for you? If Ms. Sweetheart and I held hands, or kissed?”

You avert your gaze, partly from bashfulness but mostly so Harris doesn’t feel any pressure from either of you.

The little boy looks at the car’s ceiling, centering his focus on the overhead lighting. Finally, with utmost certainty, he declares, “just no tongue-kissing.”

You snort out a laugh while Eddie goes bright red and sputters, “where did you learn about that?”

“Young and Restless,” Harris reports nonchalantly.

Eddie rubs his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his lids until his vision blurs. “Remind me to tell Wayne to stop letting him watch the soaps,” he grumbles to you, turning back to his son. “Yeah, no tongue-kissing.”

You easily lace your fingers with Eddie’s as you walk through the front doors of the Goodwill. Harris starts making a beeline for the toys, but Eddie uses his free hand to pivot him in the direction of the furniture department. Harris huffs but complies, trudging alongside you.

There’s a bright blue nightstand on display that immediately catches his eye. “Look!” he points, smiling so wide that all of his baby teeth are on display, “can I get it? Please?”

Eddie smiles warily, flipping over the white tag hanging from one silver drawer handle. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees the price is within the range of what he’d like to spend; rather, what he’d be comfortable asking you to spend.

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” he says, posture straightening with the announcement. He runs his fingertips over the surface, checking for any chipping paint or splintering wood, but the finish appears to be intact. “I’ll go tell someone to set it aside for us.”

He sets off in search of an employee, leaving you alone with Harris. You swallow the nervousness building in your throat. You spend nearly every day taking care of children, but you’re suddenly inundated with the memory of losing him at the flea market. Those few minutes when you couldn’t locate him were some of the scariest of your life.

And yet, it hadn’t prevented Eddie from giving you another chance.

“Are you excited to move in with me, Har?” you ask, reaching out to ruffle his curls.

He nods, then looks straight up at you so that you’re staring at his nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart?” The position of his neck changes his voice’s pitch so it’s froggy. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Can you marry my daddy?” His eyes shine with potential. “And then you can be my mommy for real?”

You crouch down to his height, heart melting at his request. “Harris, I love your daddy very, very much. And I love you very, very much, too.” You poke his nose gently, and he giggles. “Being married is a big responsibility—”

“‘Sponsibility?”

“Mhm. Responsibility. It means a really important job.” You slide your heart pendant across the chain on your neck anxiously. “And your daddy and I want to make sure that we’re ready for that kind of responsibility before we do anything, okay?”

Harris nods, but you can tell from his crinkled nose and furrowed brows that he doesn’t fully understand. You can’t blame him; it’s an abstract concept, one that even you often have trouble comprehending. “But I can tell you one thing: whenever your daddy wants to propose, I’ll say ‘yes.’” You smile at the thought of Eddie asking you to be his wife.

“Is that where he gets down on one knee and asks ‘Will you marry me?’” You’re about to respond when he adds, “and then someone runs in and yells about being their long-lost ‘dentical twin?”

Yeah, no more soap operas for Harris.

Finding a dresser proves to be a much more difficult task than picking out the nightstand. Everything that Harris likes is out of budget, and everything within budget is too worn down or small. There’s one that’s in good condition and isn’t too pricey, but it’s covered in hand-painted unicorns.

“That’s for girls!” Harris groans, stomping his feet. The last word is stretched in a whine. “I can’t have girl stuff!”

“We can paint over it. Whatever color you want,” you quickly jump in, trying to avoid a meltdown, but your efforts are fruitless. Fat tears stream down his cheeks; he’s already determined that the dresser is tainted.

“No! No, no, no!” he howls, throwing himself on the floor. He smacks down on his tailbone, fanning his tantrum’s flames. He quiets for a moment, too shocked to cry, but then he’s screaming louder than before.

It’s as though he’s lost control of his body, arms and legs knocking into the lower shelves without care. You can’t block him in time before he knocks over a lamp—a Nickelodeon-themed one that would have been perfect in his new room, ironically—and it shatters on the ground. Ceramic splinters, scattering across the linoleum like roaches in the light.

People start to stare, some with sympathetic looks, and some glare angrily at the child daring to interrupt their shopping. Eddie’s face blazes, vision swimming as he wracks his brain for a solution.

You’re faster, slapping a few bills into Eddie’s palm and jolting him from his thoughts. He watches you scoop Harris off of the floor, trying to avoid his flailing limbs.

“Go get the nightstand and pay for the lamp,” you tell him, straightforward and precise. “I’ll get him to the car and calm him down. Keys?”

Eddie blinks, the information swirling around him but not quite penetrating the surface. It’s when you hoist Harris onto one hip and balance his weight in one hand, using the other to make a ‘gimme’ motion that it registers.

“Y-Yeah, sorry.” Eddie fumbles for the car keys and tosses them to you, the two of you working in tandem. A well-oiled machine. You nod gratefully, wincing as Harris’s foot makes contact with your thigh. “I’ll be right out.”

You’re able to bring him to the car, struggling to unlock it and hold on to Harris. After a few failed attempts, you manage to open the passenger door and sit him on the seat.

“Harris, hey, Harris?” you start, keeping your voice soft and even while trying to pull his attention. His sobs are slowing down but he’s definitely breathing too rapidly for your comfort. “Hey, bud. You’re okay, all right?” You extend your hand and he tentatively places his own palm on top of it. “You wanna give my hand a squeeze?”

He does it, the motion grounding him enough that he can focus on your body in front of him. You don’t want to touch him, knowing that his senses are already overstimulated from the tantrum. Instead, you relax as his squeezing grows stronger and his breaths gradually even out.

“There ya go, Har. Just like that.” You smile warmly. “That was a really big feeling, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” His voice shakes and hiccups. He swipes at the tears on his cheeks, smudging them into his skin.

You reach into the center console and grab a tissue, wiping the mucus from his nose and lips. “Good as new.” With no trashcan nearby, you shove the used Kleenex into your pants pocket. “Can you tell me what made you so mad in there?”

“D-Don’t want girl…girl st-stuff,” he stutters through ragged breaths.

There’s a time and place to discuss the optics of categorizing interests into ‘boy’ and ‘girl,’ but you know better than to have that conversation now. “Oof, that’s why you were angry! That’s a lot to handle.” You gingerly tuck a curl behind his ear. “But, Harris, did you see what happened when you started hitting and kicking?” He shakes his head. “Well, you knocked over a lamp and it broke. You could have gotten hurt, or someone else could have gotten hurt.”

Harris’s face falls as you speak, absorbing what you’re explaining. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he sniffles. “‘M sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you sigh, “sometimes, when we have big feelings like getting angry, we do things we shouldn’t without even realizing.” You pause for a moment, biting your lip as you consider your words. “Do you want to hear what helps me when I have really big feelings and I can’t scream and cry?”

“Mhm.” He nods again, little tongue peeking out to swipe up the tears above his mouth.

“I take a deep breath and close my eyes,” you start, demonstrating both actions. Inhale for three, exhale for three, and repeat. “And then I picture myself being in my favorite place in the world.” You smile at him, blinking back the sadness that comes with memories of holidays at Grandma’s. “Wanna try it together?”

Harris responds by closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. “Good job, Har,” you softly praise him. “Now breathe out; make sure you’re thinking of your favorite place, okay?”

“Thinkin’ about the zoo,” he whispers, voice raspy from shrieking for so long. “Daddy taked me there and we saw so much animals.”

“Zoos are a lot of fun,” you agree with a laugh. “I’ve never been to the one in Hawkins. Maybe we can go over the summer?”

“Yeah! I wanna show you the flamingos!” His grin stretches across his cheeks “Do you like flamingos?”

Like most people, you don’t have a strong opinion on flamingos, but you respond with an enthusiastic, “I love them!”

“Love who?” Eddie’s voice breaks into the conversation. He’s rolling out the nightstand in a cart, keeping one hand on top of it to hold it steady. “Me?”

You laugh, opening up the back door so he can wedge the furniture next to Harris’s booster seat. “Yes, Eddie. I love you very much, don’t worry,” you tease, seizing the opportunity to inconspicuously check him out. His biceps flex as he maneuvers the nightstand, and you have to tear your gaze from his denim-clad ass when he stands up and triumphantly wipes his hands on his pants.

“C’mere.” He pulls you in, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout and planting a smacking kiss on you.

While you giggle, Harris is not as amused. He claps his hands over his eyes and groans.

“No tongue-kissing!”

You’re wrapping up storytime, your students fidgeting with their shoelaces—some fidgeting with their friend’s shoelaces—eager to move onto the corresponding art activity Will has planned.

“Okay, we’re going to use our walking—” Your announcement is cut short by Principal Sinclair’s voice coming over the loudspeaker. Her tone is typically warm and excited, but the way she speaks so sternly sends chills through your entire body.

“This is a lock-in. All staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified. I repeat, all staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified.”

You breathe out, though you’re still concerned about the cause of the lock-in. It’s usually some kind of medical issue that requires emergency services to have unblocked access through the halls. You hope that whatever it is isn’t life-threatening.

Will locks the door wordlessly, and you repeat your directions to the class. The kids walk to their seats, asking non-stop about what a lock-in means.

“We just have to stay in the classroom,” you find yourself repeating, losing patience with each iteration. You’re thankful for small miracles; your class has already gone out for recess, which means you don’t have to break that news to them.

Will is helping the kids glue multicolored strands of crepe paper in the shape of a rainbow, complete with cotton ball clouds. You’re unclogging a bottle of Elmer’s when the classroom phone rings, startling you. You place the glue bottle on the table, promising Joshua that you’ll be right back, and answer it.

“Hello?”

“We need you to come to the office immediately,” the secretary’s clipped voice informs you. “Bring your personal items. We’ll send someone to assist Will.”

Stupidly, you nod before remembering she can’t see you. “Y-Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.” You hang up, tell Will the plan, and bolt out the door.

What the hell is going on? Why are they having me break the lock-in to go to the office? You hike your purse higher up your shoulder, trying to ignore the dread pooling in your stomach and creeping up your throat.

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.

Your feet can’t carry you fast enough. You nearly stop breathing when you see Eddie pacing in the lobby, Marion and Paula standing off to the side and speaking with Chief Hopper. The two teachers wear matching worried expressions.

As soon as Eddie spots you, he’s charging over. “Oh, thank God,” he murmurs, throwing his arms around you and hugging you tight. You can feel the tears falling from his eyes, wetting the crook of your neck. His hands squeeze against your back and your shoulder blades as his body is wracked with sobs.

You weave your fingers through his hair, holding him as close as you can. You’re desperate to know what’s going on, but you doubt he could explain if he tried. Instead, you continue comforting him while Principal Sinclair walks over.

Her strides are long and purposeful, and she meets your own terrified gaze with her own. “Harris went missing during recess,” she says quietly, “and Mr. Munson let us know that you might be an asset in locating him.”

Harris went missing. Bile inches up your esophagus and you swallow it, wincing at its burn. “Why would he—” You stop mid-sentence; his motive is not important right now. All of your focus needs to be on finding him.

Chief Hopper approaches you and Eddie, tapping your boyfriend on the shoulder with two fingers. Eddie looks up, wipes his face with the heel of his palm, and clears his throat, but a fresh batch of tears threatens to spill over anyway.

“We’ve just collected statements from his teachers,” Hopper reports, looking down at his notepad. “They said that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that Harris was just playing with his friends one moment and then gone the next.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, something had to have happened.” Harris had wandered off plenty of times, like at the flea market. The difference was that he was easily found. “If you haven’t found him, then he’s either hiding, or someone…” The thought is too painful to finish.

Hopper looks over at the principal. “You’re certain that the playground is secure?” He asks her, not accusing, but waiting for confirmation.

“Yes, absolutely secure,” she affirms, nodding her head. “The gate can only be opened from the inside, so no one can access it off of the street.”

You know this, of course, but it doesn't bring you closer to finding Harris.

“We’ve taped off the playground,” Hopper continues, “and we’ve got a search squad going now. Considering that Harris has been diagnosed with a disability, we’re beginning this investigation right away.”

“Mr. Munson,” a second officer chimes in, “is there anyone who would be inclined to take your son? Perhaps a non-custodial parent or an estranged relative?”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “His mom, um, isn’t in the picture. Never has been.”

Hopper cocks one brow. “Never?” he asks disbelievingly. “How soon after he was born did she relinquish her rights?”

“She, um,” Eddie swallows, rubbing his nose in embarrassment, “she never did. Never relinquished her rights, I mean. She just kinda split.”

“So there was no formal agreement that she could no longer be involved in Harris’s life?”

“N-No,” he stammers, shame seeping from every pore. He’d always meant to start the legal proceedings, but that takes time and money…and maybe a small part of him had always hoped she’d come around and do the right thing.

He looks over at you now, the way you’ve stepped into a mothering role like a puzzle piece. Like any parent, you’d made some mistakes, but you’re also the most compassionate person Eddie has ever known.

He thinks of the times he’d tried to make his ex get clean, to want to get clean, and to be there for Harris. The weight of disappointment caused his chest to ache every time she’d mumble, “I’m gonna, but not right now” or “I don’t need help.”

Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the two of you; after all, you hadn’t struggled with addiction. But Eddie can’t help himself. You’d loved Harris before you’d even loved him, he realizes. And he’d never had to ask you to.

“Do you have any contact information for her?” Hopper taps his pen against his notepad. “Nine out of ten times in these situations, the child is with someone they know.”

What about the ‘one’ time? What happens then? Heat pulses in Eddie’s cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t need Hopper to answer the question; he already knows what that means.

“It’s from five years ago, so I don’t know if it’s still accurate.” He stumbles over his words, thinking about the last time he’d called her; it was the invitation to Harris’s birthday. “I don’t know it by heart, but I have it in my address book at home.”

Hopper gives a brusque nod to his colleague and to your boss. “We’ll give you a lift. And, uh, it’ll be good to set up your place as a home base.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Eddie mumbles, simply going through the motions without processing them. He’s on autopilot, a robotic version of himself. If he was able to fully absorb his surroundings, he would note the irony of him sitting in the back of the cop car because they’re helping him instead of escorting him to the county jail.

You don’t let go of his hand the entire ride there, your thumb rubbing the soft hairs on his knuckles. “We’re gonna find him,” you whisper reassuringly, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

But Eddie is too embroiled in his own thoughts, imagining every possible tragedy that could have befallen his son. As soon as Hopper pulls up to the apartment complex, Eddie is flying up the stairs, two at a time, unlocking the door as fast as he can. You run in behind him, watching as he flings loose papers and pens from a kitchen drawer. He’s kicked over the boxes he’s already packed; clothes and some of Harris’s toys are scattered across the floor like a poorly-designed booby-trap.

He holds up the tattered black book, flipping through it until he lands on the right page. “Here. Right here.” He frantically points to an entry at the top, fingertip jabbing into it over and over.

Hopper takes the book from him, careful not to rip the already weathered materials. He dials the digits and frowns when he’s greeted by the automated we’re sorry, this number is no longer in service, far too chipper for the circumstances. He tries once more in case he dialed incorrectly, but he gets the same message.

“Disconnected,” he says gruffly, hanging the receiver with a clank. “Is there anyone else?”

Eddie can only shake his head somberly. If Wayne got Harris from school early, he would have told him. He wasn’t even sure how much of Harris’s maternal family knew of his existence, let alone his location. If someone took his son, it was more than likely a complete stranger.

Hopper’s walkie crackles with static; you and Eddie stiffen with anticipation. “Hey, Chief?” comes from the garbled voice on the other end.

“I’m here.”

“We’ve got a kid here at the school who says he spoke with Harris Munson right before he went missing today.”

Eddie stands up, walking closer to Hopper. Part of you expects him to grab the walkie and try talking straight to the other officer, but he doesn’t.

Hopper presses the small black button and speaks. “Copy. Does he know where we might locate him?”

There’s a deafening silence for a few moments; no more than ten seconds pass, but it feels like a lifetime. Finally, there’s some information: “No known location; just says that Harris told him he was having ‘big feelings’ and needed to go to his favorite place.’”

“The zoo,” you murmur aloud, drawing confused looks from both men in the room. “When he got upset on Saturday—at Goodwill—I taught him to do some deep breathing and picture being in his favorite place, and he told me it was the zoo. But I…” you swallow, furrowing your brows, “I told him to picture it, not actually go there.”

“Zoo’s too far for him to walk, and no bus driver is going to let a kid that young ride by himself,” the chief points out.

You nod, biting your lower lip. “He might not be at the zoo, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to get there.”

Hopper thanks the other officer and turns to you and Eddie. My guys are deploying the search party as we speak.” He takes a deep breath and makes direct eye contact with you and Eddie. “We’ll do everything we can to bring your son back safely.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands, collapsing back against the living room wall and sliding down to the floor.

You look over at the police chief. “Can we help? Join the search…or something?” Anything besides sitting around and waiting for answers.

“Absolutely. We’ll keep an officer stationed here in case Harris comes home.”

You nudge your foot against Eddie’s. “C’mon, babe.” You try to keep strength behind your words, to be what Eddie needs right now, but it gets harder with each passing second. “We’re gonna go look for him.” He looks up and notices that you’ve extended your hand, and he takes it, pulling himself up.

He doesn’t say a word, but he follows you and Hopper out the door. He’s gnawing on his lips so violently that some skin peels off between his teeth; flecks of blood dotting his usually perfect mouth.

“We’ve got some time before sunset, so that’s on our side,” Hopper says as he drives back the way he came. “We’ll start in the woods near the school, and we’ll move from there.” He peers back at the two of you through the rearview mirror with a determined gaze.

“My uncle,” Eddie says suddenly, no certain expression on his face. He’s practically catatonic when he talks. “I want Wayne to wait at the apartment. I need to tell him…” If Harris does return home first and sees police officers surrounding the place, he might get scared and run off again.

Hopper scratches at his beard. “We’ll let him know, all right? Don’t worry about that.” He radios the instructions to a colleague, who confirms them and signs off, before pulling into a grassy area and killing the engine. “Let’s go. If Harris is going to come out for anyone, it’ll be you two.” He slams his door and then helps you and Eddie out of the backseat.

Before you can even begin, you hear a group of people shouting Eddie’s name. You look over to see Jeff, Jess, and Robin waving and walking towards you.

“We came as soon as we heard,” Robin says, giving you and Eddie a hug. “We’re gonna help you, and we’re not leaving until we find him.”

Jeff offers a tight smile, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’re here for you man,” he promises, sincerity in its purest form. “Viv is gonna stop by later and I’ll take care of Ettie.”

It’s a kind gesture, but Eddie’s stomach sours at the thought of still searching later. He needs to know that his son is safe now.

Harris’s name is echoed over and over, bouncing off of trees and shaking the leaves as you and your friends call out for him.

“Harris!” you cry out, throat raw from your constant shouting. “Harris, it’s Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Harris!” Eddie’s voice is even louder than yours; the power behind it is palpable. “Harris, it’s Daddy! Please come out! You’re not in trouble!” he adds, cognizant of the little boy’s fear of making people mad.

Every squirrel that darts across the forest floor has you whipping your head around, heart leaping at the prospect of Harris emerging from where he’s hiding.

He has to be hiding; your mind won’t let you imagine what could happen if the wrong person saw him walking by himself, determined to get to the zoo…

“Harris, Aunt Robin and I will buy you any toy you want!” Jess yells. “And all the ice cream you can eat!”

The five of you take turns making promises to nobody; they’re secrets shared with the wind. Each unanswered call leaves you feeling more defeated, especially with the sun hanging lower in the sky. It will be dark soon, leaving Harris even more vulnerable than he already is.

Will joins the group a few moments later, bringing granola bars, water, and flashlights. You can only stomach about a quarter of your snack, having completely lost your appetite. Eddie doesn’t even bother to eat, fueled by adrenaline rather than food.

“Principal Sinclair is also looking,” Will tells you and Eddie. “She’s with Lucas and Erica over at Merrill Wright’s farm. It’s closer than the zoo, but he’s got some animals, so they wanted to check there.” He pauses, casting his eyes down for a second before looking at Eddie. “Everyone’s helping out with this. They all want to find Harris.”

Tears well up along Eddie’s lash line; he blinks them away to keep his vision clear. “Thanks, man.” He coughs to clear his throat, emotions forcing their way through. “That means a lot.” For a moment, he sees Will as he was when they first met: an overwhelmed little freshman, unsure of his place in high school, let alone in the world.

What if Harris never gets the chance to find himself? What if he doesn’t get to grow up and learn new things, make his own mistakes, figure out who he is?

You put an arm around Eddie, unknowingly pulling him from his intrusive thoughts. “Can you try to drink some water? Please?” You know better than to nag him about eating right now, but the last thing he needs is to get dehydrated.

He cracks open the bottle and takes a few sips, not realizing how thirsty he was until the liquid covers his tongue. He downs it all without taking a breath, the plastic crinkling as he siphons out every last drop of water.

“Take mine,” you tell him, offering it with the best smile you can possibly muster, but he shakes his head.

“You need it, too.” He’s not wrong, but you have no issue letting him drink from your bottle if he’s still thirsty.

You take a sip and pass it to him. “We’ll share.”

Another hour passes, the pink and orange hues becoming deeper purples and reds as the sky darkens with night. Some people start to call it quits, returning home to their own children, breathing secret sighs of relief that they have children to return home to. Your group remains intact; no one is even considering leaving until they physically cannot move any longer.

With just overworked flashlight bulbs illuminating your path, you continue trudging through the woods. Hopper’s shift was over hours ago, but he’s steadfast in his pursuit to find Harris.

Eddie’s exhausted physically and emotionally, feeling like every part of him has been drained and can never be replenished. His son is missing; he might have been kidnapped, and he doesn’t know if or when he’ll see him again. All he wants is to hold him again, to hear his little laugh as he tells a cheesy joke he learned at school, to watch him sound out new words or draw a picture or just fall asleep in his own bed.

Hopper’s walkie crackles; he clutches it tight and holds it so he can hear it clearly.

“Chief, we may have a sighting.”

A light flickers behind Eddie’s eyes; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he can’t help himself. He listens intently as the other officer relays the information.

“Doris Driscoll just went outside to let her cats in for the night, and when they didn’t go inside, she went looking. Found them behind a bush, eating crackers out of a little boy’s hands. He told her his name is Harris. Matches the descriptions the father provided.”

Eddie grabs your hand, gripping it with whatever strength he has left. You feel a surge course through your veins as Hopper motions for you to follow him to his car. He turns on his siren and guns it down the road, swerving in and out of traffic to get to the old woman’s house as fast as he can.

Please, please let him be here, you silently pray, subconsciously screwing your eyes shut and holding your breath. The only thing worse than not knowing where he is might just be a false alarm that he’s been found.

Hopper slams on the brakes behind an ambulance parked in front of the Driscoll residence, their open doors allowing the fluorescent lights to stream through. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as an EMT wheels a stretcher over to it.

A stretcher carrying Harris.

“Harris!” Eddie cries in simultaneous relief, exuberance, and fear. He instinctively reaches for a door handle, quickly remembering that he’s in a cop car and had to wait for Hopper to let him out from the outside.

You’re already crying; everything you’d been holding back to maintain a solid resolve for Eddie is crumbling as soon as you’d seen his son. You scramble out of the car, right behind him, and run to where the emergency technicians are treating Harris.

He’s awake and alert, and he spots the two of you right away. “Daddy! Ms. Sweetheart!” He tries sitting up, but a technician gently guides him to lay down again. “No, that’s my daddy and my almost-mommy!” he protests. “I gotta see them!”

You and Eddie reach him at the same time. He’s covered in dirt; it’s smudge along his cheeks, his arms, and his legs. He’s even managed to get some on the tip of his nose. Some blood is smeared on his right knee where he’s seemed to have scraped it, and the EMTs spray some antiseptic on it and apply a bandage before he can even feel the sting.

“Oh, thank God.” The words rush out of Eddie’s mouth, and he puts his palms on his son’s cheeks and presses kisses all over his face. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” He turns to the technicians, worry pinching his brows together. “He’s okay, right? There’s nothing wrong?” He pushes some of Harris’s damp curls from his forehead. There aren’t any visible bumps or bruises on his face, which eases a bit of his nerves.

One technician nods. “Right now, it seems like he’s just got some minor lacerations, but we’ll run the gamut of tests to rule out more severe injuries.” She looks over at the police chief, who stands a few yards behind you. “We’ll take it from here.”

Hopper gives a small, sad smile; it’s then that you remember that his own child had passed away nearly twenty years ago. She was only a little older than Harris is now.

Eddie follows your gaze with red-rimmed eyes, the realization setting in for him, too. “Thanks, Chief,” he says, just loud enough so Hopper can hear him. Hopper nods, placing his hat atop his head before walking away.

The EMTs check for any broken or sprained bones, shine lights into Harris’s pupils, and ask him a few simple questions to assess for a concussion. “We’ll have to take him to the hospital, just to be sure,” they say to you and Eddie, “but barring any extenuating circumstances, you should be able to bring him back home tonight.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie breathes, crouching down a bit so he’s eye-level with his son. “Har, can you tell us why you ran away from school? You’re not in trouble; I promise.”

Harris looks down at the blanket draped across his lap. “I had really big feelings, and I tried thinking about the zoo like you told me,” he glances at you, “but then the feelings didn’t go away, so I decided to go there.”

You take his small hand in yours. “What were the big feelings?” you ask gently, free of judgment and filled with concern.

He thinks for a second, then states matter-of-factly, “Mad and sad.”

“Mad and sad?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping at his nose with his free hand. “‘Cause of Ms. Marion and Ms. Paula.”

You freeze, trying to regain your composure before Harris can pick up on your uncertainty. “What happened with your teachers, Har?”

“They were saying mean things about you and Daddy, and it made me mad and sad.”

At the sound of his title, Eddie speaks up. “Mean things about us?”

“Yeah, like, that Ms. Sweetheart is probably teaching you how to read, too,” Harris explains, “and I said that they’re lying, that you’re really smart and read to me all the time. And that Ms. Sweetheart isn’t your teacher; she’s my almost-mommy.”

Eddie clenches his fists, veins prominent as his body goes stiff. His anger isn’t at the insult, but at the way they could speak so brazenly about a child’s family, disregarding the hurt it causes. He doesn’t care what those women think of him, but he’s furious that they upset Harris.

“They keeped laughing and telled me to go play,” Harris continues, getting choked up at the memory. “I tried to do my breathing and my favorite place remembering with Charlie, but it didn’t work. And I got lost going to the zoo–the real zoo, not the one in my imagination–so I hided with the cats until the nice lady found me.”

You and Eddie share heartbroken looks, pushing aside your respective emotions as you tend to the little boy laying in front of you. “Get some rest, Har Bear,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. “You had a long day.”

He falls asleep after a few minutes, constantly checking to make sure that the two of you are still by his side. As soon as his breathing steadies and his eyes remain closed, Eddie turns to you, exhausted and running on fumes. Wet brown doe eyes pleadingly gaze at you, lids heavy with sleep. You wrap your arms around him, unable to get close enough. He moves slowly, every action a delayed reaction, but he gradually embraces you, too.

“Stay. Please.” The words are muffled by the way his mouth is mashed into your scalp, but you hear them perfectly fine. “And if we get to go home tonight, come back with us. I need you both close to me.”

“Of course.” Your own lips press against his perspiration-soaked shirt collar. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” You pull back ever-so-slightly, brushing tears from his cheeks. “He’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s here, and we get to keep spoiling and loving him.”

Eddie absorbs this as best as he can, mind still spinning as the adrenaline crash hits. There’s so much he wants to say, but for right now, he just carves out space in his body for yours. Your light whisper keeps him grounded, pulling hi away from the spiraling that usually overtakes him in times of crisis.

“I’ve got you.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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f1byjessie · 4 months

Text

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part four.

“Saw McLaren posted pics of the new car,” Jack says in lieu of a greeting when he sees you after the weekend. He picks up his pace and crosses the distance to meet you where you’re fumbling with the keys to your “office”, and then he takes a few of the many equipment bags you’re attempting to juggle, saying as he does so, “You take any of those or no?”

You laugh, “Ah, no. They actually hire on a whole studio crew that does that. They’ve got lights, green screens, special camera lenses, the whole lot. The post-production on those photos is mad though.” You get the door unlocked and usher him inside, “I got to sit in on it once, and it’s crazy how much work goes into getting just a couple week’s worth of promotional content.”

He sets your bags down where you direct him to and then offers you a snarky grin, “Still probably would’ve looked cooler if you took ‘em, to be fair.”

It makes you laugh again. Jack seems to be good at that, and it feels nice to get along so well with someone you work with. You’ve found a surprising friend in him. At the end of your conversation on Friday, you’d exchanged numbers and he’d made you promise to reach out if you needed him for anything. You hadn’t, but he’d still sent you an unflatteringly angled picture of Kyle Walker from after their match against Newcastle, followed quickly with━ “use this in the next media drop thx,” and the chatter had gone from there.

You set down your own bags. “Well, thank you. Pretty sure it’s not as fun as this job, though.”

And you mean it. You’ve had opportunities to switch over to studio photography, and though you respect the people who do it and the unique challenges it poses in its own right, there’s nothing like being upfront and personal with all the action, getting to see the athletes in their element and know them on a level that goes beyond an hour or two shoot. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Wait,” you pause, hands stopping just above where you’re ready to start sorting through your equipment, “since when did you keep up with Formula One?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t. But you work for that team, yeah? So I figured I might as well see what they’re all about.”

“Well, if you need something to do during the summer, let me know and I’ll see what I can do,” you tell him, resuming your sorting. “They give me extra tickets for each race but they usually end up going to waste.”

You don’t bring up the falling out you had with your parents at eighteen when you told them you were going to pursue photography or the fact that you haven’t really talked to them in years because of it. You also don’t mention that due to the strenuous, near-constant traveling and the strict schedule of your job, your friendships are limited to the athletes you work with and the other McLaren staff that travel with you━ all of whom have passes of their own, for obvious reasons.

Jack, thankfully, doesn’t ask about it either. Whether he’s made his own assumptions or respects that it’s probably a sore subject, he leaves it alone and the two of you carry on in companionable silence.

You get your equipment unzipped from the bags and organized across the room per your system, guiding your temporary helper with pointed fingers to where it all should go.

The silence is only broken again when he asks you a question. “You got a favorite driver?”

It’s so out of the blue that you nearly jump, startled by the suddenness of it against the quietness of the room. But then you laugh and shake your head. “Officially no, but just between the two of us, me and Lando started at the same time so he’s got a special place in my heart. He’s also my best friend.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” Despite the persona he puts on, you think he secretly loves gossip. “How’d he take the news about you being with Ward, then? ‘Cause I’d have some choice things to say to any friend of mine if they got with a prick like that.”

You purse your lips, divert your gaze to avoid Jack’s eyes, and shrug, fiddling with the neck strap of your camera as you do so. “I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’”

You shrug again and feign checking over the settings as if your camera’s aperture is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “He hasn’t been picking up my calls,” you start, “or answering my texts since the paps released the pics, so.”

When you glance back up, Jack’s making a face. “So, your best friend finds out you’re dating a total bellend, and instead of asking you about it or at the very least taking the piss, he ignores you?”

When he puts it like that, you feel a bit stupid for being more sad than you are angry.

All you can do is shrug.

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yourusername ladies and gentlemen, jack grealish (i was threatened into posting these, send help pls)

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You decide that if Lando gets to be petty, then so do you.

The thing is, you’d told Lando you wouldn’t replace him with any of the guys from Manchester City, and you’d meant it━ you still mean it, despite your frustrations and annoyances with him telling you otherwise.

But if he’s going to play games, then so are you.

Technically you hadn’t started the relationship with Garrett willingly, but Lando doesn’t know that, and even if you had that doesn’t give him the right to go about ignoring you. You’ve been supportive when he’s gotten girlfriends━ you even ate greasy pizza, drank cheap wine, and cried watching The Notebook together when he ended his long-term relationship back in 2022. He could at least pretend to be supportive, or better yet he could pick up the fucking phone.

As pathetic as it sounds, you’d let him yell at and berate you if it just meant he’d answer your calls. Because having Jack around to gossip with and shoot the shit is nice, and he really does help you not feel so alone at Etihad Campus, but Lando’s your best friend and he has been for years now. There’s nobody that understands you as well as he does, even if he is a twat half the time, and what you need now most of all is that particular Lando brand of annoying to cheer you up.

The door opens, drawing your attention from where you’re scrolling through McLaren’s newest posts. Garrett stands in the opening.

The memory of that night still lingers like a bad taste in your mouth, bitter and unpleasant. You’ve managed to avoid him for the most part in the time since then, ignoring the looks he shoots your way out on the field or in the weight room, and lucky enough that his meetings with the physio team keep him preoccupied so that he can’t seek you out in between training sessions. You’d known it was inevitable that you’d have to face him, but that doesn’t stop the dread from pooling in your stomach when you see him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as he surveys the makeshift office you’ve done up for yourself.

“They couldn’t find you an actual office?” He comments, looking disdainfully towards your desk and the large Manchester City logo emblazoned across the front.

You shrug, wishing he’d just get to the point. “I’m only here for a few months. Doesn’t matter much to me. What do you want?”

He takes a step farther into the room and closes the door behind him, taking his sweet time to cross the distance toward the seats. When he’s finally lowered down into one, he looks up to you with a nonchalance that fills you immediately with anger.

“I’m making some amendments to our agreement,” he announces.

“Like hell you are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously expect people to believe we’re a couple if we never actually do anything to give off the impression of being a couple?”

You scowl. Obviously, you hadn’t expected to just skate by on the coattails of pictures from a single night. You’d known from the very beginning that you would eventually need to make another public appearance together at the very least if you wanted to keep the paparazzi fed and encourage the idea to the media that you’re in a committed relationship with one another. You’d just been hoping you would’ve had more time until then.

“I’m not an idiot, Garrett,” you grumble, crossing your arms in your seat. You had been looking through pictures from the day’s morning practice, but now you think having to look at any more of Kevin De Bruyne’s grinning face will make you lose your mind when you feel the furthest thing from happy.

“Obviously,” Garrett scoffs. “But you’re the one who said I get one kiss and nothing more. Newsflash, love━” your scowl deepens, “━couples do more than just kiss one time.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his joggers and swipes across the screen for a few moments of anticipatory silence. “Well,” he finally says, “it’s the sixteenth now. We haven’t got a match until the twenty-sixth. Go on a date with me this weekend.”

You can’t say no. There’s no plausible excuse for you to get out of it, and deep down you know the only way you can get rid of Garrett is to just do what he says and hope the media make their conclusions about his change quick enough that you can ditch him before the summer break.

At least during the Formula One season, you can use traveling as a reason to get out of dates. When the Champion’s League starts back up he’ll be traveling around Europe a bit more than he is now, and there’s always a chance you could be in the same country at the same time, but the likelihood of your schedules aligning is slim and that means you’ll be safe from any ventures out into public.

But for the time being, you’re stuck.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He claps his hands, a deceptively cheerful grin on his face. If you didn’t already think of him as the worst prick you’ve ever met, you might’ve found it charming. It’s the same smile he used to flash at you in your first week when he was trying to cozy up and ease his way into your good graces. The sight of it makes you sick to your stomach, now.

“Great,” he rises from his seat. “We’ll do some shopping, get some lunch━ make a full day out of it.”

At this point, you don’t care what he has planned. You just want him to leave you alone so you can try to at least pretend like you’re gonna finish the rest of the work you need to get around to.

Garrett’s made his way to the door and has his hand reaching for the handle when he turns back around and gives you a smirk. “Might wanna work on your happy face, though, love,” he comments, gesturing towards you with a nod of his head. “‘Cause if you look like that in front of the paps they definitely aren’t gonna be very convinced that you love me.”

Just to spite him, you let your scowl deepen. “I don’t need your advice. I know how to handle myself, Garrett.” You say his name like a curse━ like the very feeling of it on your tongue causes you pain.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment. His face turns thoughtful, but there’s still the smugness painted across his features that makes you so unfathomably annoyed. “You must be pretty familiar with the paps if you’re always around those drivers, yeah?” He knows the answer to his question already, so you’re not sure why he’s even asking.

He stays silent, though, like he’s genuinely expecting an answer, so you shrug your shoulders. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats back to you.

His laughter is all you hear echoing in your ears even once he’s long gone.

Until your phone starts to ring and Lando's name flashes across the screen.

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght

━━ a/n: cliffhanger hehe~ also, i promise we're getting to ACTUAL formula one stuff soon

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

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halloweenbitch2764 · 9 months

Text

You Meet Again/Becoming Friends

Slenderman

Surely, any sane person would have never visited that park again. After seeing a creature straight out of nightmares, you had definitely considered it. But at the same time, something made you want to go back. Maybe you just hallucinated it?

You had a day off, so you decided to go back. You got in your car and drove over to the park you had been at and parked, walking briskly to the woods where you had entered before. You walked down the path and noticed the birds stopped singing. That was a sign of what had happened last time. But you didn't feel the buzzing that erupted into a headache.

You looked around and nearly missed it. It blended into the trees so easily, and you could feel something watching you despite the lack of eyes. You stared down the monster for a minute. None of the headache or nosebleed had started, so you approached it.

It almost felt like a serene feeling was washing over you. Sure, it could have been a lure to capture you, but your gut insisted that it wasn't. Soon, you stood only a bit away and looked up at the towering creature. No headache or nosebleed to speak of.

"Good afternoon." A deep voice suddenly rang in your head. You jumped. It was like the normal voice in your head but much deeper and smoother.

"Good....Good afternoon...?" It came out more like a question than you intended. Were you supposed to use the voice in your head to reply or your normal speaking voice? You weren't sure.

"You can talk to me like that. It's alright. I can communicate either way." You nodded in response. "Well...my name is Y/N. Nice to meet you...?" "Slenderman." You nodded again. "Nice to meet you, Slenderman." "And you as well."

Your visits to the park became more frequent as you hung out with the man. He explained that when he only seemed like a threat when you initially met, it was because he saw you as a threat. You hadn't had the headache and nosebleed that time because he didn't perceive you as a threat anymore. And so you kept up the visits and got to know him more.

BEN Drowned

Soon enough the events that had happened on your N64 transferred to your laptop. Cleverbot would open by itself and the AI would speak. It was eerily human and kept identifying itself as BEN. You'd close out of it and the tab would pop back up. "Turn your t.v on." The AI messaged. You didn't want to just give in and do it but another part of you wondered if anything would happen.

So you made your way over to the TV and turned it on. Legend of Zelda turned on and the title screen sat. You stared at the screen for about thirty seconds. "Knew it wasn't real." You mumbled and reached for the remote which you sat next to the TV.

Suddenly an arm reached out and grabbed yours. A scream bubbled in your stomach and got stuck in your throat as you watched a man pull himself out of the TV. You couldn't believe your eyes. The man brushed him clothes off and fixed his hair and his eyes met yours.

Well...what were supposed to be eyes. His eyes were black with red pupils and a couple of blood drops cascaded down his face. He looked like Link would if he were real. "Sup?" He asked casually and you passed out, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

After that incident he came around more but you didn't pass out again. You got to know each other more and you learned he was pretty chill. He was definitely a stoner but you didn't mind.

Eyeless Jack

He managed to get into your house again. You had triple checked every lock before you got ready for bed and somehow he still got in. You figured he was picking a lock. He only ever came at night and he didn't try to harm you again.

You learned his name was Jack and that he wasn't quite human despite his body's appearance. He was much taller than you had initially realized. And he only ate kidneys. It disgusted you at first. He wasn't much of a talker but you could get him to open up little by little and the two of you grew closer.

Hoodie

Brian had kept his promise, and you two met up in between classes. He had introduced you to his friends, which consisted of Alex, Tim, and Jay. They all seemed pretty friendly. Jay was definitely the most outgoing. Alex seemed more introverted, and Tim was just quiet. Their friend group was definitely nice.

The whole interaction made you look forward to going to school. Even though you didn't see Brian for a long time every day, you two stayed close. Sometimes, you two would talk or do homework together since you had the same class. It was just so much more relaxing to go somewhere where you knew at least one person (now more).

Masky

Tim had gone through and texted you a little later that day. You two ended up going out for coffee, chatting, and getting to know each other better. Normally, you would think twice about going out to coffee with someone you met at your psych doctors office, but it just felt right.

You two began texting more frequently. You learned about each other's jobs, likes, dislikes, etc. Strangely enough, there would be days at a time when he wouldn't text you. At first, you didn't think much of it. You two were still only acquaintances at that point, but when you got closer, you started to notice it.

Maybe he was just busy with his job?

Jeff The Killer

He came back the next night. You were asleep in bed when you awoke again. A soft yawn slipped your lips and you rubbed your eyes. You shifted onto your back and was about to go back go sleep when you noticed a familiar silhouette. "What the fuck?" You mumbled and sat up.

You stared at the silhouette and it stared back. You slowly reached for the knife under your pillow before a voice sounded. "Don't even." The voice was gruff. "Ohhhh...kay." You leaned over and flicked on your side lamp. A man sat at your desk. He had on a white, blood splattered hoodie, jeans, shaggy black hair, pale skin, and a smile cut into his lips.

"Who the fuck are you?" You mumbled. "You don't recognize me Y/N? We went to high school together." You raised your eyebrow and memories of the rumors came back. "No fucking way." He chuckled. "Jeff?" He smirked and nodded. "The fuck happened to you?" He rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too, sunshine." He retorted. "You heard the rumors I'm sure. You know what happened."

You nodded slightly. "So why did you come here?" You questioned. "Before the whole incident I had wanted to get to know you better. Figure you won't tell anyone about me." "Wait, are you the one that's been stirring shit up in town?" He laughed. "No shit." You rolled your eyes at his smart-ass remark.

He started coming by every night and it didn't take long for you two to catch up and become closer. He was much different from what you remembered but it was to be expected after what had happened to him.

Laughing Jack

Lily had come back over to stay the night, which meant you'd hear about Jack again. To be honest, you had pretty much forgotten about the whole candy incident. The night started off fairly normal. You put on Lily's favorite show, gave her a coloring book and colors, and played on your phone. You glanced up and noticed her staring off again. "Whatcha doing Lil?"

She turned around and grinned at you. "Jack, remember?" You laughed a bit. "Oh yeah. How is he doing?" You asked. "He's good. He wants to meet you for real." She said. "Oh, is that so?" She nodded. "Well, I'm available whenever he is."

Now, like any normal person, you expected her to use her imagination to conjure up Jack. What you didn't expect was for a tall ass monochrome clown to walk out of the guest bedroom. You were stunned, to say the least.

Lily ran and hugged Jack, who hugged her back. "Y/N, this is Jack!" She announced. You shook your head, blinked a couple of times, and he was still there. "Alright, alright." You mumbled to yourself. "How did you get into my house?" Was the first words out of your mouth. "Simple, darling. I can appear and disappear at will." He said as if it was every day business. "Prove it." And so he did. In a puff of smoke, he vanished and then reappeared beside you.

"What the-!" You nearly cursed. He grinned, seemingly amused at the incident. "Did you enjoy the candy?" He questioned. "Oh! Um, yes." A light blush dusted your face. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "So yes, I'm Jack. How silly of me to forget." He held a hand out, long claws at the ends of his fingers. "Y/N. Nice to meet you." He grinned and nodded.

Jack's visits became more frequent, and eventually, he started coming without Lily. You learned that he was technically an imaginary friend but had free will, and the two of you became closer.

579 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 10 months

Text

Control (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

a/n: Finally I got to write about him! Thank Tiktok and music for inspiration, because otherwise I would have been sitting on such an amazing character for even longer! Glad to have that out of my system ♥

Characters: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Implications (grinding against each other, kissing), I don't speak spanish but tried to do my research, Threatening one's life, Fear of falling to death, Death/Suicide ideation mention, Long post

You were desperate for someone—anyone—to notice you, despite being in a room filled with so-called 'superheroes'.

No matter how many times you tried to establish eye contact with someone approaching, they wouldn't notice your feeble attempts to reach out or simply ignore the glances you exchanged. As if your presence meant nothing to them, your indigence only meeting indifference. They treated you like a ghost, or more fitting, a hologram they could dismiss for their own sake. As if you never existed in the same plane as they did.

Or perhaps, the presence of the man whose lap you were sitting on was completely devouring yours.

"Concentrate," he ordered, reaching up to pinch the cheek of yours that wasn't settled on his shoulder. You'd been staring off into the hustle and bustle, gazing longingly at the other spider-people doing their normal, everyday things, unbothered by your meager attempts to distract them. It was your own fault for not speaking up, screaming and crying, throwing a tantrum, but there was one thing - one person - you feared more than being left to your fate.

Miguel O'Hara.

Or the bane of your existence. Your enemy. Stalker. Psycho. An unexplainably respected man in this universe you found yourself in, the details still a little confusing. How anyone could respect someone that kept himself a human pet was incomprehensible to you. But he made it all too clear that he wanted you to not move off his lap or talk to anyone but him, as well as made sure to warn anyone approaching of the consequences if they came too close to you for his liking. And somehow, everyone just accepted his conditions. Even you.

Where would you go? You couldn't outrun him, and no distractions had been great enough to find a place to hide and wait him out. Even if no one acknowledged you aside from him - and Lyla, who, ultimately, was on his side in all of this - they'd become bloodthirsty hounds the second he wanted you to be tracked down and captured. You tried. You really tried.

And failed, and failed, and failed, and failed.

There was no way out for you, at least not at that moment. No matter how much it made your stomach churn, how much you hated to comply, you heaved a defeated sigh, sitting up straight as best as you could on his thighs with your legs hanging from either side of his, his arms around you keeping you safe from falling off—and locking you in place on his lap. Miguel O'Hara didn't do 'mistakes' and 'coincidences'. Especially not when it came to keeping you right where he wanted you.

"Do you get it now?" he asked when he noticed your eyes back on the screens, technical codes and video live feed running next to each other on countless smaller windows that began to envelop you two. The platform beneath his workspace shuddered briefly before it was put into motion, a mere swipe of his fingers enough to lift you two into the air, away from the crowd.

Maps started to show up, all similar but different, the same city in different universes. Places you'd never go. That he'd never take you to. Well… unless…

Unless you loved him.

The thought alone made you gag, and you covered your mouth to not give away the fact you weren't listening to him explaining how to use the statistics again. You wondered how many more times he'd explain it to you, only for you to say, "I don't get it," and him starting over again. It was a small act of pettiness. One that was wearing his patience thin and rigid. One that would cost you a lot if you upset him later. But it was better than to be his pretty little assistant 2, nodding and awing at every word slipping from his mouth while he taught you such an important task. For putting so much trust into your skills and helping him do… whatever the fuck it was, he was trying to teach you.

God, you couldn't stand that guy.

As if kidnapping and threatening you wasn't enough, now he was also enslaving you to do his work. All under the pretense of—as Miguel called it—putting your energy into useful things.

"Cariño, could you please just concentrate?"

Bumping his chest into your back, the slight shove forward was enough to tear you out of your thoughts. You held back your disdain for the new seating arrangement, only one of you two enjoying the closeness while the other dreaded it. Before, he'd let you sit at the edge of the platform, watch the people work and pass the time in your thoughts. But ever since you tried jumping off in a moment of boredom-induced insanity, Miguel had decided that a desk and chair would benefit his plan of keeping you caged by his side, ripping away your freedom piece by piece, one time after the other.

And you hated how gently he was doing it.

You felt the sigh he heaved, felt his chest brushing up against your back again as he let his hands glide down your arms. The man didn't have patience, but he had time, and he made sure to remind you of it. Time to break you. Time to make you submit. Time to make you love him. Miguel ever so slightly opened his legs, spreading yours while he interloped your fingers with his at the same time, placing your hands on the keyboard and mouse respectively. It was his way of asserting control, showing you that you were nothing without him and needed his guidance. All while forcing you to rely on him, as you'd fall without his support. He was in control of you. Of your life. And even in the most subtle ways, Miguel didn't want you to forget it.

You knew all his tricks by now, making you hate him even more.

"You have to click here and then enter the system password…" he mumbled into your ear, his hot breath grazing it. A cold shudder ran down your spine. You could assume all the innocence you wanted in his actions, but you knew he was far from it. In the reflection on the screen, barely visibly if you didn't focus on it, you could see the jerk in the corner of his lips. The bastard was enjoying this more than he hated repeating himself. But you were not going to sit there and let him have it his way.

"What happens if I click here?" you asked, feigning the same innocence as you led the pointer astray, clicking on some pop-up you couldn't decipher. Miguel turned rigid against your back instantly, muscles bulking and fingers curling into claws on top of your hands.

"Let's not–"

"Wait, that looks super interesting."

You stopped him before he could close the pop-up, pretending you were terribly interested in the colorful numbers running down the screen, certain that it was unimportant, perhaps dangerous, to have someone untrained like you work with easily modifiable code. Miguel halted, unmoving, gauging out if you were genuinely interested or if this was another one of your schemes. For good measure (and to confuse him), you let out a few more "wow!" and "I see!" wasting at least some of the time he had put aside to teach you before he saw through your terrible acting.

"That's enough–"

He pushed the cursor towards the X in the corner.

"Wait, I really want to see that!"

You pushed the cursor back, accidentally marking a few numbers and copying them with the help of the keyboard.

"No, you don't even–"

Once again, he tried to close the window, growing more forceful with your hand and the mouse.

"Ah! Don't close it! I was reading that!"

You struggled but pushed the cursor back over the numbers, clicking and adding the previously copied ones into the code.

"ENOUGH!"

Raising your hands from the mouse and keyboard, you stopped completely in your tracks, not even daring to breathe. You listened to him taking a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth to calm himself before he pressed his face into the back of your head. It was a short-lived defiance, but defiance nonetheless, and when you were sure he couldn't see it, it was your turn to grin like the rascal you were. A small victory in a war you were utterly losing.

"You're testing me again, Cariño, but this is no game. You could do some serious harm to people if you play around–"

A blaring alarm suddenly rang out, and you weren't the only one that jolted. Gripping you by the hips, Miguel stood up, setting you down only briefly before grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the edge of the platform. You were no longer the same person that wanted to jump off into the depths, at least not that day. But even though you took a tentative step back, Miguel made sure you were right by his side and in his peripheral by tugging you forward.

"What's wrong?!" he yelled through the alarm at some spooked Spiderman below. Surprised by Miguel's sudden yelling, the man jumped and looked around him in a panic, apparently not knowing what was happening either. Just as Miguel wanted to shake his head in frustration, the alarm stopped abruptly, and you both raised an eyebrow as you looked around, both confused and unsettled about what had just happened.

"Hey Miguel!" someone called from below, and you recognized the pregnant woman you saw standing down there with a tablet as one of Miguel's trusted henchmen, ushering the other Spiderman away. "Thanks for finally fixing that damn broken code! Now Sector 5 has functioning doors again!"

She walked off before Miguel could say anything, and you slumped, the realization of what you did slowly dawning on you. He let go of your hand, brushing back some strands of hair that had fallen into his face before chuckling. “Dios bueno, Cariño…”

It wasn't the outcome you had wanted, and it was driving you up the wall that you had done something that benefitted Miguel's cause even in the slightest. But you had no time to let the frustration take over your thoughts as he turned around to you, stepping forward, to which you instinctively took a step back. One after another, he forced you to go backwards, prowling like a predator that had his prey right where he wanted. Even with his posture relaxed, a hand on his hip, and a grin on his lips, you felt nothing but danger when you looked at him, urging you to keep avoiding him.

"Look at you, you're doing such a good job," he purred, and you stumbled a little, his gaze burning against your skin, raising goosebumps everywhere on your body. "Seems like I have to thank you for that, huh? A little reward?"

"No need!" you rejected without hesitation, taking another step back.

Only this time... it didn't connect with the ground.

Flailing your arms, you let out a horrified gasp. You were about to plummet off the platform, down to the cold, hard, metal ground, and other than the last time, you couldn't be sure Miguel was going to catch you. After all, it had been Miguel who directed you towards the edge. Surely he must have known you'd fall off if you took that last step, not saying anything.

You squeezed your eyes closed, not wanting his face to be the last thing you saw before you'd break all your bones and leave this world for good. However, with your body already tilted over the edge, his hand gripped you by the throat, holding you in place, the fear and panic coming to a sudden standstill as did your movement. There was nothing to catch you behind your back, your life hanging on to the whim of the person you hated the most. The one you were sure secretly hated you just the same, considering all the torture he put you through in the name of his love.

Slowly, unwillingly, you forced yourself to open your eye again, refusing to look at Miguel, and instead shot a glance over your shoulder. A mistake.

"Pu-- Pull me up!" you demanded, shaking after seeing how deep the fall was. Apparently, your survival instinct was still intact and very much active as you clawed your meager nails into his arms, trying to hold onto him. You tried desperately to find a grip on his arm, slipping off over and over as you tried to help yourself upwards, your fingers too sweaty to stick to the slick material of his suit.

"Please!" you whisper squeaked, tears filling your eyes when you finally decided to look at him. Miguel's slight grin disappeared as he pretended to think, humming thoughtfully and rubbing his chin. "You said I deserve a reward! I want you to pull me up again!... Please…”

He stepped closer to the edge, the grip on your throat never tightening or loosening. A horrifying way to be held in the air, not even able to twist out of it. The sudden closeness, however, gave you a chance to claw at his chest instead, your fingertips reaching out to try and grip the nape of his neck to find some halt, only missing a few inches to reach it.

"That's not how it works, Cariño. We both know you're not in charge here. Your reward is being saved from falling to your death."

Pulling you just a few inches upwards, Miguel had you close enough to bring your face before his, his body looming over yours, the threat of falling now spreading to both of you. "But you have to earn being pulled up."

"Mad… you're mad!" you could only hiss at him, the weight of your body slowly starting to hurt around your neck as gravity tried to pull you to your death. You winced when you felt your last remaining foot propped against the platform slip.

"Madly in love, perhaps, Cariño, but you've been very naughty back at the station, copying and inserting codes as you please, not listening when I told you to stop and interrupting me. You know I hate it when you go against everything I try to do for you."

"Okay!" you relented, admitting to his accusations. If that was enough to get your feet on solid ground again, you'd do it. "I'll listen now, okay?! I promise! I'll be good! I'll try to do better, just… pull me up, okay? Please? Please, Miguel?"

There were a few moments of silence, a few moments too long as your foot kept slipping away, your body shaking in his grip that you didn't know if he'd keep on you or let go any second now. His eyes merely drilled into you, trying to see if you meant what you said or were lying again. You couldn't imagine anything but horror and your lost pride reflecting in yours, but his expression softened ever so slightly as he looked at you, and for the sake of not plummeting to your death, you ignored the goosebumps returning when you noticed the affection in his eyes.

"Bésame."

Inwardly, you were fuming. For him to take advantage of your situation was the shabbiest thing you never expected him to do. But you should have! Shameless and mad as he was, you should have known better than to trust he'd help you without gain in your moment of need. Infuriated, you grimaced, the tears burning in your eyes as did every ounce of shame you felt about having to stoop so low as to survive. Maybe you hadn't hit rock bottom yet, but the decision between kissing him and falling to your death was as bad as could be.

"Fuck you!" you hissed angrily.

"No? That's fine then–"

Miguel tried to play it cool, shrugging his shoulders and averting his gaze as if he truly didn't care. As if he wasn't the obsessed freak you knew he was deep down, broken from his experiences and unable to act like a reasonable human being anymore. His grip on your throat loosened ever so slightly, your body sinking lower, pulled by the weight of gravity. Dread, fear, and horror spread through you, but the adrenaline also brought forth the last bit of pride and spite you had in you.

What he didn't expect were your hands shooting forward, nails digging into the flesh right above the collar of his suit before he could get too far away. Miguel's eyes widened as you tipped the scales, pulling him forward, both of you tumbling over the edge. "What are you–?!" he started to argue when you managed to wrap your arms around his strong neck, his hands pressing into your back as he instinctively enveloped you in his arms. As scary as the situation was, Miguel would never allow any harm to come to you. At least not harm that he wasn't responsible for. But what really caught him off-guard were your lips finding his in the middle of the fall.

The kiss seemed to drag on for a small eternity, as if time had stopped in Miguel's favor. You had closed your eyes, making everything so much more bearable as you didn't allow anything to break your lips from his. No pause, no air, nothing was to get between your mouth and his, not even the shock of you two landing on the ground, you in his arms while the metal bent under his feet. Only when he roughly pushed your back into a wall did you allow a gasp to escape, enough time for Miguel to deepen the kiss finally, prying your lips open to slip his tongue inside.

You had always cringed at the term 'tongues battling for dominance' in the fanfiction you read about your favorite characters from shows and TV, but now that you were caught up in a real battle with Miguel, you made no show out of fighting him off, trying to push his tongue back to where it came from… and failing miserably. It had been dangerous to awaken a sleeping beast, giving Miguel something he couldn't get easily but wanted desperately. A kiss was as good as a death sentence to you, but for him, it was heaven incarnated in the little pleasure of having a taste of your lips.

You had no time or thought left to share about your surroundings, about what other people might think, and neither did he. All that mattered to each of you was control now that the upper hand was out of both your reaches. He had told you before that only you had the power to ruin him. That your actions would either make or break this man called Miguel O'Hara. But he wasn't going to make this easy for you. You had surprised him just now, overshadowing that he won a kiss from you. But it was what followed that would make the loser regret not trying harder to win, which kept both of you more than motivated. After all, it was your will against his.

Forcing out a moan many men would die for, you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling him tense and flex underneath your touch. You felt the bulge rubbing against your sex, Miguel not even trying to hide it but jerking when you ground into it. Your hands roamed up and down his arms, nails scratching over his skin as the fabric gave way to your feisty caresses, and Miguel staggered on the spot, pressing up against you even more. A win for you, nonetheless, as his knees were growing weak when you hugged him closer to your body.

When he pushed you forcefully into the wall behind you, however, you had to wince, his fangs getting stuck on your lips, drawing some blood. It was just a moment of being unfocused, and he had turned the tables. His win.

Sooner or later, one of you had to pull back. As your breath emptied into his mouth while his tongue pushed onwards, threatening to domineer, Miguel managed to focus all his willpower on withstanding the alluring call of your moans and feigned sensuality, you bitterly realized it would have to be you. With all his obsession and desire, he was slowly but surely devouring you, conquering the battlefield that was your kiss, not caring about the casualties he'd leave in his wake. It was very much like him to endure in terms of stamina and…

You couldn't keep up.

Coughing, you turned your head away, sinking into him and hiding your face in his shoulder, defeated. Immediately, he lowered his arms that he had used to cage you against the wall, exploiting the victory to embrace you tightly as he let out a shaky breath. Perhaps it only dawned on both of you then that he saved you from plummeting to death, the kiss having been a good distraction.

"Don't ever fucking do that again," he scolded you, the warning resounding loud and clear.

Don't hurt yourself. Don't put yourself in danger, is what he actually meant to say, words that went unsaid but not unheard, even if they disgusted you. Let me protect you. I'll keep you safe—always.

"Don't count on it," was all you could reply to spite him, your voice muffled with your face pressed into his chest. Miguel let out a single, short, breathy laugh before shaking his head.

"How can you be so stubborn?" he hummed, gripping the hair at the back of your neck and forcing your head back to face him. "Guess you still don't know."

"Know what?" you spit in his face with all the disdain you could muster, both of you very aware you were all bark, no bite after the fall, your knees surely caving in had he put you down on your own feet. Miguel returned your angry glare with haughtiness, a smile creeping on his face.

"Who is in control, Cariño."

949 notes · View notes

berriweb · 1 year

Text

╰┈➤ ❝ 3:19 AM ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. earth-42 miles morales x fem! reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. both y/n and miles smoke weed, short mentions of some injuries

: ̗̀➛ a/n. feel free to laugh and correct me on any fucked up spanish because i highly doubt google translate will be accurate and 4 years of high school spanish can only get one so far /3 the 42! miles brain rot I’m suffering from is LETHAL

Every few minutes a gust of wind would send shivers down your spine and poke chill bumps into your skin as air blew through the cracked bedroom window. You did your best to block out the chaotic sounds of sirens and the occasional arguments and fights breaking out in the streets below the apartment complex by turning up the speaker playing soothing music ever so slightly to combat them. Striding across the room, the smell of lavender, citrus, and maybe just a hint of cherry blossoms filled your nostrils and the room as you carefully lit incense and candles scattered across the desk in the corner of the room, before using the same lighter to re-ignite the joint hanging from between your pointer and middle finger.

Bringing it up to your lips, you took a long drag before releasing it and making an attempt to blow towards the crack and avoid stinking up the room with the stench of weed and burning paper, hence the candles and cracked window.

When you flopped back onto the made bed after setting your joint in the ash tray, your gaze turned from the dimly lit ceiling to the glowing red alarm clock sitting on the nightstand next to you, 3:19 AM.

Reaching for your phone charging next to it, you squinted at the screen before using Face ID to unlock it, your previous messages with Miles already being displayed seeing as you couldn’t stop checking to see if there were any updates.

5:15 PM

M&M <3: Something came up, got some business with Uncle Aaron. I’m going to be late.

You: we still on for movie night ? :(

M&M <3: Of course, wait for me til then? Give me til 11.

You: i’ll keep your spot warm :) stay safe, i love you <3

M&M <;3: Te amo, Ma.

5:19 PM

You: oh!!! tell aaron i said hey 2, haven’t been around to visit n a while😞

12:01 AM

You: everything good?

12:45 AM

You: a little worried, txt me back when you can :(

2:00 AM

You: ?

Despite trying your best to ignore the nightly chaos ensuing outside, it was becoming increasingly hard to do so when your boyfriend of many years had recently admitted to being the Prowler and spending most of the nights he wasn’t with you out in the city carrying out orders on behalf of Kingpin, especially when he’d texted you earlier that day planning to be back by 11 at latest for a movie night, only to follow up a few hours later saying that something had come up.

He’d assured you when he first broke the news that he’d always come back home to you, but that never stopped you from worrying every once in a while that something awful would occur that was out of his control. Especially when he wasn’t replying to any of your attempts to check up on him.

What if he’d been captured? What if it was a mission Aaron sent him on and he somehow screwed it up? What if someone had screwed him over? A rouge villain? An assassination gone wrong? A stray bullet he couldn’t dodge fast enough? What if-

Creak.

Your unintentional spiraling into horrific ‘what if’ scenarios was interrupted by the sound of rusted metal grinding against another, your head tilting up in less than a second to see a clawed hand further pushing up your window frame.

‘Speak of the devil.’

The relieved expression on your face couldn’t be hidden as you nearly jumped up from your spot on the bed to his side as he crawled through your window, with an admittedly suspicious gait when he stepped back from the window.

“You’re back! What took so long?” You chirped as you stood. Normally you would’ve avoided bombarding him with questions as soon as he’d come back, seeing as he’d likely already been dealing with enough before arriving, but he’d never come home this late before.

The plates on his mask pulled back to show his gorgeous, as usual, yet tired face behind it, exhaustion pulling at the ends of his lips. “Lo siento mami, tomó más tiempo de lo que pensaba, I got caught up with some bad people,” he hummed while carefully removing his clawed hands and leaving them resting in your desk, the rest of his geared suit coming off after until he was left in just his shirt and some nice sweatpants. Without all of the extra gear, you had a better chance to size him up before he pulled you into his embrace.

You suspected he kept it brief to avoid/distract you from worrying about him, which was hard to do when you noticed the slight discoloration on his ankle when part of his pant leg moved and his attempt to not put as much pressure on that foot when he walked, paired with the way his nose scrunched when he moved and his right side of his torso flexed.

Part of you admired his dedication to protecting you from knowing too much about what he did as the Prowler and trying to be a role model for you. The other part of you thought he was a fool for not letting you in and allowing you to help, which you often voiced your opinion on.

“They had you at it for hours? Are you alright?” You buried your face into his chest to get a whiff of his cologne and what you were sure was a hint of blood and outside. He mirrored your actions by resting his head on top of yours, making you appreciate past you for choosing to oil your scalp earlier that night.

“I’m alright, but why are you still up? I’ve told you about-” “I’m awake-” you cut your boyfriend off before he could start to lecture you, which you didn’t want to hear no matter how much you loved his accent, “because my boyfriend promised to be home for movie night but instead left me worrying for his safety all night then has the nerve to lie to me when he finally makes it back hours later.”

A look you’d learned was his attempt at hiding his guilty conscience crossed his face before he rose a brow at your accusation of lying. “Wait, wha-” this time he cut himself off when your arm slithered back from around his waist and you used to fingers to dig into his side, causing Miles to jerk back and wince, holding his side.

"¡Hijo de puta! What’s your deal Y/N?! Eso duele como el infierno! Jesus-”

You tried (and failed) to hold back from giggling at his irritated gaze before grabbing him by both hands and leading him to your bed, practically forcing him to sit down at the edge, not that he tried to fight back.

“Consider it karma, Miles. If you’re gonna go out and do dangerous shit at least don’t lie to my face about it,” you tsked, kneeling down as you ignored the pointed glare and mean mug he sent your way as his nose scrunched and he muttered something under his breath about you being cruel. Lifting the side of his shirt up, you eyed the damage his assumed rivals must have caused before he came, black and purple bruises littering his side in different colors and shades. You sucked your teeth, looking up at him with narrowed eyes which he only responded with by looking off to the side and biting the inside of his cheek.

Moving down, you pulled his pant leg up to see matching colors on his ankle, and given his previous limp you’d have to take a guess as to what happened. He hardly ever let you treat him in any capacity, which was mostly due to him feeling the need to always be treating you, but judging from the look in your eyes Miles knew he didn’t really have a choice this go round.

“It looks sprained, and those bruises are gonna take forever to heal. Do you need an ice pack?” “Please.” You we’re already rising to your seat, not waiting for a response before you quickly and quietly left your room to go retrieve one from the kitchen without waiting your parent(s).

When you returned, you were carrying an ice pack, along with some bandages to keep it in place and a small snack just in case he hadn’t eaten in a while, and knowing how he gets when he prioritizes being the Prowler over everything else, he likely hasn’t. He’d taken the liberty of finishing off the rest of your joint, evident by the evidence still being in his hand and the smoke blown into your mouth when you leaned in for a quick deep kiss before kneeling once again to work on his ankle the best you could. You were by no means a professional, but your attempt was better than leaving it alone and your guilty conscience wouldn’t let you even if you wanted to.

As you worked in silence the initial tension in the air seemed to ease up, partially due to the weed, but you couldn’t help but still be slightly bothered by how worried you’d been for him. Yeah, he made it back relatively okay this time despite his lateness, but what about next time, and the time after that?

“Y/N.”

Miles’ voice pulled you out of your thoughts, mainly due to the fact that he hardly ever called you by your first name, and you realized that you’d been quietly staring at the floor for a while after finishing up treating his injuries. You could feel him reach down to grab both your hands and pull you up to his feet until you were standing between both of his legs looking down at him.

“You worry too much,” he started, but that didn’t help at all to ease your mind. “You don’t worry enough! Miles, you were supposed to be here hours ago. How can you expect me to just sit around and go about my normal routine knowing that you’re out their risking your life nearly every night? I can’t do that for you and you know that!”

Miles felt guilt creeping up his throat, this felt like a long overdue conversation. “I don’t expect that of you, but what do you want me to do mami? I can’t just drop out and you know that. All of this- I do it for you, for us, you know I can’t just back out now, it’s my only sense of normalcy ever since-” he didn’t finish his sentence, but you didn’t need him to. You couldn’t bear to look him in eyes, your heartstrings tugging painfully at the reminder of how he ended him the way he was now.

You’d been there for him through the worst of it, when his father died, when the city went to shit. It was awful for a very long time, your only glimpse of hope being when Miles seemingly started regaining a sense of who he was long after the fact. You’d been happy for him, encouraging him to go out more and constantly reminding him that you were there for him. Unbeknownst to you, the “healthy” outlet he’d been using to cope with the fact was sneaking out with his Uncle to commit crimes on behalf of some of the worst known criminals. You’d be lying if you said you approved, that you were okay with what he did and that you thought Miles was too, but you’d learned to accept it on account of the fact that there really wasn’t any other option. You knew you couldn’t even entertain the thought of not always being by his side, you needed him just as much as he needed you.

You couldn’t argue with his point and couldn’t hold eye contact, trying to look off to the side to avoid his hardened gaze but he was quick to gently take hold of your chin and turn your head back to him, making a warm feeling crawl up your neck.

“Siento haberte preocupado, mi amor. Do you remember the promise I made you when I first told you?” He asked.

It was a random callback, but you remember it as clear as day, the night you’d shown up at Miles’ house to surprise him with a gift you found at the mall which reminded you of him, sitting in his room awaiting his return only for him to crawl in through the window clad in Prowler gear mid-unmasking. You swore you could still occasionally hear the sound of your jaw hitting the floor.

“You promised that you’d never keep another secret from me,” you recalled with a small sigh, feeling your shoulders drop.

“And?”

“And…that no matter what you’d always come back home to me.”

“Dije que nunca te dejaré esperando a alguien que nunca volverá a casa,” Miles’ hands caressed your sides before falling still at your hips. “I promised to always, no matter what, come back, no?”

Your hands fell down to his shoulders, tilting your head until your foreheads were touching and you could feel his breathe hitting your collarbone.

“I’m sorry baby, I just…”

“No need to apologize, mami, I don’t blame you.”

His words ease your concern, but you know that the issue is too big for one conversation to solve. At the same time, however, it’s also out of concern.

Deciding that you’ve stressed yourself out more than enough for one night, you move away from him to flop back onto your bed before tugging on his arm to bring him down with you. Miles wraps his arms around your waist to bring you closer and you throw a leg over both of his while being careful to not hurt any of his already injured parts, burying your face into the crook of his neck while your free hand reaches to run your nails across the part for his braids.

“They got you good, huh? Messed up your pretty braids n’ everything, they were so neat,” you mumbled, making Miles chuckle.

“You can always do ‘em again for me, huh mami? You always do them the best.”

“And you missed out of movie night, I had the best trilogy picked out…” he could practically feel your pout on his neck.

“How ‘bout I make it all up to you tomorrow? No school, I’ll take you shopping and we’ll go eat someplace nice. Then we can watch all the movies you want, I can even find a decent theater for us, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like that…” judging by the slur, he knew you were practically out for the night, which was confirmed by the yawn that followed your words. He let a small smile tug at his lips as he kissed your forehead before pulling the blankets up to covered the two of you.

“Buenas noches, mami.”

“G’night baby.”

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #spider man #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #miles g morales #miles morales prowler #prowler miles #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales #e42 miles #e42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles g morales x reader #miles x reader #atsv x you #atsv fanfiction

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cool-fancier · 8 months

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Behind The Scenes

Synopsis: You and Bada, members of BEBE, are secretly dating on "Street Woman Fighter." Fans spotted your hidden affection in background moments, but you continued to keep it a secret, appreciating the support of your fans.

You and Bada had been dating in secret for a while, and the only people who were aware of your relationship were the other BEBE members. It was necessary to keep your love under wraps, especially with the intense competition on "Street Woman Fighter." The last thing you needed was the distraction of public scrutiny.

As you stood waiting for the directors to give the cue when to start, the camera crew prepared to film. Being the committed performer and leader that she was, Bada strictly complied with the no-public-display-of-affection (PDA) rule when it came to dancing for the camera. She was worried about the fans' reactions and the potential backlash.

Bada's attitude completely shifted when the camera started to roll. She concentrated on the women dancing in front of her, making sure each step was flawless and keeping up her professional demeanour. You mirrored her attitude and demeanour.

However, when the camera wasn't on you, it was an entirely different story. You always felt Bada's hands on you. She would sneak glances, brushing her fingers against yours, or lightly resting her hand on your back. It was like she had an itch that could only be scratched when the camera wasn't watching.

One day, during a particularly intense training session, the camera was focused on MANNEQUEE practicing and in the background, Bada took the opportunity and pressed her lips against your cheek, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Although it was a quick, secret kiss, it gave you the chills nonetheless.

As the days went by, viewers who paid close attention to the battles started to notice something odd in the background. Social media comments began to grow with rumours about your hidden relationship.

Week after week, fans of "Street Woman Fighter" were glued to their screens, analysing every frame for hidden gems of your relationship. The production team was particularly fond of filming your crew during practices when other teams were in the spotlight, making it the perfect opportunity for fans to spot those precious moments.

Once more, the camera panned out to capture the entire room as LADYBOUNCE performed their routine for the K-pop Death match. You and Bada stood in the background, intentionally blurry but unmistakable. While the other dancers were focused on their show, you two were smiling quietly while softly connecting your fingers. The viewers at home were giddy with anticipation:

@Y/NHiddenAdmirer: Did anyone else see that? I swear, Y/n and Bada are in love! 🥰

@BadaAndYShipper:OMG, I can't handle the cuteness! They think they can hide, but we see them!🤭😅

@BadaSecretCrush:Forget the dance battle, the real drama is Y/n and Bada's secret love story!🩷✨

@BadaAndYHearts:Who would've thought we would see Bada like this.Thank you Y/N for making our Bada happy.🫶🏽❤️

@BadaY/NAffection:I love that they're on the same team and have been friends for so long.I also hope that they are dating and us as supporters of them shouldn't rush them to announce it.🙂

Heart emojis and speculative comments flooded the show's official YouTube channel's comments section. The fans were determined in their search for proof, and the blurry surroundings further increased their interest. But despite their speculation, you and Bada were able to keep your relationship a secret, giving the show a sense of intrigue.

And once more during one of the rehearsals, you and Bada found yourselves in the background once again, this time while a powerful rival crew showcased their moves.

With her words just above a whisper, Bada leaned in closer. She said, "You know, I don't think they've noticed us yet."

Your eyes remained fixed on the dancers in front of you as you chuckled quietly. "Probably not," you said. "Everyone's so focused on them."

Bada's hand brushed against yours, out of sight of the camera. "It's kind of like our little secret, isn't it?"

You turned to her with a loving smile. You responded in a whisper, "Yeah, it is," and as if on cue, you both gave each other a soft kiss on the cheek, your hearts bursting with love.

The fans may not have seen the kiss clearly, but they certainly felt the love and connection that influenced your relationship. Their excitement increased week after week, and your relationship thrived both on and off camera.

Fans eagerly anticipated those fuzzy background pictures as "Street Woman Fighter" went on the air, expecting to catch another glimpse of your intimate moments. The fact that your fans supported your relationship made it even more meaningful, even if you and Bada still had to act professionally in front of the camera.

#bada lee x reader #bada lee #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bebe #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x oc #bada lee x y/n #street woman fighter 2 #street woman fighter x reader

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frenzyarts · 7 months

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Jane Crocker was made to be ooc and evil in HS2... or WAS SHE?!?!?!? 🧐🧐🧐

Here is my Homestuck Theory:

From a young age Jane was involved with Crockercorp. She even used the UNREAL HEIRESS THOUGHTWAVE TIARATOP, which was basically force-feeding her propaganda, literally straight into her brain. Even her vision becomes covered with propaganda and ads.

Much later, we see Jane reminiscing on her old room. She sees the tiaratop and admits that "it was doing funny things" to her head.

Despite that, she decides to put it on again, and it controls her brainwaves louder than ever, causing her to rip it off.

And it stays off until grimbark jade poofs it onto her head again, and the Condesce takes over.

ARQUIUSPRITE explains to Dirk how the tiaratop has made her a vessel for an evil AI, and even seems to enjoy that fact about her.

However, he's the one who removes it from her. I didn't capture it in my screenshots, but right as he removes it the screen flashes with DISOBEY.

But what if... What if he was still rooting for an AI Jane? What if he didn't fully de-program the tiaratop? The next time we see Jane wearing the tiaratop is in the HS snapchats. She has it as a necklace. But her crocker technology is hacked by the Felt and she's kidnapped. She remarks that "all our technology was scrubbed clean," but clearly it wasn't. Perhaps her tiaratop necklace wasn't either!

Then *evil music* the epilogues happen. In Candy, we see her follow the path to the evil CEO she is in HS2. In the beginning of Candy, we can see her character begin to change. She says she feels like "nothing I do matters." Which I believe is in reference to the fact that the epilogues are "semi-canon" and therefore don't matter, which is what drove Dirk to become Ult Dirk in an attempt to make things matter again.

But he becomes Ult Dirk in Meat. As we know, he's deceased in Candy, because "nothing matters" there. And immediately after the "nothing matters we're in Candy" revelation, this exchange happens:

Notice how right after this revelation, she starts hitting on Jake again, and suddenly wants a bunch of babies? Jake even remarks that she's never wanted this before. In fact, the only time she wanted this was when she was UNDER THE MIND CONTROL OF THE TIARATOP...

WHICH SHE IS CLEARLY WEARING ALL THROUGHOUT HS2!!!! She put that shit back on in the snapchats and never took it off and it turned her evil!! The tiaratop is imbued with the essence of the Condesce the same way lil cal is imbued with the essence of lord english which is a HUGE part of what caused the version of Dirk that was Dave's Bro to become evil.

That's why she seems ooc... because she IS! It's the ghost of the Condesce, still controlling her! Which makes me wonder, once she takes it off, will the Jane we know and love return? Or is she too far gone?

Anyways, that's my theory and defense of Jane. I would love love love to hear other's thoughts on this :D even if you disagree with my theory, I still want to know, because I love reading analysis ^u^

#homestuck #jane crocker #hs2 #dirk strider #jake english #long post #homestuck theory #frenzy post

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the-midnight-blooms · 1 month

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Drunken Monologue

pairing: kim hongjoong x reader

AU: modern

word count: 3.7k

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

masterlist

Trope: Friends to Lovers to Strangers

She watches as they walk out of their place with another woman slung around his arm. The woman he left for, she's so perfect she cannot help but agree with him when he declared he did not love her anymore. How could he? She was everything his first love was not- no more, no less. Yet, the place she once held in his heart? Gone, not even deserving of the title 'friend', displaced like the weakest metal in a chemical reaction.

She didn't mean to cross Hongjoong on the street anyway, on her way home from taxing day at work her feet took her to the one place that brought her more comfort than home. Second to bookshop, it was his arms. She was entitled to none of it now. Nights of endless scrolling over the internet for the next best cheapest place to buy novels but nothing came close to the bookshop she’d gone to in the duration of her childhood, the same bookshop that supported her through her academia.

The distant memory of them both scribbling away in books, endlessly typing on their computers for hours on end into the night gnawed at her. At times she felt like giving up, why, oh, why had she chosen such an academically challenging degree? For her parents’ validation of course, despite this Hongjoong supported her-pushed her to continue.

“I can’t be bothered anymore Joong.” She whined into her pillow, letting out a loud groan that made him scoff as he twirled the pencil between his fingers.

“Let’s make a deal, you get over 80 on that exam and I’ll buy you that plain vanilla ice cream you like.” Her eyes perked up at ‘vanilla ice cream’ she shook her head vigorously and then got to work sifting through pages of her notes and exam questions she had yet to do. Peering her eyes over the top of her screen, she gazed at her best friend hunched over in his seat punching numbers into a calculator, with furrowed brows, the concentrated look on his face making her heart melt. While they had been best friends for a long time, she had harboured feelings for the boy since college and even through their transgression into university, the feelings just never seemed to dissipate.

“Oh, and Hongjoong-nah? Vanilla ice cream is not plain.”

“Whatever you say, love.” The term of endearment making her heart flutter, she had yet to convince herself that he called everyone ‘love’, hence it was never really special when he said it to her. A week had passed and before she knew it, she sprinted down the university halls, clusters of students who were once engrossed in their own conversations turning to look at her. With a panting breath, she skidded at the end of the corridor shoving her sheet of paper in Hongjoong’s face, he himself was once invested in his conversation with Jongho.

“Look” she urged, and he took the paper from her hands his eyes scanning over it, fixating on the mark. 90.

“That’s amazing! Didn’t you say this was the hardest module too?” Shaking her head eagerly, she threw her head back in triumph. Hongjoong sought the way her hair fell down her shoulders, the sound of laughter like a melody he wanted to capture in a tune and play on repeat. “Well, I guess I owe you ice cream now.” Picking up his canvas bag from the floor, he bid Jongho goodbye and made his way to the exit.

“Do you want to come with us Jongho?” She offered, to which the younger boy declined sending Hongjoong a knowing smirk from across the corridor. Shaking his head, Hongjoong waited until she made her way to him then hand in hand, they ran to the ice cream parlour before it closed.

She didn’t like vanilla ice cream anymore. It wasn’t the plainness of it, like Hongjoong had always suggested. It was the memory of it, the association of it with him. Every book they read, song they listened to, food they ate, place they went to-she’d grown to have a distaste for. It seemed pathetic, and it was but every time their song played on the radio a pang settled into deepest pits of her heart.

Drunken men push past her on the same street, where now Hongjoong and her stand two metres apart. He senses familiarity in the air around him, head whipping around scouring his surroundings. He knows them. They shift around slowly, as if they are moving without conscience towards him. He wants to stumble to them, inebriated by their intimacy as he once was when he sauntered through his hallways, years ago heavily drunk from a work celebration party. Hongjoong's dragged away by his girlfriend, every nook and cranny of his heart filled with adoration for her yet long ago he was being dragged away by someone else.

With a heavy puff, she pushed Hongjoong onto his sofa a long groan released from his lips as he lazily outstretched his legs before him. So drawn by her beauty, he lifts his arm to caress her cheek. With a smile she gently brushes it away, moving his leg to sit on the remnants of the seat that is not covered by his body.

"The things I do for you." she muttered under his breath, he caught the whispers of it, a weary smile forms across his perfect features.

"And I love you for it. I love you more than sea loves the moon." A laugh escaped from her lips, could he get any more drunk?

"Just say thank you, Hongjoong. This isn't a poetry reading." shaking her head, she pats his head before getting up. The words strike a nerve, he grabs at her wrist to gnaw at her attention. Suddenly, he looks more attentive and alive as if he wasn't drinking to his hearts content to fill up the hole of solitude that swallowed him.

"I'm being serious." resting her hand his chest to feel the racing of his heart, "This only beats for you. I feel so lonely without you, incomplete." he breathed out, latching onto her hand as if she would disappear if he let her go.

"Hongjoong, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." A sharp prick of her throat throbbed, a tickle arising in her nose. Love was just a game to him, right?

"They say a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts."

"I wouldn't believe you, even if you were sober."

"Why not?" he inquired, he sat up this time not letting go of her hand her body gravitating towards him.

"Because- you know what, no you're too drunk for this conversation right now."

"No, I wanna know. Why don't you believe me?"

"Hongjoong, you've never wanted a relationship. You've never wanted to be someone else's. I always have, I want to belong to someone. I want to get married and have children, bicker with my husband, listen to my teenagers' tantrums. I want it all. You don't." She recounted from all the times he had dismissed notions of settling down and having a married life. He'd fraternised with many women, much to her dismay, but those relationships had held no true meaning. They were in his bed one hour and gone the next, replaced by another. Truthfully, Hongjoong never felt content with the 'relationships' he had but the slow sinking feeling he felt when he was devoid of completeness ate at him. He wanted to feel whole and he felt whole with her.

"What if it's because I've never wanted it with anyone but you?" Silence rooted in the warm air; she'd open his window before she left. Nothing but staring into each other’s eyes for minutes on end. Hongjoong awaited her response, it was all the alcohol that had riled so much energy within to confess his feelings to her. Those which he had felt since they were children, teasing each other in the playground to adults fixated over creating contented lives for themselves.

"Then tell me when you wake up. Tell me how much you've wanted me. Once I'm yours, I'm yours forever."

It seemed like it would be forever. Nights spent under the cover of the twinkling stars: talking until they were too sleep deprived to go to work, running through the park tearing out handfuls of grass whilst chucking them at each other. Just all the things they did as friends, but the moments much more intimate when they'd fall on top of each other faces barely inches away feeling their heated breath tickling their noses.

“I hope our kids aren’t that naughty.” She almost spat out the drink in her mouth, craning to give Hongjoong a shocked look paired with a sort of shy smile forming on her lips. They sat on the vast lush green field, sun beaming down on their figures- his figure illuminated like it was it was carved out of the sun itself.

“Our kids?” Hongjoong tore his gaze away from the children shooting their parents with water guns to her, nodding ever so casually.

“Four kids-,”

“Four? Mr Kim, will you be giving birth to these children? Will you be walking up in the middle of the night to change their nappies?” She interrupted, holding back a laugh.

“Yes, I’ll change all of their nappies. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night to rock them back to sleep. Take them to school anymore, brush our daughters’ hair. Oh! We have to have matching family outfits…” and so Hongjoong often rambled about the perfect family life, his lover staring at him as if he was an angel descended from the highest heavens. If he was an angel, how did wound himself on earth no less how did he wound up as hers? To have that thought again, to stare into his eyes and get intoxicated by the profundity of his sweet soul. His love so addicting she woke up with cold sweats, hands outstretched as if he would come to her in the cold dead of the night, encircling her into his arms again as if he never left.

“What should we name our daughter?” Hongjoong piped up one day, out of sheer curiosity. His head stuck through the doorway of the living room, watching his lover sat in front of the television but her attention attached to the book in her hands.

“Hmm, Kim…” she trailed off, thinking of all the girl names her friends had already taken up. “Kim Dahye.” She settled on, he slumped onto the seat next to her resting his head on her shoulder. "Because she'll be the kindest soul to exist. And if we have a boy, we'll name him Kim Suho, our guardian angel."

"Sounds like a plan Mrs Kim." A blush crept on her cheeks, her cheek resting on his head hands entwined as the hum of the machine bled into the comfortable silence of the room.

She couldn’t remember how it had happened. What great sin she had she committed that Hongjoong felt so repulsed by the sight of her? As if staying would have killed him. Despite the busy hours of both of their working days, the tiresome repetitive life of their schedules, for a while they found comfort in each other- they were each other’s escape from the dreaded conformity to society. How had it gone unnoticed the way he cancelled on her a number of times. Ignoring her calls, leaving her messages on read? The distance between them whenever they were together. Holding her hands but not looking at her. Looking at her as she spoke about her day but not listening to her. It was tolerance, really, she’d put up with all of his ignorance as long as she could say ‘he’s mine.’

“We need to talk.” His reticent voice drifting into her bedroom, she sat up from her slumped position. A soft smile painted on her lips, how long had it been since she had been the listener and he was the talker? He slumped down on the foot of her bed, gradually meeting her gaze. A breath hitched in his throat. He loved her once. He could not breath without her. Got drunk on her presence. Then he had met her, the other woman. She was a drug so addicting. Suddenly, his childhood love was a weak narcotic incapable of exhilarating him as she once did. "I don't love you anymore." He went straight for the punchline.

"I-what happened? Why?" she questioned, there was so much more to ask but the words clogged up her throat as her brain scrambled for traction trying to process the sudden declaration. His eyes shut close for a few moments, plucking up the courage to tell her.

"I found someone else. I thought it unfair to keep you here, next to me while I'm hooked to someone else." Tears blurred her vision, limbs shivering. Pressing her back up against her headboard, she hugged her legs, face dug between her knees.

"What happened to feeling incomplete without me? What happened to wanting to be married? What happened to having children?" she questioned, anger prescient. Fury overtook the despair that momentarily possessed her, was it all a fever dream? Was any part of their relationship sincere?

"Believe me when I say I wanted it all with you, but now I can't feel a thing between us. The bridge to you has collapsed-" He reached for hands to console her; she yanked them towards her gripping onto skin too reluctant to let go. Any moment now if she did let go, he would leave.

"So then find another way to me. Fight for us. Don't tell me this relationship was just a drunken mistake, or I was just used to fill that sorry hole in your heart." Perhaps I really was lonely and you were there for me, mistaking my gratitude for love. But Hongjoong was misinterpreting his emotions. It was love. He did love her. He had just been allured by someone else's physicality that he had forgotten that the one woman who loved him endlessly, flaws and all, was sat in front of him.

"Don't make this harder for me. You deserve someone else, someone who wants you as equally as you want them." Biting down on her lip, a tear slipped from her eyes snapping her head away from him as his hands left her weakened hold. Soundlessly, he left from the room. The soft shutting of the door had triggered her, she bawled as a part of her soul crippled away trailing after Hongjoong who ambled down the street to his next love.

Her body thudded against another on that busy street as the sun dipped beneath the sky, streetlights flickering every now and then. So lost in her yearning for the past, her spatial awareness had been decapitated.

"Oh God, I'm sorry." Her phone flung out of her grasp, clattering to the floor. Both figures reached down for the phone, fingers meeting as they did. Grabbing at her phone, she rose so did the other figure in sync. "I'm really sorry, I should have watched where I was going-" He called out her name, their eyes instantaneously meeting.

It was Wooyoung, a fellow classmate from her time at university. He did not look any different from the charismatic soul that had cheered her up after every difficult lecture that seemed incomprehensible. A dimpled smile manifested across his pink lips, the familiar excitement of seeing an old friend filling him.

"I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?" He began to bombard her with questions. Within seconds she was, too, dragged away by another in the opposite direction the strings between the old lovers, thinning as they transcended deeper into the own lives.

A high-pitched squeal infiltrated the park, a small body dashing through the familiar fields.

“I’m gonna get you.” She cooed, in an infantile like manner as the child attempted to sprint as fast as his little legs could carry him. At last, she swooped him up by the legs, twirling him around the cool wind assisting her. They shared a laugh before she attacked his face with kisses. His father approached behind, wide smile complacent slipping an arm around his son, cocooning him in his embrace. The boy squirmed in his father’s arms, begging to be let go. He let him go, the couple dawdling after his child as he ran to the slides accompanying the other children inhabiting it.

“The sentence, from Mrs Jung?” She contested. She recalled the horror in her friend’s voice on learning that both her husband and son were indulging in eating sweet delicacies every night before bed-not even bothering to brush their teeth at that.

“Death.” He joked back, they shared a comfortable laugh. “Joae’s coming back from Japan on Sunday. Thank you for helping take care of Gohyun.” She waved him off declaring it was the most she could do for a friend that was there when she needed someone the most.

At the other end of the park, two old friends walked down a cobbled path on their way to the play area where Hongjoong’s daughter persisted. Cups of warm coffee encased within their hands, conversations of the past enticing them. They both paused as they found his daughter, Kim Dayhe, playing with another boy around a similar age to her. The sight brought back a nostalgic memory of the girl he used to run around parks with as a child.

“Jung Gohyun!” A feminine voice called, a figure moved closer to the children, she sent a soft smile to the girl before kneeling down to tighten her loosening pigtails. Hongjoong moved forward, despite the woman’s pure intentions his protective instincts broke through-Jongho following hastily behind eyes widening as he recognised the woman.

“Thank you, Unnie-,”

“Dahye,” her head snapped up from the children, the acquaintance of the voice tearing the boundaries she’d built between them for years on end. The memories flooding back to her, she almost stumbled back at the sight of him; she clutched onto her Gohyun’s shoulder for strength. Her lips formed his name, but no sound came out. Hongjoong’s own eyes widened. His childhood love.

“I haven’t seen you in years! How are you?” He questioned, as if the last time he spoke to her wasn’t in her bedroom, telling her he didn’t love her anymore. That his heart was tied down to another woman, who he felt more complete with then he had ever felt with her.

“I’m great! Is she your daughter?” Hongjoong nodded proudly.

“This is your son?” She froze, unable to speak. Eventually, she shook her head no.

“No, he's Wooyoung’s son actually. He’s here, somewhere...” Tearing her gaze away from Hongjoong, who was somewhat surprised at the revelation, she trailed off scanning the park for her companion, who was jogging over to the reunion-two tiny bodies respectively hiding behind their close adults.

“Long time no see.” Jongho quipped from behind Hongjoong. With a gasp, she rushed to Jongho embracing him into a warm hug whilst terrorising him with questions all the same- Hongjoong slightly gaping at them with, a brief unsettling feeling in his heart.

“Jung Wooyoung, you bastard! It’s been ages!" Her hands flung to her nephew's ears, as did Hongjoong’s, as the profanity shamelessly sprung out of Jongho’s mouth.

“I love you too!” The university friends reunited, Wooyoung encompassing both Hongjoong and Jongho. Sneakily, the children had taken the opportunity to crawl back to the slides. While Jongho and Wooyoung conversed with each other, Hongjoong sought his old childhood friend, looking down at her feet in contemplation.

"You named her Dahye." she exhaled; a whiff of distress reminiscent in her tone. He nodded, slowly.

"So, no children, no husband?" As always Hongjoong went straight for the punchline but there wasn't really any other way about it. If Gohyun was not her child, nor Wooyoung her husband then who did she have waiting for her at home?

"No. We're not all entitled to that kind of life."

"But it's all you've ever wanted." he pondered, the words blurting from his mouth before he could stop them. He was met with a hard stare but she returned her gaze back to her feet. "I mean, no one at all?" When the one I wanted left me, how could I seek another? It wasn't that she had not tried at all, she'd been on many dates with many men. Lots of Wooyoung's friends, Johae's friends, some guys on dating apps she'd installed for the thrill of it but none had the compassion that she desired or none had wanted to date for marriage. She'd be lying if she said she didn't at least look for the smallest trace of Hongjoong in them all.

“Just Dahye or?”

“A three-month year-old boy, Kim Suho.” Perhaps that was enough to break all the progress she had made over the years, the bridge of her nose tingled but she refused to be vulnerable in front of him again. The tight threads that had lazily sewed her heart together ripping, the misery she had once been suffering from breaking through again. The universe really had no remorse left for her.

“I’m proud of you, Hongjoong. You finally settled down and I’m sure you’re a great father.” She retorted. What else could she say? As much as she wanted to, she could not scream or cry. Or shout and swear. Tell him how much he had broken her and when he left her home, mercilessly on that solemn evening many years ago she had not been the same. She could not tell him how cruel it was that he named his children the same names that she had planned. How much it hurt her that she wasn’t the mother of his children, like he used to claim he wanted her to be. Or rather that she wasn’t the mother of any child since no man could love her in the ways she wanted to be loved. She called for Gohyun, the little boy tottering over to her. Clutching his small hand within hers, she brushed past Hongjoong to bid Jongho goodbye. Finally, across the park, she arched her neck to take a last look at Hongjoong. They marvelled at each other, before the universe could separate them once and for all.

I knew you once. I loved you once, held you in my arms and you promised you wouldn’t let me go. The memory of me so faint like there wasn’t a day that went by when you promised me that you would make me yours.

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: ahhh the second fic in the angst series! I’m a bit iffy on the ending but let me know what you guys think? good? bad? ugly? May edit later. thank you to my love @n0v4t33z for helping me decide regardless! The cold persists unfortunately, but so do I. I'll try to squeeze in another fic before I lock into exam mode but I think it's just best to let the ideas marinate at this point. Still gonna be active on tumblr so reach out to me!! Hope you enjoyed this fic!

#kim hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #kpop #ateez x reader #ateez

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peachywritess · 1 year

Text

happiness looks good on you ー knj

☁️ genre: long-term lovers, estabilished relationship, fluff, kind of domestic!au, namjoon being a supportive husband.

☁️ pairings: husband!kim namjoon x artist!female!reader

☁️ warnings: there aren't any, just joonie being husband material, use of pet names such as jagiya, baby, love.

☁️ word count: 1,7k

☁️ author's note: just a small little thing i had in mind, not my best but i really liked writing this, i hope you like it bubs!!<3

Feedbacks are welcomed !

The brush plopped into the water jar, and a few drops of coloured liquid spilt on the wooden surface. Some ended up on your phone which lit up, the lock screen displaying your favourite picture: you and Namjoon holding a white teddy bear he had won at an amusement park. You remembered that day clearly: it was your first anniversary.

You had captured the moment with a polaroid camera Namjoon had bought as a gift, and you still hadn’t figured out how it worked so the shot came out far too bright. However, looking at that picture years later still brought a sense of warmth and nostalgia: you were both so young, inexperienced, and still seeking to understand each other. Seven years had passed since that day, and so many things had happened: your trip to Bali, rescuing two calico cats and naming them Zelda and Esme, your tour of Europe, and then your marriage.

Your house was full of memories and pictures from your numerous adventures like the one in the Italian Alps where you were too scared to cross a suspended bridge, and Namjoon had to carry you for more than a mile. Or the one in the french Blue Coast when he had mistaken tanning oil for sunscreen so you both had pretty bad sunburns for the entire week.

“I told you to buy sunscreen, Joonie - sunscreen!”

“It is! See, huile de bronzage.” He had panicked showing you the little brown bottle.

“It literally means tanning oil, Namjoon Kim!”

A smile shone on your lips ー reminiscing all of the wonderful memories you had made together. You missed his buzz cut, and how his short hair used to tingle your palms: when you were younger, Namjoon let you dye it in different colours. One time, you had opted for pretty pink flowers, and the dye had stayed on for months.

You loved that he couldn't give a damn about other people's judgement - in fact - he would always brag to his hyungs how talented his girlfriend was. Surely, he would let you know.

"Jagiya, you are so talented. Please dye my hair forever!"

You had majored in arts whereas Namjoon had chosen to open up a travel agency. Initially, it was not easy for either of you: you had only each other's support and getting through the month was always difficult.

Namjoon stayed out late to advertise his shop, but despite this he would always stay up all night watching you finalise one of your paintings, making sure to bring you a glass of water about every half hour because "it's important to stay hydrated when you are working hard."

He would try his best to stay awake by telling you about his day, showering you with compliments and then attempting to analyse what you were painting. You would quietly listen to him, some mhmh's and mhh's in response and occasionally interrupt his chatter to tell him to get some rest. Yet each time he reiterated the same phrase: 'I'll stay awake as long as you do, love'.

And so within minutes he would fall asleep on the couch and you would bring a blanket and a pillow for him to be comfortable.

But now, his hair had grown out and you had practically lost the sparks you usually felt when you painted. Finishing a canvas was now something you had to do - and really didn't enjoy at all.

“You have one month, Y/N. Then I will shred the contract to pieces, understood?”

You listened in silence as your boss complained over the phone, her voice a few octaves higher.

“I mean, what happened to you? Do you think I pay lazy and unmotivated people? Our company seeks talent and commitment, and I’m afraid you no longer have any of these requirements.”

You sharply inhaled pinching the bridge of your nose, back resting against the chair as Namjoon stood right behind you, he too in silence. His hands were placed on your shoulders, which he stroked softly.

“I understand, Mrs Han. I am working on a piece at the moment, and I swear that it will be done in less than a month-”

You took all of your courage to speak - that woman truly scared you. Ms Han was the director of the agency you worked for, whose aim was to sell artwork at a premium price. She was a fifty-year-old woman with a passion for belittling her employees and underpaying them.

“No more promises, I don’t care. I just want that piece at the end of this month.” She interrupted you, and you sighed.

Just know that this is your last chance.”

And just like that she hung up, leaving you lost in a limbo of disbelief and terror: you could not afford to lose this job.

Yes, it probably wasn't the best job on the planet, but you hadn't yet realised your dream of opening your own atelier, and this company - although not particularly ethical - was a sure ticket to gaining a small amount of notoriety in the industry.

“Wow, what a bitch.” Namjoon proclaimed breaking the silence and bringing a small smile to your lips.

“Damn right she is.”

You groaned, squinting your eyes shut, before running your hands down your face - in a gesture of sheer exasperation. “I could end her whole career if I wanted to.”

“Then do that, baby. You have nothing to lose, she does.”

You let your head fall back, resting it on the chair, finally meeting your boyfriend's gaze. He was smiling, and his dimples looked so adorable you wanted to squeeze his cheeks.

“Um, probably my job, Joonie?”

“Yeah, that’s a good point.”

Namjoon leaned forward until you were close enough to look directly into his eyes, then left a soft kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes, savouring that brief moment of tranquillity. His attention then shifted to the canvas in front of you - a few lines of red paint already starting to dry up - and observed it thoroughly without saying a word.

"Do you remember when you accepted the job offer?" He questioned.

"Mhmh, what about it?"

"And do you also remember what you told me?"

You bit your lower lip, scratching your chin with your index finger.

You had said a million, no, a billion things to Namjoon before you signed that contract.

"Um, wish me luck?" You said in a slightly questioning tone, and your husband facepalmed.

With a swift movement, he turned the chair you were sitting on allowing you to look him directly in the eyes. That gesture made you blush and you stared at him with doe eyes.

"No, jagi, not the correct answer." He tilted his head, soft jet-black locks brushing his forehead. "You promised me you wouldn't let them change you."

You were struggling, and that broke his heart.

Namjoon knew you were desperately trying to paint something, anything that would please your boss. He had examined the shift in your brushstrokes from time to time, and they didn’t seem to belong to you. They were abrupt and quick, whereas you always directed them with gentle movements.

He was not seeing you on that canvas, instead, he was seeing a version you had been forced to become.

"Is it worth it, love? Do you want to become a machine for them to make more money?"

You sighed. He was right ー Namjoon was so right.

You had completely forgotten how it felt to make art, you had forgotten how it felt to be free. You had submitted to their rules because they had made empty promises from the start and you had believed them.

Namjoon crouched down, resting his hands on your knees. In that position, the light coming from the window illuminated his face as you gazed at him with pure admiration. He was glowing.

His brown eyes seemed to light up, turning a honey-like amber colour.

"Joonie..." You murmured as your hands gently grabbed his. "I can't lose this job, I just cannot."

"Y/N, you are the best thing to ever happen to me, you know that right?"

His thumbs softly rubbed the back of your hands, something he always did to comfort you. As he stroked he gently drew imaginary shapes like circles, flowers or hearts.

You hummed in response locking eyes with him.

"That's why I want the best for you. I want you to be happy because I can't bear the thought of you ever suffering. And what I truly wish for, is for you to find your love for art again, and-"

"Baby..."

"I don't want you to feel obligated because I swear to you Y/N, I will always support you no matter what," he then grabbed both your hands in his, and brought them to his lips. "but I wish you just left this job."

You smiled when Namjoon placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. Despite all these years, he had never changed: he was still the same old romantic and you couldn't complain.

"I know, Joonie, but what if I can't find anything? What if... I don't make enough money to open the atelier?"

Namjoon lightly squeezed your hands, his eyes never leaving yours as one hand cupped your cheek, delicately caressing it.

"Jagiya, you are the most talented woman I've ever known, and you can do whatever you wish to do. You inspire me every day."

"I wouldn't even know where to start." You relaxed in his touch, letting out a breath.

The warmth of his hand unexpectedly left your cheek, and that's when you saw him searching for something in the pocket of his jeans.

"Perhaps, you could start with these."

You blinked quickly observing the object your husband was holding before your eyes. You raised your eyebrows in confusion, not understanding why he was showing you a pair of rusty keys.

Then, a wave of realisation hit you.

Namjoon immediately noticed your eyes turning glazy and your mouth opening slightly in an expression of pure wonder. You grabbed the keys with trembling hands and clutched them to your chest, heart racing.

"The place is a bit run down, but I am sure that in a few months, we will manage to make it perfect."

Without wasting a second you threw your arms around his neck, and tears of happiness fell from your eyes. You couldn't believe it: your dream had just come true.

"I love you so much, Joon, I- I can't believe it. I love you!"

Namjoon stroked your hair, unable to resist tearing up with you, holding you close to him. At that moment, all he wished was for time to stand still and remain like that forever.

"I love you too, princess."

Happiness looked so good on you.

Please consider reblogging my works if you like them! <3

#namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x female reader #kim namjoon x female reader #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon fluff #kim namjoon imagine #kim namjoon fic #kim namjoon one shot #bts x reader #bts x female reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts imagine

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madixkiwi · 1 year

Text

Pressure (Chapter 2)

Miguel O'Hara x Reader (fem)

Word Count: 1.5k

Description: Miguel and Y/N are in an established relationship. As the events of "Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse" gradually unfold, conflict arises between the couple. Miguel is a complicated man with the fate of the multiverse riding on his shoulders. Y/N is a Spider-Society technician with a big heart and strong morals.

______________________________________________________________

Two months had passed since Gwen had joined Spider-Society, and she was fitting in well. Y/N had introduced her to Hobie and Pavitr, and she even convinced Miguel to send them on missions together. Their friendship grew from there, and Gwen was proving to be an exceptional addition to the team. Miguel began sending her on solo missions as his confidence in her abilities grew. He was currently about to assign her another task, but he wanted to inform Margo and Y/N about it first.

Y/N was in the process of sending an anomaly back to its respective universe when Miguel went to see her. Margo watched the monitors to ensure everything was running smoothly while Y/N carefully typed away, oblivious to her partner standing in the doorway.

“Alright, that should do it. How’s it look?” She turned to inspect Margo’s screens.

“Everything looks good. Time to send this guy home.”

With the click of a button the Go Home Machine effortlessly transported the villain away. Y/N and Margo celebrated with a high five, and she finally noticed the light from the hallway pouring into the room through the open door. She smiled when her eyes landed on Miguel, who stared at her with a small grin of his own. “Miguel,” she acknowledged, alerting Margo of their boss’ presence in the room. “It’s good to see you.”

Margo spun around and waved. “Hi, Miguel. Need something?”

Miguel approached the control panel and stopped in front of it, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m sending Gwen on a mission to capture another anomaly,” he began with a concerningly stern tone. “We’ll need the Go Home Machine ready for him as soon as she returns. I don’t want this guy causing us any trouble.”

Margo nodded. “We’re on it.”

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed. She gave Miguel a look that said, “What’s the deal?”, but he ignored her silent inquiry. His eyes averted her own, focusing on the keyboard of the control panel instead.

“Great. This shouldn’t take her long.” Miguel swiftly turned his heel and left the room without saying another word. Margo and Y/N looked at each other as soon as he was gone, sharing the same confused expression. Miguel’s assertion and stoic indifference made him a respectable leader. Likewise, he was serious about most work matters; however, he looked especially troubled when he came to Y/N and Margo. Over the past few days it had become increasingly obvious that something was going on with him. He had been practically glued to his monitors, and he started to come home later than usual. He also refused to open up about his feelings, which worried Y/N even more.

“What’s up with him?” Y/N was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t hear Margo’s question.

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out later when Gwen gets back.”

“Yeah,” Margo sighed. “I guess so.”

***

Miguel’s voice rang throughout HQ as he urgently spoke into the overhead speakers. “Containment team 1, report to Dock 7 immediately. I repeat, containment team 1, report to Dock 7 ASAP.”

Spider-Society buzzed with curious conversation as the containment team followed Miguel’s orders. Y/N sat up in her chair upon hearing the message, clenching her jaw in frustration. “That’s it!” She declared, jumping out of her seat.

Margo looked up from her tablet in surprise. “What? What is it? What-”

“I’m tired of being left in the dark. I’m going to find out what’s going on right now.”

Y/N stormed out of the control room in a flurry of determination and concern. Despite his denial, it was apparent that something really had been bothering Miguel for a while. Whatever it was, Y/N didn’t really care. All she wanted was for Miguel to be honest with her, to tell her what was going on in his head. She made it to his office in record time with a trail of fire burning in her wake. Lyla greeted her before Miguel could turn around to see her flustered on the floor beneath his platform.

“Heyyy, hot stuff.”

Y/N smiled at her kindly. She always did like Lyla, but she wanted the opportunity to talk to Miguel alone right now. “Hey, Lyla. How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know how it is, being stuck with Mr. Grumpy Pants.” Miguel glared at her and began to slowly descend down towards Y/N.

“Yup, I know all about that.” Y/N’s cheery demeanor faltered when she made eye contact with Miguel. “I don’t want to kick you out or anything, but I was hoping I’d get the chance to talk to Miguel alone?”

“Yeah, for sure! Say less, girly, I’ll give you two your privacy.”

“Thanks so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” Lyla disappeared with a wink, leaving Miguel and Y/N in the room by themselves.

Miguel jumped off of the platform that had yet to reach the ground, for he didn’t want to make Y/N wait for him to reach her. He towered over her cautiously, attempting to read the complicated mix of emotions that resided on her face. She felt her heart pound against her chest.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Miguel asked. There was a glint of worry in his eyes.

“Mhm. Yup, exactly.” Y/N struggled to confront him. She was aware of the anger that swelled in her chest, and she worried about acting emotionally instead of logically.

Miguel raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

Y/N took a deep breath and let everything out. “You haven’t been honest with me lately. We’ve been together for so long, Miguel, and I know you by now. I can tell when something’s bothering you, or when you’re stressed. I’m not stupid! And yet, every time I ask if you’re okay you deny it, as if I’m oblivious to the changes in your behavior.” Miguel opened his mouth to say something, but Y/N cut him off as she continued ranting.

“You’ve been so obsessed with your work lately. You’re barely ever home, and you never have time for me anymore!” Miguel closed his mouth and bit his tongue. “I just want you to trust me. You can tell me anything. Whatever you’re going through, I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

For a moment the couple stood in silence. Y/N focused on holding back her tears while Miguel struggled to come up with a valid response to her grievance. The tension in the air was thick. “Please,” Y/N whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. “Just… just tell me what’s worrying you. I want to help. I want to know.”

One of Miguel’s hands ran through his hair as he prepared to speak. He felt his heart shatter at the sight of his girlfriend cowering in front of him, begging him to let her in. He gulped and reached out for her hands, enveloping them in his own. He stepped closer to her so they were only inches apart.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away. I never meant to hurt your feelings.” He spoke to her so gently. “Lately I’ve had a lot on my plate. I wanted to tell you everything, really, but I didn’t want you to worry.”

“But I-” Miguel was crushed with the weight of immense guilt as tears finally started streaming down Y/N’s face. She ripped her hands out of Miguel’s grasp and desperately tried wiping them away, not wanting her boyfriend to feel sorry for her.

Miguel panicked, holding her face in both of his giant hands. He bent over and swiped her tears away with his thumbs. “Hey, please don’t cry. No llores, cariño,” he pleaded. Y/N sniffled and tried her best to grasp a hold of her emotions.

Beeping noises from Miguel’s monitors interrupted his and Y/N’s conversation. His head instinctively snapped towards the computers, scanning the screens for notifications. He turned back to Y/N with a guilty look on his face. “I have to go,” his eyes said.

“Please don’t leave,” Y/N silently begged.

“I’m sorry,” he backed away slowly towards the monitors.

“Wait-”

“This conversation isn’t over. I promise, it’s not.”

Y/N stood still as she watched Miguel spin around to observe the screens in silence. After a few seconds passed he broke the quiet with a sigh. “There’s something I need to address. It’s important. When I get home tonight we can start from where we left off, okay?”

“You still don’t want to tell me what’s going on?” Y/N asked.

“No, it’s not that,” Miguel spoke quickly, terrified of hurting Y/N any more than he already had. “Look, Jess is bringing Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr and a new kid back to HQ. I told them to report to me-”

“I’ll escort them here then. Let me go get them,” Y/N proposed. She didn’t give Miguel any time to protest. Leaning over his monitors, she scanned the information on the screens until she found what she was looking for. “There, Dock 9. I’ll be right back.” She didn’t dare look Miguel in the eye as she ran out of the room, leaving him alone. She needed to get away from him, and she needed some time to breathe. Miguel cursed at himself for being so dismissive. Being the leader of Spider-Society was especially difficult on days like today, when his job clashed with his personal life.

He desperately wanted to leave HQ for the day, to go home early for once and dedicate the entire evening to Y/N; but he knew he couldn’t do that. Y/N knew that too, but her heart still ached.

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