Alex's Hyperfixation Station

☆ Stranger Things!

Characters: (general and "x reader")

Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington

Robin Buckley

Chrissy Cunningham

"Poly"/Multi Character

Steddie X Reader

Ships

Steddie

☆ Marvel!

Characters: (general and "x reader")

Johnny Storm

Shalla-Bal

"Poly"/Multi Character + Platonic Teams

Ships

None Yet!

☆ Joseph Quinn! (characters only!)

Eddie Munson

Tom Grant

Prince Paul

Sam (Warfare)

Emperor Geta - None Yet!

Micheal (Hoard) - None Yet!

(Note: I used to write for Eric from AQPDO but now I will only be doing so for a male reader!)

☆ Joe Keery! (characters only!)

Steve Harrington

☆ Miscellaneous!

Rafe Cameron

☆ Events I've done:

Fall Fics Fest 2025 (x reader's)

☆ Current Works In Progress:

Full Map! - A full layout of all the works in my drafts

Make Me Write - Send a symbol to get a snippet of my wips!

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

Your legs are starting to hurt.

But you have to keep running, there's ten precious pieces of candy on the line. To a six year old and two eight year olds, that's like betting on gold. So you keep running, keep ignoring the thorns that catch on your legs and the burning in your chest.

The mud is starting to weigh you down now, and you'd be worried about ruining your shoes if the pink lights hadn't stopped working a few weeks ago.

But you can't let Erik and Sam win. They'd already been smug enough when you lost the coin toss and had to go against both of them. You'd decided then and there that it wasn't fair. They're both bigger than you, and unlike you, they both act ravenous about their candy stash. It's not your fault that they're both running out so soon.

A big rock sticks up out of the ground ahead of you, mostly covered in moss and easy to miss.

This might be your only chance to beat both of them.

You jump over the rock, letting yourself land on the other side of it with a loud thump; and let out the loudest scream you can muster. You squeeze your eyes tight, trying to force tears to come out as you start to cry out for both of them.

And ugh, this has to work.

"Erik! Sammy!" You're really sobbing now, letting your chest shake as you grab onto your leg and writhe around like Erik had done when he'd fallen out of the tree and broken his wrist.

You hear Erik first, calling your name as the thumps of his sneakers get closer. It's Sam that you see first, running toward you as fast as his scrawny legs can carry him. You squeeze the clothespins in your hand that's planted against the ground.

"Sammy, I fell." You cry, breathe hiccuping as he drops to his knees beside you and starts to look over your leg.

"Is it bad? Is there blood?" Erik gasps and drops down beside Sam, pulling your hand away so he can look too. "Shit, mom is gonna skin me."

"It hurts." You whine, readying the clothespins between your fingers where they can't see.

Erik looks like he's about to start crying too, and Sam looks white as a ghost as he feels around your leg for anything that doesn't seem right.

"It doesn't look wrong!" Sam's voice shakes. "Is it broken? How do I know if it's broken?" He whips his head toward Erik.

"Mom is going to kill me!" Erik groans, hiding his eyes behind dirt covered hands.

"Erik!" Sam yells now, eyes wider than you knew they could be. You sort of feel bad… maybe you'd feel bad if you couldn't already taste candy stolen from two smelly boys. "I need to know if it's broken!" Sam grabs Erik like he's going to throttle him if he doesn't help, and you see your chance.

You jut forward, snagging your clothespins on the sleeves of their shirts.

"I win!" You shout throwing your arms in the air and falling back against the damp ground. "IwinIwinIwin…" You start to dance in place, whipping your crocodile tears with a bright grin on your face.

"What?" Erik looks down at his sleeve in horror. Sam looks at you with murderous intent in his eyes.

"You're not hurt?" he sounds betrayed, but the color starts to come back to his face.

"I got you, I got you!" You smile, singing your words. "Now your candy's mine!"

Sam's lunging at you before you can even see him flinch, grabbing onto your wrists and pulling your arms above your head.

"You scared me!" He grits, holding you down as Erik's fingers start to jab at your sides.

You wail for real this time, tears of laughter running down your face until you say you're sorry. The boys only let up when you tell them you'll pee if they don't.

They're both quiet on the walk home, and you almost start to think they're mad at you.

"That was a nasty trick, y'know?" Sam mumbles, glancing at you. You're about to start apologizing, to tell him that it was the only way you could win when they weren't playing fair. Your chest starts to tighten in a way that hurts worse than the thorns had. He grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. "Good job."

You smile, all too pleased with yourself as you and Sam start to laugh.

"Brat." Erik rolls his eyes, throwing his arm over your shoulder and ruffling your hair.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

The lake water laps against the bottom of your feet, occasionally making a bright ray of moonlight shine right up into your eyes.

It should feel perfect. Just the warm summer air, the smell of the campfire burning just off the dock behind you, a stomach full of hot dogs and s'mores as you lean into Erik's shoulder.

But it's the first time it's been quiet since you left. Like, actually quiet. The boys are both too tired to keep up their banter on either side of you, and you finally have a minute to think about how you got here to begin with.

Things have been… weird at home, and your mom and dad took the first opportunity they could find to ship you and Erik off. Luckily for the two of you, they'd seen that opportunity when Sam's mom had offered for the two of you to come stay at the cabin her fiancé always rented during the summer.

You like this guy, mostly because Sam does. He's different from the other guys Tess has been with; he's actually nice to her. He has kids too, which has been a surprisingly easy adjustment for Sam. The oldest, Veronica, is the teenager that Sam and Erik pretend to be; at their big tough age of thirteen. She's nice to you when you've got nothing better to do than follow the boys around. She doesn't treat you like you're just Erik's little sister, she doesn't treat you like a little kid the way most people still do. She lets you lay in her bed and listen to music with her, she lets you borrow books and DVDs. Libby is great too. She's not very loud for a five year old; and most of the time she just holds onto your pant leg and follows you around wordlessly.

Sam and his mom seem happier with them, like a real family.

Something you and Erik haven't been feeling a lot of lately.

"Do you think mom and dad are going to get a divorce?" You whisper, lifting your head off of your brother's shoulder to look at him.

You immediately wish that you hadn't.

He slumps, body deflating like your question was a pin in a too full balloon.

"I'm sorry-" You start, surprised at the crack in your own voice. You feel Sam's hand close over your knee, squeezing like he's trying to remind you that he's there.

Maybe you shouldn't have brought it up. Maybe Erik knows something that you don't; and if Erik knows, Sam knows.

"Yeah, I do." Erik hums, nodding down at the water. You hear a small sniffle and your heart lurches up into your throat.

Erik doesn't cry. Not in front of you, not in years.

Sam's arm comes slow over your shoulder, grabbing onto both of you and pulling you into his side. The tears sneak up on you, rolling out before you even know they're there. You both let him guide you, his other arm curling around your waist to hold you against his chest while you pull Erik's back to your own.

"He's just been such an asshole lately." Erik's voice shakes. He doesn't have to say who for you to know what he means, because you've noticed it too. The blow ups, the drinking, the silences that stretch in your home and feel fragile in the lethal kind of way.

Sam's arms curl tighter around the two of you like he's scared to let go.

"I kind of want them to separate." You take the risk of admitting it, hoping that the only two people you trust to say something that feels so vulgar won't judge you. You feel Sam's head come to rest on the back of yours, his hand running up and down the material of your tee over your stomach.

"You need to slow down." He whispers, laying his palm flat against your chest. You hadn't realized until now just how hard it's getting to breathe.

The silence stretches on until the stinging in your eyes turns into a dull ache. You don't say anything because you don't know what to say.

"Derek seems like he's got this dad thing figured out pretty good." Sam finally speaks, leaning over your shoulder so that he can see both of your faces. "I don't think he'd mind sharing some of it with you guys too." He laughs, but you can hear the hitch in it; like he's so close to breaking down with you.

You know he gets it. Sam's never really had a dad until Derek showed up.

And before you know it, he has you laughing again like nothing happened.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

This is the part you've been dreading all day. Your hands shake where they grip your tray, the voices around you seem to close in. It feels like everyone is watching you. Like they know that you have no idea where you're going to sit.

You could just rush out, just walk right out the doors and hide in the library.

But do you really want to be that girl? The girl whose best friend moved away the summer before freshman year so she just sits by herself? Your heart beats faster. You're sure now, you're absolutely certain that people are starting to stare at you.

An arm slings over your shoulder dramatically, making you jump and almost drop your tray onto the ground.

"Man, do I have someone you need to meet!" Sam beams beside you when you turn to look at him. He starts to steer you across the room before you can say anything.

You feel sweaty all over, already embarrassed that your brother's best friend is having to find friends for you.

"Sam, you really don't have to-" You start, realizing he's walking you up to a table full of girls that you don't know.

He tilts his head to the side, looking at you with puppy eyes and a pouted lip. "Please? I've been wanting you to meet Amy forever!" He whines dramatically.

Your heart jumps in your throat. Amy. She's Veronica's best friend's sister. She's in the same grade as Sam and Erik, and you know because Sam never seems to shut up about her.

No. Nonono- You are not going to play wingman for Sam.

"Sam!" You hear his name cross the distance between the two of you and the table he's trying to get you too.

"Please?" He whispers again. "I think you guys will really like each other, you have a lot in common."

Fine. There's a chance this won't be as humiliating as being the girl who sits by herself.

He sees it on your face as soon as you've made up your mind, eyes lighting up as he pushes you toward the table again.

"Amy, I told you about Erik's sister, right?" He smiles at the girl that called out to him, his voice sounds different. Pitched, theatrical.

"Yeah, of course." She smiles fondly, and fuck, she's pretty. All of these girls seem so pretty, so cool looking.

Definitely too cool for you.

"I thought you might want to tell her about the club you guys are starting." Sam shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Like it's no big deal. "It's her first day, so she's not really involved with anything yet."

At least he didn't tell them the truth, that you have no friends.

"You like to read?" Amy sets her gaze on you, head tilting and smile looking welcoming. You almost freeze up, being addressed head on and so genuinely.

Sam bumps his shoulder into your own, reminding you to find your voice.

"Yeah." You smile bashfully. "Veronica actually gave me free rein of her bookshelf when she left for college and I cleared her out." You laugh awkwardly.

You hope that was the right thing to say, to try and find common ground.

"That's great!" She lights up. "Veronica has great taste. We're thinking of starting a girls only book club if you're interested?" She's already pulling papers out of her bag, her friend scooting down a seat so you can sit across from her.

Sam's shoulder bumps yours again. "You got this." He whispers, a small smile on his face as he turns to walk away.

You set your tray down on the table, already trying to think of something good enough to thank him for this.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

It's okay. You keep repeating the words over and over. You just have to get in the door, up the stairs, and into your bed without anyone seeing you. And it should be easy, right? Your mom should already be in bed for the night, Erik and Sam have probably snuck out already.

It's fine. No one has to know.

You do your best to hold in your sniffles as you latch the front door, the sound of the lock sliding into place feeling deafening in the dark house.

You walk up the stairs slower than you ever have before, avoiding every creak beneath your shoes after years of mastering where to put your feet. But even the midnight secret snack excursions never felt this stealthy.

You can see the door to your bedroom, a few quick steps and you'll be home free.

Except, yep - that's the creaky floorboard.

"Thank God you're home!" Erik's door swings open before the sound even finishes resonating down the hall. You can't turn around, can't make yourself look at Sam. "Please tell your numbskull fucking brother that the Trojan horse isn't real." His words slur, and the smell from Erik's room wafts into the hall from how hard Sam had opened the door.

And for a moment, you almost laugh from how ridiculous they sound when they smoke together.

But there's still that blinding ache in your chest, still raw streaks down your cheeks from your tears.

What was I supposed to do? You left me with no choice, babe!

You hesitate just a second too long. Your name comes soft from Sam's mouth, like he's testing it for the first time. You can't keep your shoulders from tensing, can't keep your fingers from curling tighter into the cuff of your sleeves.

He says it again, more sure this time. Like he's scared that you won't look at him.

Mission compromised.

Well, maybe. Maybe they're high enough that they won't notice. Yeah, that could work. Just pretend like everything is normal and get the hell out of there.

You turn around, ignoring Sam and walking right up to stand in the doorway with him. Erik's splayed out on his bed, head barely lifting to see what you have to say.

"No, the Trojan horse is not real." Your voice sounds more gravely than you'd like it to, but you can't give up. Not yet. Fake it till you make it, right? "It's made up for the Odyssey. You read it, dumbass. Or, you were supposed to for history-"

"Have you been crying?" Sam's hand closes over your shoulder, trying to pull you to face him. The worry is etched into every line of his face, eyes wild with barely controlled panic.

Erik doesn't seem to notice, groaning with his hands over his eyes from being proven wrong; like they take your word as law or something.

"No." You force your face to look as neutral as possible, trying to shrug him off. "Just really tired and looking forward to my bed." You try to joke, but his fingers dig into the fabric of your jacket before you can turn away.

"What happened?" His face leans closer to yours, voice hushed in case you're not ready to say it in front of Erik yet; but like he can't let you walk away without saying it to someone. "Did you guys break up?"

There's a second, just the slightest shift in his pupils; you mistake it for anger.

And it makes your chest feel like it's cracked in two. The pain coming back so blindingly that it short-circuses your brain. You don't think about it.

You throw your body against Sam's chest, hiding your face in the soft material of his hoodie and letting the tears come back at full force. There's not a second of hesitation before his arms curl around you so tight that your sides sting.

"What the hell?" Erik seems to snap out of his daze, but you can barely hear him. Not over your heaving breath, not over the sound of blood rushing through your ears, not over the feeling of Sam's heart picking up where his chest presses to yours.

It's a slow sort of thing, with Sam cradling your body like it's the most fragile thing he's ever held as he lowers you to the floor and shuts the door behind him.

Neither of them say anything; whether for your comfort or because they can't find the words, you're not sure. But Sam doesn't let go, he just hugs you tighter with every cry that passes your lips. Erik rubs his hand up and down your back, meant to soothe no matter how awkward it might feel.

When you finally come down, when the tears turn to nothing more than shaking breaths; Sam finally pulls back enough to look at you. He doesn't push you away or separate his chest from yours, but his hands are gentle. Pushing your damp hair away and using his sleeves to wipe the wetness from your cheeks.

"What happened?" He whispers, letting his hands rest on the sides of your face. His thumbs run over the raw spots beneath your eyes.

Erik moves to his side, doing his best to give you his full attention.

And you can't tell them. It's them.

But Sam's eyes won't leave your own, big and dark and bloodshot; looking at you so earnestly.

"I thought he was cheating on me, that's what everyone's been saying." You shrug, looking down at your lap. "So I just asked, just came right out with it. And he said yeah, that he was." Sam's hands find yours where they pick at a loose string on the pocket of his hoodie.

"I'm gonna kill that fucking asshole." Erik is already rising, no doubt to get to the phone and give Zach a piece of his mind. But Sam stops him, grabbing onto his pant leg.

He knows you have more to say without you needing to say it, he knows you need to get it out.

"He told me it was my fault anyways." The words start to spill before you can second guess them.

Erik kicks Sam's hand off at that, the door already slamming behind him before you can register he's leaving.

"How the hell would that be your fault?" Sam's head tilts, like he can't wrap his brain around the absurdity of it. You shirk in on yourself, not really sure you can bring yourself to repeat the reason that's been replaying in your head on a loop since Zach said it.

Sam gives you a gentle squeeze. It's not a push, but it's a reminder.

That it's him. That you can tell him anything you need to.

"There was stuff I wouldn't let him do in bed." Your voice cracks, embarrassed at the admission. "He said he has needs, that I wasn't doing what a girlfriend is supposed to do. So he had to find someone else that would."

The silence that stretches through the room is thick.

And you'd assume he would be weirded out at talking to you about something like that. That he'd pull away from you when finding out that yeah, his best friend's little sister is getting up to the same shit that he and Erik pretend they aren't doing.

His hands find the sides of your face again, pulling your gaze back to him.

"It's not your fault, you know that right?" He sounds more serious than you've ever heard him.

It kills that littlest bit of doubt that lingers in the back of your head.

"Yeah, I know." You're surprised to realize that you mean it.

He smiles then, the tinniest little uptick of his lips; and he's pulling you back into his chest.

"Good." He huffs, running his hands up and down your back.

On Monday morning, you see a small crowd gathered around the lockers. And really, you can't even pretend to be shocked when you see the bright red letters and forged test results from the doctors office.

Zach is a Chlamydia riddled slut.

You know Sam wrote it, Erik never would have gotten the spelling right.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

"There you are!" Sam's voice slurs a little, a bright smile on his face. "Been looking for you all over!" He sits on the log beside you, the one he and Erik had hauled up the hill when they were ten and declared it as the couch of their fort in the woods behind his house.

"Yeah." You laugh, sloshing the contents of your solo cup. "Had to get away from my dad." It's not technically a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.

Your dad's big speech about his brave son, going off and doing the only thing he's ever wanted him to do, had been your breaking point.

And Sam knows it.

He's heard Erik bitch about it enough to know what it does to you when he gets like that. How it makes you feel like you messed something up for him, how you think he would have been happier if he'd had another son, how you feel like your dreams aren't big enough for them.

How you feel like you're not enough for him.

So he says the only thing he can think of, the thing that's half a joke and half deathly serious.

"We need to have a chat." He states, slapping his hand down on your knee. He's warm, loose. It's a nice change to how tense he's been since graduation. "I've got a final request I need to make, and you're the only one that can take care of it for me. I need to tie up this loose end before I disappear for two years."

You can hear the weight of the words as he says them - two years.

You can't remember the last time you went more than two days without seeing his face. He's always been there, right beside Erik. A constant that you never realized made you feel secure until you found out he was leaving.

That - that is the whole truth.

"Shoot." You hum and bump your knee into his. Because he's here right now, and that's just going to have to be enough.

"Need you to watch out for Libby and Kate for me." His smile is the teasing kind, like he's asked you to do something impossible. "I mean, Libs is ten now. That's a big deal!"

He laughs, but you know he means it.

You know it terrifies him to walk away from them.

You bump his knee like he'd done to yours.

"I think I can handle it." You nod. "I was a ten year old girl for a whole year, y'know?" His smile makes you smile.

"Okay, good." He slaps his hand on his chest in mock relief. "At least you have the proper credentials."

You don't know where the words come from, but you feel them ripping up your throat and forcing their way out before you can stop them.

"I'm gonna miss you."

He pauses then, his smile tuning soft.

"I'm gonna miss you too." The words are airy, like they've been meaning to come out this whole time. And then he's opening his arms, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. "Wish we could take you with us. You'd probably whip me and Erik into shape faster than any drill sergeant could." It's a melancholy kind of laugh that seeps around the edges of his words.

It pulls something deep in you, a real smile stretching on your lips despite the ache that grows in your chest.

"Remember when you and Erik only addressed me as Miss Bossy for six months?" You laugh, feeling his own vibrating against your shoulder where he still hasn't let go of you.

"I love you, y'know?" He matches your question with his own.

He's been in your life as long as you can remember, never far enough that you can't shout and have him come running. He's one of your best friends, his family is your family.

But you've never heard him say that before, not to you.

"I love you too." You smile, squeezing him and hating that you have to let go.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

Erik and Sam are… different now.

Even though they're trying hard to make it seem like they're not, you can see it. Moments where their vision seems to slip; like they're stuck going through the motions of a memory. A hard resolve that seems to fester, like a strange new kind of patience sits under their skin.

They always look like they're waiting for something. Like their attention is split between what's going on right in front of them and the whole world around them.

Sam's cold. All the time. The kind of cold that looks like someone getting over a fever and they just can't seem to shake the chill.

You thought it had only been you that had noticed, but today was worse.

They'd always loved days like today, sitting at the beach and just doing nothing. No where to go, no rush to do anything before the sun dipped behind the horizon.

But then Kate had slipped under the water. She'd slid off of her tiny board under the roll of a wave and Derek hadn't been able to grab onto her.

And it wasn't even bad. She's used to it. If you had to guess, the kid has probably spent sixty percent of her seven years alive in the ocean. She knows what to do, how to handle it until someone drags her out or she washes up on the shore.

But Sam's body had jerked like he was diving in front of a bullet for her. Jumping off of his board before the wave could even finish its lap across them. Erik had shot up from the towel beside you, even though he shouldn't have even been able to see her go under. He'd taken off sprinting, not letting the current hitting his feet slow him in the slightest as he started looking for them under the waves.

She'd been smiling when Sam had stood back up, giggling as the next wave pushed into his back and tried to pull the two of them under again. But he didn't put her back on her board that Derek was still holding onto.

He'd marched right out of the water and hadn't let his face soften until dry sand hit his feet.

No one said anything, no one wanted to be the one to push.

"Think you've had enough for today, Katie-Kat." Tess laughed when Sam sat beside you, holding his little sister in his lap with shaking hands.

He hadn't taken his eyes off of her for the rest of the day, even though she didn't go back in the water.

It had been hours of her playing, but he'd still seized up like he was having a heart attack when she squealed over a crab popping out of the sand at her feet.

And maybe you weren't supposed to say anything, maybe you were just supposed to let him regulate this for himself - that's what everyone else is doing. But your hand flies out before you can stop yourself, grabbing onto his leg and halting his movements.

"She's fine, Sammy." You whisper without meaning to, body automated to realize this isn't something that needs to leave the two of you. He watched her run from the little critter, driving right into Veronica's arms and laughing.

He turned his face to you then, flushing as he let his hand run over yours. "Thank you." He mumbled back.

That's why you can't stop watching him now, can't decide what's the right thing to do.

His body shakes on your couch, low noises of discomfort echoing into the darkness of your campus apartment.

You don't know if he's dreaming of the cold, of the ocean - or of some memory he has of the two put together. You don't want to embarrass him, don't want him to think that it was his nightmare that had woken you up.

Then, there's a gasp. The smallest little thing, but terrified all the same. Your name falling from his lips and his fingers curling into the blanket like he can't keep ahold of whatever he thinks he has.

"Sam-" Your own voice shakes where it calls out, trying to keep from waking Erik in the next room.

And he whines, high and sharp and landing right in your chest.

You're across the room in two quick steps. You're not thinking, just grabbing onto his tense shoulders from above him. His brows are pinched up, face contorted in pain. He says your name again, more like a sob than anything else.

"Sammy, hey." You shake him, feeling panic grate against your nerves. "Wake up, Sam."

It happens in one quick motion.

His eyes spring open, his fists curl into the front of your shirt, and he's slamming you down against the couch with little effort.

And it stings where the edge on the couch knocks into your back. You can't hold in the cry that rips out of you, can't stop your hands from pushing him away when you catch sight of the wild look in his eyes.

"Sammy, stop-" Your voice cracks on the whimper - and then you both freeze.

It's a baited breath, a second where you're both looking to see if the door swings open and Erik steps out.

"Sammy?" You look back at him, seeing his face still turned toward the door.

His body crumbles, arms wrapping around you and pulling you onto the couch with him. He's hot, clothes soaked through with sweat and panting where he hides his face in your neck.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, shaking so much that his teeth click together on the words. "I'm sorry - I thought…" He stops, body tensing like he doesn't know if he's supposed to tell you what he thought. Your arms curl around him slowly, resting your cheek against the top of his head as the first cry rips out of him.

"It's okay." You nod, letting your hands run up and down his back. "I'm okay, Sammy. I promise."

"I couldn't-" He chokes. "I couldn't get ahold of you, and the waves just kept pulling you under, and someone was trying to pull me away."

And he doesn't have to say it for you to know, the look on his face when he pulls back from your neck tells you everything.

It's not quite a nightmare, not quite a memory; it's both bleeding into one another.

Of someone he couldn't help during surf torture, of his guilt putting your face on that person.

Your hands find the sides of his face, shaking him slightly because you don't know how else to make sure he sees you. Here and now.

"I'm okay, Sam." You nod at him, forcing your voice to come out level.

His body sags, face going back to your neck and arms squeezing your tighter. You can feel his pulse hammering against your own chest.

"You're okay." He breathes. And then his heart beat starts to slow.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

The house is too quiet. Bleak. Cold. Empty.

Your feet are freezing where they bounce anxiously under the kitchen table, trying to ignore how the silence presses.

You don't know how to shake this feeling, this looming sense of dread that hangs in the pit of your stomach. It's been there for days now, since you watched Erik and Sam walk away in the airport and knew - really understood, they might not come home this time.

Maybe even longer. Maybe since you watched Sam's shoulders drop and Erik's hands shake as he ripped open the envelope.

You thought it couldn't get worse than the first time, that those two years were what you could expect the rest of your life to look like.

But it's different now.

They aren't just practicing, they aren't just hoping they've got what it takes.

They're somewhere you can't even picture, praying they have what it takes. Because if they don't, that's it.

It wont be some walk of shame. It won't be a letter home about feeling embarrassed. It won't be them whispering through the phone that they don't know if they can cut it before someone tells them their time is up.

They just simply - won't.

The legs of your chair screech against the floor, before you've even really decided to get up. Your legs are carrying you up the stairs without knowing where you're going, just abandoning your breakfast and your textbook on the table. But you let them, because they seem to know just fine.

You let your brain turn off, let your body run on auto as it pushes open the door of Erik's room.

Most things are boxed up, like he'd gotten everything ready to just start again when he got home.

They'd been looking at apartments. Close to your campus. Close to that little diner the three of you love so much.

Tears sting your eyes at the thought.

You have to meet with the landlord tomorrow and tell her that you'll be taking the place instead, that your brother had to leave.

You can't say the word, not now. Not any time soon. Not when it feels so sick and poisonous.

Deployed.

Your eyes creep around the room, looking for something but not knowing what. They land on green fabric, flung carelessly over the back of Erik's desk chair. Like it'd been tossed there and expected to be picked back up within the hour.

But it wasn't. It was forgotten about in the hustle to start making plans. To start checking boxes of all the things that needed to be packed, of people that needed to be called.

Of people that needed to hear a goodbye.

The warmth fills your chest immediately.

This is it. This is exactly what your brain had been looking for without telling you.

You pick up the hoodie carefully, like it's something sacred in your hands. Something falls into place in your chest. Something content, like a pain you never knew was painful because it's always been there.

You lift it to your face, feeling the scratch of the well loved cotton on your cheeks. You don't mean for it to, but the smell comes on anyway.

Detergent. Cologne. Secret cigarettes. Rain. Sweat.

Sam.

Your mind doesn't have the capacity to grasp yet what that is - that feeling that takes place of the pain in your chest. You just know that you feel it everywhere; from goosebumps on your scalp to the tips of your toes.

It tingles through your skin as you turn, already walking out the door and toward your room.

The smell engulfs you as you pull it onto your body, the fabric on your skin like some strange essence of a hug you can't remember. Your hands slide into the pocket like they've always been meant to be there.

You sleep better than you have in almost a month.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

There's something different in Sam's eyes that you just can't figure out.

He's always been expressive. He always had his deep look in his gaze, even if his expression doesn't match. You'd like to think you've always been good at reading them, at knowing what those big round eyes have going on behind them.

You can't figure it out tonight. You haven't been able to figure it out since he came home a few weeks back.

It's bothering you in a way you don't know how to describe, not even to yourself.

Your fingers grip hard around the neck of the bottle in your hand, watching as Sam lifts Libby and tosses her to the end of the pool. He's grinning, the last traces of sunlight painting his chest in gold and sloping down the edges of his face. It reaches his eyes, laughing as one of his sisters comes out of the water cursing him and the other jumps on his back in a surprise attack. He lets her land easily, body barely flinching at the weight of a nine year old toppling onto him.

His eyes catch yours across the yard, just barely. But it's enough to make a shiver roll down your back.

Maybe it's just the atmosphere. Just the comfort of a warm summer night with all of the people you love, celebrating Veronica and her wife. Maybe it's the heat getting to your brain, or too long in the sun. Maybe you're a little more buzzed than you thought.

But you feel like you need to leave.

You feel something. It's too dangerous to name, especially for a feeling about Sam. It makes you run hot all over in a way that has nothing to do with the July air.

"You gonna get in or just sit there and watch everyone have fun?" You almost bolt right out of your seat when your mom's hand closes over your shoulder, and the whole world suddenly spills back into view.

Tess and Derek calling out to Kate, telling her she needs to be careful sneaking up on her brother in the water. Erik making small talk by the fire with some family friends. Veronica and Bella sitting at the edge of the pool, smiling like two people in love. Libby pulling a water gun out of thin air. Sam's big hands planting on the pavement as he hauls himself out of the pool to get away, water running down his toned arms and dripping out of his hair that's been growing out since he got home. His dark eyes catching on yours again, the muscles in his chest tensing as he makes his way toward you-

God, what's wrong with you?

"Uh, no." You jerk your head back toward your mom, hoping she hasn't noticed the way your eyes can't seem to stay off of Sam for more than a few seconds. You glance back at him, seeing him strolling casually toward you and your mom as she plops down in the lawn chair beside you. You look back to her, mind grappling for an excuse to get away and pull yourself together. "I think I'm gonna go in for a minute. The heat's getting to me."

You don't wait to hear her answer or for her to check on you like you know she will. You just spring up out of your chair and begin marching toward the house, keeping your eyes on the damp pavement below.

You feel gross. Your body is tense like you've committed some kind of crime, cheeks heating up as if anyone that makes eye contact will immediately know where your mind just was-

Thinking of those big hands splayed out on your body, of how his muscles would move from above you-

"Hey." A warm hand closes around your wrist, halting your walk of shame into the house. "Where's the fire?" Sam laughs and you swear you could cry. It's like there's an energy coming off of him, pulling your skin toward his now that he's so close. "You okay?" The question comes out quieter than the last one. Soft, gentle; meant only for you. His hands skates up your arm, landing on your shoulder and his head cocking to the side.

His eyes are doing that thing again; looking dark and inviting in a way you don't recognize. It makes you choke on your own breathing.

"Yeah." You nod, forcing a smile when really you feel like you might die inside. "Think I might have drank a little too fast."

He squints just slightly, like he doesn't quite believe you.

"You need anything?" You can hear the worry ebbing into his voice, his hand squeezing and trying to ground you to him.

"I'm just gonna go inside and cool off for a second." You shrug, because it's technically not a lie. You feel clammy all over, whipping your palms on your shorts and hoping he doesn't notice.

"Never took you for a lightweight." He chuckles and you swear you can hear the rumble of it in his chest. Your fingers itch, wondering if you could feel it if you planted them there. "You want company?" His hand rubs up and down your arm comfortingly, well, it should be comforting.

But you need him to stop touching you. Like, right fucking now.

"I'm okay, Sam." You try to assure him, but something flickers on his face.

"Wow, Sam." His laugh comes out as a little huff, repeating his name dramatically. "When'd you get so serious on me?" He says it like a joke, but you swear you hear a flicker of something else. Something you won't let yourself believe is longing.

Your throat feels like it's closing up.

"When did we start playing twenty questions?" You try to joke back, knowing it falls a little flat.

He smirks anyway, rolling his eyes and grabbing both of your shoulders to turn you toward the house again.

"Fine, go on." He laughs, giving you a little shove. You see the out, the escape. "Just holler if you need me." He calls behind you.

And fuck, isn't that just the problem?

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

The music is too loud. The lights are too bright.

You're drunk. Too drunk.

Bodies press into you from every direction, but none of them are the people you showed up with.

You can't find Jessica anywhere.

And things are starting to get rocky. You feel like you can't breathe in this sea of people, you feel like you can't think with your brain vibrating from the bass speakers up front.

You can't get out, can't find your way back to the bar where Sam and Erik are waiting.

You're gonna throw up.

A hand closes around your arm, and you're being tugged against a body before you can even look in the direction of the person who has ahold of you. At least you have the consciousness to pull away, to send your elbow flying back into their gut and for your legs to start kicking.

Their arms wrap around you now, solid and firm; keeping you from getting away.

You're about to start screaming, start thrashing around yelling for help until someone decks the person who's got you.

This is exactly why Sam and Erik told you to stay with Jess, for the two of you to not leave each others sight once you got to the dance floor.

You're spun around just before the first scream can pass your lips.

It's Sam.

The sight of him immediately dulls your senses, drowning out the panic that was about to break out of you just seconds ago.

He looks like he's feeling the same thing, body slumping when he sees your face.

Are you okay? You can't hear him over the music, but you can see the words on his lips, read the motions of his face as he speaks.

No, not really. But you can't say that to him, can't scare him like that.

He leans in close when you don't answer. The heat of his body crowds you, the smell of his cologne and his sweat invades your senses. It takes everything in you to keep your knees from wobbling, to keep your hands from running up his chest that's pressing against yours.

"I'm gonna take you outside!" He yells right in your ear, and then his arm is curling around your waist. His hand guides yours to his belt loops, fingers curling around yours and not letting go until he's sure you've grabbed on.

He's guiding you out after that. Not another word. Not stopping to see if Erik is where he left him at the bar. Not trying to find Jess.

He just marches right through the crowd, barely struggling to shoulder past the people in his way. He doesn't slow when the door that leads out of the club comes into view. His steps don't falter in the slightest until he's guiding your body down to sit on the wheel stop of the empty parking spot beside the car.

You finally feel like you can breathe again, like you can think again.

"Where's Erik and Jess?" You pant out, eyes finding him where he leans into the passenger side and fumbles around.

"Don't worry about it." He grits, slamming the door and coming to crouch in front of you. He twists the cap off a bottle of water, holding it out for you to take and eyeing you expectantly. You hadn't realized until it was in front of your face how dry your throat feels, how much it hurts to suck in a breath.

You take it from him and start guzzling before you can think of what to say next.

"Easy." He huffs, rubbing your knees to make sure he has your attention. "Don't make yourself sick."

"Sam!" You hear Jess' voice ring out across the parking lot. His jaw clenches, fingers tightening over your knees. You look up to see her stomping over, boots smacking the ground and Erik stumbling behind her. "What the hell? You just fucking disappeared!"

He shoots up from his spot, finger already jabbing in her direction.

"No! You fucking disappeared!" He yells. "I told you to stick together! And then I see you walking up to the bar by yourself!" His face is getting more red by the second, voice deepening with every word.

She just scoffs at him, rolling her eyes. "It's not like anything happened!" She waves her arm between the four of you. "We're fine!"

You see Erik slink back. It's becoming more clear by the second that the two of you shouldn't be here.

That this blow out has been coming for a long time.

"Nothing happened?" Sam laughs, arm waving toward you. "I just fucking walked up to her and snatched her! Anyone could have done that if they'd found her before me!"

You're lucid enough to be a little insulted. You think you would have been able to put up a better fight if the person grabbing you wasn't Navy SEAL for gods sake.

Erik plops down beside you on the wheel stop, bumping his knee into yours and letting out the smallest laugh; like he's reading your mind.

"You're really expect me to let our night out get ruined because your best friend and his sister need to be babysat at all fucking times?"

Sam's jaw clenches again, nostrils flaring at her words.

"I think we got Sam in trouble." Erik whispers, body lulling into you as he starts laughing quietly. You have to put your hand over your mouth to keep the cackle from bursting out of your chest.

"You're right, sorry for expecting you to give a shit about anyone but yourself!" Sam shakes his head, eyes going up to the sky to keep them from rolling so hard it stings.

"You are so goddamn sensitive, for fucks sake." Jessica hisses.

Erik's hand slaps against your knee. Your body shakes trying to keep from howling with laughter.

"God, did they take your fucking balls when you joined the Navy or something? Walking around like a little bitch…" She murmurs the last part, manicured nails flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Erik's body topples into yours now, his laugh too loud for them to keep ignoring.

"Everybody get your wasted fucking asses into the car! Now!" Sam bellows, the sound echoing through the whole lot.

"Yes sir, Petty Officer Sam, Sir!" Erik snorts, and you can't help yourself from giving Sam a little salute when his eyes land on the two of you.

The back door on the car is already slamming, Jess disappearing behind it.

Sam scrubs his hands down his face, his own smile breaking through at the sound of you and Erik laughing.

"When were you guys going to tell me that she's awful?" He whispers behind his hand dramatically.

And if you feel a little prideful on the way home, sitting in the passenger seat while Sam's soon-to-be ex-girlfriend huffs and puffs in the back? Well, that's no one's business but yours.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

The low breeze helps to ease the heat rising up your neck, but not enough.

Not the sound of the woods at night, not the bugs buzzing, not the occasional splash of critters in the lake; can pull your thoughts away from the nagging feeling in your chest.

Like something is wrong.

You've felt it for days now, just this low apprehension that seems to sit like a collar around your throat.

"Can't sleep?" The words are already reaching your ears before the screen door creaks open. Sam steps out, a sleepy smile on his face.

You wait, just the slightest moment to see if Erik had followed him out.

"Got a bad feeling." You whisper back to him when you're sure it's just the two of you.

You don't know when this happened, when these moments of vulnerability with Sam started to feel more like a secret than second nature.

He just hums, sitting down beside you on the old porch swing Derek had put in when he'd finally bit the bullet and just bought the damn place.

His arm wraps over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "You wanna take a walk with me?" You barely hear him, but he's so close. His lips brush your temple as he asks.

You don't know when that happened either, when Sam became so affectionate. It's not that he's ever been adverse to it before, but you find it happening a lot more lately. A hand on your hip as he walks past you. His fingers rubbing your leg when you sit on the couch. His arms wrapping around in a not-quite-real-hug when he stands beside you too long. Just because he can, just because you're there.

The heat creeps up for a different reason now, anticipation of a different kind.

You've finally admitted it to yourself, and just yourself. You'd looked right in the mirror and forced yourself to say the horrifying thoughts that creep up no matter how hard you try to drown them out.

You're in love with Sam.

"Yeah." You smile, looking sideways at him. You can see every fleck of gold in his eyes, the curl of his lashes, the cute little scar above his eye brow that he wears like a souvenir from his first deployment.

He doesn't force you to talk, doesn't disturb the quiet peace that surrounds the two of you as you walk on the little trail that goes in a circle around the house. Never deep enough into the woods that you lose sight of the light from the porches, never far from the light on the moon that shines on your path.

Somewhere on the second loop around, his fingers brush yours.

For some reason, you feel brave enough to push it - to take this chance that's looking you right in the face; even if it wrecks everything.

You let your fingers touch his again, and then you let them interlace.

You look over at him, taking the risk of seeing his reaction.

He's already looking at you, a soft smile on his face. He doesn't push your hand away, doesn't say anything; he just gives your fingers a small squeeze and starts running his thumb over your knuckles.

You feel like a little girl, heart hammering in your chest because her crush might like her back.

You feel like her again. Like that version of you that couldn't stop smiling after Sam told her she did a good job for the first time.

When the two of you sit at the end of the dock, he doesn't say anything before he pulls you into his side and lays his head on the top of yours like it belongs there. His hand only leaves yours to find your thigh where it's pressed against his, running faint little lines up and down your skin.

But as the minutes pass by, as his fingers skim higher toward the hem of your shorts, anxiety swells in your chest.

You have to say something. You have to know that this is real and not some sick little trick your brain is playing on you.

His fingers stop, running just under the seams of the fabric.

"Sam-" Your voice comes out breathless, eyes looking up at him.

His face pulls tight, breath catching in his throat.

The look in his eyes makes you pause.

"Tell me to stop." He whispers, face already leaning closer to yours.

You shake your head, hand already reaching up to curl your fingers in the short hair on the nape of his neck.

"Please, don't stop." You beg, and then you're pressing your lips against his.

It's like a burst of heat hits your lips when they slot with his, spreading through you and curling around every nerve.

And he sits like that - just for a second, kissing you so sweetly you think you might die.

Then, his hands grip hard at your sides. His teeth catch on your bottom lip and you can't help the little sound that rumbles in your throat.

"I love you." He gasps into your mouth.

His body tilts over yours, palm splaying out on your back to guide you down against the dock. His other hand slides along your jaw, and he holds you there.

He pulls back, lashes fluttering and just taking you in.

"Are you sure?" His voice shakes.

You don't fight it now, letting your hands run under his shirt slowly; feeling his muscles tense when you brush over the sparse patch of hair above his waistband.

"I love you too, Sammy." You nod, letting your fingers just barely slip between his skin and the fabric.

His body traps your to the dock so fast it makes your head spin, a small gasp leaving your lips. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, drinking in the pleased hum that rubles in your chest like he's starving.

His movements are frantic now, pulling at your clothes like he's rushing against time.

This might be your new favorite sound in the whole world. Your new favorite pillow too, apparently. The sounds of the night drum on around you, not giving any care to the moment that just changed your whole life.

Your life.

You let yourself picture it in a new light now, in a way you never let yourself entertain before.

Waking up like this every morning, the sound of Sam's heartbeat right under your ear. The warm feeling of his body pressed against yours, holding you like he can't bear to part his skin from your own.

It feels right, like everything is the way it's supposed to be.

You don't know how to describe it, even though you want to. You want to sit up and tell Sam that you're certain this is where the two of you were always meant to be.

"I need to tell you something." His voice is low, rough from groaning your name like it was the reason his mouth existed.

You think for a second that he's beating you to it, like he's read your mind somehow. "Shoot." You hum, pressing your lips to his heartbeat because you can't help yourself.

"Erik and I didn't ask you to come out here with us just for the hell of it."

You freeze, feeling ice start to run through your veins.

"What?" You look up at him, needing him to tell you that it's not that.

Needing him to prove your intuition wrong, that nothing bad is happening.

He doesn't say anything. He just looks down at you with this mournful kind of misery in his eyes.

"Sam?" You sit up now, hand resting on his chest and immediately regretting it when the cool breeze cuts across your sweaty skin.

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. You can feel his chest shake under your palm.

"We leave next month." His voice cracks. His eyes shine when he opens them again, tears threatening to break from his waterline.

You don't move. You can't.

You can feel your limbs starting to tremble, your breath harder to find.

"Baby-" He reaches for you, trying to pull you back to him; but your mind is already running in a million different directions.

To him leaving. To him not coming home. To never seeing him again.

That's not what comes out.

"Okay." You nod, maybe too fast. Jerky. Panicked. "So you'll go and I'll write to you like always and then when you come home, we'll figure this out. Because it'll be the last time and then we can finally start figuring out the rest of… what comes after."

His lips are pulled tight, eyes looking at you like he's forcing himself to do it.

Your heart drops.

"Right?"

He sits up now, running his fingers through your hair with one hand while the other plants on your chest and tries to slow your breathing.

"He told you, didn't he?" And you could almost swear he sounds angry.

You know what he means instantly.

The last time Erik had talked to you about reenlisting, he told you he wasn't going to take it. That he was done after next year.

He was getting out.

"You're done after this, right?" Your voice is raw, and Sam wipes tears away before you even notice them falling.

You grab his hand that's on your chest when he doesn't answer.

You need to hear it. You need to hear him say that he's staying.

"I just…" He trails, eyes look out at the water.

He can't even look at you when he says it.

"I don't feel like my time's up yet." He shrugs.

To your surprise, it's not sadness that shreds your chest down the middle.

It's anger.

So strong, hitting you so head on, all you can do is scoff.

And then you're standing, jerking your body away from his and reaching for your clothes.

"Wait, hey-" He starts, reaching for your arm. "We were going to tell you tomorrow, I swear. It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

You swat at his hand, pulling your shirt over your head. And then he's standing too, rushing to dress when he realizes he's not going to get you to stay here.

As soon as your shorts are back on, you're stomping off.

"Shit, wait-" He curses, tripping over his pants.

You don't, not hesitating for a second. Not even when the sharp rocks jab into your foot as you step off the dock.

You're fully intent to go inside, slam the door in his face, and demand he leave you alone until morning - at the very least.

Maybe if you make enough noise, you'll wake Erik up and he can talk Sam out of being a complete fucking idiot.

You're almost to the porch now, and you can hear Sam tripping behind you while he tries to pull his shoes on and catch up with you at the same time.

"Baby, just wait a second." He grits, grabbing your shirt and trying to haul you back to him. "Can we please just fucking talk about this?" You can hear it, his own irritation rising in his voice.

It feels good. Satisfying - to make him feel even an ounce of how pissed off you are.

"What the fuck is there to talk about, Sam?" You're almost yelling as you push him off of you.

"This!" He waves his arm between the two of you like it's obvious. "I need you to understand that this job isn't the kind I can just walk away from!"

Now that - that lands like a slap to the face.

"You think I don't fucking know that?" You do scream now, body feeling like it's burning.

"Well you're sure as shit not acting like you do!" He laughs.

He has the nerve to laugh at you.

"No, Sam!" You throw your arms out in anger, accidentally tossing your shoes across the yard in the process. "I'm acting like any goddamn person would after someone sticks their dick in them and then tells them they're choosing to fucking die!"

You both flinch at the word.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Erik calls from the door, making you both jump.

You realize now that you're panting, that your whole body shakes from the adrenaline pumping through your veins, that you're crying so hard you shouldn't even be able to get the words out.

His brows rise when he takes in the sight of you. The messy hair. The rumpled clothes. The bruises on your neck.

You suddenly have the foresight to feel a little ashamed.

"Sam's being a fucking idiot." You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest like you need to protect yourself.

There's a scoff from Sam behind you, another humorless laugh.

"Don't call me and idiot just because it's something you could never even think of understanding."

And you know that tone.

It's the same one you've heard him use with Erik a hundred times -

When he thinks Erik is being stupid.

Something in you crumbles, pulls all of the fight out of your shoulder.

"Fuck you, Sam." You mumble, already moving to step onto the stairs.

"Yeah, well that's kind of what got you here in the first place, isn't it?"

It's the grate of his voice as he says it. Smug, superior, self-righteous.

Your vision goes white.

You reel on him, and your hand is swinging back before you can stop it. Your shoulder pops in protest at how hard your hand flies forward, and the sting rips across your palm before it even leaves Sam's face.

"Alright, alright." Erik's voice sounds like it's underwater as he pushes between you. It's deep, commanding like you've never heard it before. "That's enough." He says it like someone who's not used to being disobeyed.

It shakes you, making you lean on the railing of the steps as the adrenaline immediately leaves your body. Your hand throbs where it hangs at your side.

You catch Sam's eye, seeing the shock painted on his face.

"I'm sorry-" His voice is broken, tears finally starting to run down his face. "Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry I talked to you like that."

Erik's gaze lands on you next and you could almost swear he looks impressed.

"We're leaving in the morning." You deadpan, not waiting to hear their protests as you start to stomp up the steps.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

You haven't talked to Sam since he left. Not really. Not in the ways that matter.

You get letters during the holidays, always simple things. Happy Halloween, have a good Thanksgiving, merry Christmas, happy birthday. I love you. I miss you. I want to come home. I hope I see you soon.

You do your best to keep writing back but it's so hard. You just don't know how to do this. You don't know how to go back. You don't know how to pretend like you're not thinking of him everyday, like you don't crave to have him here with you more than anything, like it's not going to kill you when he has to - no- when he chooses to leave again.

The envelope sits like lead on the table in front of you. You'd brought it in this morning and haven't had the heart to open it yet. But it's been nagging at you all day, sending a little itches down your spine at work.

On the way home, you'd half expected to see it gone when you got back. Like you'd made it all up in the first place.

But it's here and it looks so damn scary for what it really is.

It's just a rumpled piece of paper, just like the ones you have shoved in the drawer to send letters to Erik. The same kind that you've become intimately familiar with since you were sixteen.

But there's no reason. That's what makes it terrifying.

There's no date looming over your head that would warrant his greetings, no social pressure for a check in.

Whatever is in this letter is purely Sam.

You don't want to open it, you don't want to give yourself another thing to cling onto that you know you can't keep.

You picture him though, mind conjuring up images without your permission. You think of those big brown eyes, down-turned in disappointment when he sees Erik ripping open a letter from you and knowing that you're choosing not to hear from him.

You let your fingers run over the lip of the envelope. Not willing to rip into it yet.

The next picture comes against your will, making nausea swirl hot and heavy in your gut.

Sam, laying in the dirt and not knowing how much you love him. Never knowing how much you love him, all because you were too chicken-shit to read his fucking letter.

There's no greeting at the top of the page, no cohesive start to the pen marks so abundant they look like the page is going to disintegrate if you make the smallest wrong move.

Erik and I got into a fight last week. Things haven't been the same since we got here, I kind of just thought he was stressed from his new duty as captain. But I made - I'll admit - a pretty fucking stupid call and almost got my ass handed to me in the process. He wouldn't even look at me when we got back to base. I was worried at first; but after three days, I was just pissed off. I lost it on him, and the admiral almost made us take it outside. But he looked at me, really looked at me and just started bawling. I think he kept it in for a while, kept it as long as he could until he broke. He told me he hated me. He said that telling you I wanted to be with you might as well be making you a widow already. And I think he's right. I think I've had this picture of us, of you and me, but I never let myself see you when I'm not there. I never let myself think of what it's like for you when I'm gone, what it would be like for you if I didn't come home.

So they might as well consider this letter as my sign off, because I'm not taking another four years. I'm not even taking another two. When I come home, I'm coming back to you. I promise I'll stay. I'm sorry that everything happened the way it did. I guess I was just thinking of me, of what I wanted to happen instead of what could happen. I'm so fucking sorry baby. I love you. I'll see you soon, I swear.

- Love, Sammy

You grip the paper hard, holding it against your shaking chest. The tears won't stop coming, but you're glad. You're so damn glad to read those words in Sam's messy scrawl.

When your vision is less blurred, you're going to write and write and write. Until your hand cramps up and you cry again. You're going to tell him how much you love him too. You're going to make sure he knows that you're counting down the days.

You're going to tell him that you can hardly wait until he comes home to you.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

"You know I thought about this moment every damn day?" His eyes droop with sleep, words drawn out long like his pain meds are finally kicking in.

There's a content kind of smile on his face, one you haven't seen in a long time. His thumb runs in little patterns on your cheek like he's trying to memorize how you feel against his fingerprints.

His eyes shine in the low light of your room, looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky just for him.

He's here. In your bed. In your room. In your apartment. He's home.

You tilt your head and press a kiss against his palm.

"Me too." You hum, letting your hand run up and down his side.

You need to memorize the feeling just as bad, need to have the feeling of Sam ingrained into every fiber of your skin.

Something stricken tugs at his face then, just a flash. Just enough to make you worry.

"What is it, Sammy?" You whisper; bringing your hand up to his head, letting the little bit of hair that's grown out from his time in the hospital run under your fingers.

He looks more alert then, and his eyes tell you everything you need to know. They always do.

He's holding something back. There's something he wants to say to you that he's not sure if he should.

"I can take it." Your voice comes out even, sure. You press your forehead against his. His breath quickens, just the slightest bit; just enough for you to know what he's thinking about.

"I was thinking about you when it happened." He presses his head harder against yours like he can't get close enough. "I was just laying there… and the pain was-" He pauses, a small tremble wracking his body. You reach up, taking his hand off of your face so you can curl your fingers into his. "And I was screaming. God I was just fuckin' hollering. I know I must have been driving the guys crazy with it, freaking out like that."

"I'm sure they understand, Sam." You give his hand a small squeeze. Because you hate that. You hate that he feels ashamed of it.

You hate that he feels like he's not supposed to feel.

"I needed to think of something else. Of something, anything but the pain." He rolls his eyes, unshed tears shining in the low light of the lamp beside your bed.

Your heart aches at the terror leeching into his eyes, at the stone he's trying to force his face to be.

Like he has to hide anything from you.

"And I looked up, and I saw Erik looking down at my leg. I've never seen him like that. I've never seen him look so scared." He squeezes his eyes shut, a single tear rolling down his cheek. You lean forward, pressing your lips to it just as it rolls over the slope of his nose. "You know what it made me think of?" He laughs in disbelief, pulling his eyes back open and looking at you with something you can only describe as adoration.

"What did you think of, baby?" You force yourself to smile. You don't want him to see how deep the image goes, how much it scares you to think of him like that.

You don't want him to think he has to be strong for you.

"I thought of that day." He laughs again, eyes distant like he's being pulled back into the memory at this very moment. "I thought of you laying on the ground and crying - screaming about how you hurt your leg." He grins then, like he just can't help himself. "That's what I felt like."

You do your best to hold in the snort that wants to rip from your mouth at the memory of their faces.

"And I'm screaming, but I just can't help but laugh." He shakes his head. "And I know I looked ridiculous. Laying there, covered in blood and going back and forth between screaming and giggling. I probably looked fucking crazy."

You're both laughing now, bodies s curling impossibly closer and trying to share the way it shakes you.

"Guess I finally got you back for scaring the hell out of me." He smirks, biting his lip.

All you can do is hum in agreement, rising over him and planting a kiss on lips. His hands run over you, perfectly in tune with every small movement of your body as you maneuver over him and sit on his abdomen.

You're breathless when you finally part your mouth from his, planting your hands on his chest and looking down at him.

His eyes are wide, rounded and wild. His lips shine with your spit as they pull into a smug grin. His hands squeeze at your hips.

"Think I deserve a prize for winning?" His voice comes out low, in that way that drives you absolutely insane.

"Hmm…" You look up at the ceiling, tapping your chin like you're thinking real hard about it. His hands pull your hips, rolling you against the muscles that are starting to soften along his belly. "I guess so, but only under one condition." You nod, voice a little harder to find now.

"Anything you want, angel." He sounds absolutely smitten, pupils blown out wide.

"The competition is over." You force your voice to be firm, making sure he understands the weight of your words. "No more scaring each other."

His smile turns soft as he nods. "I'll try if you do." He raises his hand up, holding his pinky out to you.

"Deal." You smile, chest feeling light. You lock your pinky with his.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆

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"So you're just gonna pretend like this is nothing?" Johnny's voice comes out in a scoff as soon as the bedroom door closes.

And God, you love him so much; but you'd give anything for him to just fucking drop it.

"I don't see why you're making a big deal out of this?" You roll your eyes and begin to strip out of your suit, not even bothering to turn and look at him. "I'm fine. I'll take the stuff Reed gave me to keep from getting anything infected and the cast comes off in six weeks." You huff, repeating the words again as you toss your belt onto the bed.

"You're fine?" He scoffs again, not able to hold in his laugh of disbelief. "Your face is beaten to hell and your wrist is broken, but yeah, you walked away just fine."

You don't see the roll of his eyes behind you because you're trying desperately to get a grip on the zipper of your suit without him noticing your struggle; but you know he does it all the same.

"Oh my face is beat up?" You laugh, turning to look at him when you realize you're not going to get your suit unzipped with your cast on. He's still just standing by the door with his arms crossed and his face in a tight frown. "Have you looked in the mirror since we got home?" His eyes flicker orange at your mocking tone.

"The ceiling almost collapsed on you!" He yells, throwing his arms out in frustration. You just shake your head and walk to the closet. You'll fight with your suit in the bathroom where you can't give him the satisfaction of needing his help. "Why couldn't you just fucking listen to me?" He hisses, and you feel like you're the one that's about to burst into flames.

You reel around to him again, forgetting the closet in the wake of the anger that's rising in your body.

"If I had waited for your signal, someone could have gotten hurt!" You can't keep your voice from rising, because you and Johnny never fight like this.

This kind of blowout is uncharted territory for you.

"You got hurt." He grits out, face going red. You fight off stomping your foot in anger, fists clenching at your sides to hold in the scream that wants to rip out of you.

"So I'm just supposed to risk the lives of innocent civilians for your comfort?" You cock your head at him. Your body feels like it's itching all over, just waiting for his reaction.

He doesn't give it to you, and that feels grating against your skin. He just crosses his arms over his heaving chest and glares at you like he's sizing you up.

"It's our job to keep people safe, Johnny." You gesture out the window to the New York skyline. "Bumps and bruises are part of that job."

"No." He laughs dryly, shaking his head. "Y'know what I think?" His eyes are piercing, glaring right into your own.

"Oh what do you think, Johnny Storm, the man that knows everything?" You mirror his stance, arms crossing. You know it's a low blow, but for some reason; you need him to lose his cool. Something deep in your gut wants to see him blow up, to start shouting and throwing a fit.

He gets this satisfied sort of smirk on his face, taking one slow step toward you.

"I think you've had this tension in you for weeks now." His voice drops low as he continues his sly stalk toward you.

You don't back up, don't move an inch; not wanting to let him see that everything about this has you burning under your skin.

"It's like you've got this pent up energy and you don't know how to let go of it." His voice slides out smoothly as he stands right in front of you, but you won't look up at him.

You keep your face tight, glaring daggers at nothing in particular to keep from meeting his eyes.

You don't want him to know he's right.

You don't want to acknowledge that itch you just can't seem to scratch.

His hands slide up, and for a second you think he's got this all wrong. He cradles the back of your head like it's delicate in his hands, angling your face up to him with his fingers in your hair. He looks like he's thinking hard about his next words, eyes searching your face for any sign of your feelings.

"I think you want to be roughed up a little." He breathes, fingers tightening their grip. His nails just barely scratch at your scalp and your hair twists in his hold, but it's enough.

You surge upwards, slamming your lips into his. They burn against your mouth, and you can't help the little whine that rings out when his teeth knock into your split lip from the force of it. You feel him smiling against you when your arms sling over his shoulders.

For just a second your body feels quiet.

"Atta girl." It rumbles in his chest, and then he's shoving you back into the wall. The thud barely sounds out, but it knocks through your body like he's thrown you.

And it feels good.

He doesn't give you a second to think about it. His tongue forces its way into your mouth as soon as the gasp leaves you. He tastes like the cinnamon gum you can't ever get him to spit out during a mission and smoke. There's something metallic beneath it, like the blood from the hits he took hasn't fully left his mouth yet. A content hum sounds in your throat at the force he's using to invade your senses.

He keeps kissing you hard, not giving you a second to breathe or an inch to pull away from the wall. You're so lost in him, brain occupied by all things Johnny; that you don't realize his hands have left your hair.

"Is that what you need, baby?" He murmurs, pulling back just enough so he can see that you mean it. His hands grab onto your hips, and the squeeze grounds you enough to find your voice.

"Yeah." You nod, the word breathy. Your fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his suit over his shoulders, fighting to pull him closer to you.

"You tell me if you want to stop." He says firmly, squeezing at you again to make sure you hear him. "Stop me if it hurts too much." His eyes are wide in question, searching your face for permission.

"I will." You promise, already pushing your head up to get his mouth on yours again.

You think he's giving in, ready to kiss you silly again; until his teeth sink into your bottom lip. You keen at the twinge that shoots through your skin.

At the same time your head falls back, he pushes his knee between your thighs. He's not teasing about in the way he'd normally be. His knee hits firmly against your pelvis, making your body jolt from the dull sting that rocks through you.

"Fuck-" You huff, twisting your fingers tighter on his shoulders and letting yourself fall onto his knee.

In a few short moments, all the tension has left your body. If you felt burning before, you're throbbing now as you start to roll your hips against his leg.

"Nu-uh." He grits when he sees your face go lax from the friction between your legs. He reaches up and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to look at him again. "Suit off. Then, bend over the end of the bed for me." He looks smug, eyes crinkled at the corners from fighting off his smirk.

Embarrassment bubbles up in your stomach then, but it doesn’t turn acidic in the way it did moments ago.

You kind of like it.

"I can't." You whisper, trying out the feeling and rocking again on his knee.

He gets this gleam in his eye, a small grin cracking onto his lips. He looks cocky and it makes you want to grind down harder.

He beats you to it, hitting his leg against your clothed cunt again. "What was that, babe?" He leans his head to the side, fighting to ignore the small moan that rips out of you.

"I can't get ahold of the zipper." Your voice comes out whinier than you mean it to, but you feel like you're pulsing now.

Johnny has the nerve to chuckle at your emission, pulling on your hair roughly again and shaking you with it. The sting has you crying out this time, but your clit aches with it; desperately rubbing against him.

"You need my help, honey?" He sounds overly sweet as he lets go of your hair and smooths it back down, rubbing gently at your scalp.

He's mocking you.

The realization shoots right up your spine, settling something gooey in your limbs and hazy in your mind.

"Yes sir." You hum, brain running on auto to the last time you felt like this. When you'd laughed out a simple Yes sir, Mr. Storm in his office and he'd taken you so hard against the desk that he'd accidentally burned you.

He grips hard at the back of your neck, pulling you away from the wall so fast that you can't even see his reaction to your words.

"Y'know, if you'd just waited for me..." He grits, walking you to end of the bed without letting go of his hold on your skin. "You wouldn't be needing my help, would you?"

He shoves you down onto the mattress before you can answer and your breath catches. You feel his heat as he leans over your back, reaching into the neckline of your suit for the zipper. It makes your brain feel cloudier as his warmth brackets your body.

"I asked you a question." He grits suddenly, and you hear the crack before you feel it.

A sting rips against your skin, dulled only by the cotton of your suit, and you almost don't recognize the sound that comes out of you when the feeling resounds in your cunt.

"No." You shake your head, eyes in a daze on the sheets. "I wouldn't." Your breathing picks up and you can't help but rut back against him.

He presses into you further, letting you feel how hard he is against where you need him so badly it causes a hurt of its own. His hand reaches under you, fingers skating lightly against your sternum.

"Who are you talking to?" He whispers against your ear and your neck tingles when his warm breath hits it.

His hand reaches up and his fingers curl around the column of your throat. He gives a gentle squeeze, holding for a second long enough to have your head spinning.

"Try again, baby." Johnny prompts, letting go of your neck and reaching back for the zipper again.

"No, sir." You can barely pull the words out, only able to think about what his next move might be. "I wouldn't need your help if I stuck to the plan."

He draws his fingers slow down your back, using just enough heat to have you squirming under him. "Good." You can hear the smile in his voice as he leans down and presses a kiss to the skin slowly growing more exposed to him. "Glad we can agree."

He's quiet for a minute, simply pulling your suit off with care that wildly contrasts his movements seconds ago.

But you know he's not done with you yet. Johnny's never been the kind to quit too early, especially not when he finds something you like.

Your skin feels buzzing the more naked he gets you, barely able to withstand the anticipation.

"I think you need something to help you remember that we do this as a team, huh?" He asks, finally pulling the fabric down your legs. Even with him so close, the air feels freezing against the slick warmth on your skin. "Damn-" He laughs, kicking your legs apart. The dismissiveness of his action makes a shiver run up your back. You gasp when his warm fingers slide through your folds and pull them apart. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

You risk glancing over your shoulder at him, and the sight is humiliating in the best way possible.

He's only inches away from your core, eyes locked like he's inspecting it.

"Yes sir." You nod, shifting your hips toward him in a silent plead. You need him to do something, anything, to fix the pull that's been building in your stomach since he first put his hands on your body.

His eyes meet yours and he smirks again, standing to his full height behind you. "Yeah, I can tell." He chortles and runs his hands over the fat of your ass, gripping it hard in his hands.

You let your head fall back to the bed, relishing in the feeling of his nails pressing on your skin.

"So fucking wet already and I'm just getting started." The grit in his voice isn't warning enough for the hard smack that lands on your ass.

You feel the pain surge up through your back, a hot zing of pleasure that lands molten in your gut. The sound is drowned out by the one that rips from your lungs; something ragged, caught between a gasp and a whine.

"Oh fuck." You cry into mattress, fingers curling in the sheets. The sear mellows out into a low sizzle under your skin.

"How was that, honey?" His voice loses all it's theatrical cadence, just warm and waiting for your approval.

"So good." You sigh happily, not sure there's a way to tell him you think you might explode from need. You hear a low hum come from his chest as his other hand smooths over your skin, like he's mapping the space before he marks it up. Every second that he makes you wait, the sound of your heart pounds louder in your ears.

His hand comes down brutal this time and you can't help but jerk at the impact. Your body lurches forward, a broken cry ringing out into the room as your thighs fight to close. You need something to ease the pain that twinges in your pussy.

"Need you." You whimper when his legs stop your own from rubbing together. "Fuck, Johnny. Please." You beg, leaning back into him and trying to get some friction against his bulge.

"Yeah, you need my cock, baby?" He teases, hands running over your stinging skin. His nails dig into the flesh and pull your body against his. You sound wrecked when the fabric catches on your clit, body feeling like one big exposed nerve for him to poke at.

"Yes, please." You babble, resting your head on the sheets and rubbing against him.

"I don't know if you deserve it yet." He laughs, "Gotta give my brat what she needs before I can give her what she wants." He punctuates his words with another slap. The harsh crack of it sounding in the room as you bury your face into the bed to hold in your cry. "You think that sounds fair?" He taunts, pushing his hips against yours; giving you just enough friction that tears break free from your waterline.

Your blurry gaze catches on white leather laying in front of you. Your belt, thrown haphazardly onto the bed in the midst of your outburst. A prickling thrill runs up your spine, casted arm already reaching out to grab it.

"Are you sure, honey?" You hear a hint of hesitation in his voice as your fingers close around the material and start pulling it toward you. His thumbs rub gently at the fat of your hips, grounding you. Trying to make sure you're thinking clearly about this.

"Yes sir." You nod, holding your belt back for him to reach. "I want it harder." You force your voice to come out firm.

"Okay, baby." He coos, leaning down and pressing a burning kiss to the small of your back. He doesn't take the leather from your hands right away. Instead, you hear him shuffling as he starts to pull off his own suit.

It's like a breath of fresh air washing over your body, hearing the sound of his pants hit the floor. You peek behind you again, watching him pull his boxers down like you're in a trance. He looks flushed, like he's barely holding his flames inside.

"Don't know how much longer I'm gonna be able to watch this pretty hole squeeze on nothing." He huffs, smiling as he meets your eyes. You feel frozen, not even able to breath when he starts tugging softly at his dick. He uses the wetness already spread over his tip to thrust lazily into his hand.

Your throat tightens with jealousy that it's not you he's fucking into, a little ashamed of how good it feels that he's making you watch.

"Johnny-" Your voice cracks, hips thrusting pleadingly back against him. His hand splays out on your back, pushing you back down as he takes the belt from your hand.

"The whole point of this is for you to learn to wait." He grunts, whipping the belt down against your ass.

The pain stabs though you hard and a sharp cry leaves your lips. Your mind feels suddenly blank; the only things you can be sure of are the burning you feel on your bruising flesh and the pulsing heartbeat in your clit.

"I'm sorry." You whine weakly, fingers clutching the sheets as you fight to keep from pushing back against him again. "I'm sorry, sir. I can wait. I swear." You babble as tears run down your cheeks.

"Good." Johnny hums, waving his hand behind you and fanning cool air onto the welts forming. It's a moment of relief that has your legs weakening. "If you can stay still until we get to five, I'll fuck you stupid on my cock, yeah?"

A low whine falls from your lips at his words, a wave of heat rolling through your gut just from the promise of getting him inside you soon. "Yes sir." You croak, body tensing up in anticipation for the belt to come down again.

Two. You almost scream when the leather meets your puffy skin again, and your legs start to burn with the strain of keeping them open when all you want to do is rub your thighs together.

Three. You choke on the sob that rips up your throat and your knuckles strain from how hard you grip the sheets in your hands. Johnny's hand comes to rest on your hip, running low circles.

"Breathe, baby." He murmurs, leaning to the side of your body and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You still with me?" He asks, running his hand up your side soothingly.

It's the contrast of his voice to the assault he's laying on your body, sickeningly sweet against the searing blaze, that makes you swear you can feel your wetness running down your thighs now.

You're wound so tight, at this rate, you think you might black out as soon as he touches your cunt.

"Yeah, I'm good." Your voice barely comes out, but he can hear that you mean every word. "I'm with you."

You sound fucking blissed.

"Yeah, you are." He beams, standing back up. "Two more, sweetheart." He rubs the small of your back, giving you another second to cool down. "Then, I'm gonna give you what you want." His voice drops low, like he can barely go on with the waiting himself.

Four. "Holy fuck-" You do yell this time. The sting feels sharper from the moments you've gone without it.

Five. He gives you the last one before you've even had time to process the one before, and you're glad. Your legs shake and your clit throbs; you're not entirely sure your legs could have held you up through anymore waiting.

"Johnny, please." You sob, letting your knees go lax; relying on the bed and his hand on your hip to keep you from sliding right to the floor. The belt falls to the floor with a dull clatter and your body finally releases its tension, no longer waiting for the impact.

"You did so good, babe." He praises, hands running up and down your back as you try to even out your breathing.

He lets his body meld with yours. His dick pressing against your pussy and you want to sob from relief, from finally feeling him so close to where you need him so badly. You keen, rubbing against him and gasping when the vein at the base of his cock runs against your clit.

He pulls away from you suddenly and you're left reeling. You don't even have time to ask him what he's doing before his hands wrap around your thighs and pull them as far apart as you can manage.

"I think-" He hums, like he's talking to himself as he watches your hole clench at the sound of his voice. He leans in, leaving only the ghost of a kiss to your swollen clit. "You might need one more, just to be sure." He nods, pulling away.

You're about to protest- to tell him that your ass can't take anymore-

His palm lands flat on your cunt. The sting is so sudden and sharp that your vision blurs, a strangled moan clawing out of your chest as your body curls into the bed.

You're in a haze, brain trying to sort through all of the different feelings running through your body. Johnny's careful now as he slots back against you, like he's trying not to disturb you processing all the things you're feeling.

His arms bracket yours. He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to your hair and not daring to pull away as his hands search for the ones gripping the bed like a lifeline. When he finds them, his fingers thread through your own; giving a gentle squeeze. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize that you can't feel his lower body against you, and you finally turn your head to look at him.

"You ready for me, baby?" He keeps his voice low, checking in without saying it.

"Need you so bad." Your voice comes out watery, tears still running down your cheeks. You're practically dizzy from the deep pull in your gut.

He just nods, lowering his hips to meet yours. There's a mellow burn when his hot skin presses against the raw marks on you. You push back, chasing the feeling of Johnny touching you.

The hand holding your casted one sneaks behind him, fingers grazing down your body as he goes. He moves so slow that it almost seems like torture. You feel like you're vibrating all over, barely holding in your anticipation.

He shudders, a low rumble of a moan leaving his chest. The head of his cock bumps your clit lazily, tapping on the tender spot and making a whiny cry pass your lips. It hurts in the way that pressing on a bruise does, sharp and satisfying.

"Please, Johnny." Your voice barely comes out, one last plea for what you want so badly.

He pushes in all at once and your satisfied moan sounds through the room, his own grunt as the backtrack.

"Fuck, babe." He gasps into your shoulder. His fingers tighten around yours to hold himself steady. "So fuckin' wet for me." His voice slurs like he's already lost in it.

He doesn't waste a second after that, fucking into you like he's on a mission of his own. His body keeps yours pressed down onto the mattress with no room to move away, not that you want to.

You can't think, brain lost in the feeling of the ache in your ass and his dick stretching your cunt. With the way you're slumped, his tip hits that soft spot inside you perfectly with every slam of his hip into you.

"Is this all you needed, honey?" Johnny grits, voice barely audible over the sound of his skin slapping yours. His arms reaches under your leg, fingers expertly finding your clit and rubbing in fast circles that have you choking on your breathing. "Just needed a way to let it all out?" You can hear the grin in his voice, somewhere between teasing and accomplished.

You can only whine in response, the knot forming in your stomach pulling tight. You feel dangerously close to slipping over the edge already, and it's taking everything in you not to let go of the feeling too soon.

It all just hurts so good.

"Answer me." He growls, letting go of your hand and twisting his fingers in your hair. A wounded cry is all he gets.

His thrusts come impossibly faster. He knocks the air out of you with every punch of his cock as deep in you as he can go, and he's at it again before you can suck in a breath. His fingers tap hard at your clit, not giving you what you need until you say it.

The fingers in your hair pull your head back, a pleasant sting spreading over your scalp. Your eyes finally catch his face.

His eyes are glowing, big and rounded as they look at you. His lips hang open, little gasps that match your own wheezing moans.

He looks like he needs it. He looks wrecked.

"Yes sir." You force the words to come out, and his head falls against your own with a broken moan.

His hips start to stutter, cock twitching against your walls. His fingers flick fast back and forth, lighting up your nerves like a live wire. Your head falls back to the mattress, body starting to tense up and push harder back into his thrusts.

"Then let it out for me, baby." He's broken up by his own desperate whine, and you see white; a small yell leaving your throat.

Everything dulls and becomes too much all at once. You're lost in a haze of electric trembles racking your body and the feeling of Johnny's arm coming around to hold you tightly to his chest.

One last, hard thrust punctuates the cry that leaves him. The feeling of warmth seeping into you has a new set of satisfied tears dripping onto the sheets.

It's hard to come back up for air when you feel so floaty, even with Johnny's body laying on top of your own.

You feel groggy, eyes bleary and covered in sweat. You feel heavy and too light at the same time, like you're body hasn't adjusted back to gravity after being on cloud nine.

"Sweetheart?" He whispers where his head lays behind yours. His arm around your waist gives you a little shake when you take a minute to answer. "How you feeling?" His voice sounds just as sleepy as you feel.

Like your brain is overridden. Completely fucked out. Barely holding onto reality.

"So fucking good." You sigh happily, trying to curl your body impossibly closer to where he lays behind you.

You hear an airy laugh and his hand rubs over your stomach.

"Don't think I can move though." You hum cheerfully, not wanting to part your body from Johnny or the bed.

His warm lips find the back of your neck, pressing a firm kiss as he starts to peel his body from you. You whine in protest and try to roll over so that you can tug him back down onto you.

"I'll be just a second." He murmurs, one hand pushing you softly until you're flat on your chest again. "Gotta get the good stuff for your skin." He explains, fingers ghosting over the back of your thighs while he inspects the damage. "This might be worse than the burn." You hear him mumbling to himself as he starts to walk to the bathroom.

You almost fall asleep in the minute he's gone. You feel boneless, like you could just melt into the bed after how tightly you've been wound up. You're all warm and sated, with your face still pressed against Johnny's side of the bed and his scent filling your nose with every evening breath.

You jump when the cold jel meets your skin, so spaced out that you hadn't even felt him sit on the bed beside you.

"Sorry, baby." He keeps his voice low like he doesn't want to disturb you. He continues rubbing the cooling jel over the whelps covering your skin, taking extra care to be light on the raw spots and to massage the space that's unmarked.

"Actually-" His voice comes out guarded now, rubbing his hands off on your suit hanging off the corner of the bed. "I'm sorry for yelling at you." He's so quiet that you wonder if you're even meant to hear it.

You roll onto your side to face him. He sits with his hands in his lap, looking down at the damp rag he's holding.

Something bubbles in your chest, deep and full of regret.

"It's okay, Johnny." Your hand comes out to squeeze his thigh, wanting nothing more than for his eyes to meet yours. You want him to see that you mean it.

"No, it's not." He gets up easily, like his body is running on auto as he parts your thighs and starts to wipe you gently with the cool cloth. "You were just doing your job." He shrugs, keeping his eyes locked on the task in front of him. "You got hurt trying to help, and I shouldn't have picked a fight over that."

"Johnny." Your voice comes out a lot harsher than you mean it to, but it does the job. His gaze snaps up to yours. There's tears pooling in his eyes.

"I'm sorry too." Your voice cracks. "I just wanted to get the job over with because I was tired and I got cocky. I should have waited for you." You reach out and cup his jaw, swiping your thumb to catch the first tear that falls free. "We're a team."

His body deflates as he crawls back over you, resting his face just a faction too far from your lips.

"I was just so scared of something happening to you." His breathing is shaky, more tears escaping as his lashes flutter. You can see his mind trying to fight off the thought.

"I'll be more careful next time, I promise." You nod, wiping his tears away again.

"I'll be there on time next time." He chuckles, teeth peaking out of the small grin that pulls on his lips. "I promise."

You both sit there for a moment, just gazing at each other and feeling happy that you got to come home together.

"Don't think this sappy confession is gonna get you out of talking about the freaky shit you just had me do." He breaks into a fit of giggles. You reach above your head, snagging his pillow and whacking his head with it.

He throws himself down beside you, clutching his chest like you've shot him.

"Wouldn't dream of it… sir." You laugh, jumping out of bed when you see him snag your pillow to retaliate.

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Wanna be added to the Johnny Storm taglist? You can reply under the masterlist, message me, or send an ask into my inbox!

Requests:

★ - Wedding Singer! Eddie Munson X Reader - based on the 1998 movie with Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore (1)

♬ - Steve Harrington X Henderson! Reader - where reader has a crush on Steve, but she doesn't think he feels the same way. Dustin hatches a scheme (and ropes in Robin and Eddie) to make sure that both of their feelings come to light.

❤️‍🔥 - Johnny Storm X Gravity Powered! Reader - In an accident while testing the cosmic rays that altered the F4s DNA, reader gains the ability to manipulate gravity. With so much lost and now having such dangerous abilities, Sue wants her to come live with the team. Johnny is immediately enamored with her, even though her powers are the most dangerous to him.

💍 - Eddie Munson and Reader Elope - It's been a little while since Eddie came home from his encounter with the bats, but the way his girlfriend takes care of him makes him sure of one thing: he needs to marry her. As soon as possible.

Series:

🪐 - Crush - Shalla-Bal X Reader - 3 parts remaining (1)

👻 - How Long Baby Have I Been Away? - Steddie X Reader - 8 parts remaining

Bonus: Do you think you know who the "her" is that Eddie is referring to from the time before he and Steve broke up?

🧡 - Let The Honey Slide - Eddie Munson X Reader - unknown amount of chapters

🪦 - Down In A Hole - Steddie + Dustin-Centric - unknown amount of chapters. Based on this post!

Straight From My Brain and Onto Your Screen:

🪻- Johnny Storm X Reader from a bad family - Reader has never had a good family dynamic, and they're terrified to meet Johnny's family because they know how much it means to him.

Season four of Stranger Things came out at a very weird time in my life. Eddie Munson stuck with me instantly, and I think I'll carry him with me for the rest of my life.

There's really a lot of reasons that the second and third chapters never came; but I think the base of it is that I got a little overwhelmed.

Love Divides was my first ever real fic, and definitely my first series. (Which, in the past couple months, I've had some trouble keeping up to date with them anyway - but that's a seasonal thing I think?) I spent a lot of time working on the first chapter (basically the whole time between the releases of vol.1 and 2 of s4) and trying to pack three seasons of a show (plus the extra stuff for my parts of the story) into the next chapter just seemed really daunting. Then, vol.2 came out. I'm not going to lie- Eddie Munson dying struck me in a way that no other character's death has ever done before. It forced me to deal with a lot of feelings around grief that I'd been trying to smother out in my life. It's a little embarrassing to admit, but to be completely honest, I was a fucking mess.

I also just simply didn't really feel like I had anyone in my life that I could talk to about it. Hell, up until a couple months ago, I didn't even have a beta reader for my fics. No one but the people who chose to read them on here had ever seen what I wrote, and I certainly didn't talk about them. I was too shy to try and reach out to anyone on here; because while I wasn't new to Tumblr, I was new to posting. It felt embarrassing, and that's something I'm still trying to work through today - just reminding myself that I am allowed to take up space and talk on the internet.

Then, of course, the "Eddie Munson Cringe" era started. While I never told anyone the extent of my involvement with the fan base, I wasn't quiet about my love for the character. I'm a person that cares too much about fiction, and I don't feel any need to pretend I'm not. Let's just say, the people in my life weren't exactly... nice about it. I was getting made fun of by people I cared about for simply enjoying a character, and watching them say stuff about people online I thought were so cool. Fan-artists, cosplayers, theorists, and other fic writers. I've always had a deep love for all things fandom, even if I wasn't an active participant in all of it. So, that just kind of made my feeling of displacement worse.

But, in the past few years; I've gotten people like that out of my life and surrounded myself with people that support my hobbies. They may not always get it, but they aren't going to make me feel bad about doing things that make me happy. It sounds silly, but I found my hype team. It does suck that it happened so long after Love Divides, but I'm happy it happened.

When I started writing again, I kind of had this idea that it had been too long to continue working on that story. Would anyone still read it? Has everyone moved on? If they did tune in, would they be angry at me for taking so long? Plus, I already had a ton of new ideas ruminating in my brain from spending so long not doing anything but thinking about the hobby I loved so much.

Like I said, I'd absolutely love to continue it one day. It's deeply personal to me and I think it'd be nice to rework the themes I put into that story with a brighter outlook.

But the simple answer to your question is - burnout and embarrassment.

It's not really a surprise to anyone. Many bodies were recovered since they showed.

It hits Dustin hard though. He finally has to deal with it, to acknowledge the hard parts of it.

Because, even though he'd told Wayne that Eddie was gone; Wayne refused to believe anything until his saw him again. Dead or alive.

They finally have a funeral for him. Dustin sees him get lowered into the ground. It's hard to take and really, he's not all there for most of it. He knows Steve tried his best to be there, he knows the Corroded Coffin boys hugged him so hard he thought they were gonna be lowering him next, he knows Wayne was an absolute mess. He remembers that the turnout was better than anyone had expected. Old ladies that Eddie had flattered at the grocery store. The guy from the gas station that Eddie always bought his cigarettes from. Some of the art and English teachers that taught Eddie over the years.

Mostly, he remembers not being able to tell anyone why the hell Eddie had a spear and shield strapped to his body when they pulled him out.

The real details of it are murky, and no one really blames him for that.

Cut to Summer of 92'.

Dustin needs this scholarship so bad. He wants to spend his senior year of college abroad, wants fo study to his fullest capabilites.

The essay for the scholarship is to write about the person who "inspired you to truly live."

He's back home, staying with his mom, and staring a cardboard box in the face with a hard glare.

It's a box full of Eddie's stuff. D&D details, notes left on his locker, newspaper clippings about him. They're things Dustin hasn't had the heart to look at since the funeral.

He needs to now though, he feels obligated to get every little detail of Eddie's life right in this essay.

Except, something is wrong here.

Eddie's obituary says that his father's name was Raymond Munson and his mother's name way Cheryl Kay.

Even just reading the same has him feeling sick.

But is wrong, right? Everyone knows Eddie's dads name was Al. So obviously, both of the names have to be wrong, right?

He takes a day to stew on it, but he ends up at Wayne's door all the same.

He likes to think he does a good job at holding in his panic. He tries not to sound too pushy, tries not to let the last name Kay sound so venomous when he says it.

And he sees how angry it makes Wayne. "Couldn't even be bothered to get the names right." The old man rolls his eyes. "Raymond was mine and Al's dad, Cheryl was Lizzys mother."

Lizzy. Eddie's moms name was Elizabeth. He remembers now, when Wayne had talked about Eddie being with her again at the funeral.

Her maiden name was Kay.

And he tries to be polite when he leaves shortly after, he really does. He makes a whole production of thanking Wayne for the coffee and apologizing for not coming around as much as he should.

But his mind is already running through the motions again.

Of Will's body being pulled out of the quarry. Of Hopper telling them how he cut it open and it was fake.

Of how Will was alive.

Steve thinks he's lost it. And really, Dustin can't blame him.

He knows how crazy it sounds and looks, to come knocking on his door just as the sun goes down. To demand that Steve comes out to the cemetery with.

To ask Steve to help him dig up Eddie's grave.

But Steve doesn't know what else to do.

He thought they were past this. He thought Dustin had moved on.

He thought he had moved on.

And yet, there's a little itch under Steve's skin as he drives them to cemetery and the moon starts to rise in the sky.

Like it's all clicking into place.

Like he knew it wasn't over, like it's a logical explanation.

How was he supposed to be happy? How was he supposed to settle down? Get married? Have kids? When he knew he'd be pulled into something like this again?

It makes so much sense that Steve both needs it to be real and needs Dustin to be wrong at the same time.

Because there's no way he's just been pondering his life away, waiting for Eddie fucking Munson to pull him back under.

So, he digs. And he digs, and digs and slams his shovel into the ground.

Because it's not fair, either way.

It's not fair that Steve is stuck. It's not fair that Dustin might be losing it.

It's not fucking fair that Eddie is gone and left them like this.

His shovel hits wood, a small echo of the box he's hit makes him hold his breath.

They pull it up out of the ground and just sit for a minute.

Looking the coffin in the face makes them realize what they've just done.

And neither of them say it, but they both think about just getting up and walking away.

Maybe, not knowing is better.

"They don't want to see behind the curtain. They like the curtain."

It's Steve that breaks, that lunges forward and hauls the lid of Eddie's casket open.

And it doesn't look like a single day has passed.

This thing in this box is just a fancy doll, a lifelike dummy, a fucking puppet.

Eddie isn't in there.

And now, Steve and Dustin are sure of something.

It was never about "continuing research," it was personal.

Dr. Kay is Cheryl Kay, and she's Eddie's grandmother.

And wherever she is, Eddie is alive.

They just have find out where the hell that is.

After few days, reports start coming in of people being attacked by "animals" that they don't know how to describe or hell, that are to fast for them to even see.

After the attacks, they fall into a comma and their veins start to turn all dark like Billy's in s3.

Hospital admittance starts rising like crazy, not just because of "earthquake" injuries. It's because people are eating chemicals or lashing out violently with too much force to be stopped.

And then one day, Vecna comes through the portal and it's the beginning of the end.

Lucas and Dustin have to find a way to barricade a comatose Max and Eddie in the hospital. They're stuck in there with all of these flayed people and even worse; they have no idea if Max and Eddie will wake up flayed as well.

Steve and Robin are the only ones in a crowded building that knows what's happening. They're dealing with mass panic. Robin is worried Steve can't take the crowd surge because of his injuries, Steve is worried he's going to turn flayed and hurt her.

(I'd like to think in this scenario; Will, Steve, Max, and Eddie would actually have developed some kind of immunity through this. Like, they've been exposed to the mindflayer but not actually infected by it so now it can't infect them. Drawing a parallel back to s2 when they were treating it like a virus and Will as the host.)

The Byers/Hopper family have to try their best to fight off these things to even get into town to find the others. Because now we know the tunnels from the demodogs go underneath everything, so the monsters are popping out of the ground like some kind of sick and twisted whac-a-mole game.

Mike and Nancy are scrambling to get their family to a safe place. They have their dismissive parents not believing them and a terrified child to deal with. Until, of course, they remember that Ted said a "stray cat or something" bit him in the back yard.