First Thought - Best Thought

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[scary-grace]

Expiation - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is a birthday gift for @sophsiaaa based on a suggestion of a fantasy AU Shigaraki x reader. Happy birthday (although it's definitely a bit late)!

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 1

You hear the rumors long before you see him, but the story of his arrival is told to you so many times that it’s etched into your head. It was a beautiful spring day, the fields surrounding the castle bright with wildflowers, the air humming with butterflies and bees – the kind of day on which nothing bad is allowed to happen. And then the world went still. The sun seemed to dim. The air fell silent, empty of insects and birds, and even the flowers cringed away as he led his horse past, walking so slowly that it seemed he knew his presence poisoned the world, and reveled in it. The dark knight, the one they call the White Death. Shigaraki Tomura.

The rumors are terrible, and most of them are true, but no one finds the High Kingdom unless they were meant to be here. You remember the day you stumbled out of the Forest Perilous, last of a party of dozens who had all set out together, the only one to reach the castle. The castle chose you, the same as it chose everyone born outside the walls who now resides within. The same is true of Shigaraki Tomura – Sir Tomura, or Lord Tomura, anything but the dread title he’s earned on the battlefield. There is some purpose to his presence here, although neither you nor anyone else can imagine what it is.

Most knights come to the High Kingdom with squires and servants, hauling supplies and gifts and finery to please the king. The White Death comes alone, and bears no gift – no gift other than the one he’s rumored to have tossed at King Izuku’s feet. That rumor is terrible, too. But it it’s true, it means that Shigaraki Tomura crossed a line no one else had dared to touch – in taking on the King’s fated enemy, the man prophesied to destroy the High Kingdom, and slaying him himself. Tearing down his armies himself. Singlehandedly wrecking a prophecy that has hung over the Kingdom’s head since it was first spoken, a prophecy of death and destruction that would bring a mighty kingdom to its knees.

And you suppose it did. After all, the prophecy, never said it would be your kingdom that fell.

King Izuku offers Shigaraki Tomura a seat on his council, over the objections of the rest of the council. Shigaraki Tomura accepts. And then the question turns to where he should be house, and what level of opulence is appropriate for his room, and because the gods hate you or because you’re just unlucky, you’re assigned from all the servants to help him decorate it. To create a dwelling space fit for a hero, meant to house someone who cannot be called anything but a villain.

You knock hesitantly at the door, struggling to balance the heavy wooden chest you’re carrying at the same time. When that fails to produce a response, you call out, your voice thin as it echoes through the deserted wing of the palace. “Lord Tomura?”

The door unlocks with a sharp click, then swings open, and you suck in a breath. You heard he had magic – most in the High Kingdom do, you included – but it’s considered crass to flaunt it for things that could otherwise be done by hand. You step through the door into a large, empty room. The only features in it are a window without a single pane of glass, an armoire with doors gaping open, and a canopy bed bare of both canopy and sheets. The infamous white armor is piled in the corner of the room, along with the white sword his enemies call Decay. The White Death himself sits on the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t look away from the spot on the wall where he’s fixed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“My Lord.” You bow, or curtsy, or do some awkward mix of both at once. It doesn’t matter. He’s not looking at you. “I was sent to help you put your room in order.”

“This is fine.” Shigaraki Tomura’s voice is flat and icy, devoid of anything but apathy. “The window is a nice touch.”

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. You would be, if you were a knight and not a maid. “The window will be fixed, my Lord. In the meantime, I was sent to arrange the rest of your room. I’ve brought many things for you to choose from.”

“Many things.” He looks up at last, and you catch your breath at the sight of his crimson eyes. It’s all too easy to imagine his enemies freezing in terror, those eyes the last thing they saw before the darkness closed in. “That chest is too small for many things.”

“It’s larger on the inside,” you say. He raises an eyebrow – or he would, if he had them. “Do I have your leave to show you?”

“If it’s the case that you won’t leave me be until you do.” The White Death looks away, and you come a few steps closer. A few steps, and then a few more, until you can set the chest down within his eyeline and kneel down to open it. “What is that?”

“No one could tell me what you preferred, so I brought some of everything.” You were hoping to avoid being berated. You’re starting to think that’s unlikely. “There are sheets for the bed – and choices for the canopy, also. These are for the walls – most knights have tapestries made of your great deeds, but you’ve only just arrived. They won’t be ready for a little while.”

“Great deeds,” Shigaraki – Sir Tomura – sneers. Your ears burn. “Yes, I’m sure the weavers are lining up to chronicle mine.”

“If you say so, my Lord.” You lift out a set of curtains – curtains, for a broken window. Whoever left this for you to deal with, you hope they catch the plague. “Er, the window –”

“I didn’t say so,” Sir Tomura interrupts. You look up at him. “I have done no great deeds. It is no honor to be on your knees at my feet.”

“Pardon me, my Lord. I never said it was.”

You shouldn’t have spoken. You bow your head hastily, but not before you see a flash of interest in the White Death’s eyes. “A punishment, then. Tell me, who did you displease?”

“Nor did I say it was a punishment.” You’ve already gotten yourself in trouble. You may as well explain. “It is my duty to serve the nobles of the High Kingdom. You are one of them. And you’ve done the kingdom a great service.”

“I didn’t do it for you. Or for your wretched kingdom.” Sir Tomura is looking at you, still. You can feel the heat of his gaze on your shoulders, the exposed curve of your neck. “I might have destroyed your kingdom just as easily.”

You know that. It’s why everyone fears him, why a man with a lean, slender build casts such a long shadow. “Then why did you choose his?”

“You both wronged me. He wronged me worse.” Sir Tomura goes silent for a moment, and you dare a glance up at him. His face is still, the sneer long-gone. “And because you wronged me, too, you must suffer my presence. In honor of the great deed I have done.”

Now he sounds bitter, mocking – but not of you. He’s looking at you again. “And what terrible deed have you done, that you do not fear to raise your eyes to me?”

“Is that a requirement for meeting your eyes, my Lord?” It strikes you as an odd thing to say, when any other knight would remark on your temerity at gazing upon any noble’s face. “I did not come here to pass judgment on your deeds. I came to make your room a fitting place for a person to live.”

“Indeed,” Sir Tomura says. “But unlike the five maids who preceded you, you have not fled from the sight of me. Why?”

You would answer him if you knew, but you don’t. The rumors of him terrified you, the same as everyone else. You were frightened as you knocked at the door, frightened when you stepped into the room, and even though he’s weaponless, you have no doubt that he knows dozens of spells that will kill you where you stand. There is no doubt that the man in front of you is the White Death, the terror of battlefields across the known world, the ruination of a kingdom most thought would stand forever and the slayer of a king most thought could not be killed and the destruction of a prophecy that went unchallenged for a hundred years. You should be terrified, just as you were before, and you’re certainly wary. But you aren’t frightened any longer.

The White Death is waiting for an answer. “If I had an answer, I would give it, my Lord,” you say. You look away and begin to unpack from the chest. “Does my Lord have a preference as to colors?”

“No.” Sir Tomura’s voice carries an odd rasp, whether he’s scornful or not. “Do what you want.”

So he’ll allow you to complete your task. You wonder if the five maids who apparently preceded you tried to hold a conversation, or if they simply ran away the instant he opened the door. Some part of you wants to decorate his room in bright colors, something cheerful, but you don’t have the sense that he’ll appreciate it. You’d be better off giving him something to look at, since he spends so long staring off into space. You choose fabrics in muted colors, woven with small illusions here and there, patterns that move and change in response to the human eye. It’s likely that Sir Tomura will spend a lot of time here. He doesn’t seem to like people very much. His room should at least be a pleasant place to be.

When you’ve covered key portions of the walls, leaving space for the inevitable tapestries, you move on to laying out rugs. The stone floors in the castle are cool in the summer, cold in the winter, and Sir Tomura’s feet are bare, his boots kicked into the same pile as his sword and armor. You don’t have as many choices with the rugs. They are nothing but bright colors, woven together from scraps of fabric, and you lay them out hastily, hoping he continues to prefer staring at walls to staring at floors. Then you turn your attention to the armor. It needs to be stored properly, and there isn’t a stand in the room.

You turn to face Sir Tomura and find that he’s already watching you. “If you give me leave, my Lord, I’ll retrieve a stand for your armor.”

“It can stay where it is.”

Most knights pride themselves on their armor. Most pride themselves too much. “Won’t it rust?”

“Until it crumbles away. I don’t care.”

You don’t understand. “Sir –”

“It’s no use to me any longer.” Sir Tomura rises from the bed for the first time and crosses the room, moving with catlike grace. He lifts the breastplate from the pile one-handed and holds it out for you to inspect. You can’t miss the problem – it’s been cleaved almost in two by a single strike, torn apart as only cursed steel can do. “It can’t be fixed.”

“The best smiths in the world work here,” you venture. Sir Tomura scoffs. “They reforged One For All, and that sword was broken into nine pieces.”

“Yes, we’ve all heard the story. Good King Izuku gathered the nine pieces of One For All and proved he was the rightful king.” The disdain in the White Death’s voice is withering. “The rightful king, but not a good one. The king before him was worthless, and the queen before him, too – they let their greatest enemy grow and prosper, throughout their entire reigns.”

“They fought back,” you protest. “Queen Nana was killed fighting him – King Toshinori was badly wounded –”

“And King Izuku never tried,” Sir Tomura sneers. “In spite of their goodness, they turned away. They were too good to do what had to be done, so it fell to me to slay the monster and tear down his throne.”

Sir Tomura wasn’t mentioned in the prophecy. Why would it fall to him? “And look what I’ve done,” he continues. A harsh laugh tears free from his throat. “Spared a kingdom of cowards and fools from destruction they deserve only slightly less.”

The questions bursts out of you. “If you despise us so much, why did you come here?”

“This kingdom owes me a debt,” Sir Tomura says. “I have nowhere else to go.”

You have nothing to say in response to that. You expect Sir Tomura to look pleased at silencing you, but he doesn’t. “Receive a stand for my armor if you wish it,” he says, and you depart, feeling sick to your stomach.

The White Death’s words cling to you as you search for a spare armor stand. What had to be done. What could he mean by that? What would the White Death do that the good kings and queens of your kingdom wouldn’t try? The answer occurs to you at once. Dark magic. Magic that corrupts the mind and soul, magic that leaves cursed wounds and blighted lands in its wake. Of course the kings and queens of the High Kingdom would never do such a thing. But if that was what it would take to end the Enemy’s reign of terror, then maybe –

It’s not your place to decide such things. You find a spare stand in the armory and cart it back to the deserted wing of the palace, only to be accosted on the way by the tailor Hakamada. “You’re attending him? Good. These are for the feast tonight.”

He thrusts a package into your arms, even though your hands are already full. “Ensure he wears them. His presence is an affront, but he’ll be properly dressed if it’s the last thing I do.”

Given that Hakamada isn’t the one forcing the new clothes on Sir Tomura, it’s more likely to be the last thing you do. You set off again, struggling under the weight of both the package and the stand at once.

Sir Tomura seems surprised that you’ve returned, but he doesn’t mock you over it – yet. He allows you to set up the stand, and to begin to store his armor properly, although he refuses to allow you anywhere near the sword. “It’s cursed,” he says, even though you didn’t ask. “Once it tastes a victim’s blood, that person is doomed to wither and rot. Did you know that?”

“I heard rumors,” you say carefully. “There are many rumors about you.”

“They aren’t rumors if they’re true,” Sir Tomura says. “Almost all of them are.”

It doesn’t surprise you that the White Death knows his own legends. “Which ones aren’t?”

Sir Tomura doesn’t answer. He’s investigating the package from Hakamada, which you set down on the end of the still-unmade bed. You, meanwhile, find yourself transfixed by the tear in the breastplate of his armor. It’s been split nearly in half. You lean closer, paper and fabric rustling behind you, in order to peer at the edges of the breastplate, the padding inside, and a needle of shock and fear drives itself through you. All of it is stained with blood. “My Lord –”

You turn to find yourself facing Sir Tomura half-dressed, in clean breeches and bare feet, having just removed his shirt. His bare skin is laced with scars, some old and some newer, but none so terrible as the enormous wound in his chest, so fresh it can barely be called healed. It matches the tear in the breastplate exactly. Sir Tomura glances at the breastplate, then at you. Then he turns away.

“My Lord,” you start, “if you need a healer –”

“It’s a cursed wound,” Sir Tomura says. “It will never heal.”

That was in the prophecy, too – something about a blow from which the victor will never recover. You know it’s half the reason King Izuku held off. He has no heir, nor an obvious successor among his advisors, and everyone assumed the blow described in the prophecy would be fatal. You mind feels frozen, caught between horror and sadness and trapped in confusion. If what everyone says is true, and it is, Shigaraki Tomura is a monster. If what everyone says is true, and it is, King Izuku is a good king. If both of those things are true, then why did the monster fulfill the prophecy? Why has the good king offered him so meager a welcome? You don’t know what to do with the White Death, who saved your kingdom, whose infamous fury has yet to make an appearance since he arrived at the castle.  Neither does anyone else.

Sir Tomura is fumbling with his new shirt, cursing. You abandon the armor and come forward. “May I help, my Lord?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t refuse, and you take the risk of helping anyway, straightening the useless ruffles, doing up the pearl buttons, staying well clear of the terrible wound. “It takes a monster to slay a monster,” the White Death says, as you smooth out the lines of his shirt. “And now you all must live with the monster that survived.”

He looks down at you, the ghost of the sneer from before distorting his features. “Is that pity I see on your face? Save your pity. It’s useless to me.”

“I don’t pity you,” you say. You can’t – not when he’s done such terrible things, not when you can’t begin to calculate whether what he did in fulfilling the prophecy cancels any of them out. But you do feel something. You can be honest about that. “I was thinking that it was a brave thing to do, my Lord. To face the Enemy when you weren’t the chosen one, and knowing that the consequences were severe even if you should win. That is all.”

A hint of surprise crosses Shigaraki Tomura’s face. “Do the words monster and villain mean nothing to you?”

“They do,” you say. “But I have never seen it written that a monster cannot be brave. Or that a villain must always be a villain.”

The White Death scoffs. “Are you waiting for me to become a true knight?”

“Only as long as you would wait for me to become a fair lady,” you say. “That is to say, a very long time.”

“A long time to become a lady, perhaps.” Sir Tomura extends one hand towards you, slowly, as though he’s expecting you to flinch or bolt. “You were fair before you knelt at my feet.”

You’re not sure what he means to do with his hand, but you reach out and capture it anyway. There’s only one thing you can think of to do, and you do it – bow low over it to kiss his knuckles, just as you’ve seen lords do for their ladies a thousand times. And you speak, words you’re certain no one has uttered since he arrived. “Thank you for what you did. Even if it was not done for us,” you say. “And thank you, too, for saying I was fair. You did not need to say that.”

“I didn’t lie.” Sir Tomura has yet to take his hand back. You don’t know what to do but keep holding it. “It seems that you are in my debt now.”

Just like that, you’re nervous again. You know what knights often ask, or demand, from the women who cross their paths. “How shall I repay it?”

“This feast,” the White Death says. You look up, startled. “You will accompany me.”

“My Lord –”

“Since I have arrived here, no one has met my eyes, nor spoken to me as you have.” He’s averting his eyes from yours now. “I would like to spend one evening in the company of someone who does not find my company torturous.”

“I would, my Lord, but it is simply not done.” You’re surprised at how upsetting it is to be unable to grant such a simple wish. You let go of his hand and drop into a curtsy, replacing the distance that should exist between you, rather than the odd intimacy of the last few moments. “No true knight would bring a servant as his companion to a royal feast.”

“I see,” Sir Tomura says. His hand slips beneath your chin, tilting your face upwards, and you see that same flash of interest in his red eyes. This time it has staying power, as his callused hand molds to the shape of your jaw and his lips curve into the first smile you’ve seen from him. “It’s fortunate, then, that I am no true knight.”

[scary-grace]

SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

You're a hero who specializes in water rescue, and you've been captured by the League of Villains. It only gets worse when you find out why.

my first ever MerMay thing! Canon-ish, hero!reader, reader has a transformation quirk, mild mortal peril, etc. Part 1 of...more. Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

When you became a rescue hero, you knew what you were getting into. A rescue hero’s life isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t come with sponsorships and it doesn’t really come with product endorsements, and you only really matter when something’s already gone wrong. You don’t fight villains – you just save people, usually from themselves. You’re the last person any villain would be interested in kidnapping. There’s no reason for Japan’s most dangerous villains to take any notice of you.

At least that’s what you thought. But the last thing you remember from this morning is leaving your house and heading for work – and the next thing you know, you’re standing out on a sea arch with six members of the League of Villains staring at you.

They asked you a question, but you’ve already forgotten it. The shock of it all – kidnapped, villains – is making it hard to think. “Can you run that by me again?”

“What about it aren’t you getting?” Dabi sneers. “We need you to teach Shigaraki to swim.”

Maybe you do remember something about that. It doesn’t make any more sense the second time around. “Why?”

“Because,” Toga Himiko says, from behind a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, “we’re having our beach episode. And we aren’t going to have fun if we’re worried about Tomura-kun.”

“Right!” Twice announces. He’s still wearing his mask, but the rest of him is decked out in swim trunks, flip-flops, and a floppy hat. “I can’t frolic in the waves with my best pals if I’m worried one of them is gonna wander off and drown, and Spinner said we can’t put Shigaraki on one of those retractable kid leashes –”

“For the record, none of this was my idea.” Spinner looks embarrassed, and not at all like the villain you’ve seen on TV – without his Stain mask, he just looks like a normal guy with a heteromorphic quirk. “I just said we shouldn’t do a beach day if not everybody can enjoy it.”

“And I said you all can do whatever the fuck you want.” Shigaraki is standing off to one side, his face hidden beneath a hand and the hood of his black coat. It’s barely nine and the temperature’s already cracked thirty degrees. He must be boiling alive. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Of course you do,” Dabi says. His sneer isn’t hero-specific, it looks like – Shigaraki gets the exact same one as you did. “None of us want to put up with your bitching and moping –”

“Or your drowning –” Twice chimes in.

“So we found you a swim instructor,” the fifth member of the group concludes. He’s tall, with brown hair and eyes, and you don’t have a clue who he is. “She can help you.”

Shigaraki glances your way briefly, then returns to staring out at the sea. “I don’t need fucking help. Go roll in the sand and leave me alone.”

Problem solved, not that it’s going to help you any. If Shigaraki doesn’t want swim lessons, then your purpose here is at an end, and they’re probably going to kill you. At the same time, though, you’re aware of your proximity to the edge of the cliff. If you can get over that edge and hit the water, you’re golden. None of them have the kind of quirks that would let them chase you down, and you can swim to the nearest guarded beach and sound the alarm. The fact that you didn’t show up for work this morning probably sounded the alarm already. This is doable. Maybe.

The League of Villains isn’t paying quite as much attention to you as they were a second ago. They’re focused on Shigaraki. “She’s an expert. She does this all the time,” Spinner is saying. “I looked her up. People pay big money for her to teach their kids to swim.”

The brown-haired man looks interested. “How much money are we talking about?”

Spinner names a figure that’s triple what you charge for private lessons, on the rare occasions when you offer them. He and Dabi both worship Stain. They’ll think you’re disgusting, and instead of escaping while their backs are partially turned, you open your mouth to defend yourself. “I don’t really do private lessons,” you say, and they look at you. “My swim classes are open to anybody. And the rest of the time I lifeguard. So, uh – if you think I make a lot of money doing this, I don’t. That’s not why I became a hero.”

Twice hoots with laughter. “Some hero. We grabbed you without breaking a sweat.”

“I’m a rescue hero,” you say, aware that it’s pointless. Instead of you using their distraction to escape, Shigaraki’s using your distraction to sidle away from the others. “My job isn’t to fight villains. It’s to help people.”

Dabi gives you an evaluative look. “A rescue hero,” he says. “I heard your type is always on duty. If you see somebody in trouble, and your quirk and training equip you better than the average person to help, you have to. Right?”

“That’s weird,” Toga says. She lowers her sunglasses for a better look at you. “Is it true? If you see someone who needs help, you have to save them?”

“Yeah.” The rules are different for rescue heroes than regular heroes. “If I can help someone in distress, I have a responsibility to do it.”

“Got it,” Dabi says. That thoughtful look on his face is fading fast into malice, and a jolt of terror shoots down your spine. “Hey, Shigaraki –”

Shigaraki takes a few steps away from Dabi without turning around, and before you can so much as call out a warning, Dabi plants his hand on Shigaraki’s back and shoves him over the edge of the cliff. “There’s someone in distress,” he says, as Shigaraki vanishes with a curse that abruptly breaks off in a scream. “Help him.”

You’re not the only one who’s horrified to see Shigaraki go over the edge, but you are the only one who can do something about it. While Twice and Toga berate Dabi, and Spinner runs to the edge of the cliff and comes damn close to giving you two people to rescue instead of one, you pause for the most crucial step in a successful rescue: Taking a second to evaluate the scene. You peer down at the water and realize instantly that Dabi couldn’t have picked a worse place to push Shigaraki off. You could jump from the same spot, but why make it harder on yourself? You move to the left instead.

The brown-haired man you don’t recognize spots you. “What are you doing? He fell in over here –”

You tune him out – and the others, too, when they remember why Dabi pushed Shigaraki off a cliff in the first place. You breathe deep, more for show than anything else, then break into a run. Ten steps puts you at the edge, and you launch yourself over, bracing for the long drop into the water. That part never gets easier.

But your jump has carried you clear of the rocks and heavy surf at the base of the cliff, and when you hit the water, there’s nothing but ocean beneath you. You jumped feet-first, and your water shoes – the only support item you carry – immediately begin to stretch, molding to the shape of your feet as your quirk fuses and elongates them into fins. Webbing spreads between your fingers, and when you open your eyes, they’re impervious to the sting of seawater. Full immersion in seawater is enough to activate your quirk in its entirety, but years of training allow you to hold the transformation where it is. You have someone to rescue.

You swim for the spot Shigaraki went in. He won’t have gone far, not with how ceaselessly the waves batter against that section of the cliff, and it doesn’t take you long to find him. He’s underwater, still moving but sluggish under the weight of his clothes, his hair drifting around his face. There’s blood in the water around him. You can taste it, and as you swim closer, you see that it’s emanating from somewhere around his head and shoulders. He hit something when he fell, and head and neck injuries are a disaster no matter who gets them or how they occur. Is he even conscious? Whether he is or not, you need to get him out of the water.

You let the current carry you close, and although you hate yourself for it, you hesitate a second before reaching for him. You know how his quirk works. All five fingers touch you, and you’re dead. Trying to help Shigaraki could be the last thing you ever do.

But ocean rescue is dangerous, even for someone with your quirk. Every rescue could be the last thing you ever do, and if you do nothing, Shigaraki will drown right before your eyes. You can’t let that happen. You dive down to him, slip your hands under his arms from behind, and haul him upward. He comes to life in your grip, thrashing while you kick for the surface. You’d be more frightened of the fact that he’s trying to turn and grab you if every other person you’ve rescued hasn’t done exactly the same thing.

The two of you break the surface, you doing your best to keep Shigaraki’s mouth above the waves so he won’t swallow any more water than he already has while he tries to breathe. Your lungs haven’t even started to burn yet. You give him a few seconds to gasp for air, then order him to keep his mouth shut and close his eyes. No time to check if he’s done it or not. The only way you’re getting through the surge to calmer water is if you go under it. The next wave crests and you dive beneath it, pulling Shigaraki after you.

Now he’s trying hard to grab you, to use you to push himself to the surface. You adjust your grip and switch to a dolphin kick, fighting your quirk and its attempts to help you. At the same time, you keep count in your head. Shigaraki will need to breathe soon. You need to be through the waves by then.

As soon as the turbulence begins to soften, you swim for the surface again. Once again, you make sure Shigaraki clears the surface first. He’s coughing and gasping for air, but his chin’s above water, which means you’re in good shape for now. “Take some deep breaths. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Fuck you.” Shigaraki coughs and spits out seawater. “This is your fault. I’m not safe. You dragged me out to the middle of the ocean instead of – that had better not be a fucking shark –”

“It’s a dolphin,” you say. The dolphin swims a little closer, decides you and Shigaraki aren’t interesting enough for further investigation, and turns swiftly away. “We’re headed to the beach now. I just needed to get us clear of the surge.”

You swim back for the beach, propelling yourself mainly with your legs. You need both arms to secure Shigaraki. He’s not fighting, which is a relief – and he’s not talking, which makes you nervous. He hit his head. You need him to talk so you can assess him. “Hey, Shigaraki? How are you holding up?”

He mumbles something. “I’m going to need you to repeat that,” you say. “How are you doing?”

“Do you put everybody you rescue in a headlock?”

“It’s not a headlock,” you say. “This is how I swim with anyone I rescue. It’s what’s safest.”

“Sure. And it’s not –” Shigaraki coughs as a wave splashes into his open mouth. “It’s definitely not because you’re scared of my quirk, right?”

You don’t see a point to answering that. Shigaraki keeps talking anyway, a sharp, irritated note in his voice. “How stupid do you think I am? I still can’t swim. If I Decay you out here, I’ll drown.”

So you’ll be in more danger on the beach than in the water. Good to know. You swim the rest of the way to shore, dragging yourself and Shigaraki onto the sand. Once you’re clear of the water, you start your actual assessment. “I saw blood in the water. Did you hit your head?”

Shigaraki nods, grimacing. “When?” you ask. He shrugs. “I need to know. Did you hit it when you fell, or once you were already in the water.”

“I came up for air. The fucking waves pushed me into the – what are you doing?” Shigaraki flinches as you move some strands of wet hair out of his face. “Don’t touch me.”

“I need to see the cut.” You keep looking, with a little more urgency this time. “Did you lose consciousness?”

“No,” Shigaraki says. You find the cut – a jagged gouge from his temple to his ear, just below his hairline – and make a skeptical sound before you can stop yourself. “Stop touching it.”

“Sorry. I know it hurts.”

“I didn’t say it hurt. I’m not some primary-school brat who cries about everything.” Shigaraki responds with a lot more venom than you’d expect given what you actually said to him. “It’s not like you can do anything, so don’t bother.”

The League grabbed you on your way to work, which meant you had all your supplies with you. Your first-aid kit is still hooked onto your belt. “I have what I need,” you say. “Are you going to let me help, or do you want to keep bleeding all over the sand?”

“You can’t help me if I don’t let you.”

“That’s right,” you say patiently. Sometimes people you’ve rescued get hostile with you – out of fear, or embarrassment. Even though this is probably just Shigaraki’s personality, you know how to deal with it. “Are you going to let me?”

Shigaraki holds your gaze for a second, averting his eyes faster than you’d expect. “Do your job. Whatever that means to a so-called hero.”

He’s mean. Of course he’s mean. He’s a villain – but honestly, you’ve rescued civilians who were worse. You pry open the first-aid kit and get to work. You’ll bandage him up, make sure he’s not decompensating, and escape. No one’s faster than you in the water, and given that Shigaraki can’t swim, he’s not going to chase you if you go back in. You’ll warn someone, the League will be captured, and you can forget all about this. It’s fine. Everything is going to be –

“Hey, I found them!” Toga is hollering down from the top of the headland to your right. “The hero brought Tomura-kun to this beach instead of the other one. Tomura, are you okay?”

“It looks bad!” Twice announces. Then, to you: “Give him mouth-to-mouth. With tongue!”

“He’s conscious, breathing, and talking. He doesn’t need mouth to mouth,” you say. You hear this joke a lot, usually from guys whose friend you just saved, and it irks you. “And you don’t do mouth-to-mouth with tongue.”

“Hey! You can’t give Shigaraki substandard mouth-to-mouth just because he’s a villain!” Spinner’s arrived now, too. “What kind of hero are you?”

“The kind who’s trying to do my job,” you say. They’re distracting you, and you need to focus on Shigaraki, not in the least because he could kill you instantly if you make a mistake. You need to keep assessing. “Okay, you didn’t pass out. Did you swallow water at all? Or breathe any in?”

“I didn’t breathe it.” Shigaraki coughs, then grimaces, a flash of panic crossing his face. “Shit. I’m gonna hurl –”

He rolls to one side and vomits seawater into the sand, and you hold his hair back, mainly so you can keep it out of the head wound you’ve just cleaned. “See, he’s fine,” Dabi says from the headland. “Told you.”

“Are you sure he’s fine?” Spinner sounds like he’s thinking about pushing Dabi off the cliff. “Hey. Hero. Is he going to be fine?”

“I’m still assessing,” you caution. Shigaraki coughs a few times, then flops back into the sand. “So far, I’m not too worried, but –”

“Great! We’re going to be over there!” Toga points to the beach on the other side of the headland. “That’s where Mister Compress put all the fun stuff. See you soon, Tomura-kun!”

Most of the League vanishes without another word, but Spinner hangs on a little longer, glaring down at you. “Spinner,” Shigaraki says, his voice raspy, and Spinner looks towards him. “It’s fine. See you – over there.”

Spinner nods and leaves, which is a relief for you. Usually you aren’t that intimidated by guys in purple board shorts, but you usually haven’t been kidnapped by a gang of villains who are hovering over you, shouting bad advice. And you’ve got a different problem now – Shigaraki, who’d be intimidating no matter what he’s wearing. Maybe. He’s soaking wet, his clothes plastered to him, and he’s a lot skinnier than you thought he’d be. He’s looking at you expectantly. “Are you going to fix my head?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You pick through your kit for an appropriately-sized waterproof bandage. “Hold still.”

To your surprise, Shigaraki does it, not even flinching when you move a few more strands of his wet hair away from his face. “Why’d you bring me here instead of the other beach?”

“It was a longer swim. I wanted to get you back on land as fast as possible.” You press the bandage down carefully, running your finger over the edge to make sure it seals properly. “Okay. All done.”

Shigaraki starts trying to sit up, and on instinct, you reach out to help, only realizing your mistake when Shigaraki flinches away. He barks a question at you before you can apologize. “How do I get to the other beach? Climb that thing?”

“No,” you say. “Those headlands aren’t stable, and, uh – you probably need both hands to climb. Both hands and all your – what?”

Shigaraki ignores you. He’s fumbling in the sand, patting down the pockets of his coat, and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, panic descends over his features. “The hands,” he says, and your stomach lurches. “I lost them.”

“Um –” You don’t know what to say, and Shigaraki’s hands rise to claw at the sides of his neck. “If they’re a support item – I know it sucks to lose those, but you can probably get –”

“They’re my family’s hands. I can’t just get more!” Shigaraki’s starting to hyperventilate. “I need them –”

He shoves you to one side, gets unsteadily to his feet, and stumbles back towards the surf. You chase after him, thankful that your feet have mostly gone back to normal. “Hey. Where are you going?”

“I have to get them.” Shigaraki shakes you off when you catch his arm, and you grab him again. “Fuck you. Let me go!”

“You still can’t swim. If I let you go out there, you’ll drown.” You grit your teeth. You really, really don’t want to do this, but – “I can go look for them.”

Shigaraki blinks. “Huh?”

“I’ll swim you over to the other beach, and then I’ll look for them,” you repeat. “People ask me to find stuff they dropped all the time.”

You don’t mention that you usually say no, because it’s a waste of time when you’re supposed to be looking out for everyone on the beach. But it’s just Shigaraki here, and his breathing is starting to even out. “How are you supposed to find them? It’s the ocean.”

“They’re a little heavy, right? They’ll sink, and since I know how the currents work, I can figure out where they probably touched down.” You risk letting go of Shigaraki’s arm, breathing a sigh of relief when he doesn’t immediately bolt. “Come on. I’ll swim you over.”

“Are you going to put me in a headlock again?”

“Not if you promise not to grab me,” you say. He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kidding.”

“And I’m not stupid. If I kill you out there, I’ll drown.” Shigaraki lets one hand fall from his neck, then the other. “Swim me over. Now.”

You take a second to pack up your first-aid kit, then lead Shigaraki out into the water. You give the headland a wide berth, even though it means swimming more than a hundred yards out from the shore, but unlike last time, Shigaraki doesn’t question you. In fact, he doesn’t speak at all, except once. “Is that a –”

“Still a dolphin,” you say. The fin protruding from the water is rounded, and the snout that bumps against your hip is smooth and blunt. “Nothing to worry about.”

The entry to the other beach is smooth and easy. You can see why the League chose this one to hang out on – white sands, gentle waves, picturesque to the max. You hope they didn’t kill anyone to claim this beach for themselves. It looks familiar to you, but you can’t quite remember why, and you realize all at once that you don’t know where you are. Where is this place? How far away did they take you?

It doesn’t matter. You can swim to wherever you need to go, as soon as you dump Shigaraki off on the beach. And you don’t even have to take him all the way in – when they see him, Spinner and Twice come out to help. Shigaraki shrugs them off. “I’m fine.”

“Can you swim yet?” Twice asks. Shigaraki scoffs, and Twice turns on you. “You were supposed to teach him to swim!”

“I will,” you lie. “After I find the hands.”

“Ew,” Toga remarks from the beach, where she’s building a sandcastle. “You don’t need those, Tomura-kun. You feel better without them.”

Shigaraki ignores her and looks back to you. “You’ll find them.”

“Yeah.” You dive back into the water and swim for the other side of the headland. Maybe while you’re over there, you can come up with a plan.

There’s no way to get out of gathering up the hands. If you don’t, Shigaraki will go in to get them himself and drown, and you can’t call yourself a rescue hero if you’re willing to let someone die. You’ll find the hands, removing any incentive Shigaraki has to go back into the water, and then you’ll clear out. You can swim as far as you need to in order to find a populated beach, and once you do, you’ll be able to direct them back here to arrest the League. You track the current around the headland, noting that it forms a small vortex in a recessed area in the rocks. That’s where you’ll find Shigaraki’s hands. He said they were his family’s. What does that mean?

You figure out what it means, the second you find the first one. You pick it up out of the jagged rocks underwater and recoil, dropping it instantly. It’s not a model hand, like you thought when you saw him on TV. It’s a real, embalmed human hand, smaller than yours. It looks like it belonged to a little kid, and a surge of guilt travels through you, mixed in with frustration. You’re not the crazy one. Shigaraki’s the crazy one, for wearing his family’s embalmed hands all over himself all the time. It’s not weird at all for you to not want to touch a little kid’s embalmed hand.

But there’s something sad amidst the awfulness of it all, and whoever’s hand this was, it deserves better from you than just being pitched into the water because you got the ick. You retrieve it again, grimacing. Diving for embalmed hands is one thing, but the longer you stay underwater, the harder it becomes to resist your quirk’s transformation. The sooner you finish this, the better.

It takes you two trips to collect all the hands. Shigaraki wades out into the water to take them from you, but rather than putting them back on, he carries them past the high-tide line and dumps them in the sand. “You found all of them,” he says to you, and you nod. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

That’s neither a thank-you or a compliment, but you expect exactly none of that from a villain. And now’s your moment – Shigaraki’s up on the sand, the others are distracted, and nobody will be able to catch you once you cross the drop-off. “Stay out of the water,” you say, and as Shigaraki’s opening his mouth to respond, you turn and dive back in, swimming hard for the open sea.

This time, you let the transformation kick in, and it’s a relief. Each kick propels you through the water at speed, and you watch the seafloor fall away beneath you. You’ll swim a circuit of the island, figure out where you are, and take off. With luck, you’ll reach land way before the League decides to call cut on their beach episode.

In the water, with your transformation mostly complete, you can see everything, and although sound is muffled underwater, your dorsal and flank fins can pick up vibrations, giving you a heads-up for any sound or movement. But you don’t need your fins to pick up the flailing and thrashing that’s going on behind you. Someone’s in distress, and you have a bad feeling about who. You’re right. When you glance reluctantly over your shoulder, you find Shigaraki, just past the drop-off and sinking fast.

It’s not a question of what you’ll do next, no matter how frustrated you are. You breach the surface, suck down a new lungful of air, and swim back to shore.

The salt water must be stinging Shigaraki’s eyes, but he’s got them open, and when he sees you, they widen even further in shock. You know what he’s looking at, know that the natural response is to flinch back – but he doesn’t. Instead he reaches up for you. there’s nothing you can do but dodge his hands, wrap your arms around him, and pull him back to the surface for the third time today.

He’s gasping, coughing, but you don’t have the patience to wait for him to catch his breath. “Are you crazy? What was that about?” The answer occurs to you, and your frustration explodes. “Did you seriously try to drown yourself so I’d have to come back?”

“It worked,” Shigaraki says. You count to ten and remind yourself that you’re a rescue hero, just so you won’t drop him back in the water and let him sink. “You’re a rescue hero. You have to save people who need help. And I need help, so –”

“You’re going to keep drowning yourself so I can’t leave.”

“Or,” Shigaraki says, “you can teach me to swim.”

“I thought you didn’t want a swim lesson,” you say. “What changed your mind?”

“Seems like something I should know,” Shigaraki says. He shrugs. “And I’d be a dumbass to turn down swim lessons from a mermaid.”

You don’t like being called a mermaid, but at the same time, you know you’re not beating the allegations. When your quirk is fully activated, it transforms your legs into a long tail, complete with multiple sets of fins. It sprouts webbing between your fingers, lengthens your ears, changes the structure of your eyes. If you stayed under long enough, you’d probably sprout gills. You don’t look like a Disney mermaid, but mermaid is still what people see when they look at you when your quirk is on full blast. You’d never have let it get this far if you thought you might have to come back.

Shigaraki’s legs brush against one of your pectoral fins, and you clamp down on a shiver. This is why you never transform fully at work. Worse, you’re breaking protocol – you’re never supposed to hold victims face to face, and you’re definitely not supposed to let them wrap their arms around you like Shigaraki is doing right now. He’s getting weirdly familiar for somebody who’s so against being touched. “I’ll teach you to swim, and then what? You’ll let me go?”

“Maybe.” Shigaraki shrugs. “If you help me out, I won’t have a good reason to kill you.”

That might be the best you’ll get. For now. Once he knows how to float, you’re bailing out. “Fine. I’ll teach you.”

Shigaraki looks pleased. Not smug, like you’d expect – just pleased. “Okay. What do I do first?”

“Get back on land,” you say, “and find a swimsuit. I’m not teaching you in your clothes.”

Shigaraki’s suspicious at first, enough to remind you that he’ll just go over the drop-off if you try to escape again, and you react the same way he does when you remind him not to grab you. He heads up the beach, towards the surf shack Mr. Compress – the brown-haired guy you couldn’t place before – must have stolen. Meanwhile, you work on getting yourself out of the surf. Your quirk won’t start to deactivate until you’re clear of the water, and to teach a normal person to swim, it helps to be working with the same equipment as they are.

You use the waves as much as you can, but eventually it’s just you and the wet sand, and your tail is so heavy that you’re reduced to hauling out on the beach like a seal. It looks stupid. You look stupid, and all you can do is hope that the League of Villains is looking the other way. They aren’t. Shigaraki might be off looking for a swimsuit, but the other five are all staring your way.

It doesn’t take long for you to lose patience. “What?”

They ignore you. “I knew we grabbed the right one,” Toga says, gleeful. “We got Tomura-kun a mermaid!”

Dabi is nodding, a smirk on his face. “This is perfect. She’s gonna keep him busy all day long.”

“I’d be busy forever. Look how pretty her tail is –”

You flop back in the sand, staring up at the sky. Not only are you going to have to teach Shigaraki to swim, you’re going to have to do it while being stared at like you’re an animal in a zoo – and if you try to escape, Shigaraki will try to drown himself just to make you come back. This is going to be the worst beach episode ever. At least for you.

taglist: @deadhands69 @shigarakislaughter @handumb @cheeseonatower @lvtuss @xeveryxstarfallx @atspiss @warxhammer @stardustdreamersisi @shikiblessed @evilcookie5 @aslutforfictionalmen @dance-with-me-in-hell @agente707 @koohiii @minniessskii @baking-ghoul @boogiemansbitch @lacrimae-lotos @issaortiz @f3r4lfr0gg3r

[tetitasdelimon]

top 5 horror movies

-having a job

-not having a job

-applying for jobs

-the job market

-the concept of working my whole life

[browniiesx]

Ruthless, sexy middle-aged CEO Vox being all bossy with his cute-ass, stressed-out assistant, the poor Ethan.

I needed to draw this like I need AIR.

[scarlet-star-witch]

Sinnerman

Eddie Munson x Adopted Hopper Reader

Summary: She was the ice queen of Hawkins, all sharp edges and biting words. Eddie Munson was intimidated but smitten. The town freak and the local bitch find love.

Word count: 16.6K

Warnings: Reader is a bitch, but a lovable bitch, mild harassment (not Eddie), ADHD-coded Eddie, developing friendship to lovers, takes place pre-cannon, but will follow through each season, eventual smut

Part 2 Part 3

~~

September 1983

Eddie hurriedly elbowed his way out of the crowded house to the back patio, an over dramatic sigh of relief escaping him as he left the obnoxiously drunk teenagers behind. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his vest pocket, wincing to himself as he heard a crash and the cacophony of ignorant yells and jeers growing louder from inside. 

He knew if he weren’t a dealer, there’d be no way in hell he’d ever find himself at some stupid jock’s party. In some way it seemed like some sort of divine punishment for his choice in work. 

As he began to light his cigarette, a low voice speaking caught his attention and he peered across the dark lawn, his eyes narrowing curiously at the sight of one of the airhead jocks leaning over a figure he couldn’t quite make out.

“Look, I’m gonna tell people we fucked, so you might as well just come upstairs with me.” The idiot crooned, as if he were making a tempting offer.

Eddie’s brows furrowed in disgust, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach, a scared voice in the back of his mind telling him to intervene before the situation in front of him got out of hand. But the sound of a bitterly sarcastic laugh stopped him in his tracks.

“If you tell your friends you fucked me, I’ll tell the entire school how small and useless that thing between your legs is. And I can be very detailed.”

The jock flinched, finally taking a step back from the girl and allowing Eddie to see the fiery look on her face that made even him take a cautious step backwards. 

“Come on baby-”

“Don’t fucking try me, Dave. Piss off.” She interrupted sharply, staring venomously at the jock, as if she could will him six feet under with a mere gaze. 

The jock scoffed as he finally backed away, muttering a petulant curse at her expense under his breath as he sulked back to the party. 

Eddie was left to stand in the dark backyard, his face slack with shock at the way the situation had turned on its head, at the way she so effortlessly stripped the douchebag of all spirit. 

In the darkness of the dimly lit patio recognition settled over him. He remembered when she moved to Hawkins, when his awkward, seventh grade self developed an even more awkward and childish crush on the shy new girl, one that never developed into anything but had merely retreated to the back of his mind.

He found himself blushing as he looked at her a little too long, her beauty making his already loud mind go a little crazier.

He remembered the moment he heard her quiet voice tell him ‘good job’ as he and his band walked off the stage of the talent show, leaving behind a symphony of awkward and unsure claps and scattered boos. 

She was someone he had admired for years and her venomous tongue was one he was both enamored by and terrified of. She was fiercely sharp and while it turned him on to no end, it was also what made him keep his distance in fear of ever finding himself on the receiving end of one of her cold scowls. 

She was icy and standoffish, the reason he never invited her to join his ragtag group of outcasts like he normally would for someone sitting alone and rejected by the popular crowd. It was something he toiled with for years.

He cleared his throat and stepped forward slowly, mustering up the courage to finally speak to her. “Are you ok?” 

Her eyes met his and he froze, his breath catching in his throat. He didn’t even think she knew he existed and to have her full attention on him so suddenly made his stomach twist with nerves. 

“I’m fine.” She replied coldly as she crossed her arms over her chest protectively. Her eyes fell to his hands and she shifted slightly. “You mind sparing one?” 

“No, no, of course not.” He fumbled for his pack of cigarettes and stepped closer to her to hold one out to her, close enough to smell the intoxicating scent of her perfume. 

“Thanks.” She mumbled quietly, her gaze averting from him once again, though his heart continued to race.

He watched, feeling completely out of his element, as she lit up one of his cigarettes. He watched the delicate way her lips curled around the cancer stick and as they parted enticingly with a puff of smoke. 

He cleared his throat and forced himself to look away. 

“I’m sorry about what that guy said to you, it’s fucked up.”

Her expression turned cold again and her gaze turned icy as she glared up at him. “I said I’m fine.”

With those stern words she turned on her heel and stomped back into the house, leaving him alone in the dark backyard. 

Eddie let out a long breath and hung his head. 

She was complicated, more complex than he was qualified to ever figure out. But even knowing his chances with her were most likely in the negatives, it didn’t lessen his affection for her. 

He admired her fire and he was drawn to it every time he saw it ignite. Despite her icy demeanor, he was intrigued, wanting nothing more than to attempt to get close to her, to gain her attention that he’d been craving since he was an awkward twelve year old who felt seen with one little compliment from her.

He’d probably make a fool out of himself in the process, but that wasn’t exactly new to him.

By Monday, his eyes fell effortlessly onto her - like they did most days - as she made her way through the crowded cafeteria, ignoring the judging looks from the table of cheerleaders she passed by. Eddie watched, irritation suddenly washing over him as some douchebag from the basketball team approached her, his smile charming as he schmoozed her.

Eddie’s expression twisted, the harsh reminder that there were much more popular guys who wanted her making his shoulders slump in defeat. 

“Dude, you good?” Gareth asked, staring up at his Dungeon Master in confusion at what had put the sour look on his face.

Eddie just hummed vaguely in response and his eyes torturously fell back to her.

He watched as the jerk’s hands fell to her waist and slowly lowered, tantalizingly close to her ass in some idiotic form of flirting. Irritation quickly turned to rage and he felt his foot twitch, seconds from getting to his feet to storm over and rip that asshole's hand from her - most likely getting his ass beat in the process, but he wasn’t exactly thinking that far ahead. 

He hadn’t even been able to stand before she had taken matters into her own hands - as she always did - and tilted her lunch tray, letting the food fall to the floor carelessly and smacked the obnoxious jock across the face with the tray.

Eddie could’ve sworn he was in love there and then. He was sure if anyone had been looking at him he would’ve had hearts surrounding his head and stars in his eyes. 

He watched, absolutely smitten as she was escorted to the principal’s office and his plan was in motion. Skipping the next period, he made his way towards the front office, pulling a sharpie out of his pocket. He looked up and down the hallways, usually to make sure he was in the clear and wasn’t about to get caught, but not this time.

He coughed loudly, gaining the attention of the secretary at the front desk. He smiled cheekily and quickly turned on his heel, hastily drawing devil horns and a forked tongue on the portrait of the captain of the basketball team that was displayed proudly.

“Mr. Munson!” A shrill voice cried out. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Eddie turned around and pointed to himself as if to say ‘who, me?’, feigning innocence. 

It was almost too easy to land in detention nowadays. 

As he strolled into detention at the end of the day, he was delighted to see her slumped in a seat in the back row, staring out the window with a scowl. She looked up as he took the seat directly beside her, causing her to look at him coldly.

The dots connected and her brows furrowed further as she realized the one sitting next to her now was the same guy from the party who’d given her a cigarette. 

He smiled widely, his expression a direct contrast from hers, and held his hand out for her to shake.

“Hey, I’m Eddie.”

She looked at him incredulously before scoffing lightly. “I know who you are, Eddie.”

His chest tightened and his eyes widened in surprise and his hand fell to the desk in front of him. The thought that she’d known of his existence for all those years and hadn’t just ignored him completely like everyone else suddenly made him nervous. “Y-you do?” 

“We’ve been in school together since we were kids. Of course I know you.” 

He laughed and prayed to god it didn’t sound as pathetic and nervous to her as it did to his own ears. 

“Well, I’m a big fan of yours.”

She felt the urge to laugh, only allowing a brief twitch of her lips. She hadn’t really been thinking too clearly when she’d decked Jesse Parker in the middle of the cafeteria, she just wanted to get his hand off her ass as quickly as possible. 

“You saw that, huh?”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Honestly, I’d pay good money to watch that on a loop for the rest of my life.” 

She laughed slightly, though it was more of an amused sounding scoff, but the sound made his head spin.

She looked over at him, her eyes roaming over him curiously. Based on his outward appearance, she hadn’t been expecting such a charming smile to follow. 

She knew the bad rep he got, she knew the rumors that were whispered behind his back in crowded hallways, she knew he was public enemy number one in the eyes of the preppy popular crowd.

And she knew it was all bullshit. 

Seeing how Eddie was treated by the people at this school made her blood boil. It was exactly how people treated her and every other person who didn’t fit the traditional mold. It made her want to slam each and every one of those pompous assholes’ heads into lockers. So far she’d only done that to two cheerleaders this year and it was nowhere near enough.

For the duration of detention, Eddie tried to start a conversation, bringing up anything and everything he could think of in an effort to talk to her. 

But the one word answers and noncommittal hums she gave in response were making it difficult. 

He had asked her about her favorite movies, what music she listened to, what she thought of Mrs. Elgin’s latest assignment in history class and he was no closer to getting to know anything about her.

He was so desperate he was ready to ask her what her favorite color was. 

They had been sitting in silence for the last few minutes, Eddie anxiously tapping his fingers against his desk annoyingly. He felt the pull towards her, his eyes drinking her in as they did in every class they had together.

She could feel Eddie’s eyes on her. From the corner of her eye she watched as he looked at her and then moved his gaze back down to his hands at his desk and then, mere seconds later, looked back over at her. She felt her spine stiffen straighter each time until she finally turned her attention towards him. 

She felt something inside her soften at the way he cowered slightly at the sight of her hard glare. She didn’t mean to act like such a bitch, at least not to everyone, but she didn’t regret it enough to open up to anyone, so the fire inside her, the fire she threw at everyone around her, remained.

“What do you want?” She asked abruptly and Eddie’s eyes widened slightly, knowing he had been caught staring at her.

“Uhh…nothing… I-”

“Look, I don’t care if I ruined your chance at being a hero at that stupid party and you feel like you need to make it up to me, but you don’t owe me anything, ok? And I sure all hell don’t owe you shit either.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed in confusion at how quickly her neutral tone towards him had turned so cold. He didn’t understand what exactly she assumed he wanted from her, it certainly wasn’t to prove some masculine power over her. 

While he wouldn’t have minded knocking that asshole Dave on his ass for what he’d tried to do to her, he was more than happy to see that she had handled it all on her own. It had made him admire her even more. 

“No, no, that’s not- I wasn’t - I don’t need anything.” He stammered, his mind racing wildly as he tried to put a sentence together, but it was hard with that steely scowl of hers locked onto him.

He felt like she could melt his soul… and not in a good way.

Her eyes moved behind him to the clock and seeing that her time in hell was finally over, she hastily grabbed her things and stood from her seat, striding out of the room like it was on fire. 

“Shit.” Eddie hissed under his breath and scrambled out of his seat after her. 

He jogged down the hallway to catch up to her, ignoring every instinct that told him to leave her alone, lest he allow her to smite him to hell. 

He caught up to her and the second he placed his hand on her shoulder, her head snapped over to him and he was lifting his hand from her the second he saw the warning in her gaze.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I was being a creep, I’m sorry.” 

She almost stopped in her tracks in pure confusion. The admittance that he had made her uncomfortable and was apologizing for it gave her pause. No one in this hell hole had ever apologized to her. It made her glare soften and she slowed her quick pace so they were walking beside each other in tandem, much more casually.

“You’re not a creep.” 

Eddie looked surprised at her words and he flushed slightly. “I mean… I was staring at you. I wouldn’t exactly say that isn’t the behavior of a creep.” 

“Compared to the other guys at this school, you’re practically a saint.” 

Eddie remembered Dave’s words and the way Jesse had grabbed her ass in a cafeteria full of people who had done nothing but watch. The unease that swelled inside him made him begin to fiddle with his hands anxiously.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“What, guys thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want with no consequence? All the time.” She spoke bitterly. 

It was tiring dealing with petty boys that were dying to finally crack the Ice Queen’s heart, or at least get the chance to see if they could fuck the attitude out of her.

Eddie sighed with a wince. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, you haven’t done anything.”

He stiffened at the confrontational manner of her voice. He wondered if she ever didn’t speak to people that way. Hawkins was a small enough town that everyone knew everyone’s business and he’d certainly heard about her childhood. He knew that her past wasn’t the easiest and he wondered if that was why she was the way she was, so on edge and cold all the time.

“No, I just stare.” He shrugged shyly and was relieved when he saw that smirk back on her lips, knowing she had realized his jest.

“Well, that’s better than grabbing my ass.”

He smiled lightly and nodded. “Noted.”

She looked over at him again, the coldness back in her eyes and he straightened, his eyes widening slightly. 

“That was a joke.” He defended quickly before she could strike for his blood. 

She stared at him incredulously for a moment, as if she couldn’t understand just what this conversation was or why they were even having it. This was probably the longest conversation she’d had with a guy from school that didn’t broach the subject of a possible date or romp behind the bleachers.

She was hoping this conversation wouldn’t lead to a kick in the dick like most did.

No more words were said as they approached the parking lot and she saw her dad’s car sitting in wait. She bit back a curse, having forgotten that he would be driving her home today. 

She began to push the door open when Eddie’s voice stopped her.

“Hey, I uhh, I really liked hanging out with you.” 

She looked over her shoulder at him and noticed how he shifted on his feet, how his eyes couldn’t meet hers, how he hung his head so his long hair would cover his face, most likely to cover the reddening of his cheeks. But she still saw it.

It only confused her more.

“You think having detention together is ‘hanging out’?” 

He looked like a deer caught in headlights and his mouth opened but he didn’t have any words. A braver man would’ve taken their shot, ask her to hang out properly, ask to take her on a date, but the calculating way she was looking at him kept him quiet, knowing rejection was imminent. He wasn’t about to make her uncomfortable like the dumbass jocks do.

He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head nervously. “Well, no, but I, I dunno, I still had fun.” 

Her eyes narrowed, as if waiting for the punchline, waiting for the inevitable moment he treated her like every other guy at this school did, like an object to conquer for notoriety. 

But it never came.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiled and he hoped she couldn’t tell how fast his heart was racing. 

“I guess.” Was all she said before turning and leaving the school. 

Eddie let out a harsh breath as soon as the door closed behind her. He felt like he had said something wrong, but his nose was still intact so that was at least a good sign.

“Could’ve been worse.” He mumbled to himself. He moved to leave before realizing he had walked with her all the way to the exit and not in the direction of his locker where he had needed to go.

~~

Jim Hopper was stern as his daughter jumped into the car.

“Did you forget what time school got out? I’ve been waiting here for 45 minutes.”

“I got detention.” She said plainly.

“What?”

“I got detention.” She said again, much louder than was necessary. “Do I need to buy you a hearing aid for Christmas this year?”

“Zip it. What did you do?”

“I hit a guy in the face with my lunch tray.”

Jim’s face fell slack for a moment before twisting with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “What?!” 

He stopped himself before he could fly off into a ten minute rant and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.

“Why?” Was his only question, already sounding exhausted and she had only been in the car ten seconds.

She slunk further into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest, allowing a few seconds of silence to pass as she mustered up the courage to inevitably spike her father’s rage. “He grabbed my ass.” 

Jim Hopper was never known to be a patient or gentle man and the way his face reddened and his jaw clenched in anger was exactly why. He was seconds from scouring the town to murder whoever touched his daughter.

“Who was it?”

“Dad-”

“Who?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?” He yelled back, his rage palpable. 

“Because you’re going to kill him and I don’t have enough money to live on my own if you go to prison.” 

“Don’t make jokes right now.” Jim warned, looking at his daughter sternly. 

“I’m not.” She defended. “You don’t need to get involved, I took care of it.”

“You took care of it?”

She rolled her eyes and looked over at him plainly. “Did you not hear the part where I hit him?”

Hopper huffed, his face still twisted with anger. “Punk deserves to be six feet under.”

She rolled her eyes again, as she always did wherever her dad was so blatantly protective over her. 

Sighing heavily, Hopper started the car and began to pull out of the parking lot. 

“Was there at least blood?” He asked after a long moment of silence.

She snickered, a genuine smile finally breaking out over her face, the sight warming Hopper’s damaged heart. 

“A little.” 

He smiled proudly and looked over at her fondly. “That’s my girl.” 

~~

The next morning was hectic, as always. 

After spending so much time together, the father and daughter duo still could not figure out a productive morning schedule and it almost always ended up in a fight over who got to shower first, who used up the last of the eggs, or who forgot to put the pot of coffee on.

“You’re such a slob.” She muttered as she cleared up the empty cans that littered the living room. 

From his spot in the kitchen, Hopper glared at her, though he knew it could never measure up to hers and he quickly turned back to his coffee to avoid getting one thrown his way in return.

“I’m gonna be working late tonight so make sure you tell your mom she needs to drop you off here, I don’t want you walking home in the rain.”

She paused, the can in her hand denting slightly in her tightening grip. She felt her throat constrict and a sting in her eyes as a familiar wave of disappointment settled within her.

“She’s not coming.” She choked out quietly.

“What?” Hopper asked in disbelief. “What do you mean, she’s not coming?”

“It means she’s not coming. What else could it mean?” She snapped back at her dad who sighed and gave her a pointed look, one that told her to cool it with the attitude.

He was the only one who could successfully navigate her demeanor and she deflated quickly, the tensity of her shoulders falling in defeat. 

“She called last night.” She explained, her voice quiet.

“Did she say why?”

She just shrugged in response, all fight left from her. There was only a feeling of abandonment left, one that made her feel empty. She didn’t want to tell her dad that Diane had canceled because she was too busy with her new baby. She didn’t want to be the one to break his heart with the news. 

Hopper chewed on his lip, not knowing exactly how to handle her sudden sadness. It wasn’t an emotion he saw her with often and he felt way out of his element to be the one to comfort her.

But he had been her father since she was four and he would be damned if ever let her down. 

“I can call her and-”

“No, don’t bother.” She interrupted quickly, her voice back to that usual sharp edge.

He said her name softly and winced as she resumed throwing the cans into the trash, now with much more force than before. 

As soon as she finished, she tossed the half full bag to the side of the room and quickly stomped to the back of the trailer to her room to get dressed for school.

Left alone, Hopper hung his head and felt an inkling of failure creep upon him. 

His heart broke for the kid. His heart broke for what she’d had to endure in her short life. 

Hopper had loved her the moment she was born, even when she wasn’t his. He was only the godfather, a mantle he never thought he’d actually have to step up to.

His best friend from highschool had knocked up his girlfriend and it was clear how terrified they both were. The two of them were not fit to be parents, that much was clear. They enjoyed partying, they were young and reckless and the birth of their baby didn’t change them. They didn’t want to change their ways, even though they had a young life that depended on them. 

When she was only two years old, her father disappeared. He skipped town, not even bothering to leave a note.

Her mother was devastated. They were highschool sweethearts. In her mind, they were soulmates, and he had left her behind. 

She blamed her daughter for it.

Hopper had always been in her life and the moment he saw the state she was living in, the neglect her mother showed her, he knew he had to step in. 

He began spending more time at their house, looking after the kid when her own mother refused to, when she would rather go out with friends or lay on the couch watching tv, stating that she needed her rest. 

When it became clear that her mother was unfit to look after her child, Jim had begged Diane for them to do something, practically getting on his knees to convince her. 

But he barely got the chance to persuade her. 

That night, as he pleaded his case to his wife, there was a knock on their door. Jim opened the door to see the four year old sitting on the steps of their porch as the headlights of her mother’s car sped out of the driveway.

“Hi, Jimmy.” Her young voice spoke sadly and Jim could’ve sworn he felt his heart break into a million pieces.

He knelt down to her height and opened his arms. “Come here, Sweetheart.” 

She wasted no time in jumping into his arms. Hopper swore in that moment, as he felt her little body shaking against his, his neck becoming wet with her tears, that he would do anything for her. 

The couple got legal custody quickly and her last name had changed to Hopper. From then, she knew her dad was Jim and her mom was Diane. He could still remember the moment she called him dad for the first time. He couldn’t control his tears and all he could do was bring her into his arms, hug her tightly and tell her how much he loved her. 

Things were wonderful, they were a real family. Their lives were filled with happiness.

Until Sarah. 

Jim knew his first daughter felt slighted at the birth of Sarah. He knew at the birth of their biological daughter that she suddenly felt like she didn’t belong, like she was an imposter in their family.

He tried his best to show her that he loved them both equally, but it was Diane that made her favor clear. She doted on Sarah hand and foot and left their first daughter in the dust, treating her as if she was only a visitor in her own home, as if she wasn’t actually their daughter, only a placeholder until they got Sarah, their real daughter.

Despite the feeling of neglect that once again fell on her, it did nothing to diminish the relationship she had with Sarah. She loved her little sister with all her heart and her little sister loved her. She was seldom seen without the little blonde attached at her hip. 

But their perfect little family didn’t last. 

Sarah got sick and Diane spent even more time by her side, leaving her older daughter to mourn the time they used to spend together. 

Sarah succumbed to her sickness and her best friend was gone. Their family fractured. 

Diane stopped speaking to her all together, claiming it was too hard to even look at her - her pseudo-daughter - when she couldn’t have her real daughter. 

Eventually Diane left, just like everyone else in her life. 

But Jim stayed. He was the only one she had left. They moved to Hawkins and she began to build her wall, she began to bite back at others, shielding herself from ever getting close to anyone in fear that they would eventually leave her like everyone else did. 

Jim regretted the last few years, wishing he could have dragged himself out of his funk, his own grief for Sarah, to save his first daughter from growing so cold. 

They were both changed after losing her, both of them devolving into people they never expected to become. Where she had her harsh words and sharp attitude, he had his drinks and his one-night stands. 

He wondered how long they could keep going on like this and he feared it wouldn't be for much longer. 

He didn’t want his daughter to feel lonely, he didn’t want her to keep pushing people away.

But he was at a loss as to how to help her when he couldn’t even help himself.

~~

Her pencil moved quickly across her notebook as she wrote her essay, but stilled suddenly as the chair across from her pulled out with a harsh noise.

She looked up with a glare, barely containing her confusion as she saw Eddie taking a seat, his smile blinding as he looked at her excitedly.

“Good morning.” He greeted her happily as if they were long time friends. 

She could only stare back at him blankly, her eyes briefly moving to the many empty tables in the library, the many other seats he could’ve taken instead of the one across from her. 

His smile faltered slightly at her silence, as her calculating gaze moved back onto him before falling to the paper in front of her, her pencil moving again as she focused on her schoolwork.

“So,” Eddie started, dragging out the word annoyingly. “Any plans for tonight?”

She breathed deeply before answering, her annoyance clear. “Nothing important.” She replied stiffly, keeping her eyes down on her essay.

“What, no wild parties or elaborate heists to carry out?”

Sensing that he wasn’t going to stop pestering her until she gave a real answer, she sighed heavily and relented.

“I’m babysitting.” She answered coldly.

Eddie hummed, leaning back in his chair. “I can see why you didn’t wanna tell me. That’s pretty lame.”

Anger was quick to rise within her and her eyes looked up sharply, her mouth opening, ready to tell him to fuck off, before she saw the amused smirk on his lips.

She faltered, realizing he wasn’t demeaning her or making fun of her, he was just joking around with her. 

Confusion washed over her like a wave, sweeping away her anger and leaving her to question just what he was doing with her, why he tried so hard, why he spoke to her like they were long time friends.

Seeing her face smooth out, no traces of her retaliating viciously, Eddie leaned in closer, his eyes taking in every inch of her face. 

“I gotta admit, you’re pretty brave for voluntarily looking after some demonic kids.”

She smirked lightly and rolled her eyes, a gesture that came across more playful than she ever intended it to be. She had a soft spot for the group of boys she babysat and the mere mention of them had her hard edges retreating ever so slightly. 

“They’re not so bad. I mostly just sit there while they play D’n’D.”

Like a dog called by their owner, Eddie perked up, his face alight with intrigue. He opened his mouth but quickly closed it, stopping himself from tumbling into a rant she surely wouldn’t be interested in and ruining the little rapport he managed to build with her.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat in a mockery of casualty. 

“Do you ever play?” He asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as eager as he thought it did. He knew the extensive time he spent on the game was a big part of the reason he was ridiculed and looked down on. It had a lot to do with the fact that this was becoming the longest conversation he’d had with the opposite sex that didn’t lead to mocking laughter. 

“They tried to get me to play once. I guess all my questions were too annoying for them because they haven’t asked me since.” 

The small smile that adorned her face as she spoke captured his attention like a colorful sunset. He couldn’t look away. 

She had him hook, line and sinker and all it took was yet another genuine smile.

“I could… I could teach you. I mean only if you want me to.” This time he was positive he couldn’t hide his eagerness. 

“You don’t have to subject yourself to that.”

“No, I wouldn’t- I would love to. I mean, I’d be happy to. It’s a long game and you’d have to develop your character, which could take some time. And, I mean, your reputation is probably gonna tank if anyone sees you playing, especially with me.”

Her eyebrow raised at his ramblings and she looked at him inquisitively. 

“Why would I give a shit about my reputation?”

He paused, his mouth open but no words escaping him. 

“It’s not like mine’s much better than yours, anyways.” She continued and Eddie was perplexed by the way she shifted her focus back to her essay so easily, as if she couldn’t care less about what people thought of her.

The miraculous thing was, Eddie truly believed she didn’t care. He’d watch time and time again as she walked through the hallways of hell - or Hawkins High as others called it - with her stern gaze forward, paying no mind to those she passed, to those that whispered vile things about her.

It was a damn gift he wished she could share with him. 

He tapped his fingers against the table mindlessly, his thoughts still spinning aimlessly. The sounds of laughter suddenly caught his attention and he looked over to find two girls sitting at the other end of the table.

They were giggling not-so-quietly, their judgmental gazes drifting over to Eddie every few seconds.

“He lives in a trailer.”

“You couldn’t pay me to step foot in that thing.”

“He’s so trashy.”

She flinched slightly, the words they definitely weren’t trying to keep between themselves breaking through her concentration. They infuriated her and without wasting a second, she slammed her pencil down, turning towards the two girls, her face a mask of annoyance.

“Are you two just about done?” Her loud voice interrupted their mocking, causing them to turn towards her, their eyes wide with surprise, the beginnings of fear overtaking their features at her blunt call out.

“What?” One girl spoke dumbly. 

“I live in a trailer. Do you think I’m trashy too?”

One of them audibly swallowed and looked to her friend, as if begging her to say something to save her from speaking to the notoriously bitchy and feared girl accosting them. 

“No, of course not, we didn't mean-”

“You did mean to be completely fucking ignorant?” 

The two friends were speechless and with a shared uneasy glance, they both silently picked up their books and moved to a different spot, desperate to get away from the infamous ice queen’s sharp tongue. 

Eddie watched them go, his lips parted in surprise at how easy it was for her to call out the preppy kids who looked down upon them. His wide eyed gaze moved back to her and he was amazed to see her pick up her pencil and continue with her essay, as if she hadn’t just left the two girls shaking in their boots.

A feeling he couldn’t describe and had never felt before began to creep through him, it was exhilarating. No one had ever stood up to people when they said awful things about him. 

“You... that was…holy shit, that was amazing.” He spoke with a wide, delighted smile. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”. 

“I didn’t do it for you.” She snapped back defensively. But when she saw how he flinched slightly at the fire in her tone, she allowed her rigid shoulders to slump just the slightest. “People like that… they get on my nerves.”

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement.” He joked and immediately regretted it as she sent him a fiery glare that told him she didn’t appreciate the moment of levity.

“Well… still, I appreciate it.” He spoke genuinely, his voice lacking its usual charm and sarcasm, causing her to eye him carefully, noting the change.

She just sent him a nod, her silent gesture of acceptance, the proverbial lion laying its head down, choosing not to devour the antelope before it.

That night, as she sat on the lumpy couch in the Wheeler’s basement, she watched as the group of boys laid out their pieces to prepare for another long haul of D’nD. 

A smile came to her face as she heard Dustin arguing with Lucas about their next move, their passion for the game clear in their loud proceedings. She laughed to herself and for reasons she couldn’t explain she thought of the curly haired man who was seemingly trying hard to befriend her. 

~~

By Monday morning, she was in her first period class, arms crossed over her chest as she willfully ignored the groups of students walking in. She sneered at a passing jock that mockingly winked at her, her mood souring instantly.

It was already shaping up to be a terrible day. 

A backpack slamming down on the seat beside her made her look over to find those shaggy curls that were becoming all too familiar. 

“What are you doing?”

“What, is this seat taken?” Eddie asked with a smirk, knowing it sure as hell wasn’t.

“You never sit this close.”

He looked behind him at the two rows that separated him from his commonplace in the back row where he could goof off in peace and shrugged. 

“I guess I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” 

She eyed him, as if trying to figure him out, but she was coming up blank. She couldn’t think of any reason why he was always showing up, why he was seemingly trying so hard to talk to her. 

“Hey, Hopper-” 

The obnoxious voice caused them both to look up and saw the captain of the basketball team looking at Eddie incredulously before moving his gaze back to her, the fake concern on his face turning her stomach and making Eddie frown and shift in his seat anxiously, sensing where this was going.

“Is he bothering you?”

“What makes you think he’s bothering me?”

The jock laughed, looking back at his group of friends, who were all watching and entertained. 

“Come on, it’s Munson.”

“You know what would really bother me?” She started, the seething tone of her voice making Eddie slink in his seat, his eyes looking back and forth between her and the cocky jock. “Someone who keeps asking me out and trying to hook up with me even though I’ve said no at least 15 times and won’t take a fucking hint. And between the two of you-” She pointed at him and Eddie, making his cheeks heat to have the groups of jocks’ attention on him.

“-It sure as hell isn’t Eddie who’s bothering me.”

The jock smiled, trying to brush off her rejection and leaned closer to try his luck again.

“Aww, come on, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“From what I’ve heard in the girl’s locker room, I’d only be missing three inches and 20 seconds of action.” She bit back and smiled slyly as Eddie made a choked noise and promptly slapped his hand over his mouth to stop his ensuing laughter.

The others in the classroom who had been eagerly listening in all erupted in laughter and the jock who’d poked the bear was left with a red face, fuming at her insult, his group of friends behind him left attempting and failing to stifle their own laughter at his expense.

“You fucking bitch, you really think you can talk shit-” 

Eddie got to his feet, intercepting the guy charging forward and stepping in front of him to block his path to her, his face now serious, all traces of laughter gone.

“Whoa, whoa, relax.”

“Get the fuck off me, Freak.” He pushed Eddie’s arms roughly and stepped forward, getting in his face threateningly. 

Behind Eddie, she found she couldn’t move. She was frozen in her seat, completely stunned at the way Eddie had gotten to his feet so quickly, at how effortlessly he had put himself in the line of fire to protect her. 

Thankfully, the teacher stepped into the room and the threat of detention was greater than the idiot jock’s need for revenge and with one last scathing glare to both of them, he went back to his seat. 

Her eyes stayed on Eddie as he took his seat beside her. 

“What the hell was that?” She asked quietly, not understanding the feeling swelling within her. 

Eddie smiled and she found that thing inside her she didn’t understand jumped and reveled in the sight. 

“Just returning the favor.”

“You don’t have to get yourself beat up for me.” 

“Hey, look at this pretty face-” His finger circled around his face as he smiled exaggeratedly. “Does it look like I got beat up?”

A quiet, protracted laugh left her lips, her eyes still narrowed in disbelief as she shook her head and turned to face the front of the room. 

But for the rest of the class, she found her eyes drifting back to him often, the feeling inside her stomach making her wonder if she was sick. 

The next day, with a seeming understanding between them, she found her gaze fall on him as she walked through the crowded halls, his tall stature making him stand out among everyone else.

He met her eyes from across the hall and the smile that grew on his face was dazzling. He sent her a wave and she stifled the urge to laugh at the excited gesture, one that reminded her of a hyperactive puppy. 

She sent him a nod, her normally stoic - and frankly bitchy - expression shifting into one more neutral as she passed him.

Eddie found himself watching her as she retreated down the hall, getting lost in the crowd.

“What the hell was that?” Jeff asked in disbelief, having watched the strange interaction. 

“What?”

“You just waved at Hopper.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“And she didn’t kill you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his locker, fighting the urge to defend her to his friend. She didn’t need it and he couldn’t exactly refute it. Her reputation was well earned. 

“Dude, are you hooking up with the Chief’s daughter?” Jeff whispered excitedly.

“What? No!” 

“But you want to.” 

Eddie opened his mouth, but floundered for a response. 

“It’s not- I’m not - she’s-” He stammered exasperatedly, his mind in shambles at the mere insinuation, one he couldn’t deny he had fantasized about many times. “She’s cool. We’re… I dunno, getting to know each other.”

“Holy shit, dude. Little preteen Eddie would be so proud.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes again and shoved Jeff playfully. “Shut up.”

At the end of the day, by some sort of miracle - an overdramatic explanation Eddie was running with - they both ended up in detention together again.

He smiled as he took his seat beside her and, unlike the first time, she smiled back at him and they spent the next half hour talking quietly in the back of the classroom, passing the time all too easily.

Eddie was amazed that she was actually initiating conversation. She still kept her arms crossed over her chest, her face neutral, revealing no emotions, every aspect of her outward appearance screaming that she would rather be alone, but her interjections in between his rants about Metallica’s latest album and his hopes if they ever made a live action Lord of the Rings, meant everything to him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so jealous.” Eddie dramatized as they walked down the empty hallways when their time in detention was finally over, the two of them still glued at each other’s side.

She rolled her eyes at his words and scoffed. “It’s really not as big a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

“Come on, you’ve punched almost half the basketball team. I know the entire Hellfire Club would kill to have those kinds of stats.”

“Half of your little club would be dead in a ditch if they had the stats I had.” She teased, making him laugh, feeling - for the first time ever - that he wasn’t being made fun of when bringing up his club he was so proud of.

“I think they’d be the first to admit that you’re entirely more badass than any one of them.” 

She smiled, the sight sending Eddie’s stomach flipping pleasantly.

Before they knew it, they made it to the parking lot and she tensed, her eyes falling on the car waiting for her, knowing their time together was at an end. She eyed her father’s car and swallowed thickly, knowing he would’ve seen the two of them together, walking side by side.

“So.. I was thinking-”

Eddie’s nervous sentence ended abruptly as she turned to him quickly, her face drawn tightly with apprehension, all traces of the more laid back version of her gone as quickly as it had come.

“I’ll see you later.” She spoke quickly and was gone from his side the very next second, leaving him to watch her walk away in a stunned silence. 

He tensed slightly when he noticed the police cruiser in the parking lot, the reminder that her father was the chief of police crashing over him like a ton of bricks. He knew his reputation in this town and he knew any father, let alone one who was a police chief, would string him up on a cross for getting near their precious daughter.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair before turning on his heels lazily and skulking towards his van, his mind replaying the sound of her laughter over and over again.

As she stepped into her father’s car, she kept her head down, avoiding his calculating gaze. But it wouldn’t save her from his questions.

“Who was that?”

“Who was who?”

“Don’t play dumb, Kid.” Jim countered quickly. “Who was that boy you were walking with?”

“No one.”

“No one?” He questioned sarcastically, earning a fierce glare from his daughter who didn’t find his teasing half as funny as he found it. “Have you finally made a friend? Do I have to call his mom, schedule a playdate?”

“You know, you’ve never been funny, I don’t know why you still try.” She snarked, markedly avoiding his lingering question.

“What’s his name?”

She sighed loudly, making a point to let him know she was annoyed. 

“Eddie.” She gritted out.

“Eddie what?”

She rolled her eyes and leaned her head against her fist, knowing what was coming. “Munson.”

Jim paused, his hand hovering over the gear shift, stopping himself before he could pull out of the parking lot. 

“You’re making friends with Munson?”

“I didn’t say he was my friend.”

“You were smiling.”

She turned towards her dad, her face alight with a stubborn ferocity. “So that means he’s my friend?”

“I hardly ever see you smile, as far as I’m concerned you two are practically engaged.” Jim argued, his fear that stemmed from his protectiveness over her overbearingly apparent.

She rolled her eyes and leaned back to look out the window, pointedly shielding herself from her dad’s gaze as she felt her insides flutter at the insinuation of her feelings.

She would be dead before anyone knew she had any kind of feelings for anybody on this planet. 

“He looks like a punk.” Jim’s words broke the minutes long silence that had overcome them as he drove them home.

“Dad.” She admonished harshly, feeling the strange need to defend Eddie from stupid stereotypes she knew affected him.

“What? He could stand to have his hair cut.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t judge people for the way they look or what people in this stupid town say about them.”

Jim looked over at his daughter, knowing he had touched a nerve, knowing she wasn’t talking about the Munson kid anymore. Her own past was a slippery slope that even he, the one who had been in her life the longest, didn’t know how to navigate. He sighed and reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“I’m not trying to tease you, Kid.” He told her softly. “You know you can be friends with whoever you want. I’m not gonna stop you.”

She stayed quiet, her eyes locked onto her hands that fidgeted restlessly in her lap. She couldn’t explain why her insides were twisting the way they were.

She didn’t know if she liked it or not.

~~

“You are absolutely insane, Wheeler!”

“I’m just stating a fact!” 

“It’s not a fact! Wolverine could never beat Professor X!” 

She laughed under her breath as Dustin and Mike went back and forth with their argument and continued to eat her ice cream. It had been an amazingly sunny day and she decided to treat her little gang of rascals to ice cream, a feat that made her the best babysitter to ever exist according to them.

She fell into step with Will, the quietest of the group and the one who had captured her heart the quickest. His shy nature, his ability to fade into the background made her protective instincts rise. She saw pieces of her own childhood self in him and she would do anything to make sure he never became as jaded and mad at the world as she became.

“How’s the cone, Will?”

“Good. I’m glad I went with the chocolate.” He answered, his chocolate stained lips curving into a bashful smile.

She smiled and wrapped her arm over his shoulder as they walked. 

As they turned a corner onto the street just a block down from Mike’s house, they could hear the dull sound of music that became louder the further they walked. 

Her eyes fell onto an open garage door, the blaring sounds of heavy metal reaching their ears as they stood just a house away from the scene. 

Her pace faltered slightly, her stomach twisting with something she soon realized was excitement when her eyes fell onto the unmistakable head of shaggy hair.

“That sounds awful.” Lucas commented with a sneer and continued walking. 

“You wanna take one of their guitars and show them how it’s done?” She teased, making Lucas smile bashfully and nudge her lightly in teasing admonishment. 

The sound of her name being called and the music stopping abruptly made them all look up. Her smile vanished, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Eddie waving at her excitedly from the garage. 

“Who’s that?” Dustin asked and by the teasing smile on his face and the way he wiggled his eyebrows she knew she was never going to be answering that question.

She gave Eddie a small wave back and quickly urged the kids to keep walking, ignoring how the sight of the guitar slung over his shoulder made her heart beat quicker. 

“Is that your boyfriend?” Mike asked with a smirk.

“Do you want me to steal your ice cream?” She asked and he immediately recoiled from her, taking an obnoxiously long lick of his cone. “Good, then no more questions.”

~~~

“Hey!”

She flinched as a body thudded next to her locker and she wasn’t surprised to see Eddie smiling down at her. 

“Hi.” She replied monotonously, a sharp contrast to Eddie’s bright demeanor.

What are you doing on Friday?”

“Nothing. What are you doing?”

Her flippant response made his nerves rise, realizing this was going to be just as difficult as he feared it would be. He cleared his throat and stood up straighter. 

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie with me, maybe eat some greasy food at Benny’s?”

Her movements paused and she looked over at him, her expression growing cold as she feared he was just like all those other guys at school that tried their luck with her, that played nice just to get into her pants.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

He balked slightly at her harsh tone. He didn’t want her to think he was like those assholes who just wanted to use her. He truly loved his time with her, he looked forward to seeing her everyday at school. She was the sole reason he hadn’t skipped a day in the last few weeks.

“I just thought it’d be cool to hang out with you somewhere that wasn’t…  hell.” He said, looking around at the surrounding students with disdain.

Her eyes stayed on him and he shifted under the scrutiny, as if she could suddenly know all of his secrets just by looking at him. 

Her instincts screamed at her not to trust him, that he was only going to break her heart for the fun of it, but as she looked into his eyes and saw that giddy, puppy-like excitement and the way he fiddled with his hands anxiously, it told her all she needed to know.

He was nothing like the rest of them.

“Sure.”

He perked up, his slumped body straightening as if he had just been electrocuted. A wide smile bloomed on his face and for the first time he could ever remember, absolutely no words came to mind, his brain miraculously silent. 

“Really?”

“I’ll meet you at Benny’s at 7.” She said and with another word, slammed her locker shut and turned on her heel, walking away from him. His eyes followed her, as if in a daze.

He punched his fist in the air in glee, ignoring the looks of disdain from the girl three lockers down who mumbled a quiet ‘freak’ under her breath.

~~~

Friday at exactly 6:35 found Eddie sitting at a booth at Benny’s, his knee bouncing up and down excitedly.

He had never been on time for anything in his life, but for this, Eddie was twenty five minutes early and he felt absolutely zero shame for it. His eyes were glued to the door, despite the fact that she wasn’t expected to arrive until 7. 

His fingers tapped an obnoxiously annoying rhythm on the table, earning himself a look of disdain from the couple sitting at the booth in front of him.

But he paid them no mind, his attention focused solely on the door, eagerly and anxiously awaiting her arrival.

At just one minute before 7, the door opened and she strolled in, her face drawn tightly with her usual cold demeanor. His entire frame perked up, his eyes alighting with delight, slightly from the fact that he was so relieved she’d actually shown up.

He stood from the booth and waved her over, his heart racing as she gave an awkward wave back and a small smile began to grace her lips. 

The fact that he could make her smile never failed to send him reeling. Screw passing a class, that was his biggest accomplishment.

“Hi.” She greeted as she slipped into the booth and Eddie suddenly realized he was still standing like an idiot.

He tripped over his own feet as he rushed to take a seat across from her, breathlessly spilling out a greeting.

“Sorry, I guess I got a little ahead of myself.” He started with a bashful smile when he noticed her confused gaze on the two milkshakes already sitting at the table. “I remember you said you liked the chocolate milkshakes here so I ordered you one.”

“I said that like two weeks ago.”

Eddie remembered the exact conversation they had while sitting in detention together. He remembered everything she told him and from the surprised look in her eyes he could tell she wasn’t used to his eagerness.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly fearing he’d done something to cross a line.

Her face gave nothing away. He could have never known just how touched she was by the gesture, by how easily he could show her he actually listened to her words, by how he had made her feel seen.

“Thanks.” She said quietly, a swirl of emotions more intense than she had been expecting to feel over something so simple overtaking her.

He let out a breath and smiled, his body relaxing as he realized he hadn’t done something to make her uncomfortable, that he wasn’t scaring her off with how genuinely excited he was to get to know her better.

They shared a look, both of them feeling a slight unease as a moment of awkward silence settled over them.

They’d never had this outside of school before. It was different, it was moving into territory that could be perceived as something other than platonic.

“How’d you find O’Donnell’s test?” She asked the first question that came to her mind in an attempt to break the strange silence.

Eddie groaned dramatically and slumped against the booth as though she had just shot him. Her eyes frantically looked around at the patrons beside them, her heart racing as she found a few pairs of eyes looking their way with judgment. 

“I finally get to see you outta that hellhole and it’s the first thing you bring up?”

“Well, what else is there to talk about?”

He straightened his posture and she found she suddenly didn’t like the way he was looking at her with intrigue. 

“You. I don’t know anything about you.”

She rolled her eyes and sent him a scowl. “You know about me.”

“Yeah, you always give such riveting insights to my thousands of questions.” His sarcasm earned him another scowl to which he just smiled, used to the gesture by now. “Come on, we’re friends, right? I just wanna get to know you.”

She stayed quiet for a contemplative moment, her fingers wiping at the condensation on her milkshake to distract herself from Eddie’s unwavering gaze. 

“I’m sure you already know what there is to tell. I’ve been the hot gossip in this town for years, everyone knows about me.”

Eddie’s features softened, understanding what it was like for his complicated homelife to be the topic of conversations for those who didn’t know a single thing about him. He heard about her deadbeat parents that abandoned her, he heard about her little sister’s untimely death, he heard how unsteady her remaining parent was.

It was no worse than what he was sure she had heard about his life.

“Not that stuff.”

“Then what?” She snapped defensively and then immediately sighed and slumped in her seat when she saw the flash of hurt on his face.

“I dunno, anything, everything. I just wanna get to know you better.”

Fuck this man, she thought as her stomach began to swirl with butterflies at how earnestly he looked and spoke to her, like he truly meant it.

She looked back down to her milkshake, taking an aggressively long sip to avoid having to reply. Eddie smiled softly, sensing he was going to have to take the lead if he was going to get anywhere with this conversation.

“What’s your favorite chip flavor?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

“What? When I said everything, I meant everything. So spill, favorite flavor.”

Her mouth opened, ready to give him a verbal lashing for trying to push her about something so stupid, but she found there was no burning fire inside her, at least not one stemming from rage or hatred.

“Sour cream and onion.” She finally answered, her voice barely a mumble.

Eddie’s face twisted dramatically, which she was soon realizing was his default setting. She scoffed, though it was not the usual sound for those she was ready to shun, it was filled with amusement.

“Ok, genius, what’s yours?”

“Barbeque, all day long, baby.” He smiled cheekily and she had to ignore the way her heart fluttered at the pet name and the charming smile that made his dimples poke out.

“Favorite musician?” He fired another question at her, feeling much more confident now that she was looking at him with at least a little bit of interest and not slumped in the booth with a glower on her face.

“Nina Simone.” She answered after a brief moment of contemplation. Based on the blank look on Eddie’s face it was clear he had no idea who the hell she was talking about and she rolled her eyes halfheartedly. “Really?”

“I’ve heard the name!” He defended eagerly. “Just… couldn’t name a single song.”

She laughed slightly and Eddie couldn’t help but smile even wider, leaning forward so the inches between them shrunk, the both of them with elbows rested on the table, completely engaged with each other.

“Let me guess, yours is Metallica? Or Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Dio?”

I love this woman, was the immediate thought that bounced in his brain. He shook himself of the thought quickly, but couldn’t deny the fact that she even knew who those bands were, ones that he worshipped, was the hottest fucking thing he ever heard.

She watched as his smile turned bashful, as his eyes moved down to his rings because looking into her eyes was just too fucking much for him. 

“Uhh, yeah, you hit the nail on the head.” 

There was a pause in conversation, the both of them sharing small, shy glances that held so much more than either could vocalize. Eddie suddenly cleared his throat, desperate to move past the wave of intense feelings that overtook him when he was with her.

“What was the last movie you watched?”

“The Jungle Book.” At Eddie’s questioning raised brow she sighed. “It’s my comfort movie, don’t judge.”

He raised his hands in defense. “I would never. It’s a pretty sick movie.”

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her hair, not noticing how Eddie’s eyes followed every motion. 

“What about you?”

“Uhhh, Alien.” He answered. “Made the mistake of getting high before I watched it. I had to sleep with my lights on, it scared the shit out of me.” 

The laugh his quip earned him made his chest tighten and he would do anything, say anything, to get her to make that noise every second of the day if he could.

“Favorite sport?”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about sports.”

Eddie laughed at her bluntness. He found it refreshing, at least when it wasn’t directed at him. He liked her simple outlook on life, there were no shades of gray with her and he found it calming to look at things her way. His brain usually tormented him with an onslaught of thoughts he found difficult to decipher.

But she quieted all of it. 

“Glad we’re on the same page.” 

He bit his lip, wondering if his next question would ruin the easy rapport they had going, if he was going to push her too far. 

“Where do you wanna go after graduating?”

She looked at him curiously and he could see in her eyes that the wall he was slowly breaking down was building itself back up defensively at his question that had unintentionally triggered her infamous temper.

“What makes you think I’d leave?”

“I mean, you don’t exactly… I just thought that - you know - Hawkins kinda sucks, especially for people like us and-”

“People like us?” She interrupted sternly and he knew he was losing her.

His heart raced and he cleared his throat, his mind racing to find the right words that wouldn’t lead her to thinking something completely different than what he meant.

“People who are misunderstood.” He started cautiously. “People who deal with way too much shit from stuck up people in this town that don’t matter.”

The fire in her eyes dimmed, leaving a contemplative, yet downtrodden, look on her face. Eddie’s heart ached as her defenses came back down. He wondered how exhausting it would be having to keep everyone at arm's length and he didn’t want to ask her why she felt she had to. 

He knew the answer would break his heart.

“I don’t think there’s much out there for me.” She answered quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have any special talents, I don’t play sports, I’m not part of the drama club, my grades are nothing to write home about. There’s nothing special about me. I’m frighteningly average.”

Eddie scoffed. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

She rolled her eyes and he fought the urge to mimic the gesture.

“Come on, don’t start with that.” He admonished gently. “There’s nothing average about you.” 

“Eddie-”

“I’m being serious here. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“You mean you haven’t met anyone who’s as big a bitch as I am.”

Eddie’s face twisted with derision. “Don’t call yourself that.” 

“Why not? It’s true. It doesn’t bother me when people call me that.”

“Well, it bothers me.” He admitted quietly. “I think there’s a million things in this world you can do, a million places you can go. You deserve way better than Hawkins.”

Her heart raced and she valiantly ignored the heat that bloomed in her cheeks. His words hit her way too deep, forcing her to hear things she couldn’t believe about herself which made her fight the urge to hightail it right out of the diner.

But she found her feet wouldn’t move. 

She found Eddie had a way about him that made her go against all her natural protective instincts.

“I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I’m not really passionate about anything. I see so many people who know exactly what they wanna do with their lives or they have insane dreams they wanna chase even though there’s zero chance it’ll ever happen. I just… don’t have that.”

“Then we’ll find it.”

“We?”

Eddie smiled widely and she found her own lips curling upwards at the sight. “Yes, we. You’ll need a ride, won’t you?”

“You mean that death on wheels you drive?”

“Hey, insult her all you want, but you won’t be complaining when it’s you and me out on the open road, getting the hell outta dodge.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You’d really do that with me?”

“Of course I would.”

Neither one of them could deny the spark that ignited between them that night. From then on, she began to let herself relax around Eddie day by day. She began to talk more, opening up about the trivial things she enjoyed in life. She even began to sit with him at lunch, choosing a spot at a rickety picnic table out next to the football field, sitting close enough to him that their arms brushed against each other every now and then. 

And even more, she began to look out for him. Something that Eddie was sure was making him fall head over heels, even more than his moon-eyed, pre-teen self could have ever comprehended. 

~~

“Watch where you’re going, dickwad.” 

She looked up in time to see Tommy H slam some kid into the lockers and knock his books from his arms. She recognized the kid to be the freshman Eddie hungout with. The Hellfire logo on his shirt was unmistakable and put a big red target on his back.

She grit her teeth and slammed her locker shut, beginning to make her way down the hall angrily. As Tommy passed her, still laughing in triumph, she discreetly kicked her foot out, making contact with his shin, hard.

The idiot cried out and crumpled as his leg gave out from the hit. 

She continued walking, her eyes finding Eddie and his friend who were crouched to pick up his books from the floor, their wide eyes and slack jaws indicating that they had seen her little display. As their gazes met hers, she sent them a sly smirk, a silent gesture of solidarity. 

Eddie’s expression was one of awe, he looked up at her as if she were a goddess and from the way he was kneeling it looked like he was practically praying at her altar, something that totally wasn’t out of the realm of possibility - at least in his mind. 

He smiled brightly and sent her a salute, the gesture making her laugh softly, the smile lingering on her face as she continued on her way down the hall.

Eddie was left to kneel on the ground, watching her retreating form as Gareth collected all his books. He looked over at his friend, prying the one book Eddie managed to pick up from his hands and rolled his eyes as Eddie continued to stare down the hall.

“Dude, you are so whipped.”

Eddie snapped his attention back to Gareth and could only smirk, not at all attempting to deny his claims. 

“She just played your knight in shining armor. Can you blame me?”

Gareth let his eyes fall to the woman’s retreating form and suppressed a shiver. She was attractive, but terrifying as all hell. By all accounts, only an idiot would approach the Chief’s daughter. He looked to Eddie again and shook his head when he saw the awe that lingered on his face and his goofy smile.

Turns out his friend was more of an idiot than he thought.

~~

Eddie slumped in the uncomfortable chair, the pull on his interlocked wrists making him wince. 

“Really, this is just a huge misunderstanding.” He spoke again to the officer that was blatantly ignoring him.

“Son, it’d be a good idea to keep your mouth shut.” The officer at the desk across from him spoke up without even sparing him a glance.

“All the bathrooms were taken, where else was I supposed to go?” He defended himself, earning a set of twin glares from the officers, making him shrink in his seat once again.

He looked up at the crotchety old woman sitting at the receptionist’s desk to find her staring back at him unimpressed. Eddie blew out a long breath and inwardly cursed, the deck was certainly stacked against him. The Hideout was flooded with drunk idiots doing stupid shit, yet he was the one to get taken in.

 His uncle was going to be pissed.

He was left to stew in his misery for a few minutes until a gleeful voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“Hi, Honey! Oh, look at you, you’re more beautiful everytime I see you.”

Eddie looked up to see the grumpy old woman exuberantly leaving her desk to wrap someone in a tight hug. He recognized her immediately, sitting up straighter, his expression brightening, before suddenly realizing his current predicament. 

He didn’t want her to see him like this. He quickly slumped in his chair again, as if it would make him invisible. 

“Hey, Flo.” She greeted the old woman she’d known since childhood. “Is he in his office?” 

“Of course.” 

She moved to make her way to her dad’s office, but suddenly stopped in her tracks when she noticed the familiar mop of curly hair across the room. Her eyes widened briefly before narrowing dangerously.

Eddie smiled sheepishly, sending her a feeble wave. When she saw the cuffs on his wrists, she stormed towards him.

“What the hell did you do?” She barked and before he could even open his mouth, she was continuing with her tirade. “If my dad sees you here, he’ll flip his shit. He’ll kill you the next time he sees you with me.” 

Eddie’s eyes softened at the worry he heard in her voice. 

“Is that fear I hear in your voice?” He teased and when her eyes blazed with fire he swallowed thickly, his body tensing as he realized she wasn’t in a playful mood and now was not the time to tease. 

She turned to officer Callahan who had been watching their interaction with interest, his eyes flitting between the two of them eagerly, as if he were watching a soap opera.

“What’d you book him for?”

“Public urination.” 

Eddie wanted to ground to swallow him whole. He felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment as she turned to face him once more, an incredulous and slightly disgusted look on her face. She sighed deeply and turned back to the officer.

“Jesus christ, Phil, it’s 9 o’clock. You really wanna be doing paperwork all night ‘cause some stupid teenager took a piss?”

“Uhh, well, no, but-”

“And the cuffs, really? You think he’s some dangerous psychopath you need to chain down for your own safety?”

“It’s protocol-”

“They’re on way too tight, you’re cutting off his circulation. You’re lucky if he doesn’t file a complaint against you.” She ranted, fighting off the urge to smirk at the way Callahan shrunk under her heated glare. “Just let him off with a warning and let him go home.” 

With that, she turned on her heel and marched her way to the back office her dad resided in. Eddie turned to the stunned officer and wordlessly held out his wrists, grinning cheekily. 

Officer Callahan sighed loudly. He wasn’t about to let some teenage girl dictate his job, but she wasn’t exactly wrong. He probably went a little overboard with the Munson kid and the last thing he needed was the girl - who he was frankly terrified of - to get her dad involved - who he was also terrified of.

He didn’t need another verbal lashing from any other member of the Hopper family today. 

Within a minute of her divine intervention, Eddie was a free man. He stood outside the station, taking a deep inhale from his cigarette when the door opened and she stepped out, not surprised to see him still lingering. 

“Hey. You ok?”

The question and the caring nature to her voice caught him off guard and he was glad he was leaning against the wall or he literally would have swooned.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrowed when she noticed the cuffs sticking out of his back pocket. “I really don’t think you’re allowed to take those things.”

He shrugged, a devious smirk gracing his lips. “I wanted a memento.”

“You want to remember this moment?”

“Do I want to remember you reaming out a cop for me? Fuck yeah, I do. That was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve done some pretty badass shit, Sweetheart.”

The pet name made her eyes widen slightly and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking away from his brown eyes that were making her insides twist strangely. 

“Right, well… you should probably get going. My dad’s gonna be out any minute and I’d rather he not see you here.”

“Aww, worried about me?”

“Just don’t want anything to happen to your pretty face.” She teased him right back, patting his cheek affectionately, gaining the upper hand immediately as his face blanched, not having expected the turnabout. She smirked triumphantly and moved from his side to waltz back inside, leaving him to stand dumbly watching the spot she had just been, his cheeks flaming. 

He let out a long breath and leaned back against the wall, a goofy smile on his face. 

He was falling hard.

~~

“Bedtime is 8:30. We should be back before 10. Emergency numbers are on the counter. Just call if you need anything.” Karen Wheeler went on with her familiar spiel.

She’d been the loyal babysitter to the Wheeler’s and by extension the whole gang of nerdy boys for years, she’d heard the instructions a million times. 

But tonight, she was only looking after little Holly. A much needed break, if anyone were to ask. She loved those boys, but they could get rowdy and way too passionate about shit she couldn’t care less about.

As the Wheeler’s were preparing to leave, Nancy flounced down the stairs, her hair perfectly coiffed, her eyeshadow immaculate, her dress wrinkle free. 

The sight made her shift on the spot as she immediately began the insecure comparisons. She looked down at her drabby outfit that consisted of jeans she got from the Goodwill, a worn out t-shirt and her dad’s flannel with the way too long sleeves rolled up.

She was no Nancy Wheeler.

Behind Nancy was her loyal best friend, Barb, the two of them giggling quietly to each other as they got their shoes on, preparing to leave for some party for the night. The moment they looked up and met her gaze they both went quiet, their faces blanching at the sight of her.

She was pretty sure she even saw Barb gulp, as if she were facing the killer in a slasher flick.

Ignoring the lead that felt like it had just settled in her stomach, she turned her attention to Karen, giving a polite wave goodbye and torturously avoided the two teens' gazes as they quickly filed out the door, desperate to be out of her company. 

She blew out a long breath and turned to face the toddler in her care for the night. 

“Can we watch Muppet Babies?” Holly’s cute little voice broke the silence.

Kill me now.

“Of course, Sweetie.”

The next day, as she and Eddie lazed on the lone picnic table in the woods behind the school, her mind was a mess of thoughts, her face drawn tightly as she ruminated on all the things that made her insides clench with distaste.

“What’s got you thinking so hard? I’m the one failing algebra.”

“Do you think I should change?” She asked quietly, sounding more demure than he had ever heard her.

He looked at her quickly, his brows furrowed as he quickly took in the state of her. He felt his cheeks heat slightly as he couldn’t help but picture her figure under the baggy clothes she wore. 

“No, you look great.”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“Not my clothes, idiot. Me.”

Eddie looked back at her in surprise and quickly closed his notebook. The topic at hand much more pressing than school. 

“Of course you shouldn’t. Why would you ever think that?”

“Because literally every person at this school looks at me like I’m gonna murder them.” 

“Well… I mean… you would, wouldn’t you?”

“Eddie!” She raised herself to slap his arm. 

“Whoa, hey! Don’t shoot the messenger!” 

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Like an hour ago you said you would love to run over Devon Goode with your dad’s car.”

“Well, he’s an idiot, he doesn’t count.”

“And Tommy H? You threatened him and Carol with a scalpel in bio yesterday.” 

“They are the most insufferable cretins on the planet. I’d be doing the world a favor.” She defended in all seriousness, making Eddie laugh. He moved to sit next to her atop the rickety table.

“I’m not disagreeing, but, you’re not exactly proving that you aren’t a potential murderer.”

She rolled her eyes, her gaze locked onto her fingers that fidgeted in her lap. 

“You never bothered about your reputation before. What brought this on?”

“Yesterday, I was babysitting Nancy’s little sister and she was there with her friend, Barb. God, they looked at me like they were in danger.” She admitted quietly. “I know I’m… difficult-”

“Hey, stop that. You’re not difficult.” Eddie interrupted immediately, not standing to hear her talk down on herself for one second. 

“Eddie, come on. I’m a huge bitch, everybody knows it.”

He protested immediately, his face scrunched with annoyance. “I thought I told you to stop calling yourself that.”

“It’s the truth. I’m horrible to people. Yesterday I grabbed Stacy’s ponytail and used it as a pulley to bash her nose into her desk.”

“Ok, yes, that’s… a lot.” Eddie agreed tentatively. “But what did she do before you did that to her?”

She paused, looking up at him knowingly. He just widened his eyes, silently forcing her to answer the question.

“She called me an orphan.”

“See? That’s a terrible thing to say to someone. You only react to how people treat you, you’ve never been the one that started any shit. Every single person you’ve yelled at or punched, none of them have ever given you a reason to be nice to them. They don’t deserve your kindness.”

She laughed bitterly. “I didn’t realize I had any kindness.”

Eddie guffawed and turned from his position sitting beside her to look at her head on. “Are you serious right now?”

“What?”

“You really think that?” 

By the look on her face and the pitiful shrug she gave in response, Eddie knew she truly believed that she had no ounce of kindness or good within her and it made his stomach turn.

“You seriously- ok I have so much to tell you.” 

She continued to stare back at Eddie with confusion, watching with narrowed eyes as he was practically bouncing in excitement where he sat.

“Do you remember the middle school talent show?”

“Why would I wanna remember that?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, though when he did it it was a lot less volatile of a gesture than when she did it.

“Well I remember it perfectly. I pretty much haven’t stopped thinking about it so allow me to jog your memory.” He began emphatically. “There was a totally kick ass band that consisted of a few misfits who decided doing an Iron Maiden cover in front of a bunch of stuck up middle schoolers and their parents was a good idea.”

A flash of realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. Her face suddenly morphed from confusion to understanding, a smile beginning to crawl across her lips.

“Corroded Coffin.”

Eddie swore his heart skipped a beat and the beaming smile he gave her was blinding. He tapped his nose in acknowledgement.

“Well, we thought we killed it. Twelve year old me was ready to play the Garden.”

She let out a small laugh, the noise stopping his train of thought for a moment, causing him to have to physically shake his head to get back on track.

“Turns out, the rest of the audience didn’t exactly agree. Well, that’s putting it lightly, they hated it. It was tragically embarrassing. Feared I’d never recover.”

His dramatic retelling had her biting her lip to stop her growing smile. 

“But, as we left the booing crowd behind, there was an angel standing backstage with a glowing halo.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. The only reason I was there was because the principal told me I could avoid detention if I pulled the curtains.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I was glad you were there. It could’ve been the worst embarrassment of my life, but when I got off the stage you were standing there and you said we did great.” He continued, his voice lower, more serious now as his fingers began to trace anxious circles around the hole in his jeans. “I dunno, maybe it’s stupid, but, in that moment it felt like not everyone in the world thought I was a total loser.”

She watched him pensively, her stomach alight with a million butterflies at the way his big brown eyes bore into hers. 

“Did you really think we were good?” He asked, the question one he had been wondering since that night all those years ago. 

She bit her lip nervously, taking a long pause because too many words and explanations were circling around in her head. Ones that she was too shy to divulge.

“Yeah, I thought you guys were really cool.” She admitted quietly. “I thought it was pretty badass playing heavy metal at a middle school talent show, especially being the act right after Jessica Hart’s ribbon twirling.”

Eddie snorted and covered his face. “God we were such idiots.”

“No you weren’t.” She refuted him instantly. “It annoyed me how everyone else reacted and… I dunno, I guess I wanted you to know that I didn’t think the same as them.”

Eddie’s eyes softened, his heart racing wildly in his chest, the rush of emotions her words brought him making him feel antsy. He could picture himself grabbing her and kissing her until he passed out. He quickly looked away, a small smile lingering on his lips.

“So, what, I complimented you once when we were young and that proves I’m not a bad person?” She asked quietly, still cynical about his earlier words.

“You complimented me and I knew you were someone I wanted to get to know. I wouldn’t be friends with an asshole, I’m smarter than that.”

“Right, and how many classes are you currently failing?”

He barked out a laugh, his head thrown back, his smile beaming. The sight made her own smile grow and she quickly averted her eyes shyly. 

“Ok, smartass. You know I’m more about the streetsmarts not booksmarts.”

“Hmm, sure.”

Eddie looked over at her, his wide smile falling slightly. “You know I’m being one hundred percent serious, right? I don’t think you’re a bad person. And that compliment wasn’t just a compliment. It meant everything to me.”

The fluttering inside her became more intense, the feeling becoming so overwhelming her protective instincts kicked in and told her to run, to get as far away from this situation as she could. 

She let out a long breath, trying to calm herself and the instincts she always listened to that never did her any good.

“Why do you try so hard for me?” She asked quietly, a question she had been wondering since the first time he approached her in detention.

“Because you deserve it.” He spoke without hesitation, as if he didn’t even need to think of his answer. “You always look out for the little guys, you always stick up for yourself, which is insanely hard to do when those assholes never back down. I’ve always admired you and I thought you’ve always deserved better than this town. I guess I’m trying so hard so you can believe it.”

Her gaze rose to meet him and her breath got caught in her throat at the sincerity she saw in his eyes. The air between them suddenly became charged, the tension that had been bubbling for weeks reaching new heights.

Her eyes drifted down briefly to his plump lips, a gesture Eddie caught immediately, making him feel as though his heart would leap right out of his chest. He swallowed thickly and with every ounce of courage he could muster, he leaned in closer to her. 

Sensing what he was about to do, the giant step they were on track to take, her eyes widened and she instinctively moved back, furthering the space between them.

Eddie’s own eyes went wide with horror and he sprung to his feet, turning his back on her, embarrassment hitting him like a knockout punch. 

“Shit. Shit. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t- I didn’t mean to-” He stammered, his flustered mind unable to complete a sentence.

“Eddie,” She called out to him, her voice softer than he had ever heard before. He slowly turned to face her and she felt her chest tighten pleasantly when she saw how red his cheeks were. 

It was terrifying, the thought of Eddie seeing her in that way. It was a thought she’d had for weeks but had been brushing off because it was too overwhelming. But there was a voice in the back of her head that told her she would live with regret if she didn’t let this happen. 

She knew she’d be keeping herself from experiencing something amazing.

“Eddie,” She said again, causing him to slowly raise his gaze from his shoes to meet hers.

“I’m sorry. Can we just forget that? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” She assured him, her voice just as breathless and riddled with anxiety as his. “I want you to.”

Eddie stood as still as a statue for a few long seconds, his brain trying to work out if he’d hallucinated her words, or if he was blissfully dreaming. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamt of this exact scenario. 

“You… what?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

His lips parted in surprise, mostly because he couldn’t believe she reciprocated even one tenth of his affection for her. He took a small step towards her and, making sure she was still comfortable and not running for the hills, he took a few more until he was standing in front of her. 

She looked up at him and he felt as if he were about to pass out. He cleared his throat nervously. When he pictured this moment, he was never this nervous or anxious. He wanted to throttle himself. 

Sensing his anxiety, one that matched her own, she smiled lightly and stood up. Eddie’s eyes widened as they were suddenly chest to chest, but before he could even take a moment to be overwhelmed by their closeness, she grabbed him by either side of his face and brought him down to her height, pressing her lips to his firmly. 

Eddie’s eyes widened before fluttering closed. His hands settled on her hips softly, his grip loose and tentative, not daring to do something to make her uncomfortable and end up on the receiving end of one of her infamous right hooks. 

They were both tingling with nervous energy. The tension that had been building for weeks finally bubbling over leaving them both feeling dizzy and delirious with excitement. 

They pulled away after a few seconds, but stayed just close enough for their noses to brush against each other. 

Eddie looked lost in a daze as he stared back at her, amazed they had even crossed that line he had been dying to cross for weeks. 

He cleared his throat, bowing his head bashfully. 

“Was that… was that ok?” He asked tentatively, knowing she had the power to destroy him with only a word.

“Yeah, that was ok.”

Her voice was softer than she intended. Her heart thumped within her chest, unable to tear her eyes from him. Her lips buzzed, a rush of adrenaline overwhelming every inch of her. 

“You could… kiss me again… if you want.” She said, her voice barely heard over the breeze that shifted the leaves above them. 

Eddie was sure he was seconds from dropping dead, her words enough to stop his heart for good, but he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away from him. He wasn’t that dumb. He stepped towards her again, this time more sure of himself and he kissed her firmly. 

His hands tightened on her waist, now holding her tightly to him, desperate to have her as close as possible, no longer fearing that he’d scare her off, more incensed by her shared want. 

Her hands tightened around his neck, her fingers pulling on loose strands of hair at the base of his neck, sending sparks tingling down his spine. He pulled away from the kiss abruptly, pursing his lips closed to avoid letting a sound of pleasure fall past his lips. 

He was breathing heavily, his eyes staring down at her cautiously, praying he hadn’t just ruined their friendship. While he was elated to finally kiss her - he was mentally high fiving his twelve year old self - he couldn’t help but worry that he had crossed a line, that he had pushed her too far too fast and treated her just like every other douchebag at their school.

The last thing he wanted was for her to think he only wanted her for one thing. 

“Did I just fuck up everything for us?” He whispered breathlessly.

She laughed lightly and shook her head, leaning into him, her head falling against his chest where she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, even more than they already were. He didn’t think he’d ever see her so carefree before and he was elated at the mere thought that he had something to do with it. 

“No, you didn’t fuck up anything.”

“Good, good.” He mumbled quietly, as if to himself. “So, if I told you I’ve been crazy about you since middle school, that wouldn’t make things weird?”

She looked up at him quizzically, a mischievous smirk of her lips. “I’d question your taste in women.”

Eddie rolled his eyes halfheartedly, his grip on her waist tightening inadvertently. “You need to stop with that.”

She opened her mouth, yet she found she had no words to respond to Eddie’s unwavering confidence in her. She had never felt this before, she had never had someone so staunchly in her corner. 

Seeing the unease, the disbelief on her face, Eddie gently grasped her cheeks in his hands, gently coaxing her to meet his gaze.

“Hey, trust me when I say this.” He started softly. “You have never been and will never be a bad person, not when it really counts. And I may be an idiot, but having feelings for you will never be why. In fact, I think it’s the smartest decision I’ve ever made.”

She laughed breathlessly, bowing her head bashfully, but Eddie followed her, bending down so his eyes could still meet hers.

“C’mon, I would never joke about this. You got me wrapped around your finger, baby.” 

She smiled widely and for the first time she could ever remember, she didn’t hide her face as she felt her cheeks heat. 

She wanted this. She wanted Eddie and everything that came with him, no matter the fact that she was so far out of her element. 

She was scared, but most of all, she was so excited for what came next, what her and Eddie could be. 

She didn’t want to jinx anything but she knew, maybe naively, that they would be something beautiful. That he was exactly what she needed in her complicated life. 

The next day at school, as she walked into her first class of the morning, she was surprised to see Eddie already sitting in the desk next to the one she usually sat in. Given that he was known for typically showing up at noon, she was more than confused to see him so bright and early.

The smile he gave her as their eyes met made her heart flutter and she had to bite her lip to quell her smile as she took her seat next to him.

“Good morning.” Eddie greeted her happily, his voice sickly sweet. 

God, he’s trying to kill me, she thought to herself. 

“Morning.”

She kept her eyes forward, though she could feel his gaze on her and when she turned her attention to him, he had no shame in trying to hide the fact that he was blatantly staring at her. He only smiled widely, the both of them thinking back to the day before, the kisses they shared and the feelings they finally revealed to each other.

There was no going back now. 

“You don’t have to be so obvious.” She muttered under her breath so the other students sitting close to them wouldn’t hear.

“You know I can’t help it, Sweetheart.” He grinned, leaning his chin on his closed fist, continuing to stare at her dreamily.

She rolled her eyes but by the smile growing on her lips, he knew it wasn’t a malicious gesture. 

~~

“Hey,” 

She turned in time to see Eddie smiling widely at her as he approached, leaning in to plant a chaste kiss to her cheek before leaning against the locker beside hers.

“Hi.” She mumbled, suddenly feeling incredibly bashful. His gesture, so easy and done for the entire hallway of students to see, made her face heat. 

The sight of her so nervous, taken aback by his gesture, made him smile and he wanted nothing more than to plant a hundred more kisses across her face.

“Are you ready for Friday?” Eddie asked her excitedly, his smile wide and giddy.

“What’s Friday?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot.” 

When she could only stare back at him blankly, he groaned and threw himself back against the locker, his hands covering his heart. 

“You’re breaking my heart, you know that?”

“Jesus, you’re annoying.” She told him and if it were anyone else they would’ve been offended by her words, but Eddie saw the light in her eyes, the amused smirk on her lips and he knew it was her strange way of showing affection. 

“Well, Little Miss Forgetful, Ozzy’s album comes out Friday and I have to be first in line at the record store.”

“You really think it’ll be that busy?”

“I’m not taking the risk. It’s Ozzy, baby, I can’t miss it.” Eddie stressed emphatically, not realizing how her eyes widened at the use of the word ‘baby’. 

Ever since they kissed, he’d been a lot more liberal with his stupid nicknames. For some reason, ‘baby’ was one that never failed to get her heart racing. She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to grabbing her textbooks. 

“I really don’t think you’ll have a prob-”

“Can I talk to you?”

They both turned abruptly, surprised to see Jonathan Byers behind them looking like he hadn’t slept in a week, his desperate and pleading eyes locked on her. 

“Uhh, sure.” She answered slowly, her voice laced with confusion. She wasn’t exactly close with Jonathan. She hadn’t ever given him a verbal lashing which meant he was at least a sort of acquaintance. She really only spoke to him when he came to pick up Will, relieving her of her babysitting duties.

“I’ll talk to you later.” She told Eddie before leaving his side to follow Jonathan to the less crowded area of the hallway.

“Were you babysitting the boys last night?” 

That certainly hadn’t been the question she was expecting him to ask.

“No. The Wheelers were home so I was off duty. Why?”

Jonathan sighed deeply, clearing not having heard the answer he wanted. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the control he had on his emotions hanging on by a thread.

“Will didn’t come home last night.” 

Her heart dropped to her stomach, her throat going tight as she pictured a thousand horrible things happening to that sweet boy she adored so much. 

At seeing the look of horror on her face, Jonathan continued. “He wasn’t in his room this morning. My mom’s at the station now, talking to your dad. I’m gonna check out his fort. Do you know any other place he likes to go?”

“No, he’s only talked about the fort.” She told him, her voice monotonous, feeling numb by the news.

Jonathan nodded sadly and cleared his throat. “Well, uh, thanks anyways.” He moved to leave, but she grabbed his arm tightly, stopping him.

“I’ll go with you.” 

“You really don’t have-”

“Jonathan-” She stopped him immediately, her voice hoarse with emotion, clearly shaken. “I’m going with you.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. He knew how much Will loved her and another set of eyes might be just what his tired ones needed. 

As the bell rang, Eddie closed his locker, his eyes moving to find her to get one last goodbye in, knowing he wouldn’t see her until the end of the day. His face twisted in confusion as he watched her walk out the doors side by side with Jonathan. 

~~

Hope you enjoyed! I've been slowly working on this story for so long, it actually feels wild that I'm finally posting this.

There's more to come, so I hope you're ready xx

[catbayunthestoryteller]

Imitation of an Angel, picture of holiness

Pairing: Alastor x f!reader

Summary: Alastor and the reader were married in life. Then he got killed. They're reunited when the reader gets sent in hell but her appearance as a sinner eerily resembles angels in heaven.

You had loved him without knowing.

That had been the cruelty of it.

In life, he had been a gentleman. Charming, polished, well-spoken. The sort of man neighbors admired and trusted. The sort that old ladies complimented and young couples tried to imitate. He held doors, kissed your knuckles, brought home fresh bread on Sundays, and danced with you in the kitchen when the record player crackled to life.

He never raised his voice at you.

Never raised a hand.

And he never told you what he did when he left the house at night.

You only found out after he died.

They found him in the woods, mistaken for a deer by some drunk hunter, they said. Wrong place, wrong time. A clean shot. He died alone, not in your arms, not in his bed, but in the dirt, with leaves sticking to his blood.

The papers came after.

His name was everywhere.

Not just as a victim.

But as a monster.

Headlines snarled about him. Serial killer. Missing persons. Decades of unsolved cases suddenly stitched together like a grotesque quilt, and he was the thread running through all of them.

And you were his wife.

“Did you know?” they asked you.

Again and again.

That question haunted you more than his smile ever had.

Did you know?

Did you know?

Did you know?

You didn’t.

But you had stayed.

Even after courtrooms. Even after stares in the streets. Even after his belongings were torn apart for evidence.

You kept the ring.

And when you died, long after the world had decided what he was — you didn’t wake to pearly gates.

You woke to fire.

To red skies.

To screaming.

You woke to Hell.

Alastor had never imagined you would follow him there.

He hadn’t expected Heaven, of course, not for himself. But for you? You had been an angel walking among mortals. You had smiled at strangers, treated him with kindness even when the world had turned on you because of his sins.

You should have been rewarded for that.

But Hell had a twisted sense of humor.

He spent years convinced you were safe somewhere above: untouchable, unreachable, forever beyond his bloody hands.

He missed you anyway.

Sometimes, when the Pentagram City chaos dulled just enough, he imagined you walking through clouds instead of ash. Imagined you laughing again. Imagined you learning peace without him dragging it down.

He told himself that was better.

Even when it burned.

Even when it felt like rot.

Then one day, Hell buzzed.

Not just with violence, that was constant. No, this buzz was different. Excited. Greedy. Sharp.

A sinner had landed.

Not just any sinner.

An angel-looking one.

Whispers traveled faster than gunfire.

“She’s got wings,” they said.

“Not exterminator wings,” someone muttered. “But close.”

“She looks like Heaven but smells like Hell.”

The Vees heard first, of course.

They always did.

Vox saw a brand. A spectacle. Something new to broadcast and twist into entertainment.

Valentino saw profit - flesh and fantasy dressed in false holiness.

Velvette saw a trend - something unreal, something dangerous, something that would make Hell click “share.”

They crowded around you like vultures in designer clothes.

And you stood there, confused, shaken, white-feathered wings trembling behind you, still dressed like a soul that hadn’t realized it was damned.

“You wanna be safe?” Vox asked, his screen flashing blue and red. “You stick with us.”

“You’re a walking fetish, sweetheart,” Valentino purred, smoke curling from his fingers. “We’ll make you legendary.”

“We can make you untouchable online,” Velvette added, smiling sharp. “But you gotta play smart.”

They framed it like an offer.

But you could feel the leash already tightening.

And that was when the air changed.

The static came before he did.

A low hum. A familiar crackle.

Like an old radio station sliding back onto a long-lost signal.

The crowd shifted.

They always did when he arrived.

Red eyes. Antlers. Smile too wide to belong to a sane being.

Alastor stepped through the parted crowd like he owned the ground beneath it.

And when he saw you?

For one terrible second, the world stopped.

Not in a poetic way.

In a violent way.

The air warped.

The shadows froze.

His smile flickered, not gone, never gone, but strained, like cracked porcelain trying to hold.

“…Darling?” he said softly.

You stared.

Because you knew that voice.

You’d heard it across dinner tables. Through laughter. Through lullabies hummed when the world felt too loud. Through radio, most importantly, because now his voice carried static on its own.

“You,” you breathed.

His gaze traced you: your face, your hands, your wings.

Wings.

The irony was cruel, even by Hell’s standards.

“I always knew you had a touch of the divine,” he said lightly. “I didn’t expect Hell to agree.”

Vox recovered first. “Whoa, whoa, whoa...you know her?”

Alastor smiled wider.

“That,” he said, “is my wife.”

Silence cracked.

Valentino blinked.

Velvette stilled.

Vox’s screen glitched.

You didn’t have time to react before a cane tipped up, his shadow curling unnaturally, and the space around you bent.

One second, their voices were in your ears.

The next, everything vanished.

You were inside the Hazbin Hotel.

An old couch. The warm colors. The fake hope clinging to its walls.

He had set you down carefully, like you were made of something fragile rather than dead.

“They will not touch you,” he said immediately. “Not while you’re here.”

You stepped back. Your wings rustled.

“Don’t,” you said. Your voice shook now. “Don’t pretend like nothing happened. I know what you were. I know now.”

His smile softened, just slightly.

“I had hoped,” he admitted, “you’d never have to find out.”

“You let me mourn you,” you snapped. “You let me defend you when they called you a monster.”

“And I will let myself burn for that,” he replied calmly. “But not let them have you.”

You laughed bitterly. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it because you want to own me.”

His eyes darkened.

“You were never owned.”

He stepped closer.

“But you were loved. Are loved. And Hell doesn’t get to take that from me as punishment.”

“You killed people,” you whispered.

“Yes,” he agreed, without flinching.

“And you never told me.”

He tilted his head.

“No,” he said. “Because I wanted at least one thing in my life to be innocent.”

Your throat tightened.

Your wings stirred behind you, unsure.

“And now look at you,” he added gently. “Hell’s little joke. Giving you feathers when all you ever did was bleed for me.”

Silence wrapped around you.

He didn’t reach for you.

Just stood there, as he always had, waiting.

“I don’t trust you,” you said finally.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he answered. “But you will stay. The Vees won’t let a creature like you go without trying again.”

“And if I refuse?”

His smile regained its edge.

“Then I shall continue fussing over you until you’re tired of fighting it,” he said cheerfully. “Just like I used to with your cold feet in winter.”

Your breath hitched despite yourself.

…He remembered everything.

“Come now,” he added more softly, offering his hand. “Let your monstrous husband keep you safe a little longer.”

And even with all your fear.

Even with the truth clawing at your heart.

You still recognized the way his thumb hovered at your knuckles, just like it always had.

The lobby had gone silent when he led you down the staircase.

You didn’t remember ever walking beside him feeling so much space between your bodies.

Even in life, when you argued, when doors slammed and pride stood tall between you, there had always been something warm tethering you together. A gravity. Something unspoken that kept pulling you back.

Now there was distance laced with danger, curiosity, fear.

Every eye in the Hazbin Hotel followed the two of you.

Charlie froze mid-sentence, smile softening with surprise.

Vaggie’s hand drifted instinctively closer to her spear.

Angel Dust looked you up and down, whistling low.

Husk blinked slowly from the bar like he was trying to decide if you were real or another hallucination from cheap booze.

Niffty had already practically teleported next to you, sparkling-eyed.

Alastor gestured to you with a flourish of his cane.

“Everyone,” he announced, voice carrying through the room like a radio broadcast from an older, more dangerous era, “this is my dear wife.”

Dead silence.

Then...

“Well, isn’t this just precious,” Angel drawled. “Didn’t know you were the marrying type, spooky.”

“Only once,” Alastor replied pleasantly.

“You’re his what?” Husk muttered.

“Was his wife,” you corrected automatically, voice dry.

“Is,” Alastor returned smoothly. “Death is merely a minor inconvenience in that regard.”

Charlie blinked, then brightened instantly. “Hi! Hi, oh my gosh, hi! It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Charlie. I own the hotel and...and we’re trying to help people get into Heaven. Redemption and all that!”

You hesitated.

Something inside you tightened.

Because that…That had struck something painfully human in your chest.

“Heaven?” you repeated.

“Yes,” she said warmly. “Some of us believe sinners can be redeemed. It’s not impossible.”

Your fingers curled slightly.

You thought of your life.

Of the people you forgave instead of fighting.

Of the way you stood beside him even after the world collapsed around you.

“I don’t think I belong in hell,” you said quietly.

The room went still again.

And this time, Alastor didn’t interrupt.

Charlie’s eyes softened.

“Well,” she said gently, “that’s exactly why you should stay.”

You swallowed.

And then Alastor spoke again, far more casually than the moment deserved.

“She will be,” he said, “staying in my room.”

The silence was no longer shock.

It was alarm.

Angel choked on his gum.

Husk raised a brow.

Vaggie’s eye twitched.

“In your...” Charlie started.

“My room,” he repeated. “It is already sufficiently large. And significantly better protected.”

You stiffened beside him.

“And what if I don’t want that?” you asked under your breath.

“You do,” he murmured back. “Even if only temporarily.”

His smile stayed fixed, polished, controlled, but there was something just beneath it that hadn’t existed before. Something desperate.

Charlie hesitated only a second before nodding. “Okay. Yeah. Um. That’s fine. As long as you’re comfortable.”

You weren’t. But you also weren’t about to continue arguing in public. So you just nodded once. And he guided you away.

His room smelled strangely familiar.

Like old paper. Like dust caught in sunlight. Like static after rain.

The same tidy precision he always carried with him extended here, books stacked, cane placed perfectly against the wall, gramophone resting like a relic of another world.

Except now there were claw marks in the furniture.

And shadows that moved when they shouldn’t.

You stood near the door, wings shifting uncertainly behind you.

They felt…heavy.

And wrong.

You tried to fold them, but the unfamiliar weight threw off your balance. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself on the back of a chair.

Alastor was instantly there.

“Careful now,” he said, hands hovering just close enough to catch you without touching.

“I don’t know how to use these,” you muttered.

“Well,” he replied, “I have had to adjust to antlers, hooves, and an infuriatingly expressive tail. You’ll manage feathers.”

Still, his voice softened.

“You never cared much for balance in dancing either,” he added, teasing gently. “Yet you always insisted on leading.”

You huffed a weak laugh despite yourself.

“You complained about that forever.”

“And I survived,” he said. “A small miracle.”

You tried folding them again.

Slower this time.

They trembled.

Your hands moved instinctively to smooth them, fingertips brushing along the feathers as if checking if they were real.

They were.

“You think I don’t belong here,” you said quietly.

He stilled behind you.

“I think,” he answered, “Hell is inefficient at deciding who deserves what.”

“That’s a very polite way of saying their system is broken.”

He chuckled softly, the sound layered with static.

“I always told you bureaucracy was the greatest evil of all,” he replied.

Then, after a moment:

“You do want their little redemption plan, don’t you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“I don’t want to spend eternity surrounded by murderers and…other demons,” you admitted.

A grin curved his mouth.

“Well,” he drawled, “that ship has regrettably sailed, darling.”

You glared slightly over your shoulder.

“I meant worse ones.”

He laughed.

A real one this time.

You turned more fully toward him. He looked different, monstrous, taller somehow, sharper around the edges.

More honest.

“You’re trying very hard,” you said.

He tilted his head.

“To do what?”

“To show me you’re the same man.”

His eyes softened just a fraction.

“I am,” he said.

Then his gaze darkened.

“I merely look closer to the truth now.”

You swallowed.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Oh, I rather enjoy it,” he replied. “It’s quite liberating, actually. No more polite pretending. No more hiding the mess beneath the suit.”

Then, more quietly:

“You loved me before you ever knew.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“And now you know everything,” he continued, stepping closer, careful not to crowd you. “And I will not force you to love me now.”

A long beat of silence.

Then, softer, almost hesitant:

“But I will still take care of you. Whether you deserve Hell or Heaven.”

Your wings stilled.

You searched his face, the familiar smile, the unfamiliar monster, the same eyes that once watched you across candlelit dinners.

“…You’ve always been like this,” you said. “Doting, I mean.”

“I prefer the term devoted,” he replied.

Representative. Elegant.

Terrifying.

And heartbreakingly, horribly yours.

He reached up slowly, giving you all the time in the world to stop him, and gently tucked a stray feather back into place.

His touch was careful.

Like he was still afraid you might disappear.

“And until Heaven decides it wants you,” he added quietly, “you’ll have me.”

Read part 2 here ! Part 3

[wonderlanderings]

Roll for Rebellion [pt. I]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eddie munson x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.7k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: fluff 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Eddie Munson's crush on you was manageable from a distance. But now that he's friends with your brother Dustin, you're suddenly, terrifyingly close. His mission: be cool. The result: a spectacular failure that just might be the key to your heart.

: ̗̀➛ [𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧] [𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭] [𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱] [𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈]

𝐚/𝐧: split this up into multiple parts cause it was getting wayyyy too long

It wasn’t a secret, not really. Secrets were for things you actively hid, things that festered in the dark with the bitter taste of shame or fear. What existed between you and Dustin was something else entirely: a quiet, mutual understanding, a natural consequence of orbiting different suns in the chaotic, small-town galaxy of Hawkins High.

He was Dustin Henderson, a supernova of unapologetic weirdness, proudly branded by the Hellfire Club. His world smelled of old paper and the electric tang of a soldering iron. It was a universe mapped in the clatter of twenty-sided dice on a wooden table, in the frantic crackle of a walkie-talkie cutting through static with life-or-death urgency. His language was built on theories so wild they could unravel the very laws of physics, a future pioneer in some scientific field nobody else in these hallways could even pronounce.

You were his half-sister, a celestial body of a different sort: a varsity cheerleader with a smile that could halt traffic and a reputation so spotless it practically gleamed under the judgmental fluorescent lights. Your world was built on the sharp, clean scent of gymnasium polish and the saccharine cloud of cheap hairspray. You knew the comforting weight of a borrowed letterman's jacket on your shoulders and found solace in the crisp, certain pages of textbooks you aced without breaking a sweat. Your kingdom was the sun-drenched bleachers and the roaring Friday night crowd, a world of clear rules and tangible victories.

Yet, your gravitational pulls were inextricably linked. The same silence that fell in the Henderson household after a bad day held space for both of you. A shared glance across the cafeteria could communicate a universe of support—a raised eyebrow from him when a jock said something particularly dumb, a subtle, encouraging nod from you when he walked into a room full of snickers. 

You existed within the same four walls, bound by the same history of shared Christmases and silent, understanding looks across the dinner table when your mom got that tone in her voice. 

It was a conscious, carefully maintained orbit. Easier this way. Safer. A silent pact, signed not with a handshake but with a thousand averted gazes in the school hallway, to let the other survive in their own habitat, untouched by the particular predators that stalked the other's world.

The different last names were the first line of defence, a bureaucratic blessing that drew a clear, public line in the sand. The only partial, faintly visible shared genetics—a similar, mischievous curve at the corner of a smile, perhaps, or the same habit of raising an eyebrow in sceptical unison—were subtle enough to be dismissed as coincidence. They were ghosts of a relation, nothing the casual observer would ever think to trace back to its source.

It was a convenient truth, one that required no effort to conceal because no one in your respective orbits ever thought to look for it. Their attention spans were too short, their worlds too self-contained. The jocks, scanning the bleachers for a flicker of your approval, their vision clouded by the sheen of your varsity jacket, never once glanced toward the dim, chaotic sanctuary of the drama room where he held court with a twenty-sided die and a grand plan. Conversely, his fellow dungeon crawlers, locked in fervent debate over a demogorgon’s tactical weaknesses or the arcane politics of the Upside Down, would never think to seek a cheerleader’s opinion. Why would they? You were a resident of a different planet entirely, one where the only monsters were social ones, and the only battles fought for a spot on the homecoming court.

Mike and Lucas knew the full story, of course. Having been officially adopted into the Henderson fold years ago—their DNA practically rewritten by shared trauma and a thousand sleepovers—they were the keepers of the file. They treated the knowledge not with gossipy excitement, but with the grim, procedural gravity of a top-secret government dossier. It was a need-to-know truth, and they, as senior operatives in the chaotic landscape that was their adolescence, needed to know.

To them, your familial connection was not a piece of salacious trivia; it was a strategic datum. They understood its importance to the delicate ecosystem of their own lives, a key piece of intelligence that explained certain logistical realities. They saw no tactical advantage in disseminating it to the wider population. In the high school warzone, some intel was best kept compartmentalised.

To Mike and Lucas, it was just another feature on the strange, complicated map of Hawkins—a faded, familial ley line that connected the gleaming, alien territory of the gym to the familiar, sacred ground of the basement game room. They were content, diligent cartographers that they were, to let that particular line remain faint, unmarked, and undrawn for everyone else. It wasn't a secret to be kept, but a boundary to be respected—one of the many silent, unspoken rules that kept their small, fiercely protected world turning.

And at the heart of it all, your bond with Dustin was the one thing that felt unshakably, undeniably real. In a world of performative friendships and shifting alliances, it was your bedrock. While your cheer squad smiled with gritted teeth through whispered rivalries, and your study partners were temporary allies of convenience, Dustin was your anchor. He was your constant in a universe of variables.

You were the first, slightly hysterical call after a disastrous, stammering attempt to talk to Suzie, listening without judgment to the replay of every fumbled word. You were his designated driver to the arcade, your payment rendered in a palmful of stale Skittles and a running commentary of scientific trivia that you only half-understood but wholly adored because it was his. When the storms of teenage angst or high school hierarchy grew too wild, you were the safe harbour he could always sail into, no questions asked.

The two of you were a sealed system, a closed circuit of unconditional support. In the carefully partitioned worlds you both navigated—you in your kingdom of pom-poms and pep rallies, him in his empire of dice and demodogs—your relationship was the one place where you could both stand down. You didn't have to be the perfect cheerleader or the formidable nerd. You could just be. He was more than a brother; he was home base. And in a game where the rules were always changing, that was everything.

But now, a different kind of storm was brewing on the horizon—one that smelled of worn leather, damp weed, and the electric ozone of cheap thrash metal. It had a physical form: a whirlwind of restless energy contained within a wiry frame, a symphony of silver rings on every finger, and warm, knowing brown eyes that seemed to see past every carefully constructed façade to the raw wiring beneath. It had a voice, too—a low, compelling rasp that could command a room of misfits with a single dramatic flourish or shred a guitar solo that felt like bottled lightning, dangerous and brilliant.

As Eddie "The Freak" Munson sank his claws into your brother's life with the fervor of a prophet finding a new disciple, he didn't just bring a new friend. He brought a whole new religion of chaos, a doctrine of unapologetic rebellion preached from the pulpit of a beaten-up lunchroom table. He was the untamable variable in your brother's once-predictable scientific equations, the glitch in the system. He was a living, breathing monster manual entry that broke all the established rules, and Dustin was studying him with rapt, unwavering fascination.

And with every late-night D&D session that ran past curfew, with every cursed cassette tape of screeching guitars that filtered under Dustin's bedroom door and into the fabric of your quiet home, you felt it. The careful, quiet peace you’d built together—the delicate equilibrium of your separate orbits—began to tremble on its very foundations. 

Eddie had always nursed a grudging, privately entertained soft spot for you from afar, a fact he’d readily—and theatrically—lament after a few beers in the sanctuary of his trailer. "It's a classic tragedy, man!" he'd proclaim, gesturing wildly with a bottle. "The king of the freaks, laid low by the most predictable cliché in the book!" And who could blame him? Who didn't harbor some distant, starlit admiration for you? You were the holy trifecta of high school divinity: smoking hot, disgustingly popular, and—most bafflingly of all—seemingly, genuinely nice.

You didn't sneer at the freaks and losers from your gleaming throne atop the social food chain. You didn't deploy your squad like mean-girl infantry to carve up the school's underbelly for sport. No, you were far more subversive. You just offered a benign, traffic-stopping smile that never quite reached the eyes of the people who didn't matter, and moved on with your charmed life, utterly unbothered. It was a quiet, effortless power that was the complete antithesis of his own loud, performative existence. You weren't playing the game; you were so far above it, you didn't even know there was a game. And that, to Eddie Munson, was the most infuriatingly, intriguingly charming thing he’d ever witnessed.

Lately, however, that dormant soft spot had begun to itch, a persistent, distracting sensation under his skin, like a corrupted track on a well-worn cassette that kept skipping back to the same maddening riff. It was a glitch in his own carefully curated persona. And suddenly, his perception had shifted, his vision attuned to your frequency. He was seeing you everywhere, your golden, sun-bleached presence a stark and polluting contrast to the grim, familiar corners of his world.

There you were, a vision of pristine varsity wool and effortless cool leaning against the scuffed, graffiti-marred lockers outside the science lab. But the real anomaly wasn't your location—it was the fact you were actually listening, head tilted, a real, unguarded laugh bursting from your lips at something Henderson said. The sound was a clean, sharp note that cut through the hallway's dull roar, and it hooked itself directly into his brain.

There you were again, parked in your obnoxiously shiny, parent-approved car right outside Family Video. You were drumming your perfectly manicured fingers on the steering wheel to a beat he couldn't hear—his beat, he irrationally hoped, something fast and violent—while you waited for Dustin to run his nerd errands. You were a splash of vibrant color on his monochrome map of Hawkins, a siren's call from the deck of a ship he was supposed to be torpedoing. And he was utterly, infuriatingly captivated.

Each sighting was a new, confounding data point that refused to fit into any of his pre-existing theories. You weren't just a flat, one-dimensional poster girl on the wall of high school hierarchy; you were a living, breathing person, with a laugh that disarmed him and a taste in music he was suddenly, irrationally dying to identify. The mystery, much to his own horror, was deepening from a casual curiosity into a full-blown fixation. And Eddie Munson, self-proclaimed connoisseur of chaos and the arcane, had never been able to resist a good puzzle, especially one that looked so damn good.

And so, cornering Dustin Henderson became Eddie’s new, and most frustrating, extracurricular activity. He was a man possessed, a hunter on a singular, maddening quest for intel. He transformed into a shadow in the crowded halls, a lurking predator lying in wait by his locker with a too-casual lean. He became an "unexpected" companion who fell into step on the walk to the parking lot after Hellfire, his questions veiled in a cloak of feigned nonchalance that was as subtle as a hammer to glass. "So, the cheerleader," he'd start, clapping a hand on Dustin's shoulder, his voice a studied casual drawl that fooled no one. "She, uh... she always your chauffeur, Henderson, or are you just that lucky?"

Each encounter was a carefully orchestrated ambush disguised as casual conversation, a verbal chess game where all roads, no matter how winding, were ruthlessly designed to lead to a single, burning topic: You. 

He was a grandmaster of subterfuge, laying traps for a prodigy, and the school hallways were their board.

"Hey, Henderson," he'd start, slinging a comradely arm around his shoulders that was just a little too tight to be friendly. The scent of leather, clove cigarettes, and weed descending like a palpable warning cloud. "Saw you getting a personal audience with Her Royal Shininess again. What's the deal? You, uh… hire her for a morale campaign? Gotta say, man, the psychological warfare is top-tier."

Dustin, to his immense credit, was a veritable fortress of evasion, a master of misdirection who had, after all, helped save the world by lying to panicked government agents and his own mother. "Something like that," he'd say with an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug, never breaking stride. He wouldn't just deny—he'd counter-attack, expertly parrying every thrust with a strategically deployed question about the next campaign's monster roster or a technical debate on a new module's rule set. It was like trying to grab smoke with his bare hands.

Each failed interrogation, each expertly deflected question, only cemented a maddening truth in Eddie's mind: Henderson wasn't just being private; he was actively protecting something. He had classified information, and he was following a protocol Eddie wasn't cleared for. And Eddie Munson, connoisseur of secrets and the forbidden, had never encountered a lock he didn't immediately, obsessively need to pick until it gave up all its treasures.

Eddie's attempts grew increasingly desperate, his subtlety evaporating like cheap beer in the July sun. His interrogations became so transparent that even the wide-eyed freshmen, who usually scurried out of his path like frightened beetles, would pause to watch the spectacle. 

"So, Henderson," he'd begin, materialising at his side with a jolt of manic energy that made Dustin visibly brace himself, his shoulders creeping toward his ears. "A theoretical question for the group's head of logistics. Does our resident solar deity ever, I don't know, express any opinions on local counter-culture? Inquire about the band's seminal demo? Maybe... feel a sudden, profound need to probe the tortured, creative vision of the lead guitarist?" He wiggled his ring-clad fingers for emphasis, the picture of artistic anguish.

Dustin, the unflappable stone wall in Eddie's hurricane of neediness, didn't even look up from the complex chemical equation in his textbook. "She asked if you actually passed any of your classes," he replied, his tone flat as a week-old pancake. "I told her it was a coin toss on a good day and that she should probably pray for your immortal soul." The verbal pin landed with sniper-like precision, popping the inflated balloon of Eddie's ego with a sad, quiet fizzle.

The problem, the true, moustache-twirling villain of this entire farce, was the clock. The three-minute passing period was a cruel and unforgiving master, its final bell a death knell to his progress, severing his interrogations with the brutal finality of a guillotine. He was trying to walk a razor-thin line between casually curious and full-blown stalker, and he was failing so miserably he might as well have been face-down on the linoleum, tasting the wax and his own humiliation. Every time he felt he was on the verge of a breakthrough—a single, unguarded word, a hint of a crack in the fortress walls—Dustin would deflect with the preternatural skill of a CIA operative, offering a crumb of meaningless gossip about Steve Harrington's latest hair crisis before slipping into a classroom and vanishing. The slamming door was a brutal, full-stop punctuation mark on his failure, leaving Eddie standing alone in the suddenly silent hallway, more bewildered and hopelessly intrigued than before, the ghost of your name dying on his lips.

The mystery of you and Dustin Henderson was no longer a casual side-quest. It was escalating, mutating in the petri dish of his mind into the greatest, most compelling unsolved campaign of his life. The whiteboard in his trailer was now a chaotic web of questions and theories, connected by red string and pure, unadulterated fixation. He was done playing by the rules of polite inquiry. Eddie Munson was fully prepared to burn the whole damn rulebook, shred the map, and roll a natural twenty on a shot in the dark if it meant finally uncovering the truth.

The roar of the Friday night crowd is a distant, ghostly echo, a world away from his sanctuary—a rickety picnic table shrouded in the woods behind the football field. This is his kingdom of shadows and silence, the one place where Eddie "The Freak" Munson could let his guard down.

Right now, his guard is in tatters.

He is supposed to be plotting his next campaign, a strategic masterstroke to finally, finally talk to you. But his mental playbook, once filled with clever subterfuge and silver-tongued gambits, is now just a collection of pathetic, crumpled failures. Just ask her about Dustin, the logical part of his brain pleads. It’s the perfect in! But the rest of him, the part that turns to a puddle of incoherent mush whenever he sees you, rebels. What if he sounds like a stalker? What if his voice cracks? What if he, in a moment of peak Munson misfortune, spontaneously combusts at your feet?

He’s so deep in this cycle of self-flagellation that he doesn't hear a thing—not a footfall, not a snapped twig, not a single rustle of leaves. Which is why the voice, smooth and clear as polished glass, slices through the quiet from directly behind him and nearly sends his soul launching into orbit.

"I heard you've been asking about me."

Eddie jolts so hard the table shudders in sympathy. His heart isn't just pounding; it’s performing a frantic, double-kick-drum solo against his ribs, a frantic rhythm for the panic coursing through him. He spins around, his rings scraping against the weathered wood.

And there you are.

It was as if you’ve materialised from the shadows themselves, a phantom made flesh, bathed in the dappled moonlight filtering through the canopy. His mind, usually a whirlwind of witty retorts and theatrical flair, goes utterly, completely blank. All that remained is a single, screaming thought: Abort mission. System failure. Total, catastrophic, and humiliating system failure.

A soft, melodic laugh escapes you as he fumbles, his limbs turning to tangled marionette strings. He practically falls off the bench in a clatter of silver rings and frayed denim, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Before he can even attempt to reclaim a shred of dignity, you’re moving.

Completely uninvited, you smoothly take a seat on the bench opposite him, folding your hands primly on the weather-beaten wood as if you were holding court in a king’s hall, not some shady clearing. The move is so audaciously calm, so utterly self-possessed, that it leaves him mentally reeling, grasping for a handhold in a world that has suddenly tilted off its axis.

His brain, desperate for any port in this storm of your presence, latches onto the first ridiculous lie it can find. “Who, me? Asking about—? Pfft. No, I was just… conducting a sociological survey on the migratory patterns of the common jock,” he deflects, the words tumbling out in a rushed, defensive jumble. A sociological survey? He sounds like a complete dork. A poser. A fool.

The panic is a neon sign plastered all over his face, he’s sure of it. And the way your smile widens, just a fraction at the corners of your mouth, tells him it only amuses you more. It’s not a mocking smile, but something far more dangerous: a genuinely entertained one.

His gaze follows yours as you nod your head towards his contraband scattered across the graffiti-scarred table—the worn leather pouch, the rolling papers, the bag of mid-grade schlock. And a sudden, piercing regret lances through him, so sharp and specific it’s almost comical. He wishes, more than anything, that he’d brought the good weed. The sacred, top-shelf stash he reserved for solo nights contemplating the cosmos and his own magnificent failures. Not this dry, pedestrian schlock he palmed off to desperate freshmen for gas money. The thought is utterly, pathetically vain, but it’s there: he wants to impress you, even with his weed, and he has already, catastrophically, failed.

“How much?” you ask, your voice slicing clean through his internal lament.

His mouth moves on pure, unadulterated instinct, completely bypassing the shred of his brain that runs a business. “For you? First one’s on the house,” he says, his voice cracking on the word ‘house,’ pitching a humiliating notch too high. He fumbles through his leather pouch, fingers finally closing around what he deems a relatively respectable joint. The moment his fingers brush against yours as he hands it over, a jolt shoots up his arm—static-sharp and disconcertingly warm. The thought flashes, unbidden and terrifyingly sincere: He’d hand you his whole damn stash for free. His van keys. The master copy of Corroded Coffin’s demo tape. Possibly his still-beating heart, if you kept looking at him with that unreadable, captivating glint in your eyes.

Then, you shift the entire universe.

Without a word, you produce a sleek, silver lighter from your skirt pocket. It’s a mundane object, but seeing it on your person, knowing you carry this small tool of controlled arson, feels impossibly intimate. He watches, utterly mesmerised, as you bring the neatly rolled joint to your lips. The act is practised, effortless, and it steals the air from his lungs.

You take a slow, deep inhale. The tip glows a fierce, brilliant orange in the dimming light, and for a surreal second, he feels like he’s witnessing a sacred ritual. You hold it for a beat, your eyes fluttering slightly, before you tilt your head back and blow a smooth, grey plume into the dappled forest air. It’s not a cough or a sputter, but a perfect, controlled stream that dances with the motes of dust in the sunbeams.

A soft, content sigh leaves you, and it’s the most relaxed, unguarded sound he’s ever heard you make. It’s a sound that wraps around him, and he knows, with a sudden, terrifying clarity, that he is in deep, deep trouble.

“You’re staring again, Munson.”

Your voice is a low hum, laced with amusement. Your eyes flutter open to catch him in the act, and they’re clearer now, more focused, piercing through the hazy air and seeing right through the fragile fortress of his cool. He quickly looks away, feigning a sudden, intense interest in the gnarled bark of a nearby oak tree as if it holds the secrets of the universe. His cheeks burn with a tell-tale heat he’s desperately grateful you can’t feel.

“Just didn’t know you smoked,” he counters, the words a weak, transparent defence against the gentle accusation in your tone. He knows it’s a pathetic excuse, knows it’s about so much more than tobacco or weed. It’s about the fact that he’s been quietly building a shrine to you in the dusty, hidden corners of his mind, and you just walked in and casually rearranged all the furniture, leaving him disoriented and in awe.

A slow, knowing smile plays on your lips, a silent testament to the fact that you see right through him, and you don't seem to mind. “There’s plenty you don’t know about me yet.”

Yet.

The word doesn't just hang in the air; it detonates. A single, three-letter promise that throws a gallon of gasoline directly onto the already raging fire of his curiosity. It’s an invitation that makes his pulse stutter. A challenge that his entire being itches to accept. A future tense that sends his mind spiralling into a dozen different, thrilling possibilities—shared mixtapes, late-night drives in his van, the secret sound of your laugh when it's meant just for him. It’s the most terrifying and beautiful word he’s ever heard.

Panicking under the weight of that single, terrifyingly beautiful promise, he’s rambling again before his brain can even think to engage the clutch. “I’ve, uh—I’ve got some better stuff. Back at the trailer. The good shit, you know? The kind that… unlocks the secrets of the universe. Or, you know, just makes Deep Purple sound even more fucking epic.” He’s babbling, digging the hole deeper with every word. “If you’d ever be… interested.”

The invitation hangs in the air between you, as clumsy and transparent as a sheet of Saran Wrap. He might as well have just handed you a poorly photocopied flyer that read, in Comic Sans, ‘Please Come To My Sad Trailer So I Can Stare At You More Efficiently.’

You cock a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow at him, a silent masterpiece of judgment and amusement. The gesture is a physical thing, driving the sheer, unadulterated stupidity of his words like a hot spike directly into his already fragile ego. He can feel it—a full-body cringe that starts at the soles of his boots and vibrates up to the tips of his hair. He can practically feel his soul trying to vacate his body, peeling itself away from this mortifying reality out of pure, unbridled shame, desperately seeking refuge in the Upside Down where the social stakes are, frankly, less terrifying.

You actually seem to contemplate the offer, your gaze drifting past him into the shadow-dappled woods as if mentally consulting some invisible, infinitely more interesting social calendar. The pause stretches, a taut, excruciating silence filled only by the frantic thrum of his own pulse in his ears. It lasts just long enough for him to fully register the monumental, soul-crushing magnitude of his own idiocy. He’s already scripting his retreat, the mumbled apology, the vow to never speak again.

Then, your answer nearly knocks him clean off his seat and into next week.

“Sure. Why not.”

It’s so casual, so utterly, devastatingly nonchalant, that his brain simply short-circuits. The words don’t compute. They’re a syntax error in the carefully constructed code of his social anxiety. He swears you’re giving him psychological whiplash; he can’t keep up with the violent, nauseating shifts between his own spiraling panic and your preternatural calm. It’s like being caught in a hurricane that has the manners to sip a cup of tea at its very centre.

“Wait… really?” The words escape him in a stunned, breathy rush, all his usual theatrical bravado stripped away, leaving only the raw, disbelieving shock of a man who just hit the jackpot he never dared to buy a ticket for.

A ghost of a smirk, there and gone in a heartbeat, touches your lips. “Don’t have any plans tonight,” you shrug, the picture of nonchalance, as if agreeing to hang out in his shabby trailer was the most mundane decision in the world, like choosing what to watch on TV. But your eyes tell a different story—they glint with a sharp, knowing challenge. “Unless you don’t actually want me to come over?”

The banter feels familiar, a verbal volley he recognizes from a hundred lunchroom skirmishes and hallway arguments. It’s a rhythm he knows how to dance to. And yet, he’s completely disarmed. He’s a swordsman who has not only forgotten his blade but has forgotten which end is the hilt. All his usual sarcastic comebacks, the clever retorts that usually stream so effortlessly to form a protective, witty moat around the fortress of his insecurities, have deserted him, leaving the gates wide open and him utterly exposed on your shores.

You stand up, brushing a stray leaf from your skirt with a grace that feels utterly alien in this muddy, Munson-domain clearing. It’s a gesture that belongs in a catalog or a ballet, not here amongst the discarded beer cans and gnarled roots. You look at him expectantly, a single, perfect eyebrow arched in a silent question that feels louder than any Corroded Coffin solo.

“Well? You gonna give me a ride, or what?”

The question, so direct and laced with a challenge he desperately wants to prove himself worthy of, finally jump-starts his frozen motor functions. “Right. Yeah. The van. It’s, uh… this way,” he manages, his voice still rough with shock.

[couldyouimagine-that]

Bestest Demon Sharky

Genre; Fluff

Word Count; 2.3k

Warnings; Brief mention of murder.

Pairings; Vox (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

A meeting with Vox gives you the chance to meet the much more famous Shok.wav (don't tell Vox that!), and leaves you wondering how exactly you secured your promotion.

A significant chunk of this is just the reader baby talking the giant demon shark. I would absolutely do this. Also I hope you like my Shok.wav headcanons here :) Enjoy!

Part 2 by popular demand!

Masterlist

-

Getting called to Vox’s office was probably not a good thing. There were several different reasons you could think of – your work was thought to be lacking, someone had set the rumour mill spinning about you, one of the Vees wanted something to shoot – and none of them were ideal. But worse still was the pit of dread in your stomach when you knocked the door and no one answered.

What should you do? Option 1: stand outside in the hallway like an idiot. This would eventually make you late for your meeting and if Vox was inside, and simply hadn’t heard you, there would be no excuse good enough to save you. Option 2: knock again. Helpful if Vox didn’t know you were there, but extremely problematic if he was in a different meeting and you had just interrupted it. Twice. Option 3: open the door just slightly and peek inside to see if he was there. Utterly disastrous if he was, because he would probably have seen you outside on a camera and would have had a reason for not telling you to come in. Or he hadn’t heard you knock, didn’t know you were there, and could electrocute you on the spot. None of these appealed to you in the slightest.

You chose door one for the first five minutes – leaving you two minutes late for your meeting when nothing changed. Then you tried option two, with as little success as the first time. Heart in your throat, you resorted to option three once you were exactly five minutes late. The door moved silently on its hinges as you strained to hear any sound of anything in the room beyond. You wished suddenly that you had been cursed with your eyes stuck to the ends of antennae once you arrived in Hell, so you wouldn’t have had to press your entire face into the gap between the frame and the door. You peered inside, holding your breath, and –

The office was empty. No Vox, no anyone. You almost felt light-headed with relief.

Now at least, you could go back to standing in the hallway in peace. But just as you were carefully pulling the door closed, a flash of movement caught your eye. Curiosity overtook reason and you looked more carefully to work out what it was. This time, without the terror of walking in on a meeting, you were able to see the huge tank which backed Vox’s desk. The water was dark, presumably from how far back it stretched, and fronds of aquatic plants waved into view every so often.

You couldn’t help your gasp of awe when the tank’s main attraction cruised into view. It was the biggest demon shark you had ever seen, bright blue lights running in patterns down its sides and a huge red lens staring straight at you. It was beautiful. But two minutes ago would have been a good time to close the door.

You did that next, a little late, just as the hallway lit up around you with electricity. The strands snapped into the shape of a ‘V’ and were replaced by Vox himself, who seemed to have just walked out of a surveillance camera.

“Oh my god I’m sorry,” you rushed out, your hands flying away from the door as if you had been burned. “I was just checking to see if you were in.”

“I see,” Vox murmured, staring you down until your back started to prick with an uncomfortable heat. Was this the first time you had ever actually spoken to him? “I suppose I can accept that, after all I was called away just before our meeting was scheduled to begin.”

That was the second huge wave of relief to hit you in only a few minutes. You thanked him, probably a little too profusely but you didn’t want to get on his bad side, and stroking his ego a little bit couldn’t hurt, right?

Vox opened the door for you to enter ahead of him with an arm outstretched above your head. The placement was no doubt intentional, to make you feel small. It worked.

You took a few steps inside, only to turn around and find Vox hadn’t followed.

“I’ll just be a moment, I have something else that needs attending to. Take a seat.”

With that, he was gone. The room you were in was far larger than any other office you had seen before. Standing on your own in the centre of it, you had the unsettling realisation that you could feel the space around you, and you were very much not a part of it. You wondered if being left alone here was a test of some kind, though who would try anything with the number of cameras most likely hidden (and not) around the place, you didn’t know.

You looked around briefly. There was a much smaller counterpart to Vox’s comfortable, wingback chair on your side of his desk, but far more interesting was the tank behind it. The shark was back, very clearly watching you. You took a final glance at the seat you were supposed to be taking before deciding that it probably wouldn’t be a cardinal sin to go and watch the shark instead. You hoped that wasn’t wishful thinking.

The shark grew more interested in you as you approached, swimming carefully until its face was almost pressed against the glass. The movement was entrancing to watch. You never would have guessed an animal that big could have been so graceful. Slowly, the shark lowered its head down to roughly your height, then started shifting its tail back and forth in the water without actually going anywhere. You smiled, tilting your head as you tried to understand. The energy felt playful, like a dog wagging its tail after giving you a ball to play with.

“Hi,” you said softly, smile broadening as the shark’s tail sped up. It was absurd, thinking a shark was acting like a dog. And yet, that really was what it seemed like. “How are you doing?”

The shark came closer again to the glass. It was like it could understand what you were saying. It turned side on to you, giving you a fantastic view of the lights along its skin.

“Woah,” you breathed, and the next thing you knew, your hands were resting on the glass as you tried to get a closer look.

The lights pulsed gently, more bioluminescent than robotic, and so very alive. You gave a small sigh of disappointment when the shark started to swim further back in the tank, but then positively lit up yourself when it circled back around.

“You coming back?”

The shark did exactly that, brushing close to where you stood.

“Oh, you are. Well hello again. Aren’t you just so pretty?”

It seemed to glow under the praise. A sharp movement of its tail sent it rising up in the water, its back curving to perform an impressive vertical circle. You laughed as you got a repeat performance of the show, the shark loving your attention.

“Are you doing spinning? You’re so clever!” You enthused.

The shark disappeared off for a moment, returning with a length of mooring line providing a home for a whole host of different seaweeds. It dropped the prize at the front of the tank where you were standing, nudging it up to the glass with the tip of its nose. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so happy.

“Is that for me? Well thank you so much, I love it! You’re just gorgeous, look at you.”

How it could hear what you were saying, you weren’t sure. But the shark seemed thrilled by the silly voice you were putting on. It nudged at the rope again, insistent, so you crouched down in front of it and laid your hand as close to it as you could on the glass.

“Yes I know, you got it for me. That's because you’re just so clever, isn’t it? Yes it is!”

You got treated to another happy spin, making you laugh once again.

“Aww, look at you. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Shok.wav.”

Your undead heart almost ripped out of your chest in terror at the baritone voice behind you.

You leapt to your feet with a heavy gasp, almost colliding directly with Vox. It would have taken far more effort than you had time for to steady your breathing, especially under his scrutinizing, narrow-eyed gaze. He raised a brow but said nothing, looming over you with your back almost touching the glass. Leaving you to flounder.

“I am so sorry,” you tried to explain frantically. “I just – you weren’t here and I was going to sit down, but then I saw the tank, and she’s-”

“He.”

“He’s just absolutely gorgeous and he was doing all these little spins and he brought me a piece of rope and everything… I’m sorry.”

Vox’s brow quirked, but he stared you down and let you suffer in silence for a little while longer before answering you.

“He brought you rope?”

You swallowed audibly. Was that really your CEO’s biggest concern?

“Uh, yeah. Right down here.”

You stepped aside as much as Vox’s proximity would allow you to and pointed. Shok.wav had now abandoned his treasure in favour of dancing around in excitement about Vox’s return, though Vox only briefly glanced up to acknowledge it.

“Huh,” he said, half to himself. “That shouldn’t be in there.”

You stayed quiet until Vox turned back towards you, offering him a small smile. His expression was impossible to decipher.

“And he was, what did you say? ‘Doing spins’?”

Embarrassment prickled up the back of your neck at the mocking tone with which Vox parroted your words, and you laughed in an attempt to cover it up.

“Um. He was, yes.” You turned back towards the tank. “Don’t suppose you wanna help me out and do another one, buddy?” You asked, decidedly nervous about talking to your boss’s shark in his presence, not least of all in case he decided you were insane.

But damn you twice, Shok.wav did exactly what you asked. Vox’s screen rotated to watch the movement, and you jumped up on your toes in excitement.

“Yes! That’s right sweetheart, you’re very clever!”

This time, when Vox slowly leaned forwards to fix you with an appraising stare, heat bloomed across your cheeks and ears. You stuttered, fumbling and failing to come up with something to somehow cover yourself.

“I – uh, I mean-”

“You know I feed him employees who get on my nerves.”

His voice was so smooth, so low. Every syllable carefully curved and this was so not the right time –

Your eyes widened almost comically.

“I-”

Vox let out a full, loud bark of laughter, drawing you inescapably into his side with an arm held securely around your shoulders. The movement said ‘old friends sharing a joke at the bar’, not ‘I can’t decide if my boss is about to have his shark eat me alive’.

“I didn’t mean you. Oh, you should’ve seen your face.”

Your laugh was definitely more strategic, somewhere along the lines of ‘maybe I’ll survive this meeting if I can make him like me’.

“Anyway, what would you have to worry about?” Vox continued, tone rich and easily falling back into the showmanship he was so well known for as he led you away from the shark tank and back towards his desk. “I called you here because you were the bright spark who suggested we hold off launching the latest tablet until Wednesday evening, and we estimate we got an additional two hundred customers in the first twenty-four hours as a result. I want to offer you a promotion, not turn you into a canapé.”

You blinked at Vox’s winning grin for just a second too long.

“…Me? A promotion?”

“Of course!” He deposited you neatly into your chair then took a seat on his own, his elbows resting on the table and the picture of confidence. “We reward hard work here at Voxtek, you know that. Now, all I need you to do is sign here…”

You took the promotion. For the pay increase alone, you would have been foolish not to. But the reason for receiving it bothered you the entire time. Vox had every data analytics framework going wired directly through his head. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how to interpret market trends or what time a product release would drive the most traffic. Putting a new tablet out on the market first thing on a Monday morning when all of Hell was heading to work was a glaringly obvious mistake, and when it came to business, that word simply wasn’t in Vox’s vocabulary.

Still, it would have to be a concern for later. You accepted Vox’s firm handshake and tried not too preen too much under his praise of your work.

He called your name, just as you were about to leave and head out to find your new office.

“Shok.wav likes you,” he murmured, eyes glowing like he was conveying something far more confidential than his pet’s preferences in people. “Don’t prove him wrong.”

You strove valiantly to give Vox a confident smile and nod, as if you had any idea what he meant. As soon as you got out into the hallway, your mind began to spin.

How you acted towards the shark hadn’t seriously made any difference towards your promotion.

Had it?

[activesplooger]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ | ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: (MDNI) hii!!!! hope u like :] I WORKED LIKE A DOGGG DAY AND NIGHT ON THIS!!! ahhh :) Reader is a succubus btw. also Amelie is pronounced

Ah-Mel-Eee for anyone wondering.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You're an employee at VoxTech who's struggling to make ends meet to support yourself, as well as your daughter Amelie. One day, your sitter cancels and your left with no option other than to bring Amelie to work with you. She escapes your cubicle and blabbers to Vox about your financial troubles, giving Vox the opportunity to propose a deal— a deal in which your financial worries would be cast aside for certain services.

ᴄᴡ: NSFW!, money in exchange for sex, idk vox being a pathetic dick

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6,131

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 4 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 5 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 6

__

"Shit!" you exclaim as you throw your phone onto the couch. The babysitter you had relied on each day to watch your 4-year-old daughter had canceled at the last minute. Something about "too much work for too little pay". Since when were hell-born teens so picky about their source of income?

Your daughter, Amelie, giggles as you cuss. She runs circles around the living room, repeating the cuss word emphatically, "Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit-". "No, Amelie," you drag a hand down your tense expression, "don't say that.". Amelie continues her relentless cussing, pacing circles around you as she laughs and yells. Gently catching her from her unabated loop of running around you, you lift her up and settle her onto your hip.

Amelie smiles as you hold her, her small, energetic form squirming in your arms. A weak hum escapes your lips. Despite the exhaustion and stress you felt, your daughter never failed to bring a smile to your face, "How would you like to come to work with me, love?". Amelie nods and claps her hands excitedly, "Yay!".

__

A knot forms in your stomach on the way to work, growing tighter and tighter with each passing moment. Not only was bringing your kid to work considered unprofessional, but possibly fireable where you work. Vox, your boss, wasn't exactly known for being understanding.

You heard horror stories from your co-workers about the ruthless tyrant CEO of Voxtech; people being fired for taking too many bathroom breaks, innocent employees being yelled at just so Vox could get out his anger- The things you heard come forth from your memory and play on loop in your brain. Meanwhile, Amelie's kicking around in the car seat, asking why your "face is sad". "Nothing, sweetheart, keep playing with your toys," you say, pulling into your designated parking spot.

Once you're out of the car, you unbuckle Amelie from her carseat and hold her tightly against her side. As you make your way to your bosses office, you grow nauseous at your impending meeting. Surely Vox wouldn't scold you in front of your own child? Right?

Maybe you should leave Amelie at your desk- Just as you think to do so, it's too late and your already using your back to push open the door's to Vox's office. You set Amelie down once the two of you reach the large walkway surrounded by techy sharks below.

Amelie's little hands clutch at your legs upon seeing the large beasts beside her feet. "Don't worry, honey, they won't hurt you," you reassure her with a soft pat to her head. With Amelie glued to your side, the two of you approach the circular platform where your flat screened boss sat.

"M-Mr. Vox?" you squeak hesitantly, eliciting Vox to spin around his chair to you. "Yes?" he groans under his breath, his eyes narrowing in on the little version of you hiding behind your legs. Amelie giggles as their eyes meet, her once shy and fearful demeanor fading away. Her eyes widen and she springs out from behind you, pointing directly at Vox, "MOMMY LOOK THAT GUY HAS A TV HEAD!!!!".

You internally screamed, you were fucked. "No no no, Amelie! It's not nice to point!" you scoop her up into her arms as you chide her. Vox clears his throat, interrupting your reproach, "Did you just come in here so your child could insult me?".

You turn your attention back to him, "No, sir, I uhm, just wanted to apologize. My baby sitter cancelled on me this morning a-and I couldn't find anyone to watch her and this is incredibly unprofessional I know but she'll stay in my cubicle and not make a peep I swear-!". Your words come out in a frenzied jumbled mess, the pace at which you say your words was frantic and almost unintelligible.

Vox holds up a hand, signaling to pause your nonsensical apology. "Pause. Speak slowly, explain why it," he gestures to Amelie with a disgusted expression, "is here.". You furrow your eyebrows at his repulsed state, moving in front of Amelie to hide her behind you, "My daughter is here because my sitter cancelled. I'm really sorry Mr. Vox... I-I promise she won't be a bother. This wont happen again.".

Swiveling his chair back to face his monitors, he sighs, "It better not. Go.". "Thank you sir!" you swiftly grab Amelie and take her to your desk. __

"Alright, Amelie," you set up a play mat on the floor of your cubicle and sit her on it, "stay here and play with your toys, okay? Do not go anywhere, Mommy will be busy for awhile until my lunch break.". Amelie nods and busies herself with the array of dolls around her.

In the next hour or so, you become fixated on your work, momentarily forgetting about the tot playing on the floor beside your feet. Amelie grew bored. So bored in fact that she decided she wanted to explore! Normally, she would've bugged you. But, she sensed your stress,so naturally she took matters into her own hands.

Amelie dawdles off around the office, peeking at each of the overworked employees clacking away on their computers. She roams around the office until eventually, she finds herself back in front of Vox's office. Pushing her little body against the heavy door, she wriggles into the office and quickly speed-walks across the walkway.

Vox is laser focused on the plethora of monitors before him, not noticing the pitter patter of small feet across his office. Once Amelie reaches Vox’s desk, her eyes are immediately drawn to the various bright screens, a bit disappointed to find that it’s just some boring words that she can’t read yet. She tries to reach a monitor and play on it, but she’s too short. Frustrated, she tugs on Vox’s pant leg.

“What the-“ Vox snaps out of his work trance and notices the little girl beside him, “what are you doing here? Didn’t your mom tell you to stay with them?”. Amelie shrugs, “got bored. do you have games on your phone??”. Vox’s eyes narrow, his tone cold and flat, “No.”.

“what abouttt cartoons!” Amelie lights up at the prospect only for Vox to shut her down, “No.”. “but u have so many-“. “No,” he interrupts.

“What about games on ur computer?”

“No.”

“What about-“

Vox snaps at her, spinning his chair to fully face her. He leans down and points a sharp cyan claw at her, “Listen kid! I’ve got shit to do okay? So go back to your mom and be quiet!”. its quiet for a split second, eliciting a soft smile from Vox until-

sniffle

sniffle

Vox’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s about to happen, “No no don’t-“. Amelie bursts into tears, her loud sobs filling the large room, “Y-you yelled at meeeeee!”. “Kid don’t do that,” he tries to calm her, feeling out of place when it comes to “caring” for children, “c’mon don’t cry! Fucking- I’ll let you watch cartoons if you stop making that awful noise!”.

Right as he says that, her tears stop and she looks up at Vox with big hopeful eyes, “Really? Yay!”. An exhausted sigh escapes his lips while picking up Amelie and setting her on the arm of his chair, “Yes, no more of that crying shit.”. “Okay no more crying shit!!!” she says gleefully as he turns on some VoxTech brand cartoon. You are so getting fired after this.

He tries to go back to work, but is easily distracted by Amelie’s giggling every few seconds. At least she isn’t crying and bugging him anymore. As always, Amelie got bored after watching the same bland cash grab cartoons on repeat. She huffs to signal she's bored, her nose scrunching frustratedly as Vox ignores her.

She shifts closer to Vox, her little head peering over at the monitors he's working on, "What you doing?". "Working," he responds flatly, continuing to clack away at his keyboard, "Didn't I say no talking once your cartoons were on?". Amelie giggles and shakes her head, "No! You said no crying!".

An agitated groan escapes Vox's lips, his hand comes up from his keyboard to rub his temples, "Oh my God-". "So you're mommy's boss?" Amelie asks, swinging her feet happily. "Yes, I'm your mothers boss." Vox responses are absent minded, not caring what the answers are, "Don't you have school or something? Why are you here?". Shaking her head, her smile contorts into a flat line, her expression almost a bit saddened, "No, I've never been to school.". The clacking of the keyboard stops, his fingers pausing as Amelie reveals her lack of schooling, "You're not in school? What the hell is your mother even doing?".

"Well," Amelie begins, "Mommy said that some people can go to school and some people can't, and we can't. But its okay I get to spend more time playing!". Vox's mouth is agape, his face seemingly saying 'are you serious?', "So, you don't get any form of education?". She shakes her head once more, "No, mommy teaches me on her days off, but she doesn't have many...".

"We don't have enough money to go anyways, it's okay," Amelie looks off into the distance for a minute. Ouch, Vox's once judgmental look turns into one of guilt. So you weren't a shitty mom, you just had a shitty job. Yikes. "Your mother told you this?". "No, I heard her talking to her friend on the phone when she thought I was asleep.".

A soft chuckle escaped Vox's lips, "You're kind of a sneaky little bastard.". Amelie giggles and swings her feet off the arm rest, "Ya! Sneaky bastard!". "Don't repeat that," Vox chides, "what else does your mother say...?". "She says, uhmmm," Amelie swings her feet faster as she thinks, "that she's stressseddd for the bills— and she calls daddy a fuck wad!". "Your mother has quite the colorful vocabulary," he says, his eyebrows furrowed as he contemplates the information told to him, "tell me more about your dad, the uh-". "Fuckwad!" Amelie finishes his sentence gleefully. "Sure, that. How come he doesn't help out?" he pries, slumping in his chair slightly to meet her eye to eye.

A lazy shrug bounces Amelie's shoulders, a pout forming while her eyes are fixed on the ground, "Dunno, I never saw him.". That struck a chord with Vox. Growing up on Earth, Vox's parental situation was less then ideal. Despite his expensive taste and abundance of wealth, Vox didn't have much growing up.

He lived in an out of motels up until he was 18 with little to no supervision, although he was better off unsupervised. His mother was out of the picture, and his father was extremely physically and verbally abusive toward Vox. He often came home drunk and unannounced, searching the house for Vox who would hide to avoid his fathers drunken rage. After years of torment, he fled his home at 18 and started a questionable life for himself.

As the memories of his troubled childhood flood his mind, Vox finds himself transported back to his early years on earth... The fear he once felt now coming back to him, the sting after his father strikes him across the cheek still fresh on his skin... He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, his hand gently squeezing Amelies shoulder, "Kid, believe me when I tell you you're not missing out. Fathers are... overrated.". He grimaces as he utters that last word, a colossal understatement to the pain he was forced to endure.

__

A few hours had passed since you had started working, a cramp forming in your back as you sat slumped in your chair for the past 3 hours. Just as you become cognizant of all the aches and stiffness of your bones, the time in the corner of your computer strikes "1:00". Lunch time, finally. You arch your back against the chair as you reach your arms over your head, eliciting your joints to crack and muscles to stretch, "Amelie, let's go get something to eat, darling.". No response. "Amelie?" you turn your head to the side, dolls are laying on the floor motionless on the floor with no Amelie playing with them. You dart out of your seat, your chair falling down from the abrupt movement. "AMELIE?!" your voice bellows through the office, your coworkers heads turning as you make a scene.

You frantically search the area —checking both bathrooms, asking your co workers if they had seen them, and triple checking every nook and cranny she could possibly be. That's when it dawned on you, "Oh no.". You stare at the blue circular VoxTech door, the dread in you manifesting itself as a stomach ache.

__

"I guess, I just wish mommy spent more time at home," Amelie confesses, her eyes fixated on her lap. "And why doesn't she?" Vox asks, his tone much softer than before. "She always here!" Oh.

Vox winced slightly, before defending himself pridefully "Well, your mother offers to stay overtime so-". Her head tilts, "Whats ova-time?". "Right, your a child," Vox mutters, "Overtime is where you work more to get more money.". "Well why donchu just give her more money any way! That would solve everything! I could get new toys and school and and and-".

Amelies words ring through his mind, her rambling fading off in the background as he contemplates her words. He couldn't just give you more money, hell no... but, maybe instead of overtime you could offer him something else...

Vox's thoughts are cut short but the door slamming open. He whips his head around and sees you running down the aisle yelling "Amelie!". "Mommy!" she yells back happily, hopping off the arm rest and running into your arms. Once you reunite, you lift her up in your arms and hold her tightly, "Please don't run away from me like that again... I was worried sick that my beautiful little girl was gone!. "Okay mommy," Amelie muffles into your chest. "Ahem" Vox interrupts the sincere reunion, his cold gaze falling on you. "Right," you set Amelie down, "Honey, go wait by the door okay?". You hoped that was far enough for her not to here the impending yelling and scolding you were about to receive. Amelie nods and makes her way across the pathway quickly, waiting for you by the door. "Sir I am so-". "Stop," he cuts you off sternly, "Your daughter was in here for the past TWO hours harassing me for cartoons...". "I know and I-". "I'm not finished!" he cuts you off again, "And while it was annoying, to say the least, you're not in trouble.". Your body relaxes at his words, thank God. "But," he begins, "I will need you to find a sitter tonight.". "I think I can make that work," you say, assuming he had you working overtime for free— which sucked but hey, at least you're not fired. "Great," he swivels his large chair back to face his desk, "a limo will be waiting to pick you up outside of your house around 7, don't be late.". Your eyebrows furrow, "I-Im sorry late for what?". "For dinner of course!" he spins his chair back to face you. "Wear something nice,” his smile falters and he cocks an eyebrow at you, his expression skeptical and a bit judgmental, “You do have something nice to wear, right?". "Uh- Yeah. I do-" "Great!" he beams, an exaggerated grin plastered across his screen, "see you then!". "I- Okay?" you hesitantly turn away and make your way to Amelie. What the fuck was that? Amelie reaches for your hand and holds it, "Did I get you in trouble?". "No sweetheart," you look down at her and smile softly, "don't worry about it."

__ You spend your lunch break hanging out with your daughter at the VoxDonalds in the lobby, watching her play with her free Velvette standee that came in her Happy Meal and enjoying the time you had with your daughter. Once you returned to work, you made sure to keep an eye on Amelie. You couldn't risk her running away from you again and earning yourself another migraine.

As you go through the motions of your work day, you find it hard to focus with the lingering thoughts of Vox's proposal. Getting picked up by some random person in a limo and going off to wherever the fuck? Jesus, this sounds like some shit you'd hear on Dateline. You suppose you'll cross that strange bridge when you get to it, for now you have to focus on getting a sitter... and figuring out what to wear. Fuck.

You had totally lied about having something nice to wear. The only things you owned were ill-fitting dresses that you wore before your pregnancy, you doubted they would fit over your changed body. Your work pant suit was the nicest thing you owned at the moment. In your defense, its hard to shop when your taking care of a 4 old and besides, the prices these days were outrages.

You had gotten home at 5:30, giving you only an hour and a half to find a sitter and look presentable for where ever you were going. Thankfully, your sister was able to take care of her for the day and picked Amelie up for a "fun night at Auntie Marie's house" at 6:15. You prayed that Marie would listen to your sugar intake warning and not call you all suprised when Amelie’s bouncing off the walls.

Once you got that out of the way, you were forced to confront your apparel issue. You filtered in an out of your closet for 20 minutes, hoping something new would appear and be perfect for the occasion. But each time you walked back in your closet, you were met with disappointment.

You put the issue aside for now and focus on your hair and makeup. Your hair was lightly curled into subtle waves, cascading down your head beautifully. And while you weren’t exactly a makeup guru, you thought you did pretty damn well with the crappy drugstore brands! And hey, you still have- TEN MINUTES LEFT?! YOU’RE FUCKED!

You sprint to your closet and dip your fingers in between each hanger, praying something would work out. Your hand stops at a classic LBD with lace around the bustier, maybe this will work if you put tights underneath?? Grabbing a pair of shear stockings, you jump into them and throw the dress over your head. Your eyes scan over your body. The once fitting dress was much tighter than you remember, your new curves stretch the fabric and the swell of your breast peaks out of the lace clad bustier. You cover your face in your hands and groan, “I look like such a slut…”.

7:00pm

Honk Honk

The sudden noise draws you away from your anxiety. You turn your head to the side and go to your window. As you push the blinds aside, a sleek navy limo with a voxtech logo appears outside your house. “Shit, shit, shit!” you exclaim, running to slip on a pair of black stilettos and grabbing your purse. Phone, keys, wallet, mace- You’re all set!

You b-line it to your front door and walk out. A chauffeur greets you. “Evening, Ms. L/N,” he grabs the car handle and opens it, his arm extended as a gesture for you to come in. “Oh, thank you,” you smile at the chauffeur and get in, careful to hold your dress in the back so you didn’t flash the poor man.

__

The car ride was 10, maybe 15, minutes from your apartment. Wherever you were going was located in the nice side of the entertainment district, which wasn’t too far from your work. Your eyes were glued to the window as you watched all the glitz and glamour of the posh restaurants, watching as sinners dressed in beautiful and elegant clothing were escorted inside by their much younger looking partners.

For you, this was a glimpse of the life you never had, the life you yearned for in your early years. Though you gawk over the sites, you wouldn’t trade what you had right now for the world— it's fun to pretend to have this life just for a night!

The limo pulls over onto the sidewalk a few blocks over at an elegant ocean themed restaurant. Your in awe at the luxurious building before you before heading in. Once you enter, you walk through an arched hallway made entirely of glass. Encased in the glass were a variety of sea creatures that swam along the archway beside you. You reach your hand out to the glass as you walk, a hell-phin swimming alongside your hand happily. A smile crosses your face before quickly fading as the dolphin swims out of site once the glass archway ends.

You walk up to the hostess and smile, "Hi, I'm meeting a uh- friend- here.". The a pretty succubus demon looks up, the black painted corners of their lips curling as they sees you, "Ah, Ms. L/N! Right this way!". They turn on their heels and walk into the booming restaurant. You follow behind them and admire the elegant high-class demons enjoying their time with their lavish clothes and food. As you look around, you spot Vox up ahead in a corner booth, he doesn't see you yet. His gaze is uninterested and cold, fiddling with the cuffs on his suit with his cyan claws.

The hostess reaches the booth and gestures for you to sit, "Enjoy your dinner you two!". You sit across from him, giving the hostess a polite smile as they hand you a menu, "Thank you.". Vox's ever-present showman grin is plastered on as he's met face to face with you, "Glad you could make it!". "You look," he scans you up and down, his smile twitching slight, "greeeaaat!". You cringe. That was probably the worst reaction you could've imagined, "Thaankss....".

He clears his throat, "Anything on the menu interest you?". "Uhhh," you glance back at the menu, the absurd prices catching your eye. The only thing you could even remotely afford was maybe one non-alcoholic drink. "It's on me!" he waves his menu in the air enticingly. "You don't have to do that," you insist, setting the menu aside. He waves his hand dismissively and chuckles, "Oh, but I do! I invited you so I should be the one to pay. Besides, I know what I pay my employees and well its far too expensive for-". Vox stops mid sentence once he notices your unamused expression, your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes were staring daggers at him. He pulls on his shirt collar awkwardly, "Okay, bad joke.". His elbows rest on the table and he leans forward, putting a stop to the "showman" facade, "I suppose I should just get into why I called you here today. You see, Amelie, told me some interesting things earlier-".

"Oh god," you reach your hand up and bring it up to cover the side of your face, "what did she tell you?". Vox chuckles, "Well, she told me about her "fuckwad" absent father— your words according to her, not mine— and how she isn't enrolled in a school because of your financial situation? Is that correct?".

You're going to have to have a talk with Amelie about "sharing personal info" when you get home, "Uh, well, yes-.". "Good, I have a proposal for you," he sighs deeply, "you see, I work a lot as an overlord and I don't get a lot of, how should I put this? Intimacy.". Your eyes widen, he better not be going where you think he's going with this.

He continues, "And I think we could kill two birds with one stone here, if you were to offer intimate services with me in exchange for money then-". "Ex-fucking-scuse me?!" you yell, drawing the attention of other people around you. Your hand reaches into your bag and holds the mace protectively. You collect yourself for a moment as to not cause a scene, "I-I may be in a rough financial position but if you really want to help you could increase my wages instead of soliciting me like I'm some kind of- hooker!!".

"Five thousand," he states flatly.

"Sorry, what?" "Five. thousand," he repeats "you need this more than me. Think of everything you could do with that money. Amelies education would be paid for, you wouldn't have to work as hard, and you'd be able to spend more time with your daughter.”. Shit. He had a point. You bit your lip as you considered the insane proposal. On one hand, you'd have to have sex with your boss. Gross. On the other hand... you could give Amelie the life she deserves, the life you yearned to give her.

"...Nobody can know," you respond, your tone wavering slightly. "Fine by me, doll" he extends a hand, "so, do we have a deal?". Your trembling hand releases the mace and reaches out to shake his, "Deal.". You really hoped you were making the right decision here. You'd do anything for Amelie, and if this was gonna give her everything you hoped you'd be able to give her, then so be it.

"So, when do these "sessions" start," you ask apprehensively. Vox cocks an eyebrow, "How long do you have the sitter for?". "Until tomorrow afternoon-". "Great," he grins, his posture straightening out confidently, "We'll have dinner then head back to my place, you'll be home before the sitter comes.". "Oh yeah I uhm, I guess that works, out," you weren't expecting it all to happen so soon, but alas, you made a commitment. For Amelie. __ You two spend some time together at dinner, ordering fancy drinks and food and making polite conversation. It wasn't a terrible date (if you could even call it that), but you couldn't help but fear for the night ahead. Never in a million years would you have imagined you'd be having sex with Vox. He wasn't terrible looking, but it was just weird! A chill went down your spine at the thought of your eventual hooking up.

Not to mention the fact that you hadn't had sex since you were pregnant with Amelie. That's four years! You were nervous like a virgin... and honestly a bit insecure over your post-pregnancy body.

Vox pays for the outrageously expensive dinner like it was nothing and guides you outside to where a chauffeur is waiting by the limo. You sit down in the limo and he plops himself right beside you, his large hand grabbing your thigh, rubbing his thumb across it gently.

Your breath hitches slightly as your legs instinctively tighten together. "Relax," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "nothing's going to happen in the limo.". His words did relax you a bit, for now, but the intimacy part of the night was still yet to come. __ Once you arrive at the V-Tower, Vox guides you to his penthouse at the top floor of the tower, his hand resting on the small of your back the whole way. You walk in and are met with a beautifully lavish and techy apartment; floor to ceiling windows, sleek furniture, and, of course, a ton of technology. "Beautiful place," you say softly. "Thanks," he grabs your purse and sets it on the kitchen island. He slowly walks toward you again, stalking toward you like a predator to his prey. Grabbing your hips, he pulls you flush against him. Before you can act, he captures your lips in a kiss. His lips were soft, surprisingly. Instead of having a TV glass-like quality like you assumed it would, his lips were fleshy and tender. Feeling Vox's soft lips pressed against your own, you allow yourself to get lost in the moment, savoring the sensation of you bodies intertwined. He deepens the kiss, his tongue darting out to tease yours. As your tongues slide against each other, your stomach starts to flutter, the heat between your thighs building up. His hands greedily grasp at your hips as he kisses you desperately, holding onto you tightly as if you'd leave if he let you go. He pulls you closer against him, his erection strained against his pants and poking your stomach. As if your hips had a mind of their own, you grind against his throbbing cock. You gasp softly against his lips, your muffled surprise coming out as a moan-like noise.

Vox's cock twitches against your stomach, the movement coming from you causing him to momentarily pause his kisses. His hold on you gets tighter, his voice low and possessive, "Enough, I'm not paying you to fucking tease me. Let's go.". Without another word, he strides off to the bedroom, turning back in the doorway to see still you standing in the kitchen, "What are you doing? Let's go.". His voice is commanding and almost fed-up, like you were just supposed to know to follow him like some puppy dog! You take a deep breath and repeat a soothing mantra that's gotten you through a lot, "For Amelie, for Amelie, for Amelie...". It’ll all be worth it to see her smile… With a sigh, you follow him into the bedroom. Once your in, his hands return to its place on your hips. His figure looms over your smaller one as the two of you stare into each others eyes. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but rather thoughtful. He gave you a desperate look that made you realize, he needed this just as much as you did.

With that, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips tenderly against his, earning a pleased hum from Vox. His eyes were furrowed shut as you kissed, his hands snaking up to your face and kiss you deeper.

Vox broke the kiss with a gasp, his forehead falling forward to rest against yours. His eyes were partially closed, his digital pupils blown wide with need as he stared down at you. You could feel the pounding of your heart against your ribcage, feeling the blood rushing through your veins with a fervor you hadn't felt in a long time.

A sharp cyan claw extends out to your dress, tracing the delicate lace materials along your breast. "Alright," he pats your breast, "off.". "R-right," you stutter, a bit lightheaded from the heated moment the two of you shared.

While he busies himself with taking off his intricately layered suit, you work on undressing yourself. You step out of your heels and peel off your sheer black stockings. As you undress, you can't help but let your eyes wander to Vox's undressed form. He was rather lanky, with lean arms and a slim waist you swore your hand could easily wrap around.

Once your dress was off, the two of you were left in only underwear. The air was tense, and a bit awkward. The two of you just stared at each other like teenage virgins. You fought off a cringe. Vox sighs, "Cmon, don't just stand there. I'm paying good money for this.". Oh fuck him.

You roll your eyes so hard they almost come out of your head. "As you wish, sir," you mutter sarcastically, walking towards the bed. "Don't be a brat," his words punctuated with a light static. He comes up from behind you and bends you over the bed, one hand grabbing your thigh while the other tears a hole in your underwear with his claw. "Hey!" you look back at him, "you could've just taken them off!".

"Relax," he drags his fingers teasingly along your the open slit in your underwear, just barely ghosting your wet sensitive flesh, "I'll buy you a new pair, hell, I'll buy you a hundred.". His claw tears the underwear so that it falls to the floor in pieces, he scoffs at the ripped strips of underwear, "Where did you buy this piece of crap? The dollar store?". "Shut up and get on with it!" you bark at him after the embarrassingly true call out.

"Fine," Vox hooks his claws under his boxers and pulls them down, letting them fall at his feet. He kicks off the boxers somewhere and presses his hard cock against your ass. You whimper quietly at the sensation, earning a smug laugh from Vox. "That's it, Doll," he coos, pulling back for a moment before pushing his tip into you. "Shiit-" you groan out, he wasn't hard to take or anything but fuck that felt good.

He inches himself deeper and deeper until he buries himself into the hilt. Yeah, okay, now he’s getting hard to take. His breathing grows heavy, you turn back and see his disheveled state. You could tell with the way his cock twitched inside you that he was already close.

He makes breif eye contact before pulling his hips back and thrusting into you, "Hnnf...". Shit, you weren't sure you would last longer than he did. You threw your head down onto the mattress as he pounds his cock into you. A coil in your stomach starts to tighten, "Fuck, Vox-".

Your words only serve to drive him further, he slams his hips into you at a punishingly fast pace. His claws dig into the flesh of your hips, his thumb brushing over a stretch mark from your pregnancy. "V-Vox wait-" you moan out, afraid you'll embarrass yourself by cumming so soon. "Shhh," he rubs your back softly with one hand, "don't— fuck— don’t worry...".

Grunts and moans fill the room as he continues to ram his jutting cock inside your wet pussy. You start to become desperate for release, your hips plunging backward to meet his thrusts. His cock twitches inside you, he can feel your walls start to flutter around him.

With one final thrust, the coil in your core snaps. A breathy moan and incoherent babbles escape your lips as you surrender to ecstasy. Your pussy pulsates as you cum, gripping his dick tightly. "Fuck!" he exclaims, slamming into you as he rides out his orgasm. Cum spills out of his cock and into your spent cunt.

The two of you breath heavily for a moment. After a few minutes, he pulls his soft cock out of you and sits on the edge of the bed beside you. "So," he breaks the silence, his voice breathless, "You want me to call the limo or-?". Jeez, no aftercare? No wonder he was lonley.

You get up and stretch your back, glancing at the torn underwear on the floor, "I'm not going in a car commando.". He rolls his eyes, "Fine, stay the night.". Pushing himself off the bed, he walks over to the other side and climbs into the covers. He lays on his side and turns off the light beside him. Did this man really just fuck you and then go night night?

With a frustrated sigh, you climb into the bed and turn over facing opposite him. "I'll have your money in the morning," was the last thing Vox said before drifting off to sleep.

__ You wake up to the sun shining brightly through the floor to ceiling windows. Sleepily, you turn over and see the other side of the bed empty. You sit up and look around, "Vox?". Grabbing a blanket, you wrap it around yourself and look around the apartment. You enter the kitchen and see a stack of cash with a note by your purse. The note read: "Had to leave for work. Here's your money. I'll call you when I need you again.

—Vox"

'How lovely,' you thought to yourself. Hands reach out to grab the wad of cash, your fingers flipping though the money tentatively, "Holy shit.".

__

Guilt wracked you all day. What would people think if they found out? Maybe you should've just stuck it out with your day job...

You arrive home and get showered. A few hours later, Amelie comes home! You thank your sister and exchange goodbyes, being very vague with where you had been all night.

Your thoughts continue to consume you until you see the joy in Amelie's eyes as she opens the gifts you grabbed for her on the way home. She squealed with joy and hugged you tightly, almost making you cry. Just as you suspected earlier, Amelie's smile would make it all worth it.

The rest of the day was spent with just the two of you hanging out, something you hadn't been able to do in ages. Just when you put Amelie down for bed, you get a call from an unknown number, "Hello?" __ AAAA NEW SERIESS LESS GOOO. hope ygs like it more parts will come eventually!! :)

TAG LIST:

@6esiree , @voxslays , @ithopi0s , @diffidentphantom

(if i missed u or accidentally added u im so sorry and lmk)

ʟᴍᴋ ɪꜰ ᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ

[writingisart-yes]

Chapter 1 - "You’re Fired, Sweetheart."

I’d been sitting here for ten minutes, waiting for Vox to finish his business call.

He’d summoned me into his office—then immediately ignored me. Typical Vox, but he usually at least spared me a glance.

Shockwave swam uneasy laps in his tank. Meanwhile, my fingers twisted anxiously around my rings. Cinder, my hellcat, would be pacing at home by now, sensitive little shadow-creature. I wished she were here. I could use something warm and alive. Was she alive, or was she as dead as I? I wouldn’t know.

It wasn’t unusual for Vox to call me in randomly. As his personal assistant, I was expected to appear whenever inspiration struck him and translate his ideas into something functional.

But today something was wrong.

I snuck a look at him. The TV demon was still talking animatedly into his phone—perfect smile, smooth cadence, graceful hand motions.

Except the static in the air felt heavier. Denser. Irritated.

If I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I would’ve missed the tells.

His fingers tapped the desk too sharply.

The corners of his smile twitched.

Every screen in the room flickered a fraction darker.

Something was off.

Our gazes met. Red eyes rimmed with blue static. My heart stuttered. I looked away. The tension coiled tighter around my ribs.

Shockwave swam in tight circles, mirroring my nerves. I tried to breathe. Tried not to spiral. Tried not to think: I’m so screwed.

When Vox finally cleared his throat, the sound cracked through the room like lightning.

“Sir?” I straightened automatically.

His smile was too controlled. “Y’know,” he began lightly, “I’ve been thinking.”

My stomach twisted. Vox thinking was dangerous. People got rewarded… or destroyed.

“You call yourself my assistant,” he continued, lounging back. “But you haven’t been very invested lately.”

“I—have I done something wrong?”

“You didn’t,” he snapped—too harsh. He inhaled sharply, like the breath hurt. “You didn’t. You’re good. You’re…” His smile twitched, glitch-lines crawling across it. He reset instantly. “—Great.”

Then he smiled wider.

“You’re fired, sweetheart.”

He said it with a little laugh. Like he was joking. But I knew he wasn’t. If anything, I was the joke. He said it like we were nothing. Like, I didn’t mean anything to him.

The floor dropped out from under me. My chest hollowed. The buzz of the monitors suddenly became deafening.

He looked away—too fast. Like watching me break was unbearable. Or maybe that was just my stupid, desperate imagination.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

I don’t remember standing. I don’t remember walking. One blink and I was outside his office, the door shutting behind me like a final verdict.

I speed-walk over to my office. A glorified closet, honestly. I only dealt with it because the job paid well and Vox was… Vox. My hands shake as I bring out a box. I’m fucking fired.

My hands move on their own. They shred papers and taxes. They sweep everything that’s mine into the box and everything Vox gave me into the trash can. The digital drawing tablet? Trash. The super cool watch? Trash. The signed picture of him that was supposed to be a gag gift? Trash.

The only thing I kept was the jacket he gave me for my birthday—a dark blue VoxTech hoodie with red circuitry lines and my initials embroidered inside the collar. I tell myself I’m keeping it because it’s stylish and expensive. I’m a liar.

Once I’m done making a mess of my closet office, I storm out—my heart races. What was I supposed to do now?

I was… just another cog in Vox’s machine. Replaceable. Disposable. I was tossed aside. I started shaking again. My eyes burned. Stop crying. He’s just a man. You were just an employee. There was no we. There was never a we.

Taking a deep breath. I continue walking. I could go groveling back to Vox, humiliate myself, and hope he let me crawl back in. Or I could try Carmilla’s weapons company… but I’d need a portfolio, references, the whole nightmare. I wish I could just have a break.

I pass by Valentino’s studio on my way out. Angel was… one of the only people here who actually treated me like a person. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I just had to be quick. Cinder would be waiting at home, but who knew how long “home” would still be home.

I try to keep my eyes away from all the naked bodies, but there’s so much skin, I fail. I notice bruises on some of the extras. People are rushing everywhere as Val yells at them. Clothes and props fly everywhere. It smells like perfume and sweat. I hate Valentino so fucking much. He hates me, too.

I wait in the dressing room. Angel usually has a break around this time. I shivered, remembering what happened the last time I was here. Val was an absolute dickhead, and I wish I could do something, anything. But here I was a coward and now jobless.

Alone in the dressing room, I repeated thoughts over and over like a mantra.

“It’s just a job.”

“He doesn’t care.”

“I don’t care.”

Soon Angel pushed the door open with his hip, complaining about something Val had yelled at him about. “—and THEN the bastard threw a whole shoe at my head! A SHOE! Like I’m some kinda—”

He stopped mid-rant when he saw me. His grin spread slowly and genuinely. “Heyyy, you waitin’ for me?” He flopped dramatically onto the vanity chair, and the guy he was talking to awkwardly backed out of the room.

Taking my eyes off Angel’s coworker, I tried to smile. “Yeah. I… I needed to talk to you.”

Angel’s expression changed slightly. Still playful, but alert too. “Aw hell. You look like someone kicked Cinder. Or like Valentino offered you a hug. What happened? Vox yell atcha? Ya look like you seen a demon.”

My throat tightened. “Angel… I got fired.”

Angel froze. “Fired? By Vox??”

You nodded.

Angel’s face twisted — anger, sadness, something softer.

“…you look like somebody ripped out your heart with pliers.” He said it gently, without the usual showmanship.

“I’m fine,” I lied, lip trembling.

He huffed. “Sweetheart, you ain’t.” His lower hand squeezed my shoulder. “Did you cry?”

You swallowed. “No.”

“Did Vox look pissed? Or… y’know…” Angel waved a hand vaguely. “…all weird and twitchy?”

You froze. Nodded. Because yes — he had.

Angel sighed. “So he did that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where he acts all cold, even though he’s feelin’ six emotions at once under the screen saver.” Angel crossed his arms. “Look, you two were close. Closer than he lets people be.”

Your breath stung.

“He didn’t fire you because you suck,” Angel continued. “He fired you because he’s Vox — and Vox ruins things the second he starts to care about ‘em.”

I shrug weakly and try to change the subject. “I just need… need to figure out what to do next. I don’t really have anywhere to go. And I don’t want to beg Vox to take me back.”

Angel scoffed, waving a hand. “First off—don’t you dare grovel to that walking flatscreen. He ain’t worth the polish on your damn toenails.”

I let out a breathy laugh. Angel brightened a little at that.

“Second,” he continued, softer, “ya know Charlie’s hotel’s always open, right? Free room, free food, therapy if ya want it.”

I blinked. That sounded good, but- “I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

Angel gave me the look. The one that said he liked me too much to let me bullshit myself.

“Trust me. You walk in, Charlie’ll throw confetti, Alastor’ll stare like you’re a bug, Vaggie’ll probably welcome you after a security check.”

I snort again. Angel smirked. “See? You’re already smilin’.”

“I just…” You look down. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Then don’t be.” Angel asserted. “I’ll bring you to the hotel with me, get you introduced, and then you can crash there.”

I swallow, overwhelmed. “You… really think it’s okay?”

Angel shrugged, grinning widely. “Charlie loves takin’ in strays. She’ll be thrilled.”

“Now let’s go before Val has me working overtime.”

“Oh my gosh! A new hotel resident!”

Charlie actually throws confetti. Literal confetti. Angel wasn’t kidding.

I blink as glittery paper rains down on me. I manage a small smile—her excitement is… weirdly refreshing after the day I’ve had. It’s hard not to absorb even a little of that sunshine.

She stepped in for a hug, and Cinder—who had crawled up into my arms on the walk over—yowled and bolted into the shadows, offended by the sudden affection.

Great. Now both my cat and I were panicking.

I stiffened. Too close. Too soon. Too much. I gently peeled Charlie’s arms off me just as a hand landed on my shoulder. Static crawled across my spine.

Alastor.

“Well, well,” he purred, “what a surprise.” Vox said plenty about Alastor—none of it reassuring.

I give him a grimace of a smile. “Ah—sorry, but can you remove your hand? I’m just… not big on touch.”

His hand falls, but his eyes watch me. Only then do I realize I’m wearing the VoxTech hoodie. First impression, and I’m literally wrapped in the branding of Alastor’s greatest rival.

His grin sharpened. “Oh dear, Vox let his little favorite slip away? How careless. How unlike him.” His neck bent as he spoke, static crackling with each movement.

“I wasn’t—” I stopped, heat rising. “I wasn’t his favorite.”

“Sure you weren’t,” He said condescendingly. “Wearing his colors still? Either loyalty… or heartbreak. I wonder which.”

It felt like a punch.

Angel steps in front of me like a sparkly pink shield. “Alright, strawberry pimp, back it up.”

I adore him a little for that.

“She literally walked in the door five seconds ago. Don’t go scarin’ her already.”

Alastor’s smile thins—still polite, but no longer pleasant. A predator denied an early taste.

“No offense meant. I’m simply curious.”

Charlie jumps in, hands fluttering. “Angel’s right! We want her to feel welcome, not overwhelmed. Sorry! I get excited.” She looks at me, worry softening her demeanor. “Are you okay? We’re not too much, are we?”

I exhale, shoulders finally loosening a fraction. “I just… had a long day.”

Understatement of the century.

“Why don’t I show you your room?” Charlie chirps.

For the first time since Vox fired me, something in my chest eases.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’d… like that.”

Angel hooks an arm around my shoulder—light, cautious, waiting to see if I’ll flinch.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.”

[mcqueenster]

Strung out on you | Part 1 | E. Munson

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

My Masterlist

Pairing Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word Count 1.8k

Description You're the queen bee of Hawkins High, untouchable and perfect—everything Eddie Munson can’t stand. But when you start stealing glances at him and a mysterious note lands in his locker, Eddie’s world turns upside down. Turns out, the princess of Hawkins wants to make a deal with the town freak, and Eddie’s not sure if it’s a prank, a dream, or something else entirely.

Warnings Slow burn, mild language, social dynamics, mentions of bullying (not by reader), Eddie being a suspicious gremlin, reader being a flustered mess

A/N I'm obsessed with the Eddie x popular reader trope!! The tension, the banter, the slow-burn vibes—living for it. Already working on part 2. Thanks for reading🎸

You were the kind of girl who turned heads in the halls of Hawkins High. Perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect life. Cheerleader, top of the social food chain, the kind of popular that made people whisper your name like it was currency. Eddie Munson, on the other hand? Bottom of the barrel, according to the jocks and preps who ruled the school. Not that he gave a shit. He wore his "freak" label like a badge of honor, strutting through the halls with his Hellfire Club, flipping off anyone who dared sneer.

But even Eddie couldn’t deny it—you were stunning. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud. You were everything he despised: the pristine poster child of Hawkins’ elite, always surrounded by your giggling posse of cheerleaders and letterman-jacket-wearing meatheads. He’d heard the rumors about you and that California jerk Billy Hargrove a few years back, but since then? Nothing. No whispers of a new boyfriend, no juicy gossip about your love life. It was weird, honestly. A girl like you? You could have anyone. So why didn’t you?

Eddie didn’t hate you—not like he hated the rest of your crowd. You were… different. You never laughed when Jason Carver or his goons tripped a freshman in the cafeteria. You never sneered at the Hellfire kids or called them names. Hell, you never even looked at Eddie. Not a glance, not a word. It was like he didn’t exist in your world, and that stung more than he’d care to admit. At least the bullies acknowledged him, even if it was to be dicks. You? You just floated above it all, untouchable.

So why, in his seventh year of this godforsaken high school hellscape (thank you, prolonged graduation struggles), were you suddenly staring at him? It started a few weeks into the school year. Eddie caught you looking at him in the cafeteria, your eyes flicking away the second he met your gaze. Then in history class, when he was doodling skulls in his notebook instead of listening to Mrs. Click drone on about the Civil War, he swore he felt your eyes burning into the back of his head. By the third time—your cheer skirt swishing as you leaned against a locker, stealing a glance before your friends dragged you away—he was convinced he was losing it.

You still acted the same with your uptown girlfriends, all smiles and hair flips, so what was the deal? Were you plotting something? Was this some kind of twisted prank cooked up by your clique? Eddie’s paranoia was in overdrive, especially when he saw a shadow dart out of the drama room one evening after Hellfire Club. The door was still swinging, and he could’ve sworn he caught a glimpse of your signature cheerleader ponytail disappearing around the corner. But you? At Hellfire? No way. He chalked it up to his imagination.

Then came the note.

It fluttered out of his locker one morning, a neatly folded piece of paper with girlish, loopy handwriting. Eddie raised an eyebrow, picking it up like it might bite him. The faint scent of something sweet—perfume, maybe?—hit his nose, and he scrunched his face. What the hell? He unfolded it, reading the words scrawled in pink ink:

Meet me after school today at the benches behind the school :).

No signature. No explanation. Just that prim, perfect script. Eddie snorted, shoving the note into his pocket. Probably some preppy kid looking to score weed for one of their lame rager parties. He’d dealt with their kind before—too “busy” to show up themselves, sending their girlfriends or lackeys instead. Whatever. He’d show up, make a quick buck, and get out before the jocks could jump him.

The rest of the school day dragged on, Eddie half-assing his classes as usual, doodling in his notebook and ignoring the whispers about “Munson the Freak.” When the final bell rang, he grabbed his jacket, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and headed to the benches behind the school. His stomach twisted with a sense of anticipation, but he shook it off. This was just business.

Except it wasn’t.

When he rounded the corner, there you were, sitting on the bench, legs crossed, cheer skirt riding up just enough to make his brain short-circuit for a second. You were alone, no boyfriend or posse in sight, and you looked… nervous? Your fingers twisted the hem of your sweater, and you kept glancing around like you were expecting someone to pop out of the bushes. Eddie stopped dead in his tracks, his combat boots scuffing the dirt.

“Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath. “What’s the Hawkins High princess doing here?”

You looked up at the sound of his voice, your eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. For a second, neither of you said anything. Then Eddie, ever the charmer, plastered on a teasing grin and sauntered over, hands in his pockets. “Let me guess. Your jock boyfriend’s too busy to come buy his own stash, so he sent you to do his dirty work? Classy.”

You blinked, clearly thrown off. “What? No, I—”

“Don’t play coy, princess,” he cut in, leaning against the picnic table and crossing his arms. “Let’s make this quick. How much do you want? And don’t waste my time—I’m not in the mood for games.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion written all over your face. “I… I don’t want drugs, Eddie.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Right. So what, you here to hire me for some dirty work? Scare your parents? Slash someone’s tires? I don’t do that shit, sweetheart.”

You stared at him for a moment, then let out a laugh—a bright, genuine sound that caught him completely off guard. “Oh my God, no! Do you really think I’d ask you to do something like that?”

Eddie’s smirk faltered. Okay, maybe he’d misread this. “Then what the hell do you want? People like you don’t just show up to my spot for a friendly chat.”

You bit your lip, suddenly shy, and Eddie noticed the way your fingers tightened around your sweater again. “Okay, um… this is gonna sound weird, but… are you really as good at guitar as you say you are? Like, the whole ‘shredder extraordinaire’ thing?”

He blinked. What? “You’re here about my guitar skills?” He dragged a hand through his hair, his rings glinting in the afternoon sun. A small, confident grin tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I’m pretty damn good, the best Hawkins has to offer, if I do say so myself.” He leaned back slightly, his tone light but self-assured. “But what’s this about, some kind of prank? Did Carver put you up to this?”

“No, no, it’s not a prank!” you said quickly, your cheeks flushing pink. “I’m serious! Okay, so, over the summer, I bought a guitar, right? I’ve been trying to learn some songs, but I’m, like, really bad at it. Like, embarrassingly bad. And I can’t afford lessons because my parents are all, ‘You’re old enough to pay for your own hobbies now, get a job,’ which is so unfair, by the way, because I’m already juggling cheer and school and—” You were rambling now, your words tumbling over each other, and Eddie couldn’t help but find it… kind of adorable?

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, princess,” he said, hopping up to sit on the table in front of you, one hand resting on your arm to stop your nervous tirade. Your skin was warm under his touch, and he pulled his hand back quickly, clearing his throat. “Let me get this straight. You want to learn guitar… from me?”

You nodded, looking up at him with those big, earnest eyes. “Yeah. Not for free though! I thought maybe we could make a deal? Like, I could help you with homework or something, since I know you’re, um… not super into school stuff.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Homework? You think I need a tutor, cheerleader?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a teasing drawl. “And what does your boyfriend think about you getting private lessons from the town freak?”

You tilted your head, confused. “What boyfriend? I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

His smirk vanished. “Wait. You’re not? But you’re…” He gestured vaguely at you—your perfect hair, your glossy lips, your cheerleader skirt. “You’re you. How are you not dating some quarterback?”

You laughed again, but this time it was drier, less happy. “I don’t care about that stuff, Eddie. Status, popularity… it’s all so fake sometimes. And for the record, I’ve never bothered you or your friends, have I?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. She had a point. You’d never been cruel, never joined in when your friends made snide comments about him or the Hellfire kids. But that didn’t let you off the hook entirely. “Maybe not,” he said, his voice hardening. “But you never stopped them either, did you? Just stood there, looking pretty, letting your friends be assholes. That’s called being complicit, princess.”

Your face fell, and for a moment, you looked genuinely hurt. “I… yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.” Your voice was soft, sincere, and Eddie felt a pang of guilt for snapping at you. In your head, he could almost see the gears turning—those were your childhood friends, the ones you’d grown up with, shared sleepovers and secrets with. They weren’t bad people, just products of Hawkins’ suffocating social hierarchy, shaped by their parents’ expectations. You were lucky, you thought—you had cool parents who didn’t pressure you like that. Well, except for making you work for your hobbies, which you still whined about in your head.

You looked up at him again, your eyes pleading. “But… will you do it? Teach me, I mean? Pretty please?”

Eddie wanted to say no. He should say no. You were trouble, a walking social landmine. Getting involved with you was asking for drama, and he’d had enough of that in his life. But then he looked at you—really looked at you. Your curly hair catching the sunlight, your lip gloss shimmering, your cheer skirt showing just enough leg to make his teenage brain malfunction. And those eyes, big and hopeful, practically begging him.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Goddamn it, fine. I’ll teach you. But you better not flake on the homework deal, princess. I’m failing algebra again, and I’m not above bribery.”

Your face lit up, a grin spreading across your lips. “Deal! Oh my gosh, thank you, Eddie! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

He muttered something under his breath about already regretting it, but the truth was, he wasn’t so sure. There was something about you—something that made him think this might just be the stupidest, or maybe the best, decision he’d ever made.

next part >

Thank you @hauntedhouseofhargrove for letting me use your beautiful divider <3

Taglist: @awkward00noodle

[cacoetheswriting]

the little mess you made. (masterlist)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) total word count: tbc

summary: five years after he returns home, eddie munson is greeted at the front door of his uncles house by a toddler with a head of dusty-brown locks. in need of a break from the life he's built for himself, the rockstar is instead faced with another hard truth. Wayne Munson tells his nephew about the girl Steve Harrington introduced him to. the girl that found herself in a certain… situation, following one of Eddie’s gigs. the girl, who had nowhere else to go, so Wayne took her in, helping her every step of the way for the last four years because, after all, she's the mother to Eddie’s kid: Mason Wayne Munson aka Messer.

content warnings: 18+ minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy + also just pure smut at times, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, slow-ish burn, heavy on the mutual pining / yearning, on the fluffy side as these two flirt (a lot), use of pet names, emotional hurt / comfort, adult language, navigating family dynamics, plus mentions of: alcohol consumption, recreational drug use, physical violence — pls friends, read the warnings for each individual chapter.

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

prologue (a blurb)

chapter one | aka the little mess you made

chapter two | aka nice to each other

chapter three | aka what did i miss?

chapter four | aka something has to change

chapter five | aka never felt better

a/n: the following are some songs i think they fit perfectly with their story, so i wanted to share them with you.

the favors - the little mess you made | willow avalon - honey ain't no sweeter | abba - i've been waiting for you | aly & aj - if you get lonely | kali uchis - it's just us | elbow - one day like this | hohnen ford - another lifetime | john denver - take me home, country roads | mumford & sons - truth | miley cyrus - more to lose | lana del rey - not all who wander are lost | laufey - tough luck | olivia dean - nice to each other | hozier - too sweet | the hollies - the air that i breathe | the killers - bright lights | brigitte calls me baby - impressively average | the cranberries - when you're gone | james bay - us | billie eilish - birds of a feather | t'pau - china in your hand | benson boone - reminds me of you | the lumineers - a song for you | damiano david ft. suki waterhouse - the bruise | lorde - current affairs | pale waves - she's my religion | david bowie - changes | lana del rey - thunder | mitski - my love is mine all mine | fleetwood mac - coming home | taylor swift - peace

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

main masterlist

[andypantsx3]

IN CINDERS : MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Todoroki Shouto x Fem Reader SUMMARY: You’re just trying to fairy godmother your best friend into a happily ever after. If only the prince would stop hanging around and cooperate. CONTENT: Cinderella AU, fantasy, prince!Shouto, romance, misunderstandings, class differences, eventual smut, afab fem reader, aged up characters, 18+ LENGTH: 24.5k, STATUS: complete

CHAPTERS: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine (or READ ON AO3)

DELETED SCENES (requests for short drabbles related to the fic)

How did Shouto react when he saw the reader had disappeared from the ball?

*SPOILER* What was Shouto & the reader’s wedding night like?

[unabletonotlovesatoru-deactivat]

3 times bakugou tried to kiss you + 1 time he actually did !!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: i can never not write something cute with katsukiii, actually no it’s most of my faves ngl. anyways no warnings here! reader is gender neutral and this is just pure fluff!!

1.

the gym was hot and noisy, filled with the sound of fists hitting pads and shoes squeaking against the mats. bakugou wiped the sweat off his face, barely winded, but when he turned around, there was you, standing at the edge of the ring, smiling at him like he’d just won a damn medal.

“what the hell are you smiling at?” bakugou barked, storming over.

you blinked up at him, your hands clasped in front of you. “you’re really amazing, you know that? you’re so strong!”

bakugou’s heart stumbled over itself. His brain screamed, say something cool, idiot, do something cool! instead, he muttered, “tch. whatever,” and leaned closer, his face hovering inches from yours.

your smile faltered. you took a step back, eyes wide. “sorry, katsuki! did i do something wrong?”

the words hit bakugou like a slap. this was totally going in the wrong direction. “what? no! you—” he cut himself off, growling in frustration before spinning on his heel. “forget it!” he snapped over his shoulder, storming out of the gym.

behind him, you continued to stare after him, completely baffled.

2.

the rain pattered against the umbrella as bakugou held it over both your heads. it wasn’t a big umbrella, which meant that you had to stick close to his side, your shoulder brushing against his every few steps.

“thanks for walking me home,” you said, your voice soft, almost drowned out by the rain.

bakugou swallowed hard. “whatever. not like i had anything better to do.” liar.

the warmth of your presence was messing with his head. his eyes flicked to your face, droplets of water clinging to your fluttering lashes. his heart kicked into overdrive.

he shifted the umbrella slightly, leaning closer under the guise of adjusting it. your lips were right there, soft and pink and—

“oh!” you crouched suddenly, eyes wide as you scooped something off the ground. “it’s a kitten!”

“eh?” bakugou froze mid-lean, almost dropping the umbrella.

you cradled the soaked little animal in your arms, smiling. “look how cute it is! poor thing.”

katsuki gritted his teeth. “yeah, cute,” he muttered, glaring at the oblivious cat like it had just personally insulted him.

3.

the room was dark except for the faint glow of the tv screen. the others were all passed out on the floor or slumped against the furniture, leaving bakugou and you alone on the couch.

you were snuggled under a blanket, your eyes glued to the movie. you weren’t even paying attention to him, which was just as well, because bakugou could barely breathe with you sitting so close.

his fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants. come on, just do it. it’s not a big deal. just lean over and—

you shifted suddenly, yawning as you stretched your arms above your head. one of your hands smacked him right in the face.

“ah! oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you gasped, sitting up straight.

bakugou clutched his face, cheeks burning. “what the hell?! watch where you’re swinging those things, idiot!”

“i didn’t mean to! are you okay?” your fingers tried to pry off his hand, but he reflexively waved you off.

“i’m fine!” he snapped, scooting to the far end of the couch, crossing his arms, and glaring at the screen like it was the movie’s fault. he didn’t look at you for the rest of the night.

+ 1.

the city stretched out below them, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. you sat on the edge of the rooftop, your legs dangling over the side. you looked sad, your usual brightness dimmed, which really concerned bakugou.

“i just… don’t know if i’m good enough,” you said softly, your hands twisting in your lap.

bakugou leaned against the railing a few feet away, his jaw tightening. “that’s stupid,” he said gruffly.

you glanced up at him, surprised. “what?”

bakugou rubbed his face, tugging his mask higher over his forehead before directing his gaze at you.

“you’re good enough,” he said, his voice low and rough, like he was choking on the words. “you’re better than good enough. you’re—” he cut himself off, scowling.

your lips quirked into a small, tentative smile. “thanks. that means a lot. you’re… nicer than you act, you know.”

katsuki’s chest felt too tight, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. “screw it,” he muttered under his breath. before he could lose his nerve, he crossed the space between you and him in two quick steps, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

you gasped softly against his lips, but didn’t pull away. instead, your hands found their way to his arms, holding on gently as you kissed him back.

for the first time, bakugou felt like he wasn’t completely screwing everything up.

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 12 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix x xi

part xii (opening presents)

“What?” Spinner asks anxiously. “Do you think it’s too much or something?”

“Um – no.” You’re definitely lying. You can barely see Spinner around the enormous box he’s carrying. You’re not sure if he can see anything, either. “I mean, it’s the last Secret Santa gift of the year. Go big or go home, right?”

“Yeah,” Spinner agrees. He sounds relieved. “And after what happened – she deserves something extra nice, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.”

You weren’t sure how Spinner would react to the news that Aiba and her boyfriend have broken up – or rather, that Aiba dumped him when she found out about the kiss. You know people who’d have been happy to find out that the person they’d liked from afar was finally single. But Spinner wasn’t happy. He looked so unhappy when he found out that Twice elbowed him and said he’d never seen anybody be that upset over good news.

Spinner stared at him like he was crazy. It’s not good news, he said. She’s really sad. Why would I be happy about her being sad?

Spinner’s a good guy, and you’re pretty sure the giant gift he’s carrying is something he bought before the mistletoe-day disaster. When you look around the ballroom where the party’s being held, you see a lot of giant gifts, enough that going all-out with the last gift must be a tradition or something. It’s a tradition, and you missed the memo. Your last gift for Tomura is small enough to fit in your purse.

It was hard to find, and you’re pretty sure you outed yourself as Tomura’s Secret Santa to Spinner in the process of figuring out what “video games” meant on Tomura’s list. Tomura apparently has a thing for retro consoles, and retro consoles only play old games. Spinner mentioned a game Tomura’s been half-assedly searching for since last year, and you decided to find it. It took a lot of time spent scrolling on Ebay and picking through thrift store discount bins, but you finally found it, and you even found an old console to test it on to make sure it worked. You were really excited to give it to him until you got here and saw what everybody else did.

But it’s too late to change anything now. You’re here with your tiny gift, and Tomura’s going to think you didn’t try at all. If he’s even here. “Do you know if Tomura’s going to be here?”

“Last I heard, yeah,” Spinner says. “He changes his mind last-minute about stuff, though. I can text him if you want?”

“I have his number,” you say. “I can do it.”

You can, but you won’t. You know Tomura hates parties, and you don’t want to put his maybe liking you to the test against how much he hates getting dressed up and going out. It’s what kept you from asking him yourself, even though the two of you have been texting more than two people who see each other every day at work really should. The only person who brought up the party was him, when he asked if you were going. You said yes, and then he asked why. There’s going to be free food, you said. And I want to meet my Secret Santa.

As far as you can tell, most people have at least some idea of who their Secret Santa is, but you don’t have a clue. Your Secret Santa’s never written a note to go with any of their gifts, and nothing about the gift-wrapping style – or lack thereof, with the first few gifts – has given them away. The only thing you know is that they haven’t been following your hyper-specific list to the letter. While everything they’ve gotten you has been on the list, it’s all been an upgrade from the versions you asked for.

So they’re generous and bad at wrapping gifts. That could describe half the office. You’d like to know who it is, and there’s free food, so you’re here. And if you might have dressed up a little more than you usually would for an office holiday party on the off chance that Tomura makes an appearance, you’re going to keep that to yourself. Nobody has to know. And you can have fun at the party whether or not he’s here.

It is a really nice party – probably the nicest one you’ve ever been to. The decorating committee went berserk, to the point where there are multiple live Christmas trees on each wall and food tables on either end of the ballroom, each stocked with its own chocolate fountain and champagne tower. There’s music, which Yamada apparently arranged for but isn’t actually performing. Yamada’s in a good mood. When you run into him while trying to grab a glass of champagne, he grins at you. “Next year. Acapella. Are you in?”

“Ask me next year,” you say. “Once the holiday spirit’s worn off.”

Yamada cracks up at that, snags two glasses of champagne, and speeds off through the crowd. You finally manage to separate one for yourself and get clear of the table. Half a glass of champagne later, you’re ready to mingle. Time to see if participating in the office’s holiday traditions as a way to make friends actually worked.

It feels like it did. People say hi to you, and when you stop to talk to them, it doesn’t feel awkward at all. You’re willing to admit that some of it might be because you’ve all been drinking a little bit, but at the same time, you’ve gone to office parties where people were drunker than this and still silent as the grave. Some of your coworkers have already found out who their Secret Santas are, and some of them are carrying gifts that look even more over-the-top unwrapped than they did when they were covered in festive wrapping paper. Maybe it’s better if Tomura doesn’t show up. You can find a bigger gift and leave it on his desk next week, and no one will have to know that you messed up.

You cross paths with Tomura’s friends here. They’re all dressed up, probably more than anyone else at the party, although it looks more like they’re here for a costume party than a Christmas party. “Like it? It’s an Enji’s credit card special,” Twice says, tugging at the lapel of his purple suit. “He really wanted Dabi to come home for Christmas this year.”

“Did you?” you ask Dabi.

“Yeah, but I brought everybody with me,” Dabi says. Everybody. Even – “Shigaraki, too. He hates this shit, but he never misses a chance to stick it to somebody else’s shitty dad.”

“It was fun this year,” Magne says. “Fuyumi made us our own stockings and everything. That thing was nicer than any of my actual socks.”

“It sounds fun,” you say.

“Could have been worse,” Dabi says. He glances at you. “What did you do?”

You didn’t, really, which is the other reason you’re here – Christmas alone in your apartment was fun or at least peaceful the first few years, but lately it’s been feeling lonely. “Not too much. I just slept in and then came here.”

Tomura’s friends exchange glances. “Next year you’ll hang with us,” Twice announces. “You can still sleep in. We always show up late anyway.”

“You don’t have to invite me,” you say at once. You must have sounded a lot more pathetic than you meant to. “And Twice, you probably shouldn’t invite me to Dabi’s house –”

“First, it’s not my house,” Dabi says. “Second, I invite whoever I want. The more of my friends I bring, the more uncomfortable I make my jackass of a father. As long as you don’t hit on my sister –”

“Come on, that was one time,” Twice protests.

“Yeah, one time too many –”

You sidle sideways out of the conversation while they’re still debating exactly how many times one of Dabi’s friends have made a pass at his siblings. Dabi probably didn’t mean the invitation. You won’t count on it. But it’s nice that they’re thinking about it tonight. Hearing it makes you feel a little better, even if it’ll evaporate well before next Christmas.

The party ebbs and flows around you. Sometimes there are people dancing, but other times, the music quiets enough to let people talk. There are fewer and fewer unopened gifts floating around. You see Spinner still toting his gift for Aiba, which means that Aiba’s either not here or he just can’t see her around the box. The latter seems more likely to you. She’s really tiny. No matter where you look, there’s no sign of Tomura.

You do find Aiba, though, when you stop by the chocolate fountain. You can’t tell if she’s trying to hide. “Hi,” you say, and she looks up. “He’s not here, if that’s what you’re worried about. I haven’t seen him.”

“He said he wouldn’t come to it,” Aiba says. She looks like she didn’t sleep well last night, but her outfit’s on point. “I’m not worried about him. I’m just not very – fun right now. I only came to it because I wanted to meet my Secret Santa.”

“Really?”

“I thought the Secret Santa was going to be ruined because of – him. But then I found out it wasn’t him,” Aiba says. You nod. “And that makes it – nicer, I think. All the gifts I got were perfect, and none of it had anything to do with him. So there’s still one part of my Christmas that’s nice. I want to say thank you.”

Spinner had better have a game plan. “They haven’t come to talk to me yet, though,” Aiba says. She frowns. “Do you think they’re even here?”

“I know they’re here,” you say. “If you stay here, I can go find them and tell them to come over.”

Aiba nods. “Thank you,” she says. “And thank you. For the other day. That was nice, too.”

“No problem,” you say. “Just stay there.”

Courtesy of the giant present, Spinner’s really easy to find. You give him specific directions to where Aiba’s standing, tell him to take it easy, and wish him luck. As you watch him go, you find yourself wondering what’s in the box. Maybe you should have asked. It would have given you a better idea about the kind of thing you should have gotten for Tomura.

“Hey.”

That’s Tomura’s voice. You turn and find him standing behind you, a haphazardly wrapped present in one hand. You feel a temporary surge of relief at the sight. He got something small, too. At least you aren’t alone in totally missing the boat. But then you take a look at the rest of him, and the relief evaporates into something you can only describe as a kind of awestruck surprise. Tomura cleans up nice. Really nice.

Like the rest of his friends, he’s dressed up. Unlike the rest of them, he went pretty standard with it – black suit and tie, although he’s got a red cape around his shoulders. It should be incongruous, but he makes it work. He’s done something to his hair. Brushed it, maybe. Either way, it looks good. You can’t help but stare.

But even though he looks great – he has to know he looks great, right? – he doesn’t look quite comfortable. Maybe because you’re staring at him, and you haven’t said a word. “You look really nice,” you say, and a faint flush comes up in his cheeks. “I didn’t know if you were coming. I know this isn’t really your thing.”

“It’s what you’re doing,” Tomura says, and your face turns red, too. “I want to meet my Secret Santa.”

That’s you. You and your stupid gift that’s too small. “Right,” you say. You fumble in your purse and pull it out, then offer it to him. At least you did a decent job wrapping it. “It was me. I’m your Secret Santa. Here.”

Tomura takes the gift, then holds out the one he’s carrying to you. You did a decent job wrapping it; he probably needs both hands to get it open. “The wrapping on this looks nice,” you say nonsensically while he picks at the tape on yours. “You don’t have to open mine right now. You probably want to give this to the person you were Secret Santa for.”

“I just did.”

It takes way too long for you to figure that one out. “Wait, it was you?”

“You didn’t guess?” Tomura looks almost affronted. “I figured out you were mine days ago.”

“How? Was it my handwriting on the notes?”

“No,” Tomura says. He gives you a weird look. “I wrote on my list that I hate the cold, but I don’t tell anybody that. The only way you would have known is if you got my list.”

“Oh.” You would have thought the thing that gave you away would be bigger than that – like getting too familiar in your notes, slipping up and using his given name and not going back to his surname when you realized your mistake. “Okay.”

“You really didn’t know it was me?” Tomura’s stopped trying to open your gift for the sole purpose of staring at you. “I thought Dabi gave me away. When he was talking about how shitty I am at wrapping gifts.”

You vaguely remember a joke Dabi made. You really shouldn’t have had so much champagne. “Sorry. I should have thought about it a little more.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” Tomura says. It’s quiet for a second. “A bad surprise?”

“No,” you say at once. “A good surprise. But – you could have just told me it was you. Then you wouldn’t have had to come to the party.”

“This is what you’re doing.”

“I know, but we could have done something else. Something you wouldn’t hate as much.”

“I don’t hate it as much as last year,” Tomura says. He nods at the gift. “Are you going to open that or what?”

“Yes,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Don’t say thank-you when you don’t know what it is,” Tomura says. “Just – open it.”

You don’t have any idea of what it could be. You know Tomura’s gone through everything on your list already. His wrapping job is easier to get through than yours. You peel back the paper and untie the ribbons and find yourself holding a hat.

It looks sort of like your hat. The one you gave him. But you found that hat on sale somewhere, ages ago, and this one is a lot nicer. Yours is just knitted, but this one has a soft lining, and the fabric on the outside feels like it might be water-resistant. It also has a goofy little pompom on it, which yours definitely doesn’t have. This isn’t anything you’d have bought for yourself. But you like it a lot.

You look up, ready to thank Tomura, and find him staring down at your gift, unwrapped in his hand. “You didn’t leave a note,” he says. “I like the notes.”

You’d facepalm if you weren’t holding the hat. “I thought I would just say what I would have said in the note to you. Face to face.”

He looks up. You’ve never seen that look on his face before. In fact, you’re not sure you’ve seen that look on anybody’s face – wary, expectant, maybe surprised, maybe hopeful. You should have planned what you were going to say a little better. Before you can say anything, though, Tomura speaks up. “How did you know about this game? I’ve been looking for it. Where did you even find it?”

“I found it on Ebay,” you say. “It wouldn’t have shipped in time, so I picked it up in person. I made sure to test it. It works. And as far as finding out about it – I asked Spinner about the kind of games you liked. I wanted to get it right.”

“I half-assed my list. Why would you try that hard?”

“I just – I don’t know,” you say. “I know Toga kind of bullied you into doing this. I wanted you to get something nice out of it. Sad Christmas might make more sense to you – and me, sometimes – but I thought it would be nice for you to have a happy one.”

That was a dumb thing to say. Tomura hasn’t told you a lot about his background – you’ve really only gotten close recently – but what you know isn’t good. It’s dumb of you to think that one video game and a handful of other gifts could rewrite any of that. You avert your eyes in a hurry. “Thank you for the hat. I didn’t mean to make you go off-list.”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” Tomura says. “I just thought you needed a new one. Since I’m keeping yours.”

Your heart skips a beat. “You are?”

“If you weren’t lying when you said it looked okay,” Tomura says. His hand brushes against your jaw, then applies pressure, turning you back to face him. He looks almost frustrated, but his face is flushed in a way you recognize. “And if you like me.”

“Do you like me?” you ask without thinking, and Tomura kisses you.

You’ve been regretting not giving him a real kiss under the mistletoe at work, but now you think it’s for the best that you didn’t. You haven’t had very many good first kisses, and you want a chance to savor this one. You wrap one arm around Tomura’s waist and pull him a little closer, and even though he startles, he keeps kissing you. He’s not hesitant, so you aren’t, either. There’s no way you’re going to be the first one to pull away.

When you do separate, it’s at the same time, and for what you’re pretty sure is the same reason. The music’s kicked back up. “Is that the stupid Grinch song?” Tomura asks, and you nod. He’s ever so slightly out of breath. He looks kind of flustered, but not nearly as much as you want him to. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“I mean, I could always sing All I Want For Christmas Is You again –” You see the face Tomura’s making. “I’m kidding. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t care,” Tomura says. He unwraps your hand from around his waist, then keeps holding it as he leads you towards the doors. “It doesn’t matter, if you’re coming with me.”

The wind hits you in a sharp blast as soon as you’re outside, and you pull your new hat on one-handed. “Maybe somewhere warm?”

Tomura pulls on your hand, and when you turn towards him, he kisses you again. Now that you’ve got both your hands free and you’re not in the middle of a crowd, you can kiss him how you want to – one arm around his waist, your other hand gathering up a few strands of his hair. Tomura’s breath catches, and a moment later, so does yours, and although it takes a while for you to separate again, you’re both out of breath when you do.

Tomura doesn’t go far. His arms are tight around you, and when he answers a question you’ve almost forgotten, you can feel his breath against your skin. “I’m warm enough.”

the end

<- part xi

[oxygen537art]

[veramitar]

Radio Man