#If you two just learned how to communicate this wouldn’t be happening

[chrollosnenfish]

NOOOOO

I need someone to tell him how beautiful he is, how special he is, how strong he is, how loved he is, and how much of a bbg he is. I love him. Nagi, how could you fumble this badly?

Also, loved the Kunigiri crumbs this chapter, I’m taking them as they trickle in.

Edit: HAPPY BIRTHDAY my beautiful boy (why in the world would the author make this chapter come out so close to Reo’s birthday? Makes me feel like Kaneshiro just absolutely despises Reo)

[allinllachuteruteru]

Duolingo is NOT what it used to be.

“Duolingo is ‘sunsetting the development of the Welsh course’ (and many others)”.

I’ve used Duolingo since 2013. It used to be about genuinely learning languages and preserving endangered ones. It used to have a vibrant community and forum where users were listened to. It used to have volunteers that dedicated countless hours and even years to making the best courses they could while also trying to explain extremely nuanced and complex grammar in simple terms.

In the past two years it feels like Von Ahn let the money talk instead of focusing on the original goal.

No one truly had a humongous problem with the subscription tier for SuperDuolingo. We understood it: if you can afford to pay, help keep Duolingo free for those who couldn’t.

It started when the company went public. Volunteers were leaving courses they created because they warned of differing longterm goals compared to Duolingo’s as a company; not long after it was announced that the incubator (how volunteers were able to make courses in the first place) would be shut down. A year goes by and the forums—the voice of the users and the way people were able to share tips and explanations—is discontinued. A year or two later, Duolingo gets a completely new makeover—the Tree is gone and you don’t control what lesson you start with. With the disappearance of the Tree, all grammar notes and explanations for courses not in the Big 8 (consisting of the courses made before the incubator like Spanish/French/German/etc. and of the most popular courses like Japanese/Korean/Chinese/etc.) are removed with it. Were you learning Vietnamese and have no idea how honorifics work without the grammar notes? Shit outta luck bud. Were you learning Polish and have absolutely no clue how one of the declensions newly thrown at you functions? Suck it up. In a Reddit AMA, Von Ahn claims that the new design resulted in more users utilizing the app/site. How he claims that statistic? By counting how many people log into their Duolingo account, as if an entire app renovation wouldn’t cause an uptick in numbers to even see what the fuck just happened to the courses.

Von Ahn announces next in a Reddit AMA that no more language courses will be added from what there already is available. His reasoning? No one uses the unpopular language courses — along with how Duolingo will now be doing upkeep with the courses already in place. And here I am, currently looking on the Duolingo website how there are 1.8 million active learners for Irish, 284 thousand active learners for Navajo, and even 934 thousand active learners for fucking High Valyrian. But yea, no one uses them. Not like the entire Navajo Nation population is 399k members or anything, or like 1.8 million people isn’t 36% of the entire population of Ireland or anything.

And now this. What happened to the upkeep of current courses? Oh, Von Ahn only meant the popular ones that already have infinite resources. Got it. Duolingo used to be a serious foundational resource for languages with little resources while also adding the relief of gamification.

It pisses me off. It really does. This was not what Duolingo started out as. And yea, maybe I shouldn’t get invested in a dingy little app. But as someone who spent most of her adolescence immersed in language learning to the point where it was literally keeping me alive at one point, to the point where languages felt like my only friend as a tween, and to the point where friendships on the Duolingo forums with likeminded individuals my age and other enthusiasts who even sent me books in other languages for free because they wanted people to learn it, the evolution of Duolingo hits a bitter nerve within me.

~End rant.

[lovebugism]

📼  ; ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY | 1/2

summary: by the summer of 1987, eddie munson has mastered the art of dying and coming back to life again. but worse than that: he can't seem to stop running into the pretty lifeguard from hawkins community pool. the grumpy ol' vampire slowly learns to love sunshine in the afterlife. (23k)

pairing: vampire!eddie munson / ditzy!sunshine!reader

contents: fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, extreme canon divergence (most of the events of st3 and st4 still happen but starcourt is still standing, some people aren't dead, etc.) (i'm just here to have fun, honestly) cw for mentions of grief and ptsd, mentions of blood

( best listened with headphones, full fic playlist here )

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (��(•̀ᵥᵥ���́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          she lives in the place in the side of our lives

          where nothing is ever put straight . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Being a vampire sucks.

No pun intended.

Eddie Munson’s too tired for puns. He’s too tired for most things, really.

That’s what they don’t tell you about being a vampire — it’s not nearly as cool as The Lost Boys make it seem. He isn’t any stronger now than he was the night he died. He isn’t any faster, either. And if he’s capable of shape-shifting into a bat, he hasn’t tried because the thought of becoming the thing that killed him feels like more of a purgatory than what he’s been doomed to already. 

He didn’t even get a cool cape out of it, which is more of a bite than anything, honestly. 

No pun intended.

All Eddie’s got to show for his death are the patches of marred skin on his stomach to prove it. And a couple of pointy teeth — which, so far, have only tasted his own flesh because he’s bitten his lip with them more times than he can count. And, yeah, maybe he’s got a heightened sense or two, but that’s it. It’s not nearly as cool as it sounds, either. Enhanced hearing and sense of smell are just code for being constantly overstimulated.

Eddie misses being alive. He misses not knowing what blood tastes like. He misses forgetting to eat all day and accidentally having ice cream for a first meal — which he’d then scarf down like a man starved until it inevitably made him sick, so that he could then complain about how sick he felt. 

He misses the consequences of humanhood because now he’s half-corpse, half-god — a dizzying mixture for a boy who used to just be somebody’s kid.

And what does Eddie do to cope with it all? He gets his weekly mint-chip cone at Scoops Ahoy.

Steve passes the ice cream over the counter with a kinder smile than Eddie’s used to. His skin is freckled and golden against the dark navy of his uniform. So full of life. The child’s sailor outfit hasn’t stopped being funny, but Eddie scowls at him ‘cause he’s jealous. He’s never been anything but pale, even before death, but he can’t exactly catch a tan now, can he?

“You look good,” Steve Harrington observes, distant but meaningful. 

The wild-haired boy ahead of him doesn’t seem nearly as poorly as he did a day or so ago, when he looked somehow more like death than the day he actually died. He’s got his usual color back now. A telltale sign of a recent feeding.

Eddie flashes the boy a dubious, brown-eyed glance. “Are you flirting with me?” he jokes with his ringed fingers curled around the waffle cone, too monotoned to sound as playful as he means.

Steve’s face screws. “No.”

“Damn.”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about!” the brunette proclaims proudly, waving an accusatory finger in the other boy’s direction. “Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have made that joke. Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have said anything, actually.”

“Well, Eddie From Yesterday, hadn’t eaten in two weeks,” the boy deadpans. (He isn’t talking about food, either). “And Eddie From Yesterday was so exhausted and filled with an inhuman rage that death was funnier than making stupid jokes.”

Steve tries not to cower at his faux-seriousness. “Touché,” he nods.

Eddie hands the boy the last bill in his wallet. Steve makes out his change and, like a total idiot, dumps a dime onto his palm. The silver hits his skin like a drop of acid rain or molten lava. Eddie winces at the burn, hissing through his teeth as he jerks his singed hand back. 

“Why are you giving me dimes, man?!” he shouts over the sound of clattering coins.

“Shit!” Steve grimaces. “Sorry, dude— I forgot.”

“Oh, you forgot?” Eddie bites in a mocking tone.

“Yeah! Sorry if I can’t remember everything about—” Steve pauses his rant to peer around the shop with cautious eyes. He quietens. “—Vampires, alright? Sue me.”

Eddie watches the boy scramble to gather scattered coins –– coth hat askew on his head, scarlet tie in his way. The sight alone makes him laugh. A sharp exhale through his nose, but a laugh nonetheless. “You know what? How ‘bout just keep the change?”

“You keep the damn change,” Steve grumbles under his breath.

“Nice one.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie takes a big bite from his fresh scoop. He lets the sharp peppermint and deep chocolate concoction melt in his mouth. The strange combination was always the best distraction from the coppery tang of blood lingering on his tongue. 

Distracts because the metallic taste never quite leaves him, no matter how often he washes his mouth out. The taste of death always persists. Not in a poetic way, though. It’s more like a mouthful of old pennies.

Only problem is, he can’t really taste it now — the tart mint-chip or the pint of blood he’d choked down yesterday afternoon. The sensuous scent of hibiscus lilts along an otherwise still breeze, sudden and very overwhelming. It’s powdery and floral, rich and fruity. A fragrance sweet enough to make him ill, and it’s accompanied by the rhythmic flip-flop, flip-flop of rubber sandals.

Eddie glances mindlessly over his shoulder, then nearly breaks his neck at the force of his double-take. The candied scent, he finds, belongs undoubtedly to the pretty face behind him.

You saunter into the ice cream shop like a rolling summer cloud — with a walk that’s as soft and delicate as you look. There’s something thaumaturgical in the honeyed atmosphere that follows you in, still unceremoniously punctuated by the flip-flop, flip-flop sound of your shoes against the linoleum.

You are, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the raspberry, marshmallow, lily-of-the-valley scent radiating from your sunkissed skin. There is much of it on display now, and what little is covered is hardly left to the imagination.

Straight from a shift at Hawkins Community Pool, your mandated uniform clings perfectly to your torso — a pretty, scarlet one-piece that scoops deeply at the chest. Stamped on the center is a pool floatie and two surfboards that make a more summery skull-and-crossbones shape. ‘Lifeguard’ is written just beneath it, right over the swell of your breasts.

You wear a pleated skirt on your lower half to match. The bouncy fabric rests scandalously, and perhaps unintentionally, low on your hips. A faint sliver of your skin is showcased in a way that drives him hopelessly wild. And you’ve paired it all with a pair of too-big sunglasses on your head and a cherry sucker in your mouth. 

Effortless. A total cakewalk of perfection.

Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have never known much about either. 

The latter is still trying to dump change into the tip jar when he goes to greet you. Your eyes link, the words get stuck in his throat, and the coins scatter to the laminate all over again. Steve tries to catch them at first before realizing how utterly uncool he must look. He makes a bigger fool of himself by just letting them fall.

“Hey. Hi. Wel—Welcome to Scoops Ahoy,” the brunette clears his throat. He props his hands along the countertop and feels a rogue penny stick to his clammy palm. “You’re not lost, are you?”

Steve forces a lopsided smile at his sorry excuse for a joke. Eddie rolls his eyes. You blink at him and pluck the cherry sucker from your mouth — which has left your lips softly swollen and tinted a rosier shade.

“This is where pretty boys in tiny sailor outfits sell ice cream, right?”

Your deadpan expression makes it difficult to gauge whether or not you’re joking. Steve’s face glows red at the sort-of compliment. He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah— Yeah, it— It is, actually.”

You smile at him, tightlipped and warm. It fills the windowless shop with glittering sunbeams. “Then can I have a scoop of rainbow sherbet, please?”

Steve raps his knuckles against the counter and nods again. “Yep. Coming right up.”

Eddie takes another hearty bite of his ice cream while you linger at his side — a couple of feet away but feeling much closer than that. As the minty chocolate melts slow on his tongue, all he can taste is the fruity-floral scent of you. 

It makes his head go all swimmy because he knows your blood must taste the same. Like velvet. Or an expensive red wine people spend half a fortune on. He can hear the soft wooshing of your heart, too. Soft and unhurried. Gentle like an ebbing and flowing tide.

He shouldn’t be thinking this way, he knows. He fed yesterday; he should be feeling halfway normal by now. But your scent is dizzying still, and much stronger than Eddie figures it should be. If he’d met you a day or more ago, when the need for a feeding was quite literally eating him alive, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to contain himself.

He doesn’t think he would’ve hurt you, per se — because he hasn’t actually hurt anyone yet. Not in this stage of his afterlife, anyway. But it would’ve taken all the waning strength left in him to stop himself from doing something unthinkable. And that thought alone is somehow more terrifying than death.

Neither, however, is as scary as your gaze meeting his. 

Your eyes lock, and only then does Eddie realize how long he’s been staring. His blood runs cold. Cold-er. An eon blinks as he tries to recover from his hopeless leering. (He’s just as useless as Steve The Hair Harrington, turns out).

“Hi…” he murmurs through a mouthful of mint-chip once he realizes he’s got nothing else to say. How’s a freak like him meant to talk to someone like you? A walking fairytale of ethereal chaos?

You move the cherry sucker to the pocket of your cheek with your tongue. Through it, you mumble, “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Eddie laughs before he means to. His pink lips curl into a smile, and the inside of the delicate skin scrapes the fangs threatening to poke through his gums. They fit just perfectly over his canines, typically veiled by his gums until it’s time to feed. Or until he’s faced with a pretty girl who smells like Heaven and looks just the same, apparently.

He hides his grin behind his fist and scoffs a breathy laugh.

Your face twists in a delicate look of confusion. “Why’s that funny?” you question once you’ve plucked the piece of candy from your mouth.

His smile ebbs instantly. “Oh. It’s… It’s not— It’s not funny, actually,” he stammers, chocolate eyes wide and round like a pair of buttons.

Your frown deepens. “So you don’t think I’m funny?”

“No, it’s— it’s not that I don’t think you’re funny, I just— I think that—” Eddie stumbles over himself trying to get the words out. He inhales deeply through his nose and swallows hard. “I’m a little confused, honestly…”

There’s a brief moment of silence that passes like minutes. 

There’s something distinctly wild in your unwavering stare. It possesses a sort of magnetism that makes it impossible to look away from — though Eddie desperately, desperately wishes he could. But because he can’t take his eyes off you or the fire swimming laps in your irises, he catches a flicker in your gaze. A flame. A spark.

A smile quirks at the very corner of your mouth before a brighter beam blooms there. A sunshine sort of giggle sputters past your lips. “Oh, gosh— You should see your face right now,” you manage through a fit of laughter, swatting his shoulder with your free hand (a little harder than he thinks you mean to.) “I’m just kidding! Seriously. You can laugh now. It’s okay.”

Eddie doesn’t find it all that funny anymore, but your gaze is pretty and expectant, so he forces out a faint laugh just to appease you. He gapes in confusion the second you look away.

You’re a strange thing. Pretty, yes. But still very, very strange.

When Steve passes you a rainbow scoop on a waffle cone, you fish a crumbled bill from the chest of your swimsuit. The boy takes it with a trembling hand — like touching the cash is touching you in some way — and struggles to recall basic arithmetic when he makes out your change. 

Eddie watches you savor one last taste of your diminishing sucker, lips curled around the lolly before popping audibly off of it. “Is there a trashcan—” you ask and glance around the shop.

“There’s one back here,” Steve offers mindlessly. “I can chuck it.”

Your hands brush when he takes the paper stick between careful fingers. Silky sunkissed skin sweeping against silky sunkissed skin. 

Eddie’s almost jealous. He wishes he could touch you in such an innocent, accidental way — or anyone, really. But his blood stopped circulating about a year or so ago, and he’s had a glacial disposition about him ever since. Sometimes, when he’s just freshly fed, he feels sort of warm. Sort of normal. But that only lasts about an hour or so before his skin goes wintry and grey again.

“Thanks,” you lilt with a kind grin, sandals squeaking as you step back from the counter. You arch a brow, and the sweet smile turns suddenly mischievous. “And don’t worry about the change. I’d hate for you to make a bigger mess.”

You tilt your head and take a kitten lick of your scoop, fighting back a giggle when the sailor boy gapes at you. You spin around and flip-flop, flip-flop out of the ice cream shop — back to whatever fairytale you came from.

The scent of ripe fruit and freshly-cut flowers leaves with you, along with the lavender haze Eddie had been swimming in since he saw you. Drowning in, more like.

Steve laughs at your sort-of joke until the mist passes. Only then does he seem to notice the coins still scattered across the countertop and the half-eaten sucker in his hand. His fluffy brows pinch together in a very evident confusion — like he’s just woken up from a dream.

“…What the hell was that?” he muses after a few long moments.

Eddie shrugs and takes another bite of his half-gone scoop, tasting it for the very first time now that you’re gone. “No idea,” he answers through the mouthful.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          once you get it, you never wanna quit (no, no)

          after you've had it, you're in an awful fix. . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Eddie finds you again several minutes later. Not between the pages of a fantasy book, but on a lone bench by the bus stop. 

You finish your rainbow sherbet in silence, people-watching behind a big pair of Sharon Tate-style sunglasses. The sight of you alone makes him trip over his feet, like you’ve got your own gravitational pull that makes him stumble on thin air just to be closer to you.

“Oh—” The huff spills accidentally from his mouth when his sneakers scuff the pavement.

It garners your attention accordingly as you turn slowly towards him. You lift your sunglasses to your head again, just to squint at the vividity of the golden hour. You flash the boy an ice-cream-stained smile, tight-lipped and warmer than the setting sun — like he’s one of your old friends who deserves to be looked at so kindly. (He’s neither.)

“Hello!” you greet brightly as you lift the waffle cone to your mouth. You take another bite and add through the mouthful. “Again.”

“You’re still here?” Eddie squints, ‘cause he’s not sure what else to say.

“I’m on lunch—” you answer, slightly slurred through the melting ice cream on your tongue. A milky drop of pink and orange falls to the side of your thumb, and you lick it away mid-sentence. “—Late shift.”

Eddie hums with a slow nod, squinting one eye to block the sun. 

His pale skin buzzes, even under his leather jacket and dark thrifted tee. It isn’t because he’s hot, though. He hasn’t broken a sweat — not even swaddled in the ninety-degree evening — because he lost the ability to somewhere between getting eaten alive and rising from the dead. 

The sunlight just makes him feel a bit weaker than usual. Hungrier, too. And he hates being hungry because it makes him feel viciously ravenous. Like a total barbarian. Cruel and angry and inhuman. So he tries to stay out of the sun when he can.

He knows he should start plotting his way out now, but talking to you is like getting caught in a spider’s web. He gets all tangled in his words, netted in his want to impress you. He ends up superglued in a trap he isn’t totally sure he wants to get out of.

“Must be a slow day then, huh?” Eddie jokes dryly.

Your face twists. “Hm?” you wonder wordlessly as your tongue darts to the corner of your mouth.

“I just meant that— You’re a lifeguard and everything, right? And you— You’re dry, so… There must not have been a ton of lives to save today,” the boy explains, gesturing wildly with ringed hands. He laughs at himself and sticks the trembling limbs into his jacket pockets. “That’s… That’s what I meant.”

You don’t seem to notice his sudden floundering, or the way he can hardly make out an intelligible sentence when you’re looking directly at him. He can’t tell if you’re just kind enough to ignore it or if you’re just totally aloof. He hopes for the latter.

“It’s a lot less swimming than you’d expect, honestly,” you confess as you analyze the melting cone in your hand. You twist your wrist with your face pinched in concentration — like deciding whether to bite into the pink, green, or orange bit is that intense. “It’s just a lot of, like, blowing whistles... And walking around…”

You choose the raspberry pink side in the end, crunching as you bite into the waffle cone.

Eddie nods in response — not because he’s really heard you, but because he feels like he sort of understands you in some way now. You were sweet raspberry in the flesh. The color pink incarnate. Gold and glittering, like the sunset was fashioned in your likeness.

But then you smile up at him, with crispy wafer crumbs clinging to the raspberry-lime-orange concoction on your mouth, and the moment feels a lot less poetic than that.

“Sometimes I just wanna be like, ‘Jeez— Can’t one of you fuckers at least try to drown or something? God,” you mock in an accent that’s hardly your own, giggling at yourself halfway through. 

You flash Eddie another expectant smile. Grinning with all your teeth as you wait for him to laugh with you.

It takes him a second too long to force another chuckle — still trying to gauge how serious you are — but you don’t seem to mind. “Right. Well, uh… Here’s hoping, right?” Eddie quips with a crooked smile, lifting his right hand to flash his crossed fingers.

You giggle louder at that. Laughing with him, and not at him, for the first time since he started making a fool of himself in front of you. 

His chest swells like he’s still got a functioning heart hiding there. It’s sparkling and warm, full of pride, almost like he’s alive again. Truly alive. He realizes, then, that he never wants to stop making you laugh.

When your giggling ceases, you hum a contented sigh and take another sloppy bite of your ice cream cone.

Eddie watches you — unblinking, like a total freak — and tries to figure out if he made you up in his head. 

You were like a fairy-tale princess come to life. An enchanted form of imagination, slightly childlike and effortlessly romantic in a way. You were the kind of girl who held butterflies on the tip of her finger, who reached out to touch the stars at night, who shared her secrets with the moon when no one else would listen.

You’re the kind of thing that only exists in dreams. You have no real sense of reality, accordingly, which Eddie thinks only proves his point.

With sunshine glittering in the strands of your hair, your eyes flit back to his. Eddie averts his gaze suddenly (and very obviously) from yours, but if you’re perturbed by his leering, you don’t show it.

Instead, you look at him the same way you’ve been looking at him this whole time — like you’ve got a world of magic secrets hidden in your eyes. Like you want him to come searching for every single one of them.

“Did you— Did you walk here, or…?” the boy trails off, eyes falling to your rubber sandals. 

He hopes you hadn’t. It’s far too hot, and the pool is quite a few blocks from here. From what little he’s learned about you, though, he figures you’re probably crazy enough not to care.

“Bus,” you answer plainly, pausing mid-bite.

Eddie blinks. “The buses stopped running a half hour ago… You know that, right?”

You freeze. Melted ice cream pools at the edges of your mouth. A very loud answer, even in its silence. 

There’s a very audible crunch-ing sound as you chew through the too-big bite. You bring your palm to your chin to catch rogue crumbs and blink up at Eddie with wide eyes. 

“…What?” you wonder pitifully in response. Though, with your mouth still full, it sounds more like a deep, muffled, and utterly pathetic, “Wah—?”

“They stop running here at six-thirty.”

You swallow, face screwed.“Why?”

Eddie shrugs. “Beats me.”

You turn away — staring far off at the parking lot but looking at nothing, really. Eddie feels like he can finally breathe now, without your eyes strangling him.

He watches you go deep in thought and wishes he could see what the inside of your mind looks like. He imagines it’s full of confetti. Wild, glittering thoughts and a handful of sparkling confetti.

“Well…” you huff after a few moments, a deep and whimsical sigh. You look down at the melting cone in your fist and try to find a silver lining in the swirls of pastel colors. “‘Least the ice cream’s good.”

“Are you gonna walk?” Eddie wonders aloud as his chest pinches with misplaced worry. He crosses his leather-clad arms over himself in a feeble attempt to soothe the ache there — to smother his palpable empathy, which makes him feel like your burden is his to carry. 

He doesn’t have to. Carry it, that is. It’s not like you’re not asking him to. But he can’t ignore the overwhelming urge to help you — this strange, elven princess who needs rescue by a lowly bard way out of his element. It’s an instinct that borders on primal.

“Do I have a choice?” you respond rhetorically. Eddie shrugs and you shrug back, unfazed. “I can walk. The sunset’s pretty… And there’s a dog park on the way there, so… That’ll be fun, I guess.”

Eddie’s dark eyes flit to the sky, where the sun’s slow descent paints the wispy clouds in vivid colors of blush and honey. He understands the simple beauty of it but rarely ever gives it a passing glance.

He spends most of his sunsets inside, hiding from the pretty golden hour behind closed curtains. He cowers under his blankets like a child (‘cause his tiny square window is west-facing, painfully so) and tries to tell himself that he’s not as hungry as he feels.

That he’s not hungry at all.

That he’s still normal.

Eddie looks back to you a moment later, features twisted with uncertainty. “I’m pretty sure the park’s gated after sunset…”

You don’t ask him how he knows that, and he’s grateful. He figures you must assume that he’s got a dog of his own, which is a lie he’s happy to stick to. 

It’s better than admitting that Jim Hopper nearly caught him dealing a couple years back and had to make a quick escape through the park — where he then had to hop a locked fence he didn’t know was there. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if he hadn’t rolled directly into dog shit when he fell to the ground. That’s a secret he’ll take to the grave. 

If the Chief takes mercy on him, anyway.

“Well… The sunset’s still pretty,” you conclude with another sigh, because at least that can’t be taken from you. 

Eddie watches you take another bite and makes a very pointed decision not to tell you that that’ll be gone soon, too. By the time you walk back to work, the sky will be a muddy mixture of orange and lilac and navy. Hardly a thing worth looking at.

He lets you revel in your little nothings anyway.

“I should— I should probably go. I have a… thing to get to, so…” he trails off, chuckling at his own hopelessness. His worn sneakers scuff the pavement when he steps back from you. He scratches at the small curls twisted at the nape of his neck and tries to find the words to say goodbye. “Uh— Have a good rest of your shift, I guess. Hope it’s more… eventful.”

You smile at his stammering and his poor excuse for a joke. 

“Thanks,” you nod. “Have fun with your… thing.”

Eddie nods once. His smile wavers only slightly when he turns away. His cheeks puff as he exhales a deep breath — which he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now. 

He stops short at the edge of the sidewalk. Doesn’t even make it off the fucking curb before his guilty conscience catches up with him. It stops him like a force field and weighs heavy on his chest with a similar strength.

He turns quickly again, curls whipping around his face. “Do you… Do you want a ride?” he blurts with a squint in his deep chocolate eyes. 

The offer is hardly from the kindness of his unbeating heart. He just wants to make himself feel better, if he’s honest. He wants you to decline, actually — so then he’d be alone, and his conscience would still be clear.

Your eyes widen softly at his offer. You shift on the hard bench. It squeaks quietly under your weight. 

“Well, I— I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t wanna intrude,” you tell him, stumbling over your words for the first time in front of him.

Something about it, how shy you’ve suddenly gone, makes you feel a bit more human compared to the glittering creature Eddie made of you in his head.

The boy shrugs. “You wouldn’t be.”

“No?”

“No. It’s just… on the way…” Eddie insists, sighing to himself, because Hawkins Pool most definitely is out of his way. “So, you know… It’s no problem.”

There is a beat of fleeting silence, filled only by a whispering summer breeze and muddled conversation from distant mall-goers. Eddie’s eyes dart over your features, twisted softly with a faraway look of worry. 

The anticipation has his heart in his throat. He isn’t sure now what answer he wants to hear. Both might equally break his heart. A double-edged sword.

Your chest deflates with a dramatic sigh of relief. A lazy smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Okay. Good. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna be, like, too eager, you know? But that would be… super duper nice.”

“Good thing I’m a super duper nice person then, huh?” Eddie jokes with a tightlipped smile, which ebbs into a scowl the moment he turns away from you. 

He becomes a storm cloud of annoyance as he stalks across the parking lot. Less so because of you and more so because of his deep-rooted sensitivity, where everyone else’s emotions demand to be felt by him and him alone.

It’s a very strange thing, indeed: to be dead and yet still carry the crushing empathy of a person with a bleeding heart.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         real to real is living rarity, people stop and stare at me

          we just walk on by, we just keep on dreaming . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Eddie doesn’t look back to make sure you’re following him. He knows you are. He can tell by your lingering strawberry-vanilla scent, and your rhythmic footsteps in rubber sandals that trail just behind him. The incessant flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop quickens as you rush to keep up with his longer strides, trying hopelessly to finish your ice cream and talk at the same time.

“Adam— my manager— he’s such a hardass. Like, if I was late today, he definitely would’ve fired me,” you ramble and crunch hard into your cone. “Well… maybe not fire me… ‘Cause we’re kinda short-staffed right now— But he definitely would’ve given me a lecture! Like, dude, just because your dad owns the joint, doesn’t mean you have any actual authority over me, you know?”

You giggle loudly at yourself. Eddie just nods in response, barely listening, and not bothering to glance back at you.

You continue anyway, through a mouthful, no less. “Except, he kinda does have some authority, I guess. Since, you know, he’s the one who signs my checks and everything, but… You know what I mean.”

The boy ahead of you stops suddenly in place. Your sandals scuff the pavement to keep from running into the back of him. He turns to face you, brunette curls flouncing, and your heart skips at the proximity. He’s much too pretty for anything else.

You can smell the cologne spritzed on his neck from here. A high-pitched and very boyish cedarwood that makes him somehow more endearing. There’s something floral in it, too — perhaps from the conditioner making his hair all shiny. And the subtle powdery scent, you figure, comes from his old Back Sabbath tee. An evident hand-me-down of some sort. 

You can see more of him like this without having to ogle like a creep. His brown eyes are so dark they’re almost black, but you can see flecks of gold in them, too. His pronounced nose is dotted with pores and faint freckles you think you could count if he let you. There are a couple of spots on his jaw, too — some still red, others already scared over — that make his scowling face more youthful.

He’s got a couple of dark circles under his eyes, which you think means he doesn’t get as much sleep as he should. He’s got a pair of perpetual smile lines beside his mouth, too, which must mean he laughs a lot (even if he isn’t now). And he’s got a subtle furrow between his bushy brows ‘cause he’s totally the quiet, observant type.

You’d like to think you’re taking a closer look at him than anyone else in Hawkins ever has. Where they see a freak with crazy hair and a dangerous attitude, you see an old soul with young eyes and a wild mind.

“Is this you?” you wonder aloud, with ice cream clinging to the corners of your mouth.

Eddie lifts his hand and taps the key fob twice. The rusted tin can behind him unlocks with a hearty ca-chunk. He fakes a tight-lipped smile, “Yep.”

You rush around the hood then, hurrying for the passenger seat and struggling to finish the rest of your ice cream. Eddie eyes you expectantly as he lifts himself onto the chipped pleather of the driver’s side. His deadpan face twists with amusement as you inhale the remaining bits of your ice cream.

Your eyes go wide when you catch him staring, cheeks jutted like a chipmunk’s. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, then swipe your palms together. “Sorry— Sorry, I didn’t—” you swallow hard and try not to choke. “I didn’t wanna get ice cream all over your van.”

A laugh sputters from Eddie’s mouth, a more boyish sound than you thought he was capable of, and he hurries to cover his mouth with his fist. He can feel the sharp stinging of his fangs as they stab slowly through his gums, more prominent now that you’re so close to him — smelling as sweet as you look.

“Well, this isn’t exactly a sports car,” he scoffs. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

You swallow down the rest and hop in beside him. The faux leather of the passenger seat has grown distressed with time, sticking to your sunkissed thighs where your skirt doesn’t reach and poking you in places. The smell of his cologne stains the interior, along with a more subtle, skunkier scent.

You have to tug extra hard on the seatbelt — once, twice, and then a third time — before it gives.

Eddie sticks the key into the ignition and twists. A heavy metal guitar solo blares suddenly through the speakers, rattling the old van and making both of you lurch with a momentary panic. 

“Shit!” the boy curses as he reaches for the blasting radio. He turns down the volume with pale, lanky fingers, wide eyes flitting from the console to the pavement as he peels out of the Starcourt lot. “Shit… Sorry.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. “It’s okay. I listen to my music loud, too. I’m pretty sure I’ve blown out the headphones to at least two Walkmans by now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie hums with a lazy smile. “What kinda stuff stuff do you listen to?”

You purse your lips to the side and avert your gaze as you ponder the question. “Van Halen, definitely… Dio and Def Leppard occasionally— oh, and don’t even get me started on Ozzy Osbourne.”

Eddie feels like his heart’s in his throat. It settles there and makes it hard to breathe while his anxious hands fidget on the steering wheel.

You can’t be this pretty and like all the music he likes. It’s just not fair. It’s like the universe is trying to kill him. (Even though it kinda already did that once.)

“Are you joking?” he wonders aloud, laughing with furrowed brows. His chocolate eyes dart from you, to the winding road before him, and back again. The soft smile on your lips blossoms into a more mischievous thing, and he nods slowly to himself. “You’re… You’re joking, right?”

“I might’ve been looking at your cassettes, yeah.”

Eddie’s gaze flits downward to where he keeps his tapes stacked in a cubby beneath the console. His chest aches with a distant embarrassment. “Right…” he huffs.

“Real answer?” you offer with a twinkle in your eye, spinning in the seat to face him more. You tuck your feet beneath you and count each name on your fingers. “Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, ABBA, and Blondie. That’s my top four— Not in that order, though! I love them all equally.”

“That makes… a lot more sense.”

“Do you have any of their tapes we could listen to?”

Eddie scoffs a faint laugh until he realizes you’re being serious. His tightlipped smile ebbs as he answers, “I can’t say that I do. No.”

“That’s too bad,” you huff and slouch further in the passenger seat. You gaze out the window with a faraway look in your eyes and start rambling before you mean to.

“I’ll let you bum one of mine, if you want. You can borrow my copy of Arrival, that’s one of my favorites! My most favorites. Or Super Trouper, maybe. I love that one, too...” You deflate with a heavy sigh. “Shit. I can’t decide— Which one do you prefer?”

Eddie stammers for an answer. He feels like you’re barely speaking his language.

“Screw it. I’ll just make you a mixtape,” you decide firmly. “It’s impossible to pick just one.”

Eddie nods wordlessly to himself, unconvinced that he’ll ever actually see you again — like this, anyway. With you making a home in the passenger seat of his van, which has never known a pretty girl like you before now.

“You could always swing by the pool if you want,” you offer with a hopeful grin. “Adam lets me man the radio sometimes.”

“Does he?” Eddie hums indifferently.

“When I wear my bikini, yeah.”

His face screws at the thought of someone taking advantage of you in that way, with you perhaps too gullible to understand. “Well, Adam sounds like a dickwad,” he grumbles and shifts his grip on the steering wheel.

“A massive dickwad,” you giggle like it’s your first time ever using the phrase. “One time, I played my Billy Joel tape, and he called it pedestrian. Pedestrian! Not only is that, like, totally sacrilegious or whatever, but it’s also extremely pretentious. Just call it lame or something, you sound arrogant.”

When your rambling ceases, you can hear Eddie laughing. Really laughing. Not just that weird breathy sound he keeps making. It spills from his mouth like sunshine, though he tries to stifle it with a fist pressed to his mouth. And even though you don’t remember saying anything particularly funny, you laugh alongside him.

“Why do you cover your smile when you laugh?” 

“Why do I do what?”

“You always put your hand over your mouth when you smile,” you observe with a curious squint. “Did you know that?”

Eddie’s tongue darts over his protruding fangs, which peek in faint slivers from his pink gums now. You would only see them if you checked his mouth like a dog, but he gets self-conscious about it, anyway.

“No. I didn’t. Must be an old habit, I guess,” he stammers, lying through his teeth as he turns into the parking lot of Hawkins Community Pool. 

The crowd there has seemingly ebbed with the setting sun, which he’s grateful for. He stays on the far edges of the property still, lest he draw any unwanted attention. ‘Cause the only thing more recognizable than his wild hair is the tin can he rides around in.

His ringed hands curl around the gear stick. The van jerks softly when he puts it in park. Eddie clears his throat. “We’re, uh— We’re here.”

You get distracted easily, and he’s grateful for that, too. You drop the conversation entirely as you reach for the seatbelt. The buckle clicks when you unfasten it. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you chirp with a pretty smile.

His head snaps in your direction with enough force to give him whiplash. His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he gapes at you. He struggles to find the words to say. He thinks he’d rather face a hundred demobats (again) than have this conversation.

“You…” he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “You know my name?”

You shrug, oblivious to his otherwise very palpable fear. “‘Course I do.”

His heart would stop if he weren’t already dead. He thinks the force of his current shock could jolt it into beating all over again. Though, he figures he has no right to be so surprised. He is Eddie Munson, after all — the town freak who didn’t murder Chrissy Cunningham but left her to die instead. 

No one knows that she’d been long in the dying before Eddie ran like a coward. No one knows that there was nothing he could do to stop the dark wizard from killing her. No one knows that he died trying to avenge her death despite all that. And no one ever will — save for the handful of teenagers who saved Hawkins alongside him. 

Eddie knew, from the moment he rose from the dead and made it out of that godforsaken hellscape, that he would never be seen as the hero. He didn’t want to be. He just wanted to be a kid.

But here he is now. A half-dead and hated thing. A creature not worth loving.

And here you are, smiling at him like you intend to love him back to life.

“So… So you know what happened with… With the…” He talks with his hands and struggles to make the words out. He always has. He always will.

You nod before he has to. “Yeah. I think I just… I figured that wasn’t something you wanted to talk about with strangers—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he insists.

“Then me not bringing it up was a good thing, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but—”

“Well, I’m hearing a lot of talking for someone who doesn’t want to talk about it,” you mock, not totally unkind, just a little bit strange. 

Eddie almost laughs at that. “I’m just— I’m confused.”

“About what?”

Now, he really lets himself laugh because the answer’s rather obvious. 

“Because most people are scared of me!” Eddie blurts with a cynical chuckle, gesturing wildly with his pale, ringed hands. “Everyone thinks I’m some— psycho-killing murderous freak.”

“Well, I don’t,” you insist, all pretty in your way, as you shift on the worn pleather seat beside him. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

You unlatch the glove box ahead of you and help yourself to its contents. The junk inside clatters together while you search very obviously through it, rambling mindlessly to yourself as you do so. 

“You like mint-chip ice cream cones smothered in sprinkles. And your initials are sewn onto the waistband of your jeans— like you’re gonna lose them or something. And… there’s a Blondie tape hiding in here.” You giggle to yourself and flash him the cassette.

Eddie blinks at you like an owl. “That’s not mine.”

“Secret girlfriend?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

“Secret tape,” he confesses before plucking it suddenly from your fingertips. 

There’s a whole story behind it that he’d tell you if he could. About how he couldn’t leave the house for some weeks after he came back to life and how his friends brought him things to pass the time. Robin Buckley had an elaborate assortment of board games that bordered on concerning, and Dustin Henderson had brought an entire library to his trailer. 

The rest of them put together a selection of tapes for him to listen to. He can’t be sure now if Nancy Wheeler really gave up her prized Blondie cassette or if Mike Wheeler did it without her knowing.

You struggle to bite back your laughter as you sort through the center console next. 

“See! That doesn’t exactly read psycho-killing murderous freak to me, Eds. Honestly, it kinda reads as someone who’s never hurt anyone in their whole life, who probably wants everyone else to stop hurting them—” You cut yourself off with a gasp. “Ah! Here it is.”

You dig a rogue ink pen from the depths of the console. A bright smile tugs at the edges of your lips. Eddie’s still struggling to breathe when you reach for him. “Can I have your hand?”

“Why?” he wonders with pinched brows.

“You’ll see,” you lilt mischievously and take his ringed hand in your smaller one. 

He worries, briefly, that you might comment on how cold he is for the middle of summer. But if you notice it at all, you don’t mention it as you scribble your number onto the back of his hand.

Eddie grimaces when the tip presses hard into his pale skin. “Ow…”

“See? You’re just a big baby,” you joke, giggling quietly to yourself. You click the pen with your thumb as you part from him. “There. Now you have my number.”

Eddie flashes you a dubious glance, unsure of what he ever needed your number for.

You answer his silent question like it’s obvious. “So I can give you the mixtape.”

“Right,” he hums with a slow nod.

“Well, I’m gonna go clock back in before I get a total earful from Adam,” you sigh and reach for the metal door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie.”

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs nonchalantly as you slide out of the van. The back of your pleated skirt rises softly in the process, flashing a glimpse of your ass. He swallows hard and stammers. “Just— Just, like, be safe, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you mock with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Well, this is a crazy world we live in, haven’t you heard?” Eddie jokes to cover up his blunder. He tilts his wild head to his shoulder as a pink smile forms crooked on his mouth. “I hear psycho-killing murderous freaks are roaming the streets these days.”

He expects you to laugh, but you grow strangely serious instead, furrowing your brows as you mumble to yourself. “Crazy World... That’s a good song, actually. I should put that on the mixtape—”

You forget to say a proper goodbye as you close the door behind you. The rusted metal hinges screech before slamming shut. You walk off towards the pool house without another word, flip-flopping the entire way to the front gate. Eddie watches you go with his features twisted in a subtle mixture of shock and awe.

Steve Harrington was right. What the hell was that?

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         oh, how could i ever refuse?

          i feel like i win when i lose . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Three days pass before Eddie sees you again. Not that he’s counting, anyway. He debates, however, calling you on the second one — but by then, your number had long disappeared from his hand. He decided, then, to count his losses and pretend he wasn’t as boyishly heartbroken as he felt. 

Missing you was a double-edged sword. He never wanted to see you again, but he mourned for you always. He prayed he’d never run into you like before but searched for you in all the faces he met. It was agony. 

When he drops Dustin off at Scoops Ahoy after a long afternoon of campaigning, Eddie tells himself it’s not with intent to run into you there. He tells himself it wouldn’t be the worst thing, but not to get his hopes too high. That he’d only make a fool of himself. That it’d be better if he didn’t see you at all.

He’s left grieving anyway when he doesn’t immediately spot your face in the dwindling crowd of the ice cream shop.

“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” Robin lilts from where she sits at one of the tables, obviously on her break and eating from a bowl of the rainbow gummy bears they use as toppings.

“You dweebs talking about me?” Eddie scoffs as he shoves Dustin light-heartedly ahead of him. 

As soon as he crosses the threshold of the small shop, you come very suddenly into view. You sit ahead of Robin, in your usual uniform, and with your usual rainbow sherbet cone. You steal a few rogue gummy bears from her cup and dip them into your ice cream, which has started to melt with your distraction. 

He stills in place, struck with a bolt of blue. Your pretty, summer scent hits him full force, then — slaps him in the face and demands to be noticed. You flash him a small smile, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“Not at all,” Robin answers with a knowing smirk.

Steve scoffs from where he wipes down the counter, tendons flexing in his golden arm. “Only for ten straight minutes.”

“We were talking about how I gave you my number. And how you never called,” you explain to the poleaxed boy, tilting your chin to your shoulder to peer at him from beneath your lashes. A mischievous smirk hints at the corners of your lips. “A girl could start to wonder, you know?” you tease, only partially playful.

Eddie stammers for an explanation. He feels like his heart’s in his throat, like it’s closing on him, and like he can’t really breathe.

He blinks rapidly as his head starts to swim. He zeroes in on your heartbeat, though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s a soft and rhythmic whoosh, whoosh, whooshing — like that of an excitable baby deer. His hands ball into fists until his dull nails leave crescent shapes in his palms.

Dustin gapes at the sight of you. “You’re real?” the strange, curly-haired boy blurts.

“Me?” you ask with pinched brows, motioning to yourself with the ice cream cone.

“Dustin!” Eddie scolds, nudging him pointedly on the shoulder.

The boy cowers. “Sorry. It’s just… I thought you were, like, an imaginary person Eddie made up or something,” he admits, squinting his hazel eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. You flash him a dubious look until he elaborates obliviously. “‘Cause Gareth was making fun of him for not having any friends outside of Hellfire and stuff—”

“Hey,” Eddie snaps to get the rambling boy’s attention, tapping the brim of his Thinking Cap. “Shut up.”

“What’s Hellfire?” you wonder aloud.

“Book club,” Eddie lies.

You grin with furrowed brows. “You talk about me at book club?” 

“I mentioned you. Once. ‘Cause Gareth asked— And I didn’t call because the pen smudged,” Eddie answers all at once, swallowing hard when he feels bile building in his throat. He can’t get your heartbeat out of his ears. Or your scent out of his nose. It’s suffocating, all of it. “Does that clear everything up, or…?”

Steve hisses through his teeth. Robin scoffs. You blink at him with wide eyes, hardly expecting him to be so short with you. “Uh-huh,” you nod with a forced smile.

Eddie would apologize for it if he didn’t feel so sick. But now he teeters on the knife’s edge of nausea, unsure if he’s going to faint or vomit or both. So he fakes his own smile and inches towards the exit. “Great. I’m gonna— I think I’m gonna go—”

“And leave us with babysitting duty?” Steve scoffs. “How nice of you.”

Dustin frowns and flashes the makeshift sailor his middle finger.

Eddie fumbles to come up with an excuse. “I just remembered, uh— Wayne wanted me to record Cheers tonight, and I totally forgot. The ol’ geezer’ll kill me if he misses an episode, so… I gotta run.”

He ducks out without another word, grimacing at himself because he’s usually a much better liar than that. The others can surely see right through him. They know that he’s unwell — that he’s just hungry and impossibly overstimulated. 

But you don’t. You don’t know him at all, and maybe that’s exactly why you rush out of Scoops behind him.

Eddie shoves the glass exit of Starcourt Mall with trembling hands. The summer breeze rushes over him immediately, billowing through his hair and clothes. He takes his first good breath and the swimmy feeling of nausea starts to fade.

The hunger remains even still. The ravenous thoughts remain, too — of your heart between his teeth, beating on his tongue, and your blood tasting of sweet red wine.

When he starts to scare himself, his mind tells him that he’d never hurt you. That he hasn’t yet, and that he never will. But still, the thoughts are there, and they hardly ever leave.

Your fresh berry scent covers him like a shroud as he rushes to his casket (his van, really, but the symbolism fits.) You struggle to keep up with his longer strides, pleated skirt flouncing as you hurry behind him — a kicked puppy who doesn’t know when to stay back. 

“I don’t mean to annoy you, you know?” you call after him.

Eddie stills and spins sharply around to face you. You stumble back on rubber sandals to keep from running into him, trying not to cower when he towers suddenly over you.

“What?” he asks with his features swirled in confusion and distant suffering.

Your wide eyes dart over his pallid features, more sallow than you remember. You forget everything you were going to say as concern drips from your pretty features. “Do you feel okay?”

“I feel— fine,” he stammers, less than convincingly.

“Okay…” you nod, unconvinced, then repeat yourself. “I don’t mean to annoy you, by the way.”

Eddie shrugs. “What makes you think you annoy me?”

“I dunno,” you answers, sheepish in a way he hasn’t seen you before. You shift your weight on your scarlet sandals and talk wildly with your hands, looking everywhere but at him. “I kinda talked your face off a few days ago, and then I made that stupid joke about you not calling, and I just… I realized you don’t know me all that well. And that I can be kind of a lot sometimes. Or, you know, a lot of the time. But it’s not like I mean to be, you know? I don’t mean to be a burden or to—”

“You’re not a burden,” Eddie blurts.

Your breath catches as you blink at him with wild, glassy eyes. He gets the feeling no one’s ever said that to you before and tries to ignore the stinging in his chest.

“No?” you echo in a mousy voice.

“Not even a little bit,” he answers instantly.

You inhale a shaky breath that leaves through your mouth in a sigh of relief. “So you’re not upset with me?”

“No,” Eddie scoffs. “You haven’t done anything to upset me. So far, anyway.”

You nod to yourself at the reassurance. “Okay. Good. I just— I thought you ran off in such a hurry ‘cause you didn’t wanna be around me or something.”

You chuckle to yourself, feeling silly about it now. 

Eddie shifts awkwardly ahead of you ‘cause you’re not too far off.

“Do you… Do you want a ride?” he offers despite himself — despite his overwhelming feelings for you and despite the fact the buses are still running for another fifteen minutes. 

He chucks his thumb over his shoulder and flashes you a sheepish look. Because he isn’t sure of what to say now, or if he wants to leave you at all.

You duck your chin and scrunch your nose, too pretty for your own good. “If it’s not too much trouble?” you lilt.

Eddie only grins. “Who says I don’t like a little bit of trouble?”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         under those white street lamps,

         there is a little chance they may see . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

He survives the golden hour, but just barely. Eddie hides from the setting sun underneath the covers, writhing on the thin mattress as he waits for the ravenous feeling of insatiable hunger to pass. It never does.

Instead, he feels the absence of you most ardently. He withers away as he grieves for you, like a wilting flower craving sunlight. But he’s nothing but a pale, gray, and exhausted thing now — an unloveable creature aching for a feeding. 

“Wayne…” Eddie grumbles tiredly, half muffled into his pillow. When he receives no response from his uncle, he musters the strength to shout. “Wayne!”

Footsteps trudge down the hall, bulky work shoes heavy on thin carpet. His bedroom door creaks slowly open, and his uncle stands beneath the frame of it — wearing the thick navy coveralls that has his name sewn in cursive on the chest. His weathered hands work at the buttons below the collar.

“What is it, Ed?” Wayne wonders in a gravelly drawl.

Eddie takes in a rattling breath, peeking one eye open to look at his uncle. His vision’s too swimmy for anything else. “Can you call Hopper?” he slurs like a sick child.

Wayne’s graying brows furrow in worry. He squints at his nephew across the bedroom, languishing beneath his covers and growing more waxen by the second. He’s typically only this miserable when he hasn’t fed in weeks.

“You hungry again? It’s only been a couple days.”

“I know,” the boy grumbles, squirming on the mattress like he can’t get comfortable. “I just don’t feel good...”

Wayne can see that much from here, so he doesn’t put up any more of a fight about it. He fastens the cuffs of his sleeves with wise and suddenly anxious hands. “I’ll give him a call before I head to work… You gonna be alright without me?”

Eddie nods against the pillow, curls frizzing around his head. He responds in jumbled slurs, “Mhm. ‘M alright. ‘M just… real tired…”

“I’ll call Hopper,” Wayne repeats, firmer this time, before shutting the door behind him.

Eddie spends the next half hour rotting away in the lonely trailer. 

Jim doesn’t bother to knock when he arrives, but it’s not like he needs to. He makes enough deliveries of the riboflavin kind to Forest Hills that he deserves his own key.

Besides, Eddie could smell him when he pulled into the driveway — the pint of blood he carried with him, more so. It’s a deep, rich, and powdery scent. Nowhere near as sweet as you. But then again, he doesn’t think anything could be.

“What’s the special this time, Chief?” Eddie jokes with a small huff as Hopper helps prop him against the headboard. 

The mustached man is still clad in his khaki work uniform, gold badge glinting in the lamplight. His hardened face remains in its usual deadpan frown, though his bushy brows furrow in a subtle confusion. “Do you really wanna know?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then sighs. “No…”

Jim opens the brown paper bag sitting on the nightstand. He pulls out a plain styrofoam cup topped with a lid typically used for coffee. The thing looks innocent enough, save for a few drops of crimson staining the white of it, likely from an overfill. 

There was a time when Eddie could do it himself. Where he could puncture the blood bag Hopper delivered and pour it into one of the mugs he and Wayne have been collecting for years.

He stopped being strong enough for that a while ago, though. The sight of blood makes him queasy now, which is ironic for very obvious reasons.

The chief does most of it for him now, though Eddie thinks Hopper likes it best that way. 

“Here you go, kid,” Jim says as he passes the boy his cup of liquid scarlet. He holds the lid of it in his other hand, face screwed at the coopery smell engulfing the small bedroom. “Try not to think about it too much, alright?”

Eddie takes the cup in a trembling fist and squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t see its contents. He forces himself to down it in one go — equal parts because it’s easiest that way and because he doesn’t want to be too much of a baby in front of the chief. 

The blood tastes like a strawberry milkshake as he swallows it down, but that’s always the easiest part. It’s the after that’s so ruthless. After the overwhelming bout of starvation passes. After he’s half normal again. That’s when the blood starts to taste like blood — all metallic, like a bunch of old pennies. That’s when he feels like a monster.

Eddie groans when the cup is fully drained. He passes it back to Hopper with his eyes still shut. The man takes it with one hand and pats him on the shoulder with the other. “Good job, kid,” he mumbles, dropping the empty cup back into the bag. 

The boy relaxes against the pillows with a shuddering breath.

Jim waits until then to interrogate him. 

“What happened between now and four days ago?” he asks with his arms crossed over his chest, towering over the boy’s bedside. “This is the first time you’ve needed to feed more than once a week. Hell, it took Wayne and me almost a year to convince you to feed more than once a month.” 

Eddie shrugs lazily, lips jutted and eyes lidded. “Nothing happened.”

“I need to know, kid. So I can keep you safe.”

And so I can keep everyone else safe, too, but he doesn’t say that part.

“It’s just— This girl,” Eddie confesses, then grumbles with a sigh. “I don’t know, alright. It doesn’t even matter.”

Hopper squints. “What girl?”

“No one,” Eddie insists, then cowers under the man’s glacial stare. “Fine. Some-one. She just— makes me go all weird or whatever. I don’t know.”

Jim hums, nodding softly to himself and trying not to be too amused at the thought of Munson having a crush. He scratches at the coarse hair underneath his chin. “And is… staying away from this girl an option, or…?”

Eddie ponders the question for a moment, then exhales a chest-deflating sigh. Just like he did when questioning the origins of the blood in his cup. You were a lot of the same in that way — a thing he needed to survive but wasn’t strong enough to face.

“No… I don’t think it is…”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Hawkins Community Pool is strangely liminal after dark. The property itself is illuminated by only a few amber streetlamps, with most of its light coming from within — from inside the wooden pool house and beneath the sparkling cerulean water. 

Eddie parks his van on the darkened edges of the parking lot and tries to find the courage to leave it. The crowd is minimal now, having lessened significantly since he dropped you off some hours ago.

There are only a few stragglers left, most of them teenagers soaking in the last few minutes before closing. He’s grateful for that much. The fewer eyes on him, the better.

If he wasn’t being ogled at with gazes hardened with disgust or softened with pity, people weren’t looking at him at all. Their attempts to keep from staring were perhaps more blatant than they realized.

Maybe they didn’t want to be rude, or maybe they wanted to pretend he wasn’t there at all. It made Eddie hyper-aware of himself either way, which is why he often preferred to stay hidden.

He idles by the chain-link fence, swaddled in the humid summer air that smells overwhelmingly of chlorine and dewy grass. It takes several agonizing moments to catch your attention.

You dance softly in place and mouth the lyrics to a song Eddie can only make out vaguely from here, while the girl beside you stands perfectly and unenthusiastically still. 

You freeze when you catch Eddie’s gaze. Confused at first, then surprised. It takes a matter of seconds for both emotions to mix together and leave you a bumbling ball of excitement. 

The boy raises a ringed hand in a curt wave, which you reciprocate with a much more enthusiastic one. You turn to your co-worker and mouth something Eddie can’t hear before rushing to the parking lot to meet him. The flip-flopping of your rubber sandals grows as you make your way to him, along with the rustling of the windbreaker you wear over your bikini.

It’s a modest scarlet two-piece, with a high waist and a halter neckline — but much more of your skin is on display than Eddie’s used to. (If there was any time he needed to be grateful for a recent feeding, it was now.)

“Hi…” you greet, panting heavily as you stand before him.

“Hiya,” Eddie grins cheekily.

“I… I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t either, honestly.”

“Did you, uh— Did you and Wayne get to watch Cheers?”

It takes Eddie a moment or more to recall his earlier lie. He nods rapidly in response, perhaps too quickly to be truthful, but you don’t seem to notice. “Uh, no. Not yet. He’ll watch it when he gets back from the graveyard shift.”

“Okay. Cool,” you beam, eyes sparkling as they dart over his features — which have seemed to gain a bit of their life back. He’s still pale, but his eyes are less sunken in than they were. The dark chocolate of his irises swim with a melted honey color. “You look a lot better, by the way. Than you did when I left, I mean. I was scared you were getting sick.”

“Nah, I just… Needed a breather, I guess,” Eddie admits with a breathy chuckle. “I was with Hellfire all day, and… Babysitting’s a tough gig, turns out.”

You laugh alongside him, noticeably less forced. “No, I get it. I basically spend all day babysitting, so…”

“Right. I shouldn’t be complaining.” Eddie scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck and grimaces when his rings get caught in his hair. It takes a very noticeable moment for him to gain the courage to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. “Can, uh— Can I see your hand real quick?”

Your brows pinch. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” he lilts with the same mischievous smile you used on him some days ago now.

He holds a ringed hand expectantly out for you. Your gaze glimmers with intrigue as you put your fingers in his paler, colder ones. You watch him dig in his jacket pockets for a moment before pulling out the same ink pen you’d rescued from the depths of junk in his center console. He clicks it with his thumb, and you jerk your hand out of his.

“Wait!” you blurt. 

Eddie flinches, feeling like he’s done something wrong, like he must’ve hurt you in some way. 

Your features screw in a pinched look of concentration as you stick your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker. “I’m pretty sure I have a marker in here somewhere— Ah! Here it is!” You’re smiling all over again when you pass him the black Sharpie. “So it won’t wash off before I get to call you.”

“Right,” Eddie hums with a slow nod, taking the marker from you. He bites back a smile when he catches you shoving a pack of sparkly stickers back into your pockets. “What are those?”

“Stickers,” you answer, then grimace when you realize that much was obvious. You rush to elaborate. “For the younger kids that have older siblings. They usually get dragged here, and nine times outta ten, they haven’t learned how to swim yet, so… I try to make ‘em feel better with sparkly things.”

The grin Eddie tries to hide blooms very suddenly across the expanse of his pink lips. His chest swirls with a warmer feeling because you’re sort of his sparkly thing, in a way. A bright and glittering thing that makes him feel whole without trying.

You offer him your hand again, shier now. He wraps it in his larger one with fingertips that border on glacial. You fight back a shiver while Eddie uncaps the marker with his teeth. He mumbles through it while he scribbles his number on your wrist.

“Don’t let this scrub off before you get to call me like other idiots do, alright?” he jokes, flashing you a sparkling stare beneath his lashes.

“I’ll call you the second I get home,” you promise with a firm nod. “I’ll write it down, too, so I won’t forget.”

Eddie caps the marker with a lopsided grin sitting lazily on his mouth. “And it’s only for emergencies, alright? Like, if you need a ride or… A spare Blondie cassette that I may or may not have in my glove box.”

You nod again, this time with a giddy and very poorly hidden smile. “Emergenicies,” you parrot, so he knows you really heard him.

(You call him the second you’re back from your shift, though Eddie expected nothing less from you. The emergency in question? You missed him too much.)

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          this is stranger than i thought,

          six different ways inside my heart  . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

You decide to visit him that weekend, unannounced and unexpected — which is basically how you entered his life in the first place.

You’re a smiling thing on his doorstep. A rival to the early morning sun beaming in rays behind you. Eddie squints one eye and grimaces at the brightness of each.

“Morning!” you chirp like a songbird.

“What are you doing here? How’d you even find me?” Eddie grumbles tiredly, rubbing his sleep-swollen eye with his fist. He wears his slumber all over — in the wild curls, and in the wrinkled shirt that used to be Wayne’s, and in the baggy plaid pants sitting low on his waist. 

The complete and utter opposite of you: an angel kissed with the summer season.

The sun sparkles in your hair. The warm breeze billows in your clothes. The scent of something sweet clings to your skin — of fresh cherries, vanilla cake, and swathes of dewy grass. Each is tantamount to your bone-crushing beauty, which borders on whimsical and intimidating now.

It’s weird seeing you out of your uniform. A strange, but welcomed sight. You’ve traded the mandated bathing suit for a flouncier dress. The thin cotton fabric clings to your torso and drapes over your thighs like summer rain. It’s a scarlet number, gingham-patterned, with two white bows for sleeves. 

Eddie’s tired eyes rake over your pretty form despite himself. He gapes when he finds the raging scrapes you wear on both knees, a bright crimson color to match your strawberry aura. “Jesus Chr— Are you okay?!”

You follow his gaze, bending softly at the waist to peer down at your legs. You press the skirt of your dress down with your palms, and your chest pinches at the sight of your raw knees.

Your eyes flit from the fresh scratches to the concerned boy ahead of you. “Which question do you want me to answer first?” you wonder with wide, sheepish eyes.

Eddie repeats, firmer now, “Are you okay?”

“I’m totally fine,” you shrug with a beaming smile before rambling an explanation, talking absentmindedly with your hands. “I decided to buy a bike after I got my paycheck, but I don’t really know how to ride it yet, so I’m trying to teach myself, and I… kinda accidentally swerved into a ditch on the way here.”

Eddie’s chest flares with a primal feeling. He can’t stand the thought of you hurt — can’t stand the thought of you hurt and him not being there to help you. “Okay…” he wavers with his face still screwed.

“I wasn’t stalking you, by the way! Scout’s honor!” you blurt, holding up four fingers instead of three. “I just knew you lived at Forest Hill’s, and, I mean, the van is a dead giveaway, Eds.”

“Fair enough,” he huffs.

“Besides, I really wanted to bring you something, and I couldn’t wait until I saw you at Scoops because the anticipation was driving me crazy—” You lose yourself in thought and slide past him in the doorway without thinking. 

Eddie just blinks and shuts the door behind you. “And… What is it… Exactly?” he wonders cautiously, only partially fearful of the answer.

It takes you a moment too long to answer him, as you get lost in the sights around you. The trailer was bigger than it appeared on the outside, not messy by any means, but very lived in. 

There’s a folded cot in the corner beside the recliner and a small square TV across from it playing morning cartoons. Vintage baseball caps line one wall, and a collection of mugs line the other. Everything feels like a self-portrait of the Munson family.

“The mixtape I promised,” you answer finally, spinning around to face him again. You pull a plastic cassette from the pocket of your dress and gesture with it in a nervous hand. “I was starin’ at this thing all night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you— about giving it to you, I mean.” You correct yourself with a nervous laugh and rush to move on. “I’ve always been super bad with gifts— I can’t keep ‘em a secret to save my life. I’m good for, maybe, five seconds, and then I’m just like, gosh, I can’t wait anymore, you know?”

You realize you’re rambling and trail slowly off. You swallow hard, muster a wavering smile, and motion for Eddie to take the cassette. You watch as he studies it with a careful hand — pale and lanky and devoid of his silver rings.

“You made this for me?” he mumbles after a few moments.

“Well, I told you I would.”

“Yeah, but… You made this? For me?” he repeats, with a different inflection. ‘Cause he doesn’t know who else to put it. Doesn’t know how to tell you he doesn’t feel half deserving of anything you could give him.

You giggle in response. “You said you didn’t own anything ABBA. Or Madonna. Or Cyndi Lauper— so obviously, I had to make you an entire compilation of their discography. I’m not an asshole,” you laugh. “And I put a few of my favorite songs on there, too…. And songs that made me think of you and stuff…”

Eddie smiles before he means to. It’s a strange thing, he finds, to be thought of in such an innocent way — to be looked for in the places where he couldn’t physically be. He ducks his chin and peers at you with glimmering eyes. “Yeah? Like what?” he humors.

You don’t miss a beat. “He’s so shy!”

Eddie flinches at your singing — the volume of it, more so. Your voice rings across the quiet trailer, and a laugh sputters past his lips.  “Yeah. Alright.”

“That sweet little boy who caught my eye!” you continue and reach out for him, digging your fingers into the junction of his neck and shoulder. His skin is milky white, smooth, cold to the touch.

“Okay!” he chuckles and swats you away with a playful hand. “I get it!”

“It’s the Pointer Sisters,” you grin.

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

His chocolate eyes dart back and forth between both of yours, momentarily lost in the way you’re looking at him — with your eyes all squishy around the edges. He’s not used to being looked at so softly. Or being noticed at all. 

He swallows hard and averts his gaze. Your scrapped knees enter his vision again, weeping a bright scarlet that threatens to drip down your shins. He ignores any instinct of hunger. 

“You’re bleeding pretty bad, by the way.”

You only feel the ache when you’re reminded of it. Your stomach gets all swirly at the sight of your bruised knees, rubbed raw and stained with the grass that partially cushioned your fall.

“Gosh…” you mumble to yourself, clutching the skirt of your dress in your fists. You flash Eddie a sheepish look and a wavering smile. “Any chance I could bum a bandaid?” 

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The bathroom is a tight fight, but you make it work.

You sit on the counter, per Eddie’s instruction, while he retrieves the first aid kit collecting dust in the medicine cabinet.  He sits on the edge of the bathtub across from you, way out of his element (in more ways than one), as he cleans your cuts with trembling hands.

His throat is tight with nausea. His head swims with it, too. White stars speckle his vision that he tries hard to blink away. The sight of your blood, diluted and pink on the white tissue, makes him weak.

He isn’t sure if it’s instinct or desire that makes him want to swallow you whole, but the primal urge to consume you is there — in the figurative sense, of course; to bury his teeth in your neck and have a piece of you forever. 

Being between your legs in such close confines is ample enough distraction, though.

You push the skirt of your pretty gingham dress up the expanse of your thighs to give him space to work. You sit with them slightly spread, too — enough to reveal a sliver of your underwear, he thinks. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, so he fights the boyish urge to catch a glimpse of the most private part of you.

“Jesus…” he huffs and chucks the napkin into the bin. With the blood and the grass stains now wiped away, he can see the scratches more clearly. Your delicate skin is abraded and raging with it. Like you fell and kept on falling. “Did you get mauled by a bear or something?”

“In the knees?” you quip.

“Looks like it.”

“I just wanted to match my dress,” you shrug. “That’s all.”

Eddie opens an alcohol swab with his teeth, then meets your pretty smile with a scowl. “You’re hurt. It’s not funny,” he deadpans after spitting the package from between his teeth.

“It is a little bit, though,” you argue just to argue, scrunching the bridge of your nose. He presses the damp wipe to your knee, and you flinch at the sudden stinging feeling. “Ow!”

He smiles at your pouting. “Maybe a little,” he concurs.

“That was mean!”

“You told me to distract you, so I distracted you. Sue me,” the boy shrugs, feigning innocence, as he reaches to toss the swab in the trashcan beside the counter. 

The sight of wadded tissue, all stained with your ruby-colored blood, makes his breath catch in his throat. The ground starts to sway beneath his feet. His eyes go lidded and heavy. His mouth waters with need.

Eddie shakes his wild head in a feeble attempt to remove the ravenous thoughts from his brain, but all it does is make him dizzier.

He blinks wildly as he reaches for a bandaid in the opened container beside him. It slips from his clammy, tremoring hands. He fumbles to grab it again and slaps it to the counter beside you.

“You okay?” he hears you ask, sitting right in front of him but sounding much further than that.

He sits up again and clears his throat, gaze dim and glassy. “Yeah. Yeah, just— Just give me a second…” He breathes hard through his mouth. Eyes squeezed shut. Knuckles going white around the edges of the ceramic tub. 

You watch with a wide, inquisitive stare as you smooth the bandages over your knees yourself. Your concerned gaze flits from the pallid boy ahead of you, to the plasters on your skin, and back to him again. 

“If blood makes you queasy, you coulda just said,” you joke, trying to make him smile, ‘cause you hate seeing him so ill. “You didn’t have to torture yourself just to help me.”

“Blood doesn’t make me queasy,” Eddie tells you, though he’s still slurring his words.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?” 

His glazed-over eyes are slow to open. “That’s just my face,” he deadpans.

“No. You have a pretty face, Eddie,” you insist as your giggling swells like sunshine in the tiny bathroom. “It’s just all scrunched together, like you’re gonna be sick or something— like this.”

You swirl your features in a manufactured look of drama and pain. Brows furrowed, nose scrunched, mouth snarled. Eddie chuckles before he can help it. The sick feeling still lingers, though not as obvious now. 

“You are bizarre. Did you know that?”

“I did, actually,” you giggle. 

Your entwining laughter fills the bathroom’s close quarters. The glittering noise echoes through the small trailer and finds Wayne at the doorstep. He toes off his work boots and pauses at the sound of giggling — one familiar and lower in pitch, the other foreign and sparkling. 

His socked feet pad down the length of the carpeted ground until he finds the door between Eddie’s bedroom and the kitchen’s edge, already ajar. It creaks loudly under the man’s calloused palm when he pushes it slowly open.

His tired eyes widen at the sight before him — a pretty girl on the sink with a pair of scrapped knees, and Eddie sitting on the tub ahead of her with bloodied tissue in the bin beside him.

Wayne’s heart falls to ass like a steep drop on a rollercoaster.

You smile brightly at the strange man. “Hello!” you greet with an enthusiastic wave.

He blinks slowly at you for a moment, then nods politely. “Hi there,” Wayne says in a deep and gritty drawl before turning to his nephew. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Nothing,” Eddie blurts, all wide-eyed and fidgeting. He struggles to be casual as he swipes his clammy hands over his thighs. “We were just, you know, hanging out…”

“Everythin’ alright?”

Eddie nods quickly, then stops when it makes him queasy. “Yeah,” he answers, clearing his throat. “Yeah, she just— fell on her bike on the way over, and—”

He flinches when you gasp. 

“Wait! You’re Wayne!” you shout with a sudden recollection.

The man tries not to recoil at the volume of your voice — much too loud for so early in the day, like a chirping bird outside his window. He forces a tightlipped smile and nods again. “I am,” he tells you.

You smile so wide your eyes squint at the edges. “You have Eddie’s nose!”

Wayne laughs, a single scoffed breath. “What can I say? Big noses run in the family.”

“Well, I happen to like ‘em that way,” you insist with a casual shrug, kicking your feet back and forth from where you’re perched on the counter. Your heels meet the cabinet in several rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunks.

When you look down at your bandaged knees, Wayne and Eddie share a look without you.

The older man raises his greying brows. This girl is bizarre, Eddie can hear him saying. 

He nods wordlessly at his uncle’s silent observation, as though to say: I know she is, and I happen to like her that way.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          i guess you’re just what i needed,

          i needed someone to bleed  . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The plastic case of the cassette you made him clatters on the dashboard of his van, filling a silence that would otherwise be occupied by you. 

Eddie’s passenger seat, cracked and worn with age, feels strikingly empty without you in it. Which is strange, ‘cause your presence used to frighten him once. It does, still, he thinks — but now he mourns the haunt like an old, empty house. 

He drives his rattling tin can across town to Hawkins Community Pool, with a cup of rainbow sherbet rattling in the holder at his side, like an offering for a ghost he no longer wants to exorcise from the home behind his ribcage.

“It’s gonna melt before you get it to her,” Robin remarked with a smirk as she scooped ice cream with an expert hand. “You know that, right?”

Eddie bowed his head and tried to hide behind his curls. “Not if I run real fast,” he joked sheepishly.

The pastel sherbet softens quickly in the summer heat. (Not even the van’s middling A.C., pointed right in its direction, could keep it sufficiently cool.) The muted hues of pink, green, and orange begin to swirl together as the milky concoction undulates in his ringed fist. He hopes you don’t mind and prays you see past his feeble attempt to be kind.

“Well, well, well…” Billy Hargrove lilts with a pretty pink smirk at the sight of Eddie Munson’s familiar face. He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his mulleted curls and rests his magazine on his lap. “The dead has risen…”

The poor boy sticks out without trying, despite his desperate attempts to stay hidden — all but swimming in his leather jacket, baggy jeans, and wild hair. He’s a pale, death-touched thing floating in a sea of golden life. 

But, unlike the contemptuous leers from the other patrons, (some who are still certain Eddie killed Chrissy, and others who have always seemed to look at him that way), Billy Hargrove only smiles. A fake, sardonic grin that shows none of his teeth and shines mostly in his eyes. 

His squinted ocean gaze glimmers like he knows all of Eddie’s secrets — which is only half-true. Billy knows what the end of the world did to him, because it almost killed him too, once upon a time.

So, no. He doesn’t know all of Eddie’s secrets. 

Just the biggest one, maybe. 

Despite being largely immune to the summer heat, Eddie still feels the burn of embarrassment stinging his chest. Clawing behind his ribcage like a thousand ravaging demobats. The hot-cold aching of wishing he were dead ebbs when you turn to look at him over your shoulder — when your wide eyes of sparkling hope lock with his darker, dead-er ones.

There’s an undeniable spark of delight in your irises, though Eddie doesn’t know what for. No one’s been this happy to see him in a year. No one’s been this happy to see him ever.

Something about it makes his stomach hurt. Or maybe it’s just the way you and Hargrove are sitting behind the front counter together, like a couple of old friends, with glowing sunkissed skin hugged tight in scarlet bathing suits. 

In that split second, Eddie feels like he’s in high school again — a loser, not yet dead, pining for the pretty girl way out of his league and praying the basketball jock doesn’t shove him into the bleachers.

If you notice the momentary fear in his eyes, you don’t show it.

And if you care that he’s a loser, you don’t show that, either.

“Eddie! Hi!” you greet, giggling as you push yourself off the countertop. Your pleated skirt swishes around your thighs as you rush to him. Your matching sandals pad rhythmically along the stone floor. The flip-flop, flip-fop sound echoes through the shaded breezeway.

Eddie doesn’t know how wide he’s smiling when you’re finally standing ahead of him, but he can feel it burning in the apples of his cheeks.

“You haven’t been around for lunch,” he says in place of a greeting, fidgeting with the cup of melting ice cream in his fist. “I was scared that you keeled over or somethin’.”

“You were worried about me?” you wonder aloud, voice a few octaves higher than he’s used to. You purse your smile to the side of your mouth and scrunch your nose. “Aww…” you croon and dig two fingers into the junction of his neck.

Your touch is soft and warm and less than gentle.

Eddie cringes, effectively set aflame by the electricity of you. He shrinks back with a wavering smile and finds himself grateful that he’s too dead to blush these days — or else you’d see how hopeless he is. 

You ramble an explanation while his skin buzzes.

“I’m a little slow on my bike, turns out, and I couldn’t make it back here in time,” you tell him, which rests his anxieties a little.

Eddie’s been worried about you ever since he patched you up in his bathroom. Everyone’s been worried about you, in truth, ‘cause it’s a well-known fact that you’re a total klutz.

“And after being late for the third time, Adam got kinda mad at me…” you continue, shifting on your feet. “He got really mad at me, actually. I wore his favorite bikini, and he still threatened to fire me. I was, like, oh shit, I’m actually in trouble—”

You giggle to yourself, but Eddie feels like there’s a knife between his ribcage. A sharp, burning, and pulsing urge to get you away from all of these assholes. To get you out of this town. God knows it doesn’t deserve you.

He swallows hard and tries to joke. “Must’ve been real bad then, huh?”

You exhale a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, so… I’m kinda trying to get back on his good side and everything. It’s easier to just stay here. I would’ve called, but I— I didn’t think you cared that much.”

“I care!” Eddie scoffs, pale face swirled with offense.

“You’re the one that said emergencies only!” you mock through another pretty giggle.

“Abandoning me for a week is an emergency.”

You light up like a goddamn Christmas tree at that. 

“See! I knew you were worried about me!”

Eddie scoffs again and looks away. He focuses on the crowd bustling outside the breezeway because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. Until one of them catches his gaze and flashes him a leery look, anyway. Then he feels like he might puke. 

“Not at all,” he answers in a playful deadpan, clearing his throat when his voice shakes. “That’s definitely not why I decided to bring you a… half-melted cup of rainbow sherbet.”

His chocolate eyes avert to the plastic container in his fist, swirling the milky pastels again for good measure. When he looks at you again, it’s through his lashes and with his head bowed sheepishly.

You smile with your lips curled under your teeth — obviously giddy and trying hopelessly to hide it.

“I thought it was for me, but I didn’t wanna assume,” you admit quietly, cheek squished into your shoulder.

“It’s basically a milkshake now,” Eddie mumbles and extends his arm. His voice shakes as much as his hand does. “Sorry…”

You beam at the pinched look of worry on his face. “I like milkshakes, too, silly,” you giggle and take the cup of melted ice cream from him. 

Your fingers are gentle and strikingly warm as they brush his colder, paler ones. Warm like dragonfire, or an old house bathed in candlelight, or a freshly sharpened blade through the heart.

Eddie bleeds out on the pebbled concrete as you turn away. 

You rush back to the counter you leapt from, balancing the container in one palm as you bend over the top of it. A satiny summer breeze rolls through the shaded shack and billows through the pleats of your skirt, lifting the thin fabric to reveal the thong of your one-piece — a sliver of soft scarlet running between your thighs.

Eddie’s undead heart lurches into his throat. He turns his gaze to the ceiling until the wind passes.

Billy looks up from his magazine to smile at you with his teeth. “This your boyfriend, sweet thing?” he asks as you pluck your straw from the styrofoam cup you were just drinking from.

The nickname floats on the humid air and strangles Eddie accordingly. Your mouth curls around the end of the bendy straw before you give him a proper answer. You blow hard to dispel the remnants of room-temperature water before sticking the plastic into the milky concoction in your fist.

“Yes,” you answer plainly, then take a long sip of the softened ice cream. You shrug with the raspberry-orange taste on your tongue. “He’s a boy. And he’s my friend,” you lilt. “Jealous?”

Billy laughs. Loud. 

“Of Munson?” 

You nod quietly, straw caged between your teeth.

He laughs louder and slouches in his swivel chair. The golden muscles of his toned chest flex as he flashes you a quieter smile — one that might say he knows a lot more than you do if you cared enough to read the signals.

“I can’t say that I am, no,” Billy hums, faux sympathetically.

“Well, maybe if you were a little nicer, he’d be bringing you food, too,” you tell him, very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, as you spin on the heel of your rubber flip-flop and saunter away. 

Eddie grimaces when you’re ahead of him again. “Please tell me this isn’t the only thing you’ve had today.”

Your face screws as you take another sip. “No,” you answer with a firm shake of your head, though the word comes out garbled from the fruity concoction in your mouth. You swallow it down and confess, “I had half a Poptart for breakfast, so…”

“That’s… not breakfast,” the boy monotones, then motions his wild head to the cup cradled in your right hand. “And this isn’t lunch.”

“Well, I told you I don’t have time to get lunch,” you argue like a child, soft and sheepish, head bowed to avoid his unwavering stare. You stab at the softened ice cream with the plastic straw, leaving holes in the pastel swirls, as you mutter to yourself, “And I can’t make it for myself, either. I’m not adult enough for that yet.”

Eddie feels it again. The sting of empathy in his chest. The primitive need to help you that makes it hard to breathe most days.

He shrugs his leather-clad shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his trembling hands under his armpits.

“Well— Maybe— Maybe I can, you know, bring you something?” Eddie offers, stumbling over himself the entire way through. He shifts on his feet and swallows through the frog in his throat. “Like, when I have the time, or whatever.”

He doesn’t tell you that he always has the time. (‘Cause he only works nights at The Hideout now, and spends the rest of the day’s many hours rotting in bed.)

Your face pinches into a girlish pout. Something soft, but sterner than he thinks he’s ever seen you before. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Eddie argues. “And I’m not doing it outta the kindness of my own heart, either— It’d just make me feel better to know you’re not totally withering away whenever I’m not here.”

You try hard to keep your scowl. But then your chest starts to glitter like a thousand sparklers in July, and you’re beaming before you can stop it. Eddie watches the pretty smile curl slowly on your lips despite your futile attempt to hide it.

“What’s that look for?” he cautions.

“Nothin’,” you shrug, smiling with the straw between your teeth. “I just like you.”

Eddie forgets to breathe and dies all over again, right at your feet.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         only boys who save their pennies

         make my rainy day!

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Most Tuesdays, some Wednesdays, and every Friday — (the mornings after his late night shifts at The Hideout) — Eddie Munson buys you lunch. 

He stands at the counter of Benny’s Burgers and pays with the rogue quarters and crumpled bills he finds in random pockets of his jacket. The bearded man looks on in slow-blinking bemusement while the boy counts out the $4.89 your sandwich costs.

Benny ends up throwing in free fries for the effort.

It takes Eddie an embarrassing amount of time to realize you were sneaking money into his pockets every time he visited you, even though he told you not to pay him back. Even though you swore you wouldn’t. (He’ll never believe another one of your stupid Scout’s Honor promises again).

Saturday comes, and Eddie’s cleaned out ’til his next shift on Monday. 

He thinks he’s handling it pretty well — the very palpable lack of you — but the contrary is written all over his face.

He’s sprawled out on the sunken-in couch in the living room with the headphones of his Walkman around his neck. Madonna plays muffledly (and far too happily) as he stares up at the ceiling, trying to make constellations of your face from the cracks and water stains.

Dustin watches his best friend grieve from the other side of the coffee table and sighs. “It’s the sandwiches, right? You guys hate the sandwiches?” he wonders aloud, but to no one in particular. “God, I knew I put too much jelly in them—”

“The sandwiches are amazing, Dusty-Bun,” Robin insists from Wayne’s recliner, with a mouthful of PB&J jutting out her freckled cheek. Her chipping maroon nails are stained with crumbs as they flash an ‘ok’ symbol in his direction.

With grape jelly on the corner of his mouth, Steve mumbles from the floor in front of her, “Doesn’t explain why Eddie’s still sulking over there, though.”

“Exactly!” Dustin huffs, flailing his arms.

Eddie rolls his eyes. He exhales a heavy breath that makes his chest deflate, then turns to face the eyes staring back at him. “I’m not sulking,” he grumbles like a rain cloud.

“Yeah. It’s the pouting that’s so convincing,” Max scoffs from Dustin’s other side, blinking at him from behind her glasses as she fakes a tight-lipped grin. 

Eddie just squints at her. She’s not nearly as menacing as she used to be. Not when her ocean eyes are bugged out from such thick lenses, anyway. Now he finds her sort of adorable, in a subtly intimidating way — like a kitten holding a pocketknife.

“I’m not pouting, either,” the wild-haired boy retorts, features scrunched in a soft pout.

Lucas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He just misses Barbie,” the boy croons playfully.

Eddie blinks at him with a flat face. “Barbie?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, voice high. “Barbie.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is, or…?”

“Oh, you know who she is,” Lucas nods with a boyish chuckle. “Very well.”

He keeps on laughing about it until Max elbows him hard in the shoulder. Steve misses the silent cue as he tears off a piece of bread crust, snickering to himself at the inside joke.

He pops it into his mouth and meets Eddie’s gaze, emotionless and expectant. His eyes widen as he stammers for a response.

“The girl— Your girl— She was at Jazzercise the other day,” Steve explains, then swallows hard. “She was with that pretty lifeguard, too. What’s her name again?”

He looks instinctively up at Robin for an answer. Eddie beats her to the punch. 

“Billy Hargrove?” he monotones.

“Ha-ha.”

“Heather Holloway,” Robin tells him.

“Heather!” Steve exclaims, snapping his fingers. “I’m pretty sure I dated her freshman year, actually… Or was that Heather Hart?”

The boy loses focus quickly as he goes deep in thought. Fluffy brows pinched, honey eyes squinted. A heavy silence lulls over the crowded living room, and Madonna’s muffled voice grows louder. ‘Cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl!—

Before Eddie has time to be embarrassed, Steve shrugs at himself. 

“Doesn’t matter. Anyway. She was at Jazzercise with Heather just, like, dripping in pink. Pink leg warmers, pink leotard, pink tights…” Steve trails off again, stare glazing over like he's imagining you all over again. “It was crazy…”

Eddie’s face swirls in disgust. Not at the thought of you, of course, but at the notion that your beauty is perceptible to others. That he isn’t the only one who can see you, admire you. He is not the only one you’ve threatened to kill with your piercing stare, and the thought alone makes his stomach twist.

“You’re such a boy,” Eddie scoffs.

Robin leans forward, freckled face solemn and serious. She rests her elbows on her denim-clad knees and slowly shakes her head. “No… It was crazy,” she echoes more earnestly.

It sounds different coming from her. It means something different coming from her, too. Eddie’s brows raise and disappear beneath his curly bangs. “Oh, yeah?” he hums with bated breath.

“Yeah,” Robin answers with a disbelieving sigh.

“Hence, the nickname,” Lucas nods, seemingly missing the meaning ‘cause the only other girl he’s cared to notice besides Pheobe Cates is the redhead sitting beside him.

The girl with magnifying glasses over her eyes and legs that don’t work as well as they used to. Despite the circumstances (involving dark wizards and a certain death), Max hasn’t changed at all. And neither has the way Lucas’ teenage boy heart beats for her.

Eddie scoffs a tired laugh. He turns back to the ceiling and throws an elbow over his eyes. “I’m gonna tell her you guys call her that behind her back, by the way.”

“It’s a compliment!” Dustin defends, a few octaves higher than normal.

“Or you could tell her to her face,” Max offers with an absentminded shrug, folding her napkin into a weird shape in her lap — only ‘cause she’s fidgeting, of course, not because Dr. Owens said it would help ease the stiffness in her fingers. (Being dead might’ve taught her some things, but listening to figures of authority is not one of them.)

“She’s working today. Billy said so.”

Eddie peeks at her, flat-faced. “Did he?”

“Yeah. Means you can go visit your girlfriend instead of bitching and moaning about how much you miss her all weekend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Mayfield.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“No. That is entirely the point,” Eddie argues, laughing more sincerely now. “Other than the fact that the sun will literally kill me.”

Max’s light eyes narrow into thin slits behind her clunky glasses. She says the hard thing out loud, without blinking. that the rest of them are already thinking, anyway.

“You’re already dead, Munson.”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          hey, you, with the pretty face,

         welcome to the human race!

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

No wonder the streets seemed so apocalyptically empty, Eddie thinks to himself as he walks through the front gates of Hawkins Community Pool. Because every goddamn person in town has chosen to spend their Saturday here.

Benny from the diner sits by the kiddie pool next to the entrance, watching his daughter wade in the shallow water. He looks like a different person without his grease-stained apron on. His swim trunks are bright red and slightly too short for him, his Hawaiian shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his beer belly, and his face is burnt everywhere but under his sunglasses. 

Jason, Andy, and all the rest of their goons hog the picnic tables while pretty girls sit on the tops of them — wearing their expensive bikinis and basking in the sun like it’s shining just for them. The boys laugh and shove at one another, trying to pretend like they’re far too cool for it all.

Familiar faces fill the blue water, but it’s hard to make them out in the crowd. Everyone’s swimming and splashing and stuffed within the chain-linked fence like cattle. They all go blurry, like a bunch of indistinct shapes before a backdrop of bright colors. Like a Claud Monet painting, if he ever cared enough to paint uninspiring Midwestern towns.

It’s far too packed to feel self-conscious ‘cause this is the kind of horde you drown in. But that just means it’s catastrophically overstimulating. For Eddie, most of all, who’s sorely out of place in his leather jacket and baggy jeans and dirty sneakers.

The boy cranes his neck to search for you, dark eyes flitting wildly over the crowd — once, twice, and then a third time.

You’re nowhere to be found, and he knows this because your face is far too pretty and not easily missed. Your sweet hibiscus scent is equally absent, drowned out by the overwhelming smell of chlorine, sunblock, and sweat.

If you were around, he’d know it.

“She’s not even here!” Eddie huffs, lifting his arms only to drop them dramatically at his sides. Any arguments about his pouting are surely moot now. Even he can feel the petulant scowl pinching his features.

Max, equally confused, stands at his side and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Billy said she was working today. I heard him on the phone. He definitely said it,” she observes, mostly to herself, ‘cause she can’t stomach being wrong. “Well… He said he was opening with the two prettiest girls in town, so I figured one was probably Heather and the other was—”

“Barbie?” Eddie finishes flatly.

“Yeah.”

“Well, she’s obviously not here, so… Let’s just go back home and do— literally anything else.” 

Eddie spins on the heel of his worn sneaker with the intention of going back the way he came. His van is parked crooked, anyhow. Steve complained as much when he parked his shiny new BMW right beside him. He figures he should probably get back before someone slashes his tires. Again.

He nearly runs into someone the second he turns around. Someone standing far too close for comfort, in a bright red bathing suit and matching skirt, with too big sunglasses on the top of her head.

“Who’s not working today?!” the person shouts loudly in his face, with the evident intent to scare him.

Eddie stumbles back into Steve, who promptly shoves him forward again. It takes him approximately that long to realize it’s you.

You guffaw when the rest of them jump in fright — a loud and heavenly sound that refuses to be drowned out by the droning of a million different conversations.

“I totally got you guys!” you exclaim, giggling so hard your head tilts back. 

Eddie laughs with you, mostly in shock, as he clutches his chest where his heart isn’t beating.

“Admit it! I got you a little?” you say, pinching your thumb and forefinger and squinting through the sliver of space between them.

“Yeah,” the boy huffs a forced laugh. “Yeah, a— a little bit.”

Visibly delighted by his words, you beam brighter than the golden hour sun.

“I knew it!” you grin before your eyes flit over his shoulder, to the group of friends gaping wordlessly behind him. You scrunch your nose sympathetically. “Sorry… You guys were just collateral.”

“You know I have a bad heart,” Steve complains for the sake of complaining, clutching his chest over his short-sleeved button-up. He flashes you a stern look and gripes, “That shit’ll kill me.”

Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You’re twenty-one years old, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “And being around you ages me five years.”

“Well, then, I guess we’re gonna have a very long, very happy life together. Aren’t we, Stevie?” you retort with a sickly sweet smile that Steve meets with a scruffy-faced scowl. 

Eddie watches the brunette boy roll his eyes like he wasn’t getting half-hard at the thought of you at Jazzercise an hour ago. It makes him only partly jealous.

He could never dream of being so casual around you. ‘Cause when your eyes find his again, it feels like his stomach’s doing backflips. It’s like he blinks, and he forgets how to speak.

“So!” you chirp. “Family trip?”

Eddie opens his mouth and doesn’t realize until that moment that every word in the English language has left his brain. Robin shoves him hard in the back to put his head back on straight. The words fly from his mouth like a pull-string doll.

“I didn’t wanna bother you, but these idiots forced me into it.”

“Good. You need to get out of the house from time to time, Eds— You’re getting so pale,” you ramble and reach suddenly for his face. Eddie freezes when you take his chin by your thumb and forefinger. The warmth of your velvety touch sets his skin aflame; more so when you look directly into his wide-eyed gape and say, “There’s nothin’ wrong with needing a little sunshine, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Weird,” Max muses with a sarcastic lilt. “That is exactly what we’ve been trying to tell him, too.”

Eddie shoots her a glare — the best he can, anyway, with your hand still cradling his jaw. He can only see the redhead from the corner of his eye, but the smug smirk on her freckled face doesn’t go missed.

Your fingers slip from his face, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. He feels strangely empty, still, without you touching him — like he’s starving, or like he’s never been touched before now. Sometimes, it feels like both are true.

He wonders if that’s just the price he has to pay. If being near you means feeling like he’s dying and coming to life all at once. There’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that tells him he’ll pay it, with your pretty fingers strangling his neck and all.

“You’re MADMAX, right?” you wonder aloud to the girl with auburn plaits draping her freckled shoulders.

She’s mostly a stranger to you now, but you think she must mean a great deal to the rest of them. They talk a whole lot about the redhead with chunky glasses who acts like she’s way too cool for it all but defends her Dig Dug high score like her life depends on it. 

The girl nods and crosses her pale arms across her chest, flashing you a suspicious, tightlipped smile. “Yeah. Which means you must be Barbie?”

“Barbie?” you echo.

Eddie chimes in then. “That’s what these freaks call you when you’re not around,” he says, nodding his wild head to the group of aforementioned freaks behind him.

Your face twists as you bring your hand to the center of your chest. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me before,” you respond, strangely sincere.

Lucas smiles from over Max’s shoulder, nodding like he’s proud. “You’re welcome,” he tells you.

Dustin stands just beside him with a conspicuous paper bag under his arm. You squint past Eddie and over to the curly-haired boy. “What’s that?” you blurt.

It takes him a second too long to answer. “Oh. Uh. A sandwich—” he stammers vaguely, extending his arm towards you. You take the sack from him without thinking twice and rifle blindly through its contents.

“PB&J?” you guess with an inquisitive arch to your brow. Dustin nods, looking pleased by your assumption. Your arm stills suddenly within the crinkling brown sack, and your eyes narrow into thin slits. “With the crust cut off?”

“Uh… no.”

“Good. That’s obviously the best part of the whole sandwich,” you respond, almost to yourself, as you pluck the snack from the bag. 

You unwrap it from its plastic seal and take a hefty bite in one fell swoop. Your eyes flutter shut like it’s something gourmet, and not just something Dustin slapped together on his kitchen step stool at home.

“Thank you for this,” you mumble through the wad of food in your cheek. “You’re officially my new best friend, Dusty-Bun.”

“Rude,” Eddie scoffs.

You swallow hard and fight back a smile, like you were hoping for that exact response. “And who said you were my best friend in the first place, hm?” you argue playfully, waving the half-eaten peanut butter jelly sandwich in his face. “That is very presumptuous of you, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Your pleated skirt flutters at your hips when you spin on the heel of your plastic sandal. You flip flop, flip flop out of the shaded shack and towards the sunshine and unadulterated chaos. The rest of them follow behind you — save for Dustin, who migrates to Eddie’s side with a far-off gaze.

“Sure she’s not your girlfriend?” the kid wonders, never once taking his eyes off the back of you.

Eddie looks down at him with a flat face. “I’m sure,” he monotones.

Dustin grins wide, likely forgetting that other people can see it, too. “Good,” he hums to himself.

“Don’t get any ideas, Henderson,” the older boy blurts before he means to, then tries not to cower under the expectant glance he gets. “You’re obviously way out of her league.”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The group fits in pretty well despite being the self-proclaimed outcasts of Hawkins, Indiana.

Steve most of all, but that usually goes without saying. He looks like small-town royalty in his brand-name polo and too-expensive navy swim shorts. He’s lost his touch since high school, though, as he tries and fails to flirt with Carol Perkins’ sister.

“So, Amber— What’d you say you were studying again?” you hear him ask as he lingers awkwardly by the longue chairs.

“My name is Autumn,” she corrects in a drawl that’d give a valley girl a run for her money.

Steve, oblivious to his blunder, only smiles. “Oh, cool. That’s, like, definitely in my top four favorite seasons—”

Robin, in a strange turn of events, is much more casual in her flirting than her co-worker-slash-best-friend. She spotted Vicki the second she walked in, sitting with a few girls from yearbook and rubbing sunscreen onto her supple skin.

She pretended she didn’t, though, which only made it that much more obvious that she had. Vicki waved at her once, then again to invite her over, and Robin was far too awkward to decline. 

Now, she sits gracelessly with a bunch of half-strangers and her biggest crush, looking only slightly out of place in her frayed shorts and Steve’s baggy tee. She nods politely in conversation and thanks the universe for making it so damn hot today. At least now she can blame her burning freckled face on the golden setting sun.

Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, stuff their faces with ice cream sandwiches in a feeble attempt to consume them before they melt. The softened vanilla leaves messes on their fingers and faces, making them look somehow more boyish than their respective Spiderman and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle swim trunks.

Max sits off to the side of them in her own chair, partly overstimulated, and trying to let the piercing sunbeams ground her again.

Eddie Munson, however, in his attempt to blend in, only draws more attention to himself.

He sits beside your post, shaded beneath a wide umbrella, in the same attire you’d see him in on any other day. The baggy jeans, and the thick leather jacket, and the Corroded Coffin merch. He’s dripping in black and silver but hasn’t yet broken a sweat. You don’t know how, though. ‘Cause you’re hot just looking at him.

You pluck your plastic whistle from your mouth to ask, “Are you sure you’re not burning up over there?”

Eddie laughs before he means to because the answer’s obvious to him. 

The last time he felt an ounce of heat was when he was bleeding out on the dirt floor of an alternate universe — when crimson blood ran warm over the mangled skin of his chest and ribs. He’s been colder than ice ever since. And he keeps forgetting you don’t know about any of that.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” he answers, angling his head to face yours.

There’s a white cast on his grey face from sunscreen deliberately not rubbed in. It feels like a shield in some way. Not in the warm-blooded human kind of way, of course, but in the vampiric curse kind. The kind that would otherwise make him debilitatingly weak sitting outside like this. Now, he feels somewhat normal.

The golden hour sun sits like a halo behind your head. He squints one eye to see you better. “If you wanna see me shirtless, you can just say that,” he jokes. “Instead of beating around the bush and everything—”

“I wanna see you shirtless,” you blurt in a strange monotone that makes it hard to tell if you’re joking or not.

The boy falters. Tries not to choke on his own spit. There isn’t a world where he can flirt with you where you don’t immediately snatch the upper hand. It’s like you’re immune to that sort of diffidence. Eddie wishes he was, too.

“Wow,” he scoffs after the few long moments it takes him to recover. “Way to be blunt, sweetheart.”

“You told me to say it!”

You give him a lazy shrug and a lazier smile as you swap the bright red lifeguard buoy to your other arm. Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as though physically affected by the way you look at him, and the plastic pool chair makes a weird squeaking noise beneath him.

“Yeah, well, most people tend to be more subtle about it.”

“I’ve never been subtle about anything in my life.”

You turn back around to scan the busy pool, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. A laugh rattles through his tight chest as he quips, “I’m starting to realize that about you, actually—”

“God. Stop flirting,” Max groans from your other side, who has otherwise been so silent that Eddie was starting to forget she was there. She doesn’t turn to look at either of you from where she lazes on the lounge chair. “Sitting with Steve would be more bearable than this.”

“Yeah, Eddie. Stop flirting with me,” you grouse, obviously playful, and without missing a single beat. You glare at the boy over your mostly bare shoulder and try hard not to smile. (He can’t see it in your eyes, anyway, though.) “I’m trying to talk to my new friend MADMAX. Gosh—”

You spin on the heel of your plastic red sandal, and your matching skirt twirls with you. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the back of you. He forgets how to blink when the fabric swishes to give him a brief glimpse of your ass.

He’s always hated the sun, but he loves the way it kisses your skin — leaving you glistening and mouthwateringly supple. 

His fangs threaten to make an appearance when a warm breeze carries your cotton candy cloud scent to him. His gums start to burn with the sharp ache.

“—Hi, MADMAX,” you singsong to the scowling girl, grinning with your cheek pressed to your shoulder.

“You can just call me Max,” she deadpans. “You know that, right?”

“But MADMAX is so much cooler. And it suits you way better.”

“Does it?” MADMAX wonders with an unenthusiastic hum.

“Yeah. Maxine is a name for an old woman. Or, like, one of those ridiculously expensive French poodles,” you ramble and turn back to the pool again, head bobbing as you scan the crowd. “But MADMAX? Now, that is a name for a badass with really cool hair and a sick pair of reading glasses.”

There’s a beat of silence, filled only by the sound of splashing water and the buzzing of a thousand distant conversations, as Max tries to bite back a laugh. It sputters past her anxiety-bitten lips before she can stop it — a strangely airy giggle from such an intimidating girl. 

She shakes her head, still, to pretend she’s above the childish giddiness.

Your face screws in feigned offense. “Don’t laugh!” you scold.

Which, of course, only makes her laugh harder.

Eddie lifts his head, finally taking his eyes off you to gape at the redhead across the aisle, who hasn’t laughed like this since the world ended. 

It must be something strange you alone bring out of them, he realizes. Something special in you that the end of the world didn’t steal like it did everyone else.

“These guys bothering you, newbie?” you hear your manager call to you, only partially drowned out by the surrounding laughter and shouting from the bustling crowd.

His voice is annoyingly distinct. It’s deep and articulate in a way that makes him seem smart. You don’t know if he really is, but you do know that he’s really a raging asshole. 

Adam stands before you, gold and glittering under the setting sun like God’s first creation himself. He’s got veins up and down the length of his muscular arms, and a bulging chest that he waxes every two weeks like clockwork. He’s Steve The Hair Harrington pretty without an ounce of the charm.

“Huh?” you call back, brows raised and eyes wide, just to make him repeat himself.

“I asked if these guys were bothering you,” Adam repeats, flicking his cleft chin back to get the blonde curls out of his eyes. “You look distracted.”

“What guys?” you wonder with an innocent furrow to your brows.

The man’s emerald eyes flit instinctively over your shoulder at Eddie, who everyone has been trying and failing not to stare at this whole time. 

You wonder if Eddie notices it, too — if he’s gotten immune to the constant leering or if he’s bone-crushingly aware of it all. Either way, no one deserves to be ogled at like that. Like some kinda zoo animal. 

Everyone always walks on eggshells around him, refusing to look him in the eye out of fear he might bite. But you know he doesn’t have the teeth for it.

Despite that, you look at Eddie over your shoulder like he’s a stranger. His eyes are wide and swimming with apprehension as the chocolates of them dart between you and the man made out of chiseled marble. 

Adam knows that you know him. You know he knows it, too. Which makes lying to him all the more fun.

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” you shrug.

Adam squints and crosses his too-big arms over his chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s loitering. Along with the rest of these kids—” He looks around him with a visible disgust. 

Max pretends he isn’t there. Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, forget to be casual as they cower under his stare with their ice-cream-stained faces.

“It’s a public pool, Adam. Everyone's loitering. Duh.”

You turn away and stick your whistle back in your mouth. You chew absentmindedly at the plastic and scan the pool for any reason to use it.

Adam’s neck twitches. An angry sort of tic he didn’t know he had until he met you. “You’re still on the clock, newbie. If I see you gettin’ distracted again, I’ll—”

You blow the whistle. Loud. And for far longer than you probably need to. 

The high-pitched chirping rings in Adam’s ears from the close proximity. He flinches away accordingly.

“No running, please!” you shout sweetly to the pudgy middle school-aged boy on the other side of the pool. (His babysitter always brings him here so she can sunbathe, and he’s always roughhousing in the deep end. Billy’s developed a personal vendetta with him over the summer.) 

The suddenly quiet pool returns to its deafening chaos a second later.

You flash Adam a cheeky smile. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that I’ll take it out of your paycheck,” the man bites, angled jaw clenched tight. “You’re already on thin ice. Understand?”

Your lip juts in a feigned pout. You nod slowly, eyes wide like a puppy he’s just kicked.

“One more strike, and you’re cleaning toilets, newbie.”

“Ah, I knew that’s what this was all about…” you lilt seductively, lips curling into a mischievous smirk. “You just want to see me bending over—”

You lean closer toward him until your spearmint breath fans across his chiseled jaw. Your bottom juts out in Eddie’s direction, until he can see the very bottom of your ass from beneath your pleated skirt. It makes him as flustered as Adam the Asshole, who stalks off on long legs quickly after, sufficiently embarrassed.

You laugh at the back of him until he disappears into the crowd again. The bubbly sound ceases the moment he’s out of earshot, and your smile ebbs into a girlish pout. “Dickwad,” you mumble under your breath.

You recover from it all rather quickly while Eddie struggles to remind himself to breathe. His mind reels as he, for the first time ever, grapples with the very real possibility that he might actually be in love with you. Or that you’re not real at all, and that this is just Vecna’s doing — long gone but still putting visions in his head somehow.

He doesn’t know which is worse.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         oh, what a strange magic!

         oh, it’s a strange magic!

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The golden-orange sky turns a milky pink and lavender. Eddie’s friends, sunburnt and sufficiently pruned, don’t leave until the first star blinks faintly in the sky. The rest of the crowd goes with them, bustling bodies spilling out in a swarm.

It takes the rest of the gang several long moments to realize Eddie isn’t behind them. (You told him you forgot your sunglasses, and he offered to get them for you, ‘cause he’s nice like that and everything.)

(He doesn’t know the sunglasses are currently hiding in the pocket of your windbreaker.)

“What, where’s Eddie?” Dustin wonders aloud to the rest of the group, head flitting wildly in search of the misplaced metalhead.

“He went to the bathroom, I think,” you blurt the first lie you can think of. “He was talking about a nervous tummy or something. I don’t know.”

Steve scoffs like he senses a non-truth. “So, he’s leaving me with babysitting duty again?” he quips with a cynical, lopsided smile. “How predictable.”

“You say that like we’re the spawn of Satan or something,” Lucas jokes.

“You aren’t?” the oldest boy deadpans.

Dustin flips him off with a chubby finger and a flat face.

They bid their leave tangled in mindless arguments and lanky limbs. You watch them leave with the understanding that Steve’s 733i will be a tighter fit than it should be, crammed with a bunch of rowdy teenage boys. You feel sorry for Max and Robin most of all. 

Steve’s car peels out of the parking lot one moment, and Eddie returns the next.

“I couldn’t find your sunglasses anywhere,” he confesses sheepishly, face twisted like a puppy’s as he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I think some asshole might’ve stolen ‘em—”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” you shrug with a tightlipped smile. “I found them in the, uh— In the lost-and-found bin.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” Eddie stammers, nodding slowly, just before a smile tugs at his lips. You watch from beneath your lashes as the subtle realization curls on his face. “You had ‘em the entire time, didn’t you?” the boy wonders in a low voice that makes your stomach do whirl.

“Yes,” you squeak in a mousy voice, then ramble before you can stop it. “But only ‘cause I wanted everyone else to leave! You know, so we can have a real date and everything…”

“As opposed to the fake ones we’ve been having?” he jokes with pinched brows.

“Exactly,” you nod, strikingly sincere. ‘Cause the constant carpooling and melted rainbow sherbet dropoffs had to have meant something. 

“As tempting as that sounds, sweet thing,” he humors, scrunching the bridge of his nose. “I do think I might be actually coming down with sunstroke.”

You turn your head wordlessly to the entryway of the shack. There’s only a sliver of the night sky visible from here, but it’s navy blue and sparkling with so many little stars. You look back to Eddie with a dubious glint in your eye. “The sunset twenty minutes ago, Eds.”

“Yeah, but… I’m still sick.”

He removes his hand from the pocket of his leather jacket and balls it into a fist over his mouth. He coughs once, trying hard to make it believable ‘cause he hasn’t been truly sick since the winter of ’84.

That’s perhaps the only cool thing about being a vampire — he’s basically got Superman’s immune system now.

“Well, I actually learned how to treat sunstroke while I was in training,” you lilt with an air of mischief in your voice as you take a daring step closer. The scent of sunscreen and cheap musky cologne clings to his skin. Something about the combination of the two is maddening.

You’re filled suddenly with the primal urge to bite into him like an apple. But you refrain, lest you scare him off.

Eddie’s caught in a similar dilemma, but with perhaps realer consequences than that. Your natural marshmallow-passionfruit scent suffocates him like a pillow to the face. His fangs threaten to force their way through his gums as his head starts to swim.

He ignores every vampiric instinct swirling in his mind and focuses, instead, on the pretty smile curling at your lips.

“Bet ya didn’t know that, did ya?”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “No, I— I don’t think you ever told me that,” he stammers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. He puts both hands back in his jacket pocket, balling them into fists until his nails bite into his palms.

“First, you gotta take off your clothes—”

“You’ve been trying to get in my pants all day,” the boy laughs. “You realize that, right?”

“—And then you gotta cool off in a very luxurious community pool.”

Eddie gets what you’re playing at, then. His smile ebbs almost instantly. “No,” he dismisses with a stern shake of his head. His deep chestnut curls, frizzed with the late-summer humidity, sway around his jaw. “No. No way.”

“Oh, c’mon! Please,” you whine. “The pool closes in, like, half an hour— Then it’ll just be us! We can swim together!”

“I don’t know how,” Eddie whines back, head tossed and face screwed. “Seriously. I grew up in a trailer park. No one ever taught me how to swim, alright? I’ll drown.”

Something about that seems to please you, as your pout curls slowly into another smile. You meet the boy’s wet brown eyes with a gaze that glitters something wicked.

Eddie can see your head spinning with a thousand bad ideas from here. His heart would race at the thought of getting into trouble with you if it was beating still. 

You’ll bring him back to life yet.

“Don’t worry, Eds,” you shrug with a sure grin. “I’d give you mouth-to-mouth in a heartbeat.”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The pool glows a vibrant sapphire color. It makes the surrounding amber streetlamps seem dull in comparison. The water is as blue and crystalline as an early summer sky. Eddie figures you must be the sun, swimming in the center of it all. 

You wait patiently in the shallow end — out of both your windbreaker and pleated skirt for the first time in front of him — and swipe your hands over the water, letting it drip like liquid diamonds from your fingers. You hum quietly to the slow song playing on the boombox across the way, which now houses the mixtape you made that Eddie seems to take with him everywhere. 

The boy shifts uncomfortably at the head of the pool, feeling awkward in the pair of swim trunks you found for him in the break room.

You’ve never seen so much of him before. His paper-white legs are a lot longer than you expected, ‘cause his baggy jeans hardly do him any favors. And his arms are a lot muscular, too — likely from moving band equipment and bussing tables.

He’s already so pretty to begin with. You don’t know what he’s got to be such a Nervous Nelly about.

Eddie knows he’s making it harder for himself. It’d be a lot less awkward for the both of you if he just took his shirt off and jumped in the water. But he’s paralyzed by the misplaced panic that strikes that lightning in his chest. And by you, ogling at him like he’s a pretty thing that deserves to be ogled at.

“Stop staring,” he calls to you, pretending to be playful but meaning every bit of it. “It’s makin’ me nervous.”

“Would it make you feel better if I closed my eyes?”

“Much.”

You put your hands over your eyes, to make him feel better and all. Though, you can’t help but peek between the slivers of your fingers as he strips himself of his Corroded Coffin tee.

His torso is as long and lean as you imagined, with sprinkles of hair on his chest and the pudge of his tummy that trails into his borrowed trunks. You try very hard not to stare too long at the gray scars embedded in his pale skin.

Everything seems to come easier to him when you’re not looking at him. He slides the black fabric off his pale, pale torso, tosses it to his feet, and hurries to hide in the water in one fell swoop.

The chlorine makes his nose burn, but the water feels like satin on his skin. It’s soft and warm and smooth against the cold, sharp edges of him.

“You can open your eyes now,” Eddie scoffs when he notices your hands still over your eyes. He can see you blinking at him through the slits in your fingers. “I know you’re peeking.”

“I was not!” you gasp, mouth agape with a playful offense.

“Well, you weren’t exactly being discreet about it, sweet thing.”

“These are very nefarious accusations you’re making, Eddie Munson…” you scold with arched brows and wide eyes. The water ripples faintly around you as you stalk towards him like a predator to prey, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint. “Are you prepared to back them up?”

The boy cowers slightly under your unwavering stare. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me right now—”

And he was right not to. ‘Cause you’re lunging suddenly towards him in a flash.

The water splashes violently around you as you wrap both arms around his neck and sweep him off his feet. Literally. You kick his legs out from underneath him, then catch him before he can fall completely backward. Both his downfall and his savior, ironically.

“Ha!” you shout in his face, the tip of your nose brushing his.

“Jesus!” Eddie gasps in response, still heart lurching in his chest.

“I asked if you were prepared!” you defend like you’re innocent, like you aren’t still cradling him in your arms — the only thing keeping him from going under.

“Not for this!” he yells back. 

Only then is he able to take a good breath in. He can smell the velvety scent of your blood from the achingly close proximity. He can feel your heart beating in his own chest from where you’re pressed so intently against him. It makes him instantly dizzy.

He fights back the primal urges that would otherwise drive him mad.

“Jeez…” he huffs, fangs burning. “You’re a lifeguard— You’re supposed to stop people from drowning.”

“Yeah, but no one ever needs saving,” you whine. “It’s so boring.”

His chocolate button eyes flit back and forth between both of yours. “You tryin’ to save me, sweet thing?” he jokes.

You squint. “Is it working?”

“Yeah, actually… If you let me up now, at least.”

He’s grateful when you do, though he mourns the lack of you when you step back a few paces.

His damp hair sticks to his skin when he rises to full height. He shakes his head like a dog, and you giggle when a few rogue droplets fly your way.

“You have freckles on your shoulder,” you observe distantly, eyes darting across the faint amber spots on his pale skin as you try to make constellations out of them. “I didn’t know that ’til now.”

Eddie’s lips jut downward as he peers at his arm from the corner of his eye. “Not really,” he shrugs.

“You do!” you insist. “There’s not many, though. I could probably count ‘em if I wanted.”

“Maybe on our second date.”

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo here, either—” You poke him in the chest, a little harder than you probably mean to. 

Eddie winces and rubs his palm over the fading black widow under his collarbone. “Well, you don’t know everything about me,” he quips. “I like it that way. It keeps you on your toes.”

Your face pinches into a girlish pout. “Only ‘cause you never tell me anything.”

“I tell you loads of things,” Eddie laughs.

Your frown deepens. “You never told me about the picture of Ozzy Osbourne you keep in your wallet.”

“…How do you know about that?”

“Dustin told me.”

“Of course he did,” Eddie huffs. “Remind me not to tell that little shit anything ever again.”

“You never told me about how you got those scars, either,” you blurt, eyes trained on his milky white torso. Beneath the clear, rippling water, you can see the parts of his supple stomach that are marred and turning pink.

You don’t realize what you’ve said until your gaze flits back to his startled one. Your eyes widen as you ramble quickly, “You don’t have to! I’m not trying to… I’m just— I’m just saying. ‘Cause, you know, Steve has the same ones… On his ribs…”

“I’m not even gonna ask how you know that,” Eddie jokes with a (mostly) feigned jealousy.

“Billy does, too. He’s got the same lookin’ scars on his chest,” you continue. “And then I started thinking, you know? I thought, since you all know each other and everything, maybe something happened to you guys. Like, in the earthquakes or something.”

Eddie swallows hard and debates on spilling his guts. 

He swallows his secrets down like bile, in the end.

“Yeah. You’re— You’re not too far off, actually,” he answers with a breathy, bitter laugh. He scratches at the back of neck, if only to busy his anxious hands, and flits his gaze to the velvety night sky.

The blinking white stars there ground him when the world starts to swim — reminds him that he’s on Earth, in Hawkins, and not in the hellscape he died in.

That was his final thought as he took his last breath that spring. How strangely fitting it was that there were no stars in the Upside Down.

“We, uh… We kinda went through hell and back, but, uh… ‘Least lived to tell the tale, right?” Eddie scoffs at himself, then remembers Chrissy — how young and full of life she was one moment, and how her wide blue eyes were sucked out of her skull the next. He recoils then, feeling like he’s said the wrong thing. “Wait. That was— That was insensitive. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What are you talkin’ about? You’re right,” you assure him with a quiet, emotionless laugh. “You guys survived. You got lucky. We all did.”

Eddie peeks at you beneath his lashes, through the wild curls sticking to his face. “Where were you?” he murmurs. “When… When everything happened?”

“Crying into my milkshake at Benny’s Burgers,” you answer without missing a beat. The memory’s far too vivid for anything else.

A laugh sputters from Eddie’s throat. He’s sure you must be joking. You blink at him like an owl, and he goes solemn all over again. “Oh. You’re… You’re serious?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I was… feeling sorry for myself over something stupid, and then the ground started shaking outta nowhere— like the universe was trying to say, ‘Hey, this could be soooo much worse, dude,’” you ramble quietly to yourself, skimming your fingers over the water’s surface. “…But then I found out people actually got hurt and everything, so I was like, ‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t make this about my stupid broken heart, actually.’”

Eddie’s tight chest deflates with a wavering exhale. He didn’t know you back then, but something about knowing you were okay makes him feel better. ‘Cause, yeah, he died and all, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of Vecna taunting you.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” the boy confesses in a honeyed whisper.

A soft smile quirks at the edges of your lips. “I’m glad you’re okay, too, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Your hand reaches out for him. Almost instinctively. Like he’s a whole universe with his own gravitational pull.

Your palm settles soft and warm on the outside of his torso. Your thumb grazes the marred skin over his ribs, and Eddie tenses at the foreign feeling. You jerk back instantly.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer, face twisted apologetically. “I didn’t— I should’ve asked first.”

“No. It’s— It’s okay. Seriously,” Eddie assures with a rapid nod. There’s a faraway look in his chocolate eyes, almost like he’s daydreaming. He feels like he is, anyway. ‘Cause he’s never let anyone this close before.

“I just… I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”

Do it again, he says in so many words. Please, I think I might need it.

You reach for him again, more hesitant this time. Your hand settles over his scars again, and you breathe hard through your nose.

Your stomach twists with a phantom sort of ache, like you can feel every ounce of the pain he surely experienced back then. Thinking about how hurt he must’ve been makes you hurt, too.

Eddie can see it written all over your face. How much you ache for him.

He can’t stand it. 

He cups your cheeks between trembling, unsure hands. His touch is softly calloused and colder than ice. He tilts your jaw gently upward, urging you to meet his gaze once more. Your eyes are wet and glittering when they lock with his heavily lidded ones. Your mouth parts to say something, anything. But your brain doesn’t work fast enough.

‘Cause Eddie's kissing you before you can blink.

He tastes distinctly of nicotine and boyhood. Of midnight, full moons, and neon lights. You can feel every groove in his bottom lip from where he picks at it with his teeth. Every sensation is new to you, like cool sparkles of excitement in the pit of your tummy, but it’s strikingly familiar all the same. Nostalgia for something you’re experiencing for the first time warms the center of your chest.

You breathe hard through your nose. The gust of air tickles Eddie’s cupid’s bow as he parts from you, lips smacking apart in protest.

Your eyes, still yet to blink, remain wide and glazed over. “Whoa…” you sigh to yourself.

Eddie’s unsure of how to gauge your reaction. His face swirls with horror.

“What?” he mumbles, still cradling your face between worried hands. He can’t tell if your cheeks are heating or if he’s just colder than usual. Perhaps both are equally true.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly, still slightly faraway. “I just… I got a weird sense of deja vu just now…”

The boy forces a quiet laugh. “Who else have you done this with?” he quips.

“No one!” you blurt. “…But I think I might’ve dreamt about this once.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

“Was it better than you expected? Or should I just see myself out now—”

You lean forward to chase his mouth. The cerulean water ripples faintly around you. Your lidded gaze never wavers from his rosy lips, which you’re realizing now are all but begging to be kissed. You don’t know how you never noticed it before.

Eddie’s smiling too wide to respond appropriately.

“Why are you laughing?” you frown.

“I’m not!” he responds through breathy chuckles.

“You are—”

Eddie leans forward in a flash, pressing another chaste kiss to your pout.

You’re all smiles again the second he pulls away, bursting at the seams with a sort of giddiness that could give the sun a run for its money. 

He knows, somewhere deep down, that he shouldn’t make you this happy. He doesn’t even deserve the chance. But here you are anyway, smiling so wide at him that your eyes are starting to crinkle at the edges — showing him that there’s still sunshine in the dark, reminding him what it means to be living.

“Does this mean we get to do this forever?” you wonder in a mousy voice.

“What?” he chuckles. “Kiss?”

You nod wordlessly, blinking up at the boy with wide, wet eyes.

Eddie nods quickly back. 

“Then yeah…” he wavers, chest aching and gums burning. 

He loves you so much he’s gone hungry for it. For you.

He longs to devour you, in every way imaginable, and you want to devour him just the same. He can tell in the way you stare at him when you think he isn’t looking — in the way you stare at him even when he is looking — and in every one of your movements that urges him closer, closer, closer.

Your gaze is debilitatingly intense. Your attitude is mind-bendingly strange. You’re ruining his life, and Eddie can’t believe there was ever a time he wasn’t kissing you.

“Yeah,” he repeats, firmer now. “As long as you want.”

if you made it this far: i love you. so sorry for making you read something so long. i'd kiss you on the forehead if i could. also pls consider reblogging! this took me so so long to write, and it really helps a lot! thank u, love u (▰˘◡˘▰)

[velovw]

How would OW characters love you?

(Ft. Reaper, Genji, Ramattra, Hanzo, Venture and Cassidy)

A/N: It's been quite a while, but I'm happy to share a little thing I've written.

Reaper

At first, Gabriel would refuse the idea of being in love. There was no way the thing he had become was deserving of love - nor did you deserve to be with anything like him. The confession would probably come from you, or the feelings you two have for each other would simply be locked away and forgotten with time. Unsure touches, hesitancy in communication would plague your relationship early on, leading to frustrating fights and time spent apart.

Gabriel had spent so long being Reaper, that he had forgotten how to treat another gently, softly. Years of being one of Talon’s obedient and ruthless weapon left him scarred, almost a husk of the man he one day was. Patience, lots of it, would be needed to build a healthy relationship with him. With time, he would slowly start to mimic the actions you did to him - learning from you on how to love and be loved - this could lead to Gabriel learning to love you just the way you want him to.

Not big on romantic gestures, and doesn’t like PDA. He has an underlying fear that if anyone were to find about his weak spot for you, it would mean harm your way.

Genji

A cupid 's arrow.

It would not take him long to recognize the emotions he was experiencing, as the excitement and exhilaration of a new love were familiar to him due to his youth. The anxiety and giddy feelings were difficult to overlook or ignore. He would not hesitate to express his feelings, as he was quick at noticing if someone reciprocated his affections based on their reactions to his affections. He was accustomed to this aspect of a relationship and would confidently touch and remain close to the person he was interested in whenever possible.

Wouldn’t be able to hide your relationship, almost always bringing you up in a conversation. Excitedly calling you his partner.

Due to his past, Genji would have an underlying anxiety about performing well as a partner. He was good at sweet talk, enough to make your heart flutter - but when it came down to serious conversations and fights, he would almost shut down. In the past, whenever these things happened, he would simply dump his past partners and move on - but he didn’t want to do that now. So he would be awkward, asking you what he could do to amend the wrongs and fix the situation. He would heavily depend on you to guide him in that way.

Ramattra

Love? How futile.

He had no time for such weak emotions, no time to spend worrying over your safety when you were a human - the kind he hated with his very being. No. Ramattra only spent his attention and utmost care towards the cause he believed in.

Or that's what he desperately wanted to believe.

Every word, every moment would be recorded through his optics and stored forever in his hard-drive. Ramattra’s touches sometimes felt… ghostly. As if he was afraid of breaking you. But he was always sure to impose his threatening aura around strangers.

But the amount of stress his system felt when he saw you in the middle of the battlefield, how he was reluctant to end your life right where you stood, proved it all to him that he was *wrong*. Ramattra would take what felt like a lifetime to confess, seeing you sick and injured pushed him to it - the reminder of your mortality severely affecting him. Would try to do everything at once one day, showcasing his innocent and lack of experience in *love*.

A silent reminder of your importance.

Hanzo

Throughout the most part of Hanzo's life, there were only two things he felt the most. The bitter regret and the pain of tomorrow. Losing everything came at a great cost and it shined clearly when you met Hanzo for the first time, when you tried to befriend him - the look in his eyes. Hanzo would avoid you emotionally once he feels… different. Part of him knows what he feels but another one denies it with all of his strength. Not for pride, simply because he's afraid of losing once again.

A wall to talk to. His indifference at the start would drive you crazy, driving you away until he finally realizes how much more empty he feels with your absence. Even so, does a small act of servitude by giving you your favorite food - a small attempt to see if you still care for him. Just enough so he can *try* and allow himself to feel the gentle feeling of love.

Small smiles your way, brushing your hand with his while passing by. All small but mean so, so much for Hanzo. There is no shyness, just gentleness, and no fear of showcasing such feelings in front of others.

Venture

Spending most of their life researching and excavating did really not leave any space for romance. Venture would be quick to accept the feeling, the rush of adrenaline and giddy feeling quickly taking over their mind as they realized they liked you. It would be obvious to anyone around them. The way their eyes would be searching for you in the room, quickly asking someone if they've seen you and when they do finally see you - the biggest smile they can muster.

Your name would be mentioned by them every chance they get.

A confession would take mere days, and if you weren't totally sure about them - they'd at least hope you'd let them take you out on dates so you can get to know each other better. Small trinkets of their affection would be given to you, crystals and rocks being the main source of it, secretly hoping you'd try and find the meaning of them.

Their only flaw is being overly excited about the feeling, sometimes overly romanticizing you and getting disappointed when you don't reach their standards.

Cassidy

Smooth.

Cassidy would recognize the blush that would dust his cheeks when you were around, how he seemed to want to impress and sweet talk you. That would be his way of gaining your favor slowly, calling you sweet nicknames and trying to charm you with his words. A small brush of his shoulders on yours, opening doors for you and tipping his hat when he passes by - all small acts that are meant to sweep you off of your feet.

A relationship would bloom slowly, as he would like to ride out the early fluttering feeling of love. Going through all the small showcases such as holding your hand, gifting you something meaningful before taking you out on a date and asking you two to finally be oficial. To everyone else around you, it was clear that Cassidy was courting you - and no one else dared to attempt anything. Whispers of his past holding them back on doing so.

Cassidy’s flaw would be being too warm or too cold. Either giving you hurtful but helpful advice, or comforting and unhelpful ones. It would solely depend on his mood, but you can always tell when he doesn't really wanna make decisions. Sometimes he just wants to exist, to let himself breath without any worries.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Rain Confessions

Summary: A dance in the rain at Jackson's last day of the summer celebration leads to you and Joel finding out something surprising about the both of you after you sneaked off to have some alone time.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 3.5k

Warnings: falling in love, a whole lot of backstory nobody asked for, implied past SA, age gap (around 15-20 years), fluff, baby fever, smut (semi public sex, unprotected sex) accidental breeding kink (?), pregnancy surprise at the end

A/N: This is my entry for @undercoverpena April showers challenge! I had so many ideas for this challenge, but this is it (for now lol)

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

If you had learned anything about the community of Jackson since arriving here almost two years ago, it was that the people would always find a reason to have a town celebration. 

It was foreign to you at first, celebrating the first summer harvest a week after you arrived. Seeing everyone in the middle of town, celebrating while music was played by some towns people on their instruments. Children playing with wide smiles, safe from all the horrors that laid behind the walls of this tiny town. So much food everyone wouldn’t have to cook for days. 

Dancing. 

Happy people. 

You had a full blown panic attack the first time you had attended a town celebration, overwhelmed from how… normal everything seemed now. Almost like it had been before the outbreak happened. 

You only had little memory of how it was before. You had just turned 20, moved to another state, far away from all of your family for a job you were excited for, but would never get to work in. 

You had been shot on outbreak day, waking up almost a month later in a make shift hospital in what would later become the Dallas QZ. You remembered being told how lucky you were that an officer had brought you in in all that chaos. There would be many times after you had healed and been released, that you asked yourself if you really had been that lucky. The question about why you survived, being a constant thought inside your head. 

Whatever had happened to you had fucked with your memory, leaving you with big gaps about your life before you woke up in the hospital. 

You had stayed in Dallas until the QZ fell, leaving with a group of what you thought back then were friends. You had worked with those people, those men, for many years at the QZ. They had never given any indication about not being decent people. You trusted them.

Trust that you clearly had misplaced. 

You would learn in the following years that they had only taken you with them so they had something to offer to whomever could help them survive. 

It would take years for you to finally escape from them, kill all of them, leaving you with nothing but the clothes on your body stumbling through the deserted lands of what you would learn was Wyoming until a group of people found you. 

You had asked them to kill you, tired of life. 

But they had taken you in. Maria saw something in you that day. 

You became a part of Jackson. Working in the greenhouse every day because as it turned out, you had a green thump.

Yet you were still keeping to yourself. 

The years of abuse you had endured, did not make it easy to trust new people. You only had little friends. Lauren, who worked with you at the greenhouse, and Tommy who made it close to impossible not to be friends with. Maria who became like a big sister to you. 

You weren’t looking to meet more people, let alone find something more than just friendship until Joel Miller stepped into your life. 

You had been pared with him on your monthly patrol, something every citizen of Jackson had been tasked at least once per month, not even knowing he had joined the community, or knowing that he was Tommy’s brother.

He was quiet, reserved, cold, but only to the people who were to scared to look past the facade he put on. 

It was like you could see right through him, the way he was masking the pain he carried with him all day. Maybe because you had been doing the same thing. 

The first patrol you went on together left you drenched to your bones, surprised by rainfall, making you sick for a whole week after with Joel being the only one who would check on you. 

Something you didn’t understand at that time, because you did not know the man. 

You still weren’t sure who made the first move of spending some more time together. It seemed to just… happen. Eating together at the Tipsy Bison after he came back from his job at Patrol. Him visiting you in the greenhouse when he found himself lonely, telling you about his complicated relationship with Ellie at the moment. 

You spending time at his place to teach Ellie how to bake, because she had been nagging you for weeks to do so. 

He never pushed, always listened to whatever you had to say, both of you opening up to each other about what you had went through before getting to Jackson. 

He had held you after you talked about the years you had been in captivity, vowing to never let anyone ever lay a hand on you. 

It was after the first baking lesson, Ellie long gone to bed, that you found yourself in Joel’s arms for the first time, his body on top of yours, his cock filling you slowly, while he whispered words of praise against your ear. 

Yet it would take another couple of months for the two of you to admit that you had feelings for one another, oblivious to what everyone around you saw with their eyes closed. 

There hadn’t been some grand gesture like in the movies. 

It had been a normal night where you felt a little restless and decided to walk towards the stables to wait for Joel to come back from patrol. The way his face lit up when he saw you as he rode through the gates, taking you by surprise even though your face was a mirror image of his. He had wrapped his arms around you and whispered how much he missed you before he kissed you softly, the world around you disappearing when he admitted to you that he’s been in love with you for a while now. 

You had moved into his house the week after.

And now you were in your shared bedroom, getting into clean clothes while Joel sat on the bed, looking at you with warm eyes. 

„We could just stay in? Have some time for ourselves while everyone is busy celebrating the last day of summer?“ He asked and you smiled softly, putting your pants on, while his eyes continued to undress you. 

„And do what?“ You asked. 

„I can think of a thing or two. I’d start with getting you out of this jeans again,“ he winked and you smiled shyly at the way he looked at you. 

You hope he would forever look at you like that. 

„You know your brother would come looking for us. We promised we would be there. And Ellie asked you to come too,“ you reminded him and he sighed. 

Things between him and Ellie were still hard, but she was slowly coming around. There would be a small art installation from the school at the town square and Ellie had drawn a couple of paintings she was excited to show off. 

Joel got up from the bed and walked over to you, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

„You gonna let me dance with you?“ He asked and you sighed, pulling your arms up and crossing your hands behind his neck, looking up at him. He was smiling softly at you and you were pretty sure you would never be able to love another person like you loved Joel Miller.

„Always,“ you smiled before you got on your tiptoes to kiss him softly. 

You were watching Joel and Ellie from afar, both of them standing in front of a painting she did from a landscape across town square that was currently filled with people. Ellie had told you that it was the mountain view she had woken up to for an entire week while she was sick on the road, Joel taking care of her until she felt better to continue their travels on their way to find Tommy here in Jackson. 

Joel was visibly struggling to keep the tears at bay as you saw Ellie explain it to him before they hesitantly hugged each other. 

You were sitting under one of the tents that had been put up earlier today, the sky not looking like it would be dry outside much longer. Yet it was warm enough to only wear a T-shirt.

„You think they gonna be okay?“ Tommy asked, sitting down next to you, little Elijah in his arms. Maria had given birth not too long ago to a mini version of Tommy much to her delight. She waved at you from next to the grill, and you waved back before you reached your hand out to Elijah who took your finger with a squeal. 

„I think so. She’s beginning to understand why he did what he did. And he’s understanding why she’s so upset. They miss each other,“ you said and Tommy nodded. 

„I would have done the same if it was my kid,“ Tommy said and you nodded. 

„Yeah. Me too,“ you smiled at Elijah who now was trying to suck on your finger, making you chuckle. 

„Are your parents not feeding you enough, little man?“ You said with a grin. 

Without answering he proceeded to pull your finger in his mouth, making you giggle. 

„Maria just fed him twenty minutes ago. He’s just ravenous,“ Tommy rolled his eyes.

He turned his head when he heard Maria call for him. 

„Can you take him for a moment? My wife calls,“ he asked. With a smile you nodded, opening your arms for the little boy to be placed against your chest, kissing his forehead while he still sucked on your finger. 

„Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?“ You hummed with a small smile as he snuggled against you. When you looked up you found Joel’s eyes locked on you from across the little square and you felt your cheeks warming at the look he was giving you. 

In the past couple of weeks you had the recurring dream about having a baby on your own, a mini version of Joel. You dreamed of watching him with a tiny baby on his chest. You dreamed of your own little family. 

Elijah used this moment to nibble on your knuckles, making your eyes widen before you looked down at the little guy again. 

„You really are hungry huh?“ You laughed.

„He’s teething,“ Maria said, smiling down at you with a plate of food in her hands, Tommy following behind her.

„You gonna eat some spare rips next summer, huh?“ You teased, tickling the babies side, making him giggle. 

„He sure will be,“ Tommy said proudly, before he took Elijah back. 

Music started to play from the band that had formed earlier this year from the town and you could see Tommy smirk. 

„I think you had an admirer,“ he winked before you turned around and found Joel walking towards you. When he was close he held one hand out which you took. 

„You promised me a dance,“ he said and you couldn’t help but smile. 

„I did, didn’t I?“ You said before you let him guide you towards the middle of the square were people had already gathered to dance. 

The band was playing a song you did not recognise. It was a slow song for a change, Joel and you having danced to two songs before laughing loudly at the way you just could not manage to not stumble over your own feet. 

But now you were in his arms, your cheek against his chest as he slowly swayed you to the beat, his lips against the top of your head while he murmured the words to the song. 

You took a deep breath of his familiar earthy scent that always felt like coming home. 

It was then that you felt the first drops of rain. Feeling his arms tighten around you he cursed quietly as it began to rain, the sky opening up, drenching you within seconds, your clothes clinging to your body. 

The normal reaction would be to seek shelter from the rain, just like the people around you who quickly ran towards the tents that had been put up. 

But you looked up at Joel who was already looking at you, his hair clinging to his face, drops of water falling from his nose down on you.

The band was still playing, the song changing to a distinct version of Purple Rain, making the people who were now in the tents laugh, but you just smiled, letting Joel twirl you on the improvised dance floor before you came to rest against his chest again, both of you laughing. 

You danced for a couple more minutes, before he kissed you deeply, holding you close against him.

„Get a room!“ You heard Tommy yell and you smiled against Joel’s lips, before you took his hand and led him away from the town square.

He had you crowded against the wall outside of the greenhouse as soon as you rounded the building, his lips on yours, his hands rounding your face. 

The greenhouse was closer, your house being on the other side of town. 

It was still raining, the both of you under the small and apparently leaking roof that was above the outside work station, just out of view from the building. You could still hear the people down the street celebrating when he picked you up to sit you down on the work table, your legs parting so he could step between them. 

„We should get out of these clothes,“ you mumbled against his lips, your fingers working on opening his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. He sucked your bottom lip between his. 

„We should,“ he agreed, before he pulled your shirt over your head, growling softly before his head lowered between your tits, pushing your bra down, sucking your nipple into his mouth. 

„Shit….“ You moaned, your hands pushing into his hair, your eyes dropping close. 

There was a tiny part of you, that knew it would be a better idea to get back home and out of these clothes, but you wanted Joel so badly, right now. 

„Love these perfect tits,“ he hummed, playfully biting into the soft skin above your left breast. 

„Joel please… Just….“ You pulled his head up so he was looking at you, your eyes wide and needy. 

„You want me to fuck you? Right here? Again?“ He asked and you nodded, memories of all the times he had you right here while the people were working inside, filling your mind, a shudder running down your spine. 

„Sure is gonna be fun to get you out of these drenched jeans,“ he joked and you chuckled before you jumped from the table.

It was a little struggle, the wet denim clinging to your legs like a second skin, but after a little bit of Joel’s help, you had them down to your ankles and Joel kissed you softly. 

„Turn around,“ he hummed and you did, your hands on the edge of the table while you heard Joel’s belt unbuckle, followed from an annoyed huff that let you turn your head over your shoulder to find him too struggling to get his jeans off, making you smile to yourself until you saw him free his cock, his pants just so pushed down to get it out. 

He looked at you with a bashful smile, before he took a step closer, his big hands moving over your ass. 

„Gotta make this quick so I can get you home and out of those clothes,“ he said, before he wrapped one hand around his cock and lined himself up. 

„This okay?“ He asked. He always did, every single time, needing to hear you consent after you told him about how you had been treated in the past. 

„Yes,“ you nodded and he winked at you before slowly sinking into you, inch after inch of his cock filling you, stretching you, until he was nestled deep inside of you, his hips flush against your ass. 

You turned your head back forward, letting it fall down, your eyes closing. 

„Baby…“ he sighed, letting his head fall against your back. He kissed your spine before he began to move, finding a slow rhythm that had you positively losing your mind. 

The rain was still falling hard, dripping down Joel’s back as he fucked into you.

„Need it harder,“ you whined, finding your back pushed against his chest the next moment, one of his hands across your chest, holding one of your tits as his thrusts got deeper. Faster. Harder. 

You brought your hands up, both holding Joel’s arm that was across your chest as he fucked into you. 

His lips found your neck, licking up the rain that was still dripping down your body and you whimpered. 

He took a couple of steps back, pulling you with him until you were back outside in the rain, the warm drops hitting your flushed skin. You leaned your head back against Joel’s shoulder, your eyes opening to find the sun coming out just when Joel’s other hand slipped down between your legs, his hands covering your pussy, his fingers parted to feel how his cock entered you before he moved it in slow circles, stimulating your clit. 

It was too much. 

The rain, his cock fucking you, his hands all over you, his mouth sucking softly at your neck, in the middle of the garden you were working in every single day. 

You came with a soft cry of his name, clenching around his cock, struggling to keep yourself on your feet as he continued to fuck into you. 

„Good girl,“ he hummed against your ear, his hand on your breast tightening, groping, and you gasped. 

„Wish you could cum inside me,“ you hummed and he cursed. 

„Wish I could….“ You stopped yourself, not wanting him to know your deepest secret. Not before you had an actual talk about it. 

„Wish you could what?“ He asked, his thrusts getting slower. He turned your head so you were looking at him and you were sucking your bottom lip in. 

„Wish I could have your baby,“ you whispered, whimpering when you felt him twitch inside of you immediately, his eyes darkening. 

„You want that?“ He asked and you nodded. 

„Fuck,“ he groaned, beginning to fuck you again, somehow ever harder than before, both of his hands now on your tits as he pumped into you. 

„You wanna have my baby?“ He asked. 

„Want me to fuck you so full of me, until it takes?“ He grunted and you moaned. 

„God yes. Yes please Joel. Fuck a baby into me,“ you whimpered and he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppier and you could feel him pulse inside of you before he pulled out, coming against your thigh, his head falling against your shoulder. 

You were both panting, trying to fill your lungs with air while the rain around you seemed to finally slow down. 

Suddenly nervous about what you said you were trying to form an excuse about it, when Joel spoke up. 

„You really meant that?“ He asked, his voice soft. 

Gulping you turned around in his arms, avoiding his eyes until he tilted your head up to him, so you had to look at him. 

„I don’t… I guess I do? I… At first I thought it was just the fantasy about it, but the longer I thought about it….“ You mumbled. 

„How long have you been thinking about it, sweetheart?“ He asked softly. 

„Since I moved in?“ You said and he huffed before he shook his head with a soft smile on his lips. 

„How about we get home and out of these wet clothes and talk about it?“ He asked.

Slowly you nodded and he kissed you, before he helped you get dressed, which was almost more complicated than getting out of the wet clothes before. 

The rain had almost completely stopped as you made your way towards your shared house, Joel holding your hand, stealing glances at you as you looked towards the ground. 

He would be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking about it. 

And yeah, maybe it was reckless, he wasn’t the youngest anymore. This world was not the best place to bring new life into. 

And maybe it wouldn’t even work, having a baby.

But as he looked at you, with your shy smile on your lips, he knew he would give you everything you wanted to make you happy. 

Both of you not knowing that that one time almost two months ago when you were out for patrol together and he had fucked you against a tree, the second he had pulled out to late was enough to already have you pregnant. 

But you would found that out a month later. 

[kissitbttr]

how would frat!mig be in a huge argument w his girl?? idk a part of me feels like he’d be lowk immature abt it. of course he makes up to her un the end bc i cant stand angst 👎👎🧌

oh very

—

“so that’s it? you’re not even going to talk to me?” miguel stares at your moving figure, who’s hastily picking up a fresh shirt from the dryer. “never realized i’m actually dating a child” he scoffs when you don’t answer to him,

before the two of you started dating, you already knew how many girls miguel had swept off their feet. the ex-girlfriends, the jealous glares, the talking in between groups. it does brings the greatest displeasure in you to witness all of that. but miguel’s top priority is to ease your worries, and he doesn’t want to lose you over something that’s not worth to be talked about.

but the thing is, miguel sometimes forget how to set boundaries. almost like he’s not even trying anymore.

like today during practice. when you were practicing your tumblings and routines whilst miguel did his football drills. your eyes fell upon a familiar blonde girl from the volleyball team making her way towards your boyfriend.

it’s not like you don’t allow miguel to talk with other girls, you’re not as insane. letting a girl touch and feel his biceps is another story. you don’t need a damn book to know what the girl’s intentions are. obviously she was being flirty. blinking her eyes up at him, subtly biting her lip though knowing he’s taken.

the girl was previously known to be acting like a total slut. not that you’re shaming her when it really is a fact. prances herself around other guys even though their taken. you and gloria shares the same mutual dislike towards her when she had told you how the blonde kept trying to get into beck’s pants. thankfully, beck knows how to handle it.

so you waited. waited and watched at how your boyfriend would respond. instead he did nothing. nothing but a smile on his face without brushing the girl’s touch. they carried on a small talk

it broke your heart. and to some, it may sound a little bit too exaggerated but they wouldn’t know for sure until their partner was being felt up by other people and them not doing anything about it.

you were about to make your way towards the two of them, wanting nothing but to rip that girl’s hair off of him but stopping when your coach calls you to inform the practice is starting soon,

your mind wasn’t at ease for one bit during practice.

“i’m a child for wanting to communicate over what happened today? yeah, sure. talk your fucking shit, o’hara” you reply to him, rolling your eyes as you furiously toss your other belongings into a bag. “a real keeper you are”

the sound of his last name falls upon your lips doesn’t feel right to him. sure, you may have called him that in a fun manner but he knows that this time you’re actually pissed.

and miguel is not an expert at expressing his feelings and emotions. he’s got a lot to learn. the only way he knows how it to use anger and frustrations, which is something that he should control. especially when he’s talking to you.

“por el amor de dios! are you serious? we’re still on about that?! get over it, muñeca. it’s not a big of a deal!” he exclaims, removing his shirt before throwing it away on the nearest chair of his room,

“not a big of a deal?!” your tone rising as you walk out of the bathroom to see him. “you let another girl felt you up, letting her get close to you and you said that it was nothing?! are you out of your mind!”

“veronica and i were just talking! am i not allowed to talk to other girls simply because i’m dating you? that’s quite ridiculous, baby” he chuckles but there’s no humor in it, almost like he’s mocking you. receiving a baffled look from you.

“stop putting words in my mouth, that’s not what i said! you missed the part where i said you were letting another girl touching you, when you already have a girlfriend!” you point at him, trying to get him to understand but it seems like it’s no use. seeing him only roll his eyes and dismissing your words with a wave of his hand. it furthers your already broken heart to more pieces,

“fucking immature little shit” you spit, going back to zip up your bag,

he laughs loudly at that, shaking his head. “look who’s talking!” he turns around to face you. “i can’t control the people that like me, sweetheart. what am i supposed to do with that?”

“you really are entitled and narcissistic” you laugh sadly, “maybe try setting up boundaries between people especially girls? ever thought of that?”

“ever thought about not being insecure and jealous all the time? may come off handy”

and that does it. the words just pierced right through your heart, making you stop your movements all together.

never thought in your life that miguel would be the one person to say all of that to you. is that how he views you as? a insecure girl?

is it wrong that you love your boyfriend so much that you want him all to himself and for him to learn how to listen to you?

“if that’s how you feel, then maybe we should just end it here” your eyes turning glossy, trying not to break down in front of him. “if you missed being flirted by other girls or flirting back to your flings, then i am not stopping you. so instead of making me feel like shit, calling me insecure, we should just see other people”

that’s not what miguel had expected you to say. his blood runs cold, face faltering at your suggestion because that is not what he wants. not at all.

hearing what he just said to you makes him want to crawl into a hole and let himself die. he didn’t mean it! he didn’t mean what he said, he’s just grown tired of this argument that he wanted nothing but to end it. yet instead of making you feel secured and listen to you, he chooses the latter.

holy fuck, o’hara what have you done?!

“wh—n-no! muñeca, I didn’t mean what i said, i did—“ he stutters, walking closer towards you only for you to step back. “baby please i wasn’t thinking—“

“exactly! you weren’t!” you yell, picking up your bag and getting ready to walk out of his room, the frat house and his life for good. “i’m giving you, your freedom card from now on”

this can’t be it, right? fuck, no, no, no

“you’re not leaving” he says while trailing you from behind, hands shaking at mind in scrambles at the thought of you walking out of him for good. “y/n please—please don’t leave me—i’m sorry—i—i cut off every girls on campus if you want me to, just stay—please” he tries to reach out to you but your pace is quicker while walking down the stairs, ignoring the looks from some of his frat brothers,

shaking your head, you try to ignore the pain in his voice. part of you wants to hug him and tell him that you won’t be going anywhere. but part of you realize that this time, you need to put yourself first. because as much as you love him, you love yourself more,

this is going to be painful.

“that’s not what i want you to do, i just— i can’t do this, miguel. at least not now” your head shaking, voice lowering to prevent the eavesdropping ears from the kitchen. “i—i need to think, for a while. competition is coming up and exams are too—everything is just so overwhelming. i think we need a break. i think you need a break”

“a break?! I don’t need a break. i need you” his voice cracking, tears welling up in his eyes as he gathers your hands quickly and pull them into his chest. “i love you, muñeca—please—i’m so sorry—i’ll do better i promise. just stay, por favor”

his eyes are pleading at you, staring intently into your eyes as his grip tighten around your smaller hands. for just one second, you almost cave in.

almost,

you smile sadly, “just give it a week or two, okay? and we’ll see after that”

but miguel doesn’t need a week or two. he doesn’t need to see after. he knows who he wants to spend the rest of his life with. he knows who he wants to marry. he knows who he wants to have his kids with.

and it’s always going to be you, no one else.

however looking at the state of you now, miguel has no right to force you to do anything. he cares too deeply about you,

so he complies,

“o-okay” he nods and agrees with a heavy heart. “if that’s what you want—i’ll give you space, but just know that you’re the only one that i want. the only girl i want to have by my side. keep that in mind, okay?”

a small smile appears on your lips, as you reach up in your tippy toes and give him a soft kiss on his cheek before you turn around and open the door. giving him one last look and walk out of the house, carrying his heart as you do.

miguel breathes out a shaky sigh, watching the door closes. his tears are rolling down his cheeks without him realizing.

without you here right now, what else is he supposed to do?

—

don’t worry, i’ll make these two make up :)) i just think that miguel needs to be humbled rn lmao

also, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated xx

[aestheticaltcow]

I have asked

Ele fica todo "porra podia ter matado ela" e ela "tá tudo bem bear ☺️ você não sabia"

Sunshine Reader who works at The Beef (started working there while Carmy was working in Germany) he does not know much about her yet

Then he is making a new recipe and calls her to prove and she goes all happy, when he will put the spoon in her mouth everybody gives kitchen screams saying that he could not because he had set a thing she has allergy

He gets all "I could have killed her" and she's like is okay Bear ☺️, you did not know "

Sorry for the bad English

Hey, don't apologize for the 'bad English'. English is a very hard language. It's my only language, and it confuses me every day.

Anyway, enjoy :)

Allergic to Sunshine

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

The Bear Masterlist

“Yo, you busy?” Carmy asked as you worked at your prep station. You shook your head, “Just on veggie prep for the lunch rush.”

Carmy nodded as he stood there with his hands on his hips. He watched you chop briefly before asking, “Can you taste something for me?” 

“Sure!” you smiled, placing your knife at the top right corner of your station before following Carmy to his. You passed Marcus and Tina on the way. After cheerfully greeting the two of them and engaging in some casual small talk, Carmy put the final touches on the dish he’d wanted you to taste. 

You liked Carmy; he was pretty serious but had a plethora of culinary knowledge. When he took over The Beef the summer after Mikey died, you weren’t sure what would happen to your job. The late and great Mikey Berzatto hired you as a catch-all employee of sorts. You were a broke college student who managed to convince him to give you a chance. 

After Mikey died, you were worried Richie would downsize, but he assured you that you were family- and you don’t fire family. When the staff found out Carmy was moving back to Chicago to take over the restaurant, Richie reassured you again that ‘Mr. New York’ wouldn’t be allowed to fire you because while The Beef may have been in Carmy’s name- it was Richie’s restaurant.

Carmy changed a lot about The Beef claiming it would be more efficient and it would be the change needed to turn it from just a sandwich shop to the restaurant he wanted to create to honor Mikey. He moved you from your catch-all role to learning how to be a line cook. He’d managed to teach you some basic knife skills and cooking quickly became a way for the two of you to communicate- despite your multiple food allergies.

When you made your way to Carmy, he passed you a plate of fancy-looking dishes with a green and yellow sauce swirl. “What is this?” you questioned as you took a spoon to the dish. “Tryin’ out some sauces for a seafood risotto Syd and I have been workin’ on,” Carmy explained as he leaned against his station with his arms crossed over his chest. You nodded, and he started explaining the sauces, “The yellow is a pineapple hot sauce, and the green is pea, garlic, and chili oil-”

“Yo Cousin! Are you tryin’ to kill her? She’s allergic to everything on that plate.” Richie yelled from the other side of the kitchen. Carmy looked up at the ceiling before sighing and turning his attention to you with a dumbfounded expression plastered across his face. “You were just gonna eat that? Even though you’re allergic?” 

You shrugged, “You didn’t know I was allergic to pineapple, peas… or most shellfish.” 

You watched Carmy squeeze the bridge of his nose with one hand as he took the plate away from you with the other. “Any other allergies I should know about?” he chuckled slightly.

“Pumpkin. You didn’t know- it’s okay, Carm.” you smiled as you playfully punched his arm. Carmy shook his head as he walked away from the station, laughing about how ridiculous this situation was. You couldn’t help but blush as you walked back to your station. He was something else, but so were you.

[skywalkersslut]

BABY BLUES

benny cross x fem!reader

A/N: I keep seeing fics where benny starts to panic when reader gets pregnant and I know that’s honestly pretty canon…. however I was wondering how it’d be the other way around :( so I ended up writing my own!

Summary: In which you get pregnant and you’re not sure if you have what it takes to be a mother

Warnings: angstttttt, reader has mommy issues, husband!benny, fluffy ending, kind of ooc benny

You had been late, 16 days to be precise. Normally you wouldn’t have thought twice to your period being a few days late. This being because of your constant stress inducing husband, but it had felt different this time. You couldn’t sleep, and to be fair, it had been 2 weeks. Now you sit in the doctor’s office staring at the detailed slip of paper in your hands, confirming you were in fact pregnant.

You pulled into the driveway of your and Benny’s house, for once relieved, that Benny’s Harley hadn’t been parked up front. It wasn’t that you were scared to tell him, you were scared of the pregnancy itself, could you be a mother?

You walked into the house, keys turning inside the loose gold doorknob, you’d have to remind Benny to fix that later.

Hours of contemplating had past, you’ve been pacing around the entire house. You thought back to your childhood, remembering the lack of love you got from your mother, the same cycle you’d pass on to this baby. How can you pass on something you’ve never had? You hadn’t learned to love a child, you didn’t know what was right or wrong.

Right as you’re about to take another lap around the house, you hear the familiar rev of Bennys bike.

Normally, you’d feel like a weight had been lifted off your shoulder, skipping over to greet your husband with kisses. This time, you were stuck in place with your stomach in knots.

Benny walked into the house, hanging up his keys on the baby blue holder. “Darlin” he yelled out. A few seconds had past, and you’d mustered up the courage to face your husband, walking up to him, sucking in your tears “Hey baby” you let out in a whisper.

“C’mere”, he called out but you stood frozen, denying his embrace. Something you only do when you’re mad. “What’s wrong, hm”, he peered down at you, lifting your chin. “I’m just tired Benny” you walked away and plopped down on the sofa.

“So tired ya can’t even kiss your husband?” he said wearily, following you to the couch. “Benny,” Before you could even let out a sentence the tears started pouring. “Hey baby what’s wrong”, Benny sat down to hold you “Somethin happen? What is it baby”

Benny hadn’t been an affectionate person. He never cared for little things until you had come into his life, it had been one night of you one the back of his motorcycle, talking his ear off when he realized he was gonna make you his wife. Since then, he’s changed, sure he still has trouble communicating and stays out with Johnny for a little too long, but there’s nothing more to him than his wife.

“I’m pregnant, Benny” you couldn’t even look at him, you know he’d stick by you, he never made you feel like he’d leave you, not since you two had tied the knot.

Benny paused in his seat. This was far different from what he had thought was the reasoning behind your behaviour, he was relieved. It had taken a few moments for Benny to realize what had just come outta your mouth, but when he did he felt nothing but love. “I’m gonna be a dad?” he looked down at you with a smile, but there was all the opposite on your face.

“What’s wrong doll, yer not happy?” He tilted his head down to face you. “I can’t be a mom Benny, I never had a mom the way others did, I’m just gonna pass it on to our kid and a baby doesn’t deserve that? All babies need a good mom. I can’t even do that.”

Benny heart dropped, you, the person who’d shown up to every meeting with one of your famous desserts each time, who’d cared for him after every fight he’d been in, the same woman who he knew he’d fight a million men for, thought she couldn’t be a good mother? “Baby, you’re not really saying that hm, if there’s someone in this world who’ll be a good mom, it’s sure as hell you.”

Benny couldn’t stop the anger rising within him, knowing he couldn’t change the way you were raised. “Don’t ever say some shit like that again huh” You started to feel light inside, lookin up to see nothing but seriousness on Bennys face. “My mom fucked me up Benny” you sighed in defeat.

“We’re all fucked up baby, before there was you I thought I’d just be fucking around on my bike till the end of time, you changed my whole life doll, look at me I’m gonna be a fucking dad and I don’t want nothin more.”

For the first time since he’d come home, you’d smile. “Okay” “Okay? Okay what baby” Benny asked “Okay we’re gonna have this baby” your words cause Benny to ease into the couch “Damn fucking right we are”

Benny hugged you so tight you started to wonder how you’d felt so low when you had him by your side.

Soon enough, you’d be months along, strolling into every baby store you can, trying not to buy every little piece of clothing you set your eyes on. Benny not far behind, holding the piles of whatever you throw into his hand, trying to pretend the sight of you carrying his baby doesn’t make his heart swell.

[totallyboatless]

Truly surprised anytime i see someone upset that Jesper and Wylan don’t have a slow-burn in the show. I’m realizing this is a hot take, but I want more fast-burns. “Will they/won’t they” can be great, but it has to match characterization, and aging up the Crows would absolutely change how Jesper and Wylan get together.

Kaz and Inej make sense to slow-burn — they both have some level of touch aversion, extreme trust issues, and “I’m an island i don’t need anyone” syndrome.

But Jesper and Wylan? Jesper is fully sexually active in both the books and the show, but being sexually active in your 20s is vastly different than as a teenager. He knows what he likes and goes for it and has been doing that for years. Wylan is only like 15 in the books and super inexperienced - but he’s always had that secretly-confident, slightly-unhinged streak. In this alternate universe, he’s had an extra almost-decade for those traits to grow before meeting the Crows — he knows *so* much more about himself.

Wylan isn’t shy, he’s reserved. There’s a difference — it’s not a lack of confidence, his confidence is just quiet. Wylan hits me so hard as a relatable queer character because he plays the game of gently feeling out interest - when we meet him he’s sussing out if Jesper is still interested, and I imagine when they first met he did the “i’m going to signal to you i’m queer and hope you signal back” dance that happens when you’re trying to figure out if hitting on someone in a queer context will be received well or not.

But as soon as Wylan gets the go-ahead that Jesper is interested, he’s all confidence. He was just waiting for the explicit permission to go for it. Both times in the show when we see Jesper and Wylan start to get hot and heavy, Wylan is the one who initiates.

So in the show we have two sexually active adults who are attracted to each other, who aren’t afraid to go for what they want once they get a positive social queue, and who live in a super dangerous place with a “live fast, die young” mentality. Anything other than them jumping each other the first night they met wouldn’t make sense.

And then we get to see the meat of their relationship! The conflict isn’t “tension bc they want to bone” the conflict is “they need to learn to communicate and be on the same page and figure out if they can make this work” which imo is infinitely more interesting for these two characters.

[georgiapeach30513]

How I'm Looking At You, Part 1

Summary: You were long considered a spinster. Your family was desperate for money, and you were their only option. Sending you to work for a newcomer who was not part of the Amish community was risky, and it brought forth the gossip. Ari didn't seem to care what others thought about him, but he did care what they thought about you. Making your innocent crush and close proximity a bit more...harder. But can you convince him and yourself that the feelings are worth it? But what if it is just a crush? Do you even care anymore? Or are you ready to risk it all and leave the community?

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings:  gossip, questioning religious teachings, language, sexual tension, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.1K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Ari takes a deep breath as he looks around. A whole lot of nothing. Land as far as the eye can see, neighbors weren’t close. He is in over his head. It was a great deal, and it made sense at the time, but now that he has sweat dripping down his face, blisters on his fingers, and more sun on his neck that his mom would deem necessary he realizes this was just a dumb idea.

The outside of the homestead is one thing, but the inside is unkempt and a complete disaster. He didn’t even know where to begin. Overwhelming didn’t even seem a strong enough word to describe the mess he is in. It is getting lonely out here, and the farmhands he hired aren’t helping much on the home or the kind of loneliness he feels. Life out here is different.

“I don’t think you’re gonna make it,” Jacob, one of the more vocal boys that Ari hired. Ari didn’t need anything that this life could bring him. In fact everyone here would probably shit themselves if they knew how much he is worth. Sometimes you just need an escape from the city life. “You look like you’re gonna melt away.”

“I’m thinking,” Ari gruffs out. The outside is fine. It is looking great, and the only reason he is even out here helping is his doctor told him stress was going to kill him. How is this not stressful?

“What’re you thinking about?”

“What do you know about keeping a house?” The young man stares at Ari awkwardly before looking at the other two men confused. They shuffle around nervously, looking down at the tilled land, “Did I say something?”

“I don’t think you understand the roles here,” Ari shrugs his shoulders, and the two boys that he couldn’t be bothered to learn their name since they didn’t talk to him before return back to their work.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“I don’t think what I’m suggesting will happen,” Ari squirts as he looks at the vastness of the land. He’d take any suggestion at this point, or whatever he had to offer.

“I don’t need suggestions, I asked to be enlightened.”

Jacob points to himself, but starts scratching his head after, “We don’t do housework. That’s for the women.”

“So I should find a woman to hire for the house,” the other boys start to chuckle, but remain working. “I think I missed something.”

“It won’t help,” Jacob shrugs his shoulders, as he grabs up his tool.

“Why?”

“If you think you’re going to get a married woman in a single English man’s home, you’re crazy. If you think you’re going to get an unmarried woman in a single English man’s home, you’re insane. Nobody would ever let their wife or their daughter in your home.”

Ari closes his eyes slowly. This way of life is confusing for him. He doesn’t want to tie a woman up in his bed and have his way with her, well — no, he wants help for his home. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Have you looked at yourself? You’re like a man from the forbidden books. You bring out lustful thoughts in a woman. How are they to remain pure when there’s an English man that embodies everything they’re not supposed to have?”

“I don’t know how to use my stove though,” Jacob shrugs his shoulders. He didn’t see how any man would let a woman in his life ever be in Ari’s home. Especially not alone. “If I were to try, where would one go look for a woman that is unwed and needs a job?” The other boys laugh again, but Jacob points out into the distance.

“There’s only one person I can think of. A family that only had one daughter, no sons. They’re…well, they could use some charity. Their farm is quite small,” Ari hears one of the boys whistle, and chooses to ignore them. “She works at the general store.”

It isn’t the most ideal place to look, but it is the only one for now. What is the worst they could say? No. “You boys got this here?” All three give him a nod, there is so much nodding with everyone here, and he starts walking to his truck. He wasn’t going to go the horse drawn carriage route with transportation. And this isn’t a flashy truck. Old and rusty, and now he had a bit more hope of finding help for the inside of his farm. Maybe.

You can hear the giggles from the front of the general store. It was always about you, and they never tried to hide the way that they giggled and carried on about you. You weren’t supposed to gossip, and yet they always did about you. You were told you were too old to wed, and you weren’t a man and couldn’t help your father on the farm. And you weren’t the most demure because you spoke to everyone, and no matter what you did it was never right. And everyone wanted to point it out.

All you can bear to do is hold your head up high and try not to let the giggles and the random sound of your name off their sinning mouths to not affect you. Unfortunately it did every time, deep into your heart. You didn’t have friends, except the people that come into your store, and it made you long for something besides loneliness.

You wished you would have taken off long ago, but your parents didn’t deserve that. You had dreams of getting married young and having lots of little boys to help your father out. Had told your parents you could do the labor, but they felt you were better suited here. So hear you stay constantly hearing the drone of pious women being anything but that.

It is all politics and a game, and you quite frankly were sick of it. Sick of the constant need to be perfect as a human when it was literally impossible. So instead you pretend as if this is the life that you wanted. Living in a modern world, but acting as if you’re in the past. If anyone knew about your thoughts on wanting to break free, you’d be shunned, and you just couldn’t afford that.

It isn’t too often that you hear a rumble of an old Ford truck nearby, or the slamming of a door, or the fact that the giggling stops, and you see a gaggle of young women start to waddle away from the general store. And you can’t help but think, good riddance. The fact that they wanted to linger here while they whispered and giggled about your life that didn’t interfere with theirs is cruel. You always had to be the peak of perfection, while they were marking off the commandments like it was their job.

Booming footsteps isn’t unusual. What is unusual is the man that walks through the general store door, and you have a combination of looking too long and needing to look away immediately. Your eyes dart to his face, and then the countertop. Studying him and the wood grain in equal amounts.

Noticing the sticky sheen on his skin, and the random droplets of sweat dragging down his neck. Noticing his hair damp with said sweat, and still looking so fluffy. He walks over to a cooler, and pulls out a bottle of soda. Doesn’t bother to pay for it first, just pops the top, and leans his head back. His Adam’s apple moves with every gulp, and you know you look too long because his dark blue eyes shift towards you, and he winks.

Looking down at the counter, heat courses up your neck. Swirling around your ears, and your throat tightens. You need water. Even alcohol at this point. You had stolen a few sips before, and always heard it helps in situations such as these. Something is happening to your body that you just can’t explain, and you can’t even glance at him anymore.

“Ma’am?”

“Mhmm,” your response comes out whispered and pitiful, and you’re still unable to meet his gaze. A sudden urge to sit down, and let your body curl into itself pops up, and you need an exit. Air. Air would be really nice right now.

“I want to pay for the soda, but also a few more. My hired hands would like a treat,” why did the word hands sound so — delicious? Does that even make sense?

“Sure,” your body goes on autopilot as you start to ring him up. Still not daring to look at him. You’d crack, you just know it. You would be a puddle on the floor if you even tried. “Are you new?” How that sentence was even able to come out of your mouth is a mystery. Your throat is so dry and in need of rehydration immediately.

“Yeah. I bought the old Yoder farm, right at the edge of the town,” of course he did. The most coveted of farms, and even that is a sin. Too big of a farm for a single man. Did he mean to convert? Or was it too good of a purchase to not make the investment?

“That’s actually why I’m here. Darling, you think you can look at me?” Oh. Hearing a name usually saved for your parents to use for you, sounds very different from his silky voice. Your eyes shift up to look at him, and he’s even more handsome close up. You shouldn’t be worried about someone’s appearance, but he also should have his buttons done up a bit more. Too much of his gloriously tanned rippling chest is showing. He is all man. And the butterflies that erupt in your stomach makes you recall the gossipers’ talk of you being alone forever.

Those girls would not fare well if the elders knew what they were doing. But seeing this man, and his beard wet with soda, and the heavy feeling in your unseen areas, makes you quickly ask the heaven’s for forgiveness. You didn’t ask for that feeling though, it just happened. Your body is reacting to the way he looks and that close proximity to him.

“Why are you here?”

“I have hired hands for the outside, but the home itself — well it has much left to be desired. I don’t know what I’m doing in an Amish home,” you nod your head, a giddy smirk tickling the edge of your mouth, and he returns the smile. It’s a struggle to continue to look at him with how attractive you find him when he smiles. He’s handsome. Very handsome, “Yeah, I don’t know how to keep an Amish home. So this is very different.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” you didn’t. You didn’t know at all what he was referring to. English people can be so tricky with their words. No need in trying to sway a thought, just be blatantly honest about what you need.

“Well, I hired some boys to take care of the outside. I was needing to hire a woman for the home,” oh. Your sight goes back to the counter, and you shake your head no. “I didn’t even proposition you.”

“Sir, I don’t know if you are aware of our culture, but that would be — no woman should be alone with you,” it is true. It wouldn’t matter if she was married or not, it would be highly frowned upon. He didn’t know what he was asking. But even you being here in this general store, alone with him would be frowned upon. You wondered. “But some of our men are a bit more relaxed than others.”

“Is your husband?”

“I’m not married.”

“So could I hire you? I’d pay double of whatever you’re making here,” tempting. Sinful. And you want it. You wouldn’t have to listen to the gossip of those girls. Gossip would happen, you know it would. But you wouldn’t have to hear it. That sounds lovely. And you could become a ‘fulfilled Amish woman’ because you were keeping up a household. You wouldn’t be a complete failure.

“You’d have to ask my father for permission.”

“Are you not grown?”

Now it’s time for your overly sweet smile. If only he knew how there is a huge part of you that is ready to run away from this life. You are grown, and the fact you are telling another grown human that he had to ask your father for permission is obnoxious. “You truly don’t understand. I will need his permission to be alone in a man’s home. Appeal to his better nature. But yes, I would very much like to be out of here.”

And you want to be around him more. Like a rope that had wrapped around you and was going to jerk you into his thick broad chest. You would very much like that. Maybe a bit too much. You shouldn’t desire and lust after this man, but he is not grown like the boys here.

“So if I talk to your father, and he agrees…”

“What’s your name?”

“Ari Levinson,” my goodness. You need to repent for your body’s misbehavior. But for right now you’re trying not to melt away.

“Yes, Mr. Levinson. I would like to keep your house up.”

“So here’s the kitchen,” you smile kindly as you take everything in. The house is just a bit more grand than most in the area. The land is plentiful. The Yoders’ were a bit more modern, which is why they didn’t do well in this more traditional area.

“And, I really don’t need to explain this all to you, do I?”

“Not particularly,” you answer. Your eyes take in everything. Almost envisioning what a real English home would look like. Peeking into the sitting room, and going back to his really tall and thick stature. Having to look quickly away from him because he is staring too intently at you.

“What time are you wanting me to start working? Are you desiring breakfast?” That was an odd choice of words that you’re using. Desire is something you have been feeling lately, and you don’t fully understand the feelings. Or whatever is happening to your body, you just know that you enjoy looking at him. “Or lunch? Or dinner?”

“All three would be appreciative, but not a requirement,” you give him a head nod, starting to open up cabinets. You cringe. This isn’t how you were taught, but you can’t help it. He was in dire need of assistance, you see. “I apologize, Darling. Maybe I can give you some money, and you furnish the kitchen properly?”

“I would need to.”

“You do whatever you need, Darling. You just tell me what you need me to do,” he keeps using that name with you. You never feel this way when your parents call you that. This weird knot in your stomach that twists and twists, and your breathing isn’t normal. You’re just standing here staring at this man, and that is all.

“Is everything okay? Did I say something? I’m not good at this?”

“No, the um…I’d need to go into town,” shuffling your feet around you try to look at him, and try to ignore the burning in your throat, and between your thighs? What even is this?

“Okay,” that’s all he has to say. And you can’t end it there for several reasons. One of which is because you don’t want him to go. “Darling, you’re going to have to talk to me. I can tell there’s something you need.”

“Town is a few miles away,” he nods. Still not understanding what you’re needing. Did you even understand? “And you need a lot,” he blinks owlishly at you, and you try to swallow a completely dry mouth, “I don’t have a way to get there and bring everything back.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, Darling,” that name again. You almost want to start counting how many times he uses it a day. His hand touches your shoulder as he steps past you to grab his keys, and you inadvertently bite your lip. “Can you ride in the truck? Is that allowed? Do I have to get a horse and buggy?”

“A truck is fine,” your voice is so breathless as you follow him towards the outside. Ready to head towards town, and hopefully to get everything you would need.

“I’ve got to tell the boys I’ll be leaving. You go on, and get in the truck,” walking outside with your eyes focused downward, you walk towards his truck. Trying not to look at the boys from the church, but they are most definitely looking at you.

Staring so intently they don’t notice Ari walking right up to them, and Jacob looks too long for Ari’s comfort, “What’s she doing here?”

“I took your advice. She’ll be keeping the house up.”

“Like a wife?” Jacob removes his hat, continuing to stare at you casually getting in his truck. Your eyes are still downcast, and your unmoving face still looking straight ahead and not at the boys. “So her parents agreed to this, and she’s just getting in your car.”

“I just met her and you’re talking about wives. No, I’m taking her to town to get the things she’ll need here. You boys continue to do the work, and I’ll return,” he nods to each of them, and they all gawk as he walks towards the truck, and you give them one solid glance, and they return to their work. Not making it too obvious that they are looking at you.

Opening the truck door, you watch as his thick body hops in. Looking at his legs, and how thick they look sitting down, and you weave your fingers together. Looking down at your own lap when Ari looks towards you, “You seem uncomfortable.”

“They are watching us, Mr. Levinson.”

“Should you not be in the truck with me? And please, call me Ari.”

“You’ll find out soon enough that for a community that teaches against gossiping, they will truly gossip. Carry on,” getting out of the sight of the farm, you feel comfortable enough to sit up. The gossip will always happen, you just learned to accept that. Continuing to glance at him, and you can’t stop. It’s unexplainable, but you aren’t the only one.

His dark blue orbs find a way to look towards you, and even smirks, “Do you only ever wear the dress and bonnet?”

“Just when I’m awake. Why?”

“Is it comfortable?” Not really. But it could be worse.

“It’s not uncomfortable,” you can’t truly be honest. So you feel.

“I see. But you don’t particularly enjoy it,” at least he understood what you meant. “So the women here, they’re job is to learn to keep a house, and then you marry off and do just that?”

“Yes,” it makes it sound so simple, and you almost want to curse what a quaint life you live. You weren’t given the opportunity to have dreams or want more. The dream was to marry, have kids, have your own home. You even wonder if your desires to marry was because you were told that’s what you did.

“Hmm,” he contemplates, paying attention to the road even though he’s more interested in your thoughts on this topic. You didn’t seem to have the same goals as the other people here.

“It’s not a horrible life.”

“I guess not.”

“It has its perks,” you argue. “It’s beautiful out here. We have the ability to ignore the noise that everyone else surrounds themselves in. I might not have the luxury of having my own dreams, but being a wife and mother, and keeping a house up is an honorable life,” it was, if not boring in ways. You never had the chance to explore something more.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. But you’re not married. Is there a reason?” You turn to look at him. Actually, look. Had there been a man in the community that looked like him, you might have considered it. This is just silly because now you’re being someone who judges another based on looks. “You don’t have to answer.”

“My father isn’t like most,” you have a good father. Older than most of the ones who had children your age. “I think a part of him didn’t want to see me unhappy. I had a few interested for my hand in marriage, but I didn’t want them, and he didn’t make me Mary them.”

“Why didn’t you want them?”

“It’s easy for men here to get away with their indiscretions. And I don’t want to marry out of duty, or have to bear children with a man I can’t stand to look at. That’s what they all want. Just a wife and her to birth his last name.”

“You mean sex. It’s what most men want.”

“Sex?” You look at him confused, shaking your head, “No, I mean children. Extending your legacy,” Ari chuckles, giving you a devious smile, and your chest constricts. “What?”

“Do you know what sex is?”

“I…I assure you that we’ve been talking too much,” you gulp, wishing that you could arrive in town faster. You aren’t sure what he’s talking about, but you are sure that you feel like you’re going to combust. There is a thickness in the cab that you can’t explain. A fiery pain that settles below your stomach, and…other places.

“So you don’t?”

“Ari, is this an appropriate conversation?”

“I’m assuming that it’s not, judging by your reaction, but I am now curious. Do you know how bearing children comes to happen?”

“I live on a farm, I’m well aware of how breeding works,” he snorts, and you turn to face him quickly, “What is so funny?”

“That you’re referring to it as breeding. I suppose that’s true, but with humans it can be so much more.”

“What does that mean?” The truck drifts to the side of the dirt road, and your thumbs twiddle nervously. The air becomes even thicker when he leans in closer to you. “Ari?”

“I’ll take it easy on you this time,” what does that even mean? Putting the truck into park, he faces you. “Has anyone, man or woman just made everything in your belly float around? Like there’s this weirdness inside of you, pricking your skin whenever they’re around, and your throat dries up, and you can’t talk, and…”

“Your belly feels empty like you need something to fill something inside of you,” Ari clears his throat, looking down at your lap, watching as your thighs twitch around.

“Yes. Exactly like you need to be filled with something.”

“I feel — have felt that way,” you agree, trying not to let him know that it is in fact him making you feel that way. “But it doesn’t always seem pleasant when the animals mate.”

“I assure you if a man knows what he’s doing it can be very pleasurable to you,” a noise you have never heard before squeaks out of your mouth, and you look down at your lap again. Heat didn’t even describe what you are feeling. A roaring fire or volcano getting ready to erupt, and the need to go to the bathroom to clean yourself is more accurate. What is going on with your body?

“If he knows what he’s doing he can take you to another plane of existence,” Ari has been in this odd town for a few weeks, and not so much as glanced at a woman since. Judging by your reaction you are understanding exactly what he is talking about. He adjusts his pants, turning back to look straight ahead. He is also getting uncomfortable, but not because of you. His uncomfort is himself. Hopefully for the same reasons you appear to wiggle around too much.

“The way he could make you feel without ever — entering your body. It's a pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. Learning another person’s body can be fun. It can be paradise.”

“Should we be having this conversation?”

“Probably not. So maybe we keep it to ourselves, and I’ll buy you something besides that dress to wear?” The ideas he has mulling in his mind of what he could put you in, he’s downright ashamed of.

“I could only wear them inside your house.”

“I was only wanting you to wear them for me anyways, Darling,” fuck. He’s fucking fucked. A quick flash of you submissively getting to your knees as he paints your lips with precum comes to his mind. Your mouth slowly opens as you innocently let his cock breach your lips. Looking so pretty as you stare up at him. Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @pandaxnienke @rogersbarber @buckybarnesisdaddy @theinheriteddutchess

[wannab-urs]

Title: Something Sweet

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: You’re new to the team in Colombia and all alone on your birthday. Your partner, Javier Peña, decides to do something sweet for you. 

Tags: Set vaguely during season 1 before Javi gets extra angsty, canon compliant-ish, reader feeling lonely, sassy!reader, flirty!javi, alcohol (wine), brief mention of a gun bc I feel like a DEA agent wouldn’t just answer the door all willy nilly, kissing, javi asking for consent, but y’all did share a bottle of wine, kissing, fingering f receiving, marking, unprotected PinV, cuddling. I always write angsty Javi, but this is FLUFF, so sorry if it’s OOC, I’m slightly out of my element here. 

WC: 2107

A/N: This fic is a birthday gift for @psychedelic-ink. Sil, you’re a wonderful friend and you do so much for the Pedro Pascal Fandom community on top of being an incredible writer. So, with some help from @pedrorascal with the beautiful gifs, I schemed up a little fic for you. I hope you love it! Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays AHHHH. 

Moving to a new country two weeks before your birthday, which also happens to be Christmas Eve, is not ideal. You moved to Colombia from Miami after a promotion, earning a spot on the elite team working to catch Pablo Escobar. 

The last two weeks have been a whirlwind, trying to catch up on all the facts of the case. You have to learn every sicario by sight and all of their names, aliases, and frequent hang outs. You have to learn about everything Escobar has done in Colombia, all the cartels and how they connect, it’s all extremely exhausting and time consuming. 

Which is why you have no friends yet, unless you count your new partners Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. Which you don’t. You barely know them, and from what you’ve seen so far, Peña is an asshole. Steve might be okay, but you just haven’t had time to get to know him yet. 

You take off your windbreaker and hang it on the back of your chair. It’s kind of ridiculous that you have to work on Christmas Eve, but there’s no rest for the wicked and therefore no rest for you either. You sit down and open the first file on your desk, immediately getting down to business without so much as a greeting for your partners. 

A couple hours into the work day, a shadow darkens your desk. “What do you want, Peña?” 

“God damn, hermosa. Touchy today? I brought you a coffee.” Peña sets the cup of lukewarm black slop on your desk and leans further into your space, peeking at the files you’re reading. 

“Yes, actually. Did you need something or did you just come over here to bother me?” 

“I just came over here to compliment your nails, actually,” he takes your hand in his, inspecting your nails, and then looks into your eyes. “I like the color. Suits you.” 

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. Peña is cute. Gorgeous, really, but you don’t make a habit of flirting with your coworkers. “Thanks… They were my birthday gift to myself.” You tug your hand away from him and place it in your lap. 

“It’s your birthday?” He asks, still leaning much too far into your personal space. You nod and look back down at the file. 

“I have to get back to work now,” you almost whisper to him, all your bitter snark from earlier replaced by a sense of melancholy. There’s not a soul in this entire country who knows it’s your birthday today. Aside from Javier, now, you guess. Javier lingers for another moment before pushing off your desk and leaving you to your work. 

You’re starting to pack up for the day when Peña comes up to your desk again, sitting on the corner. 

 “So what are your plans tonight?” he asks. 

“Huh?” You don’t have any plans. A phone call from your friend in Miami and a bottle of Chilean wine maybe. 

“Your plans? For your birthday?” 

“Oh. I don’t have any. Don’t really know anyone yet so…” you trail off. You feel kind of pathetic, even though you know it’s completely reasonable to not have a group of friends yet. 

“Me and Murphy could take you out?” 

“Oh um–”

“Actually, Jav,”  Steve calls out from his desk. “Me and Connie have plans tonight. Christmas Eve and all,” he gives you an apologetic look. 

“It’s fine really. I’m gonna have a nice relaxing night in. Thanks though.” You put on the best smile you can and head for the door. 

You hang up the phone after your short call with your friend. It’s expensive to call long distance, but she stayed on with you as long as she could. She told you all about her new boyfriend and that everyone had wished you a Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays. You’re grateful she didn’t ask about your job or your love life. 

As you pop the cork on a bottle of wine, there’s a knock on your door. You stare at the door questioningly, as if it will tell you who’s there. Who on earth could be knocking at your door at 8pm on Christmas Eve? 

You grab your gun and sneak over to the door, peeking through the peephole. Broad shoulders and a dark head of hair are all you can make out through the tiny lens. Javier? You set your gun on the side table and pull open the door. 

“Peña? What are you doing here?” 

He turns around and holds his hands out to you. “Brought you something.” He’s holding a birthday cake, clearly store bought, decorated with a generic “Feliz cumpleaños” scrawled on top. A bright smile lights up your face. 

“Oh Javi, you didn’t have to!” 

“I wanted to. You gonna invite me in for some cake?” He raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Oh! Yeah sure. Come in!” You step to the side to let him through and close and lock the door behind him. “Sorry about the mess. I’m not fully unpacked yet.” 

“I’ve been here for 7 years and I’m not fully unpacked. It’s fine.” Javi reassures you. He sets the cake down on your kitchen counter and starts rifling around for plates and silverware. 

“I can do that,” you try to move him out of the way, but he’s having none of it. 

“No, it’s your birthday. Let me. You pour yourself a glass of wine and go sit on the couch.” 

“Fine… thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

You grab a couple glasses and the bottle of wine and carry it to the living room with you. You’re kind of shocked he’s here. He’s always flirty in the office, but he’s like that with everyone. He’s not what you’d call friendly otherwise. Maybe he just feels bad for you. 

Javier drops down onto the couch beside you holding two plates with hefty slices of chocolate cake. He hands you one of the plates and a fork. “Happy birthday. I’m not going to make you do the whole candle thing.”

“Thank you, Javier. This is really, really nice.” You feel like you might cry. It’s just cake, but you felt so alone, and it’s like he really saw you. He saw through whatever exterior shell you were wearing and decided to try to make your day better. 

“Just Javi is fine. And it’s not a big deal, really. You deserve something sweet on your birthday,” he says looking down at the cake in his hands.

“It is to me. A big deal, I mean,” you say softly before taking a bite of the cake. It’s nothing special, just a plain chocolate cake, but it means so much to you. 

You and Javier, Javi, chat about where you’re from and how you came to work for the DEA. You tell him about living in Miami, about the promotion that brought you here. You finish the bottle of wine and a couple more pieces of cake and the conversation doesn’t stop for a long time.

Late in the evening, you finish a story about your 6th birthday, one your aunt always told to the whole family every single year at your birthday dinner. He’s sitting close to you, his thigh pressed against yours despite there being plenty of room on the couch to sit without touching. It makes your heart flutter a little. 

You don’t know if it’s the wine or what, but the little crush you have on him is getting pretty hard to ignore. Javi smirks at you, reaches up, and brushes his thumb over the corner of your lip. 

“Got a little icing there, cariño,” he says, his voice lower and huskier than it has been all night. He brings the icing smeared thumb to his mouth and sucks it between his lips. Your eyes track the movement, pupils blowing wide. He really is pretty. 

You feel yourself lean in toward him, almost unconsciously chasing that thumb to his mouth. He brings his hand up to your cheek and searches your eyes for a moment. He must see what he was looking for because he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours. 

His lips are soft, warm, gentle on yours. You grab his face in your hands, not wanting him to pull away yet. He slips his tongue along the seam of your lips and you part them, letting him in. You’re not sure who makes the move, but slowly, your back is lowered to the couch, Javi a comfortable weight on top of you. Your hands explore his broad shoulders, the muscles of his back, his trim waist, as he plunders your mouth with his tongue. 

“Can I touch you?” He rasps against your lips. 

“You already are,” you giggle. “Sorry. Yes, Javi.” 

He huffs a laugh into your mouth and slips a hand into your lounge pants, fingers finding your dripping seam. “Wet for me already, hermosa?” 

Your cheeks heat up in slight embarrassment, but you nod. You’re soaked just from kissing him. By the feel of him against your thigh, he’s not better off. He pushes two fingers inside you and presses his lips back to yours. You gasp into his mouth, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. 

His fingers immediately find the spongy spot deep in your core. He curls them, dragging the pads of his fingers along your g-spot with every pump of them inside you. You cling tightly to him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“Come for me, baby.” 

Your body responds to his command instantly, the tension in your belly releasing into waves of pleasure. Your cunt flutters around his fingers and you whine into his neck as he works you through it. You collapse back onto the couch, and he wastes no time dragging your pants off you. 

You hear the clink of his belt opening, the sound of it hitting the floor. You sit up on your elbows to watch him as he strips off the rest of his clothes. You bite your lip, drinking in the sight of the gorgeous man before you. 

He takes your hands in his and pulls you to your feet before pulling your tank top off you. “Shit, hermosa,” he whispers almost reverently as he takes one of your tits in his large hand, rolling the nipple between two fingers. “Gorgeous.” 

 He kisses you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pushing his chest flush with yours. “Bedroom, cariño?” 

You walk him back to your room, barely separating your lips from his for the entire journey. You fall back on your bed and he follows, settling between your legs. His lips drag down your jaw line to your neck as he lines himself up with your entrance. Javi sucks a mark just below your collarbone as he slowly thrusts inside you. 

You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper into you, whining at the stretch. “Fuck, Javi.” 

“Working on it, cariño,” he teases as he bottoms out inside you. He pushes himself up on his elbows and stares into your eyes as he pulls out and thrusts back in smoothly. Your mouth falls open, a little huff spilling out as he bottoms out again. He feels so fucking good inside you. 

Javi sets a steady pace, thrusting into you hard and slow, eyes never leaving yours. When your eyes flutter shut and your back starts to arch in pleasure, he slips his arm under your back, pulling your hips higher on his thighs. The new angle is everything. You gasp out a moan every time his cock punches deep inside you.

Javi is everything in this moment. Your world narrowed to the feeling of his cock pounding into you at that same maddeningly slow, hard rhythm. You feel yourself tightening around him, feel a coil winding in your belly tighter and tighter. 

Javi’s lips find yours again with a kiss that’s more a clash of teeth and tongues than anything as you come hard on his cock. Javi lets out a low groan into your mouth at the way you squeeze him. He thrusts into you a few more times, fucking you through your high, before he quickly pulls out and spills all over your belly. 

He rests his forehead on yours for a moment, catching his breath. He kisses you deeply one more time before falling to the bed beside you. Javi pulls you into his arms, not paying any mind to the mess he made on your stomach. He holds you close, kissing the top of your head. 

“Happy Birthday, cariño.”

[sktrhoon]

en- hyung line ; scenarios based off songs that remind me of them

boyfriend!hyung line x fem!reader

warnings: just a whole lot of fluff, guess you could say jake's is suggestive ???? (not really, it just alludes to it)

wc: 1082

synopsis: all of this is just cutesy banter or member telling reader they adore them

a/n: if these sound repetitive i'm sorry-- OH and it's very obvious what inspired jake's

heeseung

always, i’ll care by jeremy zucker 

You sighed as your phone finally went off, the time reading 2:11am. You knew the time zones wouldn’t be easy to adjust to, Heeseung’s schedule not helping in the slightest, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared for it to be this exhausting mentally. 

“Hey doll, sorry if I woke you,” Heeseung’s voice rang through the phone. 

“No- no you’re fine. I was up,” you murmured, not having it in you to speak at a normal level. 

Heeseung’s only been on tour for two weeks and it’s testing your relationship in ways you didn’t think was possible. The constant traveling, concerts, and additional schedules thrown in has made it difficult for the two of you to communicate the way you did when he wasn’t on the road. Some days you would go all day without even a text from your boyfriend until the night (for him), which you can’t fault him. You try not to. You’ve talked about it with him and he explained his situation, so you try to be understanding. 

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“You know I love you and I care about you, right?” 

Hearing those exact words with your current mental state felt like a knife to the chest and you didn’t know how to respond.

“I know right now isn’t great, these additional schedules and very little downtime isn’t helping and I know that shouldn’t be an excuse,” before you could even cut him off saying he doesn’t need to apolgoize, he beat you to it, “and no, I need to say this. So don’t say ‘don’t worry about it’, ‘it’s fine’, it might be at times, but not every day.” 

“I’m always going to be here even if I’m the most busy man alive and on the other side of the planet, no matter what. I never want you to be afraid to text or call me. I’m always going to care.” 

jay

wherever you are by one ok rock

You looked over to Jongseong, him strumming on a guitar that he found in one of the various practice rooms. His voice was filling the silence with a subtle humming while his hands danced around the frets, but he never actually strummed the guitar.. 

“What are you thinking, bub?” 

He looked up to you with a small grin on his face before shaking his head, almost as if he didn’t want to say what was on his mind, “Making sure I remember something.”

“And what is that lover boy?”

“First of all, never call me that again. Second of all, you know that song you kept talking about last week?” 

“Wherever you are by ONE OK ROCK?” 

“Mhm,” he smiled before looking down at the floor as he started strumming the chords of the song you gushed about to him just a few days prior. 

You won’t lie, but you thought the song was very him. Vocally, the instrument, even just the tone of song, it all reminded you of your boyfriend. You also happened to just enjoy the song, so you showed it to him when he came back from a schedule one day. You did not expect him to use his freetime to learn the song for you, let alone this quickly. 

“Before I start singing, sorry if I mess up any lyrics. More importantly though, I mean every lyric of the song and I’m grateful you showed it to me. I’m always by your side, yea?”

“Now look who’s being fucking corny!” 

jake

nonsense by sabrina carpenter 

Spending the evening with Jake running around like children at a random arcade is exactly how you would want to spend your Friday night, so that’s what you two did. Jake won’t admit, but the stuffed animal you’re carrying back up to your apartment right now? You won it and before you could grab it from the machine, Jake lunged for it, all so he could be the one to “give” it to you. You know damn well the photo he took of you with it is going to be set to the rest of the boys with some sort of caption claiming, “look what I won for my girl.”

“Jake, are you sure you don’t want to carry the stuffed animal? Since it looks like I won it for you and all?”

“Now why are we lying baby?” 

“Jake!”

“Oh looks like we’re at your place,” he smiled as he waited to the side of the door as you grabbed your keys. 

As you opened the door you paused in front of Jake and looked at him, waiting for either some sort of response or action. All he was doing was leaning against the wall, so you had no idea if he was going to kiss you goodbye, follow you inside, or give you another witty remark.

You sighed before letting out a small laugh, “Do you want to come inside?” 

A faint smirk fell upon Jake’s face as he, oh so not subtly checked you out, before reaching to shut the door behind you. 

sunghoon

feels like by gracie abrams

“Hoon, you’re spacing out a bit bub…”

“Hm, sorry,” he shook his head slightly at your words before refocusing his gaze on you rather than the iced coffee on the table. 

“Do I even ask what you were thinking about?”

“Mm.. that you bring me peace.”

“Huh?” You were caught off guard by Sunghoon’s words. It wasn’t often he would express himself like that, but in Sunghoon fashion when it did happen it was random one-liners at the most odd times, “Sorry- that sounded harsh didn’t it?”

Sunghoon laughed lightly before replying, “No, love, it didn’t. But, I mean what I said. We could be doing anything, be anywhere, and I feel, calm? Everything else doesn’t matter for a bit.” 

“You’re such a fucking dork Hoon,” you paused for a brief second gauging his reaction to your words. A smile lit up his face as he raised an eyebrow at you, encouraging you to keep talking. “I hope you know I could say the same to you, but randomly telling me this in a coffee shop? Very Sunghoon of you.” 

“I know, thank you – And you love me for it anyway.” 

“Always and forever.” 

Sunghoon looked between the two of your now empty drinks before looking up at you, “So… movie at yours now?” 

“We do this every week Hoon, you know my answer is always yes.” 

[tiredfox64]

Sooo I was thinking of Tomas trying to learn how to flirt because he wants to impress the reader however the reader (who has feelings in return) catches him flirting with another female Shirai Ryu member and mistakes it as he has feelings for someone else, cries about it to Kuai Liang who decides to help the reader out by taking her on a "date" to make Smoke jealous. When Smoke sees them together on their "date", he becomes consume with jealousy that fires him up to tackle Kuai Liang and bluntly tells the reader how he feels. 😅😅

It Should Be Me!

Prior notes: Oooh i like this one. I hope you don’t mind me using my oc as a place holder for the female Shirai Ryu member.

Pairing: Tomas x Afab reader, and Kuai Liang is there I guess

Warnings ‼️: Silly goose, there is none! I think

Who fell harder: You or Tomas? Could be both. You sure do like each other a whole lot.

Conversation that last for hours. Training together even though he should be focusing on the others. Showing each other your favorite genres of music. Oh the memories get you kicking your feet and rolling around in bed. Everyone thinks you two would look cute together. A perfect match really. But one of you has got to confess already. Ah but it won’t be you.

You are brave enough to take a horde of assassins head on. Confessing to someone that you like them takes a whole different kind of braveness. A kind that you have to build up. For now you will carry on with the hope that no one else tries to take your man. Actually, now would be the usual time you would meet up with him. Get to it, honey!

You were about to round the corner until you heard Tomas. You stopped yourself, peeking your head out to see who he was talking to. He was talking to the new girl. There was something strange going on. Her giggling, his closeness to her, that look he was giving her, that tone in his voice. Oh no! He’s flirting with her.

You heard it, compliments about her eyes and how any man would be lucky enough to have a funny girl like her around. You practically felt your heart rip apart. It hurt to hear those words being told to another girl. You always wished he would say such things to you. A wish that may never come true now. To you it was already over. It seemed he picked another girl over you and you’re left questioning what did she do that you didn’t.

Your eyes started to grow watery and the last thing you wanted was for Tomas to see you cry over this. It was his decision on who to date, you can’t change that fact. You silently walked away while you sniffled and wiped your tears with your sleeve. The only person you trusted to share this heartbreak with was Kuai Liang. At least you knew he wouldn’t judge you since he’s not that kind of guy.

But wait! You made a mistake! You didn’t hear the rest of their conversation.

“Ah Tomas, you’re getting better every day with your pick up lines. Soon enough you’ll be getting more girls than Johnny does.” The girl complimented him.

“Aw thanks, Kris. But you know I’m only doing this for you know who.” He whispered the last part, unsure if you were around or not.

“Oh yes, yes, yes. Well I can certainly say that she will fall for your charm easily now, if she hasn’t already done so. When do you plan on asking her out?”

“Tomorrow. There’s a festival going on and I was hoping she would say yes to going with me. When we are there I’ll ask her to be my girlfriend.”

The look of Tomas’ face showed how enthusiastic he was to ask you out. He was clueless to the fact that there was some miscommunication before he could communicate to you. That girl was already hyping him up to go find you and ask if you wanna go to the festival tomorrow. You were already in Kuai Liang’s office when they were done talking.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

“I don’t know what happened. I thought he liked me.” You cried into your hands while Kuai Liang just sat there awkward.

Therapist was not in his occupation but looks like he has to play that role for you. He is somewhat confused of Tomas’ actions. He thought his brother liked you a lot considering how much he gushed over you. If his brother changed his mind suddenly he had no idea about it.

Kuai Liang lightly patted your back to soothe you, “I am unsure of what to tell you. Just…please stop crying, it will be okay.”

He wasn’t being mean he just didn’t want anything bad between you guys. Kuai Liang conjured a plan in his head of what to do while still trying to soothe you. An idea popped up in his head. It may have seemed extreme but he wanted to fix the issue fast and effectively.

“Okay, how about this. I take you on a “date” to the festival tomorrow. Someone will tell Tomas where you are and the thought of being with me might make him realize he wants you instead.” He tried to sound confident with this plan like it could actually work.

“Your plan is to make him jealous?” You asked as your crying died down.

“I guess you could say that. Do you have anything better?”

You immediately nodded your head no. Even if the plan didn’t work out at least you could get out for once. Spending time wouldn’t be bad either. You just wished it was with Tomas.

Will you ever recover from this sorrow?

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Plans were set into motion. You had your plan and Tomas had his. Tomas was preparing himself to ask you to go to the festival with him. He was all giddy and he came walking up to you with a warm smile on his face. His heart was pumping just thinking about you saying yes. His emotions made him miss the sour expression on your face.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for you. I had something important to ask you.” He started off.

“Oh yeah…what is it?” You seemed dismissive but once again his emotions made him miss that.

“I was wondering if you and I could go to the festival tomorrow. I thought it would be nice. Plus I’d love to go out with a pretty girl like you.”

He thought his flirting would really get you this time. This should have been easy but what you said next shocked him to his core.

“No, I’m already going out with your brother. It’s a date.” You said it so casually before walking off as if you didn’t just crush this man.

How could this happen? This was a joke right? Yeah, this had to be. You were joking with him and you would actually come around later to tell him to come with you to the festival. Oh you’re so silly…right?

Tomas was in a daze throughout the rest of the day which continued over to the next. You saw the plan was actually working so you planned to continue with it. Though it still saddened you that he didn’t try to stop you already or ask why you were doing this.

Have patience, soon he will take action.

He was pacing around in his room, blabbering to the same girl he was practicing his flirting with about how you were just messing with him.

“I mean it just doesn’t make any sense. The two are close but never would I think they were that close. We are the ones who are that close. Oh what am I thinking? I’m sure she will be coming around soon and just tell me it was a prank and then we’ll go out there and I’ll ask her to be my girlfriend.” Yeah, yeah that should be right.

“Tomas.”

“What.”

“They’re leaving.” The girl pointed her thumb to the window where Tomas saw you and Kuai Liang leaving for the festival.

Tomas immediately bolted out the door. He didn’t care if he looked crazy to the other clan members for running out into the world, he had to catch you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You sighed in disappointment. The festival seemed wonderful with warm lighting around and yummy smelling food. If only you could’ve spent the time with Tomas. You kept walking with Kuai Liang, arms locked as if you two were on an actual date. He looked at you with a concerned expression. He was hoped this would go differently but he’ll do his best to make the most of it for you.

“I’m sorry about the outcome. I was sure my brother would come after you once he found out you were going with me.” Kuai Liang apologized since he didn’t want you feeling heartbroken.

“It’s not your fault. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” Your voice cracked a little when you said that.

Kuai Liang brought you in a hug, having your head rest on his shoulders. He whispered to you that it will be alright and he’ll buy you some food. That should help.

Unbeknownst to both of you, Tomas was nearby watching you two. He really couldn’t believe you were out with his brother. When Kuai Liang pulled you into a hug it damn near drove the man crazy. He could never hurt his brother but this was the first time he has ever felt the need to destroy him. And when Kuai Liang started to rest his head on top of your head Tomas thought he was going in to kiss you.

A blaze of fury ignited in his body. Hell hath no fury like a man who is after a woman. By the gods he was pissed!

When Kuai Liang pulled away from you, Tomas saw that as the opportunity to attack his brother. Kuai Liang had no time to react as he heard the quick footsteps coming right towards him. His brother slammed into him, tackling him to the ground with a harsh thud emitting from the crash. Kuai Liang was in a daze as Tomas grabbed him by the collar of his uniform.

“How could you?! You know how much I like her! How could my own brother do this to me?” He kept shaking Kuai Liang.

Like? Wait, did you hear that right? Did he just say that he likes you a lot?

Tomas turned his full attention towards you now while still on his knees.

“Please don’t do this to me. Don’t go out with my brother. I’m the one who loves you. Don’t you remember all those nights we would listen to music together? I want to have many more nights like those but with you as my girlfriend instead of just being my friend. I love you.” He announced.

You looked down at him with shock. His eyes are begging you to accept his affection. His tone showed he was desperate and possibly even worried you wouldn’t date him.

“Bu-but I thought you were trying to go after Kris. I heard you flirting with her.”

“No,” he started to get back on his feet, “She was teaching me how to flirt. I was hoping to impress you. I just really wanted you to be my girlfriend and I didn’t want to ruin my chances.”

A blush crept onto his cheeks as he felt embarrassed for admitting that. He was also embarrassed that he was caught before and that the incident caused this great confusion.

Knowing the truth, your heart started to flutter as you realized he was doing all that just to get with you. In a way those words that he said to that girl were actually meant for you. He truly is the sweetest guy around.

You practically leapt onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips attacked his lips in a passionate kiss. You were overjoyed by the fact he wants you as his girlfriend. The extent he went through just to better his chances showed he is committed to you. This is like a dream come true for you.

Tomas was surprised by the hug and kiss but happily accepted it. His arms wrapped around your waist. This was a magical moment for him. It didn’t go as planned but he is happy that the outcome still gained him a wonderful girlfriend. He placed you back on the ground while smiling at you. And then he remembered what he just did to his brother. He swiftly turned around and saw his brother wasn’t lying on the ground anymore.

“He must have walked off. Don’t worry, he’s capable of taking a hit.” You tried to calm Tomas’ concerns which luckily worked.

“Yeah, that must be it,” He started looking around, “Well, I would hate to waste this opportunity with you. How about we explore the festival together. As girlfriend and boyfriend.”

“I would like that a lot.” You smiled at him as you two locked arms.

The night ended off on a good note. You enjoyed your time with Tomas at the festival. A warmth enveloped you as you recognize that this is no dream but a reality. A reality where you and him are happy. Just the way you guys both want it.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Bonus ending

“Damn! You got knocked the fuck out.”

Kuai Liang heard a familiar voice speak to him as they grunted from yanking on his body. Warm liquid spilled on his face and when he opened his eyes he saw Kris dragging him while drooling over the grilled squid she had in her mouth. He grimaced as he wiped her drool off his face.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Like I said you got knocked the fuck out. Yup, Tomas done fucked you up.” She responded very casually.

“Kris, please refrain from cursing it’s improper. Now help me up.”

He expected Kris to do as he said but she just dropped him.

“What are you talkin about? It’s not improper. I’m just puttin some fuckin love in there. You can drag your ass back home yourself, grandmaster.”

He watched as she started to walk away, more focused on the grilled squid on a stick. When did she even have time to get that?

“Alright! You can curse. Just help me up.”

She listened this time and yanked him to his feet. Poor Kuai Liang, may the elder gods help him.

After notes: I got a 90 on my asl final yippie! And I should have been working on final papers but instead I was finishing this fic at school. Pick and choose, people, pick and choose. Now I better get my ass to communications even tho I hate it. Adiós!

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 2)

Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 3900+

A/N Note: You guys... Thank you for the overwhelming support on this series. You guys are the sweetest :) I've loved reading your series and promise I love them; just haven't had the chance to respond! Again, thank you for the love, as it's all turned back to you!

As for the chapter... Let's make it more fun (otherwise known as interesting) ;)

_________________

Bucky’s POV

Hidden bugs weren’t new business to us, so after disposing of the picture frame, they gifted us with a note saying, “For your new home, and your first picture in it! ;)”... It was an easy ‘accidental’ drop. 

However, quickly after that, wouldn’t you know it? A new basket showed up on our porch with another set of welcome-to-the-neighborhood gifts from the whole neighborhood this time…

Y/N had ‘accidentally’ placed the newly potted plant, that they had somehow added a very impressively hidden camera on, too close to the edge of the entryway table, so when she came through the door quickly with her arms full of more boxes, the pot was no longer usable. Shame… We did buy our own pot for said plant, so we still got a new piece of greenery without the bugs. 

After those two failed attempts, we hoped our show of clumsiness warded off the assholes and made us less intimidating. And yes, I use that word because I could read easily from our first meeting that they were sizing us up. Analyzing our act and manipulating themselves into our lives in a careful yet planned manner. 

For extra measure on the clumsy showcase, Y/N drove into the trashcans I had forgotten to pull to the curb, making a public display of her character’s clumsiness. Though I later learned she was actually just pissed that I forgot to put them out and found a way for me to pay the consequences in our squabble on the lawn. 

A squabble that started out a hundred percent authentic and then turned into a fake makeup season when the neighbors peaked their heads out. 

“This jughead would forget his head if it weren’t on his shoulders,” Y/N slapped my chest before patting it harshly and smiling at the seventy-year-old next-door neighbor, Gertrude, who always happened to find her rose bushes interesting, only when people were outside. 

She smiled and laughed at Y/N’s wide grin before waving her on as she snipped a few thorns. 

“God, I hate it here,” Y/N said through her teeth, holding her fake smile as she walked past me into the house.

A few more preplanned acts happened while we were outside to show the community that our accidental breaking of their bugs was just that—accidental. It was not planned and discovered at all. 

It had been two weeks so far, and we’d already been invited to a food truck social, a street parade for a family leaving the neighborhood, and an outdoor movie night. All events you would have thought had the same planning committee as the MET Gala with how thorough they were… At least, that's what Y/N said, and I choose to believe that it holds some form of significance.

Tonight, we went over to another couple's house that was high up in the HOA group for a neighborhood barbeque, one where Y/N’s damn lilac tennis dress she had worn to workout with a neighbor, made more than half the dads and men too old and married to be staring, struggle to keep their eyes off her. 

I had told her that keeping a hand on her during most of the party was for the act, but genuinely, I didn’t care for how the men of the group gawked at her. Something gave me a bad feeling about it. And I didn’t understand why Y/N wasn’t phased at all or even slightly uneasy, considering she was just as trained as me to assess and sense all that attention.

As soon as we were behind closed doors back in our secure home, my first question was, “Did you really not feel their eyes on you?” 

She was in the middle of taking off her shoes, talking about some information she had gotten from a group of stay-at-home wives, something related to our mission, but I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around how unphased she was with the unnerving type of attention she was getting there. 

“What?” She paused as she bent to take off a tennis shoe. 

“All those guys, the husbands, and pervs at the cookout. You didn’t notice them staring at you?” I asked again, rolling my sleeves of button-down I had on up to my elbow.

She stared at me for a moment and then rolled her eyes as if she had figured out where I was going with this. Spoiler: she was far off the mark. 

“Listen, if you’re saying that thanks to this dress, which, yes, is a little short, but who the hell cares, is the reason why men were,” she straightened, kicking off both her shoes fluently, now only in socks. “Gawking at me, as you put it-.” 

“I didn’t say that,” I straightened, furrowing my eyebrows. 

“Oh, but you did,” she sassed with a shrug, continuing. “Under your breath when you came up, and you staked your claim by never taking your arm away from my waist for the night.”

“I didn’t say that,” I shook my head. I said it in my head, but I hadn’t said that out loud… Had I?

“Ugh, whether you did or didn’t, I could tell you were judging,” she huffed, rolled her shoulders, and walked past me to the kitchen, going straight to the fridge.

It took me a minute, but I figured out where her mind had gone. “I was judging them, Y/N,” I  shook my head. “I was judging the horny, married, and dusty-ass men that couldn’t keep their damn tongue from falling to the floor with you in the vicinity. Like their wives had deprived them of any kind of physical touch for the last decade, and they couldn’t keep it in their pants any longer.” 

I realized I may have explained more of my thought process than I intended, but she shut the fridge door she had hidden behind and turned to me, scanning, assessing. 

“You were jealous.” The corner of her lip raised at her statement. 

“What?” I scoffed. “No, loser,” I scoffed again, and clearly, I wasn’t selling my answer because she didn’t lose her growing grin. “I just took notice of how much attention you got, and it concerned me that the ideas most of those men were having were far from civil ones.” 

She stared at me for a minute, and I felt uncomfortable in my own skin as she weighed her options regarding how she wanted to react. We still had plenty of fights, but they have been somewhat decreasing lately, and I was hoping we could keep that streak going.

Her assessing stopped, and her grin grew again. “Awe, the Tinman does have a heart.”

And she ruined it. Surprise, surprise. 

“It’s sweet that you care, old man,” she twisted the lid to the drink she had pulled out of the fridge and took a swig before looking at me. “But that’s just a day in the life of a woman. Nothing new to me or anyone with the double X chromosomes.” She shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I mean, obviously, people look at you,” I started, and she balanced her elbows on the counter before resting her chin on her fist. I continued before I realized my wording. “Before you-”

“Obviously?” She emphasized my word choice. “Keeping notes on an awful lot of things lately, huh, Buck?” she whispered my name like it was a secret, and I knew it was for the odd case someone could hear us, but something about her tone made my chest freeze. “Tell me, what else do you notice…?” She tilted her head one way as she stared at me. 

I wasn’t going to lie and say her words didn’t flustered me, but as a reflex, I jumped back into the normal banter.

“You’re not funny, jackass,” I deadpanned and turned on my heel to walk away.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” she shouted after me, and I heard her sock-clad feet slide on the hardwoods to catch up with me. “Listen, I think it’s nice you’re taking notice of stuff like this. Most men never pay attention to those kinds of things because they don’t have to. It’s not really a normal day-to-day experience for them, so they don’t get it. They don’t HAVE to get it.”

I stopped and turned in my march, and she slid into me from just two steps behind me. I caught her easily, bracing my hands on her biceps to steady her. She let out a huff of air as our chests flushed to each other and then looked up at me. 

“You’re murder strut is too fast for me to keep up with,” she mumbled, scrunching her nose in a relaxed way. 

I closed my eyes for a minute but didn’t let go of her before I channeled back my seriousness. 

“I’ve learned men are assholes, trust me. In this field, we come across some of the worst misogynistic weasels to exist. Wear whatever you want. You have scary dog privileges now. The attire issue isn't what I was getting at,” I replied, thinking of the reference the Parker kid had explained to me recently.

Her smile was unlike any I had the pleasure to be on the receiving end of, and I immediately mentally captured it, worried that I’d never experience the genuineness she was sharing with me in this moment again. 

“Scary dog privileges, huh? Someone’s been brushing up on their TikTok trends.” She laughed, scanning my face as I scanned hers. “Peter finally invested in his version of Duolingo? This one labeled new-age-slang-for-100-years-and-older?”

“Actually called, Born-in-1910’s-and-on-the-comeback-of-a-70-year-coma-new-age-lingo. Very helpful,” I retorted, and the surprise on her face as she laughed at me made my grip on her soften, my thumb unconsciously running over the bone on her wrist. 

The action brought both of our eyes to the feeling, and in the next second, we had three feet between us. 

“I’m going to go take a shower.” Her rush to get around me in the narrow hall caused her to brush along my arm, and it was like the sparks that ignited when I held her tried to reach out for each other again in the brief contact. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” I grumbled, walking quickly in the opposite direction. 

____________________

Y/N’s POV

The last two weeks have been frustrating, but somehow, Bucky and I have learned we work together surprisingly well. We still had our bickering fights and annoying quarrels, but stick us in a house for a few weeks, and we realized we did well at balancing each other out. 

Where I hated doing the dishes, he made sure they were done every night. Where he hated doing laundry, I folded and sorted the linens and clothes. I hated cooking, and he somehow was really good at it. I loved to bake when we had free time, and he loved to taste test. I sucked at most things gardening-wise, and he had shown me how to prune overgrown flowers in our gardening bed. Bucky sucked at interior decorating, so I was in charge of making our fake abode look like a real one. 

Overall, we do pretty well, considering we hate each other's guts. Ok, well… I don’t necessarily hate his guts, even if I act it. I just have a very low tolerance for his bullshit and don’t mask my frustrations when they hit their limits. As for being a fake wife to him where he has to treat me well… He’s been a picture-perfect husband from a suburban wife’s perspective.

The only thing we’ve successfully avoided that I was worried about is sharing the same bed. 

After confirming with the higher-ups that our house was bug-free, we claimed our own rooms (me in the master, of course) and set up our own space. Keeping the facade of a happy married couple outside of those rooms and the house was easy, but I dreaded the day we would have to show more affection and closeness than what we already had. 

So far, a kiss on the cheek, holding hands, a hug from behind, and a normal amount of PDA that showed we were in our honeymoon phase yet did not want to make others fully uncomfortable did the job enough. But after Bethanne commented about when we planned on having kids, I figured we might need to bump up our act since she gave a passive comment about us being ‘rather tamed for a newlywed couple.’

Before I could bring up the comment to Bucky once we got home, he seemed more bothered by the men at the party than anything. 

I didn’t expect him to notice such a minute thing, but if there was one thing I had learned about Bucky these last few weeks, it’s that he’s very attentive to details I wouldn’t expect him to be on.

Then, to further my confusion about the situation, something seemed different in our intimate hallway space run-in, and both of us scurried away as if the touch of each other burned. 

After my shower, I got dressed in my pajamas and heard the TV still on in the living room, where Bucky tended to station himself for a few hours before bed. Well, his bedtime. Another thing about us was that I wasn’t much of a night owl, but I did appreciate knowing someone was on alert while I slept. And even if he didn’t do it for that reason, I’m sure, I liked hearing the TV still on when I tended to wake up in the middle of the night. I felt safer…

“Hey,” I leaned against the wall coming into the living room and saw that he had Brooklyn Nine-Nine on with a computer sat in his lap. 

He looked up and gave me a quick head nod before going back to the screen in front of him. “What’s up?”

“Just needed to fill you in on some of the things I learned at the cookout,” I let out a yawn as the day caught up with me and moved to the single chair across from him on the couch. 

“Hit me,” he rolled his shoulders back, never looking away from the blue light. 

“Don’t ask for things you don’t really want,” I teased, and he looked above the screen at me with a glance that seemed to be holding back a smile before rolling his eyes. 

“What’d you learn?” he followed up with. 

I went on to tell him about the neighborhood drama. All things that may or may not have any major plays to our mission, but information nonetheless. 

“Did you ask any of them about work?” Bucky asked once I had covered most everything. 

Our undercover jobs were simple. I worked from home as a data entry clerk. Something boring that Charolette Hunt has been hoping to get out of and find her passion. All this led to me asking around about job connections and if there was anything I could swap over to for a ‘more exciting work life,’ otherwise known as drug trafficking jobs if they were available. 

As for Beau Hunt, Bucky’s cover, he was the owner of a transportation company. Considering how well he was doing, he took the last two weeks off to move into his first home with his new wife before having to get back into the work ethic he had been thriving in the last ten years. 

All perfect pieces to get the answers and resources from our sketchy neighbors we came here for. 

“I asked Katrina, one of the wives of a guy who works closely alongside Reggie. I figured that was a good seed to plant,” I answered, pulling my legs up to my chest and resting my chin on my knees as I watched Jake Peralta chase a bad guy down the streets of New York. I missed the homeland. “She said she’d ask around, which is what I needed. What about you? Any of the 'dusty-ass husbands' have fun details to share?”

“Nothing more than statistics of sports teams and rookie starters for the state college basketball team,” he sighed, and I turned over to see him staring at me before turning back to his computer quickly. “Reggie was giving me a hard time, though.”

“Oh yeah?” I hummed, angling myself to him. “Bethanne was giving me a hard time, too.”

“Think it’s related to the same thing?” Bucky chuckled, looking back at me, but whatever was in his eyes just seconds ago was gone now. 

“Say on the count of three?” I smirked. 

“One,” he nodded.

“Two.”

“Three.”

“When we’re going to consider joining parenthood,” Bucky said. 

“When we’re having kids,” I said at the same time. “Almost a jinx if you didn’t word it so damn robotically. Did fucking Vision channel into your damn cyborg brain?” I laughed, and I heard a slight scoff from his direction before I rolled my head back and looked up at the ceiling. I stayed quiet until Bucky broke me out of my thoughts twenty seconds later.

“What are you thinking?” I heard the computer shut and then be placed on the cushion next to him. “I can hear the gears working past their limit.” His weak version of a retort.

I lulled my stare at him and deadpanned a bitchface at him. “You talking to yourself again?” He rolled his eyes at my comeback, and I decided to bypass the banter. ���I think we need to step our game up. Ms. Bethanne thinks we’re ‘tamed’ for a newlywed couple. In other words, she thinks we’re prudes.”

“We’ve hit the PDA marks we need to,” Bucky stiffened just enough for a trained eye to see, but he tried to brush it off as getting comfortable in his spot. 

“Hmm, so maybe one of us is a prude,” I shrugged, moving my legs under me and leaning on one side of the chair. 

We hadn't kissed, although I would peck one on his cheek, and he would place one on top of my head. But that's as far as either of us had been willing to go.

I know our job may require us to go beyond that, and I was willing to keep it strictly professional even if necessary, but Bucky seemed to want to avoid it by all means. Message received.

“I’m not a prude. I just don’t understand why people have to be so touchy in public. It makes everyone uncomfortable,” he argued. 

“Not everyone finds discomfort in those acts. A lot of people think it’s cute.”

“I’m not one of those fucking people.”

“Well, you better figure out pretty fucking quick how to become one of those people because this operation kinda depends on it.” I sighed, standing up and stretching. “Listen, I know you hate me and all, but if we’re going to get this done and over with, we need to-”

“I’ve never said I hate you,” Bucky interrupted. I looked down and saw him staring at me with stern eyes.

“Actions have convinced me otherwise.” 

“The same could be said for you.” 

“I don’t hate you,” I clarified after carefully studying him for lies. 

It was an intense stare-off, but not one where I felt like I had to win it. One where I felt we were both taking a step into new territory, and neither of us knew what to expect. 

Bucky’s burner phone rang right before I could follow up with my peace offering, and we saw it was the fake caller ID Steve was under. He picked it up and put it on speaker. 

“What’s up, punk?” he answered, and Steve scoffed on the other end. 

“Just your biweekly check-in. Anything interesting enough to make this phone call longer than 5 minutes?” he asked. 

“Don’t think so,” Bucky sighed and filled him in on the steps we had taken to further the investigation. Planting our gossip seeds where necessary and waiting for the garden to grow. 

The call ended with Steve informing Bucky that he ‘started back at work’ tomorrow and would need to go to a specific meeting spot for updates. A way for us to get news that couldn’t be tracked with phone calls and messages. And after two weeks of gathering information and only four check-ins in that time, things were meant to pick up now. 

I had decided to head back to my room when a normal conversation between the two started up and strayed from the mission talk. Then, about 10 minutes later, Bucky was in my doorway as I got ready for bed. 

“Sorry, Steve wanted to know if we had torn each other’s heads off yet. Nat and him have a bet going,” he said, leaning on the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. 

I shrugged, pulling the comforter back on the bed. “No need to apologize. And who’s winning?” 

“Steve gave it 3 weeks, so he’s still in the running.”

“He’s being generous,” I laughed, fluffing a pillow before sitting on the edge and looking at him. 

“I don’t know. I think we’ve managed to stay surprisingly civil given our relationship,” he smiled softly as if the conversation wasn’t dangerous grounds and could easily go one way or the other. 

“Helps that we have to act for most of it,” I fiddled with my nails. 

“Would you rather we didn’t get along?” he asked, and I could see the start of our normal frustration with each other trickle back into his tone.

I stared at him for a minute. Not sure what my goal was here, but it definitely had flipped from wanting to make every minute with him, his own personal hell.

“Fighting has become tiresome. I’m content tolerating the situation.” A bit of a hypocritical response, sounding robotic, but there was no lie behind it.

He stared at me like I had to him. 

“Right. Tolerating,” he nodded with pursed lips, pushing off the door frame and walking down the hall to his room. 

Something about his attitude made it hard for me to brush off the change in tension. I stood up and walked down the hall. When he was already in his room, I was taking up as much space as I could in his doorway now. 

“What’s with the annoyance?” I asked, looking at him as he arranged some things on his nightstand. He turned around, body lax and almost defeated looking. 

“I’m not annoyed. Why would I be annoyed with you ‘tolerating me’?” he said nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“I don’t know, but you clearly are,” I gestured to him and crossed my arms. “Would you rather I treat you how I have before this? I mean, we can go back to-”

“Obviously not, Y/N,” he cut me off with a scoff, and I was shocked at the sheer anger that I would suggest such a thing. His use of obviously made my brain scramble as well… The second time, that word had messed with me tonight.

“You’re confusing as hell, Barnes,” I squinted my eyes at him and decided I wasn’t in the mood to handle a bipolar 100-year-old man tonight. Maybe it was best if I just called it a night. 

Turning in my spot four steps away, I didn’t expect the hand around my bicep to stop me in the middle of the hall, leading to a pensive look on his face as he stared at me.

“What?” I furrowed my eyes at him and looked at the contact unwavering on my elbow.

“I—” he started and then stopped. An internal war played out with surprising clarity on his face. I raised my eyebrows and waited.

We stared for an hour—okay, nine seconds—but it’s all the same with that level of intensity.

“Never mind.” He dropped my arm and took a step back. 

“Seriously?”

“I don’t want to start something.”

“There’s something to start?” 

“No, but I’ll wait until you’re in a better mood to,” he debated on his wording. “Discuss it,” he settled on, turning on his heel. 

“I’m not in a bad mood,” I huffed, and yeah… That didn’t help proving my point. 

“Sure thing,” he shook his head before walking into his room, carrying on as if he hadn’t dropped a strange and confusing bomb on me that I now needed answers to. 

“Goodnight to you, too,” I grumbled as I walked to my room and shut the door behind me.

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski @basicallylool​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @billyseye @hallecarey1​​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki

[cripplecharacters]

Hey! I’m writing a story that involves a lot of different perspectives of disability, I love scifi but god can it be awful about disability so I’m trying to make an anti that. It mostly focuses on the idea of the cure narrative. A big theme at the core of it is accepting your disability because you wouldn’t be the person you are without it. You’re an important piece of the richness and diversity of humanity etc etc. That’s a message that’s very close to my heart as someone who’s neurodivergent and physically disabled from birth.

But I also know my experiences and feelings are far from universal. I wanted to show other perspectives, other interpretations of that core message, so I added a character who was recently disabled a year ago which has significantly uprooted her life. He also doubles as showing someone who became disabled through doing dangerous things he shouldn’t have been doing because I want to have a way to tackle disability as a punishment or moral thing (another shitty trope that scifi is full of! :sob:)

Her acceptance is the most raw and recent of the group’s, happening over the course of the story. But since her experience of disability is so different from mine (never having lived without it), I wanted to look for outside opinions. What are some things I should keep in mind while writing him? Do you have any recommendations for articles/blogs/etc from people with similar experiences?

Thank you! I love what this blog is doing :) <3 Apologies if this is a little incoherent, it’s one of those days

Thank you for your ask! For a character with an acquired disability, one of the big things to consider is just how much recovery there will be. Even after leaving the hospital she will be on bed rest for a bit, and afterwards comes physical and/or occupational therapy for at least a few months. Recovery is a taxing, slow process that makes a person realize just how much process they’ve lost for tasks that they didn’t think much about. He would also probably have pain and maybe even a new routine to take care of the injury. It’s hard to give specifics of what your characters recovery will involve without knowing the injury though.

As for resources, here are some links I think can help! Thank you mod Sasza for the help compiling them :] (smiley face

Special Books By Special Kids - A channel with a ton of interviews with disabled people from all walks of life, mostly with developmental disabilities but there are interviewees with acquired ones as well.

Footless Jo - A youtube channel run by a woman with an amputation.

Born Blind vs. Becoming Blind - What Are The Differences? - A video comparing the experiences of someone who’s been blind since birth and someone who became blind later in life.

LEARNING FROM WHEELCHAIR FRIENDS! - A video of three friends with acquired disabilities talking about their lives and the disability community.

Sabia and Loren - A couples channel that mostly focuses on Loren’s life after having amputations.

22 & Suddenly Disabled: My Story | Functional Neurological Disorder - A video on living after suddenly developing FND.

Tactile Art - And article on making art as a deaf blind artist

Changing Faces - Stories by people with facial differences, has a filter for acquired disabilities.

Phoenix Society Resources - stories and articles by and for burn survivors about their experiences and coping with a sudden disability.

Girls with Grafts (podcast) - Two burn survivors talking about their experiences, can be listened to on most platforms that host podcasts.

Augmentative and Alternative Communication: How Becoming a User Changed My Relationships - An article by Alice Wong, who is disabled since birth but became no speaking after a medical emergency. She writes a lot about disability so I recommend checking out her other works as well, though this focuses on aquiered disability.

If you have any more specific questions feel free to ask again!

Have a nice day!

Mod Rot

[winchesterwild78]

A Little Bit Stronger 

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Language, body image issues, Dean being a dick, John being a dick, angst, light smut, assault

A/N: I was stuck in traffic on my way home today and my playlist started playing the song “A Little Bit Stronger” by Sara Evans, and it got me thinking about a story where the reader had dated Dean for years, they broke up and she’s dealing with the loss of their relationship. She’s learning how to move on, and she’s slowly getting better. Then out of nowhere, the green eyed hunter pops back into her life. Mention of Supernatural characters, but doesn’t follow the timeline. 

I’m not sure how long this will be. Maybe a chapter or two, or maybe one really long chapter. 

All work is my own, I don’t give permission for it to be taken or posted anywhere else. Feel free to reblog. 

Minors DNI 18+

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

You pulled the blanket over your head when your alarm went off. Turning over after turning it off. Not feeling like getting up or going to work. Let’s be honest, you didn’t feel like doing much of anything lately. 

Knowing you were going to be late you slowly climbed out of bed. 

Getting out of bed used to be so much easier when you had something, well someone to look forward to. 

You met Dean Winchester and his younger brother Sam about 10 years ago. They were on a hunt, the same one you were on too. 

Of course you’d heard all about the Winchester Brothers. The ones Hell itself couldn’t hold. They were feared and respected in the hunter community. 

You remember the night you met them, like it was yesterday. That was the night you fell in love with Dean. You were pretty sure he had fallen in love too, even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

You were working on clearing a vampire nest, when these two giants came in and tried to take over. 

You and Dean lunged at each other, both thinking the other was a vampire. Dean’s machete swiped against your collarbone, causing a gash to appear, and you to pass out. 

“Dean, she’s not a vamp. Stop! You’re going to kill her!” You remember Sam yelling before you passed out. 

Before Dean got that slice in, you were holding your own against him. 

You woke up a few hours later to the soft whispers of the brothers, and the hum of an air conditioner. 

When you went to sit up, you realized you didn’t have a shirt on. Just your bra. Grabbing the blanket and holding it up, you looked at the brothers. “What happened, where am I, and who the hell are you?” 

Sam offered a soft smile, Dean sat with a tight jaw. “I’m Sam and that’s my brother Dean. You’re at our hotel. We brought you here to patch you up. When you and Dean were fighting, his machete cut you pretty bad. You passed out from blood loss, so we brought you here.” 

Your eyes blinked a few times before talking, “You’re Sam and Dean Winchester?!” The boys exchanged a quick glance. Sam questioned, “So you’ve heard of us. Which means you’re either a monster, demon or hunter.” 

“I’m Y/N, a Hunter. My parents were hunters and used to hunt with Bobby and Rufus. I grew up in this life, like you guys did.” 

“Well, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. I have to ask though, why are you hunting alone?” 

“Oh, my parents retired so to speak and are living a quiet life together, my brother is married, with kids and a “normal” life. My boyfriend and I just broke up.” 

You noticed the older Winchester kept his distance and his eyes locked on you. When you mentioned a boyfriend his jaw tensed more. Normally when someone is staring you down it makes you uncomfortable, but with him it made your heart race and your cheeks flush. 

You’d occasionally make eye contact with him and you were completely mesmerized by his piercing green eyes. He would shift in his chair anytime you looked at him or bit your lip. 

“Well thank you guys for patching me up. I need to get going though. Where’s my shirt?” That’s when you realized your pants were gone too. “And where are my pants?!” Panic filled your body. 

Did they take advantage of you? Sam and Dean saw your panic. That’s when the eldest Winchester spoke. His voice was gruff and sent a shiver through you. 

“Hey, calm down sweetheart, your shirt was ripped and covered in blood, your pants were too. We didn’t think you’d want to sleep in clothes covered in blood.” 

Embarrassment rushed through you. “Yeah you’re right, sorry. I’ve just met my fair share of bad people. I didn’t mean to accuse either of you of anything.”

Dean stood and stepped closer to you, “it’s okay. Just know we would never hurt you.” 

You were lost in each other’s eyes when Sam broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Guys I’m gonna grab some food. I’ll be back soon. Y/N, you like burgers?” “Yes, that sounds great. Thank you.” You softly smiled. 

Sam left, closing the door behind him. Leaving you and Dean in the room together. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. Then you broke the silence, “Um, Dean. I really need some clothes. I can’t just walk around in my bra and panties. I don’t want to traumatize you or Sam.” You chuckled softly, but you meant it. 

Sam and Dean were good looking and you’d heard about “Dean’s type”. You were far from it. Where he liked thin, flat stomach, busty women, you had a stomach, extra weight in places, you were thicker than most, and your breasts were slightly different sizes. 

Dean looked at you, tilted your chin slightly and whispered “You could never traumatize me.” Red filled your cheeks and you bit your lip. 

Was Dean Winchester really flirting with you? Most definitely not. Maybe he just sees you as an easy screw, cause you’d give in to him in a heartbeat, but you’d never been a love them and leave them person. 

You pulled the sheet up more and tried to look away. Dean kept his hand on your chin, “I’m so sorry I hurt you sweetheart. I would have never hurt you if I knew you weren’t a monster.” 

Feeing brave you stood up, sheet still around you, you touched his cheek, “I know Dean. It was an accident. I do still need some clothes though. Maybe a shower too.” 

Before your brain could process what was happening, Dean leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips. “So beautiful” he whispered. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower. You can borrow some of my clothes.” 

Your mind was racing. Dean Winchester just kissed you. What the hell was going on?! 

Your heart was pounding in your chest and ears as Dean grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the bathroom. 

“Dean I can do this myself, I’m not that injured.” You tried to protest. “I know, but where’s the fun in that.” He winked at you. 

Holy shit! Dean is flirting with me and that kiss oh my god. I never thought a single kiss could make me instantly wet. 

You smirked at Dean, “What’s your plan Mr Winchester?” “Whatever you want Ms Y/L/N. I know what I want, but it’s up to you.” 

“Dean I don’t know what to say. I’m not like the women you’re usually with. I can’t do one night stands.” 

Dean stepped closer to you and pulled the sheet away, your breath quickened. He leaned down and crashed his lips to yours. Pulling your body flush to his. Your hands went behind his neck and into his hair. Moaning in his mouth you felt your body responding to his touch. 

When his lips pulled back he said “Then don’t.” 

That night Dean and you had sex in the shower, on the bed and the couch. You stayed with the boys after that. Your relationship with Dean deepened. 

About three years ago you and Dean were talking about how your parents were able to get out of the life and live normally. You explained to Dean it was a hard process and one that took a lot of work on their part. They eventually made it. 

Laying in Dean’s arms was your favorite place to be. Your head was on his chest and he mindlessly ran his fingers up and down your arm. 

“I love you baby. So much. Marry me?” You gasped softly and leaned up, “Dean, do you mean it?” “Yes, sweetheart. I want to marry you and have children with you. If your parents could do it, I’m sure we can too.” 

Tears streamed down your face, “Yes, Dean. I’ll marry you.” Dean pulled you into a kiss. When you leaned back he slipped a small diamond on your finger. “It’s beautiful, baby.” 

He kissed you again. The past few years with Dean had been amazing. You both learned to navigate your love while you hunted side by side. Sam had found someone too, Eileen. She was his perfect match. The four of you were great together. 

There was however one obstacle in your life, John Winchester. You’d met John a few times over the years, and each time the tension was palatable. You tried your best to charm him and get him to approve of your relationship, but he refused. He said you were nothing but a distraction and a way for Dean to pass the time after a hunt. The words hurt, but nothing could prepare you for what was to come. 

The morning after Dean proposed, he called Sam and told him he finally did it. Sam and Eileen were over the moon. Then came the phone call that scared you the most. Dean had to call his father. 

Dean sat beside you on the couch and called John. “Hello, Dean.” John’s gruff voice boomed through the line. “Hey dad, I need to tell you something.” “Dean if you’re about to tell me you fucked up and got Y/N pregnant I’ll beat your ass.” Dean’s eyes went wide, “What?! No, dad, she’s not pregnant.” You scoffed when you heard that. “Well, then what is it son?” “Dad, I asked her to marry me. She said yes. We’re getting married.” 

There was silence on Dean’s end of the phone. The only sound was your heart pounding in your ears. 

You reached for Dean’s hand and he pulled away, getting up. He started pacing the room, his jaw tight with anger and frustration. You knew John was saying something to him, because he was nodding and would occasionally let out a “Yes, sir.” 

It seemed like hours before Dean hung up. When he hung up he looked tense. “Dean, what did he say?” “Don’t worry about it.” He snapped. You flinched at his tone. Dean had never spoken to you like that before.

You looked down at your lap and fidgeted with your hands, “Okay, Dean.” He stormed outside and slammed the front door behind him, making you jump. You were determined to find out what happened, and if Dean wouldn’t talk to you, then you’d go straight to the source. 

Taking out your phone you dialed John’s number. A few rings later John answered, “What do you want, Y/N?” “Well hello to you too, John. I wanted to know what you said to Dean. He was mad and left.” “Good, he came to his senses. Look, you’re a nice girl, but you’re not right for Dean. He doesn’t really love you. The only woman he’s ever loved was Lisa. She’s a better match for him than you could ever be.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, he’d never mentioned Lisa. “John, why are you so cruel? Dean loves me and we are getting married, whether you like it or not.” John laughed and you growled in frustration. “Keep thinking that, sweetheart. I need to go. Have a nice life, Y/N.”

He hung up and you were fuming. 

You tried to call Dean but he didn’t answer. As the night wore on you slipped further into despair. Did Dean leave me? Was John telling the truth about Lisa, and does Dean really still love her? Why won’t he come home? 

You softly cried until the tears wouldn’t fall. You curled up on the couch and fell asleep. Around daybreak you heard Dean stumble in. You sat up looking at Dean. He was drunk, and you noticed the faint smell of perfume and you saw a hickey on his neck.

“Dean, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.” “Aww don’t be like that sweetheart, I was just having some fun. It’s been too long since I had any fun.” Your heart clenched at his words. “Dean, I don’t understand. What’s going on with you? You left without saying a word, came home drunk, smelling like another woman and you have a hickey. I thought you loved me, wanted to marry me.” 

“Well you thought wrong. I was wrong. This (he motioned between the two of you) was fun while it lasted, but I think it’s time to move on.” You sat stunned, speechless. “Dean, you don’t mean that. You’re drunk and not thinking clearly.” “No sweetheart, that’s where you’re wrong again, I’m thinking very clear. You were right all those years ago, you aren’t my type. I mean maybe if you lost a little weight and actually tried to be pretty.”

You let out a gasp, and before you knew it you slapped him across the face. Your heart broke. “Dean, why are you doing this? What the hell happened?” “I’m finally thinking clearly, my dad reminded me that I’m truly in love with Lisa and she’s the mother of my child, Ben. I owe it to them to make it work.” 

“Dean, please don’t do this. How can you just walk away from us?” “Easy, I’m packing and moving in with Lisa and my son. I spent last night with her and it felt good to be back in her arms.” You felt sick to your stomach. 

Dean walked into your shared room and grabbed his duffel bag and started packing. You sat on your bed and watched him pack, silent tears falling. With each item he packed your heart broke more. As Dean put the last thing in his bag he glanced over at you. With a tremble in your voice you tried one last time, “Dean please don’t walk away from us. I love you, and I know you love me. Please don’t do this. We can figure this out.”

Dean just looked at you and grabbed his bag. You followed him to the door, “Dean, before you go, here.” You slid the ring off your finger and handed it to him. His eyes filled with sadness as more tears fell from yours. “I’ll always love you, Dean.”

He turned and walked out the door. You collapsed on the floor.

It was 3 years ago today that Dean Winchester broke your heart. You’re slowly getting better, but days like today, anniversary days are hard. You moved in with your parents temporarily, got a pretty good job working at the office your brother worked at, and now you had your own place. 

As you opened your closet to get dressed for work you glanced over and saw the t-shirt Dean loaned you the first night you met. Your fingers lightly brushed over the fabric and the happier memories came flooding back. 

You’d kept in touch with Sam and Eileen. They had since gotten married and had a little boy. They left hunting and Sam went back to law school, becoming a lawyer. You’d occasionally ask about Dean, and Sam would tell you he was okay. You also found out that John had died in a car accident about a year ago. You knew Dean would have been devastated. 

You got to work about 10 minutes late. Sitting at your desk your mind wandered to the thought of Dean. You missed him so much, but with each passing day you got a little bit stronger. You knew you’d never fully get over him. He was the love of your life and you were supposed to marry him and have his children. Now he’s in the arms of another woman. 

Your friend from work, Libby invited you to the bar with her and a few other colleagues. It was Friday and it had been a long week. At first you weren’t going to go, but decided to drink until you forgot him. You went home after work, changed and caught an Uber to the bar. 

You decided to wear your jeans, low heel boots and a nice top that revealed just enough. You put your hair up in a messy bun and applied some light makeup. Stepping out of the Uber you saw Libby at the door. “Hey, Y/N! So glad you could make it.” She pulled you into a hug. 

You and the rest of the people in your group settled at a table at the back of the bar. Drinks flowed and you were starting to get tipsy. One of your male colleagues, Ryan, came out too. He’d flirted a few times with you, but you never gave in. You, Libby and a few other girls got up and started dancing. Libby leaned into you and said “Don’t look now, but Ryan is watching you.” You glanced over and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You smiled at him. “Yeah, I don’t know.” “Come on girl, it’s been 3 years. You can move on.” You hadn’t thought about Dean all night, now he’s all you could think about. 

“I’m, um, gonna get some air.” Libby nodded sadly. She knew how much you had loved Dean and how much it broke your heart. You grabbed your jacket and walked outside. Taking out your phone you scrolled through the pictures of you and Dean. You sighed sadly, “I miss you so much Dean. I miss how happy we were, how in love we were. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you.” 

Tears started to flow freely. 

You stood outside a few minutes longer looking at the pictures of a happier time. The sound of a voice pulled your attention up. “Hey ya sweetheart.” That voice, you knew that voice. You looked up and saw Dean standing in front of you. He looked good. You were speechless. 

“How are you? You look good, sweetheart.” “Dean…I…” Your words stuck in your throat. He stepped closer to you, and his thumb brushed your cheek. “Still as beautiful as ever.” 

Fury filled your body after what he said, “Dean, what are you doing here?” You stepped away from him. “I was here at the bar tonight with some work buddies and I saw you. I needed to talk to you. It’s been too long.” 

You scoffed, “It’s been too long?! Dean, you’re the one who walked away, not me. You threw our relationship away. You proposed and then the next day you slept with another woman and left me for her. Oh and let’s not forget I found out you had a kid I didn’t know about. I heard you were engaged again, Congratulations. I hope you and Lisa have a wonderful life together.”

You started to walk away, but Dean grabbed your arm, “Baby, please.” You tried to free yourself from his grip, “Don’t baby me. You lost that privilege when you chose another woman over me. It’s taken me 3 years to finally get to where I am. I don’t cry myself to sleep every night, and I don’t question my worth as much anymore. I was doing all of that because of YOU! I gave you everything, EVERYTHING! I loved you. I wanted to marry you and have your children. Goodbye, Dean.”

As you started to walk away you glanced at him one last time, “Just so you know Dean, I still love you. I wish I didn’t, but I will always love you.” You walked away, heading towards the bar so you could get your Uber. You needed to get away from Dean. Just being near him made your heart clench with pain and love. 

Dean stood frozen, he had been keeping a secret from you he desperately needed you to hear, but would you listen? Would you really care? 

Just as you reached the door, Dean grabbed your arm, “Y/N, please I need to tell you something.” You turned and looked into his green eyes, you saw pain, sadness and love. “Y/N, I love you sweetheart, I was a fool to push you away. I want to come home to you. Please baby.” You’d waited 3 years to hear him say that, but your heart was scared. You wanted him to profess his love to you, but was he being genuine? You were afraid what would happen if he wasn’t, you couldn’t bear to get over him again. 

“Dean, it’s too late. You’re in love with Lisa, she’s your fiance and had your son. I can’t and I won’t compete with that.” He stepped closer to you, “Sweetheart, she’s not my fiance, we broke up, and Ben isn’t mine. She said he was, but he isn’t. I ended things with her because I realized I wasn’t in love with her. There’s been only one woman in my life that I truly loved, well love. Because I still do. I love you.”

“Dean, I don’t know what to say. You said some really horrible things to me.” “I know, but I knew if I didn’t you wouldn’t let me go. I’m so sorry. I‘ll spend the rest of my life trying to fix this, fix us.” “Then why did you do it, Dean?” 

“When I talked to my dad that day he played into my fears, my fears of losing you, of our children having to grow up without you or me. He also told me it was safer with Lisa and that Ben was mine. I’m sorry sweetheart, I believed him. My life has been miserable the past three years. There hasn’t been a single second where I didn’t think of you.”

You scoffed, “Then why did it take you three years?! If you were that miserable, why did you warm her bed for three years, while mine was cold? Dean, I can’t do this. Please just let me go.” You turned as the tears started to fall. 

Making your way to the front of the bar, you called an Uber and waited out front for it. Standing outside waiting, Ryan came out of the bar to talk to you. “Hey, Y/N, leaving so soon?” “Yeah, I’m just tired and need to go home.” Ryan touched your arm, “Hmm that’s a shame. I was hoping to have gotten at least one dance with you.” You smiled softly as a blush filled your cheeks.

Ryan was a good looking man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fantasized about him. Maybe it was the raw emotions you were feeling, or the bravery brought on by the alcohol, but you leaned into Ryan and placed a kiss on his lips. He pulled you closer to his body and his hands went in your hair, deepening the kiss. You moaned into his mouth. 

As the Uber pulled up you and Ryan climbed in. Not able to keep your hands off each other. Once in the car, Ryan started kissing your neck. You leaned your head back and as you looked out the window you saw Dean standing on the sidewalk with a look of shock and sadness on his face.

A few minutes later you and Ryan were walking into your apartment. The two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Clothes began to fly and hands roamed. You moaned into his mouth as his body hovered over yours. You hadn’t had sex with anyone since Dean. 

Trying to push Dean out of your mind you decided sex with Ryan would help. As things heated up between you and Ryan, you grabbed a condom from the side table. Ryan slid it on and pushed in. You gasped at the feeling. He definitely didn’t give you time to be ready or adjust like Dean did. Ryan was rushing, you tried desperately to chase your release, but it felt like Ryan was only concerned with him. Stop! Stop comparing him to Dean! He’s not Dean, he will never be Dean.

Tears began to fall. You were about to tell Ryan to stop, but his lips crashed on yours in a forceful kiss. He wasn’t gentle at all. His thrusts were hard and angry. You weren’t enjoying yourself. Trying to slip your hand between the two of you, so you could get off, proved to be the wrong move. Ryan became angry, “What the fuck are you doing?!” “I’m trying to get off too.” “No! You don’t get to touch yourself. I’ll get you off.” “Well, you’re not going to fucking me like you are.” Ryan slapped you across your face. 

You screamed in pain and tried to push him off of you. “Get the fuck off of me!” “No! You don’t get to start this then tell me to stop.” “The fuck I can’t! Get the fuck off NOW!” Just as you were about to knee him, you felt Ryan being pulled away. 

When you looked up you saw Dean, he pulled Ryan off of you and punched him over and over. “She said get off of her! Don’t you ever fucking touch her again or I’ll kill you! Now get the fuck out!” Dean growled. 

You’d grabbed the sheet and pulled it around you. Ryan grabbed his stuff and left calling you a whore under his breath. As soon as he was gone Dean was at your side, “Are you okay, sweetheart? Did he hurt you?” The tears started to flow freely as Dean pulled you into his arms. His sweet, protective arms. You buried your face in his chest and cried as he held you. “I’m sorry Dean. I left with him to make you jealous. This is all my fault.” 

“No baby, this isn’t your fault. You’re okay now, he’s gone.” “And you’re here. Protecting me like always.” “I’ll always protect you, sweetheart. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.” 

Dean helped you up and you went to the bathroom to clean up and check your face. There would be a bruise, but things could have been so much worse. You got cleaned up and dressed, when you walked back into your bedroom, you saw Dean laying on your bed with his boxers on and nothing else. “Come on sweetheart, get some sleep. I’ve got you.” He offered his arm and you curled up next to him. You laid on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as you drifted off to sleep.

When Dean was sure you were asleep, he placed a soft kiss on your head, “I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” 

Part 2…..coming soon

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