#she canonically dies 2 days from now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovebugism · 3 months ago

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📼 ; 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 (▰˘◡˘▰)

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snowyslytherinowl · 1 month ago

Text

A Love Paid in Galleons - Part 1

PAIRING: Severus Snape x Reader

SUMMARY: Knowing that no one would ever want him, Severus hires a prostitute to help him lose his virginity. But what he doesn't anticipate is that he'll give his heart to her as well.

Part 2 here

I hate to say this but if we’re speaking canonically, I believe that Snape either died a virgin or lost his virginity to a prostitute. I wanted to write something on the latter topic with some cuteness. This also has been interesting for me to write since I haven’t written smut in a long time and never really wrote smut like this. I hope y’all still enjoy this though!

18+ DUE TO SEXUAL CONTENT; MINORS DNI!

Severus wouldn’t dare to do this at Hogwarts. For one thing, inviting someone like this within the castle walls would surely be strictly forbidden. But most importantly, he wouldn’t be able to bear the embarrassment if knowledge of his actions circulated the school. His head pounded at the thought of the incessant teasing by the students, or even worse, by Minerva and Dumbledore.

Earlier that day, he covered his head with a black hood and ventured into Knockturn Alley. The only place of its kind could be found at the very end of the alley, tucked away in a corner lit only by a flickering lantern. Severus handed his galleons to the madam, paying extra to reserve a pretty one for the entire night. His blood ran cold as he gave her his address and a fake name, not processing that he was actually going through with this. But he felt that it was only right to reserve the prostitute for the entire night; at least after she had sex with a disgusting man like him, she could leave and be free from company for the rest of the night.

Even now, hidden away in the privacy of his home at Spinner's End, he doesn’t know what to do now that he has dared. He showers and roughly scrubs his hair, ridding it of all its grease. He tidies up the sitting room, repairs all the cracks in the walls, cleans his dirty dishes, puts every dish in the cupboard, and removes the nightmare-inducing jars from his study. He decides that they would do it inside his study, rather than his bedroom. He’s embarrassed by the holes in the sheets and the mismatching pillowcase and comforter. Even then, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the upcoming encounter every night and subsequently wrap his arms around his body, attempting to ease the feelings of loneliness.

The clock rings, signifying a new hour. It’s ten o’clock; she should be here any second now. And then there’s a knock on his front door. Severus jumps in his seat and slowly makes his way to the door, his hands shaking and his heart pounding.

The woman on the other side of the door takes his breath away. He doesn’t think he’s seen a woman as beautiful as you. Smooth skin, luscious hair, full lips painted a deep red. Even your eyes are bright and welcoming as you smile at Severus. His heart pounds even faster as his eyes rake over the short green dress tightly hugging your body. “Hi,” you greet in a sweet voice.

“Hello,” Severus says quietly. He stares at you as though he’s stupified, completely mesmerized by your beauty. How could he ever rip his eyes away from a woman like this?

You blush and bite your lower lip. “May I come in?” you ask shyly.

“Oh. Yes,” Severus mutters, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He steps aside and allows you to enter. You walk to the middle of the sitting room and look around. He fidgets with his fingers at the thought that you might be judging the simplicity of his house.

But it doesn’t seem like those kinds of thoughts are on your mind. You spin around and look at him with the most alluring gaze a woman has ever looked at him with. His breath catches in his throat and he stands frozen once more. You inch closer to him, that sweet smile still playing on your lips, until you stand directly in front of him. “What would you like me to do, sir?” you ask in a low voice.

“I… er… I…” Severus’s heart beats so fast that he can’t breathe, let alone speak. His face becomes even more red. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t form a single coherent sentence. He gulps as you continue to look up at him, awaiting his response. “Er… anything you wish to do. And you do not need to call me sir.”

You laugh the sweetest laugh he’s ever heard. A laugh more powerful than a siren’s call, a laugh that could make any man weak in the knees. You bat your eyelashes at him and say, “How about we get out of the sitting room so I can show you what I have in mind?”

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it. Severus fights the urge to run his thumb over your smaller hand, a perfect match nestled within his grasp. He leads you up the stairs on shaky legs and pushes open the door on the right.

Like the sitting room, the study is unassuming. Shelves full of books filed in alphabetical order line the wall on the right. On the left, there are cabinets holding jars of potion ingredients. There are no framed photos or personal effects. He flips the light switch on, the dingy overhead light beginning to glow. But since the light flickers unreliably, he chooses to light the candles on his desk instead. Perhaps it’ll even give this situation a romantic feel, even if there is no romance involved.

You walk to the bookshelves and run a finger over several of the titles. Your eyes light with genuine curiosity as you inspect his room. No one has ever been interested in anything he owns. “What do you work as?”

“Oh…. er… I… I do…” Severus stammers again, still hesitant to tell you for fear of exposure. He awkwardly stands at the doorframe, hoping you’ll catch on.

You seem to sense his discomfort and smile reassuringly at him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You stand directly in front of him once again and take his hand. You place your intertwined hands on his chest and stare up at him. “Do you want me to show you what I have planned?” you ask in a low voice. The combination of you smiling at him, looking up at him like you actually want him, and speaking in a sultry voice is too much for him. His eyes dip down to your lips but quickly looks away before he can give in to the urge to kiss you.

“Er… that would… er…” he mutters. You brush a strand of his hair behind his ear with your free hand, sending his heart into a tizzy.

“Are you nervous?” you ask. Severus nods very slightly in response, so you follow with, “Will this be your first time?”

Ashamed, Severus’s eyes sink to the ground and he remains silent. The reason why he solicited a prostitute is because he wants to lose his virginity. Is it so wrong for him to yearn for the touch of a woman, want to feel wanted, even if that want is all a superficial act? He knows no woman would ever want to sleep with him. No woman has ever looked at him, approached him, or complimented him. If anything, they would be repulsed by him. With his greasy hair and sallow skin, he can’t blame them. And what would you say if he told you that he, a man in his thirties, was a virgin? He knows you’ll think that he’s a pathetic, lonely slug because that is exactly what he is.

With your pointer finger, you tilt his head so he’s looking into your eyes. You smile at him and reassure, “Hey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of if it is. I’ve never been anyone’s first, but I promise to make this special for you.”

He frowns and his hands start to shake. Blinking rapidly, he tries his best to hold back the tears that are threatening to form in his eyes. “Why are you so kind to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The only possible answer is that you’re paid to be here. Otherwise, you would have screamed and apparated away the second he opened his front door.

“Why do you think that?” With a gentle touch, you caress his cheek to relax him. Severus sighs again, still not able to understand or accept your kind touch. “I think you’re very handsome,” you say in a tone that sounds genuine.

Butterflies flutter in his stomach. No woman has told him that before. Or maybe you’re just saying that to be kind? “You really think so?”

“Of course. If anything, I’m surprised that no woman has snatched you up yet,” you say with another one of your beautiful laughs.

He can’t stop his lips from pulling upward into a smile. Now all he can think about is kissing your soft, plush lips.

“May I… may I kiss you?” he mutters, his cheeks reddening.

“Yes,” you say and get on your tippy-toes. Severus bends his head down and tenderly presses his lips against yours.

The moment his lips touch yours, shockwaves run throughout his entire body and his head spins. All thoughts drift into oblivion. All he can think about are your kind words, your gentle touch, your ethereal beauty, your enchanting smell, you. He wants to stay here in this exact position, kissing you forever.

He lets go of your hand and then wraps it around your back, pressing his chest against yours. When you moan into his lips, Severus cups your face with his other hand. He kisses you deeper and rougher, as though he’s a dying man and your kisses are the only things that can save him.

Severus is hurt when you pull away until he notices that your cheeks are now a deep crimson. He begins to panic at the thought that he hurt you by not restraining himself well enough. But then you take in a deep breath and laugh. “Sorry, I had to take a breather.”

He stares at his feet like a schoolboy caught doing something he shouldn’t have, yet this embarrassment feels amazing. “No, I apologize that I got carried away,” he mutters.

You smirk at him. “No, no. Silas, I think you deserve a reward for how excellent of a kisser you are,” you say seductively.

A shiver ran through his body at your words. As you inch closer to the desk chair, Severus stops you. He feels wrong continuing this night with you without telling you his real name. He’s willing to throw caution to the wind with you; he has a feeling you’d keep his identity a secret. “Actually, my real name is Severus.”

“Ok then, Severus. How about you sit down?” You grab his hand and then gently push him. He flops onto the desk chair and stares up at you with wide eyes.

You lean down and press wet kisses on his cheek. You unbutton the top part of his coat and continue your trail of kisses down his neck. Severus freezes as he feels blood rush to the lower parts of his body. He doesn’t want you to notice the growing bulge in his pants, and neither does he know where to put his hands. He sits stiffly on the desk chair, his fingers tightly gripping the armrest.

Instead of continuing to unbutton his coat, your hands trail down to his trousers. His breath catches in his throat as you drop to your knees and unbuckle his belt. With swift fingers, you undo his belt, and then his button trousers, and then pull the trousers down to his knees.

Severus jumps in his seat when you run a hand over his clothed cock. If he had any intentions to hide his bulge earlier, well, his secret is out now. He takes a deep breath and stares down at you with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. With the mischievous expression you’re looking up at him with and the way you’re slowly palming his clothed cock, Severus thinks he might pass out.

Severus holds back a moan when you apply more pressure with your palm, and you smirk as you notice how tense he is. You slowly shimmy down his boxers and reveal his large, hard cock. Severus stares at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look you in the eye. How pathetic he must be to get this hard at only a few touches.

“Severus, look at me.” Your voice is gentle, but the firmness of your command is there. Severus forces his eyes to move from the ceiling to you.

Below him is an absolute sight to behold. His hard, thick cock is leaking precum from the tip. Embarrassment burns through him, but he can’t stop staring at how you’re looking at him. Your hands rest on the chair cushion, just touching his thighs. And Merlin, you’re staring at his cock like you want to devour it.

“Do you want me to touch you, handsome?” you purr. Your hands slither onto his thighs and massage his skin there. He nods a little too eagerly and you chuckle.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” You run your hands up his body and rest on the bottom of his torso. “Here?” He only whimpers in response and moves his legs, trying to shift your hands where he needs them most. You smirk and click your tongue in disapproval.

“Is here better?” You shift your hands to his hips, your fingers ghosting around his cock. He whines pathetically and looks down at you, silently begging you to just touch him already.

“Use your words, Severus,” you gently command. As an extra tease, you skim one finger down the length of his cock.

“My cock, please,” he begs you. If anything, he would spend the rest of his life begging him to touch you. Even if you got up and left, this would still be the best moment of his life.

You finally wrap your hands around his cock and swipe a thumb over his slit, smearing precum up and down his cock. Severus lets out a needy mewl as you pump your fist up and down his manhood, his apprehension at making noises melting away. Every so often, he’d touch himself in the shower and eventually bring himself to orgasm, his feelings of shame washing away any feelings of pleasure. But masturbating never prepared him for this. Your expert touch feels better than any form of self-induced pleasure.

Severus gasps loudly when he feels you peppering kisses down the length of his cock. You go even further downward and massage his balls with your tongue. When he was a teenager, his dormmates told stories of their sexual encounters right in front of him, knowing he would never have a need for their knowledge. He rarely listened to them either; the feelings of loneliness that arose would be too painful. During the few times he listened, he remembers how his dormmates raved about how amazing blowjobs felt. Merlin almighty were they right, and you had only just begun.

Locking eyes with him, you lick his tip and then wrap your lips fully around his shaft. Severus enters a state of euphoria as you simultaneously wrap your fist around the base of his cock and rotate your hand around him. After several moments, you pull your hands back so you can take more of him into your mouth. Severus groans and unintentionally juts his hips up at the intense sensation, but then his mind floods with shame as he hears you gag. “Sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he apologizes profusely. He stiffens in his seat and watches your every move, afraid that he might have hurt you.

You don’t say anything, instead subtly nodding your head and lightly holding down his hips. You slowly take more and more of him in your mouth, alternating between soft and firm pressure. He’s finally reassured when you moan around his cock. He allows himself to relax and his eyes flutter closed, indulging in the immense pleasure you’re providing him. The warmth and wetness of your mouth are beyond anything his imagination could’ve conjured.

Severus grips the armrests so tightly now that his knuckles are white. He keeps his hands there partially because he’s too afraid to grasp your hair and potentially hurt you again, but mainly because he’d holding on for dear life. His hips shake violently and he can’t stop groaning. He can feel his cock pulsating, ready for sweet release, but he has to use every fiber in his body to not just cum already. Severus wants his first blowjob to last longer. But you sense that he’s close to his orgasm, and you hollow your cheeks more and suck more firmly. With a loud groan and shaking legs, he comes undone in your mouth. His heart races and he pants, his body and mind in a state of absolute bliss after the best orgasm of his life.

His eyes flutter open and he suddenly remembers that he never asked you if he could cum in your mouth. Though before he can apologize, he feels you humming around his soft cock and swallowing his seed. He stares at you with wide eyes, stunned that you’d do such a thing and stunned at how intensely his cock is throbbing with pure arousal.

You slide his manhood out of your mouth and stand back up. The candlelight illuminates your messy hair and sweat beading on your forehead. Merlin, you look gorgeous like this.

“You were amazing,” Severus whispers. You smile shyly at him and lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” You run your hand down his clothed chest without breaking eye contact. “Do you think you’ll be up for another round soon?”

Severus blushes at your forwardness. “I am not sure. My refractory period is slightly long,” he admits.

“Hmm, that’s fine. In the meantime, maybe you can undress me?” you lure. You pull down the straps of your dress, giving him a peek at your bra. You’re still leaning above him, so he can feel your breath on his skin and see the anticipation in your eyes.

Severus is a flustered mess as he stares at your body. With a shaky hand, he reaches out and rests his hands on the top of your dress. He sits awkwardly on the desk chair, not knowing what to do or say.

You sense his confusion. “Stand up.” Severus completely pulls down his trousers and steps out of them before standing in front of you. You point behind yourself and tell him, “Unzip me.”

Severus focuses his eyes on the window as he reaches behind you and unzips your dress, which pools around your legs. Although you’re a prostitute and you just gave him a blowjob, he feels wrong looking at your naked body without your explicit consent. His hands then hover over where your dress once was, yet again not knowing where to put them.

“You can look, you know,” you tease. Severus peels his eyes away from the window and takes in the magnificent sight of your partially naked body. His eyes linger over your lace panties and bra, which are the same shade of green as your dress. The sheer fabric clings to your body, revealing your curves perfectly. As the candlelight glistens off your flawless skin, he thinks that maybe his refractory period won’t last as long as he thought it would.

“Er, what do you want me to do next?” he murmurs.

You wrap your arms around his neck and look up at him with immense desire. You’re either one hell of an actress or you actually want him.

“You can start by taking off my bra.” Severus reaches behind your back and fiddles with your bra clasp. He fails at this task, partially because he’s overtaken with anticipation and partially because he’s so inexperienced. After several moments, you giggle and offer, “Let me help you.” You quickly unclasp your bra and allow Severus to pull it off of your arms.

Severus swallows hard and has difficulty breathing as he stares at your breasts. Not even Muggle magazines prepared him for this. He gently cups one of your soft breasts and he marvels at how it fits perfectly in his hand. He lightly squeezes it and runs his thumb over your nipple, which hardens and peaks at his touch. He squeezes a little harder when you moan and bite on your lower lip, eager to draw more divine sounds out of you.

“You are a goddess,” he murmurs. Maybe he’s crossing a line with you, but his words aren’t a lie. He’s never seen and never will see a woman as stunning as you.

“You’re very kind, Severus,” you whisper. Time freezes for a moment. It’s just the two of you in Spinner’s End staring deeply into each other’s eyes. No one matters in this world except for you. He doesn’t want to admit that his heart is starting to ache for you.

You break the moment by standing on your tippy-toes and kissing him on his lips. Severus takes his time kissing you and exploring your mouth, wishing to drag this moment out for as long as he can.

You take one of his hands and trail it to between your legs. He takes the hint and snakes his hands into your panties. He’s shocked when he feels your wetness coating his fingers. Does this mean that you truly want him, that all of this is not just an act? He shakes away the thought before it begins to play with his heartstrings even more.

You gaze up at him expectantly, so he begins to experimentally circle his thumb around your clit. You moan with pleasure and bury your face into his shoulder. He melts at your touch and wraps his other around your back to pull you even closer.

As you moan again, his face reddens as he remembers that he doesn’t know how to touch a woman. He wracks his brain for memories of the knowledge his dormmates had and any obscure piece of information he picked up from conversations with other men. All he wants is to pleasure you, so he runs his middle finger up and down your slit and then slowly pushes his finger inside. You gasp and start to grind your hips against his hand, beckoning him to fill you with more of his fingers. He pushes another finger inside you, pumping them both in and out of you. You two groan in unison, becoming more and more aroused each second.

You and Severus are pressed so closely together that you can feel his now hard cock nudging against your front. Your eyes flutter open and you smirk at him. “I thought you would take longer,” you tease.

You step away from him, forcing Severus to pull his fingers away from you. His heart drops, disappointed that he couldn’t pleasure you more. But those thoughts are quickly wiped away when you slip your panties off and rest your hands on his chest.

You take your time unbuttoning his coat and then peeling off his robes and coat. He holds his breath as you caress his now bare chest. You somehow find his face handsome; it would take a miracle for you to like his thin physique. Yet if you are turned off, you don’t show it. Instead, you glance back up at him and bite your lower lip. “It’s up to you, Severus. Do you want to take me standing up, on the desk, or on the chair?”

His eyes drift down to your supple breasts and your exposed cunt. Merlin, you are divine. Honestly, you would look stunning whether you’re naked or wearing a potato sack. He gulps, the burden of the decision weighing heavily on him. “Umm… I find…” he stammers, his voice hoarse. “I…. I think…”

“You’re taking too long. We’re standing.” You laugh and turn around, your back flush against his chest. You reach behind you and reassuringly rub his thighs. You turn your head back and look at him for a moment to quietly say, “Take your time, okay?” Seduction melts away and all he can feel is your tenderness.

Severus nods and takes a deep breath. His heart is beating a mile a minute and his palms are sweaty. This is it, this is the moment every interaction with you has been building up to. His mind goes blank; he can’t even fathom how he got here or how he’s about to lose his virginity to the most beautiful woman in the wizarding world. Pure and sheer exhilaration kicks in, and he grasps your hip with one hand. With the other, he aligns himself with your entrance and pushes the head of his cock in.

Severus lets out mindless groans as he pushes his length into you, shocked by the feelings of warmth engulfing him. He thought the feeling of your hand around his cock felt good. He thought a blowjob felt amazing. But this feels heavenly. The warmth and wetness of your cunt, and the way your walls clench against him, is beyond compare. If he knew how this would feel earlier, he would’ve asked you to skip the blowjob.

Once he bottoms out, he stills his hips and allows you to adjust to his length. He can feel your walls spasming around him as if you’re affected by this as much as he is. After several moments, you pat his thighs. “You can start moving.”

Severus rocks his hips at a gentle pace to test the waters. Even though this night is devoted to him, he wants you to enjoy this as well. He wants to slide deeper inside you, but he doesn’t know exactly how to rearrange himself. You look back at him and smile, and then bend forward slightly.

He pulls back his hips and enters back into you. Oh, this new angle definitely feels much better. And even though you’re no longer completely flush against him, he can still smell the intoxicating scent of your shampoo and perfume. You moan loudly after a particularly deep thrust and praise, “You’re doing so well.”

“You feel, oh…” he whimpers. One hand trails up your body and squeezes your breast. It’s so, so soft. Everything about you is just perfect.

You press your head against his shoulder and look up at him, your breath tickling his neck. You look expectantly up at him, so he nibbles on your ear and kisses your neck. This feels so, so right.

Severus starts pumping into you at a faster pace, drawing out more gasps from your lips. “Keep going. You feel amazing,” you moan. Your praise makes Severus whine even louder. At this point, he’d do anything for you. He keeps up his pace and eventually reaches such a level of bliss that closes his eyes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘o.’

Severus almost jumps when he feels your walls squeezing around him, dissolving him into a moaning mess. He can feel his cock pulsating again. Merlin, he won’t be able to last much longer. He opens his eyes and although his vision is hazy from all the pleasure, he can tell that you’re smirking wickedly at him. “How does that feel, handsome?” you tease.

“Please… I can’t…” he whines. His breaths become more shallow and his thrusts become more erratic and messy; he’s rutting against you more than anything. His grip on your hips is so firm that he knows your skin will be peppered with bruises. But his primary concern is that his legs are shaking so aggressively that they might buckle.

You intentionally squeeze around him again, making Severus sob with pleasure. He can’t handle this anymore; he really can’t. The pleasure is so overwhelming that he thinks his soul might leave his body. And if his soul did, then so be it. At least he’d die a happy man.

“Here, let me help you.” You suddenly pull away, snapping Severus out of his paradise. Before he can protest, however, you spin around, push him to sit on the desk chair, and straddle him. All of it happens so fast that he has no idea he got here or how you got on top of him. It’s probably because his mind is hazy, but how can he complain about this new position when your breasts are hanging directly in his face?

You slide down onto his cock, your abundant slick making the movement effortless. You grip his shoulders and start to ride him, your breasts bouncing up and down. He stares at them as though he’s stupified, and then takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks. You moan his name and press your chest even closer to him.

His legs tremble again and he takes in deep breaths in an attempt to stop himself from cumming right then and there. But when you swirl your hips and squeeze your walls, he knows his efforts are of no use; he’s done for. His hips jolt upward and he groans so loudly that he wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors hear him. His cock keeps twitching, ropes of hot cum spilling inside you. It lasts so long that he knows that the second he pulls out, his seed is bound to drop onto the floor and down the desk chair.

Your body gives no indication of it, but seeing his features drawn in pleasure brings you faster to your orgasm than you thought it would. You moan and trail your hands down to between your legs, rubbing your clit without a rational thought in your mind. Severus jolts as he feels your walls squeezing and spasming as you reach your own orgasm, the feeling making his cock ache with both pleasure and newfound desire.

Now that the both of you are coming down from your highs, Severus leans his head onto the soft flesh of your breast, the beads of sweat on his forehead wetting your chest. His eyes are shut as he silently embraces you, relishing in relaxing against you. Never could he have imagined a better way to lose his virginity.

He wishes he could stay here forever with you and forget all his responsibilities, though he knows you’ll leave after tonight and potentially never see you again. You’ll move on with your life and forget about him, but his memory of you will forever be engrained in his mind. Severus has to push all these thoughts far into his mind before he can get upset.

Instead, he whispers “you are amazing,” his voice sounding as though it might fade away. You deserve nothing less than the highest praise. Honestly, he wants to tell you that this was the best moment of his life.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you whisper. You twirl his hair with your finger and look down at him with a twinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you’re only saying that because you want to be nice or because you’re paid to make him feel good. Yet seeing that twinkling ignites hope inside of him, overturning previous thoughts about all of this just being a part of your job. Deep down in his heart, he thinks you’re telling the truth. Maybe, just maybe, you have grown attached to him as well.

You’re still breathing heavily as you rest your forehead against his and close your eyes. The two of you sit still in this position for what feels like an eternity, yet Severus couldn’t care if actually did last an eternity; he’d be happy here in your arms. He’s never been as happy anywhere as here, his body against yours.

At some point, you shift around, ready to stand up from him. Before you can leave him, he kisses you. The kiss is gentle and doesn’t last for more than three seconds, yet he still feels like it’s the last time he’ll ever kiss someone. And maybe it will be.

You smile at him once he breaks the kiss. You slowly lift your hips off him and stand up. The second you pull out, his seed trickles out of your cunt and drops onto the floor and his legs. He stares between you and the floor, wondering if he’d be able to go for a third round.

You wave your wand, picking your clothes off the floor and neatly folding them. “Where is your bathroom?”

“On the right.”

The sight of you gripping onto your dress irrationally sends him into a panic. Is this it? Is this goodbye? Are you going to get dressed and leave? But he bought you for the entire night. On another note, though, he won’t force you to stay if you want to leave. His words come out in a hurry as he adds, “If you desire, you can take a shower. I have shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You can stay the night as well. Only if you wish to, of course.”

You smile at him and nod. “Thank you, Severus. I think I’ll take you up on both your offers.” You press a kiss to his cheek and head out of the room. Even though the kiss was quick, the feeling of your lips against his cheeks burns in his mind.

His heart soars at the fact that you’ll be staying overnight, but it quickly sinks when he remembers what his bedroom looks like. It would be a miracle if you weren’t disgusted by the slimy potion jars he hid there earlier, or disappointed at his lack of organization. Severus rushes to the bedroom and waves his wand over his sheets, mending the holes in the fabric. Muttering “Colovaria” under his breath, he changes both the comforter and pillowcase to be a deep green. There’s only one pillow, but he can sleep downstairs. At least the bed looks halfway decent now.

When you come out of the bathroom, a towel is wrapped around your body and water drips from your hair. You smile shyly at him and say, “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your towel.”

“No, that is perfectly acceptable.”

“By the way, I’m done with the bathroom. You can use it now if you want.”

Severus nods at you and then heads into the bathroom. An odd part of him doesn’t want to shower, to wash away your scent and the traces of your touch. Yet he still turns on the water and scrubs his body, knowing that you won’t be able to linger on his body forever anyway.

After his shower, he dries his body instantly with a charm and puts on pajamas that don’t look beaten up. Usually, he throws something on and tumbles into bed. This time, he stands in front of the mirror and rearranges the fabric to make himself look more presentable for you.

He walks back into the bedroom and finds you wearing your lingerie. Seeing you like this, about to go to bed, feels wrong. The night isn’t particularly warm and you should be sleeping in something more comfortable.

“You do not need to sleep in that,” he comments. He opens his wardrobe and turns to look at you. “Do you have anything to sleep in?”

“I… You don’t want me to sleep like this?” you ask, confused. “And I don’t, actually.”

He finds it strange that you don’t have pajamas tucked away in your bag. Haven’t you had to sleep in a bed other than your own for your job? Nevertheless, he finds pajamas and hands them to you. “Here. You may wear this. It will be large on you, but it is comfortable.”

“Thank you, Severus,” you say quietly. You briefly look up at him and smile, and Severus briefly notices a strange look in your eye. But before he can say anything or decipher that look, you take the pajamas and slip off your bra and panties. He turns around as you undress, embarrassed to look at your body, as though he hasn’t seen you naked before.

You pat the pillow and smooth down the blankets, getting all cozy in his bed. He takes this as his cue to head for the door. But just as he’s about to turn around to wish you a good night, you stop him. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“Downstairs.” He pulls on the handle as he hears you laugh.

“No, silly! Come here!” You pat the blankets next to you, beckoning him to join you. Concerns about invading your privacy and comfort flood his mind, but then he sees the inviting smile on your face and relaxes. If anything, he’s excited to sleep next to you.

Your face scrunches in confusion as Severus joins you on the mattress. “Where’s your pillow?”

“I only have one,” he admits sheepishly. When Severus inherited this house from his parents, he wanted to erase the memories of his childhood from the house. He threw out his childhood bed and converted his old bedroom into an office. Then, he threw out almost all his parents’ items, their bedding set included. The last thing he wants at the beginning and end of every day is to be reminded of them.

“Oh. You can take this then.” You lift your head from the pillow, but Severus stops you.

“It is yours. You are the guest, after all.”

“That feels wrong,” you say. You scrunch your brows together and then your face lights up. “I have an idea. How about you take the pillow and I use your shoulder as my pillow instead?”

Severus’s heart skips a beat at the thought of cuddling with you, partially from nervousness and partially because he’s never cuddled with anyone before. He extends his arms to you and hopes you won’t notice his racing heart.

After getting cozy on his arm and resting your hand on his chest, you look up at Severus and smile. Neither of you say anything or move in for a kiss; you both just lie there until you eventually drift off. He watches you as you sleep, taking in the delicate lines of your face and the rising and falling of your chest.

No matter how hard he pushes it in the back of his mind, Severus has to admit to himself that he’s fallen for you. When you part from him tomorrow, he’ll be parting with the first person to make him feel alive in a long time. He watches as you rest, allowing the seconds to tick by, hoping that time will slow down if neither of you moves from this position. But after an hour of trying to slow down time, Severus finally sinks into a deep slumber. As he drifts off, the last thought that crosses his mind is how desperately he wishes that morning will never arrive.

#snape #severus snape #smut #reader insert #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x you #severus snape x reader #snape x y/n #snape x reader #snape x you #loss of virginity #virgin snape #sub severus #hp #hp fanfic #some angst #some fluff #sub snape

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prentissluvr · 8 months ago

Text

something about being close — sam winchester

pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket.

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years.

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.”

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours.

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have.

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up.

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch.

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed.

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel.

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat.

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand.

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you��ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love.

but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips.

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap.

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth.

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible.

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

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soft-pine · 23 days ago

Text

Timeline of Every Anecdote from Dean's Childhood in Supernatural (Full Canon Only)

My other timeline includes stuff from some of the pseudo canonical materials. This one includes only things that happen or are mentioned in the show itself.

winc*sties this is still not for you!

Still super open to feedback and suggestions if I missed something.

Content notes: death, child abuse, alcohol

1983

Dean is 4

John & Mary used to call Dean their “little piglet” because he liked to eat so much. [13.21 (this is technically in a dream of Sam's)]

Mouse Trap is Dean's favorite game. [14.17]

Mary would feed Dean tomato-rice soup when he was sick. [5.13]

Mary would sing "Hey Jude" as a lullaby. [5.13]

Dean really likes Mary's meatloaf. He doesn't know she gets it from Piggly Wiggly. [12.02]

Between May and November John and Mary had a fight and John left home for a few days. [5.16]

November 2 - Mary Winchester dies, Sam is 6 months old. [1.01, 1.21]

Mary's uncle arranges a burial and headstone even though she doesn't have a body. [2.04]

Dean doesn't speak for a while after Mary dies. [1.03]

John Meets Missouri. [1.09]

John leaves a box of pictures in the basement of the house. [1.09]

1984

Dean is 5

1985

Dean is 6

John takes Dean out shooting for the first time, using bottles as target practice. According to Dean, he "bullseyed every one of them." Dean remembers this story as him being “6 or 7." Dean cites this story as one of the fonder memories of his father. [2.06 (date suggested by John's Journal)]

Rufus spent the whole year being nice. It was the worst year of his life. [7.10]

1986

Dean is 7

Dean starts having a crush on Daisy Duke. [11.13]

Bill Harvelle dies. [2.06, 2.14 (year suggested by John's Journal)]

John began the masked vampire case - looking into killings and kidnappings along Route 77. [15.20]

1987

Dean is 8

John takes Dean and Sam on a donkey ride at the Grand Canyon. Dean’s donkey farts a lot which Sam finds very funny. [8.21]

Dean has begun hunting. [11.08]

1988

Dean is 9

John is hunting a Shtriga in Wisconsin when he leaves Sam and Dean alone in a hotel room. Dean gets bored and goes out and comes back to find the Shtriga attacking Sammy but can't steady himself in time to fire at it. John comes back but can only scare the Shtriga off. [1.18]

They know Pastor Jim by this point. [1.18]

Dean: "You couldn't been more than 5— you just started asking questions. How come we didn't have a mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where'd Dad go when he'd take off for days at a time? I remember I begged you, 'Quit asking, Sammy. Man, you don't want to know.... I just wanted you to be a kid... Just for a little while longer. I always tried to protect you... Keep you safe... Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know? It's like I had one job... I had one job...'" [2.22]

Dean and Sam (5) play dress up as Batman and Superman and jump of the roof of a shed. Sam breaks his arm and Dean takes him to the E.R. on the handlebars of his bike. [9.15 (mentioned again in 11.08)]

At some point before now Dean is given his first beer by Fred Jones in Salt Lake City. [8.08. He also apparently gives Sam his first beer too but it's unlikely it was this same time?]

1989

Dean is 10

“When I was 10, I got my first B&E from borrowing some family's pay-per-view so I could watch the cage match between you and the Tower of Power.” [11.15]

Bobby takes Dean to play catch instead of “practice with the double-barrel” as John had instructed Dean. In the flash back Rufus guesses the year is around 1989. “No, we didn't shoot rifles, as a matter of fact. We threw a ball around. He's a kid, John. They both are. They're entitled.... Yeah, I know I ain't their dad.” Bobby hangs up and throws the phone down. [7.10]

1980s General

(i.e. there isn't a specific date mentioned for this but I'm guessing from context that it happened in this decade)

Sam sticks army men into Baby's ashtray. [5.22]

Dean sticks Legos into the vents. [5.22]

Dean eating all of Sam's Halloween candy sometime. [12.11 & 14.04]

John taking them to see World of Wrestling. Sometime before Dean is ten. Dean calls it “one of the nicest things” John ever did. Sam remembers John getting drunk. [11.15] ("The Hangman": "He was Dad's favorite. Anytime that noose would come out, Dad would be on his feet. It was one of the few times I ever saw him actually happy.")

John takes Dean fishing. When Dean tells Jack, Jack feels from his tone that it's his happiest memory of John. [5]

Dean telling Sam a stupid joke to distract him from ripping off bandaids when he was little. [15.01]

The first beer John shared with Dean tasted like "crap". [15.20]

Sam's memory of Thanksgivings: “We had a bucket of extra-crispy and Dad passed out on the couch. [5.16]

Dean: "I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up." [1.22]

Dean says he believed the TV ads about Sea Monkeys having families [5.06]

Dean mentions a babysitter, Mrs Chancy, who was obsessed with the TV show Dynasty [5.06], which ran until 1989 when Dean was ten. This could be a lie he's just telling a kid to get him to open up about his babysitter though.

"Alright, here we go. John Winchester's famous cure-all kitchen sink stew. There you go. Enough cayenne pepper in there to burn your lips off, just like Dad used to make." [8.21]

"You used to read to me, um, when I was little, I— I mean, really little, from that— from that old, uh... Classics Illustrated comic book. You remember that? ... Knights of the Round Table. Had all of King Arthur's knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. And I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad, and, and, and he was kneeling, and— and light streaming over his face..." [8.21]

“You used to take us hunting. Remember? Dad had a case, he'd just dump us on you. Shoot, you must have taught us most of the outdoor tracking we know.” Bobby: “Yeah, what I could get to stick. I never could get you little grubs to pull a trigger on a single deer.” Dean: “You’re talking about Bambi, man.” Bobby: “You don't shoot Bambi, jackass. You shoot Bambi's mother.” [7.09]

“Not young like I was when he actually taught me how to drive.” [15]

Dean says soft rock always put Sam to sleep. [7.16]

Dean talks about learning 101 different ways to make Mac 'n Cheese for Sam at a motel in Scranton while John was off hunting. "ketchup for spice, hmm? Uh, tuna, hot dogs, fluff marshmallow mix." [10.11]

1990

Dean is 11

January - John is injured on a hunt in Windom, Minnesota, and goes to the hospital, where he meets Kate Milligan. [4.19]

September 29 - Adam Milligan is born. [4.19]

At some point Dean makes a sawed off. He's in sixth grade. [3.03]

Dean tries burgers from a seaside shack in Delaware that become his favorite. [4.22]

1991

Dean is 12

December 25 - Sam and Dean are at a motel in Broken Bow, Nebraska while John hunts. Sam reads John's Journal and finds out that Mary's death was supernatural, monsters are real, and that John hunts them. He confronts Dean, who confirms it. Sam gives Dean an amulet. [3.08]

1992

Dean is 13

John buys a Playboy featuring Anna-Nicole Smith, eventually both boys end up reading it. [7.22]

June - Sam tells John he is afraid of the monster in his closet and John gives him a .45. [1.01]

Sam wants to go hunting with Dean. Dean says John said no. John calls to ask Sam to come. [11.08]

1993

Dean is 14

January – Motel Baba Yaga case. Dean says, “I was babysitting you when I was your age”. Sam says "I'm pretty sure that's illegal." Dean sees the nest, a pile of dead kids and has "nightmares about it for the longest time." [15.16]

1994

Dean is 15

Summer - Sam and Dean spend part of the summer being looked after by Donna, a babysitter (and maid at the Mayflower) in Housatonic, Massachusetts, while John hunts. At one pointJohn is gone for two weeks. It is the summer before Sam enters 6th grade, and he assigns himself a summer reading list. Dean possibly has a crush on Donna. [5.12]

October - They are living In Bismark (North Dakota?). Sam has a crush on Andrea Howell & has a really bad experience at her Halloween party, throwing up. Sam hides in the woods until Dean comes and gets him. [14.04]

Sam still believes in the Easter Bunny until close to here. [10.12]

1995

Dean is 16

Dean's first Werewolf. Sam doesn't go to the body burning. "So. I pick up this crossbow. And I hit that ugly sucker with a silver-tipped arrow right in his heart. Sammy's waiting in the car, and uh, me and my dad take the thing into the woods, burn it to a crisp. I'm sitting there and looking into the fire, and I'm thinking to myself, I'm sixteen years old. Most kids my age are worried about pimples, prom dates. I'm seeing things that they'll never even know. Never even dream of." [2.03]

Dean spends two months at Sonny's Home for Boys after being caught shoplifting. [9.07]

April 20 - Dean's award for New York Wrestling Champion. [9.07]

November 13 – Sam's soccer team won division championship. John keeps the trophy. [3.03]

Sam later talks about how John was upset with him for wanting to play soccer instead of learning bowhunting. [1.08]

November 24 - Sam has his first traditional Thanksgiving dinner at his crush Stephanie’s house. He has been attending a school called McKinley for two weeks. [5.16]

1996

Dean is 17

July 4 - Dean and Sam set off fireworks in a field and almost burn it down. [5.16]

At some point when Sam was 13 he ran away for two weeks while under Dean's watch in Flagstaff, Arizona, living off pizza in a cabin and befriending a dog he called Bones. Dean scoured the whole town looking for him and worried he might have died, and John was furious when he found out. [5.16]

1997

Dean is 18

When he's 13, Sam briefly wants to be a magician. [4.12]

Summer - The Winchesters hunt a werewolf. [4.13]

November - Sam and Dean attend Truman High in Fairfax, Indiana, for 3 or 4 weeks, while John is on a hunt that was originally supposed to be 2 weeks but ended up taking longer than expected. Dean is in 12th Grade. It is the third school they have attended since September. [4.13]

1998

Dean is 19

Sam is a mathlete. [4.04]

Summer - While John and Dean are off hunting a Kitsune, Sam stays in Lincoln, Nebraska, and does research for them. While there, he meets a girl and has his first kiss - only to discover that John and Dean's hunt has circled back on him. [7.03]

July - Dean goes on a solo "five states in five days" road trip, but ends up spending most of it in Cicero, Indiana, with Lisa Braeden. In the meantime, John & Sam "tie up a hunt" in Orlando, Florida. [3.02]

Dean meets Rhonda Hurley, she makes him try on her pink, satin panties and he likes it. [5.04]

At some point they spend time with Travis, the hunter. [4.04]

1999

Dean is 20

1990s General

Dean trying to cook Winchester Surprise on a hotplate with food (baloney and sliced cheese) that it seems Sam shoplifted in the rain. John gets home and throws it out. [14.11] In Lebanon John tells Sam he remembers this and apologizes to Sam for it. [14.13]

Sam and Dean visited the Cleveland Botanical Gardens on a field trip. [5.16]

Dean going to CBGB "way underage" and John coming to get him. [10.09]

Hunting the chupacabra in Mexico. Sam is an olderish teenager when he says this happened the year before. [11.10]

John making Dean be bait. [14.14 production draft. Corroborated by 1.20. Putting this in 1990s and not 1980s is very generous imo.]

Dean used to live on “Nerve Damage” (“10 times the legal limit of caffeine”) as a kid. [13.08]

Escalating prank wars? [1.17] Sam mentions a time Dean put superglue in his toothpaste [15.06]

Could be 80s too: Dean: “Remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?” Sam: “You mean the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?” Dean: “Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great.” [3.08]

Sam performing in Our Town. [1.16]

Sam talks about having to make his own dinner as a kid. [5.06]

2000

Dean is 21

2001

Dean is 22

Sam smokes weed maybe. [11.19]

Pre-2002, 2000s General

Sam & Dean driving 1,000 miles for an Ozzy show. [5.22]

Driving two days for a Jayhawks game. [5.22]

John catches Lee and Dean 'wasted' on a hunt. [15.17]

John plays Dean and Lee “Good Ol Boys” before hunts. “Listen up boys this is real music. [15.17]

Sam used to try to get him & Dean to do 'honest work' rather than hustling pool. [5.22]

The Las Vegs annual trip. [7.08]

Sam ran tech for a production of Oklahoma. [10.05]

John gives Dean the Impala. [1.20] (John's Journal suggests this was on Dean's 18th birthday which would have been 1997.)

2002

Dean is 23

John gives Sam the "hunting is life; you can't have connections" speech. [4.19]

Sam says he's leaving hunting to go to Stanford University. John says if he leaves to stay gone. [1.01, 1.20]

September - Adam Milligan meets John Winchester. [4.19] (This could be any time from now til 2003 but I think it would be now because John will want to feel he can replace Sam or do something right.)

Post-2002, 2000s General

Dean sleeps with Annie. [7.19]

Dean sees Lee while Sam's in college. [15.17] Possibly the 'cult thing in Arizona' 'what that thing did to that family, those kids.' Because Lee does one more job after that in Texas and retires.

At some point Dean hunts a Vetala and learns they usually hunt in pairs. [7.11]

At some point Dean hunts a succubus with Richie. [3.04]

Poltergeist case in Kittanning, PA. [1.04]

John teaches Adam to drive using the Impala (this is after John gave Dean the car for his 18th). He also teaches Adam poker and pool. [4.19]

John "used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. Keep an eye on [Sam]. Make sure [Sam was] safe." [1.08] because he was worried Sam was "alone, vulnerable'' [1.20] and "he was afraid of what could've happened to you if he wasn't around." [1.08]

2003

Dean is 24

Dean dates Cassie Robinson. She breaks up with Dean after Dean tells her about hunting. [1.13] It lasts less than two months. [5.11]

June 21 - Dean is involved in a hunt for the father of Cole Trenton, in Nyack, NY. [10.02]

John gets taken from this year into the future in "Lebanon." He is sleeping in the Impala and Dean calls him and he tells him he'll be back soon. [14.13]

2004

Dean is 25

September 29 - John takes Adam to a ballgame for his 14th birthday. [4.19]

2005

Dean is 26, dude.

September 29 - John buys Adam a beer when he's 15. [4.19]

Roughly October 10 - John cuts off contact with Dean. [1.01]

October 31 – Dean comes to get Sam. [1.01]

Dean: "I must have stood outside your dorm for hours... because I didn't... I didn't know what... What you would say. I thought you'd tell me to... to get lost or get dead. And I don't know what I would've done... if I didn't have you. 'Cause I was so scared." [15.20]

General Comments

(i.e. just quotes and things that are too general to place at a specific time. i've sorted them roughly into themes but all of these themes are also present in incidents above.)

Dean says he's been wanting John and Mary back together since he was four. [14.13]

John's absence

Sam: "You remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine." [1.01]

Dean mentions how John would dump him and Sam at Bobby's. [7.09]

Toni Bevell saying about John's drunken rages and weeks of abandonment. Also pointing out that Dean & Sam didn't tell Mary about it. [12.21]

Sam says John would be gone for weeks at a time and "he wasn't exactly a monk." [4.19]

Sam says John "was not around much." [11.05]

Sam talks about worrying when John & Dean would be out on a hunt and he wouldn't hear from them for days. He thought about what he would do. [11.18]

John's drinking

In the pilot Sam comments that John is likely missing because he's drinking. [1.01]

Sam comments that a dad bringing their kid to a wrestling match to distract them while he drinks seems familiar. [11.15]

See also 1980's general [1.22]

John spends Dean and Sam's college funds on ammo [1.20]

Hunting

John saying hunter gatherings were trouble and in general keeping Sam & Dean away from them. [2.03, 12.06]

Dean says he and John weren't using disguises for hunting. [1.09]

Sam saying it seemed to him Dean & John bonded over hunting. [12.20]

Dean learned to use CB radios to look for leads from truckers. John used them all the time. [13.11]

“I'm starting to get why parents lie to their kids. You want them to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing Pop Rocks and Coke—protect them from the real evil. You want them going to bed feeling safe. If that means lying to them, so be it. The more I think about it...the more I wish Dad had lied to us.” [5.06]

Gordon Walker meets John "Hell of a guy. Great hunter." [2.03]

John maintains connections with Caleb, Jefferson, and Pastor Jim. Caleb sometimes supplies him with munitions [1.11]

John hunts with and then has a falling out with Daniel Elkins [1.20]

John hunts with and hooks up with Tara but never calls her back. [9.11]

At some point, John and Bobby have a falling out and Bobby threatens to shoot John if he ever sees him again [1.21]

“Growing up on the road, no matter where Dad dragged us, no matter what we did, there was always a TV. And you know what was on that TV? Scooby and the gang.” [13.16]

Dean: “Ah well, growing up it was a… it was always nice to check out once in a while. I like to watch movies where I know the bad guy is going to lose.” [14.04]

The Hustler was John's favorite movie [15.11]

(for the record, I didn't sort and collate every comment about john or their childhoods here. i mostly tried to pick one which were a little bit more detailed rather than just general attitudes. but if you want to see all comments made about john throughout the show, click here)

#i've been meaning to do this version for so long!#spn info dump #spn fic resource #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #john winchester's a+ parenting #supernatural #spn

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bet-on-me-13 · 1 year ago

Text

Danny was born as a Halfa

So! Jack and Maddie are a little More insane in this.

When studying Ghosts, they become convinced that the only way to defeat the Ghostly Threat is to make a Ghost of their own. One who will fight on their Side. And they do believe that a "Good Ghost" is Possible, but only if fused with a Human to balance out the "Inherent Evil".

So, when Maddie gets pregnant they take the opportunity to try and make one of these theoretical "Halfas" by testing on the Baby in the Womb.

Jazz if Born, and she is not a Halfa. She is merely an extremely Liminal Toddler, so Jack and Maddie consider the experiment a Failure. They raise Jazz as per usual, and then 2 years later Jack and Maddie try again.

They have Danny, and this time he is a True Halfa! They did it! Now all they have to do is turn the Baby into the perfect Weapon against Ghosts!

Danny is raised less like a Baby and more like a Weapon. His Parents still treat him well, and give him some amount of love, but there is never any doubt in his mind that his only purpose in Life is to be the perfect weapon against Ghosts.

The only person who really treats him like something more than a Weapon is Jazz, who likes to sneak into his Room and play with him when they parents are out of the House.

(Later addition: They also have Ellie as a Kid a few years later, but because they messed up the process she is not as Stable as Danny is. She is 4 years younger than he is)

Then, they day he had been preparing for his whole life comes. When he is 10, a Ghost manages to sneak through a Natural Portal into Amity Park, and the Fentons send him to go deal with it as his First Test Run.

But when he gets there, he doesn't find an Evil Ghost bent on killing everyone in town. He finds a Teenage Girl, with blue flaming Hair, crying to herself.

(Idk how long ago Ember died, so lets just assume she died around 6 years before Canon)

He doesn't attack immediately, and when the girl sees him she invites him to sit with her. Against his better judgement, he agrees and sits with her.

She talks to him for a bit, and eventually explained why she was crying. Apparently she only died a few weeks ago and had finally found her way back to the Living World, back home. But when she got there she found that nobody really cared about her Death.

She had died in a House Fire, and because she had spent her entire night waiting for her Boyfriend to show up for a Date, she was too tired to wake up in time to escape.

Her Parents had obviously mourned, but her supposed friends and her boyfriend had hardly cared. In fact, it turned out that her Boyfriend had stood her up because he was cheating on her. So she had run off into the Park and sat down to Cry about it, where Danny had found her.

And Danny is confused.

His entire life, he has heard that Ghosts are Non-Sentient Killing Machines. That they don't feel any emotion aside from Malice. That they aren't People.

But this Girl is as Human as anybody else he has ever known. Perhaps even More Human.

He decides to ignore The Fentons Orders, and lets her go back through the Portal she had come through.

When he gets Home, the Fentons are less than pleased. They are Livid in fact.

Their Perfect Weapon was a Failure after all! It's too much like a Ghost to ever side with the Humans! It's just another Spook!

And they know what to do with Spooks.

They lock him up in the Lab, and decide to cut him open Later to figure out what went wrong.

They'll be successful next time.

Thankfully, their jeers to Danny are heard by Jazz in the other Room, and she doesn't like this one bit. So that night, she takes Danny and Ellie with her and Runs away. They need to get out of Amity Park, out Illinois even. They run and run, sneaking onto Buses, hitchhiking, even jumping on Trains.

Eventually they end up in a place called Gotham City.

...

Ages at the end.

Jazz: 12

Danny: 10

Ellie: 6

#Dpxdc #Dp x dc #Dcxdp #Dc x dp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #Danny is Born a Halfa #The Fentons are Bad Parents #The Fentons are even crazier #Jazz is a Liminal #Danny was born to be a Weapon #Ellie is Danny and Jazz's little sister #She was born a few years after Danny and was born with a Defect that makes her a bit more Unstable than Danny is #Not to the level of completely Liquifying #But she will begin to melt a little if she uses her powers for too long #Now which Character will find them?#A Bat? A Rouge? A Cop? A Civilian?#Maybe Jason?#Maybe Oswald?#Maybe the Commissioner?#Maybe Dr Thompkins?#Also Ember goes back to the Human Realm a few days later to visit her little friend and finds him missing #She overhears a pair of Angry Scientists talking about “turning that half abomination into a pile of spare parts” when they find him #She connects the dots #So now she is racing to find her little friend before those two Insane Scientists do

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krops-spork · 1 month ago

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Hispanic Jayce head cannons (Master list?)

Since my last post, I'm now thinking of head cannons for Jayce

(my family is from Mexico and El Salvador so this will mostly be based on that culture and stuff from my family)

Jayce has definitely been trapped in one of discount stores (Ross, TJ Maxx and Marshalls) with his mom for hours and hasn't recovered since

His mother is supportive of the creation of hextech but she's very superstitious and it's definitely rubbed onto Jayce.

His mother has also given him many blessed objects and now he has a shelf full of them in his apartment and lab

Jayce has definitely heard a noise in the Lab and said fuck no and uses incense to cleanse the place and one time Viktor walked in on him cleansing the place and is like "what the fuck"

The heat from the forge will never compare to eating hot ass caldo on a hot ass day in his opinion

He definitely did the lining up chairs and sleeping on them as a child and still does it as an adult (naps like that always hit)

His mother has scared him with the tale of La Llorona and it lives in the back of his mind every time he hears a drunk woman crying outside when he's having a late night in the Lab

He invites Viktor to come with him to his mom's place and eat a good home cooked meal

Speaking of Viktor visiting, he gets kinda concerned when Jayce and his mother talk in Spanish because they talk really loud and to Viktor it sounds like their arguing

Jayce knows how to dance and tries to get Viktor to dance with Spanish music when it comes on the radio

Jayce has definitely slipped into his native tongue when forgets the English word for something

Vi snapped a belt as a joke and jayce dead ass had war flashbacks

Jayce and his mother celebrate Día de los muertos (or arcane equivalent) and share the tradition it with the kiraman family (Caitlyn and vi do it to honor her mother, Jayce, Viktor, isha, Vander and jinx/powder)

When Jayce is getting intimate with Viktor, he calls him Carino and mi amor, and talks to him softly in Spanish, even though Viktor doesn't understand it

Jayce has tried to teach Viktor a bit of Spanish but dies everytime at Viktor's attempt because of his accent

Caitlyn knows some Spanish and calls him pendejo when he does something stupid, jayce regrets it every time

This is technically canon, but when Jayce talks, he moves his hands to further express what he is saying (Idk if it's a Hispanic thing but a lot of family members do it when they talk sooo)

Jayc still has his gold baby bracelet with his name engraved on it (I still have mine tee hee)

I'll probably think of more later and make pt 2 but this is all I could think of for now, feel free to leave suggestions at well 😊

#arcane jayce #jayvik #viktor arcane #arcane #jayvik headcanons #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #ximena talis

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arcane-ish · 2 months ago

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Preliminary Zaundads timeline

(note: this is not a great, story, it's just what I think fits the facts presented the most)

Vander either falls in love with his miner buddy Silco or they knew each other first and became miners together.

They strike up friendships with their miner budies, Felicia, Connel and Sevika. Maybe they all meet in this shack to spend their breaks or plot their revolution.

At some point they organize. They create or take over the drop. According to Vi's mom they "turned a crack in the earth into a thriving commuity" on the very day where Vi's mom tells them that she's having a kid and Vander names the kid. She credits both Vander and Silco with having had that idea of creating the thriving community.

At this point Vander is satisfied with what they've achieved (We're done).

[admittedly, that could be sarcasm because he knows that they still have work ahead of them] However, Silco is thinking of more, of Zaun. Felicia describes their situation "living week to week" and says that that's "a lot of shit down here" that she would have to protect Vi from.

Vander seems to be into the idea of raising children and already talks about raising more than just a single one.

She talks about carving Zaun out of the bedrock through menial work ("blisters") and that Silco and Vander will figure it out together. Silco toasts to Zaun. Vander only toasts to blisters and bedrock (note that he calls back to that in the letter to writes to Silco after nearly killing him).

Vi gets born, Powder gets born. It seems Mylo and Claggor are sort of around?

Note that even though Powder and Vi are older, their mom and dad still work as miners.

My theory:

1.) Whatever Vander and Silco and the others were doing, they probably funded themselves through the mines? That's why Felicia and Connel kept mining. Or maybe they do deeper tunnels for additional housing? My theory is still that their big thing was to take over the mine they were working in and running it themselves (seize the means of production!) and they were able to fund a their thriving community.

2.) At this point Vander and Silco's relationship becomes more and more unhappy. And Vander distracts himself by throwing himself more and more into his role as an uncle and living vicariously through Felicia and Connel's relationship.

Vi and Powder apparently have a very happy childhool.

However something happens, leading to the Day of Ash uprising. (maybe something threatens their "thriving community") Where Felicia dies and Vander snaps and attacks Silco. However, he afterwards feels bad and writes him a letter, but Silco keeps his distance, not returning for years later.

Now, granted, most of this is still pretty unsatifying. For example, everything about Vi and Powder's childhood looks way too pristine and clean. Mining looks too happy and clean for how shit it should be.

Even Vander's Lanes after he drove out Silco were never that clean. (this is probably my hate for beardless Vander talking, maybe beardless Vander = Vander's self image of his more innocent self)

And that is aside that head canoning Vander and Silco running a criminal enterprise together is just way more fun than them completely sanely funding it through respectable mining.

How exactly did Vander get his Hound of Underground name anyway? I like to headcanon that he was a pit fighter like Vi, but was that before he became a miner or during or afterwards?

And how exactly did he get a reputation as a revolutionary at all when it feels that he barely did anything?

I'm just gonna pretend:

1.) Warwick is not dead. His healing factor will kick in. 2.) These are just the happy, sanitized, idealized memories of Vander's. We will get another flashback that will reveal that the truth was way darker and more fucked up and that Vander's happy memories were as fake as Viktor's happy cult community.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS WILL PROBABLY NOT HAPPEN BECAUSE THERE'S ONLY THREE MORE EPISODES AND THOSE WILL BE DEDICATED TO OTHER STORYLINES THAT STILL NEED TO WRAP UP. I CAN'T HEAR YOU.

#arcane #vander #silco #zaundads #vanco

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the-sinful-voice-witch · 2 months ago

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Crimes against Stephanie Brown:

Getting only 24 issues of her run as Batgirl. I wish she had more, after all isn't Cass getting now a new run as Batgirl again?

Not appearing at the boy wonder comic when it was specifically Robins related and instead they put Barbara as Batgirl (like if you wanted a Batgirl use the fucking Batgirl who used to be a Robin).

Not being included at birds of prey with Cass and Babs.

Getting 2 heroes team projects with her included rejected. (In one she was with Supergirl and Damian, denying us that is a hate crime)

Not appearing in Damian's drawing of people who loves him when she is canonically the first big sister figure he had and she helped him be a kid and have fun.

Getting her character denigrated by Tim's bisexual actions like: dumping her without giving her a reason or having a proper talk, ghosting her for months, only talk to her after their friends force him to do it and then without warning or asking her introducing his new boyfriend to her and make her react like a fujoshi 13 years old wattpad writter saying that "the best day ever" Is meeting her ex' new boyfriend in the most cringe way ever.

The time they tried to erase her time as Robin and Batgirl in the new 52 reboot

Only let her be Robin for 2 months and was fired for doing something every Robin has done more than once.

Dying so fast in DCeased when she became Damian's Robin and never coming back even after Taliah said she would use the Lazarus pit on her.

Not having a visual reaction of Selina, Cassandra, Dick and Babs to her being alive.

Jason not mentioning her to rub it on Batman's face when he came back to life for revenge or mentioning her to black mask, what a wasted opportunity!

Never had the realistic representation of the trauma she should have after being tortured by black mask.

Never hanging out properly again with huntress (well I think they were seen together again once but not enough), Supergirl, Black Canary or Green Arrow junior after the reboot.

The fact that in my opinion she never got a proper apology from all the people that wronged her and treated her badly, like a lesser fighter, like she was a bother, like she wasn't made for vigilante life, I think I saw Tim apologizing to her but it felt shallow.

Not showing us Tim visually crying for her death.

Completely ignore how was her very first interaction with Catwoman, in which Selina was extremely kind and sweet with her only to screw it in the second meeting in her run as Batgirl and later in the new 52 reboot making Selina be a jerk to her.

Making Alfred be cold and dry to her in their first interaction, yes he later cries on her death and then he is very happy when she comes back and later he stands up to her against Batman's stupid tests but it doesn't erase the fact that he was mean to her when he met her and I think that was out of character with Alfred.

Her teen pregnancy arc, some people might think this was a way to make her character more tragic and deep but that pregnancy arc didn't bring anything good to her character because it was all about Tim not her and it makes my blood boil. This arc was just a cheap "easy" Way to make Tim and Steph become closer in their relationship by making Tim be there for her and taking care of her even though he wasn't the father and help her and that and I suppose it was also to make more dramatic her death telling Batman that she had a daughter and Batman be all like: "I'll make sure the baby never has to ask for anything" And then Steph dies... Seriously this is the one thing I wish they could erase from canon FOREVER, making Steph go through that just to make her deepen her relationship with Tim only for getting killed off and eventually dumped with everything she already had on her plate was CRIMINAL

Jason not meeting her properly before the stupid new 52 reboot and still not having the trauma and dead Robin talk with her.

#stephanie brown #dc robin #dcu #dc #dc comics #the batman #batman #batgirl #tim drake #jason todd #jaysteph #timsteph #cassandra cain #barbara gordon

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slepiesheep · 3 months ago

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SpongeBob Truman show AU lets gooo!! Discussing with friends and feeling motivated. Setting takes place decades later. I will analyze, include about my theories, and intentions how the series ends. I made this for FUN, don’t take it too seriously. It's likely that you might not fully understand this if you haven't watched The Truman Show or are unfamiliar with the television theory by Alex Bale. I highly recommend watching the Television theory.

Just a quick note before we start: in the SpongeBob SquarePants universe, the show is canonically a show within the show. For instance, we've seen pirates getting excited about the first SpongeBob movie. Even Patchy the Pirate, the biggest SpongeBob fan, knows about SpongeBob's existence in real life (within the show). If i remember correctly, in the Sponge out of water movie, a child even saw SpongeBob and called out his name. I think that Scientists will do anything to make the show interesting and profitable.

There will be 2 parts of this story.

Part 1

SpongeBob, Squidward and Mr. Krabs gets to celebrate The Krusty Krab anniversary. Mr. Krabs wanted to set sail on a boat trip with SpongeBob, a father-son bonding experience. Mr. Krabs dressed in his sailor hat, a dark blue trenchcoat, and SpongeBob also wore sailor clothes. Yeah Mr. Krabs fucking dies because he took 50% of the show's profits and didn't perform his duties properly 😂 The producers decided to eliminate him from the show, leaving SpongeBob traumatized for his life to increase viewer interest. A horrible thunderstorm hit. SpongeBob tried to pull up Mr. Krabs, but his scrawny arms couldn’t do it. He only managed to grab his trenchcoat. Mr. Krabs’ body was never to be found. Now, SpongeBob is the manager of the Krusty Krab, responsible for keeping the secret formula safe. He opens a notebook to write down important information. Due to aging, SpongeBob started wearing glasses. Plankton tried to exploit his naive nature, but SpongeBob slowly became more mature and courageous like Mr. Krabs. It began to feel like a repeating pattern for SpongeBob. He wanted to get out from Bikini Bottom and experience a new life and travel around the wonders of the nature before growing old and dying. However, when he tried to purchase a ticket for a trip outside of Bikini Bottom, he found that it wasn't an option for him. Strange events happened to keep SpongeBob preoccupied and ensure his continued stay in Bikini Bottom. On his way to work, SpongeBob accidentally bumped into an elderly man, only later recognizing him as Mr. Krabs. Unforeseen, two men appeared, abruptly pulling Mr. Krabs away. creating a distraction with a group of anchovies.

Mr. Krabs boarded a bus as SpongeBob began to question why Mr. Krabs, who was presumed dead, was somehow still alive but never came back to him. Confused, he shared his thoughts with Squidward, who dismissed it and pretended nothing was wrong. Feeling unsettled, SpongeBob decided to visit Sandy at her treedome to talk about what he had seen. Just before putting on his water helmet, it hit him, how could Mr. Krabs have drowned when they all lived underwater? The thought made no sense, and the more he thought about it, the more his suspicions grew. He used to believe this kind of logic was normal. Unsure of what to believe, SpongeBob went to Patrick’s house to tell him about the strange encounter. Patrick seemed confused but not entirely surprised. It felt like Patrick knew something too, as if he'd experienced something similar, but he wasn't ready to talk about it. To distract SpongeBob, Patrick suggested they head to Goofy Goobers for ice cream, hoping to lift his friend’s spirits. The next day, SpongeBob had his driving test. Ms. Puff sat next to him in the boat, still baffled by the fact that after all these years, SpongeBob had yet to earn his license. Determined to do something different, SpongeBob unexpectedly drove off the course, speeding up. Ms. Puff panicked and shouted for him to stop. She was about to take control of the wheel but hesitated, knowing a sudden turn could cause an accident. Despite her pleas, SpongeBob kept going, lost in his own thoughts.

When he drove out of town, he encountered a crowd of people blocking the road. He slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting anyone. A police officer quickly approached and explained that there had been a toxic gas leak in the area, and the entire place was being evacuated. "There’s no way through," the officer warned. Before letting him go, the officer added, “Make sure to drive slower, SpongeBob.” Hearing his name snapped something in SpongeBob, and without thinking, he floored it, trying to make a run for it. The police swiftly caught up with him, arrested him on the spot, and threw him in jail. He was locked up for just one second before they kicked him out again, sending him back on his way.

I'm exhausted. I just ate 15 bite-sized waffles while writing this, and honestly, I have no idea what I just wrote. I'll reread it tomorrow morning and fix any mistakes.

#my art #fanart #spongebob squarepants #spongebob #mr krabs #patrick star #squidward tentacles #spongebob au #felt like I was writing a fanfic on wattpad lmaoooooo

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kurishiri · 4 months ago

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are there any official ages or age ranges for the ikemen villains characters? 🤔

expect updates and edits!

helloo anon! i dont think official ages have been posted, but they have dropped some info so we could make some guesses or ballpark ages. jus be aware as a disclaimer, i’m ballparking in the dark for some more than others, so don’t take my word as the be all, end all. there r probably others with more accurate ideas abt ages. but that said, i’ll try to provide as much explanation as i can under the cut bc spoilers-

ellis: 24

kate: at least 24, maybe around 25-26

ring, nica: 25-27 (?)

liam: 26

jude: 26-29

william: 28

elbie: 29-30

alfons: 30-31

harrison: likely 27-30, but could in all technicality be anywhere from 20-31

roger: 32, as the median

darius: ??? likely a bit older than the twins but the possibility of being the same age or younger than them isnt completely off the table either

victor: ??? but probably the oldest one in crown

explanations under the cut

ellis is the youngest member of crown. he was 12 when he ran away from home, and that was 12 years ago. hence, that would make him 24

kate calls ellis with the —kun honorific in japanese as he is her kōhai (junior), so kate is older than 24. but as ellis is the only one she uses this honorific with in crown, she may be the 2nd or 3rd youngest

liam was 9 when he set fire on his house and lost his parents, and it was mentioned his dad was supposed to be dead 17 years ago, hence making liam 26

if ellis is 24, then roger is probably around 32— we know bc alec, the previous bearer for the curse of the thorns, died when he was 8 or 9 at the oldest. in roger’s rt its implied that one is born with a curse and is first activated from an event, and no two ppl can have the same curse simultaneously, so ellis was born (and received the curse of the thorns) after alec died. so we know from there that roger could be around 8, 9 years older than ellis

it was mentioned roger is slightly older than alfons, though there is not a solid concrete number as to by how many years, but it’s around 2 to 3 years difference

jude is definitely older than ellis, though presumably not by many years. and although this is an if event, in his dark if, kate mentions that jude is a boy around her age. if we give some leeway into that and assuming that part also applies to canon, then he would probably be around 26, if kate is around 26. it is also mentioned when oswald, the doctor who saved jude, was talking about jude’s past, he was talking about a time around 20 years ago, and kate thinks to herself he couldn’t have been older than 10. this puts a cap at jude being 29 in present time.

elbies mom took her own life when he was 6, and that’s around when the doctor started examining his dad. if alfons was still on the streets at 7 years old (implied in rogers past records), he was taken in by the doctor after he was 7. it would make alfons a little older than elbie, but its unknown by how long, but not too many years

i feel in general, alfons age is a bit wishy washy considering we dont even know his “true birthday” .. he jus picked a date (specifically the day he met elbie!) and was like “ye thats my bday now 🙂‍↕️”

will was 14 when he formed crown with victor (it’s unknown how old victor was), and 14 years have since passed. this would make will 28

heavily corrected: harrison’s dad was killed when he was 17, and that happened when william and victor were the only two members of crown. so it could have happened when crown was just founded 14 years ago, making harry possibly 31. and elbie and al were probably the first ones to join crown, for sure at least 3, 4 years ago. that would set the actual age range to 20-31. but he is likely at least 27, considering kate doesn’t use —kun with him, if we assume she’s around 26

now the twins and darius r probably like the most wishy washy guesses out of all of them. for one there’s just not much info abt them out bc theyre v new chars. buut there is some tinie clues.

there is a scene in rogers rt where he asks nica if they met before, and nica replies that he forgot. now it is just as likely that nika is lying here (as its implied he has a good memory), maybe bc he doesnt want to talk abt it or it may also be for ring, but if he is truthful then its probably the case that it was from a time when he was too young to really remember anything, which would probably make him somewhat considerably younger than roger

on rings end, during the “don’t look at anyone but me” event, ring basically asks kate to not be so formal and feels weirded out she uses —san with him (.. as she does with nearly everyone else, with exception of ellis, i think liam, and for one time only, alfons). maybe a part of it is like its in his char to not like formalities, but on the other hand, he never asks alfons to drop —san or use a different honorific with him the same way he did with kate, in the crown vs vogel event. so it may be a reasonable assumption to make that ring may be similar in age to kate .. or at least, more similar in age to kate than he is with alfons. so i ballparked them around 25-27

darius is kind of a mystery— we do know that he has, in some way, saved the twins in the past (presumably from experimentation), so the twins r indebted to him. its probably reasonable to think he is older than the twins .. probably in his 30s even?

that said, seeing as he is of a noble upbringing, as he mentioned this in one of his bond stories where hes like “ik how table manners work bc its been taught to me but i jus choose not to apply them” or smth along those lines. so he could be capable of “saving the twins” even when younger than them or the same age as them if that makes sense

ty to friends @.natimiles, @.valkyyriia, @.candiedcoffeedrops, @.drachonia, @.memoria-99, @.romromi, @.groovylita, @.shatcey, @.dark-frosted-heart who have helped with this! also if anyone else has any more info to drop — or correct — feel free to lmk! i will be sure to credit :>

#ask #anon #ikemen villains #ikevil #イケメンヴィラン #ikevil william #ikevil harrison #ikevil liam #ikevil elbert #ikevil alfons #ikevil roger #ikevil ellis #ikevil jude #ikevil victor #ikevil darius #ikevil nika #ikevil nica #ikevil ring

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hidtired · 5 months ago

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Unfortunate Timing [Part 4]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

5.6k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

Silence… the hum of the RV engine you now sat in filling the air with something other than thought. Daryl was now on what used to be Merle’s motorcycle. You ditched his truck in an effort to save gas. Somehow that is what you were upset about. Not the fact you almost died in an exploding building or that the reason there was room in the RV for you was Jaquan choice of staying in that building. No, it was that dumb rusty truck that had you upset. The truck you had first seen Daryl working on. The truck you took to your first date and shared your first kiss. The start to your romantic relationship happening in those very seats. What a dumb thing to be upset about. You sigh finally turning to see what others in the RV were doing.

Andrea sat across from Shane. She was pouting, not getting her way of trying to kill herself. Dale had saved her yet she seemed like a child denied of a toy at the store. Your sadness about the truck flipped like a coin to detain and a little anger toward her. Mood swings were something you had while on your period. Always quick to realize why you had seemingly flip to one emotion and then the next a little to easily. Just took that first sign of blood to feel a sense of understanding to those emotions. But being pregnant was something else. You elected to practically sow your mouth shut because you were sure to pop with emotions at anyone or thing.

Your eyes moved back to the dirty RV window. Except now everyone had there attention out the windows to. Cars lining and blocking the highway. Some displeased grumbles rolling out of Dale’s mouth, Glenn and T-dog also looking displeased. Daryl rolled up to Dale’s driver side, “M’ gonna go ahead to look for a path, just go an follow me.” It wasn’t even a little while after that the constant hum of the engine spluttered and died. Now that got Dale to slump down in his seat cursing as he hobbled out of the RV opening the hood. While still seated inside the RV you saw a smoke cloud puff out floating up past the wind shield. Didn’t look too good, meaning it would take more time to fix. You took the lead of leaving your seat. If you were going to wait might as well stretch out your legs.

The sun hit you warming your skin. You heard Dale, “Yup dead in the water, don’t know how many times I have to say it…” You knew the thing could only take so much more tape. Rick appearing past one of the many cars, “Problem Dale?” You elected to ignore the conversation when Daryl rolled back in between cars. Walking straight to him he had a smirk and leaned back seeing you approach. You stood to his side putting an arm around his waist. His arm falling over your shoulder, “Piece of shit died again huh?” You sighed, “Thing is more tape than machine at this point.” Daryl chuckled electing to hop off the bike, also coming to the conclusion it would take a while to fix. You and him making your way back to the now gathered group.

“We will resupply up here.” Rick pointed to Dale and Glenn, “You both try and get this thing moving again.” He turned to T-dog and Daryl, “Maybe you both can start siphoning for gas. The rest of you try looking through the cars for anything useful.” It seemed like a good plan to you but before you could turn to start looking for things Lori spoke up, “This place is a graveyard.” Carol also chipping in, “This doesn’t feel to right to take from the dead.” Call you crazy or a bad person but you were looking forward to siphoning through all this stuff. Rick looked thoughtful but continued firmly, “We have to, remember to still have your guards up.” That left you to go about your business. Andrea seeming to head in the direction you were. She walked a little behind you and accidentally kicked something that was at her feet. The thing slid perfectly into your view. A baby bottle…

You and Andrea stop in your tracks. You both look around taking notice of other small toys splattered around and a baby carrier. A baby carrier that’s dirty with blood. You both look up catching the other’s eyes. Yours blank and her’s with a dreaded look. You left her there to contemplate as you went to go search a car. It was farther away than the one Andrea originally went for. Not wanting her to even try to talk about anything. You didn’t want to get in your own head. The car you went through was a small mini van. Looked like a quirky teens first car. Opening the trunk there was a duffle bag and suitcase. A empty tote bag fluttered to the ground. Going through clothes you found what looked to be a band shirt that was an extra large. Something someone would wear to bed maybe. It would make for a good maternal shirt down the road at least. You found new socks and a pair of heavy duty work boots, steal toed and all.

You decide after a while to look through the glove box. While moving around to go to the passenger door you tripped slightly on the bag you dropped. This caused you to turn and kick it off. Lo and behold in the corner of your eye you saw movement, walkers… There were so many of them. Far enough to have not seen you but to close to move any where. You slide down to the ground shimming under the low mini van. You didn’t want to lay on your stomach so you went on your back using your legs to scoot back. You felt jammed in but you needed under farther. Using the bottom of the car to push yourself with your legs. Your foot caught in a gap under the car. You couldn’t pull it out without making a lot of noise. The pressure of your foot was beginning to hurt. But the sound of a hundred feet stilled you. The smell of rotten flesh in the hot sun making you want to hurl.

A few walkers bumped into the car shaking it ever so slightly. It was enough movement however to twist your stuck foot. Now jamming it even farther into where it was. Hot metal touched your skin but you remain quiet. It seemed that there were still a few stragglers left so you wouldn’t have to bare this uncomfortable position for much longer. A few minutes of silence pass, that gave you the permission to start to free yourself. Now it would seem even more unwilling to let go of you. You tried to slip out of your busted running shoe but you didn’t have much of a distance to pull back with you laying down. A sharp object would dig into your ankle if you pulled. Then you started to hear a worried Daryl desperately calling your name. Well this was a little embarrassing…

Daryl POV

While he was on his motorcycle he couldn’t help but think of you saying I love you. Then seeing you happily approaching him when he rolled up on his bike further drove this feeling in his stomach. It was heavy, weighing on him but he couldn’t lie if he wasn’t enjoying it. You were already something new for him but, this was new. He was a fool for you. So when something threatened that it felt 10x worse. A horde from a direction they themselves just came from. He had no clue where you were and if it wasn’t for T-Dog needing his immediate help he might have gotten himself killed looking for you. He needed to remember that you could handle things, you’ve proven that much to him. But after the horde cleared he practically dragged a bleeding T-dog with him in search of you. “Y/N!?” While the yell wasn’t at the top of his lungs like he so wish to do it was still loud.

T-dog leaned against a car as Daryl looked over and under cars. But then T-Dog yelped making Daryl whip around in search of danger. A hand grabbed for T-dog, but your voice sounded from it as well, “A little help?” You sounded strained causing him to dropped down to his knees and lean down to look at you, “Are you hurt?” While you looked uncomfortable you still smiled at him, “Just stuck, think my foot is in between the suspension.” He sighed looking down farther to see where you were snagged, but when he looked back to your face it was pale in shock. Moving his eyes to your line of sight he saw a growing pool of blood on the ground. It came from a slumped T-dog, “He’s not bite, just cut himself on-“ a scream ripped through the air making the hair stand on his neck. Everything still for a second. Because that scream sounds like a little girl. Your voice cut through that stillness, “Go! Take T-dog with you, I’ll be fine down here a little longer!” Daryl didn’t like the idea of leaving you when you’re so vulnerable, but T-dog wasn’t looking to well and something had happen with the others. So he did as he was told. Though he didn’t like it. “Alright’ don’t go anywhere.”

While he lifted T-dog along his shoulders he heard you from under the car, “Yeah, ha ha…” He quickly shuffled back to the group with T-dog being tugged along by him. Faster he got whatever done sooner he could return to you. Dale took notice of them approaching first. However he could only focus on how Lori seemed to be holding Carol back. Dale had gotten closer why he stared off to the alarming situation, “Did he get bite.” Daryl set him down, “He got snagged by a piece of metal.” Carols cry’s made his skin crawl in an unpleasant way. Shane stood pacing near the forest. T-dog was the one to mumble out slightly slurred, “We heard a scream what happen?” Glenn spoke up while Dale tended to him as best he could, “Sophia got chased off by two walkers. Rick ran after her. Just hope they come back.” A sinking feeling of dread boar down inside Daryl. One thought drilled into his mind, ‘This world is not for a child.’ That didn’t feel to good to think. Dale after bandaging T-Dog looked around before worriedly questioning, “Where is Y/N?”

He was about to explained and take back off toward you when shuffling from the forest made everyone perk up. It was just a panting Rick, confused that Sophia wasn’t there. Panic quickly followed, Sophia was missing. Who better to look for her then a tracker, that’s why when people turned to him to find her he paused. You still needed his help and so did a little girl. The burning feeling in him told him to help you first but he knew that he himself didn’t have to be the one to help you, but Sophia did. You had said just at the beginning of the quarry that,

”Where there is people, there’s power.”

He didn’t trust anyone to keep you safe like him but this was exactly what you had been talking about. So before he got pulled along with Rick, Shane, and Glenn. He stopped Glenn, “My girl is stuck under a car, T-Dog can show you which. I can’t do this if I know she still needs help.” It was obvious by Glenn’s face he was surprised he was given such a task by the Dixon. Glenn gave him a determined look, “Ya man I got it.” Now he could only hope you were ok by the time he got back, hopefully with the little girl.

Your POV

When you had said you could stay down here a little longer you didn’t think 15 minutes would pass. Through all that time you still tried to wiggled your way out. All the twisting and pulling making your ankle feel raw. If you could only get your shoe off this would be so much easier, but you were literally pinned under a car. “Y/n?! Is it this one?” Glenn’s calls made you sigh with relief you saw two pairs of feet, “Glenn! Over here!” You saw the lower half of T-Dog slump against a car, least he wasn’t leaving pools of blood. Glenn’s face quickly appeared blocking your view. Your expression was probably very apparent to your discomfort and overall displeasure with the situation. Your voice came out in a slight pant due to being hot,

“What happened? Where is Daryl?”

Glenn looked down to see where your foot was before speaking, “Sophia got chased by a few walkers, Rick had killed them but now we can’t find her. Daryl is the only tracker we have so…” Ball of emotion stuck in your throat, Sophia had already had it bad and now she was in danger. It’s good Daryl went to go after her. Glenn now focused on your stuck leg not wanting to stare at the sad expression you wore. He slide under closer to your foot finally getting to see what your foot was stuck on. Glenn’s disgruntled mumbling told you nothing good, “Shit… Looks like car owner ran something over making a gaged edged hole.” You felt Glenn slide a hand around your ankle causing you to hiss in pain. Glenn winched but spoke with apology, “I can cover the sharp edge but you’re just going to have to pull back as hard as you can.” You sighed, “Try pulling the heal of my shoe off first.” Feeling his finger wiggle its way down your heal to slightly pop it out, then he moved your pant leg but paused and gasped.

“Your ankle is turning blue and purple.”

You needed out fast… while you did feel like you could feel it pulsating the thing that worried you was the throbbing was slowly replaced by a cool tingling. You brace your fist into the asphalt, “Then I need out now, I’m ready.” Glenn started to count down while blocking some of the sharper edges. When your foot original went through it pushed that metal back with. Now you had to pull against it, that is what had you stuck. You felt the pull on your skin before it ripped, that caused you to scream as you still pulled back as hard as you could. When your foot popped out of your shoe the release finally freed you. Glenn helped pulling you out from under the car. The first thing you noticed when the light hit you was the blood. Some scraps on your hands while pulling back on the road and blood running down your ankle into your sock. Glenn pulled your pants leg up as it too was ripped now. “Holy shit!” T-dog exclaimed while catching sight to the contrasting colors of red and the deep blue color of your skin.

You were lightheaded while now sitting up right. Your previous screaming had got the attention of the others, Dale followed by Andrea came hearing your pained screams. Your face felt flushed and you felt like you were sweating buckets, you started to slump slightly but Dale now was in front of you. You were dazed but Dale wrapped something around your leg snapping you back into some kind of alertness. Your eyes felt heavy but you still didn’t protest when Dale and Glenn held you from under your shoulders. Andrea helping a paling T-dog walk after you.

A headache started to form but the longer you were upright the more you got used to it. Maybe you were just a little too warm and the slight blood loss wasn’t helping. When you were sat in the shade next to the RV the breeze hit you immediately making you feel better. You heard voices asking questions but water was put in front of you which you gladly took. You felt slightly swarmed by people but Dale now had your pant leg rolled up and foot bandaged. Everyone moved closer to where Carol was by some metal guard rail as a figure came out of the woods behind it. It was Shane coming back alone, “Daryl and Rick are on her trail. She seemed to get spooked and took a wrong turn.” Carol just nervous shook and continued to stand starring out into the woods that you assumed Sophia ran off into. Shane now commanded people to get back to what they were doing previously, pushing out commands in a way that after hearing Rick’s way of leading made Shane seem less in some way. Not really bad but not good by any means. Oh boy and when he say you sitting on the ground next to the RV with an equally busted T-dog you wouldn’t like what followed from his mouth.

“Daryl just left you out there injured? Tsk, not surprised…”

He mumbled the last bit but you caught it. The fury you had to have a lock on seemed to chip a little, “Watch your mouth.” You sent a glare up at him as he gave you a surprised look not expecting any bark back. Even when it looked like you wanted to you never had. You’ve never really had a problem per se with Shane but he was starting to pull a feeling from your the reeked danger. Shane just tsked before bossing everyone around again. You glanced over to T-dog who was starring at you with his eyebrows raised which got you to chuckle. You leaned back closing your eyes. The air was nice but you now felt the ache back in your foot. Dale spooked you while you drifted off with your eyes closed. He helped move you into the RV, you pass a new stain on the floor but you lay down in the back choosing to ignore it. You were relaxing laying down, exhausted and now in pain. With you being pregnant you had only little experience with your ankles swelling, hence why you used to dip your feet into the quarry. Now this was just adding to it, Daryl isn’t going to like it that’s for sure.

Commotion happened outside, they had come back and by the sounds of it without Sophia. Carols cries and screams attributing to that, then you over heard the flutters of your name. Heavy steps came to the RV door before it creaked open with force. You could only hear heavy breathing as they moved to the back where you were lying down. Daryl’s frantic eyes landed on you searching your body for something. His hand moved to your face as the other rested on your stomach. He had came in so fast it took you a second to notice the blood on him.

Now here you are both worried about each other, “Are you ok!?” It was Daryl to get the first words out shortly after you, “Your covered in blood! Are you hurt?” You moved gripping on to his shirt now leaning into a sitting position. His arms pulling you into him, “is’ not mine.” He moved is words quickly while asking again, “Your both ok right?” You blinked up at him, taking in his words before stuttering out another concern, “I’ll be fine. Is… is Sophia?” You pointed down to the blood that ran down onto his pants as well. He sighed confirming you were not in such a bad shape as the others lead him to believe, ‘You should go look for yourself.’ With faces that said say your goodbyes. “It’s from a walker. Gettin to dark, don’t want to ruin her trail.” His eyes moved down to your foot, covered in bandages. “Picking up the search at dawn.” His eyes flicked back to yours questioning your injury. The look in his eyes reeked of guilt.

“It’s swollen, maybe sprained. The blood is from scraping in on metal, nothing deep I promise.” You saw him gulp and the way he was beating himself up inside. You knew he struggled with feeling like he was doing right by you. So you tapped him to look at you, “Hey, it would have been the same outcome if it was you dragging me out from that car.” He inhaled nodding while looking to you sheepishly, “Your in a shit ton of pain aren’t you?” You wrinkled your nose at him with a ‘no shit’ smile. You lean back laying down again, “Couldn’t even take the kind of medicine I would need while pregnant…” He sat close to your legs looking down to you his thumb went to his mouth and he chewed on it.

You turn you head looking at him knowing it was his nervous thinking habit, “Daryl…” His hand moved from his mouth, “Can I do anythin’ for ya?” He needed to feel helpful so you thought for a second before giving him an awkward smile, “Yes actually, something that I think I’d only let you do.” Now that was something that peaked his interest. He quirked an eyebrow at you expectantly so now you took a step in your relationship you’ve had yet to cross, “I’m gonna need your help going to the bathroom.” You had yet to really get into that part of the relationship, the weird stage you would say. Closest you’ve come is when on the rare nights where Merle was out of the house and you stayed over an he would watch you frantically get ready in the morning to open the store. He would sit back and just watch, simpler times he supposed.

He didn’t even say anything before dragging his arms under you and lifting you into his arms. Her wish is his command. He knew the RV bathroom hadn’t worked for a while so someone would’ve have to hold you while went about your business. Ya definitely a him only thing. The others only glanced seeing him carry you off somewhere. You’re not gonna lie this was embarrassing. He set you down on your good foot helping you balance. You watched his eyes glance around the wooded area he took you. You giggled causing him to look back to you. You smiled, “This is weird…” He ended up having to hold both your hands as you crocheted down. Daryl just scoffed completely nonchalant, “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

5 minutes later Daryl was seen carrying you back just before it became truly night. In the RV Carol now was laying in the spot you once were. She faced the wall in an attempt to hide her cries. Daryl looked uncomfortable but you put a finger to your lips before trying to wave him back. You would sleep that night in a car you cleared out. With a window crack to let in some fresh air in. But throughout the night Carols cries was to much for the Dixon next to you. You would sometimes wake at the sound only to see Daryl still awake next to you. But you couldn’t help the exhaustion that pulled on you. You felt him move next to you leaving you to groggily open your eyes to look if something had happened. In the morning it took you a moment to put together it actually happened and Daryl left to go look for Sophia. He had whispered, “Can’t take it, M’ go lookin’.” Which you guess you mumbled a tired, “Be careful.” and knocked back out. The next time you woke up he was next to you again seeming to not even had left your side.

In the early morn the search party was formed. You, T-dog, and Dale being the only to remain at the highway. Before Daryl left he personally cleaned your wounded ankle. Seeing for himself gave him peace knowing the swelling was the problem and not the cuts. You told him you would stay off your feet and you did. Sitting in the shade next to T while Dale stayed on watch. You hasn’t really talked to them personally only knowing things from them that others have asked and you just heard. So here you were talking trying to pass the time waiting for the others to come back.

“So you don’t mind me asking if he was a one night stand?”

You had told them you really didn’t mind any question. You chuckled replying to T-dog, “Oh trust me this-” You point to the small bump of your stomach, “Did not happen over night.” You raised an eyebrow suggestively at the implication. That got Dale laughing with T-dog making a face like he didn’t like the image going on in his mind. You shift back leaning your head on your hand in thought, “Honestly the reason I even met Daryl and started dating him was because I was running away from getting in a relationship in the first place.” They both look at you to continue seeming interested in you and the Dixon. “My parents thought I was throwing away my life by not being pregnant and married by 20. Very religious…. So I left not wanting to conform to there ideas.” You slip a hand to your stomach, “Guess they got what they wanted in the end. At least I got to pick the man.” You smiled fondly at the thought… ya you got the man you wanted.

Other then T-Dogs high fever and possibly infected arm, there wasn’t much to do so you took a nap in a quest to quell the deep rooted exhaustion in you. You woke up hearing unhappy voices. They were back and your guess no Sophia. You hopped you way to the RV door opening it gaining everyone’s eyes. You noticed that it wasn’t only Sophia to not be with them. Daryl looked stressed and when he saw you balancing on a leg in the door he moved to help you. You worriedly asked, “What’s going on, where is everyone else?” By your count Lori, Shane, Rick, and Carl were gone.

Daryl had his hands around your waist keeping you balance. The look he had was a mix of pissed but also upset. His teeth unclenched before he spoke giving a strain to his voice, “No sign of Sophia, worse Carl has apparently been shot.” You gasp slightly wobbling leading him to pull you to regain balance. A ball of pressure was felt in your throat but you choked it down to speak, “Where are they?” Daryl could hear your attempt at holding in your emotions, something he knows you have been struggling to do. He sighed running a hand down your arm, “Some lady on a horse took Lori after saying Carl was shot. They have a doctor treating him at there farm.” Your grip on him tightened, ‘another kid…’ no you couldn’t finish that thought a second further. Daryl’s face however looked like he had more to say, more to say that he was not happy about. He bite the edge of his lip before speaking.

"Glenn is taking T-dog to that farm for the doctor, I said you were going with him."

His face reeked of guilt, and the unpleasant feeling left in your stomach probably didn't translate well to your face. He at the sight of your obvious dislike to the idea tried to sputter out why, “Just don’t need anythin’ happen to you… and them.” You sighed, you weren’t planning on arguing about it with him, “I know you’re right I should go. Just don’t like us splitting up, makes me nauseous at the thought.” You eyes behind to form a slight sheen, before Daryl could say anything you beat him to it, “Said I was going to follow your lead didn’t I?” Daryl’s shoulders unclench from tension, he slide his arm under your legs and picking you up by your thighs. The sudden action making you panic and grab around his shoulders. “What are you-“ he walked inside the RV mindful of your head not wanting to slam it on the doorframe.

Before you knew it you were sat down with him at your side, he moved his handed on top of yours. His shy approach reminding you of your first date. “It’s ok you know. To scream, to cry, get mad. You’re gonna burst.” Your lip trembled, so it had been clear to him your battle with yourself. You sigh leaning on his shoulder, “I know… I just can’t seem to do it in front of everyone in fear we will be cast out. We were already outsiders once.” That comment surprised him, not expecting your reasoning. His arm circled around your shoulder, “I’ll take you out hunting when your better. Scream and cry all you want then.” You chuckle, in all honesty most of the time you go frustrated or overwhelmed with sudden emotion Daryl unknowingly helped ease everything. Silence fell comfortably between you both simply enjoying your remaining time together before you part.

Now you find yourself in the back seat of a truck. Glenn in the driver seat and T-dog in the passenger. You watch him pull up to a gate next to a mail box ‘Greener’ written in faded paint. After getting through and closing the gate, the road lead to a farm house. The porch now filling with people at the sound of your guys car. You were left in the back seat while Glenn rushed a declining T-dog, pill bottle bag that you learned was from Merle in hand. Surprising he had useful drugs with him, and not so surprising that he had drugs with him. It was a long time before you decided to get out the car yourself Glenn be damned. You hopped until reaching the porch leg throbbing at the use, it was tired of being the only one keeping you standing. You sat on the stairs to the porch. It sounded like something had happened inside but the commotion was just now subsiding.

You looked on to see open space filled with animals and not a walker in sight. You sat there in thought until a loud, “Oh shit!” broke your peace, Glenn stumbled out of the front door only to stop seeing you sat on the steps. He moved closer to you offering a hand to get up, "I'm so sorry, everything was moving so fast and I forgot you couldn't walk." He sighed with a twinge of remorse, "T-dogs all patched up so lets get you looked at." You sat up with the aid of Glenn and got into the house. Glenn was moving to sit you on a chair but you were lost in thought at the sight of a lamp on. It felt weird seeing a light on now. An older women appeared from a hall, "Hello dear, My name is Patricia." She approached gently, looking down to your legs noticing you were missing a shoe and for good reason. You foot was swollen and a ring of black formed around your ankle with purple spreading from it. She gasped before you could even introduce yourself. She turned looked back to the hall and called out, "Maggie! I need you to get some ice!" She knelt down raising your foot to rest on another chair.

A younger women came quickly around the corner. "Could only find a frozen bag of- who is this?" You looked like a deer in headlights then you hissed and flinched as fingers moved around your foot. A scab that had started to tried and form now knocked off your skin causing blood to slowly drip down. Patricia turned to the girl you could only assume to be Maggie, "Another of there group." Glenn was stood sheepishly off to the side, "I kinda forgot her in the car." The sterile smell of alcohol reached your nose before you felt the sting to your injure. You lean back with a hiss, before Patricia could mumble out an apology you spoke through the pain, "How ah- How's Carl? Is he ok?" A second of silence followed for Glenn decide to speak, "Alive, semi-stable. Shane and one of theirs is out looking for the stuff to fix him. Hershel is the doctor and is with Carl right now, he- he had a stroke few minutes ago."

A bandage had been wrapped around your leg while you listened. You let everything sink in only looking back up when a rag follow by a cold weight being laid over it. Looking down a zip lock bag filled with peas adding a relief in the constant burn that was your ankle. You sigh leaning back into a slump the diner room chair backing pressing into your back. A door opened somewhere in the house, then you see Rick. Lori at his side almost as if she was the sole reason he could stand. He was pale but also sweating making his hair stick to him. He wobbled to a couch with Lori, not before you catch a sight of the bandage wrapped around his inner arm. It was strikingly clear now why he wasn't with Shane. He was Carl's blood source. The depth this man is going for his son is admirable if not heartbreaking. Close to having blood lose it seems.

Why is it so hard to keep these kids safe, and what were you and Daryl going to have to do to keep yours alive.

Part 5

Feedback welcome and requests open!

Got diagnosed with depression and put on anti-depressants. So hope my story writing will become more frequent. Sorry for stalling on uploads. They also took 5 out of 7 vials of blood…. They stopped because I passed out at 5.

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

DAY SIX OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: slasher au (still takes place in the tlou'verse) + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, soft dark fic, horror, murder mystery

summary: bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in jackson. as the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

word count: 10k (i don't know what happened)

warnings: dubcon at the end, knife kink, descriptive canon typical violence, blood & mild gore, grief and death, an unpleasant guy hitting on you, murder, face-sitting, throat-fucking, mutual oral sex (69), dirty talk, possessive!joel, exhibitionism (tommy watches very briefly, he also kisses you in a platonic way), sex in the woods, piv, Joel is actually quite nice if you exclude the murders, mild breeding kink, size kink, little bit of blood kink

a/n: the owl mask joel wears in this to hide who he is is inspired by @softlyspector's post about the tawny owl mug joel uses in tlou part 2 which I still get sad if I think about it for too long 😭

Bodies have been dropping dead all around you long before the outbreak.

Maybe not in the everyone-you-know-is-getting-infected-and-killing-people type of way, but more so in a death-never-felt-like-a-stranger-to-you sort of way. Yet, you still don’t know how to deal with death. Your grief is as violent as a butterfly flapping its wings; the strength of it non-existent but you never know where, or when, it’ll cause a storm.

First, it was your grade school teacher. You didn’t have a particularly strong bond with her but you did like her. You still remember how your friend's voice quaked as she gave you the news on a landline. You couldn’t believe it and had to accuse her of making a joke, even though you knew she would never joke about something like this. Then your dad took the phone from you and you just assumed your friend's mom did the same. The next week, when you went back to school and the funeral was now behind all the children in the classroom, the custodian cut the last tablecloth your teacher had used for her desk and gave a piece to each and every one of you. It was a vibrant orange cloth with daisies scattered around – ugly, but you still cherished it.

Then it was your pets, grandparents – there was also the time when your pet-crazed neighbor adopted another smaller dog while she still had two untrained, over-energized dogs, and the two twins ripped the other dog apart. You had seen the carnage. By some miracle, that small, fluffy dog named Sugar was still breathing, alive. You had held a blood bag over the dog's head, hoping that the small animal wouldn't die.

She didn’t die that day, but it sure as hell left a scar on you.

As a kid, you never seemed to quite grasp the ways of grieving. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t cry. You just. . thought about it. However, the emotions came differently when you became an adult. Now when someone close to you died, you felt it more violently, oddly enough you still fought against the tears and only cried when you were alone.

On Outbreak Day, you lost everything.

Your family, your friends—your life, now it was all about survival, but survival towards what, you didn’t know. You killed for it, fought for it. Yet every move you made felt automatic like you were wired to at least try and survive — to wait it out and not be left behind when civilization rebuilt itself once more.

You made some friends along the way and lost some friends too. You locked their faces and their memories in your heart, only unlocking the box when you were truly and utterly alone.

Then you found Jackson.

And you met Joel and Tommy Miller.

Your official title is scavenger but you much prefer to label yourself as an explorer instead.

You’ve adapted to your quite well life at Jackson. You go beyond the borders, sometimes alone and sometimes with other fellow explorers, and gather supplies or try to pinpoint other locations threats might be lurking in. You’re about to go on another trip, this one shorter than your regular one to two-week expeditions, but before heading out you decide to stop by the only bakery in Jackson named The Last Crumb—previously named The Cordyceps Crumb but Maria decided it was in bad taste. You, on the other hand, had found it funny and topical.

As you patiently wait in line, your camping bag waiting for you outside the bakery, someone bumps into you from behind, then never moves back.

You turn with a raised eyebrow, not enjoying the close proximity, “Excuse you,” you snap. The man looks at you with a hint of mischief in his eyes, you roll your eyes when you recognize the face. “Move back a beat Tucker, I’m not in the mood this morning.”

“Someone didn’t get her beauty sleep,” he grins but moves away regardless. “Want me to come with you this time? Sweet thing like you alone out there? It’s ain’t right.”

“You can barely aim. Why would I want someone that’s most likely to get me killed around me?”

“I think you’ll find my company to be plenty entertaining.”

You’re about to gag when the bell of the bakery chimes, the sharp sound echoing through the wooden walls. Your face must've shown immense signs of relief because Tucker turns around to see who you're looking at. His instant frown makes you want to laugh and chuck him between the two men you’d describe as a wolf den.

“Well, if it ain’t the Miller brothers,” Tucker tuts, attempting to give one of them a friendly pat on the shoulder. He stops midway when Joel’s gaze flits between you and him, his glare hard enough to cut diamonds.

So he ends up slapping Tommy’s shoulder instead, which isn’t the best thing since you know the younger Miller hates Tucker. But among the brothers, he’s probably the one with less probability of getting your hand bitten off.

“Mornin’ Tucker,” Tommy answers, forcing a smile.

Joel is less friendly, his words directed at you, “Is this dumbass botherin’ you again?”

“I wouldn't exactly call a greeting among friends “botherin’,” Tucker says. “We’re just catchin’ up, no need to get your panties in a bunch Miller.”

“God, you’re one word away from ruining my morning,” you hiss, glaring at the unpleasant man. “And we’re not friends.”

His brows furrow, eyes going hard with an ugly snarl accompanying them, you feel braver when Tommy and Joel are around so you hold his gaze, not flinching away.

Tommy is the one to ease the tension. He lays a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing the man’s attention away from you. “I’ll get you what you want a’right Tucker? It’s on me. Just go wait outside.”

“But—”

“Outside, Tuck,” Tommy repeats and you shudder at his tone.

Tucker’s shoulders drop, defeated, “Fine, get me a raisin bagel.”

He doesn’t wait for Tommy’s response and heads out the bakery. You finally release the breath you’ve been holding, your muscles relaxing along with the exhaled breath. Joel is by your side in the blink of an eye, his broad shoulder brushing yours providing comfort.

“You sure you’re a’right?” he asks, gently curling fingers under your chin. “The prick didn’t do anythin’?”

“Nah, nothing. He’s all bark but no bite. He asked if he wanted to join me today as if that buffoon wouldn’t get me killed.” you shrug, men being assholes was nothing new to you. You’re just glad that in Jackson it seems that there are more good apples than rotten ones. “Too bad even paradise comes with drawbacks.”

Joel snorts as Tommy cuts in, “Maria would be thrilled if she heard you calling it paradise.”

“What are you smiling at? You think you can find anywhere better?” You playfully nudge Joel with your elbow. “You know there’s nothing but hell out there.”

“I do, I just think callin’ here a paradise is a bit of a stretch is all.”

The line moves and the three of you are finally at the counter, “You’re just a grump,” you tease Joel before turning your gaze to Poppy, the barista who knows everything about everyone. “Hey there, Poppy, the usual please.”

“And a damn raisin bagel,” Tommy adds.

“Well, isn’t it my favorite trio,” Poppy grins. “I’ll get all that ready for you in a second,” she locks her blue eyes on you and leans closer, you mimic her by instinct. “By the way have you heard of Ian? He wound up dead right outside the chopping block, an axe right through his chest.”

You frown, “Good morning to you too, Poppy. Jesus Christ.”

“I’ll confess I didn’t love the guy but isn’t it worrying that there’s a killer among us?” she murmurs while stuffing the goodies in paper bags. “Be careful out there.”

“Well, if the culprit is here I think I might be safer out there,” you say and turn to Tommy. “Does Maria know?”

“Of course, she does,” when you part your lips to say more, he lifts a finger and shoots you a crooked smile. “It’s confidential.”

“Aw man, can’t you just tell us who she thinks it is?” Poppy asks, Tommy shakes his head and she lets out a dramatic sigh, “I miss my murder mystery books.”

“I’ll try to find you something while I’m out,” you say, ignoring the way your heart began to race. Jackson is still a small town, it’s jarring to think someone might be out there, looking for their next target. “Though I think we could all do with a little less murder.”

You hadn’t expected your voice to crack but your tone had betrayed you. Poppy extends you the bag of goods and a latte, as you reach out you feel Joel’s hand on your waist. His lips touch your ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m sure whoever it is is only goin’ after those who deserve it.”

You lock your eyes with him, blinking heavily at the weight of his words. His voice had dropped, nothing but gravel as he whispered the words into your ear. A cold sensation slithers down your spine, chilling you to your core and making your throat tighten.

His hand never leaves your waist as the three of you head out, and after a while, that chill slowly dissolves into a pleasurable warmth.

You find solace in the woods. You love Jackson, but being in the woods away from everyone and everything makes you feel comforted. The first time you went scavenging, there was a slight fear in your movements; no matter how good your aim was, any kind of infected was difficult to kill.

But now you walk with ease. There isn’t an ounce of worry in your bones. The trees rustle happily and the smell of flowers and pine fills your nostrils. You can feel your lungs rejuvenating with every breath. Trickles of orange sunlight pour from the gaps of the trees. The sun sets, meaning you need to set up camp soon.

While unpacking, you think of this morning. How Joel and Tommy stepped in when Tucker started bothering you. Honestly, you didn’t need their protection; Tucker is just one of those men who think they might have a shot if they bother you enough times. Still, it was nice to be claimed in a way, to be accepted into a family and cared for.

Your breath hitches slightly. Tommy, you see as a close friend, a brother perhaps, but Joel... Joel is another thing. Just thinking about him is enough to start a wildfire between your legs. You wish you were brave enough to do something about it, though. Whenever you two patrol together or stay awake late at night drinking, you always chicken out in the end. It doesn’t matter how his hands linger on your thighs or his eyes drop to your lips; you're just never convinced that the Joel Miller would be interested in you beyond a friend.

An unease starts to settle in the pit of your stomach. As the air grows colder with the approaching night, your skin prickles and you feel the phantom sensation of claws dragging down your back. You set the tent as quickly as you can, your eyes darting around the depths of the forest. Briefly, you bend over to adjust the ropes.

A breath warm and damp ghosts the back of your neck and you jump, gun in hand as you turn around only to find—

Nothing.

And no one.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, adrenaline pumping in your veins, a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead. You've never had a trigger finger, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to just shoot every shadow you see.

“Dammit Poppy,” you mutter, annoyed that she gave you the brutal knowledge of Ian’s death right before you were heading out. Guilt stings at your heart. Ian was an asshole for sure, and you don’t exactly feel bad that he’s gone, but still, it was an eerie thought that someone had murdered him so violently. It had to be personal.

Some part of you wishes Joel was here, or even Tucker, just another human being to tell you you’re just seeing things.

You take a deep inhale and follow it up with a long exhale. You’re fine. There’s no one here.

You give your surroundings one last suspicious look before going back to setting the tent.

No matter how hard you try you can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you amongst the shadows.

Joel hears crickets and owls. The night had always been his friend since the outbreak. He had become a violent man with an equally violent heart. He waits in the shadows, watching. Laughter and playful shouts echo from the bar, and soon the door swings open; the man he's been waiting for crawls out of the establishment, shit-faced. The drunk man shouts his farewells and staggers toward his home.

Joel follows, his mask heating up the skin that lays underneath. His fingers itch with the need to wring that asshole's neck. One by one, he had been cleaning Jackson for the better. His tendencies subdued while also doing some good. Ian was one of those people who deserved it and Joel had enjoyed the chase, the pleas, he especially enjoyed the way he tripped and cried right before he sunk the blade of the axe through Ian’s chest.

Tucker trips, making Joel want to laugh. The idiot might not even realize he’s being hunted. Joel looks around, they are far enough for the chase to begin. Tucker continues to slip and fall as he attempts to get up. Taking the opportunity, Joel walks towards him with quick steps, making sure the first thing the asshole sees is his mask.

Tucker notices him before he gets up, his hands bracing the ground, his eyes go wide, “What the fuck?”

Joel only tilts his head. He sees the trembles rolling down the other man’s body, he relishes in his fear.

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble, whoever the fuck you are so. . . scram.”

Joel’s eyes dart to his hand on the dirt, without a second thought he lifts his foot and curb stomps Tucker’s hand. Then he kicks the side of his face, an audible crunch echoing before his scream could. The man whimpers and falls back in his attempt to crawl away. He holds his jaw, blood streaming down his broken nose.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

He steps closer and watches as Tucker’s eyes bug out. He’s too drunk to properly run away or even scream. Such an easy target. He grips the other’s hair and lifts him to his feet, he can feel the strands starting to rip from his scalp one by one, Tucker’s face twisting in pain. “Your worst fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel answers eerily calm. It doesn’t matter if Tucker recognizes him. He’d be dead soon enough anyway.

“P-Please,” he begs, realizing the same thing. “I’ll do whatever you want promise. I don’t want to die.”

Joel grunts, not dignifying his pleas with an answer. Lifting his other hand, his knuckles connect to Tucker’s face with a loud crunch, body flying to the ground headfirst.

He pulls out his knife and drops down, ignoring the ache in his knees, he grabs Tucker’s arm and aligns the sharp blade against his wrist. Tucker notices, his face going pale as a ghost. “D-Don’t—”

Joel doesn’t bat an eye as blood spurts violently over his clothes and the dirt. Drops of crimson seeping into the fabric. The knife cuts through the flesh like butter, severing hand from bone. His hand clamps over Tucker’s mouth. Joel smiles as his screams bounce off of the palm of his hand.

You come back to Jackson hand empty and earlier than intended. You were too much at unease, and being so jarred wasn’t the best while scavenging for supplies alone. During your trip, you did end up scribbling something for Poppy. It wasn’t finished but you hoped she would enjoy the first draft of the first chapter. It was mostly descriptions of what you felt, a cat-and-mouse game between two people who had bumped into each other accidentally.

While heading into Jackson, you notice a crowd in the distance. You promptly get off your horse and walk with haste. You recognize Joel and Tommy easily, both brothers standing on each end of the crowd like gates keeping a herd of sheep in check. Ellie is standing right next to Joel, lifting herself on her toes to see; Joel is holding her back by gripping the cap of her hood.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Joel turns to you, his eyebrows raising when notices it’s you and not some random person he has to ignore, “You’re back,” he says. A statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, wasn’t feeling that well,” you shrug him off. “So what happened?”

His eyes turn to steel, his jaw locking in place. Before you can ask again, he gestures for you to move up the crowd with a tilt of his head.

“Lucky,” you hear Ellie murmur as you walk ahead, gently pushing those who were looking at the sight with concern. With every step you take, the murmur of the crowd fades into the background, becoming nothing more than white noise. Maria is addressing the crowd, you think, though you're not entirely sure. The scent of blood is thick in the air, disorienting you as you get closer.

Your eyes go wide, the earth slips from beneath you but your expression remains emotionless.

It’s Tucker.

You feel as if you’re standing alone. As if you’re the only one taking in the sight of absolute horror and gore. Tucker is lying in a pile of his own blood face first, his eyes are open and lifeless, his one hand is outstretched like he’s about to crawl away.

His right hand, however, is chopped off.

It’s not even a clean-cut. The edges of his flesh are jagged and crooked, his blood-caked where his hand should be. Whoever did this cut it so it would hurt, so he would suffer tremendously.

You can’t help but gasp, covering your mouth with your right hand. You begin to shake, confusion churning in your stomach as bile coats your tongue. He’s dead. Just like Ian.

When Maria’s eyes find your own, she narrows her gaze, a small warning for you to keep it together. You can’t though. How could you? Tucker was alive and kicking a couple of days ago, just being his annoying self around Jackson.

“Calm down,” you hear Joel mutter into your ear. You shiver at the brush of his lips. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. You want to laugh. You don’t even know what that word means anymore.

Joel’s mouth moves over the shell of your ear, “He was a nuisance. Don’t feel bad now that he’s dead.”

“I didn’t want him to die,” you hiss back. “And knowing there’s a serial killer out there doesn’t exactly make me feel safe.”

Despite your half-angry tone, you find yourself leaning into Joel’s presence. Your shoulder presses into his broad chest, and without missing a beat he wraps his arms around your shaking frame. Relief comes in the form of warmth spreading along your chest, tingles forming at the tips of your fingers and toes. The voices of the crowd gradually come back but you only hear one of the many questions.

“What do you think the message means?”

Confusion crosses your face, brows furrowing as you try to make sense of it. Joel makes a choked-out sound that could’ve easily been taken as an amused chuckle.

Then your eyes drop to Tucker’s outstretched hand and his dying message written in blood.

O W L

A week had passed since Tucker’s death.

You've been thinking about both murders relentlessly, trying to piece together everything that you know so far. During this time, you're grateful for Poppy, who comes by almost every night to help you try to solve the case. That's been your sole focus for the past few weeks; you haven't been scavenging since you spooked yourself so badly that you returned early, only to find Tucker dead.

Some part of you thinks that the eeriness you felt that day was a sign of what was about to happen. It's also an odd coincidence that he ended up dead the same night he harassed you in the morning. However, there are no forensic investigators in Jackson, so it’s almost impossible to determine the exact time of death. That fact alone makes you anxious. It only means that whoever is killing everyone has nothing to worry about because even if they leave traces, who’s going to know?

In order to keep your nerves in check you end up writing a lot. You haven’t shown any of it to Poppy yet but you’re excited. You never thought writing a thriller would be the perfect way to escape the horrors of your actual life. At least in your stories, you have control.

You also visit Joel and vice versa.

Something had shifted the day he held you as you both gazed upon Tucker’s lifeless body. Maybe it was just you who felt bolder since death was once again right around the corner — or maybe Joel just felt more protective now, wanting to check on you as much as he could.

“You’re really writin’ a whole ass novel?” he asks, pouring you a glass of scotch. You still can’t get over the fact that it nearly tasted identical to the actual stuff. Jackson is truly a miracle; at least when bodies aren’t dropping left and write.

Ellie’s at a sleepover, which means you and Joel have the whole house to yourselves. With everything going on you’d expect your libido to diminish a bit but it’s as strong as ever, ready to go.

You smile as he places the glass in front of you, “Yeah,” you say, picking up the glass and heading toward the living room. “I couldn’t find Poppy anything to read and it helps me relax.”

“Relax, how?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. The couch dips with his weight, and heat crawls up from your chest to your neck when his knee brushes against yours.

“Well, it’s a horror thing. Horror slash mystery? I don’t know—whatever it is, it’s nice to have an outlet to escape what’s been happening lately.”

“So to escape brutal murders you write more brutal murders?”

You chuckle at the way his eyebrows raise, eyes going wide, “I don’t really focus that much on the gore. It’s more psychological, my sweet brute. Things don’t need to have blood to be scary.”

His grin is wide and instant, dark eyes lighting up with amusement, “What did you just call me?”

“I. . .” Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, suddenly realizing what you’d said.

“What cat got your tongue?” he teases. Joel leans closer, fingers dancing along the curve of your shoulder. You can feel the gravel in his voice. “You just called me yours, sweetheart. Does that jog your memory?”

“I also called you brute,” you quip back immediately, cheeks aflame. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t it?” his palm now presses fully into your shoulder, keeping you in place in case you might run. Joel tilts his head slightly, the plush of his lips only an inch away. “I like you callin’ me that,” the pink of his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“S-Say what?”

A small chuckle parts his lips, oddly enough it almost feels like his patience is wearing thin. He comes closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “That I’m yours,” he clarifies. “Been waitin’ to hear those words come from your mouth since I met you.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper against his lips, eyelids fluttering but not quite closing. With the confession, you feel the brush of Joel’s lips on yours. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth. You part for him with a moan, and taking the opportunity, he slides inside, tasting every inch of you.

His lips taste and feel like the forests you wander off to; it soothes you, calms your nerves, and has the taste of home. They’re chapped from the sun, yet soft. You can’t have enough of him, if he’d offered, you’d gladly kiss him forever.

Joel parts with a shaky breath, his chest heaving, “And you’re mine,” he groans, his eyes dark with arousal. It’s an involuntary action but your eyes drop to the front of his pants where you see the thick outline of his cock.

Your mouth goes dry, yet you manage to speak anyway, “Are words all you’ve been waiting for?” It’s bold, you’re highly aware, but you can’t help it when he’s this close. His scent suffocating, pulling you to him like a moth to a flame.

He stares at you silently. His thumb touches your bottom lip, slightly tugging it down. He’s not smiling anymore, only observing.

“No,” Joel answers slowly. He leans towards your ears, the thick hairs above his lips tickling your skin. “I’ve also been waitin’ to feel that velvet tongue on my cock, honey. And to feel how tight your throat gets when you take every inch of me.”

Joel blows a puff of air, it caresses your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brings your hand to the front of his pants, dragging your palm up and down his length. You shudder. The heat of it seeps into your palm despite the thick fabric of his jeans, you lick your lips absentmindedly. “This is all for you sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Joel. . .” your eyes roll back when he kisses your neck, open-mouthed kisses laid upon your skin like a gift. Your nipples tighten and if you look down right now, you know you’ll see them peeking through your shirt.

He reads your thoughts, eyes moving down before meeting your gaze again. “Didn’t know you walked around without a bra, sunshine.”

“I only go braless when I’m comfortable,” you answer. Joel cups your breasts roughly, kneading the flesh, he simultaneously sucks on your neck, teeth nipping the sensitive skin. “Oh god,” the fabric of your panties grows damp and you clench your thighs together.

“Not god,” he says sharply, sinking his teeth into you. “Joel.”

“Joel,” you moan and arch your back, filling more of yourself into his palm. You squeeze his cock, relishing in the way he makes a strangled sound. “I want to suck you off, Joel.”

“Be my guest.”

You push him until he’s lying on the couch. You’re about to unbutton his jeans but he stops you.

“Turn around,” he says.

“What?”

His wide grin nearly stops your heart, “Want to taste that sweet pussy, sunshine. Strip down and take a seat.”

“On—On your face?”

“Where else?”

You’re too embarrassed to speak, tongue suddenly too big in your mouth. Quickly, and a bit clumsily, you strip down and turn before straddling his chest. You don’t need to touch yourself to know that you’re soaked.

You swallow, “I’ve never done this before.”

His hands come up to cradle your hips, urging you to move back towards his face. You feel the blunt sting of his nails.

“That’s alright,” he mutters. “I won’t let you fall if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m more worried about how I’m gonna move, or accidentally suffocating you.”

“What a noble way it would be to go.”

“Joel!” you laugh, playfully smacking his thigh. He answers by giving your hips another squeeze, you surrender and move back until you’re hovering over his face. Your hand planted firmly over his hip bones, you lower yourself. You shudder as his tongue licks a stripe between your folds. He moans into your cunt, pulling you flush against his face.

Meanwhile, you finally unzip his pants and pull his cock out, the heft of it bumping against your nose and lips. You drip at the smell of him and swear he smiles as he sucks on your aching clit, short-circuiting your brain with arousal. His cock throbs in your palm, a drop of precome glistening at the tip. Your mouth watering, you lean forward and clean him off. Another groan echoes within his chest and he thrusts forward, the tip of his cock kissing your lips.

Eyes fluttering closed, you suck on the bulbous head and force yourself to go down until he hits the back of your throat. You wrap a hand around the base, stroking where you can’t fit, and hallow your cheeks.

“Come on, sunshine. You can take me,” he rasps. “You’re mine, aren’t you? That mouth is meant to take me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Joel pushes his tongue inside, your walls clenching around the wet muscle—you let out a loud gasp and grind down, then you feel the sting of his palm against your ass, pain blossoming from where he smacked.

Your throat rattles with a moan and Joel takes the opportunity to drive forward, your eyes go wide as you feel the length of him sliding down your throat, cutting the air from your lungs.

“Oh, fuck—” he moans unabashedly, the sounds sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine despite the strain on your throat. “That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Fuck, fuck—”

Your throat tightens around him, your lungs starting to burn. His hand caresses both sides of your ass, the abrupt pain of the smack from before subduing, “Relax,” he says, swirling his tongue around your clit. “Breathe through your nose. Just a bit more. . .”

Your nails bite into his thighs as you attempt to follow instructions. You relax your throat and slowly begin to breathe from your nose. It’s still difficult, but your lungs rejoice in the minimal amount of air that comes through. You make a mess of him. Saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth and down his length.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmurs. “Gonna fuck that pretty throat now and make this pussy come, understood?”

Eyes tearing up, you nod. From the way your stomach convulses, you know that you’re close, your skin tight over your trembling muscles. The nod is all that Joel needs from you. Holding you in place, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself completely down your throat while flicking his tongue against your clit. You scream around him, eyes rolling back as he continues to devour you and take you apart at the same time. He licks you with fat strokes of his tongue, a hint of teeth scraping your folds here and there as he fucks your throat with shallow thrusts.

You’re limp against his broad body, allowing him to use you as he pleases while all you can do is hang on for the ride. Pleasure licks the base of your spine, a searing heat caressing your skin while Joel continues to build you up only for you to fall spectacularly. Your lips start to ache, your throat squeezing around him whenever he snaps his hips forward—

And all hell finally breaks loose.

You come undone with a devastating cry only for it to be muffled by his cock going down your throat. You gush around his tongue, soaking his facial hair and mouth, Joel is underrated, licking and sucking until you’re shaking above him, every bit of tension draining from your body.

Joel comes shortly after, his hand slides from your waist and he manages to reach out in order to hold your head down. You don’t have a choice but to swallow as he spills down your throat, thick spurts of come going down while he shudders and pushes even deeper.

There’s so much of it, cock twitching and throbbing in your mouth until your mouth sucks him dry. You’re lightheaded from the lack of air; you find that it adds to the pleasure that’s buzzing in your veins, your cunt still pulsing with the heft of him still buried in your lips.

He pulls out with a satisfied groan and you manage to scoot down so you’re straddling his chest instead of head. Joel caresses your back, the gentle repeated motion sending tingles down your spine.

“That’s was fuckin’ amazin’,” he says, voice hoarse. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you answer sounding meek. “I think I need some water though.”

You get off, legs still shaking, but he grabs your hand, halting your movement. “Let me get it for you,” he says, sitting up.

“I’m already up,” you smile as his brows furrow with worry, the expression warming your heart. You quickly bend down to kiss him and he’s quick to lick himself into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. “I’ll be right back.”

You have no idea how you’re standing while feeling like jello but you manage to get yourself all the way to the fridge. You smile at the coolness touching your warmed skin when you open the door. Scanning the interior, you thoughtlessly rub at your throat in an attempt to soothe the ache a little. You grab the pitcher of cold water and notice a bit of apple pie left over.

“Hey, Joel?” you call out. He hums in acknowledgment. “Can I have a slice of pie?”

His humored chuckle follows through, “You can eat the whole damn thing after what you’ve done,” you smile and take the desert out. “Can you bring me a slice too?” he adds.

You smile and place the pie on the counter. The leftover is already two slices give or take so you decide to just take two forks with you instead of dirting a plate. Looking through the drawers, you try to remember which one is the cutlery drawer.

On your second try you find something else.

Something that makes your eyes go wide and heart throb painfully.

Your hands shaking, you pick up the owl mask from the drawer. The surface is smooth, and the color of it a light shade of brown just like a tawny owl. All the pleasant tingles fade away, the buzz of pleasure in your veins replaced by fear and adrenaline.

Heading back to the living room, you show the mask to Joel.

“What’s this?” you ask, your voice betraying your sudden outburst of fear.

Joel looks up, eyes flitting between you and the owl mask. He raises a brow, his confusion evident across his face. “It’s a mask, sweetheart.”

“No no, I know it’s a mask,” you answer, breathless. “But why do you have it?”

“It’s Ellie’s,” he stands up, his pants still unbuttoned but pulled up. You fight the urge to step away, fight the urge to flinch when he touches your cheek. “They were makin’ Halloween masks last year in school. I didn’t even realize we still had it.”

“Really?” you ask and he nods.

“Really,” Joel claims your lips in a chaste kiss, thumb stroking lines up and down your cheek. His hand slithers down your arm to your wrist and when he squeezes, you drop the mask. “Why?” he breathes into you. “Is this about the damn thing Tucker wrote down?”

You remain silent and he pulls away, dark eyes boring into yours.

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Why don’t you just allow yourself to enjoy this? You deserve to be happy.”

Your eyes widen with surprise, his words crashing into you, “I. . . Do I do that? Really?”

“It’s normal, darlin’,” he answers. “I’m pretty sure we all have survivor’s guilt.”

You let out a shaky exhale. He’s right. You were just feeling guilty of being alive when so many had died. Joel smiles back and traces the curve of yours with his fingers. “There’s that smile that I adore,” he guides you towards the kitchen. “Now let’s go eat some pie.”

No matter what though, you can’t help but turn back to look at the owl mask one last time as it lays lifelessly on the floor.

“So, tell me about this book you’re writin’?”

You let out a low laugh, “I already told you about it. What more do you wanna know?”

You stare at Joel’s back as he takes the lead, he’d decided to join you in your explorations ever since you told him how nervous you had gotten the last time. You had appreciated the gesture but still felt a tad anxious around him ever since you found that damn owl mask—

A branch snaps into two under your steps and he turns, extending his hand to you. With a smile you allow him to lace his fingers within yours, your stomach jumping a little as he tugs you close so the two of you are walking side by side instead.

“If memory serves me right we got distracted when you told me about it,” he says with that southern drawl of his. “So tell me again what it’s about.”

“Okay okay,” you smile, squeezing his hand twice. “It’s all a big mess now but the premise is that there’s this guy obsessed with this woman and he stalks her and no matter what she does, she always feels like there’s someone watching.”

Joel looks ahead, “Sounds familiar. Isn’t that how you felt last time you were out here?”

“Yeah, and it’s when I started writing it.”

“So do these two people know each other?” his tone drops, his fingers suddenly feeling like barbed wire within your hand. You swallow. “I mean in their regular lives, does the woman know that he’s the one stalkin’ her?”

You roll your shoulders, a weak attempt to shrug off the eeriness that you feel.

“Exactly. I think that just makes the whole thing creepier. He’s just a normal guy, even a friend, but he’s also the one among the shadows.”

“Interestin’,” he murmurs. “You think that’s happenin’ to you?”

“I don’t think there’s someone stalking me, if that’s what you’re asking,” you utter every word hastily, your pulse quickening under your skin.

His lips curl in a half smile, “That’s good,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be laying awake thinking about what might lingerin’ on the other side of the window.”

“I think I’m more likely to stay awake thinking about infected,” you say with a soft laugh. “But yeah, it’s all fiction. That day I probably just got scared because of what Poppy said about Ian.”

“Probably,” Joel trails off, his steps slowing. “How do you think it’s gonna end?”

“W-What?”

He stops and so does your heart. At least you think it does.

Joel faces you fully, his presence towering, he grips your shoulders and pushes you back until the air is knocked from your lungs by a tree right behind you. Your eyes go wide. He leans in, breath tickling your lips.

“How do you think your book is gonna end, sweetheart?” he asks again, eyes gleaming with something dark. “Is the guy gonna get the girl?”

“I—I don’t know.”

All you can think about is the owl mask and how it would perfectly fit his face. He cocks his head and taking a step closer, he slips a leg between your thighs. Slick gathers at your underwear—he feels the fabric dampening on his leg and grins.

“Fear turns you on doesn’t it?” he purrs. “Wicked thing.”

Relief drowns your senses. So that’s why he got all weird suddenly, he’s just teasing you. With a laugh, your head falls back against the tree trunk, “Jesus Joel, you scared the shit out of me.”

“It ain’t my fault,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re easy to scare.”

“Well, two brutal unsolvable murders will do that to a girl.”

Joel lets go and pulls away, smiling as he shakes his head, “What’s it gonna take for you to believe I had nothin’ to do with those? Even in death, Tucker causes nothin’ but fuckin’ trouble for me.”

“You don’t need to do anything, I’m sorry,” you pull him back, relishing in the way his strong arms wrap around your frame. “I’ll stop being such a chicken, promise. I’m still a bit jittery that’s all.”

“I forgive you,” he says against your lips, kissing you quickly before pulling you away from the thick trunk of the tree. “Now let’s find a place to settle down for the night.”

When you two return to Jackson three days later, the first thing you notice is the crowd. Your stomach drops at the familiar sight and instinctively you reach out to Joel, lacing your fingers together. He squeezes your hand two times.

The last thing you should be feeling is relief that now it’s not possible for Joel to be the one killing all those people but alas, that’s all you feel. Relief and love.

The trade fair sprawls before you. Stalls with makeshift awnings, tattered banners, and worn tarps create a patchwork quilt of colors, beneath which a diverse array of goods is proudly displayed. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the tang of cured leather, and the earthy aroma of herbs. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional clinking of metal form a lively symphony, a chorus of life that drowns out the ever-present background hum of death and infection.

You’ve always enjoyed the time of the trade fair. People move like busy ants, weaving between the stalls. Children, their cheeks dusted with earth, dart through the crowd, their carefree laughter that should be comforting doing the opposite. Since Tina’s death— she was one of the council members— you had been sleeping at Joel’s. Neither he nor Ellie seemed to mind you staying there.

The purpose of the fair is to exchange goods – to exchange, to connect, to share stories of survival.

Your eyes scan the crowd for Joel's familiar silhouette. He and Ellie had headed out before you since you wanted a change of clothes. Just as your gaze begins to falter, a voice reaches your ears. "Hey!" It's Poppy, she waves you over.

You navigate your way through the bustling stalls until you stand before Poppy. She's leaning against a rough-hewn post, a glint of excitement in her eyes.

“Hey, Poppy,” you greet her with a smile. “I’m looking for Joel, or Ellie, have you seen either of them?”

“Well, Ellie is with Dina, hanging out,” She points to the forest that skirts the settlement. "I saw him heading that way not too long ago."

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you later then,” Waving her off, you head after Joel.

The trees are a bit more scarce here, there’s more room between them. The forest opens up, revealing a sprawling expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. It's a stark contrast to the dense woods you often travel to, where the trees stand like guardians, their branches interlocking in a tapestry of shadow and light. Here, the gaps between the trees create pockets of sunlight that dapple the forest floor.

However, the expanses between trees can be deceiving, and without the markers and familiarity of the well-trodden paths closer to home, it's easy to lose your way.

For some reason instead of calling out for Joel, you decide to wander aimlessly. You’re not sure why. You don’t come to this side of Jackson often enough to feel comfortable with your surroundings and shouting his name would definitely be easier than walking without aim.

Soon enough you hear faint murmuring beckoning you deeper into the forest.

Survival instincts kicking in, you slow down your steps, making sure to step onto clear dirt instead of gravel or fallen branches. Hiding behind a rather large tree trunk, you stare ahead. In the distance, you see two men: one with his back against the tree, while the other holds him by the neck, the sharp blade of his knife catching the sunlight and reflecting it directly into your eyes.

You hold your breath and your eyes go wide. You hear the thrum of your heart. It’s the killer. It has to be.

You can’t quite hear them but you can decipher the tone of begging for one's life. The man holding the knife tilts his head slightly, your mouth waters at the prospect of finally seeing the murderer's face—

It’s the mask.

The same mask you found in Joel’s home in the shape of an owl. Your stomach churns violently, bile raising to your throat as you watch on. You rub at your eyes, take deep breaths—anything you can think of that would erase the image before you.

Goosebumps raising across your skin, you shake your head. It can’t be Joel. He was with you the day Tina died and no matter how competent he was not even he could be at two places at once.

A muffled scream echoes within the forest and your eyes snap to the two men, the owl had driven his knife into the flesh and bone. He pulls it out, and the body falls. You recognize who it is; Jacob. You heard his name a couple of days ago from Ellie, he was bothering both her and Dina because they were hanging out.

He’s still alive when the killer stomps his head in, blood splattering across the leys.

You’re frozen in place. Your throat dry and tongue motionless. The killer kicks Jacob one last time for good measure and finally stops. You observe the way his shoulders drop as if a great weight had been lifted off of them, then he looks up into the sky, the golden sun highlighting his mask.

Very slowly, he lifts his hand and takes it off.

Every feeling comes rushing back, too fast and too soon. Your tongue is alive again and so is your body, the world is suddenly vibrant with life and horror. The sun continues to caress the countenance of the unmasked killer’s face, his sunkissed skin the perfect canvas to soak up the light.

Joel.

You take a step back, every thought of precaution dropping from your mind. The forest starts to spin. It spins and spins and spins until the ground slips from beneath your feet. You catch yourself at the very last second.

When you look up you see his gaze staring directly into yours.

“Fuck,” you hiss out, quickly staggering up. The last thing you see before you start running is his extended hand as he tries to reach out for you.

“Wait!”

You don’t. You do the exact opposite of that. You run. You run for your life and those in Jackson at the fair.

You run with memories loud in your mind. How Joel had listened to you, comforted you, fucked you—

Tears sting your eyes. Every part of this feels like a nightmare that you hope to wake up from anytime soon. But as the wind hits your skin, you know that every part of this is very much real. Your chest burns from how fast you’re going, your legs starting to falter underneath you.

Before you can react, an unexpected force slams into you. The impact sends shockwaves through your body as you collide with something—or is it someone?—their presence as jarring as the jolt itself. Your momentum falters, and for a fleeting moment, time seems to slow as you stumble, desperately trying to regain your balance.

Two arms grab at you and without even seeing who it is, you start to push the person away, fighting against it like a wild animal.

“Let go of me! Let go of me!”

“Hey hey hey,” you hear a familiar voice repeat. “It’s me, you’re okay,” you’re shaking all around, only when you feel his hands cradle your cheeks do you open your eyes. He smiles when he sees your eyes flicker in recognition.

“Tommy?” you whisper. He nods and without a thought you jump him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. His arms coil around you in response, promising to not let go. “Oh, thank fuck it’s you.”

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I—I am okay but—Joel—It’s Joel, Tommy he’s been the one behind all those murders. We need to warn everyone, we need to tell Maria!”

You grab his arm and tug him along toward what you assume is the right way out of the forest. He remains still. Turning around, you shoot him a confused glance. 'Tommy, we need to tell people.'

“Can’t let you do that sugar, sorry.”

“Why. . . Why not?” you let go and slowly step back, heart pounding. “Is it because he’s your brother?”

You wish that was his excuse. Some moral obligation towards Joel because he’s his brother, that you can relate to. Your heart still pounds for Joel and in your brain, you’re still desperately seeking an explanation.

But Tommy allows the silence to linger, your fear and worry quickly turning into anger.

“Fine, I’ll tell them. It’s wrong.”

It only takes a blink of an eye; you feel Tommy’s iron grip around your wrist, yanking you back into his chest. He holds you. Oddly tender for someone who had made your arm nearly fall out of its socket. You thrash within his arms, pulling and hitting his chest.

“We’re doing good,” he grunts. “You gotta see that.”

You refuse to listen, your ear narrowing on the sound of your own blood rush instead of his words. By some miracle, you manage to slip your arm out and punch him square in the chin. It was a weak punch but strong enough to startle Tommy.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, calm the fuck down—” he tucks your arm back against your body and turns you around so your back is flush against his chest. You’re breathing raggedly, chest rising with every deep gulp of air. His lips touch your ear, his tone menacing, “I really wish you would’ve not done that.”

“Why?” you gasp. “You’re gonna kill me too?”

Silence follows, and with every passing moment sweat beads on your forehead, “It was you wasn’t it?” you continue. “You killed Tina. Joel only came along with me to calm my suspicions.”

Before Tommy can confirm your suspicions, you notice movement within the forest and your eyes are immediately drawn to the shadow coming forth.

“Smart girl,” Joel remarks with a half smile as he emerges from between the trees. There’s a splatter of red over his shirt but the knife seems to be tucked away. For now. “But you’re only half right, darlin’. I came along because I like spendin’ time with you.”

“Is that supposed to make me ignore the fact that Jacob’s body isn’t even cold yet?”

Joel curls two fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze while Tommy continues to hold you back. You shudder against him, a soft sound parts the younger Miller’s lips.

“He was a piece of shit,” Joel grunts. “He was botherin’ Ellie, callin’ her names, he deserved what he was gettin’.”

“So what, you guys are just playing hero? Killing everyone who’s causing trouble in town? There’s a system for that.”

“Honey,” he tuts, an involuntary warmth spreading within your abdomen. “The system didn’t work before the outbreak, it ain’t gonna work now either.”

“We protect our own,” Tommy says from behind you, breath fanning your neck. “We take care of it before it escalates. You have to understand that.”

“And why the hell would I understand?” you hiss, looking directly into Joel’s eyes while addressing Tommy.

Joel smiles, his lips curling slowly, “Because you’re one of us. And you like it when we protect.”

Your lips part with an exhale. He’s right, not that you still agree with them killing people, but you had enjoyed that primal protection coming from the Millers. It made you feel powerful, loved, cared for. All the things you craved deeply.

You ignore Joel and his words entirely, averting your eyes with embarrassment and shame.

“I just don’t understand why you did it, Tommy” you murmur. Tommy tenses behind you, his arms tightening around your frame, drawing the remaining oxygen from your lungs. “I understand the other’s to an extent but Tina didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel looks towards Tommy, it was his kill after all and the older Miller had nothing to say about it.

“She was wrecking what Maria is tryin’ so hard to build,” he answers. “She’s pregnant, stress ain’t good for her or the baby.”

“Does. . . Does Maria—”

Tommy cuts you off, “No.”

Joel leans closer, mouth an inch away from yours as he parts his lips. “I killed for you,” You hate the way your body reacts to him, wanting to close the distance between you two despite how unsettled you feel. “Ian was a piece of shit, so was Tucker and Jacob. They don’t deserve your empathy, honey. And you can’t deny that you’re glad they’re gone.”

His hair is a delightful mess. Soft locks going in every direction. All you want to do is thread your fingers within and forget about all of this. Joel’s gaze is observant, dark eyes darting all over your face. You don’t know what he sees but whatever it is, he nods to Tommy for him to let you go and he does. Legs lifeless and shaking, he catches you, his warmth welcoming. He’s still tender with you. Hands delicate as they move over your arms, shifting you so you'll be facing Tommy.

Joel’s hand curls around your neck and holds your chin so you can’t look away. You can’t read Tommy’s expression. You’re not sure what he’s feeling. However, you think he looks almost relieved that you’re not fighting anymore.

You shudder as Joel drags his lips down your neck, taking deep breaths of your fear-induced scent. His hands slip under your shirt and cup both breaths, making you squeal. Your objection is short-lived when he brushes his thumbs over both nipples, awakening them with slow strokes.

Tommy’s gaze drops to your chest.

“He’s been watching you, you know,” Joel says. “When I had things to settle in town it was him who looked after you,” his voice drops, eyes observing his brother. “I think he deserves a bit of a show, don’t you think?”

The whimper you let out is enough for Tommy to meet your gaze curiously. Joel smiles into your skin and your eyes widen as he pulls out a knife—a different one from the one he used on Jacob, you realize with relief.

Your breath hitches as he slides the knife under your shirt and cuts your shirt clean from the middle, exposing you completely to his younger brother’s eyes. Sudden arousal pools between your legs and you clamp them together suddenly, the movement not unnoticed by either of them.

“You like it when my brother watches?” he asks loud enough for Tommy to hear. “You got a little crush on him too, sweetheart, hmm? Don’t worry, he’s always goin’ to be lookin’ out for you. That’s what family does after all.”

Your neck strains as Joel tilts your head suddenly, claiming your lips in a violent kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to part your lips for him and pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking the surprised sounds of pleasure right from your mouth. Your heart skips a beat. He presses the flat side of the knife against your warmed skin, the chill of metal settling in your bones.

When he parts away, a string of saliva connects you still. “You’re mine aren’t you?” Joel groans, lips moving over yours.

You nod in a daze and he smiles, “And I’m yours too,” he says.

Your eyes meet Tommy momentarily, the younger Miller’s lips twitch in a half smile. He doesn’t say a word as he closes the distance.

Tommy cradles your face tenderly, urging you to come close as he envelopes your lips with his own, taking you by surprise.

The kiss lacks the intensity compared to Joel’s. Tommy caresses your cheeks with both thumbs. You don’t even feel his tongue, it’s just a gradual movement of lips, a type of affirmation and comfort.

“You’re one of us now,” he says pressing his forehead against yours. You don’t know how to react or what to say and you end up just nodding, your hands fisting his shirt. Him, parting away from you almost feels painful but you’re not sure why. Tommy gives you a smile and Joel a nod before he leaves.

You and Joel stand like that for a while, in complete silence, bodies flushed together, knife still resting over your stomach.

“I only did what was right,” he breaks the silence. His tone isn’t one of asking for forgiveness or understanding. His arms tighten around you. “Are you afraid of me?” he whispers into your ear, the thick hairs above his lips tickling the shell of your ear.

You don’t answer him.

“You don’t need to be,” he continues. He allows you to move within his arms, you want to see his face, you need to see him to not fear for your life. You ignore the knife grazing your skin as you turn around, your bare front snug against his chest. “I’ll never hurt you. And you’re the only person in this whole damn town that can say that. You and Ellie.”

“What about Tommy?”

“Tommy’s priorities lay elsewhere.”

He doesn’t allow you to inquire further about what he means by that. All you can detect is a hint of anger that quickly dissipates when he claims your lips once more.

You’re lost in him. His tongue captures you in a way that makes you forget the blood on his clothes—on his hands. His tongue slides against your own, pressing until you’re moaning into his mouth, your knees faltering at the knife smoothing down your skin.

Before pushing you down to the ground, he takes off the shirt he cut in half completely off of you, your bra following the pile on the grass. Your breath hitches as he takes his place between your legs, his mouth devouring your neck, “Joel. . .” you moan, fisting his shirt and grinding up to feel at least a bit of friction.

A silent laugh seeps into your skin, his breath sending shivers up your spine, “Do you still feel bad for them?” he teases, laying a wet kiss between your breasts.

You don’t think much as you answer, “No.”

And as a reward, Joel closes his lips over a nipple, sucking hard until your breathing goes ragged.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, moving towards the other pebbled flesh. “You’re too good, too kind, but they don’t deserve that sweetheart.”

He hooks his fingers into your belt loops and tugs down your jeans, laving you with soft, ticklish kisses as he moves lower and lower. When you’re completely bare to him, you have the urge to cover yourself, the grass tickles your back and the wind feels colder now. Joel smiles and pulls your arms away. He lays the knife right above your stomach and your breath hitches.

“I want to taste you,” Joel says. “But not in the way you think, darlin’,” he kisses the sensitive skin right adobe your belly button, and brings the sharp edge of the knife to your skin. “I want to taste the life that pumps through your veins.”

Your eyes widen as he nicks you. It’s a small cut and blood beads at the wound instantly. He doesn’t allow it to gather enough so that’ll trickle down, he quickly presses his lips against it, your essence coating his tongue as he gives it a tender suck. You can the blood leaving your veins, a pleasant tingle echoing from the wound and spreading throughout your body. Your eyes flutter, a moan escaping your lips as he flattens his tongue against the cut and licks with board strokes.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he rasps, pushing two fingers into you with ease. You gasp at the sudden stretch, your back arching into his touch. “So darn wet—All this for me, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, grinding down. “Joel, please—”

You hear the sound of his belt buckle coming undone, his breath heavy in your ear, “Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart, I’m obliged.”

You feel the head of his cock brush against your entrance, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your eyes close in anticipation and you whimper as he slowly slides inside you inch by inch. You can feel it, that intense fullness that can only come from him, taking his time to make sure it feels good. His size is intimidating but you feel yourself melting around him, eager and willing.

“That’s it. . . you’re takin’ me so well, such a tight little hole for me. Fuckin’ amazin’.”

He presses his forehead against yours, nipping at your bottom lip before thrusting, sending a wave of pleasure that makes your toes curl. You cling onto him for support as he pumps deeper and faster, hitting all the right spots. It takes neither of you long to climb the edge, ready to fall. You can feel the warmth of his breath, and his grip tightens on your hips. His pace quickens as the intensity builds, and you clench around him as he groans your name.

“Gonna come inside,” he slurs his words. “Gonna fill you up—shit—”

You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, his hard length contracting. As he pushes deeper into you, your insides flutter, squeezing around him. Your orgasm is ripped from you, shattering and mind-numbing. Your head spins and you cling to him, afraid that the world underneath you might slip entirely. His hot come warms you from the inside out, spilling from where his cock stretches you.

Joel remains inside until he starts to soften. He pulls out of you, leaving you feeling a longing ache deep within your core. You shudder as his come trickles down your thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, entranced, as he gathers himself over his fingers and pushes it back inside you. “Try to keep as much as you can inside.” To emphasize his want for it, he slides your underwear up your legs.

You’re tied to him now. And even though you shouldn’t, you enjoy being the one near the beast. Joel helps you dress, at least helps you with what remains, and gives you his leather jacket to wear since your shirt is in ruins. Neither of you says a word as you walk back to where Jacob’s body rests. You help him bury the body, not feeling a single thing; no grief, no remorse, no sadness.

You always did have a complicated relationship with death after all.

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