#she wears the jacket again in the next episode!

[guardian-angle22]

911 lone star fashion -> every marjan outfit

↳ 4.05

[carolmunson]

let's go, don't wait | part three

the end, y'all. thanks for waiting a year and some change for this. there are scenes in here that've been planned since april of 2023.

inspired by this prompt by @edsforehead  series masterlist chapter summary: after two and a half successful dates, eddie's feeling pretty sure about your connection. but skeletons from his past rear their heads from the deep end, and some of your old wounds need some healing. fluff/angst/comfort. also, beach episode. cw: 18+ pls. smut (p in v, oral both receiving, blah blah blah). not full body mention but some insecurity for reader. reader does wear eddie's clothes but they're sleep clothes. miscommunication. some mild drinking and smoking.

Eddie stands tall on the diving block above the pool, looking down at his legs covered in hair, seeing the end of one of his tattoos peek out from the bottom of his trunks. He wiggles his toes, running a hand through his long hair. No longer eight, but thirty-two, standing on the diving block while the tinny metallic sounds of the YMCA pool echo around him. The chlorine and subtle must of the room wafts through him, over him, the sounds of the water moving while his swim lesson classmates slowly kick their legs back and forth plays in his ears.  But it’s not his classmates from the 90s. It’s his friends now; Gareth, Jeff, Steve, Robin, Alycia, Tati, Nance, Dustin, Lucas – the rest. They’re all watching him get ready to dive. Some look impatient, some look annoyed, some look curious at what he’ll do next.

“You can do it, kid!” Eddie hears Wayne’s gruff voice call from the seating overhead, “You can do it!”  He turns to see Wayne in his old Carhart jacket, at least ten years older than Eddie is and with not one thread out of place. Ed smiles and waves at him, a shot of confidence pumping through his chest at the sight of his uncle’s worn and weathered smile.  But there you are behind him and his confidence wavers. You smile shyly from your seat on the bench, waving small from your chest. Eddie blushes pink when he sees you sitting there, he doesn’t wanna belly flop if you’re watching.  “H-hi,” he calls out, waving back with an awkward toss of his arm. Your mouth says ‘Hi.’ back but he can’t hear you; the echoes of the pool becoming too loud for whatever you’re starting to say to him.

“What?” he calls out again, cupping his ear. His best friend classmates kick their legs faster, a rush of splashes drowning you out.  “You can do it!” he finally hears you encourage alongside Wayne, “Show me you can do it!” 

At the sound of the whistle he turns his attention back to the water, seeing Miss Tiffany’s bright red swimsuit straps on her shoulders. But Miss Tiffany’s head has been replaced; Chrissy stares back at him treading water with the whistle between her teeth.  “Ready, Freddie?” she asks, hand on the whistle again. Ice runs through him now, nerves, watching while Chrissy watches him. Suddenly he isn’t sure what the position to dive is, where to put his hands, how deep he should bend his knees. It’s been so long since he’s done this, since he’s had to prove himself like this in front of so many people – and now you’re watching too. 

“Uh-um…” he stutters, shuffling awkwardly, “Y-yeah one second.”  “C’mon Ed,” Chrissy says from the water, “You’re gonna get cold up there. Aren’t your feet cold?”  “What?” he asks from the block, another chill running through him. “Are you really not gonna dive, dude?” Steve asks from the edge of the pool, “I’ll dive again if you’re not gonna dive.”  “C’mon dude, just do it!” Gareth smiles, “She’s watching!”  “Uh…” he swallows hard, eyes darting from the water to the stands back to his feet on the white plastic of the block. 

“Ed,” Chrissy sighs, “Seriously? Don’t be boring. People are watching.”  “I’m not boring,” he bites back, “We weren’t boring.”  “Do you think you can really do it? You couldn’t do it for me,” Chrissy blows the whistle again, “Ed just dive. God, just grow up.”  Grow up… Eddie wakes up with a thumping heart; his throat tight with anxiety while he slowly turns onto his stomach. His room is still dark, the apartment a wash with silence with no light coming through the shades on his windows. Still night, still more time to dream.  And you were there, you were watching. Watching him waste time on the block instead of showing you what he can do. Watching him fumble over himself in front of Chrissy who can only feel more annoyed. How much longer were you open to waiting for him to jump? Was it already getting boring? Is the fun part over? He swallows hard in real life, letting a breath out through his nose while he tries to calm himself back to sleep. Eddie reaches for his phone with a flailing search under the covers and pillows; finding it wrapped in his sheets by his hips. His brown eyes squint into the light when he clicks the screen awake; four in the morning. Your name shines back at him in his text notifications, you messaged him two hours ago – he hates that you have so much trouble getting to sleep some nights. 

hey, i know you’re sleeping but i just wanted to let you know ahead of time that there’s a wrench in our sexy plans this weekend. i just got my period so i don’t think i can be very sexy. :( i’m sorry.

He doesn’t mean to, but he lets out a disappointed sigh that he’s glad you’re not around to hear. Getting older doesn’t mean the teenage boy in him that just wants to fuck isn’t disappointed to hear that there wasn’t going to be any fucking. 

This weekend was supposed to be different – you finally had a weekend where you weren’t on call for your boss. Eddie planned to spend every single moment of it in between your sheets so he could show you what he’d been thinking about since that first steamy phone call you had when you went to Arizona. And he knew you were thinking about it, too -- if your texts from last night had anything to say about it. Sending him Saweetie’s Back Seat on Spotify and Aaliyah’s Rock the Boat to give him an idea of where your head’s been since his own was between your legs. 

But he could only imagine it for now, both of your schedules not lining up again – either being too tired or not having time to settle in at each other’s places. Hiding away for a quick drink or two at the bar, kissing softly in the back where no one could see. Acting like two oversized kids who were trying to hide from their parents. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t spending his nights since Steve’s birthday playing the sound of your moans in his head over and over. Trying to remember the way your thighs quaked around his head, the way you gripped his hair, the way you tasted on his tongue. He can wait, he can totally wait.

Eddie wakes in the morning to the cool glow of a rainy day shining through his windows; feeling a giddy excitement reserved for 8th grade crushes on Valentine’s Day. Despite knowing that the weekend won’t be tossed in the throws of passion, he still spends at least forty five minutes in the bathroom, scooping body scrub out of Tati’s old tub of it when she got bored with the scent. In this life where Eddie always got someone's leftovers and hand-me-downs, these are by far his favorite ones.  His body is a new level of soft and smooth when he comes out, the closest shave of his face he’s ever gotten. As he spritzes his cologne, Tom Ford Ombre Leather, a gift from Steve, he looks himself over in the mirror before getting dressed. Two silver chains, small rings, a chain bracelet, skin nearly shimmering – tight black boxer briefs hugging his hips and upper thighs. He looks good. Hair waving perfectly, lips full and hydrated, lashes long and dark – he’d have a crush on him, too. 

Eddie stretches a bit, tugging on a pair of black chinos, still jingling with a layered wallet chain he forgot to remove before he washed them. He tucks the remainder into his back pocket when he hears his phone let off a ‘ding!’ on top of his dresser. He ignores it for a second, rifling through his closet for his favorite cut off tee that fits him just right. In his search he comes by a half empty box of condoms, boyishly sneaking two into his wallet with a snicker -- just in case. Eddie grunts when the phone dings again, walking over to see your name up on the screen. 

hey… His heart sinks, dream coming to reality – you’re gonna change your mind and say you don’t wanna see him anymore. You’re gonna tell him this was a mistake. You’re gonna tell him you don’t actually like him like that. You’re gonna tell him you have a crush on Steve. You’re gonna break his heart ten times over.

He lets out a breath or two to steady himself, fingers shaking while he texts you back.

what’s going on? you gotta work or something?

He watches while the bubble pops up of you typing back – disappearing and reappearing like you don’t know what to say. no, it’s not that. He sighs again, sweat forming on the back of his neck, heart thumping in his stomach. He never should’ve fucking dove, he never should’ve fucking kissed you outside the bar. He never should’ve bought you that fucking throw for your livingroom. what’s wrong? 

He watches the bubble start up again, dot-dot-dot, disappearing and reappearing. you didn’t respond to what i sent last night. i get it if you don’t wanna come over anymore.  He laughs, nervous release, running a hand over his face – he’s so fucking stupid. The release settles into guilt in his chest, you must be feeling as nervous as he is. He thinks about you waking up and seeing that he hadn't replied. Eddie chews on his lower lip while he types back.

oh no, no! i’m sorry. i saw your texts when i woke up in the middle of the night and forgot to respond. i’m not mad, you don’t have to be sorry. i still wanna come over.

is it okay if we don’t have sex? i just sort of feel like ass and like, tmi but it’s really heavy the first couple days why am i telling you this? wtf sorry

please stop being sorry, it’s okay if you want to just be by yourself that’s fine but i really would love to still come over, is that alright? i’d love to take care of you 

ew, you don’t need to take care of me

The speed that you send that makes him roll his eyes. He wonders if you know how clear it makes it that you want him so bad, how you're hoping he comes over and babies you the way you want him to.

i want to

🙄 gross, fine see you soon i guess key is behind the mailbox on the wall

He wastes no time getting in the Honda after he finishes getting dressed but a stir in his chest keeps him sitting in the driver’s seat while the car runs. As he holds the key to the ignition, Eddie takes pause. He swallows, a whisper of fear sitting in his heart – should he even like you this much? He knows you both said it, that you really like each other. But is this too much too fast? Is this too many cards on the table? He thinks to the dates before he met you where things fizzled out early. Maybe he should pull back a little, he doesn’t want you to get bored. He doesn’t want to be boring the way things started to feel boring with his ex-wife. He huffs, remembering his dream, Chrissy’s face in the water. Chrissy’s face while he helped her pack before she left. Chrissy’s face when she told him maybe they should start trying and he said maybe it was still too soon. Chrissy’s face when she told him she’d think it’d be better if they got a divorce.

He pulls in his cheeks, heart sinking while he thinks ahead to a fake memory he’s already convincing himself will happen. Imagining the day you pull away when he tries to hold you, the day he sees you in the morning and his heart doesn’t flutter. The day you tell him -- no matter how encouraging you'd been in the car, how interested you seemed in his life, how much you liked that he was so passionate about his friendships -- that he needed to grow up, too. What if he never grows up? What if he never dives again? 

He lets out a breath that still slightly steams in front of him in the cold air of early spring, giving his face a once over in the rearview before the car whirs to life. Megadeth’s We’ll Be Back jolts him back to the present moment, knowing that at least this weekend you really fucking like him and he really fucking likes you. 

“Hey Thumbelina,” he teases from the door frame of your bedroom, leaning against the doorframe with his overnight bag dangling off his shoulder. Your apartment is small and cozy, the radiator in the corner hissing quietly while your light curtains flutter in the breeze of your slightly open window.

“Hm?” you ask, looking up. Your sleepy face sends his heart hurtling, even more so when you make the connection of whose there – a smile breaking across your face. It makes his cheeks blush a boyish pink while he resists the urge to climb on top of you and smother your face in kisses. When you look at him and he looks at you, the fear he felt in the car feels like a false flag. The dream a reminder of hard feelings long past. When you're in front of him like this, nothing has ever felt more right in his whole life. He could get used to this.

“You’re laying down in the middle of a leaf,” he says, forehead tilting toward the monstera leaf print of your duvet while walking forward to sit at the end of our bed. He reaches out to grab your fuzzy sock covered foot and gives it a squeeze, “Like Thumbelina.” 

You roll your eyes and laugh, turning to your other side and looking at him. Your perfume or body spray wafts through the room, mixed with the scent of dryer sheets from your freshly washed bedding. It’s clear from the state of things that you spent most of your night last night making sure the place looked like it was never ever messy. 

“You look handsome,” you say softly, his blush reddens, “I feel ugly.” 

“You don’t look ugly. If you want, I can downgrade the ‘fit,” he offers, looking you over and smirking at your oversized men’s sweatpants and home-made cropped sleep shirt, “Want me to change? We can be twins.” You nod and laugh the way he likes, "Twins? You got a crop top in that bag?"

"Nah, I'm fresh out," he scrunches his nose, "It's at the cleaners."

"Lame," you shrug, "Well, m'sorry you gotta see me like this. I look like a troll."

“Trolls actually have a pretty high natural armour class so -- it's not the worst thing you can be,” he explains while opening his bag to grab his sleep clothes. "Oh, wow," you start, with a pitying voice, "You're like, really a nerd huh?" "They also can regenerate which like, for a monster of their type is pretty cool. Pretty great perception too -- which like, would make sense y'know considering their surroundings? Good for survival sk...I should stop," he turns pink when he sees your smile, lower lip tucking into your teeth to hold off a giggle. "I'm really cool," he says, "I swear." "I know," you nod with an assured look, laughing, "Go change."

He leans forward, running a hand over your back while he surveys your side tables. Eddie didn’t think the movies always had it right about the 'time of the month', but the litter of candy wrappers, snacks, Advil, and three different drinks made him stand corrected. He presses a kiss by your ear, murmuring a quiet reminder that he’ll be right back.

When he does, you’re back on your side, scrolling through videos on your phone, snuggled under the green throw blanket he bought you when you went on your Target date a few weeks ago. He apprehensively sits on the edge of the bed, watching you, teeth gleaming in a smile when you beckon him over with your hand. He molds to you expertly, knees curling in to tuck behind your own, arm snaking around your waist to pull your back to his chest.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly. You nod, sinking into him while your body relaxes. He swallows when your body pushes back a little, your hips wiggling in a way that brushes against him just the right way – and he’s not wearing pants that can hide what that might do to him anymore. When you settle, he does too, taking you in. Your body heat, the way you feel against him, how you smell. You smell so fucking good. How do you manage to smell so fucking good all the time? He could eat you and never feel full. “What’re we watching?” he asks, chin resting on top of your head. 

“The scoopability of this week’s slimes,” you laugh. He reaches over to push your hair slightly out of the way of his view. Your neck stretches when his fingertips graze it accidentally, a wave of goosebumps appearing on your arm in front of him. Your neck, huh? He thinks to himself, a subtle smirk flicking onto his lips. He knew from last time you had a spot, but learning the intricacies of you was even more exciting. Where did you really like to be touched? How did you like to be held? There was still so much more to learn, there was no chance he could ever get bored.

“What does that even mean?”

“They make slimes, they scoop them, they rate the scoop,” you shrug, “It doesn’t get any more complicated than that.”

“Uh, okay…cool,” he nods, it’s clear he has no idea what you’re talking about. He watches while the soothing music plays, an ice cream scoop goes through multiple multi-colored and different textured ‘slimes’ with a rating ‘1/10’ flashing on the top of the screen. Some are smooth, some crunchy, some full of weird little add ons that he doesn’t understand. You play one video after another on your phone, thumbing through them on Tiktok like this is a regular pastime for you.

“This is actually kind of nice,” he says after the third clip, “Soothing.”

“Right?” you reply, “I think this account is my favorite, but, I’m never really paying attention to whose videos they are – just that they’re pretty.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, hand slowly caressing the dip of your waist, “But also like, wouldn’t all those little glitters and stuff get stuck in your teeth?”

You pause, putting your phone down and turning your head to him slowly. He lets his hand slide further over your diaphragm while you turn to face him, your face contorted in confusion – you almost look concerned.

“I’m sorry…” you start with a furrowed brow, “Did you think they were edible?” 

“Are -- wait -- are they not?” he asks, genuinely bewildered. “It’s slime…” “Okay, well half of them have food names,” he shrugs, embarrassment building on his cheeks as he tries to explain, “Like, ‘mango peach slushie’, how am I supposed to think it’s not..that?”

“It’s not food,” you laugh, “Oh god, you’re so lucky you’re hot.” He gives you a little shove, laughing with you while you turn your whole body towards him under the blanket. Chest to chest. He breathes you in delicately, eyes coasting over your face in soft and sweet admiration.

“It’s sort of like silly putty.” “Oh, like, to play with,” he nods in understanding, noses nearly brushing when he peers into your eyes, "I'm really 0 for 2 today." “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s an easy mistake," your voice a calming rasp, pushing some hair out of his face,

Your fingers feel so soft against him that he shuts his eyes, trying as much as he can to savor the feeling of being so close to you. Finally a moment where he can hold you as close as he wants, kiss you as deep as he needs to, and there’s no bartender or bystander around to make either of you feel weird about it.

“I like that I’m here with you,” he says contentedly, “This is really nice.” 

“I like that you’re here with me, too,” you grin. His hand comes up from its place on your waist to slide to the back of your neck, thumb running back and forth slowly over the edge of your jaw. Eddie falters a bit when you relax into his touch, moving in closer to him. One of your legs hikes up, your plush thigh resting over his hip – he holds back a groan as you wrap yourself around him.

“Comfy?” he asks. His voice is gruff with the stretch of wrapping himself around you in return, nose tip to tip with yours.

You nod, hiding your face in his neck while he lays a short row of kisses by your ear where he can reach, “Good.”

You lay together like that for a couple of minutes in the cool dark of your room, semi-sheer curtains drawn on this cloudy day so you don’t feel so bad about not going outside.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks into the quiet, “Please?”

“You can kiss me,” you nod with a giggle, “Always." Always.

As he leans in, lips ghosting against yours as a precursor for a deep needy kiss, Eddie’s phone buzzes and he turns to your snack-ridden side table to check it. An unknown number glows back at him up at the top of the screen, “Ah, shit...”

“What’s up?” you ask, pushing up on your arms to stretch out your back and sternum. He smiles at you while he gets up from off your bed.

“I ordered Indian food. You said you’re a saag paneer girl, right?” he asks with a tilt of his head before heading out of your room to the front door. 

You lay there with full bellies, clicking through to soulDecision’s Faded music video on your journey of ‘Weirdo Hits from the 90s/2000s’. Back in your snuggling positions, he can tell you feel safe with him, your eyelids heavy while your head lays on his chest. “I can’t believe I knew every word to this song,” you mumble, “I was like seven.” 

“Liquid Dreams is worse,” he barters, fingers running over the side of your head, just above your ear.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, “I forgot about Liquid Dreams. That’s next.” 

You get through LFO and O-Town’s top hits, settling on Samantha Mumba’s ‘Gotta Tell You Tonight’ which bleeds into Mandy Moore’s ‘Candy’.

“Oh wow,” Eddie huffs a laugh, “Chris did this with her best friends for the talent show when we were super little. I think that’s when I started having a crush on her.” 

He feels your head tilt up to look at him and he looks down, “Who’s Chris?” 

“Oh,” he says, his chest deflates, “My um, that’s my ex-wife. Chrissy.” 

“Oh yeah, you said,” you nod, leaning up on your elbows. You flop to your stomach and stare up at him, the pad of his finger coming up to lazily tap you on the nose.

“I know you said things were like, okay – but do you guys still talk at all?” you ask, head dipping with an devilish smirk, “Or do we hate her? What’s the gossip?” 

Eddie lets out a hiss of a laugh, running his fingers through his hair from the temples upward, shaking his head, “Oh no, I don’t think I could ever hate her.”

“It’s not like she did anything wrong,” he explains, brows knitting together while he thinks about how to explain it, “We just wanted really different things. She really wanted to settle down and like, y’know, nest. She wanted to be a mom so bad and I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for a lot of things she wanted. In a way, we just sort of outgrew each other – but y’know, sometimes that happens.” 

“It’s funny,” he says with a slight smile, licking his lips, “I was so nervous about being on the apps thinking I was gonna see her profile – forgot she’s fully engaged. Like, I’ve met the guy.”

“Engaged?” you ask with your brows raised, “Scandalous. When did you guys divorce?”

“Pfff, hmm,” he thinks, puffing a breath of air from his cheeks, “We broke up and separated in September of 2020, divorce was filed – hmm, I think officially in January 2021? It was such a blur I can barely remember, we count our divorce as September at least.” 

“And when did she get engaged? Or meet this guy? Is he cool? Or is he like – lame?” you ask, rapid fire.

“Is this a soap opera to you?” he laughs. 

“It’s your lore,” you say, flipping onto your back, “And let’s be real, your lore is kind of soap opera-y.”

“What about your tragic lore, hm?” he presses, “When am I gonna get some of that?”

“We’ll get there one day,” you say with a tilt of your head, lips tucking in breifly. You welcome his arms when they circle around you, his weight shifting as he mimics your cuddling from before. His thigh slings over your hips, wrapping around you like a koala while his lips press against your cheek. 

“It’s gonna be hot next weekend,” he says, nose nuzzling at your temple, “Steve wants to get the crew together to go to the beach. Do you wanna come?” 

Your eyes flutter closed but you nod just the same. “Good,” he smirks, voice dropping to something a little husky, “You can wear that little red suit for me.” 

“Ew,” you let out before you can stop it, your giggles shaking you in his arms, “Perv.” “Yeah?” he smirks, leaning in to kiss just under your ear, “Even though you sent me all those pictures?”

Your eyes shut when he kisses you there, a tiny gasp leaving your lips when he does it a second time. His tongue flicks out, tip of it drawing a thin line from the top of your neck to the hinge of your jaw.

“Ed, I don’t wanna have sex,” you pout.

“I know,” he smiles into your cheek, “I just like teasin’ you.” 

“Well don’t,” you pout, gently shoving his face away from your cheek in faux frustration,  “So unfair.”

You ease up onto your side, leaning over back to your laptop to scroll through the recommended music videos until you land on Savage Garden’s Crash and Burn. “Oh, fuck me,” he laughs, “I don’t think I’ve heard this song since 1999.” “The music video used to freak me out when I was little,” you settle back into him when it starts and he welcomes the weight of you against him. “Yeah it’s kind of freaky for a kid,” he nods, arm wrapping around you while darkness begins to find home in your bedroom, “I mean look how fucking blue this guys eyes are – terrifying.” The sound of your laugh bubbles like the girls at Forest Hills used to sound in the summer. The room starts to darken as the sun goes down, leaving you both in a glow of your laptop screen. “You know, we could watch these in the living room on the TV,” you laugh, sitting up. Eddie pouts when you shift out of his hold, pulling you back down into him. “Yeah, but I like this,” he mumbles, “I wanna hold you like this.”  “Okay,” you snort, flipping back to your side to face him, “But you never told me about the guy she ended up with. Is he cool? Is he weird? Does he suck? When did she meet him?”

“You’re so annoying,” he teases with a shake of his head.

“So cute though, unfortunately,” you shrug, “So you have to tell me.” 

“It’s true, you’re so cute,” he nods, leaning in to offer you a soft kiss on your lips and forehead, “I guess I’ll tell you.”  

“She met Derek I think – errr – six months after we separated? One of those, ‘when you know, you know’ type of things – she even called to ask if it was okay if she went on a date with him.” “That’s kind of fucked up, rubbing salt in the wound,” you shrug. 

“No,” he shakes his head again, sitting up with his back against the wall, “You don’t know her, so like – it sounds fucked up, but she just wanted to be courteous about it. Didn’t want me finding out through the grapevine or whatever. Anyway, they got engaged last May.” “Is he a tool?” you ask again, face scrunching like you might already know.

“No, he’s – he’s very much her kind of guy now that I think about it,” he laughs, “They live in Denver now I think, used to be Chicago, super outdoorsy. He cycles professionally, I think – works in tech. She’s running a yoga studio out there while she gets her masters.” “In what?” 

“Art therapy,” he recounts softly, a gentleness in his tone, “She’s a really gifted painter, it helped her through a lot of shit. Got her undergrad in psych so – she’s always wanted to get her license. She’s just really meant to make people feel good about themselves and help them, I’m happy for her.”

“Okay, so she’s Mother Theresa,” you joke, “Can’t relate.” 

“Mother Theresa if you put some strawberry blonde hair on her and made her a cheerleader,” he laughs, pulling out his phone. He pulls up a few photos, one from prom, a few from after shows, one from early Covid, “This is her.” 

“Oh, wow…” you say wistfully, the glow of the screen lighting up your face. Chrissy’s face and body reflecting back in your eyes like a mirror, “She’s gorgeous.” 

“Yeah, can’t believe she was obsessed with a dork like me,” he teases himself, putting his phone back in his pocket, “I couldn’t believe I pulled someone like that – still can’t.” 

“Hm,” you nod. The room creeps darker with the laptop screen blanking out to sleep. If Eddie was really listening, he would’ve heard the tinge of something aching in your response.

“Do you um,” you start meekly, hesitating for a moment, “...do you still love her?” 

Eddie’s quiet, leaning to his side to turn one of your side table lamps on. 

“I’ll always love her,” he nods with a shrug, running his hands through his hair to make a makeshift ponytail before letting it go again, “She’ll always love me. But like, not in the way that we did when we were younger. We’ll just always have love for each other, I think.” 

“Yeah, cool,” you mumble, taking out your phone, “That’s a cool way to look at it.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie grins, reaching out to put a hand on your head. You move out of his touch, leaning forward to wake your laptop back up to let the next music video auto-play. Fat Joe’s What’s Luv ft. Ashanti  popping onto the screen. You both watch for a bit, still half on your phone and half keeping your eye on the screen. Eddie sees you open and close your texts, your thumbs typing rapidly before quickly closing the app again. 

“It’s so weird how many people were so vocal about how much they don’t go down on women,” you huff at the screen, “Like, that’s not something to brag about guys.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckles, “What is it you said before? Oh yeah – can’t relate.” 

You still don’t turn back to face him, but he sees you nod and let out a breath, “That’s true.”  

He slides himself back down on the bed, getting close to you in the way he was before, molding  to your body with an arm around your waist. The soft lingering scent of your perfume still on your skin when he presses his face into the crook of your neck – but it’s not there for long. The bed shifts as you get up, stretching again, enough for your shirt to right up to see the underside of your breasts. A blush kicks up in his cheeks. 

“Dinner and a show?” he quirks, “Don’t spoil me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you squeak out at the end of a yawn, covering your chest, “I’ll be right back.” 

Eddie’s lips tug into a small frown when you make your way out of the room, surprised that you didn’t have a joke to throw back at him. He likes how easy it is to back and forth with you, he doesn’t think he knows anyone who’s as quick as him – not the way you are. He likes that you keep him on his toes like that. 

He checks his phone again in your absence, shooting his group chat with Tatianna and Gare with a regular check in. They left early this morning for a two week long trip to Aruba and he’s kept his phone on the loudest setting possible so he can be ready when he gets ‘the call’. They’ll come back as fiancés, but the only person who doesn’t know that is Tatianna. 

When you come back there’s a grimace on your face, “Um…look, I’m sorry but –” 

“Are you okay?” Eddie’s heart sinks. 

“No, eh, yeah but, I um – I just really don’t feel good,” you confess. 

“Can I get you something? You want some tea? Or I can run out and get ginger ale or –”

“No Ed, no I um…” you let out another long breath, “I think you should go.” 

“G-go?” he asks, sitting up straight on the bed, “Like, go home?” 

He watches you look him over, your shoulders sulking, “Yeah Eddie, you should go home.” 

“Oh…” he thinks for a minute before standing up, “Is it…did I do something?” 

“No, I just really don’t feel well,” you repeat, “I just want to go to bed.” 

“Okay, well, I can…I can go to bed, too,” he tries to bargain, “I can sleep on the couch if you – if you want the bed to yourself. I get it.” 

“Just go home,” you say with finality, not mean, not a yell – you just mean it, “Please.” 

“Um, alright,” his voice is drenched in confusion, brows furrowing while he packs up his overnight bag in the corner, “Y’know if I – If I fucked up you can just say something.” 

“You didn’t fuck up I just,” you deflate, crossing your arms protectively against your chest, “I wanna be alone.” 

“I understand,” he murmurs, heart thumping in his chest, sending disappointment coursing through him. He slings the bag over his shoulder, not even bothering to put on his jacket or change. Cautiously, he approaches you, looking into your eyes trying to find the answer as to why you're telling him to leave.

"Uh, I'll uh, I'll see you soon?" he asks hopefully.

"Yeah, maybe," you nod, avoiding his stare. He can hear the beginning of a cry starting in your throat.

"Can I kiss you goodbye?"

"Uh, yeah, fine."

Eddie leans in, cupping your cheek to kiss you but you barely kiss him back. Lips like rubber even as he pulls away.

It feels like he belly flopped. His eyes start to sting when you walk past him, crawling into your bed and pulling your computer onto your lap.

"Get home safe," you mumble out. "Thanks," he whispers, giving you a half hearted wave before heading out the door.

I don’t want to Miss Tiffany...Swimming sucks.

Eddie gets in the Honda and sits there for a moment in the dark, feeling his jaw tighten and his nose tingle. He rolls his shoulders, sniffling, trying to calm down but the feelings over take him, both hands coming down hard on his steering wheel.

"FUCK!" he shouts, smacking it again with a pained growl, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He feels sick knowing that you slipped through his fingers just as quickly as you fell into them. He should've seen this coming, he should've taken the dream from last night as prophecy. What's the point of making it to level 3 if you'll never make it to level 4? What's the point of diving if you're not watching? If he's gonna belly flop anyway? Eddie's breath comes in shudders, tears spilling over his dark lashes onto his cheeks. You're only about 30 feet away still, he can always just go back to your door. He can fix it like he did on your first date, he can just get out, he can do something.

Grow up...

The unease from his dream blooms black in his chest, Eddie looks at your bedroom window and watches the light snuff out through the curtains. His chest deflates, shoulders rounding while he turns the key in the ingition, car revving on, seatbelt light blinking while the 'ding, ding, ding,' to put in on rings in his ear.

With a final thick swallow, he sucks in his cheeks and bites down to stop himself from crying. Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair, wipes his eyes, looks himself over in the rearview. He wouldn't have a crush on this version of himself, he can't imagine you would either.

With a sigh, he tugs on the seatbelt, puts the car in drive, and pulls down the street. Feeling further away from you than when you were across the country -- different planets, a totally different universe.

In the late afternoon the next day Eddie checks his phone for the twelfth time in an hour. You still haven't texted or called, not even responding when he told you he got home okay. All you did was send a 'thumbs up'. With a quiet sigh through his nose he shoves his phone into his back pocket, pushing open the squeaking wooden doors to Calamity's -- a dive bar that Robin's been working at every Saturday for the last five years. Her sandy hair is tucked behind her ears while she pumps the shaker next to her head, chatting with Nancy who sits across from her on the bar.

At the squeak of the door they both turn to look at him, Robin's brows quirk, "What're you doing here, loverboy?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mumbles.

"You wanna drink about it first?" she offers.

He nods, climbing onto the stool next to Nancy and leaning on his elbows on the sticky counter top, "Hey Nance."

"Hey Ed," she says, hand reaching out to rub his forearm, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he nods, "I'll be fine, I just -- yeah, I'm fine."

His phone buzzes, immediately reaching for his back pocket only to see an Apple News notification and no sign of you. He checks your socials for any sign of life, but you haven't even posted anything.

Another sigh and he can't help himself, resolve weakening as stubborn as he'd like to be.

hey, haven't heard from you. you okay?

He puts his phone on airplane mode, going a step further to shove it into the inside zipper pocket of his beat up leather jacket and keeping it locked up. The less accessible the better, he couldn't become the guy that waits by the phone all night aching for you. Not the way he did last night, tossing and turning in bed wishing so badly that you were next to him.

'Should I feel this bad so soon?' Eddie thinks, 'We're not even dating and we're fighting? Is this even a fight? Would this be considered a fight?' He listens to the drone of their conversation, the bar is open but normally no one really shows up until the sun goes down -- at least on the weekend. Robin slides a Jack and Coke in front him, tossing a tiny straw in with flourish.

"Here, sad sack," she teases. "Thanks," he murmurs, toying with the straw, making his silver chain bracelet tinkle against the hardware of his jacket. "Rob, c'mon," Nancy urges, "Don't mess around." "What, I didn't call him a loser," she defends, shrugging, "He's being a sad sack. Right Ed? You're a sad sack?"

"I'm a sad sack," he nods, "Nailed it, babe." "Well, what happened?" she asks again, voice softer this time. She leans herself over the counter, resting her hand on her palm. Eddie matches her posture, lifting the drink with his other hand. "I'll tell you when I finish this," he offers, "Talk to me about literally anything else." "Well I thiiiiink I'm about to land this new creative lead gig," Robin tosses her hair, her violet amber perfume feathering off of it, "Do I love the idea of working for a start up? No. Is it remote and 68 thou a year? Yes."

"Sick," he nods through a mouthful of liquor, "That's awesome."

"Gives me time to still work on my art shit with Tati," she shrugs, sipping from her water bottle, "And we'll probably be able to afford studio space if I get it."

"She'll be thrilled, damn. First an engagement ring and then an art studio that's not her classroom? Everything's coming up Edwards," he smiles for the first time all day. "Wait, did he propose already? Did we miss it?" Nance blanches, clutching her chest. "So far no," he laughs, "I think he's gonna wait until next weekend so they have one full week away as engaged. They're gonna come back and tell me to pack my shit."

"Well, you can always sleep in the loft -- or y'know," Nancy shrugs, "Maybe things're looking really good with your new girl?" Eddie hums, about to open his mouth but the door bursts open hard on its loose hinges and with it, the grittiness of the old subwoofers blasting Lil' Wayne's Lollipop.

“Oh, shit that’s my sooooong,” Steve exclaims while he gets in the door. He walks in like he owns the place, Ray Bans covering his eyes while a strand of his coiffed chestnut hair falls onto his forehead. “Just like a refund, I make her bring that ass back, and she bring that ass back – because I like that,” he drawls along, opening his phone with a smirk while the song gets louder throughout the bar. 

“Shawty wanna thuuuuug, bottles in cluuuuub,” he goes on, walking forward toward Eddie whos chin his still in his palm. Eddie's face scrunches, not in the mood to play along, covering his ears when the bass speakers right above him start to vibrate.

"Turn it down, Steve!" Robin yells, but it's muffled against the beat. "Huh?" he cups his ear like he can't hear her, brows furrowing while he flicks his glasses up to push back his hair. "STEVE!" she shouts back. "What? I can't hear you?" he lies again, turning it up a touch more while he makes his way behind the bar. He snatches Robin's phone by the register before she can get to it to change the volume herself, laughing while he slips it into the pocket of his vest. 'Call me, so I can make it juicy for ya,' he mouths along, body rolling his way closer to her with every word, 'Call-Call me, so I can make it juicy for ya.'

The music cuts abruptly, Nancy now found by the stero with manicured nails lingering on the volume knob.

"I'm changing the fucking Spotify password, dingus," Robin snaps, "You can't do that every time you come here. I'm gonna get fired."

"Don't be such a bitch, Rob," he sours, tucking his sunglasses into the crew neck collar of his shirt, "Nobody's here."

"You're a bitch, Harrington," Robin snaps back. "The biggest bitch I know," Nancy adds, taking her seat back next to Eddie. Steve sits at the end of the bar on the other side of him. "What's the matter, sad sack?" Steve asks, cocking his head toward Eddie, "Mad that it wasn't the Framing Hanley version?"

"Aw, fuck off, dude," Eddie rolls his eyes before running his hand over his face, palm catching on his five o'clock shadow. "He hasn't told us yet," Robin explains, "We're waiting until he finishes his first drink."

Two Jack and Coke’s in, the conversation bumps to the potential art studio, to Nancy’s potential promotion, to Steve’s latest project at work. A few regulars have trickled in, using the TouchTunes to their advantage since Spotify ‘isn’t working tonight’ as per Robin’s punishment for Steve. 

It gives Eddie a good reprieve, he’s glad he went out – beats being home alone and sitting there wondering what happened in the dark. Beats typing it up to send to Tatianna and Gareth and asking what happened and then deleting it because he doesn’t want to bother them on vacation. Beats wondering what you’re doing and why you won’t respond to him. Beats the feeling of laying in bed and wishing he knew what you'd feel like next to him for another night. Beats wondering what he did to deserve potentially losing out on something that felt more right than ever. Beats wondering if maybe you're it and how now he might never know.

“Okay, well, I let you get through two Jack and Coke’s – you gotta spill now, brother,” Robin sighs, leaning back down in front of him on her forearms. 

“Oh yeah, weren’t you supposed to have your wet hot American weekend at her place? What’re you doing here?” Steve inquires, smirk pulling on his lips, “Performance issues?” 

“Steve, come on,” Nancy sighs, “Are you serious?” 

“Nah, nah it’s fine,” Eddie shakes his head, “He’s just coming from experience, right?"

“No um, I really don’t know,” Eddie shrugs, “I went to her house and y’know it’s her time of the month or whatever – so maybe th–” 

“I’m gonna stop that thought before you finish it,” Robin puts a finger up, pink lips pulling into a smile, “Once sec while I pour this guy a beer.” 

Eddie sheepishly takes another sip of his drink, feeling the dull weight of it in the front of his skull – not drunk, but if he’s not careful he won’t be able to drive home. 

“Okay, continue,” Robin says when she gets back. 

 He takes his time walking through the night, retracing his vocal steps, the emotional ones. He talks about the slime videos, getting Indian food, how you didn’t want to have sex. The music videos, the kisses, the way you wrapped yourself around him – how everything seemed fine, perfect even. He was so excited to sleep next to you, to make breakfast in the morning, maybe shower together – maybe fuck in the shower if you were into it. But not…not this, not whatever happened. 

“What did you guys talk about? Like, did she talk about her past or anything? Did she seem off? Did a subject come up that she seemed weird about?” Nancy presses. 

“Yeah, you’re not giving us anything, just like – the highlights. We need the play by play, Munson,” Robin gestures with her hands, now nursing her own beer. 

“I mean, we were watching music videos,” he shrugs, “And Chris came up but like, she knew I was married. She asked about the divorce and whatever, we talked about how she’s with her new guy in Colorado.” 

“And?” 

“And I don’t know?” he shrugs, heart starting to pound a little in his chest, “I mean I showed her a picture of her and like, sort of ragged on myself like – like how I couldn’t believe I pulled someone like Chrissy.”

“Oh dude,” Steve sighs, “Dude, you fuckin’ dumbass.” 

“What? How am I a dumbass?” he asks defensively, hands out, pleading. 

“Cause she’s not Chrissy,” Steve explains, “Like – god, come on. Imagine she showed you a picture of fuckin’ – I don’t know – Jon Bernthal? And was like ‘Yeah, can’t believe I pulled this hot, sexy, manly strong man. I guess you’ll do as a follow up after him.’” 

Eddie blanches, guilt forming a ball in his throat, “But that’s not…That’s not how I meant it. Like, she’s – you’ve seen her. She’s gorgeous. She doesn’t have to look like Chris.” 

“Yeah but, after you talked about her, did she seem all quiet after?” Robin asks, eyes flicking to him and then Steve. 

“Well…well yeah–” 

“See, told you,” Steve shrugs, “I might not have a girlfriend but I still know how ladies work–” 

“Okay, okay, enough from you,” Nancy waves him off, “Did anything else come up?” 

“She asked if I still loved her and I said yeah but like, not romantically. We just will always have love for each other – y’know? I mean, we were like – we were married,” he tries to explain, “Do you think – do you think she thinks I just wanna be with Chrissy?” 

Robin grimaces, sipping her beer. Steve gives him a half hearted cock of the head. 

“I think…” Nancy starts, voice of reason as present as ever, “I think she doesn’t know your history very well and you don’t know hers. It could be that things went left with her ex or she’s been hurt by stuff like this before. She might not have known how to talk about it to you – but I definitely think talking about Chrissy like she was some prize you had and now you’re settling had something to do with it.” 

“But that’s not what I’m doing!” Eddie urges, hand coming down on the bar counter, “I’m not settling! I wanna like – I wanna be with her. I only talked about Chris so much because she asked I – I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. And I asked! I asked if I did something or said something and she said it was fine.” 

“Girls always say it’s fine Eddie, come on, you’ve been divorced. You should know,” Steve says with gravitas, “That’s like, what all women who are actually upset say.” 

“I have an idea,” Robin says with a breath, “First, don’t listen to Steve. That’s obvious. Second, give it another day, send her a message saying something along the lines of ‘Hey, I think I might have said some things that didn’t come out right. I’d love to talk it out with you. When’re you free?’ and see where it goes.” 

“Maybe you guys can hash it out at the beach next weekend? You think she’ll still wanna come?” Nancy asks. 

“Maybe,” Eddie shrugs, moping now, “If she ever wants to see me again.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Ed,” Robin rolls her eyes, sandy bangs tickling her lashes, “You just gotta give it a day or two.” 

He only has to give it until later that night, tucked into the couch with a slasher on to ease the ache of his broken heart. On the coffee table, his phone buzzes face down and with a shaky hand he reaches for it, not wanting to be too hopeful. But when your name lights up with a new message he feels his heart leap in his chest. 

i’m okay. thanks for checking in. 

He lets out a slow breath through an O in his lips. Eddie takes a beat, rings tapping against his phone case before he starts typing his response: 

look, idk what’s going through your mind but i really like you. i think i might’ve messed things up here. i’m happy to give you some space if you need but would you wanna talk about this soon? 

He stares at the message for a minute or two, heart pounding. There are so many ways you could respond. You could say no, or cuss him out, or tell him to fuck off. You could say you knew he was shit. You could, at the absolute worst, not even respond. He runs his hand over his face, covering his eyes while he presses send and tossing his phone onto the recliner across the room. Out of sight out of mind. 

If only for a few minutes when he hears the buzz against the leather. 

yeah, we can talk about it. work is kinda busy this week though.

He’d wait for you for months. 

would you still wanna come to the beach? steve said he’s still down to pick you up. 

yeah, i can still come to the beach

A grin sprawls across his lips, cheeks tight. He can still see you, he can still see you in that red suit. He can still talk to you. You still want to see him. It’s not totally ruined yet. 

He hesitates at first, but ultimately sends out the offer. 

tatianna and gare will still be away. if you want, you can stay the weekend at mine? maybe we can have a re-do.  He watches the three dots bubble in and out of the text conversation, watching as you type something and then delete. Type and delete. Type and delete. It’s only when he hears the tinkling of the standing lamp in the corner of the room that he realizes how hard he’s been bouncing his leg while he waits. 

i’ll think about it Well it’s not a no. It’s something. It’s a maybe. It’s a could be.

But if it ends up being a yes, he’ll make it better than what last weekend at yours could’ve been.

The week passed in a slow blur, Monday and Tuesday were a thousand years long – all of his students on his nerves when they caught on that he wasn’t on his phone as much. "Just take the L, Mr. E. You keep looking at your phone. She's obv not gonna text you." "Yeah Munson, you can't have a phone rule for us and then keep looking at yours." "You're giving negative aura points, Mr. E. Just admit you don't actually have any rizz."

He didn't know what any of them meant, but it didn't help the sting. Since Gareth was away there was no band practice on Wednesday, so instead he went to the studio by himself and plugged into the loudest amps he could. Shredding his frustration out through the strings until tears spilled as much as the melodies that leaked from the speakers. Being carried by the frustration that kept building from the way you haven't messaged him or called, from the fear of having to hurt the way he hurt three years ago all over again. From the way this couldn't be it.

By time he finished, his fingertips stung -- raw and red from hours of playing. It still didn't hurt has bad as the lump in his throat. As the dry phone in his pocket.

It’s Thursday afternoon when his phone finally pings and you ask what you should bring for the beach. Time speeds up again. He blinks and it’s Saturday morning, he blinks and he’s sitting behind Steve in his Escalade. He blinks and realizes he wishes he had more time to prepare himself for this, the prepare how to ask you to talk, to prepare for seeing you again after all this. All the rehearsals in his head had fallen away as they drive through your part of town.

“I LIKE A LONG HAIRED THICK REDBONE, OPEN UP HER LEGS, THEN FILET MIGNON THAT PUSSY.” “Oh my god, Steve please don’t say pussy like that.” The car rolls down your street, Robin in the front as always, and Nancy behind Robin. And sure, they could have picked up some of the younger crew but, in Steve’s words – ‘I’ve driven them around enough.’ EveryGirl in the World rumbles achingly loud through the speakers that he just got upgraded, making the leather vibrate under all of them. Lucky for Steve, none of the sound leaks through in your sleepy streets, lazy with the steamy haze of 7:30 in the morning. “I’mma get in an on that pussy, If she let me in, I’mma own that pussy.” “Steve,” Robin groans, “You’re so obnoxious. This is why nobody likes you!” “Everyone likes me – now come ‘ere let me dope you, You should be a dope fiend, your friend’s should call you Dopey. Tell ‘em keep my name out they mouth ‘cause they don’t know me.” “Do you think you sound cool when you rap?” she asks, pulling her sandy hair into a ponytail, “Look in the rearview, do you think you look cool?” Steve’s Ray Bans find the mirror, looking back at Eddie who grins at him while they ease into a stop in front of your place. “My sex game is stupid,” they both start, making Nancy laugh – Robin’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. “You’re both so insufferable,” she groans, but a smile pulls at her soft pink lips.

“My head is the dumbest, I promise – I should be Hooked on Phonics, Hah, well anyway, I think you’re bionic.” “Stop!” Robin shouts, laughing now while Steve tips his sunglasses down his nose and Eddie leans over the seat. Both faces eager with faux sincerity while Nancy giggles in solidarity behind her. “And I don’t think you’re beautiful, I think you’re beyond it.” Steve grins, Eddie unbuckling to get out of the car to get you. “And I just wanna get behind it –” “STEVE!” “And watch you back it up and dump it back, back it up and dump it back…” Eddie looks at your house, a nervous thrum in his chest while he gets out. The last time he was here he watched as you turned your bedroom light out after making him leave. You didn’t even respond to his ‘excited to see you, tomorrow’ text last night. You just ‘hearted’ it. He gets to your door ringing the bell and waiting for you, feeling as sheepish and awkward as a kid on a first date. When you open the door he can hear his heart beat in his ears. "Hey," he says quietly, "G'morning." "Morning," you say back. You both smile tightly at each other and then both of your gazes reach the ground. Eddie thinks to lean in and reach for you but retracts, you still feel so far away from him. The familiarity from before -- from Barcade, from showing up at your house last week -- long gone. A stranger he's meeting for the first time. He wonders if the group can even sense it from the car.

“Can I get those for you?” he asks, seeing you hoist your beach bag over your shoulder, a mini cooler in your other hand. “No, it’s fine,” you wave him off as you walk through the door, shutting it behind you. He rolls his eyes, easing the bag off of your shoulder and the cooler out of your hand.

With how things feel, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up and ask if you packed to stay with him for the weekend. But the weight of your bags gives him a soft flutter of ease in his chest that he might get a chance to fix this afterall. "Go ahead and get in the car," he says softly, "Everyone's excited to see you."

He watches you get in while he settles your bags amongst the others in the trunk, everyone says their hellos and he begs for it to not be weird considering they all know what's going on. Nancy takes a cue to move to the bench seat further back so you can sit next to each other, Eddie offering her a grateful nod when he gets back in behind Steve. 

“Alright, so now that we’re all accounted for we’re playing a game,” Steve says, turning the music down, “One by one we’re gonna pick our songs of the summer from when we were kids. We're going summer mode.” 

“That’s cute,” Nancy smiles, “That’s a cute idea you have there, Steve.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, dropping his Raybans down his nose to look at her, “Only cute ideas from the cutest guy here.” 

“Alright, relax,” Eddie grumbles when Steve steps on the gas, arms crossing over his chest. You’re looking at your phone, probably checking to see what song you want to pick, but he wishes you were looking at him. Half of him wants to reach over and rest his hand on your thigh like you’re his, but right now he knows you’re not. He slides his phone out from his pocket, shooting you a text at an attempt to try and salvage the car ride.

hey. you look really pretty.

He watches you while you look at the notification banner pop up on the screen, a soft smile flickers across your face when you open it. Eddie’s phone buzzes in response.

thanks, you too.

And he does look pretty – black shorts and a cut off Hawkins, IN t-shirt from some time in the early 90s. Well worn but still starchy. His tattoos bounce off his skin, a thin little heart outline peeking out from the top of his jeans, wallet chain still shining and silver. He had his hair pulled back messy, bangs and tendrils still flowing in his face – but for the first time you get to really see the curves and slopes of his jaw line, the tension in his neck. He blushes, putting his arm on the back of your seat, close enough where he doesn’t think he’s pushing it. Sunny Came Home flows through the speakers of the car. 

“Pristine choice, Rob,” Eddie nods, “Damn.” 

“Right in the chest, right?” Robin scrunches her nose, “Like sitting in your mom’s back seat on the way home from the grocery store in July or something.” 

Steve’s pick is unsurprising, Nelly’s Ride Wit Me shaking the car while he pulls onto the highway. You skip over yourself, unsure at what to pick, passing the phone to Nancy behind you who settles on Sheryl Crowe’s Everyday Is A Winding Road. Eddie loves how easy it is for you to fit in, like you’ve always been a part of the group – screaming the lyrics with Nancy and Robin so loud that Steve opens his window to let the sound leak out. 

When Eddie get’s the phone he smirks, typing in his choice before passing it back to Steve who chuckles when he presses play. 

“Oh yes,” Robin laughs when the opening riff of Santana’s Smooth booms against the leather interior, “You would.”  “Of course I would,” Eddie grins, tossing you a look for your approval. You nod back at him, mouthing along with the lyrics, rolling and shimmying your shoulders to match Robin’s dancing in the front. He gulps silently, knowing that there’s still a conversation to be had. Do you always hide your disappointment like this? Are you over it? Are you okay? And if you are -- why does it feel like this? Like you don't want his attention? Like you don't want him to touch you? 'Cause it's all he can think about with you next to him, looking pretty the way that you do. Looking perfect. Feeling like an old sweatshirt he wants to be covered in. “It’s the same as the emotion that I get from you, You got the kind of lovin' that can be so smooth, yeah Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it.”  He doesn’t notice at first that his fingers twitch along with the chords when the solar starts. "Wait, tell her the story about Wayne banning this song from your life," Robin says, turning back towards the two of you behind her. "Banned from his life?" you ask in surprise, but your attention is on Robin, "Does he just really not like Rob Thomas?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, biting his lower lip before recounting why it's banned from ever playing at Forest Hills, “I was obsessed when I was little. Sat in my bedroom for weeks listening to it over and over so I could teach myself by ear. Wayne – my uncle – he told me I could never listen to it again. He threw my stereo out the window that summer, he was so pissed – so sick of it, and then got even more mad that he had to buy me a new one. But I had to promise to never play it again at his house for as long as he was alive. And no one else is allowed to play it at the park either.”

“Can you still do the solo?” you ask, eyes finally landing on him. His breath hitches when your eyes meet, mouth going dry.

“Oh yeah,” his voice cracks awkwardly, fingers still playing an air guitar on his lap, “Learned to play a lot of his stuff when I was a teenager. John Mayer too, if you can believe it.”  “Very toxic soft boy of you,” you tease.  “Listen sugar, it was a hit with the ladies,” his voice is soft, but still teasing -- desperate to recreate the banter you've had over the past few weeks. You get nervous, he can tell by the way your knee bounces and a flick of another smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Sugar, he thinks, s’that all it takes? When you get the phone you make your pick, certain of it now. Steve nods in agreement when he presses play on Aaliyah’s Are You That Somebody?  “I knew I liked her,” Steve says, catching him in the rearview again, “She better be sticking around.”

Eddie is silently thankful for the encouragement.

The rest of the surrounding towns must’ve had a similar idea because the first half of the beach was full by the time you got there despite the early wake up. Steve’s SUV strolls down the expansive parking lot while It’s Gonna Be Me plays, the boys and Robin screlting along with the music – singing into the straws of their iced coffees.  The bridge hits near the end and he doesn’t want to be obnoxious but he does want to impress you so he hits the runs where he can.  ‘Don’t wanna lose it, but I’m not li-ii-ke that, When finally, finally, You get to lo-oo-ve, Guess what, guess what…’ Steve finally finds parking and you all hop out onto the asphalt, the sun already hot on your skin. The woosh of hot air hits his face, catching against the nervous sweat on his forehead and neck. Macho is as macho does, Eddie and Steve make their way to the trunk, taking all of the coolers and bags of beach games while leaving the chairs to the ladies. 

“We brought you an extra,” Eddie smiles, “In case you didn’t have one.”  “I brought you an extra,” Steve corrects, eyes falling on you from behind his Ray Bans, “You can thank me later, angel.” 

“You do not have to thank him,” Eddie scrunches his nose while you all walk to the wood planked entrance covered in sand. This area was at least less crowded but far from the bathrooms and food stalls by the front of the parking lot. He can feel your eyes on him, following the way his cut off shirt rides up revealing the end of a snake and sword tattoo off his side and oblique. Lingering on the top of his jeans, on the ways his biceps and forearms flex at every move of the load he’s holding. He swallows hard, suddenly so aware of himself and what he looks like – do you like it? Do you think he looks good? 

The blankets get placed and so do the chairs, Steve and Nancy expertly get the umbrella in – she reads the directions out loud and Steve does what she says as she says it. When everything is settled you kick off your sandals and put it by your canvas tote, taking out your sunglasses. Eddie sits on the blanket below you, watching you get yourself together. You reach for the bottom of your shirt, a tee from some time in your life when he didn’t know you. Eddie’s mouth falls open when you pull it up over your head; his tongue curls up in his mouth when he sees the soft arch in your back, the way your breasts press up against the edge of your suit. That red suit. 

He licks his lips absentmindedly, unable to look at you when you start taking your shorts off because if he watches the jiggle your ass and thighs he won’t be able to deal. He’s lucky he’s wearing aviators big enough to cover his saucer like eyes – embarrassed by the way his body react like some teenager reading a Playboy. He's a grown man for god's sakes.

“H-hey Rob,” his voice cracks awkwardly, “You uh, um, you wanna check out the water?” “Yeah, gimme one sec,” she calls out, tossing her hair up in a claw clip from her back pack. “That’s mine,” Nancy argues, “How long have you had that?!”  Robin shrugs, “Long enough that you didn’t miss it.”  “You do this every time you come over. You always steal something,” she huffs, Robin popping her gum between her teeth in response.

"It's a little something to remember you by, Nance," she shrugs with a smirk. “You wanna come?” he asks you, shrugging off his shorts and throwing his trunks over his boxer briefs.  “Not yet, want it to get a little hot before I check it out,” you explain, taking your sunscreen out.  He huffs a laugh, trying a hand at being flirty despite the distance he feels between you, “Well, to be honest sugar, you’re already lookin’ pretty h–”  “Don’t embarrass yourself,” Robin breathes, patting him on the back, “Let’s go.” 

He takes a look back at you smiling at you over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.” “I’ll be here,” you wave him off while you start to spray your sunscreen on your arms. He turns back towards the water, crashing in waves and sliding up the shore. The sun kissed his skin over his crop, still not ready to take it off yet. 

“You gonna make it, Ed?” Robin asks, bumping her shoulder against his, "You're fumbling bad. She looks good."

“I just – fuck Rob,” he shakes his head, looking down at their feet while they step over shells and seaweed on the bank above the shore, “It feels ruined. Like she came to like, to check to see if she still likes me."  

“I don’t know what it is. It just doesn't feel easy like it was before,” he shrugs, “How I’m supposed to bring up last weekend or like, how to talk to her anymore.” “She seems totally fine,” Robin says with a look, “Maybe you’re just over thinking it.” “She seems totally fine with you guys but I don’t know – it feels like for me there’s a wall there. Like the insane connection we had before just doesn’t matter because I’m a dumbass. Maybe this should’ve just been a fling and after today we’ll just end it,” he rambles on, “Am I making sense?”  

“You are making sense,” she agrees, “But I don't think you ruined it. I think you're being kind of down on yourself about it and you're doing it on purpose." "What does that even mean?" he snaps. "It means, she wouldn't have come if she didn't want to work it out with you. Like, why would she come hang out for the day with your friends if she wasn't trying to make an effort to fix things?" "Well I mean--" "Not done," she says, putting her hand up, "And further, I think one little hint of something not going totally perfect makes you so afraid that you're gonna get hurt bad like with Chrissy. And it's clear that you really like this girl -- like, really like her. And that freaks you out, so you don't want to go through the motions of fixing it just in case things go left a second time."

“It doesn’t freak me out,” he shuts it down quickly but he knows she’s right, sighing when he considers it, “Maybe it does. Maybe it's scaring me that I'm already thinking about her like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“I dunno, like I wanna be with her. Like really with her,” he shrugs while they step into the foaming leftovers of a wave receding. The water is freezing, not yet warmed up from the heat of summer since the ninety degree weather is such a mid-spring surprise. 

“Fuck!” they both hiss in unison, stepping ankle deep into the water. 

“Be with her like…marry her?” she asks, crystal blue eyes squinting into the horizon, "You sure you're not simultaneously thinking too far ahead?"

“Maybe,” he says, pulling his hair out of its ponytail and shaking it out at the root. The curls at the base of his neck already starting to get tight and coiled with sweat. 

“I should probably start by being her boyfriend first,” he laughs. "You should probably start by working through this little snag first," she corrects, "You can be her boyfriend some other time." "Not all of us want a perpetual 'will they, won't they' relationship like two idiots in bikinis that I know," Eddie teases her, pulling his hair back up in the scrunchy he also stole from Nancy when they went to her house for a movie night. 

“Don’t let Wheeler see you with that,” she warns, reaching out for his hand while they turn back towards the sand. Eddie takes it, savoring the reassuring squeeze she offers in understanding. 

“What’s she gonna do, Buckley?” Eddie raises a brow, “Eat me out about it?” 

“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” Robin snorts, letting go to give him a shove in the shoulder while sand kicks of from their heels. 

Back where the towels and beach blankets are set up, you’re on your stomach, leaning your head to one side in a conversation with Nancy that has you giggling with each other. He nudges Robin with his shoulder who nudges him back. He wonders if Robin feels the same way about Nancy as he feels about you. He wonders if Robin will ever tell her. 

“How’s the water?” Nance asks, propping her chin up on the heel of her hand. 

“Freezing,” Eddie grimaces, “Like, bone chilling.” “I’m not surprised,” you shrug, “It’s not real hot yet.” “Just fake hot?” he asks back. “Yeah, just fake hot,” you agree with a scrunch of your nose. Still quick. 

Nervously, he makes the commitment of pulling off the cut off tee he came in, never normally thinking much about his body until you were right there in front of him but lightyears away. Eddie didn’t think he looked bad, but compared to Steve’s tanned, defined chest and abs he thought maybe he left more to be desired. It had kind of always felt like that, he thought, even when he was married. He wanted to feel like someone worth bragging about, and by the end of his relationship with Chrissy – she wasn’t really doing much bragging. With the way he could feel your eyes on him earlier, he was more self conscious now than he had been in years. He folds it up the shity nice, tossing it down on the beach blanket by you before sitting down and fishing into his bag for some sun screen. He’s meticulous with it over his tattoos, standing back up to get the snake and sword on his oblique fully covered.  

“This is kind of cliche but would you be down to get my back?” he asks hopefully, turning toward you, “I can do yours.” 

“Steve did mine,” you reply, face quirking from behind your sunglasses. “Oh um, wow,” he tries to shake it off, but the comment stings.Thinking about Steve having his hands on you in this suit before he ever even got the chance. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure, “Nancy got my back, but I can do yours.”  He frowns, “Don’t joke like that, please.” 

You get quiet and nod, taking the sunscreen from him. “Sorry,” you say in a whisper. Miles away. He wants to apologize for your apology. 

You’re gentle when you rub the sunscreen onto his back, taking extra care of the ink on his shoulder blade flowing down and wrapping into the tattoos on his ribcage. You can tell by the depth of the ink that he takes good care of them, feeling him relax under your touch. Eddie leans his head to the side while you continue, seeing two girls making their way down the sandy banks just by where their crew was set up. They lay out their towels while awkwardly trying to get their umbrella in place – laughing while they keep getting it wrong. When you’re done with his back, he thanks you softly – happy to see that you settle back down next to him. 

“How long do you think it’s gonna take them to finally get it in?” you ask. If he was a stupid boy he’d say ‘That’s what she said’, but he’s not so–

“That’s what she said,” Steve jokes. Eddie turns to see that Steve’s lifted up his Raybans, enjoying the show as the girls dig and shove their umbrella into the sand – losing sight of one of their towels now blowing over in the wind. 

“Come the fuck on,” one of them groans, but they are laughing too hard to be mad, too hard to grip the umbrella tight enough. It’s not lost on Eddie that Steve is watching because the girl with the umbrella in her hands, with her black suit and cat eye sunglasses, is nearly bursting out of her bathing suit top with a cleavage that even makes his own eyes widen. 

“Be right back,” Steve says, getting up out of his beach chair.  “Don’t be embarrassing,” Robin begs, “Please.” Steve flips her off while he walks by her, taking a few more steps past the beach blankets and running a hand through his chestnut hair. 

“Ahoy ladies!” he calls out, “Need a hand?” 

“Ew,” Robin mumbles, “He’s so weird.” 

“He’s gonna come back with both of their numbers, just watch,” Nancy says, “Every time.” 

“Is he really that much of a ladies man?” you ask, “He’s kind of – I don’t know. He’s kind of goofy.” 

Eddie laughs hard, Nancy and Robin joining in. Hard belly laughs. Not because of just the question, but the way you asked it. The genuine curiosity, the admission of how you felt. It was the exact thing Steve needed to hear, a shame he wasn’t around to hear it. It’s here that he knows he needs to just bite the bullet and work things out because you’re so sweet. You’re so – you’re just so you. 

“Don’t worry, we don’t get it either,” Nancy laughs, wiping her eyes. 

“Ooh, I needed that, that was good,” Robin breathes, “But you’re right, he’s super goofy.” 

Steve had come back an hour later, putting together their entire set up and taking some time to sit and talk to him. Without fail, he sat back down in his beach chair with two new numbers in his phone; breaking into one of the Yeti coolers and pulling out the canned mixed drinks he packed en-masse. 

“Whose partaking?” he asks, holding one up. It’s only 11 AM but hot weekends are a means for day drinking, and if anyone needs to take the edge off it’s Eddie Munson. Between the awkward half smiles and some back and forth and the way his heart dips and leaps at any given moment while next to you, he’d take any relaxer he can get. 

You all grab a drink, and he watches fondly as you talk about beach reads with Nancy and Robin. Sitting in the sand while the three of you make semi sand castles with each of your cans in dug out cup holders. He admires the way the sun bounces off your shoulders and tries to not admire the way your suit rides up on your hips. He doesn’t want to fix things just on account of being horny. 

Eddie checks his phone for signs of life from Gareth and Tati – they sent a few photos from Flamingo Island. Tatianna feeding the birds while looking like a supermodel and Gareth keeping a distance from the birds while looking awkward and pale. Another, a live photo of a selfie of Tatianna glowing with the beach in the background. Eddie holds his thumb on the picture, letting it play to Gare reaching over from behind to kiss her on the cheek. He smiles, watching them be in love through the photos, eyes flicking from you to them. Wondering when you’ll both be next. 

Robin sparks a pre-roll and you all sneakily split it like kids hiding from the cops. When you pass it to him, your fingers brush, and he can’t help but flash a bright smile at you while he takes it. 

“Thanks, sugar,” he drops his voice purposely, watching as your posture changes – a fluster running through you. 

“You’re welcome,” you mumble, going back to your sand and conversation. 

Eddie pulls his notebook out, a hybrid for a DnD and lesson plan scrap paper for when he thinks of something fun to do that the board will say no to. He takes their no and does it anyway, it’s not like they check. 

He gets up from the beach blanket, opting to set up his chair under the umbrella to get a break from the sun and so he can see the paper in the bright light. Some time passes and he’s knee deep in planning a new campaign when from above the notepad you’d made your way back from the sand, settling back down. 

“I want fries so bad,” you complain. 

“There’s a stand at the end of the beach,” he offers. 

“I don’t want to go get fries,” you sigh, “I would like the fries to be here already.” He licks his lips nervously before closing the notebook over his thumb, “I’ll go with you.” 

You look up at him from your spot on the blanket and he looks down at you, both knowing that being alone together will only bring upon the inevitable. Maybe you both need to grow up. 

“Um,” you hesitate before nodding, “Yeah, yeah okay. Let me just get my shorts on.” 

Eddie puts his notebook away, grabbing his wallet and putting it into the pocket of his trunks before slipping his shoes back on. You throw on your shorts, sliding into your sandals reaching for your bag. 

“You don’t need your bag,” he says gently, “I got it for you.” 

You smile, it’s small, “Oh, well – thanks.” “C’mon,” he says, ticking his head back toward the planked walkway for an easy walk back up to the asphalt. As you walk ahead of him, Robin, Steve, and Nance all exchange glances knowingly. Robin offers him a thumbs up before he turns around, following you up the beach. 

Without the buffer of everyone else, the tension feels worse. He’s not sure whether to reach for you, but when you tuck your hands in your shorts pockets it becomes obvious that you don’t want him to hold your hand. 

“Weather’s pretty wild, huh?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Your shoulders bump while you keep walking, not continuing the conversation but muttering a soft apology when you collide. 

Eddie sighs, a little too audibly because your shoulders sulk a bit when he lets out the last of the breath. He can’t really take this anymore, biting his cheeks for resolve and guiding you over to the concrete barrier that separates the boardwalk from the beach. 

“Look,” he begins, voice shaking, “Before we get fries we – we really need to talk about the other night.” 

“I said it was fine,” you respond, but you don’t meet his eye. Your tone lacks energy, like you’re just trying to push it away; but he doesn’t want that. His rings clink against the concrete when he pats the top, “Sit.” 

When you oblige, he stands between your knees, “It’s not fine. You were really upset. I wanna talk about it.” 

“It’s stupid, it doesn’t matter,” you reply, your eyes landing on his shoulder, looking at the people walking past him, “I’ll get over it.” He tentatively puts a hand on your leg, letting his thumb run over your soft skin. A rush runs through him when you don’t pull away, soothingly running his hand back and forth.

“It matters to me,” he says, moving his head so he can catch your gaze. It’s clear now that whatever is part of your own tragic lore has a lot to do with how you approach stuff like this; how you don’t really want to tell him that he hurt your feelings. 

“Is it because of me talking about my ex?” he asks. 

You’re quiet for a few minutes and he’s patient, watching you mull over the night in your head and finding the courage to let the words out. His hand travels from your thigh to where your hand rests on the barrier, interlocking your fingers with his.  

“She’s just so pretty,” you say, voice strained with emotion – weak like you’re swallowing a cry, “And I don’t look like that.” 

“I don’t want you to look like that,” he says gently. 

“It’s not just that…it’s just – I –” you roll your eyes at your own ridiculousness, “I just…I’ve been the rebound a lot, before my ex. Always for people whose partner before looked like your ex-wife, and was perfect, and pretty, and graceful, and all of the nice things you said she was. And I’m sure she’s great, I really believe you.” He squeezes your hand with gentleness while you continue. 

“I just don’t want to like you this much just to be your rebound,” you confess, “And I know you said you like me and that what we’ve been doing so far has been so good, but that’s like – that’s how it always starts out. These guys will act like I’m so great for them just to y’know – toss me when they get what they need. And you just sort of went from talking about how amazing and caring she is to like – talking about my body.” 

His brows crinkle, a frown pulling on his lips, “Why didn’t you tell me I was making you feel like that when I asked?” 

“I didn’t want you to be mad,” you mumble, a crackle in your tone, “Or tell me I was being stupid or get defensive because I just…I didn’t want to ruin it. But I – I ruined it anyway.” 

“No, no,” he shakes his head, taking his sunglasses off, round eyes pleading to you, “Sweetheart you didn’t ruin it. I’m – I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me. I wouldn’t have been mad.” 

“I just really don’t wanna get hurt,” you plead, “I don’t want to waste my time.” “You’re not I – babe, I don’t wanna get hurt either,” he sighs, “But you’re not a rebound. It’s…it’s been three years since I even considered seeing someone seriously. That’s not what I’m looking for. I already told you that night after Barcade how much I like you.” 

“Yeah but people say a lot of things just to get laid,” you shrug. 

His chest deflates, “Is that really what you think of me?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Maybe we just don’t really know each other yet.” 

It dawns on him slowly, you don’t really know each other yet. He knows how he feels about you, and how it feels like he’s known you his whole life. But he doesn’t know your ins and outs and you don’t know his – there’s a patience and excitement about the idea of learning it all.

“I don’t just wanna sleep with you,” he says earnestly, “Hell I was – I was so nervous to kiss you at Little Spoon, and even after Steve’s birthday…I – I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. And when things went left y’know I just – I was waitin’ by the phone for you to say something. I didn’t wanna push because I figured maybe you needed a minute.” “But sugar, I really felt awful,” he continues, letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I really was scared that you just decided you were done with me.” 

“I don’t wanna be done with you,” you say through squished cheeks. 

“I don’t wanna be done with you, either,” he says, “Cause getting started has been really great so far.” 

“I still really like you,” you profess. 

“I’m kind of obsessed with you,” he laughs breathily. 

“Yeah, I know,” you laugh, almost a little teary, “I tell you all the time.” 

“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” he asks, running his tongue over his lips. 

“Okay.” With his hands on your cheeks, he pulls you into him, letting his nose brush your first before pressing his lips against yours – no longer rubbery and despondent in their response. He feels weightless, not even caring about the people walking by who might be staring when he slips his tongue into your mouth. Kissing you feels more right than ever. Kissing you feels like coming home. 

When he breaks away, breathless, his eyes coast over your features, “Shit…” 

“What?” 

“I just…I really fucking like you.” 

You lean forward to bless him with a kiss again, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be afraid to steal one from you whenever he wants now. 

You continued your talk on the remainder of the walk to get fries, explaining your insecurities that he quelled with each thought that passed your lips. He confessed to the tears in his Honda and how he didn’t mean to come off so in love when talking about Chrissy – just that she was important to him, and that part of him will love her in a fond way, always. You confess you have a few people like that in your life too, but you’ll talk about that in ‘another episode’. He lets you know you only have to talk about things when you’re ready. 

On the way back, you hold hands, Eddie holding the bag with your fries in the other. He presses kisses to your temple and cheek every few intervals – laughing at you when you stop at the sound of Return of the Mack to hit a groove. 

“Truthfully, this is one of my favorite songs of all time,” you tell him, “And I played it all week to try to make myself feel better.” 

“Did you dance like this in your house each time?” 

“I did.” 

“I’m sad I missed it, I could’ve used a laugh,” he teases. 

“You’re very cruel,” you concede, hip bumping him while you continue on, “You’d die to have me give you a lap dance.” 

His ears turn pink at the thought, “Heh, well um…well if you’re offering…”

“It’s on the table,” you shrug, giving his hand a squeeze. 

“It can be anywhere, sweetheart – table, chair, in space – you name it I —” 

He stops when he notices the way a guy looks at you as he walks by, eyes scanning from the top of your head down to your thighs. Eddie’s head tilts, following the guys vision even as you pass – the man getting a good look as your ass with abandon. 

“Hey,” Eddie snaps, a touch of pride swelling in his chest. The guy looks up and meets his eye. 

“Yeah, you,” he continues, holding eye contact with a furrowed brow, “See somethin’ you like, chief?” 

“Listen man, I’m not startin’ trouble here I was – I was just –” 

“You were just walkin’ the other way,” Eddie finishes for him, “Get fuckin’ lost.” 

You tuck your lips into your teeth, while Eddie guides you away, hand wrapping around you to slide from your waist to your ass with a firm squeeze before settling in your shorts back pocket. You turn to look at him while you walk and he shakes his head. 

“Don’ look at me like that,” he huffs a laugh, grinning slightly, “Look, this is my ass.” 

“Well, technically it’s my ass but um, y’know, whatever you say,” you respond, a little breathy. He remembers the way you mentioned tipsily at the bar that you liked that streak in him. And if anything this true now, after these conversations, he wants everyone to know you’re his. He’s not playing around. 

When you get back to the group there’s another set of blankets next to yours, and a collection of more friends that you remember from Steve’s party. 

“Oh, hey freaks,” Eddie chimes when they all say their cheery hellos to the both of you. He nods at Erica in respect, “Miss Applejack.” 

“Nerd,” she hums out, fishing out a Nerf howler from Steve’s bag to play with Max and Lucas. Steve, of course, is back over making a fool of himself by the girls from earlier while Nancy, Robin, Dustin play cards. Mike, who you haven’t met, is stuck in a book under the umbrella. 

“What’re you reading Wheeler?” Eddie asks, taking you hand in hand back to the blanket to sit down. 

“It’s called The Ethical Slut,” he murmurs, “Me and El are practicing Ethical Non Monogamy while she’s in LA with Will.” 

“Practicing what?” he asks through a mouthful of fry. 

“Ethical non-monogamy,” he sighs, peering over the pages, “My guys at Oberlin were telling me about it. It’s like, it’s like being open.” 

Eddie pulls a face and take the book out of his hand, hitting him in side of the head with it, “Don’t be fuckin’ weird, dude.” 

“It’s not – ugh it’s not weird, you’re just old and don’t get it,” he sighs. 

“You’re old and don’t get it, tool,” Eddie clicks his tongue, “This is why you’re both always fighting.” 

“Oh my god, we’re not always fighting we just–” “Alright twerps, meet my friends,” Steve says with a game show host smile, hands showing off the two girls from before. They introduce themselves, everyone going around to offer their names, too. 

“And over there is Lucas, Max, and Erica,” Steve says, pointing at the three closer to the edge of the shore. He motions for them to sit, offering them drinks from the coolers while they make themselves comfortable. 

“I think we should play never have I ever so we can all get to know each other,” Steve offers, sitting between the two women who giggle whenever he looks at them. Clear from the look on their faces that he definitely snuck one of Robin’s pre-rolls over to spark up before bringing them to the group. 

“No, Steve, we’re not playing that,” Eddie waves the suggestion off like a bad smell. 

“How come?” you ask with a laugh. 

“Cause we’re in our fuckin’ 30s, what is this, a high school beach party?” 

“You just don’t like it ‘cause you always lose,” Steve teases, catching your eye, “He’s a sore loser, angel.” 

“I believe this,” you nod. 

“Okay, well, I still said what I said,” Eddie huffs. 

“There’s no way, look, I’ll start with an easy one,” you offer, “Never have I ever um…spent a weekend in jail.” 

Eddie scowls with a gravelly sigh, bringing a beer to his lips. Steve barks a laugh, “See, I told you – sore loser.” 

Max, Lucas, and Erica come back to the blankets when they see the newcomers sitting with the group. Max tosses Robin and look and Eddie knows that means they’ll be double teaming to make sure Steve looks like a tool at every given moment. Lucas asks if it’s a round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ and everyone excitedly agrees except for Eddie whose stewing, and Mike whose chest deep in his book. 

“Okay, we don’t have to play,” you soothe, running your hand over his bicep, “But damn, you spent a weekend in jail?” 

“I have spent,” he sighs, taking another sip of beer, “A lot of weekends in jail, sweetheart.” 

“Like – for bad stuff?” 

“Like, for stupid shit,” he explains, “I was a dumb kid, it was all dumb shit. But yeah, I got a little record. Nothing crazy enough to keep me from teaching.” 

“Sooo mysterious,” you tease, laying down on your back while you snag a fry from the back, “Very bad boy of Dawson’s Creek.” 

“Mean,” he glares playfully, laying next to you, “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know about you, then.” 

“Hmm,” you think, turning to look him over, “I am lifeguard and WSI certified.” 

“WSI?” 

“Water safety instructor,” you answer, “I teach swim lessons. Well used to.” 

“You know like, first aid and stuff?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod excitedly, “Like CPR and stuff.” 

“Hm,” he hums, leaning on his side, propping his head up, “Like you could give me mouth to mouth?” 

“Don’t be horny and gross,” you laugh, “I could save your life.” “It would save my life to have your mouth on my mouth, I promise,” he says with a hint of seriousness. 

“Tell me somethin’ else I don’t know about you, jailbird,” you prompt, matching his posture. 

“Ummm, ah!” he snaps, “I um, I speak Spanish.” Your brows furrow, “Like, fluently?” 

“Sí, con fluidez,” he smirks. 

“Show off,” you grin.

“Ooh, you think it’s hot, don’t you?” he laughs, “You think I’m so sexy.” 

“You’re somethin’,” you sigh, “How’d you get fluent in Spanish?” 

“I took it in high school and college,” he shrugs, “But I worked at a pretty authentic Colombian restaurant for like, five years while teaching before getting to the private school. I was in the kitchen and all the guys spoke Spanish so I sorta committed. And y’know, a lot of my kids’ parents speak Spanish so it’s helpful to be able to communicate with them too. I don’t wanna lose it, so I practice a lot.” 

“Look at you,” you encourage, “What else would surprise me?” 

“Oh I don’t know,” he shrugs, feeding you a fry, “Maybe – hmm – I love Sza.”  “The singer?” you ask through a mouthful. 

“Yes,” he nods, “She’s my celebrity pass I’m, wow, I love her. She’s so fine. But also, I dig her sound – Ctrl is one of my favorite albums of all time. We even do a cover of The Weekend at our sets sometimes.” 

“How does that work? Like, is it just a screamo version?” 

“Screamo? Don’t disrespect me like that,” he holds a hand to his chest over his silver chains, “We’re a metal band, baby.” “Sorry, please excuse me. Like, is it just a metal version?” you repeat back with a little bite. He rests the tip of his tongue by the sharp point of his canine when he smiles at you, flicking over your face before looking back into your eyes. 

“It’s kind of a Deftones-y version,” he shrugs. 

“Oh,” you nod, “Okay.” 

“What?” 

“Nothin’ just, would really like to hear that someday,” but there’s something in the way you say it, “Did you ever record it?” 

“Might’ve? Maybe just rehearsals,” he shrugs, “If we did, it’s somewhere on my hard drive.” “Well, maybe we can find it later.” “Later?” he asks, eyes glittering with excitement, “You’re – you’re gonna come over?” 

“Yeah, I – I packed a little extra just in case,” you giggle. He knew he was right, that feeling in his gut when he took your bag. He was gonna give you the re-do of a the century. 

“We’ll look for it when we get home and you can listen,” he promises. “It’d be cool to hear it live one day,” you suggest. He makes a note to put it back in rotation for the summer set list; even though they put the cover to bed some time last year. 

“You wanna see me play?” 

“Of course,” you nod, “You’re gonna be a famous rockstar, remember? We went over this.” 

“You’re right,” he nods back, leaning forward, tucking a fingertip under your chin, “I remember.” 

You both ignore the coos and aws from the group as he leans in to kiss you. 

‘After sun sleepy’ is what you called it in the car as the group of you piled in, the weight of the day heavy on your eyelids. Salt and sand coated both of you, a soft tinge of pink glowed off of Eddie’s shoulders where the sunscreen couldn’t hold out any longer. The ride home was less eventful than the ride there, everyone tuckered out and sun soaked from the day’s activities. Steve gave you both some parting teasing once you let him know he didn’t have to drop you off at your house once he pulled up in front of Eddie’s. 

“Use protection,” he calls out from the window. 

“Bye,” Eddie calls back out, “Don’t ever come back.” 

He’s much cooler about opening the door this time around, not speedily trying to get things done before the party made it back to his. No count down for when you had to leave. He has the rest of the night and all of tomorrow to have you to himself. This time he could take it slow, take his time, you could both relax. “I need to shower,” you mumble, slipping your sandals off in the entryway. “We can shower,” he nods, placing the beach bags down next to his Vans – he’ll deal with that later. You turn around on the balls of your feet, smirking while your arms fold across your chest. He tries to ignore the way your boobs push in and up, the top curve of tour cleavage  making him feel dumb. 

“We?” you ask. 

“Uhh,” he coughs to buy time, smirking to himself behind his hand, “I just – um – I don’t know. I don’t know why I said that. Why I said it like that.” 

You laugh, watching him sputter, “I think I know why you said it like that.” 

“Look,” he puts his hands up, “It may or may not have been something I’ve been thinking about at night when I’m trying to avoid grading papers. That’s all.” 

He guides you to the bathroom, stopping at the small closet down the hall to grab you both towels and washcloths; fresh from the dryer this morning. It’s when you’re both standing on the tile floor, water running, that he realizes what’s next and he’s…well, he’s nervous. 

He holds his breath while you take down your shorts, thumbs looping into the straps of your bathing suit to start pulling it down. He braces himself, watching some sand come down with the red fabric while you tug it further over your chest, down your stomach until it’s on the floor. Every inch of you available for him to see, and it doesn’t feel like the horny sexual guttural reveal he has imagined it to be. It feels different, eyes scanning over you, your decolletage, your breasts, the peak of your nipples, the dimples in your skin just above your stomach. Your belly, your thighs, the smattering of cellulite where they meet, following all the way down to your toes. Eddie regards you like a painting, like something too sacred to touch. A tug pulls in his ribcage, butterflies in his stomach, throat getting tight where he almost wants to cry. You’re so beautiful, he thinks. So beautiful that it’s unfair. 

“Wow…” he whispers, delicate and subdued. A smile spreads across your face, so bright and genuine that he melts. 

“I’m guessing that’s a good wow,” you infer, pulling back the shower curtain to step in. He catches a glimpse at the back of you, sucking in a breath at the curve of your thighs and hips, meeting to prop up a butt cheek while one foot stays on the lip of the tub. 

“Yeah, yeah it’s um, it’s a really good wow,” he answers, albeit dumbly. 

“You coming in, too?” you ask, stepping fully behind the curtain. 

“Yep, yeah,” Eddie nods, hurrying back to himself only to feel the aching tension in his pants. He groans internally, humiliation bubbling in his belly like he got called on in class to come to the board. This was going to happen eventually, right? You were going to see it eventually? So why is it so weird thinking about being in the shower with you. You know he has one, it’s not weird, it’s not…a surprise. 

Just take your pants of, Munson, c’mon, he urges to himself. He awkwardly shimmies his trunks down, folding down the boxer briefs beneath them where sand had collected uncomfortably in side. 

Sand in my fucking ball sack and now I have to go stand in the shower with her? Are you kidding? he grumbles internally. His shirt gets pulled over his head and he’s face to face with himself in the mirror over the sink. A dusting of freckles forming on his shoulders in the soft pink of the mild sunburn, a little burn on the bridge of his nose. Tattoos vibrant against skin that just never seems to get enough sun. 

Eddie leaves his rings in Tatianna’s jewelry bowl that they started to share when Tatianna taught him that his jewelry will last longer if he stops showering with it on. As his silver chains drizzle in next to his rings, he takes a breath, turning toward the shower curtain where he can already smell his body wash wafting through the steam. 

“Did you start without me?” he asks, fingers taking in the fabric. 

“You’re taking forever, and I hate feeling sandy,” you respond. He steps in, the warm water hitting his toes, seeing yours where the suds hit to go down the train. When he looks up to see you, he gulps – not only naked, but naked and soapy. 

Jesus Christ, he sighs in his head. Any sense of calming down his cock had long since passed now. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, hand covering himself while he steps in.

“It’s okay,” you assure, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder. Eddie’s cheeks redden when he watches you scan over him, a satisfied smile pulling your cheeks toward your eyes, “Hey, you.” 

“Hey,” he chokes out, the ease of talking to you and getting you flustered is suddenly harder than it’s ever been before. With a nervous step forward, he reaches for your hips, bruised and rough fingertips sliding over your skin from his assault on his guitar earlier this week. Eddie gulps when he steps fully behind you, his length pressing flat against him between the two of you with a friction that makes both get a hitch in your breath. 

He leans in to print a kiss on your shoulder, a waft of cedar, bergamot, and vetiver on your skin. Another kiss and he leans his forehead against it while you both stand in the stream of the water. 

“You are…” he trails off, taking a shuddering inhale, “You are so, so beautiful.” 

One hand stays on your hip while to other travels up to your waist, to just under your breasts. Slipping and sliding on the soap and water mixing on your skin with left over sunscreen to be washed down the drain. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, headiness deepening your voice. Neither of you move too quickly, letting him press kisses over you before finally kissing your lips to switch sides in the shower. He lathers up and you see it. Your brows raising in surprise while he lets the water soak his curls. 

“What?” he asks with a cheeky grin. 

“You know what,” you laugh. 

“No, I don’t know what,” it’s a tease and he knows that, but it’s still fun to watch you get like this. 

“You weren’t lying when you said – when you y’know…” 

“When I said…?” 

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes, embarrassment evident on your face, “When you said it was big.” 

“Oh yeah,” he nods coolly, scrubbing shampoo into his hair, “Why would I lie about that?” 

And despite his half chill demeanor at the comment, he is fucking cheering so loud in his head that you think this about him and are saying it outloud. 

“Well don’t get a big head,” you joke, taking the remaining wash cloth from the edge of the tub and loading it with water and soap, “It’s more important that you know how to use it.” 

He tilts his head at you after rinsing out the shampoo, “Be honest, do I look like a guy that doesn’t know how to use it?” 

“Like I said before,” you reach forward with the washcloth, massaging it onto his shoulder, “We don’t know each other.” 

It’s the way you touch him and the mild scolding that makes his knees weak. You’re soft but deliberate, sudsing him up on his chest and back while he smooth conditioner in his hair. A muffled moan comes from his diaphragm when you ease the cloth over his lower belly, soap catching on the hair of his happy trail. Your eyes flick up at him mischievously, stepping closer to him to give him a kiss. Eddie sighs into it, letting the water pour down his back and rinse the conditioner out while he leans in rest a hand on your cheek, the other takes the wash cloth from you. 

“Do you not want me to do it?” you ask sheepishly. 

“I want you to do it way too much,” he smirks against your lips, quickly leaning down to get his legs and nether regions, “But thank you, you’re very sweet.” 

There’s plenty of hot water left, and it doesn’t go to waste. Both of you standing in the shower, soapy and fresh where you both feel safe enough to explore. His hands roam the expanse of you, trailing from the top of your neck down to your ass, cupping your breasts and with a gentle squeeze while you both gasp between kisses. His rigid length stays pressed between you, leaking pitifully while snuggly hugging your hip bone. 

You leave his kiss bitten mouth to nip at his jaw, down further to run your tongue from the base of his neck to the shell of his ear. Unable to hold back anymore, he whines. Needy and desperate, he does it again when your tongue flicks at his earlobe. 

“Mmm’god,” he breathes, slurring. He feels your smile against his skin when you go back to his neck, embarrassed at the reveal of his sensitive ears and jugular. Your tongue traces the tattoo on his right peck, some scratchy shitty demon head he got when he was sixteen from some older kid in his living room. Wayne would’ve made him sleep outside if it hadn’t gotten infected and needed attention. Eddie keeps meaning to get it covered, but by the way you’re kissing over it he thinks maybe he’ll keep it around. 

He twitches when you get to his ribs, a sharp inhale making him stand rigid while you move further down his body. Your hands rest on his stomach and glide to his thighs while you take your place on your knees in the cramped tub. His cock standing at attention straight out, reddening at the tip, in some way knowing there’s a girl staring right at it without his brain needing to send the signal. 

“This okay?” you ask, looking up at him with dew drops in your lashes. He nods, afraid that if he speaks he’ll just spill all over, one false move and he’ll end the night before it even began. 

You move slow, hands just under the swell of his butt. You bypass his erection and kiss his hip bone, then his pelvis. He shivers, hand gripping the shower curtain rod, white knuckling the ceramic coated metal while your breath coasts over his shaft. 

Your wet tongue runs flat from base to tip, making his eyes shut tight. 

“Shit,” he whimpers and you chuckle. He could just die, feeling the vibration of it on his head where your tongue stays. Your hand grips him gently, pumping him while you keep the top half in your mouth and against your lips. He cracks his eyes open to look down at you, mouth hanging open at the immediate eye contact he gets from you looking up at him. Mouth full and eager, wet and hot. 

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, free hand delicately resting on the back of your head. You continue your double duty for a few more stroke before dropping your hand. Your eye contact stops, determination in your brow when he feels your mouth and throat open up around him. Your head moving further down his shaft with skill – snug and tight. He thrusts forward slightly, moaning as you work with his hips. Eddie feels himself tighten, the heat in his belly growing to a steady and churning thrum. 

You like the challenge of getting him off and he can tell by how you keep going, down far enough that you gag and as much as he hates himself for it the sound sends him hurtling towards release. With a cruel bite to his inner cheek he holds back, but the sight of you with spit trailing from your mouth to his shaft does little to aid in settling him down. Almost pornographic. 

You wipe your mouth, reaching your hand out to stroke him again, but as your mouth leans in to start up he pulls his hips back.

“Baby, baby, wait stop–” he whines, moving away. 

“Is everything okay?” you ask, putting your hands on your thighs. 

“I just..wow I –” he collects himself, offering his hand to help you stand up on the slippery tub floor, “I haven’t um – wow, I haven’t had my dick sucked in a – in a long time and I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna cum yet.” 

Your worry turns into a cocky and confident smirk, “Oh, was that where that was heading?” 

He takes another ragged breath to steady himself, “Don’t get slick, we got all night.” 

You kiss until the water turns cold. 

Two boxes of pizza sit open on the coffee table in front of the couch you’re both snuggled up in. Both of your bellies are full and eyes drowsy in the glow of the TV. The sun had made its way down and the weather cooled off considerably, the breeze from the windows keeping you both under blankets with your bodies wrapped around each other in a cozy post carb bliss. 

“This is honestly all I’ve wanted for weeks,” Eddie murmurs. 

“What is?” you ask, tilting your head up so the tip of your nose hits his cheek. 

“This,” he says softly, “Being all snuggled up on my couch with you.” “You’re so cheesy,” you tease. 

“Yeah, that’s something you should get to know about me,” he says into a kiss, “M’super cheesy.” 

“Huge tool,” you nod, another kiss. 

“It’s really bad,” he agrees, “I’m so annoying.” “So annoying,” you mumble, tongue striping his lower lip. He grants you access with ease, tongue dancing with yours while you maneuver your way onto his lap like you had after Steve’s party. 

“Snuggled up on my couch with no one to interrupt us,” he says, looking up at you with desperate eyes, “Right?” 

You bite your lip nervously, the confidence from the shower ebbing away even in the heat of the moment, “Right.” “Come with me,” he says, voice sweet and slow like molasses. Eddie eases you off his lap, taking your hand to bring you into his bedroom – which he scrubbed to sparkling the night before. At the foot of his bed he kisses your cheek, fingers running over the hem of your sleep shirt, no longer a sputtering idiot but smooth in his movements while he eases it off you. 

He leans down to kiss your neck, earning him a breathy sigh while your back arches into him. His thumbs tuck under the band of your sweats and panties, letting them fall to the floor by your feet – easing you on to your back on his comforter. 

He takes down his own sweats, half hard as he climbs onto the bed on his knees, kneeling between yours. Your arms come up to snake under his, wrapping around his back, hands landing on his traps. He relents leaning down on his forearms so you’re skin to skin, chest to chest. Your noses brush, Eddie using his to angle your face to him, pressing your foreheads together, the tops of your lips touching. 

“This is okay, right?” he asks, the warm white glow of the rope light on his far wall illuminating the frizz in his curls like a halo. It cradles your face, bouncing off your eyes that look so sweet at him. 

“I think if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be naked under you right now,” you say back, barely audible. 

“Right, right,” he chuckles, lips attaching to yours with needy hunger. He stiffens below the belt, groaning when your hips roll up to meet his, when your legs wrap around him. But he can’t just start like that, pushing up again onto his hands. 

“I gotta go down on your first,” he huffs. 

“I mean I’m not gonna say no,” you laugh, he laughs too. A pepper of pecks following from your lips and down your chest, he takes fond care of your nipples on the way down. Tongue and teeth gently nipping and licking while his fingers explore between your legs. 

“Eddie…” your breathy call of his name sends a shiver through him, feeling how wet you are already just from having him pressed up against you like this. 

“That feels good?” he asks tentatively, meeting his fingers between your thighs. 

“Mhm,” you sigh, back arching slightly while his face disappears and all that can be seen are the tops of his curls. He dips and swirls his tongue in all the ways you liked before, burying himself deeper the more you react. Each desperate cry spurring him on to continue, each pump of his fingers inside you making you clench around the digits. 

“You taste,” he starts, replacing his fingers with his tongue at your entrance for a bit before breaking to your inner thigh, “so, so good.” 

“Please do that again,” you whine, weak and pitiful. He obliges without hesitation, keening into your touch when you grip his hair at the crown. It stings but he likes it, it stings and he wonders how hard you can pull. When you start to get loud he lifts his head up, brows raised under his fluffy bangs. 

“Wow,” he smiles into a snicker, “Y’know, I got neighbors sweetheart.” 

“Oh my god,” you laugh shakily, covering your face, “M’sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says with a shake of his head, crawling back up your body. He moves your hands away, looking down at you, “You’re not fuckin’ with me, right?” 

You shake your head no, “I’m not fucking with you it’s — yeah, even better the second time.” 

He shrugs with a cheesey grin, “Well y’know I’m kinda—”

“Don’t be a dweeb,” you put two fingers to his lips, “Shut up and fuck me.” 

Eddie chokes on his words, “Oh, yes uh — yes ma’am, absolutely.” 

He nervously climbs over you to get to his side table drawer, the box of condoms he found last week sitting undisturbed. He rips the foil open with his teeth, taking his time to roll it on while you turn to your side to watch him. 

“It’s bad for your teeth to do that,” you note. 

“Is that your concern right now?” he asks, looking up from under his brow while he finishes the task. 

“I’m just saying,” you shrug. He motions you further up the bed, settling between your legs again, taking a chance to admire you below him. Soft curves and skin, legs pressed against your chest and splayed open for him, a peace offering after years of not getting it right. You were right. 

“You’re just saying?” he replies with the tilt of his head, smoothing back down to press himself against you, a bruising kiss in his wake, “S’that it? You were just saying?” 

“Mmmhmm,” your response is muffled against his lips, a low whine bubbling through your kiss as his tip catches between your legs. Neither of you take pause, his hips buck forward, still wrapped up in you and again until he feels it. The firm pressure of your core wrapped around him, sucking him in to the hilt. 

“Jeeesus Christ,” he groans in your ear, pressing his face into your neck. He can tell he’s stretching you out, feeling your nails dig into his back in a sting that feels just as delicious as you pulling his hair. 

“Oh my god,” a strangled moan leaks from your throat in a head voice. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, letting himself rock into you steadily, supporting himself on one arm and the other making it’s way behind your knee to keep you spread open. He pushes up a little, hair falling forward on one side, curtaining one side of your face. 

It’s more than he could’ve imagined, kicking himself for not getting it right in all the day dreams he had of this moment, you look serene. Brows slightly pinched, mouth open to let out all your little huffs and sounds. Your arms let go of him as he raises over you, laying back with your palms up toward the ceiling by your head. He watches as your breasts bounce on your chest, the gentle jiggle in your arms, the arch in your back. 

“Kiss me,” you breathe,aching, “Please.”

And how can he deny you when you ask like that? Maintaining his position he cranes his neck down to latch himself onto you, feeling your hands cup his face. Eddie grunts into the kiss, speed picking up while he chases the pleasure beating like a drum in his body, each lewd smack of skin against skin making him hungry for more. 

You moan wantonly into his mouth, making him moan in return, trying to find any angle and speed to make you keep making those sounds. Neighbors be damned. He pulls out to pull you by the thighs flush to him, pushing back in without a breath and you wail. He can feel your walls squeeze down on him, warm and tight, even tighter when he pushes your legs back up against your chest. From here, he can tell this position works for you – which is perfect because it’s working even better for him. 

“Sh-i-hi-hit, baby,” he grunts, sweat starting to sheen across your skin, “This good?” 

“Yeah.” He has to shut his eyes again, think of something bad so that he doesn’t bust at the sound of you whining like that. Like an amateur porn star who never fakes it. 

“Yeah?” he teases, snaking back down to kiss your neck. 

“Oh god…” you nearly blubber. 

He coasts his lips over you until landing at that spot that he found on his couch a couple weeks ago. The tip of his tongue teasing at first before letting his teeth graze it with his lips. 

“Oh! Oh fuck,” you yelp. He holds in a laugh, nipping and sucking on your neck while your hips meet his thrusts. 

“Oh god, fuck - fuck more,” you groan, voice ragged while he keeps the pace in his hips. Another bright sting accosts him when one of your hands drags down the expanse of his back from under his shoulder blade. 

With a growl he feels you cum, clamping down on him – but you’re so slick that it doesn’t deter his thrusts. You pulse, moans and cries peeling off into a high pitched whisper while he slows down inside of you before coming to a stop. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Y-yeah just…need a sec,” you sigh, “Need a breather.” 

“That’s okay,” he soothes, running his hands comfortingly over your thighs. 

“Are you having fun?” you ask between deep inhales. 

“Oh, I’m having a blast,” he confirms with a laugh, settling back on his calves while you collect yourself, “Are you?” 

“God,” you reply, exasperated, “I knew you were trouble.” “Doesn’t answer my question,” he says with a quirk of his lips. 

“I’m having a lot of fun,” you nod, a sleepiness pulling at your eyes, “Can I say something?” 

“Always.” 

“I thought you’d be a sex playlist kind of guy.” 

“Excuse me?” he asks. 

“You just gave me a ‘has a sex playlist’ vibe,” you shrug. 

“Why do you think that? What vibe?” Eddie’s tone falls under bewilderment, “Do you think I need music on so I can fuck?” 

“I don’t know, you’re a music teacher maybe that’s just your thing,” you laugh at his surprise and mild offense. 

“I don’t need a beat to know what I’m doing, babe, that’s just disrespectful,” he jokes. 

“I was a little surprised when you didn’t go to your stereo to be like ‘Let me just set the mood,’” you’re teasing him on purpose now, it makes his heart skip a beat. That quick mouth of yours coming back full force – he likes you like this. He could love you like this. 

“Set the mood? I’m not setting the mood enough for you, hm?” “You just have a very ‘let me play grunge while I get it on’ sort of energy going on–” “Listen, listen, enough,” he waves you off to shut you up, “Your break is up if you’re gonna use it to make fun-a-me, flip over.” 

“Flip over? Yeah?” you challenge. “Yeah,” he challenges back, gripping you at the hips, “Flip over.” 

Seeing you in an arch like this turns his brain to mush, ass in the air with hips that follow down into your waist and back out again. He smirks, readying himself behind you while his hand smooths over the swell of your hip. 

“I could get very used to this,” he murmurs to himself. 

“Nice view up there, Munson” you ask, cheek pressed up against his pillows. You wiggle your hips against him, tantalizing and slow. 

“Very, very nice,” he assures. He guides his still aching length to your entrance, and he can tell even half way in that this is a position that works for you. Already gripping the sheets next to you before his hips make it align with yours. He doesn’t let it deter him, backing up to give you a not so delicate thrust all the way into you. 

You let out a surprised huff. 

“See what happens when you make fun?” he coos. 

“I will make fun of you all the time if this is what I’m getting out of it,” you smirk. This playfulness is something he missed, feeling familiar, even in this position. He looks you over again, your body a stunning expanse infront of him – not afraid to do what he needs, not afraid to break you. 

Things with Chrissy had been fine, sure. But there felt like there was so much more possibility here, snug tight inside you. 

“Hmm, I’ll make a note of that,” he grits out, steadying himself before starting up a rhythm. He leans his head back with a desperate groan, fingertips sinking into the fat of your hips harder with every ‘plap! plap! plap!’ of his pelvis against your backside. The downside is not getting nearly as good of a view of your face, but if it saves the neighbors from ringing the bell he’s all for it. You’re loud enough with your face in the pillow. 

He sputters, hands moving from hips to waist when you bounce back against him. 

“Shit, doll,” he growls, watching your ass bounce in double time. Every meeting of his thrusts tugs on him quicker, his resolve faltering when you start to come undone under him again. He has no qualms with how easy it is to get you there, in fact, he makes a mental note to try to beat the high score every time. 

Your thighs and hips give way, pressing back down into the mattress where he follows. Eddie readjusts while you catch your breath, letting you lay flat on your belly with your legs together. 

“Stay like this, hm?” he says in a whisper in your ear, kissing your temple. 

“Hmm,” you respond, eyes fluttering closed. 

He settles over your thighs, reaching down to part your lips that are soaked and puffy with latent need. He’s close, and knowing he’s essentially fucked you to sleep is doing nothing but getting him closer. Pushing in slow, with your legs together, makes him shudder. You squeeze your thighs and while he can’t see you he knows you’re smirking to yourself. 

“Hmm, keep doin’ that for me,” he mumbles headily. 

“S’it feel good?” you ask. 

“S’real good, baby,” he murmurs back tightly, still quiet. The ends of his hair tickle your back while he leans forward over you, drilling you hard into the mattress. 

“Oh god, fuck,” he growls when you squeeze your thighs and walls again, “Fuck, baby, just like that.” 

He lets his breath run through his nose like a bull, groaning and grunting before an aching moans pools of out him – spilling into the condom while inside you. 

Pulling out, he takes a heaving breath, taking care of the condom and collapsing beside you. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs, looking at you with glassy eyes. 

“You gonna make it?” you ask with a raise of your brow. Body like dead weight, he wills himself closer to you, wrapping you up in his arms over the covers. 

“If not, that’s totally fine,” he says into your temple, “Dying right now would be totally fine.” 

“Well don’t,” you say back, “I’d prefer you didn’t.” 

“Okay, I won’t," his eyes close with the scent of you in his nose, lulling him to sleep. “Thanks," your sleeply reply vibrates against his chest where your face stay planted in comfort. “You’re welcome.” 

Eddie wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing in the living room, eyes peering open blearily to the sun pouring in from his window. He flicks his eyes over to you, seeing your bare back and steady breaths. Fast asleep. 

He eases out of bed, grabbing his boxers off the floor before making it to the living room on the balls of his feet so he doesn’t step too loudly. At the flip of his phone he’s assaulted with the reflection of himself on an incoming FaceTime call. He answers it, rubbing his eyes when a happy scream echoes through the speaker of his phone. 

“I’m a FIANCEEEEEE!” Tatianna screams from behind her hand, the rock on her finger front and center in the camera.

“Congratulations,” he sing songs, speaking low, “Hold on, hold it a little further away from the camera so I can see.” 

Tatianna flips the camera to show off her ring in the sunlight, Eddie’s heart flutters when it glitters and catches in the rays. She flips the camera back to her, beaming from ear to ear. 

“Did you know?” she asks. 

“Of course I knew,” he says matter of factly, “I’ve known for months. I helped make it happen.” 

“He did so good, Ed,” Tatianna smiles, “Sunrise? He really like – he knows me. That’s my husband! AHHHH!” 

Eddie laughs again but shushes himself, remembering you’re still asleep in the other room. 

“Why’re you being quiet? Oh shit – she’s there huh?” she grins. Gareth makes his way into frame, passing her a glass of champagne. 

“Yeah, guys, she’s here,” he nods, “And she’s sleeping. Otherwise I’d be screaming too.” 

“Sure there was plenty of screaming last night if she’s sleeping,” Gare nudges Tati who nudges him back. Eddie let’s them laugh at him because it would be even worse if they were actually there.

“Everything’s good though? Rob texted me saying things kind of went left but I didn’t want to bring it up if you didn’t bring it up to us,” she asks, sun gleaming off her skin and bright blue bikini top. 

“Everything’s good, we’ll talk about it when you come back,” he assures. 

“Well we don’t wanna interrupt, then,” Gare says, leaning in to kiss Tati on the cheek and then her lips, glossy with champagne. 

“It’s more like I don’t want to interrupt you,” Eddie says back, “I’ll call you later. Love you both.” “Love youuuu,” Tatianna calls back, “I’mma fianceeeee!” 

They cut the call with their mouths on each other and he’s sure he won’t hear back from them for at least a day. He’s glad it at least all went off without a hitch. 

Leaving his phone on the coffee table, he makes his way back to the bedroom where you’re wrapped up in his covers. Running a hand over your shoulder, he gently shakes you awake. 

“Hey pretty,” he coos when your eyes open, “Was gonna make some breakfast, if you want.” 

“Wassonthemenu?” you yawn out, stretching. 

“French toast,” he offers, “I’m kind of a connoisseur.” 

“Ooh that sounds good, I don’t think I’ve had french toast in years,” you say with your eyes closed. 

“Take your time,” he kisses your forehead, “Just meet me in the kitchen.” 

When you do, he’s cracking eggs. Your slow shuffle gets his attention, turning to look at you he sees you picked up his sweats and shirt by mistake. 

“Hello, good morning,” you say stiffly, “It appears I am dressed to impress.” 

“You certainly are,” he jokes back. 

“I’m happy to get some coffee together while you make breakfast,” you offer, “Just let me know where everything is.” 

He points out where you can get started but grabs the mugs for you, giving you a sweet kiss good morning while he does. You don’t talk much, just the sounds of him cooking and the coffee machine whirring while the town wakes up around you both outside. He tells you about the engagement and that they can call again later so you can congratulate them too. You of course, gave him a reproachful look for not waking her up to start with. You pour the coffee while he plates the toast, thick and crusted over with brown sugar and cinnamon. He sets the butter and maple syrup on the center of the kitchen table while you grab plates and silverware. The domesticity makes his heart ache, because with you, it feels like this could be your house together. With you, it feels like it’s a future where he doesn’t live with Tati and Gare, and he wakes up to you every day.  He swears he smells chlorine in the air. 

“You don’t like cream or sugar, right?” you ask, putting the mug in front of him while he sits at the table. 

“I don’t, but we have some. There’s milk and cream in the fridge door and I thiiiink some stevia packets in the cabinet with all the baking stuff. That one.” 

He points to the cabinet next to the stove and you snatch a couple like gold. He sips his cup while you prepare your coffee, giggling to yourself. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“It’s just, this outfit is not what I had in mind to be wearing in front of you after a night like that,” you laugh, “I thought maybe I’d have a sexy robe on or something and instead I just –” You take a sip from your mug, shaking your head, “I look like a teenage boy from ‘07 whose about to do a kick flip for the ladies.” 

Eddie barks a laugh into his coffee cup, “You do, you look just like that.” 

“I know,” you laugh back, “But then again, I’m in your clothes. So I guess it’s you who looks like a teenager from ‘07.” 

“I can do a kick flip,” he admits. “Yeah, I’m not surprised,” you say into your next sip. 

Eddie swears he can hear the rush of water while his classmates kick on the side of the pool, his own toes on the edge of the block. 

“You know who you look like, almost exactly?” he asks, putting his mug down and meeting you at the counter. “Who?” you ask with a smile. 

“You look just like Eddie Munson’s girlfriend,” he says, hand falling on your hip. 

“Yeah?” you reply, a little taken aback, “Just like her?” 

“Spitting image,” he nods. 

“You know, before I said that thing about looking like teenage boy, I was gonna say ‘Hey, you know something? I think I look just like Eddie Munson’s girlfriend,” you beam. Your response makes his heart race, such a goofball, so like him, so easy, so right. 

He cocks his head, peering at you, “Wait, I think – wait – are you…the lead guitar player’s girl? Eddie Mnson’s girlfriend?”

You smirk, falling into the bit with him, “Oh my god yeah, that’s me – can’t get you in the show though, sold out. He’s like, a totally famous rockstar now.”

“Ah, that’s okay,” Eddie shakes his head with a winning smile, hand splaying over your waist to pull you in, “I know someone in the band.” 

A coffee flavored kiss seals the deal. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears the shrill call of Miss Tiffany’s whistle. 

He nails the dive every time.

[brothermayihavesome0ats]

Criminal Minds S01E01 - a scene analysis/things I noticed

(The text in the images is the same, I just worried you can't read my handwriting)

1. In the beginning scene where Gideon is asked to return to the BAU, the way the characters are positioned is representative of their power dynamic or role within the BAU at that point as well as representing the dilemma within the scene

- Reid is in the background since he is the youngest and least experienced, also the least in focus atp. He's also positioned in front of a map, which could be foreshadowing for his ample ability of geographical profiling

- Morgan is in front of Reid but still behind Hotch and Gideon

- At first, Gideon is positioned as the main focus with the camera showing him debating returning to the BAU for the first time since the Boston incident. As Hotch tells him that “the order came from the director” the camera focus switches as in the team “came back into focus” as Gideon realizes he has to come back.

- The camera then focuses on Hotch since he is the leader of the team. This shows that now that Gideons dilemma isn't the only thing in focus, the team has dynamics and roles which are also a large aspect of the show

2. In this scene with the family of the unsub, although the family isn't centered they are very clearly the focus of attention due to the clear blue colour tint around them. This suggests the grief they are in after finding out their family member committed a crime. The family is surrounded by green tints as well, showing their grief is surrounded by the unsubs world (explanation in next observation)

- In the next scene if you look at the family portrait you will see that everyone in the family except the unsub is in blue, showing that the entire family was affected by his actions in their grief but also that he stands out from them.

- When Elle comes in from the left in the next frame, her red outfit is a contrast to the blue. She is from the outside world, an outsider to the family's grief.

3. The general lighting in this scene shows an outside world (the warmer lights in the hallway) and the inside world of the unsub, with the darker green colors. In the frame pictured, the unsub is looking away from the outside world.

- Gideon is wearing red to contrast the green

- The family portrait shows how the unsub is an outsider with the rest of the family positioned in a tight triangle and him in the bottom right corner, also wearing different colors from the rest of the family

- The family photo is centered in this scene, showing a clear contrast between them surrounding the unsub versus him now being all alone

- The table in front of him is empty, showing he has no future in front of him. In a few seconds Gideon places his book in front of him, showing that the only future now is the BAUs work

- There is a chair facing backwards behind the unsub. This is like an interrogation, so the two chairs are for the two unsubs. But because the team doesn't know this yet, the chair faces away from Gideon, the interrogator.

4. Following the train of thought about the colors, we can see that the car the unsub used to lure the women into is red. The contact with the outside world is red, and in the scene where we see him kidnap a victim we can see he is wearing a green jacket as he locks the girl in the red car, showing that she is being locked away by the inside world of the unsub.

5. In this scene with Hotch interrogating the unsub, he is centered as he walks into the interrogation room to show his importance.

6. In the scene at the very end of the episode, the unsub is once again shown in green lighting. His truck is shown in red, while Gideon is also in green. This shows how Gideon Has stepped into the inner world of the unsub, and is looking out on the outside world from within as he realizes who he's talking to.

Colour contrast throughout the episode:

[seospicybin]

DON'T THEY KNOW IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD?

PART I

Lee know x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part II

Synopsis: Making a contact with an ancient object, you meet a demon who takes form of the man you desired and forces you to commit terrible acts to stop the world from ending. (14k words)

Author's note: I indulge myself with a spooky fic and demon Minho in it. Read with cautions and enjoy x

Based on an episode of Black Mirror. Content warnings: Violence, gore, mentions of abuse, assaults and graphic imagery. Reader's discretion is advised!

"Carving is easy. You just go down to the skin and stop." - Michelangelo

-

Oh, no! You're doing it again.

When you think you're talking in your head, you're actually talking loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. It's even worse that your voice is echoing in the big chamber of the empty gallery.

They seem to not care about it or pretend to because Kim has just walked in to check everyone's work. She's your friend from art school turns an art dealer and she has a way to control everyone around her.

"I told you to let us do it for you," she says, clicking her tongue at you and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

The gallery is having some of your pieces of art displayed for the exhibition tonight and you want to make sure that they're presented the way you envisioned it.

You carefully step down the ladder and stand next to Kim, looking at the sculpture you made of a man holding an arrow with an apple stuck at the end of the arrow.

You hear Kim dreamily sigh then look at you, "You're going to sell..." She pauses to emphasize the word she's going to say next, "Big!"

Money isn't the reason why you create these sculptures but you need it in order to keep being able to do this. You have no idea how expensive a block of stone is!

The reason why you made these sculptures is because this is what you love doing: envision your imagination onto a block of stone and you carve it to bring it to life.

Why did you choose stone as the medium? Because they're durable, stubborn yet resilient. It takes time to create one sculpture but once you've seen the result, you forget about the hard work behind it.

Kim puts her hand on your shoulder and snaps you out of your reverie, "Stop worrying about your sculptures," she says.

She turns you around to force you to face her and puts her other hand on your shoulder, "Go home. Get dressed. Put some color on those cheeks. Have a pre-party with a glass of wine or two."

Dressing up sounds like a lot of work, you'd rather stay in your dungarees and striped top, "Can I just wear these?"

It's like she has just heard someone dies, Kim's hand flies to her temple and screws her eyes shut for a second, "Trust me when I say that the people coming tonight wouldn't expect the artist behind these magnificent sculptures to look like Chucky," she says with a sneering smile.

She squeezes your shoulder and tilts her head to the side, "And that's me putting it the nicest way possible because you're my friend."

It's still a mystery how you ended up friends with someone like Kim, she's the opposite of what you are, an extrovert, a tolerable narcissist, she likes attention and is forthright to the point it's borderline insolent. You're so used to her audacious way of treating you and the blunt words that come out of her red-lipped mouth.

She's been like this even before you met her and you are the friend who likes to suffer in silence, you think that's why you became friends. Nevertheless, Kim treats you better than she treats anyone else for that matter.

That explains why the gallery staff are so afraid of her. It's always best to get out of her way unless she wants you to be there. You pick up your bag from the floor along with your jacket.

"I'll go then," you meekly say.

She grabs your elbow before leaving, "Go home," she says with a glare.

"Home. Not your studio," she says again, making it clear to you.

She knows you well enough to know that you like spending your days in your studio instead of your apartment. You sling the strap of your bag on one shoulder, "Go home. Get dressed. Come to the exhibition late," you repeat the things she wanted you to do.

Kim smiles and gently cups your cheek, "Good girl. Now go!"

Once you get home though, you spend hours just sitting in the emptiness that lingers in your apartment that is too big for one person to live in it.

This is why you prefer to stay in your studio, you like to keep your head occupied rather than being alone with your thoughts like this.

And your thoughts, they're mostly of unkind things and...

Your phone rings from inside your bag and steers your mind back to your head. Without having to look at it, you can tell who it is. There are no other people who call you daily except, well, if it's an emergency call.

"Are you getting ready yet?" Kim goes straight to the point.

"Uh... yeah, I just showered, I—" you jolt awake from lying down on the sofa.

"I'm having problems picking what to wear," you add a laugh in the hope of sounding convincing.

There's a wave of laughter from her end of the phone call before Kim talks to the phone, "Stop joking. Do you like it?"

You get completely confused because she suddenly compliments herself out of the blue, "Huh? What?"

You can hear her dramatic, low sigh and you can imagine her subtle eye roll as she's doing it, "The dress. The one I hung in your closet," she tells you.

You quietly trudge your way to the closet and open it to find the said dress.

"Yes, it's beautiful!" You hurriedly say, not wanting to let her get suspicious as she waits for a response.

"Aren't you lucky to have me as your friend?" she exclaims, sounding so confident with her words.

"I am the luckiest," you tell her as you observe the dress and already regretting hastily approving the dress as you notice it has a plunging neckline.

"I know," she brags and her smirk flashes through your head.

In the background, you hear something is calling her and Kim answers with a shout, "I'm coming."

She dramatically sighs before talking to you, "Work is calling. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, see you tonight!" You're more than relieved to end the phone call with her.

It's too early to celebrate as she hasn't ended the call yet and she always ends the call first. You have an inkling that she'll call your name.

Indeed, she is.

"Hey, don't forget to take your meds, okay?" She says.

That's probably the only yet the most endearing thing she does to you and what makes her your friend.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," you tell her.

It's time to fully assess the dress and you're in awe of how much skin you'll show if you're wearing this. Of course, you have the option not to wear but it all comes down to wearing the dress or facing Kim's wrath.

The former seems to be the safer choice and also because you're not a confrontational person, you like to avoid conflict.

Not wearing the dress means you're going straight into conflict and you don't want that.

With a defeated spirit, you put the dress on even though you have no idea how to move in such a tight dress. You summon up your below-average make-up skill for tonight and put some colors on you.

Not forgetting Kim's words, you take your medicine and wash it down with a long gulp of water. You give yourself a few minutes as you wait for the medicine to work while you sit on the couch holding a glass of water in both hands, staring out at the view from your apartment.

Kim insisted you take this apartment when you're okay with living in the studio. Not only that it's too expensive of a place to live on your own but a big place only makes you inexplicably lonely.

However, after seeing the view from up here, you feel like you're not part of this world in the most humbling way. Seeing the city and the buildings look like pieces of block makes you realize that they don't matter that much. They're all just... material things.

You sigh as you get hit by a wave of melancholia and you take it that the medicine is working.

-

Uncomfortable walking out of your apartment in your dress, you put on a coat as you leave the apartment with the sounds of your heels clicking against the floor.

The owner of the building passed away yesterday, there are so many guests visiting the penthouse where he lived. The first elevator that arrives on your floor is crowded so you skip on getting on that one. You patiently wait for the next one to arrive while clutching your purse in front of you.

A minute later, the other elevator arrives and the doors slide open, you see there's someone else inside. You believe he's been from the penthouse from how he dressed in all black.

You look down to avoid eye contact and step inside, standing at the back of the limited space while trying not to look at the man's face on the reflection from the mirror that walled the elevator.

Arrived in the main lobby, the elevator dings open and the man doesn't waste time but walks out with hands shoved inside his coat pocket.

You fix your coat before stepping out and you feel your feet kicking on something, it's clattering across the floor. You bend down to pick it up, something that you guess is a pocket watch.

Your first thought is that it belongs to the man and you look around to see if he's still around to give it to him, but he's nowhere. It's as if he's gone with the wind.

"Miss, your driver has been waiting outside!" The concierge informs you from behind his desk the second he sees you.

"Yes. I'm coming!" You hurriedly shove the pocket watch inside your purse.

As Kim instructed, you come late to the exhibition and it's already filled with people dressed so impeccably for the occasion. You take a deep breath before entering the scene that is the least you wanted to be.

You take your coat off and hand it to the girl handling the coat check, along with your purse. You feel naked even though you're not, but it's not just the dress, being in the crowd is not your forte.

The first thing to do in a situation like this is to find Kim. You avoid making contact with everyone you're walking past as you look for her in the crowd. It's not hard to spot her when she's always the center of attention anywhere she is.

"There she is!" She gasps the moment she sees you're coming her way.

She puts away her champagne flute and walks up to you, embracing you like the trophy you are, "My rising star!"

Kim puts her hand on the small of your back and smiles brightly while discreetly judging your look.

"Isn't she amazing?" She brags you off to the group of people she's talking to.

You can only sheepishly smile next to her and avoid everyone's eyes.

"She is the artist behind those magnificent sculptures," she adds with that saccharine smile of hers.

They're starting to throw praises at you and you can hear all of them talking at once, making you more uncomfortable staying in there.

You take a step back but Kim's hand does not allow you to escape, she glances at you and takes the cue.

"Excuse us," Kim says to everyone, "Enjoy the exhibition!"

Kim steers you away and pulls you aside, before you can comment on her choice of dress, she snatches the chance from you.

"You could've picked nicker shoes," she whispers through her gritted teeth at you.

You automatically look down to see your heeled shoes which you think match the dress you're wearing.

"I–I think it's—"

She cuts through your words, not giving you a chance to explain. She grabs you by the elbow, "We have no time to change it," she says, then steers you somewhere.

As Kim continues to brag you around like you're the art piece instead of the artist, you start to get that feeling that she's using you.

As a matter of fact, she used you to propel her career as an art dealer. Ever since you agreed to let her sell your art for you, her career took off.

You're more than happy to be of help but she does everything extra and she's been taking you to meet a lot of people that their faces started to blur and it's getting overwhelming that you need to get out of it.

"I'll just—" You barely finish your sentence when you walk away and find somewhere to gain some composure.

You keep walking until you find the restroom and push yourself inside, lock yourself in one of the stalls just sit on the toilet, and just breathe.

You hear the ruckus outside the stall and someone probably needs to use the toilet, you reluctantly get up to start heading outside.

The plan to leave unnoticed comes to a failure when Kim is already there right outside the restroom, "Where have you been?"

You take a deep breath to calm yourself and try to explain, "Kim, I don't think I can do this anymore. I—"

Then again, she never let you finish your sentence, "One more. I need you to meet your new potential buyer."

You grip the side of your dress and you feel like tearing it apart, "No, Kim. You know how I do with people, I don't— I just want to go home," you desperately tell her just to let you go when you're an adult and can do whatever you want.

Kim lets out an exaggerated huff and sends her fringe flying off her forehead, crossing her arms in front of her and you know what's coming for you.

"You think I'm doing this for me?" She asks.

Actually, yes. The initial plan is to sell your art but in the end, she makes it all about her.

"I'm doing it for you!" She says, turning it all on to you. She always finds a way to turn it all on to you, making you feel guilty and defeated.

Talking back to her means that you're saying yes to war and you don't want to fight a losing fight. You fist the fabric of your dress trying to suppress the anger brewing inside you.

"Just one more person," you meekly say.

Her face softens at the sign that you're once again giving her the power, "That's right. Just one more and I'll let you go."

You finally let go of your dress and you wipe your sweaty palm down the back of your dress as she guides you back to the gallery.

"All you have to do is stand next to me, smiling and explaining your art to people," Kim instructed like that wasn't what you've been doing all night.

Except that she forgot that you need to fake all of that.

Kim takes you to one of your sculpture displays and three people in suits have been waiting, talking with drinks in their hands.

"Hello, gentlemen," Kim says with an extra polite voice that makes you shudder at how fake she sounded.

"Heard you're looking for the amazing artist behind these beautiful sculptures?" She continues, presenting you like you're the one who's about to get sold, not the sculpture.

One of the three seems to be the one in charge with a stance that oozes confidence and power, a smirk that only someone who grew up with a silver spoon stuck to his mouth can master. He looks years older than you but his face shows no fine lines but that's just because he never had to frown in his life.

"I adore your art so much," he praises with a teeth-baring smile.

Kim turns at you and introduces him, "This is Nicholas de Ville from the de Ville family."

The way she enunciated his last name only means that this person holds importance and she expects you to impress him.

He holds his hand out next with an expensive, shining wristwatch decorated his wrist, "I'm Nicholas de Ville. You can call me Nick."

He may seem nice and polite because all privileged people learn manners but they only apply that lesson in real life occasionally.

You take his hand or else Kim will force you to do it. You shake his hand for a while and accidentally meet his gaze as you try to take your hand back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. de Ville!" You say as politely as you can.

"Nick, please!" He insists with a smile.

"And the pleasure is all mine." He adds with a smile that says so many things and they send a chill down your spine.

Kim lets go of her hand and lightly touches you on your arm, "Mr. de Ville wants to know more about your sculptures so..." she quietly pushes you his way.

Nick courteously laughs and says, "Would you be kind enough to give me the tour?"

You consider it for a moment but seeing Kim's glare, you know you have no option.

"Yes, sure, I would love to," you answer with a strained smile.

"Great! Please, lead the way!" Nick says.

When you think the other two are coming with you, it's just you and Nick, walking through your sculptures and you explain each one without trying to bore him like Kim has taught you a few times.

"... it's inspired by the Greek mythology. The apple in the arrow means that when it comes to love, we know no rules, we follow our desires—"

Nick is too busy looking at you instead of looking at the sculpture you're tirelessly explaining to him. Guessing that he isn't interested, you stop talking altogether.

"I'm sorry if I'm rambling," you sheepishly say to him and keep looking at the sculpture.

"No, no, that's okay," Nick says with a smile and takes a stand close to you, also looking at the sculpture.

"Your art is as beautiful as you," he says.

You're getting uncomfortable at how close he is with his elbow brushing yours. You nervously swallow air and lowly mutter, "Thank you."

Nick takes it the wrong way. He takes it that you're replying to his flirtation when you thought he was earnestly complimenting you, he starts to place his hand on your shoulder.

You reflexively shrug his hand away but that only sends his hand down to your back where he can touch your exposed skin. As his fingers make contact with your skin, you take a step back until his hand drops.

"I'm sorry," you regret apologizing for something that you didn't do wrong.

He looks at you as if he didn't just do something wrong or touch you without your consent. You feel repulsed by yourself and take another step back, "I'm sorry, I just need to—"

You keep walking away, away and never looking back.

-

The musty smell and dust that hang in the air welcome you to the studio.

You take your dress off the first thing you do when you get there and put on any clothes you can find in the dresser, a black T-shirt and worn-out jeans.

You put your earrings inside your purse and the pocket watch you collected earlier spills out of it, falling onto the couch.

You're intrigued to see inside the locket to get a hint on who the owner is, you're trying so hard to open it with the strength you have but it won't budge.

Exhausted from trying to open the antique-looking object, you give up and walk over to the sculpture you're working on. You put the pocket watch down on the table next to your carving tools, then pick up a chisel and a hammer.

For every hit of the hammer, you feel like unleashing something that makes you feel lighter and lighter and makes you hit the chisel harder and harder.

You eventually get exhausted and take a step back, leaning against the table while looking at the unshapen block of stone in front of you.

You grope around for a bottle of water and take a sip, putting it down as you wipe your mouth after. Your fingers nudge something as you place your hand on the table, it's the pocket watch blinking under the fluorescent light.

It seems to be calling for you, inviting you to try and uncover the mystery inside.

Looking at the small chisel next to it, you decide to give it another try by prying it open with the chisel. You slip the sharp end in the crack and use your strength to push it open only for the chisel to slide to the slide, cutting the side of your finger.

You drop the pocket watch as blood drops from the wound onto the table. It's not the first time you injured yourself, you know what to do. You go to the bathroom, wash your finger under the running water then grab your first aid kit from the drawer.

After tending to your small injury, you decide to not continue working when you're angry. You take another sip of water and lie down on the couch.

With the quiet that hangs in the room, you slowly drift into sleep.

-

SEVEN DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD.

The darkness greets you even though you have opened your eyes.

Pretty sure you kept one of the lights on when you went to sleep but it's all dark now in the room, you can't see anything but lights that shine through the cracks of the blinds.

You slowly get up from the couch to turn the light on, carefully walking to where the switch is, and once you flip it, lights flood the room.

The first thing you see is the pocket watch that is now open, you walk over to the table and pick it up to see inside that it's just a normal watch but it doesn't have numbers on it like all watches have.

You close it and see that your blood tainted the lid, this time, you can easily open it without a hassle.

"Hello!" A voice says.

Surprised to hear a voice coming from it, you drop it back onto the table. A moment later, you laugh it off, thinking that you misheard it considering that you just woke up from sleep.

With hesitancy, you pick the pocket watch again and look at it. Your thumb wipes the glass cover of the watch.

"Hi, Hello, I'm Minho. I'm a demon. You anointed this talisman with your blood so now we're bound together and—"

It speaks again and in response, you hurl it across the room until it hits the wall and drops onto the floor. You stand there, frozen on your feet, and wonder...

"Look, I've got a whole introductory speech here," the voice says again, coming from the part of the room where the pocket watch is.

For protection, you stand behind the open bathroom door and look at the pocket watch talking like a lunatic you are.

"We got to work together," it says.

You whimper hearing the voice again and you know that it's real, you're not making this up.

"Can you pick me up? Just pick me up. Come on, pick me up! Please?" It demands.

You take cautious steps to get to where the pocket watch lies on the floor.

"That's it, come on. Come on. I won't bite, I promise. Come on," it says as if it could see that you're coming to pick it up.

You swallow air and slowly bend down to pick it up from the floor, holding the pocket watch in your hand.

"As I was saying, you anointed the talisman and the rules are you've got to carry out three human sacrifices over the next seven days or else the world is going to end," it speaks again.

That's a lot of information to take in, not to mention that you're already having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that the pocket watch is talking to you.

"W-what?" You breathlessly say.

"If you want me to help you, you need to permit me entry."

Entry? That sounds like a bad idea. You just stand there and look at the pocket watch.

"Do you permit me entry? Yes or no?" It asks.

You shake your head and convince yourself that maybe it is not real.

"You have to say yes. Just say the word yes."

This is not real, you tell yourself out loud.

"Or let's do this, if you say yes, I'll... I'll stop, okay? I'll go away. You'll never hear from me again like this didn't happen." It persuades.

This is not real, this is not real, you chant in your head.

"Just say yes. Say it! Say it. Say it. Say it," it chants louder and it starts to fill your head, endlessly echoing.

You want it to stop so you impulsively say, "Yes."

The chants stop and the light flickers off, filling the room with darkness again. You whimper in fear as the pocket watch starts ticking in your hand.

You hear something deeply breathing a few feet from behind you. Curious, you spin around on your feet to see what it is, but you can't see it as it's lurking in the dark

However, you feel good about not being able to see it as fear creeping up inside you. You walk backward until you hit the wall behind you.

"Hey, come on, what's the matter?" The thing says as he takes a step forward, revealing his form to you.

The first thing you can make out the shape of that thing is two long horns on his head and two red eyes.

"All right. I lied about going away," he says in a deep, growling voice.

"My regular appearance is a bit too much for this realm."

He takes a step back and disappears in the dark. After a while, he takes another step to the front and has already taken a different shape. He looks normal now, as in looking like a human and not just any human, he looks like...

"I peered into your soul and apparently, this is a physical look you find appealing so..." he says with his arms spread out and a proud grin on his face.

"I don't know. Let me have a look!" He walks over to the mirror hung on the wall next to you.

He looks just like the sculpture you made, he has a sharp nose, chiseled jaws, and a hair color as intense as red roses go. You feel a mix of fear, awe, and confusion inside and it's getting overwhelming.

He leans close to the mirror and fixes his hair, "Wow!"

He seems impressed by how he looks, "Okay, isn't it what you want?" He turns to you.

Not getting an answer from you, he smiles, then says, "Uh... I mean, I can work with this."

You can only whimper with your mouth parted open, having a hard time wrapping your head around this situation. If it's happening or not, is he real or not, did you take your meds or not?

"You have to calm down so we can talk. Just talk to me!" Minho says, noticing that you're in a state of panic.

For a split second, you see his eyes flash like those belonging to feline creatures, gleaming like two marbles in the dark. You can feel cold sweat on your back as you slump down against the wall until you're sitting down on the floor.

He squats down in front of you and reaches for your head but you're quick to dodge away from it.

"You know, we have got to work together," he assures you.

It's not fair that he has a face that came from your imagination, it gives you a sense of familiarity that lures you to give in. However, you're not sure if you should be giving in to him.

You bang the back of your head to the wall, close your eyes, and repeatedly chant like it's a mantra, "You're not real. You're not real. You're not real."

But that is not enough to expel him. You open your eyes and still find him there. hand and a grin.

"Like I said, we have got to work together," he tells you again.

To give you the space to gather your thoughts, he walks around the studio while talking, "You marked the talisman. I don't make the rules."

With the lights turning back on, your eyes can easily follow his figure going around the room and looking at the sculpture you're working on.

His fingers slowly graze the rough surface of the carved stone and then he turns his head at you.

"Basically, we need to deliver three human sacrifices by next Friday or else it's..." he informs you again as if you haven't heard him the first time, "burning skies time."

You can feel anxiety rising inside you and your throat is closing up, making it harder for you to breathe.

"I sense you need convincing. Uh..." Minho walks up to you again and offers his hands to you.

You look at his hands for a moment before letting him help you to get up from the floor. You imagine your hands reaching for fragments of your imagination but instead of that, you feel his warm skin and firm grip as he hoists you up until you're standing on your feet.

If he's not real then how can you hold him?

He looks at you for a second to make sure you're okay then nods, "Let me show you how this will play out, alright? What will happen if we don't succeed," he says.

He walks to stand behind you and puts a hand in front of your eyes, "You ready?" He asks, his hot breath fans your neck as he speaks.

You're not sure what he's asking you to get ready for. You're not even sure if you're living the reality right now.

"Ready?" He asks again and once again his breath tickles your ear.

"3, 2, 1!"

As if you're being transported to another time and place, you open your eyes to see fire. It's the studio but it is on fire.

"This is what we're dealing with!" Minho says but you can't see him anywhere.

Fire is everywhere and you can feel the heat of it burning your skin and thick smoke filling your lungs that you start coughing, retching for air.

"Scorching wall of flame. It's agonizing death for all and so on," he continues.

You're flailing around to get air, walking to the window to open it only to find it hot to touch and you see that the whole city burns with you. You hear people screaming and sirens blaring everywhere but anywhere you look, it's just blazing fire.

You get away from the window until your back hits the table behind you and snaps you back to reality. Your head turns to the side and see Minho there, leaning against the table next to you.

"See, burning people they smell like... a burnt slice of meat on a griddle. It's better if you dissociate from it," he coyly says.

The images are so vivid that you feel the need to escape it, run away from here and so you do. You make a run to the door and he's already standing there next to it.

"If we're being honest, I don't want the apocalypse to come about any more than you do," he says.

You turn the knob and open it, running through the hall that leads to the exit door. Yet Minho is already there too.

"So let's stop it happening, you and me, mmh?" He says to you.

"All we have to do is deliver three sacrifices in seven days," he pops at the end of the hall.

You yank the door open and find him standing outside the door.

"It's only three killings," he says with a malicious laugh.

You rush to climb down the steps trying to escape what you know is like trying to get out of your head, it's inescapable.

"Animals don't count. You have to do humans," Minho informs at the base of the stairs.

You hurriedly unlock the iron gate and pull it open, running into the street in the middle of the night but of course, he's already there too.

"We can do like one kill a day but I'm good with one kill in two days and—"

You decide to go the other way from where Minho is standing and just aimlessly walking to avoid him. You know the neighborhood but not as good as when it's at night.

You walk down the stairs that lead to the riverbank, feeling more afraid of Minho instead of being mugged at night.

"That is fewer people than die falling off ladders in the same time period," Minho magically appears on the stairs, leaning against the railing.

"You'd be less lethal than a ladder," he adds with a sly smirk.

Your eyes are watery either from the cold wind or the anxiety taking over you. You sniffle before talking to him, "If I talk to you, you're real so I'm not going—"

You walk away before you can finish your sentence and walk along the riverbank, hugging yourself.

"Well, we started conversing already so that ship has sailed."

You can't believe that he's still following you when he knows exactly why you are trying to get away.

"No, it hasn't," you persist when you know he's right.

"Oh, oh yes it has," he talks back with a mocking tone.

You stop on your track and grunt in frustration, bending down to pick whatever is close to you.

Minho stops walking as well and says, "Don't worry. We're a team. I'm on your side, you know?"

He takes a step forward and keeps talking, ignoring that he's the reason why you're so frustrated.

"Let's just get kill number one under your belt, mmh?" He says in a softer tone.

You turn at him, your finger pointing right at his sharp nose and sternly tell him, "You can stop it because I am not killing anyone!"

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and try to face him again, "You're not real so I don't why you keep talking to me," you snarl.

Minho coyly smiles at you and calmly responds, "That's what I'm here for. Moral support!"

He takes even a closer step to you and lowers his voice, "So, just hold on to that rock and hit someone with it!"

You get confused by what he said, "What rock?"

He eyes your hand on your side, "The one in your hand, love!" He answers.

You don't even realize you've been holding it until he pointed it out. The moment you know, you can feel its weight in your hand.

You gasp in surprise and glare at Minho, "I'm not doing what you say."

You hear footsteps coming from under the bridge and turn around to see a middle-aged man, "Are you alright, Miss?"

But Minho sees it as an opportunity, he stands and looms behind you, whispering evil things into your head.

"Mmmh... yeah," he hums in victory.

"He's perfect. No witnesses. Talk about beginner's luck," he whispers to you so close that it feels like he's living inside your head.

You feel his hand resting on your shoulder as he further persuades you, "Just one quick pop to the head and you're done."

For a second, you wanted to do what he said just so he could stop bothering you. However, the conscience in you is talking you out of it.

You walk toward the man and try to seek help from him, "Please, make him stop!" You say, gesturing to Minho who's standing right next to you.

The man looks confused by what you said and asks, "Make who stop?"

Disoriented by what's real or not, you keep looking back at Minho, then at the man, getting pushed to where you hit your limit.

The man walks up to you, feeling more concerned for you that he asks again, "Is everything alright?"

The relentless demon he is, Minho stands close next to you and whispers, "Would it help if I told you I can see into this man's soul and he absolutely deserves to die?"

This time you know it's his way to get what he wants, to get you to do the deed. You look away and hastily shout, "Shut up!"

Yet Minho keeps talking about the man as he's giving you a stare, one that you're way too familiar with, and convinces you that he thinks you're crazy.

"He has a wife and a daughter, you want to know what he does to them?" Minho's words hold intense hatred in them like you can feel the bitterness of it on your tongue.

You look at him to see if he's just tricking you to kill the man, "Don't trust me? Well, get a load of this!"

Minho covers your eyes with his hand again and this time, images of the man abusing his wife and daughter over and over again that you can't bear to watch anymore.

He snaps you back to reality again and says, "You'll save them both from years of pain, shame, and guilt."

Fueled by the rage from what you've seen through Minho's vision, you launch yourself at the man and hit him hard on the head, sending him tumbling to the side and into the river.

You stand there watching his body sinking into the water until the air stops bubbling to the surface of water and that's when you're certain that he's dead.

The man is dead.

Despite the shock, you manage to walk away while still carrying the rock in your hand, and once you realize you've been holding to it long enough. You throw it into the river then break into a run back to the studio.

You vomit everything into the toilet bowl once you're back in the studio, retching nothing but saliva and air.

Minho is standing at the doorway of the bathroom as he says, "It takes some used to but a couple more of that and I'll be out of your hair," he says.

You flush the toilet and sit on the bathroom floor, looking at him with teary eyes and the shock that hasn't left your body yet.

He pulls out the pocket watch and shows you that the Roman number written inside has gone one line, "See? One line has gone which means one sacrifice registered. Two to go."

You get up from the floor and drag yourself to the couch, feeling so drained by whatever has driven you to do unimaginable things, one that you thought you'd never done in your life.

-

Morning has passed but you can't find the energy to live for the day.

You're lying down on the couch watching the sky turn brighter with every hour passed. It hasn't sunk in yet what you did last night. It feels like a dream but at the same time, you can still feel the weight of the rock in your hand.

Minho has been quiet but you know he's lurking in the room and he decides to interfere by standing in front of you.

He tips his head to the side and asks, "How long are you going to stay like this?"

He then sits on the other end of the couch and says, "Well, you have to, at least, do whatever it is you do as a sculptor. You can't have people getting suspicious."

How come he takes it lightly? How did he get so calm after telling you to kill a man and watch you doing it?

"Fucking shut up!" You shout at him.

Talking to him makes everything unbearably real and it makes you recollect what happened last night. The guilt, the disgust you feel for yourself, the blood on your hands, you can see everything now under the daylight.

"I killed a man," you croak, saying it hurts that tears start to crawl out of you.

"I've killed someone," you meekly say with a tear rolling down from the corner of your eyes.

"Yeah, but that was hours ago," Minho nonchalantly says.

"I keep feeling the crack of his skull on the rock," you pause to sniffle and turn to look at Minho, "I did that."

But he wouldn't get what you feel because he's not a human in the first place. Minho is a demon.

"It's your fault. You're not even—" You stop talking because it's no use to talk to an entity that knows no compassion.

You brush your hair to the back and deeply sigh. Turning your head at Minho again to ask, "Why is this happening to me?"

You use the heel of your hand to press on your eye to stop crying, "I'm not a bad person."

"No, no, no," Minho quickly denies.

He moves to stand behind the couch and leans close to you, "It wouldn't work if you were. It has to be someone corruptible," he explains.

Your forehead wrinkles and forms a questioning look on your face, trying to make sense of what he said.

"If you think about it, what's happening here, it reflects really well on your character," he says with a smile.

What he said only assures you that you are a bad person. What you did is the reflection of what you truly are, a bad person.

You nod and wipe your wet cheek with the back of your hand. You get up to sit on the couch and grab your purse, rummaging inside to pull out your phone.

"What are you doing?" Minho asks with a panicked voice.

You dial the police line on your phone and show it to him, "Calling the police."

He jolts on his feet and sits next to you on the couch as you hit the call button.

"But why?" He asks.

You can hear the dialing tone ringing so close to your ear, "So they'll arrest me," you simply answer.

Minho nervously chuckles, "Then you won't be able to do the other sacrifices," he reminds you to rethink your choices.

"Good!" You shortly respond, trying to stay in your right mind this time.

"Then the Apocalypse will happen and billions will die. I know, I know, I get it. You don't want blood on your hand but if it saves billions..." He's babbling, desperately trying to stop you from turning yourself in.

The way he puts it that way, he makes you choose the lesser between the two evils. 

"Hello, police department, may I help you?" The operator speaks on the phone.

Kill three people who deserve it or save billions of innocent people?

You find yourself hanging up the call and putting your phone away, once again failing to do the right thing.

"See? You're a good person!" Minho says as he exhales in relief.

To be honest, you don't know what's good or bad, right or wrong anymore. It's one big blur to you.

You feel frustrated once again, you feel like a failure but on the bigger picture, you're trying to stop the world from ending.

But can you really save everyone?

-

You can't wait to dwell on everything in the comfort of your apartment. Before you can do all that, you need to set boundaries with him. You face him and look him right in the eyes, "I have six days to kill two more so please, give me a break for now."

Minho gets quiet for a moment before nodding in agreement, "That's fair."

Feeling the need to wash yourself from whatever it is clinging to your body, you get a shower and take your meds to help you decompress while sitting on the end of your bed in your bathrobe.

"I don't know why you take those pills," Minho says as he enters your room.

You quietly sigh at him and say, "Can you at least give me a few minutes until it's working?"

"Want to wash it down with wine?" He offers, showing the bottle of red in his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't drink alcohol after taking antidepressants," you answer, not sure why bother answering him.

"That sucks!" He says and puts the wine bottle down on top of your dresser, "I was thinking we could celebrate our first kill."

You feel a little faint at the mention of the word kill and celebrate being put in one sentence. You climb onto the bed and pull your duvet, "I need to rest."

Minho appears at the end of your bed, looking down at you with his dark, wide eyes, "That's right. We have a lot to do tomorrow."

"Can you turn the lights out for me?"

"Certainly."

The room turns dark but you get a newfound comfort in it.

"Goodnight," Minho's voice caresses your ears like a spring breeze.

You don't want to get used to this but you feel inexplicably at ease that there's someone else with you in this vast emptiness.

"Goodnight, Minho."

-

SIX DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

You jolt awake to the sounds of your phone ringing on your bedside table and you know who it is without having to look at the contact name. Your fingers are tapping the phone screen as you squint your eyes to make sure you hit the accept call button.

"Yeah?" You ask as you put the phone on the side of your face while you're lying on your side with your eyes closed.

"You're still sleeping?" Kim asks, noticing the sleep in your voice.

"Mm-mmh," you hum in answer.

"You know what time it is?"

"I don't know. Nine or ten?" You wildly guess by how badly you want to go back to sleep.

You hear her sighing from the other line of the call, "It's almost 2 in the afternoon," she says.

You force your eyes to open to check the time yourself and see that it is indeed two in the afternoon.

"Oh?" You innocently gasp.

Realizing that may piss her off, you hurried to shift the conversation elsewhere, "Yeah, uh... why are you calling again?"

You fear that she's going to be mad about you abruptly leaving the exhibition or worse if she knew about Nick. You hold your breath, anticipating her answer.

"Oh, yes, I have good news," she says with a smile that you can feel from your end of the line.

"You sold four sculptures, darling!" She squeals.

That's exciting news but you don't have it in you to participate in that excitement, yet you feel relieved you can properly breathe at ease.

"That's... That's great!" You meekly say while raking your hair to the back with your fingers.

"I've been calling you since yesterday, you know that?"

"Oh? I, uhm..." You take a moment to think of an answer.

Summoned a demon? Found out that you have seven days to the end of the world? Killed someone to stop it?

"I needed—"

"Never mind!" She rudely cuts you off, "Guessing from how tired you sounded, you must be going straight back to work, huh?"

The sculpture is still a chunk of unshapen stone but yeah, you worked on it just a bit. Well, a work is a work.

"Yeah, I-I did," you sputter your answer yet thankful that all of her guesses are off the mark.

"I'll come with the paperwork tomorrow. For now, you can rest now or work some more, knock yourself out," she says, couldn't care less about what you're doing now that you've made money and she got to feed on a few percent of it.

"Thanks, Kim!" You say, because it's better to always be on her good side.

"Oh, come on! We both working hard," she kindly refuses but you know she feels entitled to this.

"Let's have a dinner to celebrate," she suggests.

"Yeah, yeah," you half-heartedly answer.

"Talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay."

"Bye!"

You don't even bother to say it back knowing that she'll hang up right after she said her bye. Since you've woken up already, you sit up on the bed and pull your knees up, hugging your feet as you gather your thoughts.

In your peripheral vision, you see a flash of red from the doorway of your room. You turn to look and see Minho standing with the side of his body leaning against the doorframe.

The all-black outfit he's wearing makes his honey skin glow and his hair look like a blazing fire under the sunlight. He smiles once he notices your eyes are on him.

"Morning, sunshine!" He sweetly greets you with a smile that is a little unsettling but a whole lot attractive.

He crosses his arms in front of him, exposing the veins coiling his forearms, "Oh, wait, it's way past noon," he says with a grin.

Looking at him only reminds you of the responsibility you're carrying on your shoulders: saving billions of people from being incinerated.

"Are you always like this or...?" Minho asks, breaking the silence that hung in the room as you think of the dire situation you're in.

Minho approaches you and stands at the end of the bed, "You can't stay in all day. We only have five and a half days left," he reminds you of the time-sensitive quest you're in.

The only way to save those billions is by killing three people. That's the only thing on the pro list, there are just too many cons, mainly on the killing part. The only good thing that comes out of it so far is that you only need to do two more killings.

God! What have you become?

"What should I do?" You hopelessly ask him even though it's a bad idea to ask a demon such a question.

"Just carry on as usual so the people around you don't get spooked," he answers.

It's you and him, him and you, there's no one else you can seek help from.

Minho is right. You can't just sit here and watch the day goes by or else the thing you've done would come to a waste.

You slowly scoot over to sit on the edge of the bed and rub the sleep of your eyes, not ready to face the day when you know you only have six days left to stop the end of the world.

"And while we're going on about the day we can decide who to kill next," Minho adds.

The devilish grin looks beautiful on his sculpted face but everything he says sending a chill down your spine.

-

"Oh, an old lady!" Minho exclaims as an elderly lady enters the elevator.

You silently watch as he scoots closer to her and smells her head, "She smells like... oh! She's sweet."

You silently groan in the corner watching what he's doing.

He places his hand on the lady's shoulder and says, "She can't stop thinking about the end though. She can't wait for it to come."

He looks at you with that wild grin plastered on his face, "You'd be doing her a favor."

You lightly shake your head at him to make him stop playing around the poor lady but he doesn't get the clues.

"She dreams of death. Even now—"

"Shut up!" You say through your gritted teeth.

The old lady turns to look at you, "What is it, my dear?"

You quickly put on a smile for her, "Oh, nothing," you politely say.

Minho walks up to stand next to you again and whispers in your ear, "Just do it. No one will miss her."

"Shut up!" You whisper back while throwing daggers with your eyes at him.

"She's nearly dead already!"

Thankfully, the elevator dings open and shoots his idea down as you step out of the elevator.

"We need to start to pick someone!" He persists as he follows you walking in the lobby.

Minho is such a nuisance.

It's hard to ignore him when he keeps talking, making remarks about everyone he sees, and constantly around you the whole time.

It's when you're working on your sculpture that you get to immerse yourself in your work and disassociate from reality.

All you hear is the slamming sound of your hammer on the chisel and pieces of stone falling onto the floor. Looking down at the mess you made, you spot one particular piece of stone lying close to your feet. You stare at it for too long you get the recollection of that night.

The weight of the rock in your hand, how you bashed someone's head with it, and the splashing sound of the man falling into the water, all of that vividly playing in the back of your head.

You stagger backward and drop your chisel onto the floor, the clattering sound echoing in the spacious studio.

"I've been meaning to tell you this," Minho appears from behind the sculpture, startling you.

"We should order food," he suggests.

You put away your hammer and take off your mask, walking to the mini fridge to get a bottle of water.

"You're a demon. You feed on..." You think for a moment to finish your sentence as you unscrew the cap of the bottle.

He snatches the flyer stuck to the fridge door and asks, "Pizza?"

You close the fridge and walk over to the couch, plopping yourself down before chugging some water into your system.

"You need to eat so you can—"

"Kill?" You finish his sentence.

Minho scrunches his nose and sits on the armrest of the couch next to you, "I was about to say think but yeah, that too," he says.

You untie your pinafore and throw it aside, he isn't wrong to say that you need to eat. What's the point of saving the world if you're going to die of starvation?

You let out a sigh and grab the flyer from his hand, typing the numbers on your phone screen.

"Cheese pizza, please? With a lot of pepperoni!"

How can you believe that he's a demon when his choice of pizza topping is like a toddler's?

-

"Good evening, Miss!" The concierge greets you as he sees you enter the door.

"Hi," you greet back, impatiently wanting to get back to your apartment to dwell on your fate again.

"Miss Kim came by and dropped something for you," he informs, taking out a big envelope from your mailing box.

There's a faint sound coming from the small TV tuned to a news broadcast when you come to the desk to collect it.

"Here it is, Miss," he slides the big brown envelope across the shiny surface of the desk. There's a note on top of it which you immediately recognize as Kim's.

You open to do a quick check on what's inside when you hear a glimpse of the news from the TV.

"...man found dead in the river has been identified as Ben Watson, a financial officer of a bank company, leaving a wife and a seven-year-old daughter who has been notified about his tragic death..."

You glance at the small screen and see the photograph of the man you killed that night. You can't possibly be wrong about this when you remember the horror on his face as you lifted the rock before swinging it hard to his head.

"Is there anything wrong, Miss?" The concierge asks.

You snap yourself out of your daze and put the envelope close to your chest as if someone about to steal it from you.

"No, no," your voice is quivering in panic at the sight of the man you killed.

"Thank you," you abruptly the conversation with gratitude and walking fast to the elevator.

The warm water doesn't work to calm you down when you're tainted inside. You feel filthy, inside and out. You feel sick seeing your reflection in the mirror.

You've been holding your medicine in your hand but you need something stronger, you ditch the pill and run to the kitchen.

You pull out the wine you have in the kitchen cabinet and drink it straight from the bottle, chugging it like it's water. You gasp when you stop drinking, taking the bottle with you as you sit on the sofa while you're still in your bathrobe.

"This is how you're going to end the day?" Minho asks, taking the bottle of wine from you to take a sip.

"Can you stop talking about killing for just—" You choke on air as anger bubbles up inside you.

Minho holds his hands up in defeat and leans back on the sofa next to you, "I'm just saying..." he meekly says.

The silence only resides for a minute until he speaks again, "Look, the earlier you get it done—" he stops talking when you shoot him a glare.

You take the bottle of wine from him and take a long gulp, a drop of wine escapes the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin.

You aggressively wipe it with the sleeve of your bathrobe and recline on the sofa, looking out at the city lights that look like pinpricks in the dark of the night.

"I'm crazy..." you sadly remark.

Those words remind you of a sobering fact that what people think of you: crazy.

Ever since you were still an art student, people often found you talking to yourself in class, always in your little world with your imaginary friend. That leads you to this solitary life because normal people avoid crazy.

"People are right about me. I'm crazy," you state again, and saying it out loud makes your heart aches.

Minho turns his head and looks at you with his dark eyes that weirdly provide you warmth, "You're not crazy."

But why would a normal person kill a person because a demon told him to? You don't even know if he's real and not a product of your imagination.

"I'm a murderer..." you say with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart.

He scoots closer until he sits close next to you, his shoulder bumps with yours on the big sofa that could fit five people. He looks at you and gently says, "Yeah, but not a crazy one."

Minho has a way of looking at bad things positively. You chuckle at the irony of his words. You can't tell if you should be happy that you're not crazy or sad that you're indeed a murderer.

He slumps down on the sofa to be on the same level as you, also turning his head to look at the view, "Want to know something?"

Instead of answering, you take a sip of the wine. You know he'll keep talking even if you refuse him.

"This is actually my first assignment," he shares.

He drops his hand on the space on the sofa, merely inches away from yours, "It's more of an initiation, sort of earning my wings."

You look at him and get a little taken aback by the proximity you can see yourself in his eyes. You almost forget what you were trying to say to him, "What are you trying to say?"

You look away because he looks exactly like the one you envisioned on your sculpture, divinely beautiful that it's hard to comprehend.

"I'm saying that I'm new to this too," he answers.

Again, you can't tell if you should be happy or sad to know that. Strangely though, you find comfort in his words.

You look at his hand splayed so close to yours and it evokes the curiosity in you that needs to be fed. You gently flip over his hand and gently slip your fingers on the spaces between his fingers, you can feel the warmth and the roughness of his finger pads on each finger.

Minho is real, he's real, you perpetually assure yourself.

You glance at him and he's looking at you, your eyes meet in a tender gaze.

"Are you real, Minho?"

You're aware of how much that question weighs. If the answer is no, you know the insurmountable pain you brought onto yourself.

He slowly blinks and you can see his dark lashes fanning out so beautifully. His crimson-red lips open and says, "I'm as real as you want me to be."

Words aren't enough to convince you. With the despair filling your heart, you lean in and innocently put your lips on his. It's a kiss that feels more than just a physical act, one that you didn't know you needed.

After getting the reassurance that you need, you pull away. However, the hand lingering on your jaw tells otherwise. He touches your face with just his fingertips yet it's enough to send a tingle inside.

Slowly, he leans in to kiss your closed eyelids ever so softly and before you know it, he brings your face closer to place a tender kiss on your lips. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel the warmth no one has ever given you.

-

FIVE DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

"You wake up early!" Minho says as you dress up to get ready for the day.

You ignore his words, continue collecting your things around the room, and put them into your bag.

"Are you trying to match your clothes with me?" He says, looking at your all-black outfit while sitting on the headrest of the sofa.

This morning, you woke up on the sofa still in your bathrobe and a blanket covered your body. The first thing you remember is you kissed him last night and somehow, it convinces you to keep going with the quest.

However, you still feel conflicted with what you do. You need to make sure of one thing.

"How about this handsome fucker?" Minho asks, pointing to the other person riding the elevator with you.

The man looks indeed handsome, he dressed so impeccably when it's only ten in the morning. He catches you looking and smiles at you.

You politely smile back and look away only to face Minho who's standing on the other corner of the elevator.

"He'll be losing his hair at the age of 32 and spends the next 29 years taking it out on his wife," he whispers even though no one can hear him but you.

The taxi ride to the hospital only takes fifteen minutes and you know where to go right away from the array of flower arrangements outside the separate building from the main hospital.

"Please tell me you're not doing what I'm thinking?" Minho asks in a concerned voice.

You wish to be able to shut him up for a few minutes until you can find what you're looking for. The hall is packed with people in black attire to what you can safely assume are the guests of the mourning family on the two funeral services being held by two different families.

You read the sign that leads to the Watson family yet pretend to be the one visiting the other family. Before you can sneak into their funeral service, you see someone taking the daughter outside.

"This is a bad idea!" Minho panickly says.

It's kind of alarming to hear because it's the first time he sounded genuinely concerned. You follow where the little girl is being taken and turns out, she's being taken to the park outside, probably to avoid her feeling overwhelmed.

"You're not a relative. People will get suspicious of you!" Minho nervously whispers.

You come over to the two men chatting and kindly ask for a cigarette even though you don't smoke. You stand at the other side of the door and take a drag of the smoke to be seen convincing.

"I know you're worried..." Minho sighs.

He stands next to you with his head hovering close to your ear. He takes a breath before talking, "She's not in mourning. She's not not mourning," he says as you both quietly watch the girl sitting on the bench and drinking a juice box.

"Happy that it's finished but sad that he's dead. But it has finished!" He emphasizes the last word.

You take another drag and accidentally do it excessively, sending you into a coughing fit.

"You spared her another five years of it. A lifetime of therapy," Minho explains, "a lifetime!"

You look at him to see if he meant what he said. He's a demon after all, the vision he forced you to see could be misleading, a trick to make you do what he says.

He looks back at you and smiles, "She's a mom at 29. A nan at 57," he shares.

See? He knows how to comfort you even though you don't ask for it. You give up on pretending to smoke and stab the cigarette butts onto the big ashtray. You shove your hands into the pocket of your jacket and start walking away to the parking lot.

"Why are you telling me this?" You curiously ask.

He nonchalantly shrugs as he walks next to you, "I just thought you'd like to know."

-

"Did you see that?" Minho shouts as he leisurely watches TV with his feet up on the couch.

You pretend not to hear him and continue sculpting, hitting the hammer harder, louder to drown out his voice. As if he read your mind, he appears behind you and places both of his hands on your shoulders.

"You should see this!" He insists, steering your body and making you watch the TV.

It's a broadcast of night news about climate change and he magically changes the channel to show news about nuclear testing.

"It's manifesting. Do you understand?"

Minho keeps switching the channel to show you every bad there is happening in the world, everything that shows the sign that the world is close to ending.

You lightly shrug him off and say, "We got this kind of news a few years ago but—"

Minho holds you by the shoulders and shakes you awake, "This is real. We don't have much time and you're the only one who can stop it!" He reminds you of the harsh truth.

Somehow that only makes you question why you have to be the one to bear such responsibility. Billions of people on earth and they chose you?

"I'm not ready yet. I'm—"

"Don't you want to see that little girl live her peaceful future?" Minho asks.

This is where you know he's being the demon he is, using your weakness to his advantage and making you give in to the temptation.

It's not so much a temptation when you have no other options, it's killing or being engulfed in flames on Friday. You muster up your courage and think of something to do.

The first killing was what Minho said it was: a beginner's luck, the man happened to be there and an abusive bastard, even in his grave, he shall not rest in peace.

This time, you plan to do it meticulously and without mistakes. You walk to the kitchen and pull open the drawer, taking out a knife you occasionally use to cut your sandwiches.

Minho shakes his head in disapproval of your choice of weapon, "You're not a knife person," he concludes.

You look at him, demanding an explanation behind that haste conclusion.

"It's messy. You could hurt yourself," he explains.

That sounds right. You put the knife back into the drawer and look around the studio to find potential killing weapons.

Minho leans into your side and whispers, "Let's choose something that is more you!"

You look at him and see that he's eyeing the table full of your sculpting tools.

You pick up the medium chisel and show it to him to seek his approval. You meet another disapproval as he strongly shakes his head.

"It's too specific. They'll know it's you. You're the only sculptor living in the area," he gives you an insight into how the devil's mind works.

You must admit that he just saved you from making a mistake. You pick another weapon that you're familiar with but also gives you the upper hand to do the killing. You pick up the hammer and turn around to show him.

A smile rises on his face as he nods in approval, "That's you! You're a basher!"

You bring the hammer close and observe it, it feels good around your hand since it's a tool that you work with most of your life.

"You've had the practice now. It'll be easier this time," Minho says with a sinister smile.

You want to believe his words so much but the nerves get to you. Your breathing becomes erratic once you realize what you're going to do with the hammer.

Minho puts his hand on the small of your back and holds you steady, "Liquor courage! That's what you need! Booze!" He suggests.

"I don't keep any alcohol in the studio," you meekly say.

Considering that sculpting involves a lot of sharp objects, it's wise to not keep anything that would dull your focus.

"Also, I just took an antidepressant an hour ago," you inform him.

"Oh, shit!" He curses and leans his body to the back, against the table.

Minho crosses his arms in front of him, then rubs his chin as he thinks of something. He then leers at you with a smirk dancing on his face, "Well, do you want a drink?"

-

There's a bar a few blocks away from your studio.

You got here in need of liquid courage and there's plenty of them here. You plan to only consume enough alcohol just to calm the nerves but not too much to lose your focus.

It gets you anxious to step into a new environment. You decide to go straight to order drinks.

"Whiskey, please?" You say to the bartender with a handlebar mustache.

Bartenders tend to remember the faces they have seen and yours must not have registered into his memory bank. He puts away the cloth he's holding.

"You want ice with it?" He asks.

"I'll have it dry," you answer since you came here for the alcohol, not for refreshment.

"Easy, love. We have work to do," Minho reminds as he props a hand against the countertop.

Knowing that one drink wouldn't be enough and you don't want to bother the bartender again for a drink, you decide to double.

"Make that two, please!" You hurriedly say before the bartender starts making your order.

"You don't have to get one for me," Minho grins at you.

The bartender takes another glass with him to finally fill them with your choice of potion.

"I didn't," you whisper back at him.

You immediately pay for it and bring your drinks with you to the empty spot in the corner of the bar, hidden behind the pool table.

You slowly sip your drink and feel it running through your system, stripping a layer of senses off of you, making you less aware of your surroundings.

"Okay, you see anyone tasty?" Minho asks as he sits next to you.

He cranes his neck looking for the next human sacrifice among the people who are enjoying their concoctions. His finger points to the guy with a beanie and drinking a pint of beer.

"Oh, that one perfect!" He exclaims.

He stacks his hands on top of the table and leans forward as he further speaks, "Burglaries. Mostly target the elderly. What do you reckon?" He turns to you for opinions.

The alcohol is not quite there yet so you take a longer sip. You feel the alcohol burns your throat and you wince from the bitter aftertaste.

"No?" He asks as he looks at you.

You know he's asking about the human sacrifice, not the alcohol but the answer is the same, "No."

Minho moves on. His eyes are pacing around the room to study people and check their backgrounds with his evil power.

He taps your shoulder as he finds his next candidate, "See that girl with the pints?"

You can easily spot the girl with curly hair, carrying two pints of beer in her hands.

Minho leans in close to your ear to give his intel, "She went on holiday when she was 12 years old and saw her sister drown in a swimming pool."

He suddenly lowers his voice as he tells you the rest of the story, "She could have pulled her out but she just stood there and watched."

Maybe it's true that people are the scariest.

They may look ordinary and good and all yet inside, lies this darkness that they buried deep inside them. If Minho hadn't told you, you would have taken her as a pretty girl with a nice smile and nothing more.

Minho pulls at the sleeve of your shirt and points to another guy, talking to his friend by the pool table. You're about to wave him off again until the guy turns his head and you know who it is.

"How about him? He likes to secretly film girls by drug them and once he—"

"Sent a girl into overdose," you finish his sentence.

Everyone knows who Tim Shaw other than a student in our faculty and more importantly, people know what he likes to do to innocent girls yet no one dares to make him take responsibility for what he did.

Until one night, he drugged a girl and left her on the cold floor of a club, unconscious. There's no evidence that he drugged her or it was he drugged, ended up with him getting dropped off of all charges.

You have one more drink to finish and you gulp it in one go, wanting to use this opportunity to get back for what he did to that poor, innocent girl.

Minho triumphantly smiles, knowing that you have set a target on Tim's head.

"I think we have a contender," he concludes.

-

Tim is exiting the bar and you take it as an advantage.

You don't need to lure him out, you wait a minute before you follow him outside to not seem conspicuous. Once you're outside, you look side to side to see where Tim is going.

"Perfect location. No witnesses," Minho answers as you both find him turning to the back of the bar.

Tim seems to hear your rushed footsteps and turns around to see you. He seems to be taken aback and you doubt that he'll recognize you. Being crazy has its advantages, you're off the asshole's radar.

You nervously laugh as he looks at you. You quickly think of something to say, "Oh, my God! It's really you, Tim!" You say with fake enthusiasm.

"I'm sorry but who..." he gets all defensive.

"I'm—" You don't know how to explain yourself other than 'the insane one from art school'.

"Oh, wait, you're that girl, the sculptor, the... uh," he brakes before he can say the infamous title of yours.

"The freaky one?" You playfully say.

He bursts into laughter and nods, "Hey, don't get me wrong. I like freaky," he says.

Minho points to the carts of empty bottles and gestures for you to use them instead of the hammer inside your bag that weighs your shoulder the longer you're carrying it.

"I was just getting a drink but it doesn't feel good drinking alone," you lie even though that's how you prefer to enjoy your poison.

"Yeah, I bet," he says with a grin that showcases his whitened teeth and malicious intent.

"How about drinking at my place?" He offers.

"Home turf. Even better," Minho comments, appearing behind you.

You don't want to seem desperate to be with Tim because honestly, you're just stalling to find the perfect opportunity to kill him. It's time to put what you learned from Kim into practice.

"I, uhm..." you rub the back of your neck and shyly smile at him, "I don't think that's..."

As you pretend to consider his offer, he's secretly checking you out. His eyes travel up and down your body, you bet he thinks of lewd things even though you're dressed like a bible salesman with the same outfit you wore to the funeral service.

He takes a step forward and smiles at you, "I live not far from here. You can easily crawl back here if you think I'm a bad drinking partner," he seduces.

Tim must have thought you were as gullible as the other. Oh, he has no idea the surprise you have for him!

"If you don't mind, yeah," you say with a low giggle.

"Okay," he says with a triumphant smile.

His house is indeed only two blocks away from the bar and he keeps boasting about how he owns a house from his inheritance and the rising price of property these days.

"Please, come in!" He lets you into his house.

You step on a crumpled beer can as you enter the living room and are horrified at the amount of trash littering the place.

"A few friends and I watched a football match last night," he concisely explains.

He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, "How about we drink in my room?"

You uneasily glance at Minho and he nods. You look back at Tim then put on a fake smile for him, "Yes."

He leads the way up the stairs and you follow him, climbing the steps with the hammer getting heavier and heavier inside your bag.

Tim turns around and sees you being hesitant, "There's no need to be shy now," he says with a lopsided grin.

You respond with a smile, keeping your head tilted up, and continue climbing up the stairs.

"Now!" Minho orders.

"Hit him with the hammer now!" He says again so close to your ear.

Your head snaps in his direction and hisses through your gritted teeth, "Shut the fuck up!"

Tim catches you talking and looks over his shoulder, "What's that?"

"Can't wait to see the bedroom!" You lie and add a giggle to sound convincing.

He smirks at you before pushing the door to his bedroom, "Come on in!"

His room is less messy than his living room in which he helplessly tries to make it seem tidy by flattening the pile of his duvet.

"You can sit down here," he says, patting the space next to him on the bed.

"You're not really going to have sex with him, are you?" Minho asks as he quietly watches you from across the bed.

A deadly glare is enough to answer him and he immediately refrains from pressuring you.

"I was just checking," he adds.

It's when you're in his bedroom that you start to fear Tim, not when you know what he is capable of. But at the same time, it fuels your hate fire, it reminds you of the reason why you need to eliminate scum like him.

"You keep your alcohol in your room?" You ask.

It's obvious that he took you here for different intention. He's taking you here for the sole reason that is to ruin your life.

"Oh, yeah, the drinks," he smacks his lips together and awkwardly paces in the room.

He reaches for the portable speaker on top of his dresser and turns it on, "You can wait for the drinks while listening to music," he says.

You nod, "That sounds nice!"

He gets out of his bedroom and heads back downstairs. While he's doing what you believe is spiking your drink with substance, you think of a plan on how you're going to kill him.

First, you take the hammer out of your bag and practice your swing. You get panicked with each second passed and haven't found a way to catch him off guard.

The footsteps on the stairs signal you that he's on his way here. You decide to do the classic way by hiding in the back of the door, planning to strike him from behind.

You see his figure entering the room, carrying two glasses of drinks in his hands, "It's your lucky day because I found a bottle of—"

Without thinking, you swing your hammer hard and hit him right on the side of the head. It's a weak blow and you can see that from how he's staggering backward, still conscious.

There's no turning back now that you have done it. You come charging at him, attacking him while he's still disoriented from the first blow.

He collapses onto the bed and not giving him time to recover, you keep hitting his head with the hammer with blood splattering the bed and wall with every swing of the hammer going onto his head.

You whimper as blood gets on your face and see that Tim is lying cold on the bed, dead. However, you land another blow just to make sure you've done it and leave no room for mistakes.

"You're good, you're good," Minho says from across the room.

That's when you stop and take a step back. It feels like your soul has left your body, you suddenly feel drained and the hammer drops onto the floor.

You look at the mess you made, the bloody mess and dead body, your life that is once far from all of it. Your throat suddenly closes up and you find it hard to breathe.

After a moment, Minho gets to your side to say, "You can't have that lying around," he's eyeing the bloody hammer lying on the floor.

With your mouth gaping for air, you bend down to pick it up and shove it back into your bag.

"Cleans anything you touched," Minho instructed.

You take a handkerchief from inside your jacket and use it to wipe surfaces you probably made contact with even though you're sure there aren't any.

You leave the bedroom after wiping the handle of the door and make a turn to the stairs when you hear the front door creak open.

You peek from the top of the stairs and someone is turning the lights in the kitchen.

"Get out before he sees you," Minho whispers.

It's bad when he needs to whisper like that even though no one can hear or see him, but you. The adrenaline is still pumping and you make the most of it by bracing yourself to make a run down the stairs and to the front door that is only a few meters away.

You take a deep breath before quietly descending the stairs without making any noise. You can feel your heart beating in your ear yet you keep going as the door is only a reach away.

You successfully land on the base of the stairs when your bag accidentally hits a flower pot, sending it breaking into pieces on the floor.

"Tim?" The man calls.

He looks at you with confusion drawn on his face, "Who are you?"

It's too late for you to break into a run as he sees your face and officially makes him an eyewitness. You can't leave an eyewitness, at least, not until you've done all three human sacrifices.

Is it necessary to kill him though?

You can think and consider as much as you want but it all comes down to the one question: kill or end the world?

-

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[lover-of-mine]

Welcome to the use of blue and green with 911 couples is not confined to clothing and how I believe this applies to buddie since season 2, a masterpost. (this does contain an explanation of the use of blue and green in the more obvious way, the clothes, so even if you don't believe the other elements of the scene part, this could still bring some clarity on the way blue and green is important)

Okay, so, after 706 a lot of people said they thought about me with the buddie/bathena blue and green scene, and I LOVE THAT, but a few people also came to ask me to explain more about the blue and green in general and why that is important and I realized my blue and green thoughts are scattered into multiple posts because I did figure out more stuff since I wrote the first one and season 7 is giving me more things to support the 2 main color theory theories I have when it comes to buddie/Buck, so I decided I need to write one long post about it all, including thoughts on 706 specifically.

Okay, so easy pattern to spot first, the blue and green thing is used with a lot of couples throughout the show, core couples, adjacent couples, random people in calls, the blue and green is used in a major piece of clothing in a couple, a shirt, a jacket, a dress, after s6 the use of pants was introduced more explicitly, and that has transferred to s7, but it is something heavily used since s2 (I can't find a conclusive example in s1 and the first obvious example is madney's first scene in 206) (this will have a bunch of tiny images because I'm trying to stay within the image limit, but if you click on them you can zoom in if tumblr doesn't decide to hellsite, I made them high quality enough)

And it is not just about meant-to-be couples, it's literally just a way to exemplify romantic connection. And while it is used a lot with most of the couples we see, the easiest couple to track is madney, since they have a lot of blue and green scenes, tracking back all the way down to their first scene, but bathena also have quite a few scenes. I love the scene at the station in 308 (last column, 3rd row down) because the cutout of kid Bobby makes it so there's a double blue Bobby there.

So the clothes element is very easy to track. It is a very real aspect of the show. And that is interesting when you consider the actual color theory aspect of it, because blue and green are analogous colors, which means they are right next to each other in the color wheel, and that's a color scheme used to create a harmonious look, it's about cohesion, creating visual unity, and it is what this accomplishes, the couples look balanced even if we don't fully register why, they just naturally work well together and that translates even if you don't know color theory.

This is the part we know exists in the show, but the thing is, I don't believe the show only uses that with the clothes, and again, madney is the easiest way to track that.

I noticed this while making a 512 set for the hiatus rewatch since I was focusing on the scenery to pick the shots I wanted because something about that episode is that it is green in nature since it is a Saint Patrick's Day episode. But everything about madney that episode is blue and green even when madney isn't dressed in blue and green. Pretty much everything about it has blue or green elements.

Maddie is wearing blue in the video, Chim is wearing green when he watches it, she's in blue while she's alone (even her hospital gown is blue, and that's not a common thing for the show), he's in green when he's alone, so we are still in the color scheme, there is a lot of green in the background that makes Chim and his vest stand out, we have green walls, that green bench, the blue red sox merch on the walls. But when they meet again, they are in neutral-colored clothing, contrasting with the background, and when Maddie tells Chim she wants to go home, both of them have blue and green shirts that are covered by a jacket, so the blue and green are not a focal point even if it's there, probably because they are not back in a place where they can get back together yet, and they are explicitly in blue and green in 601 when they do get back together.

They also did the whole make the episode blue and green with 706.

The backgrounds are very blue or green or both, a lot of the people are wearing blue or green, Maddie's phone is green, Chim's car is blue, there is a lot of blue and green happening there.

Something else about madney being blue and green is that their house has a lot of blue and green decorations. So, I definitely wanna say that the blue and green are being completed by other elements of the scene.

But I obviously have examples with other couples.

While doing the rewatch sets for 606 I noticed there are a few examples using Henren and other elements of the scene, 606 is also the episode that allowed me to include pants into this madness.

The thing about henren is that they don't have a lot of blue and green scenes, the 2 we had before s7, because s7 did gave us a few more, are in when they decide on fostering and when Eva comes back the last time, but since their color palette is based on patterns a lot, I decided maybe I should expand my definition of what counted, that gives us one of the flashbacks, because Karen's pants are patterned in green and Hen's shirt is patterned in blue, they also have Hen in green pants for one of the dates and there's the blue lighting, there's the scene with Hen in a blue hoodie and the green background. So more elements of the scene were being employed there.

Another couple is Eddie and Shannon. I will be honest, it took me a WHILE to clock they had an explicit blue and green moment in the form of Chris' birth. BUT, looking at them season 2 and the flashbacks in Eddie begins, they have moments where Eddie is blue or green and Shannon has blue and green detailing, her jewelry, her nails, her car, background of a scene. Also when they are fighting about Eddie reenlisting, they keep switching holding blue and green stuff. Shannon has a blue cup, Eddie is holding a green bottle, the rag on Eddie's hand is blue, the oven mitt next to Shannon is green, so even though Shannon is never a fully blue or green character, she always has blue and green accents.

Randon addon, but Thomas and Mitchell, the gay couple from Buck, Actually that is the couple that shows Buck what love is supposed to look like, they have a lot of blue and green details in their montage, the car, the driveway, the transition from a green cake to a blue cake, I just love that.

Now that we have all of this established, let's talk blue and green applied to buddie.

So, using the established, just the top, point of focus of the outfit, buddie has 3 blue and green outfits, technically 4, but we will talk about the hangar later, because I have a lot to say lol, the loft scene in 613, the station scene in 617, the hangar scene in 704, and the dispatch scene, the street scene, and the wedding in 706 (I will also talk more about 706 later)

One thing about buddie in blue and green is that they tend to have similar shades to past scenes with past love interests.

I don't know why they repeated the shooting combo, I guess it's just because Taylor's greens tended to be less earthy than Eddie's usual shades, but, I was scrolling through bucktaylor blue and green scenes to see if I could find a match for the hangar, and I do think that works, but I was fully ready to go full delusional here and say Buck's hoodie in 706 matches Shannon's nails in 207, because they do, BUT, that one seems to be a double kill and I don't have to sound all that crazy, because it seems like it is a bucktaylor combo from 509 too (the lighting on the loft is obviously different from two scenes in natural sunlight, but they are similar enough)

(Wait last minute addition that you don't know it's a last minute addition and can read more about here, but all thought s6, Buck and Eddie have matching blue and green phone cases, and the 706 scene seems to also somewhat match the shade of the phone cases from last season)

And these are the explicit ones, I would say the 706 scene is even more on the nose since bathena are also in blue and green right next to them.

Now, for other elements of the scene tho, we can go back down to the beginning. As in the you can have my back any day scene.

(Yes, I know the blue is because of the sirens, and it will eventually be red, but since red is such a prominent color for Buck, I can't really mind that all that much because I also have a color-theory theory that deals with the idea that Buck is red in scenes about doing the right thing about love and what more right for Buck than Eddie?)

But since I'm trying to stay within the image limit, let's rapid-fire some scenes here. If we ignore the uniform (I am choosing to because they don't have a lot of room with the uniform, it is what it is, and sometimes a scene will happen in the firehouse) Eddie is wearing blue after the tsunami and the will reveal, Buck's wearing blue after Chim goes after Maddie, Buck's wearing blue in the kitchen talk in 511 (and yes he's wearing blue because Taylor is wearing green, but he's still in blue), the shirt Buck has under the red jacket during the breakdown is blue, Buck is wearing something blue(ish) when they talk about the couches, Eddie is wearing blue on the poker date, Buck is wearing green on the cemetery. In the Carla scene, when Eddie shows up, they're not in the kitchen, and the backgrounds behind them are somewhat neutral. But funnily enough, it's only green behind Eddie there. (if you read my eddie fell first essay, you know I will die saying this is the moment that Eddie is done for so, love when an insane thought solidifies another lol), after the tsunami, we have green scrubs dude behind Eddie when Eddie sees Buck, even though most scrubs in the show are blue and everything behind Eddie is white, we have Buck and the blue of the tent, when they turn around, there's the green thingie behind Eddie and Chris, and the scrubs behind Buck are blue. Grocery store, the toilet papers behind Buck are blue and the outside along with the flowers behind Eddie are very green. Shooting, whatever that green thing behind Eddie is, Mehta's uniform, more blue uniforms, and a green medical person. 511 I just think are funny because Buck is wearing blue in the kitchen but everything about Eddie is white, and that's a fun contrast to the Carla scene and 517 is funny the way one side of Chris' room is mostly green and red and the other is yellow and blue and how Buck is on the green side and Eddie is on the blue (including his shirt). And the poker date, Eddie is in blue and the tables and chairs are green.

Considering using the pants, we also have the post-tsunami talk, the will reveal, and the 504 talk where Eddie has green pants on. Sure, the post tsunami talk, Eddie is both blue and green and there are no blue elements on Buck, but the will reveal, Eddie is both blue and green and the wall behind Buck is blue, and the 504 talk, Eddie has green pants and Buck has a blue hoodie on, considering the way the season 6 had the pants being in used with henren in 606 and with the girls from the oil well (both queer couples, I might add), I kinda wanna say that the 504 talk is traditionally blue and green lol

We also have my Roman Empire, aka the cemetery scene.

Because here's the thing, the sky is only blue behind Eddie and Buck is dressed in green. And also considering the way that they were being pretty consistent with Eddie being green and Buck being blue and the general breakup feelings surrounding the cemetery scene, the fact that bucktaylor switched colors mid-relationship, aka, when Buck tells her he kissed someone else, this is very interesting to me, because the colors in that scene feel like something that was accomplished on post-production, so they are like that on purpose.

This is also something that is used in the gym scene in 705, because Buck is wearing a green coat and Eddie completes the blue and green with the towel and the bottle, and considering green is Buck there is something wrong color and Buck is beating himself up for lying to Eddie, the switch in colors when applied to Buck usually means something.

With all this, let's talk blue and green in 706. Bathena is in 2 different blue and green outfits, the Buckley parents are in blue and green, bucktommy and buddie.

The bucktommy blue and green is very interesting because for one I had to swatch the color of Tommy's shirt and also because when talking about the blue and green in general, the shades tend to match, so to have Buck in a very light mint green and Tommy in a very dark, almost black blue is... a choice, especially considering that bucktommy did match during their date in 705, and Buck is in green, Buck in green is never a good sign (meta on that here), and considering Buck switches colors during crisis, I'm curious as to why they already switched the colors for them, since green is Buck's breakup color.

And the buddie of it all, well, they spent the whole episode matching, literally with the costumes for the bachelor party, but they also stay in their blue and green combo for the duration.

And to have buddie matching even in the bachelor party when the dude Buck is dating is there during the madney wedding episode is definitely a choice, even more, when you consider the way that Eddie is the one who is supposed to be the third wheel, in the costume design of it all Tommy was the one who was the odd one out, and considering the general married behavior buddie was exhibiting during the episode, it's a choice.

And since I'm already here, let's talk hangar scene.

For starters, with this scene, we had a blue and green scene for buddie 3 episodes in a row, which is something on its own, BUT, I will say that I watched the clip of this scene before 704 aired and said "oh, buddie just went canon", because here's the thing, for starters they are in blue and green and Tommy is in shades of beige, so the color on their clothes is the focus, but they are not really the focus, and they do match, but we have to consider the way Buck is wearing a maroon hoodie under his blue and Eddie is wearing a black jacket over his green. That clearly meant some sort of development was coming they're just not fully there yet. For me at least. Because the show has Eddie in the army green armor and Buck in the red jacket of love, and to have Eddie in the army green but with something over it, not using it to protect himself is something, and Buck not being in his brighter reds is also something.

To have this was very interesting for me, Eddie most of all because he's wearing black a lot and I have theories but I can't figure out why. But those are all colors used when Eddie is protecting himself and Buck is trying to understand something, so interesting. And then there's the actual dialogue of the scene "wait, you're not thinking about jumping ship?" "uh, no, I'm just, you know, keeping my options fluid." There is literally no more on the nose way to say don't jump ship than to literally have Eddie say don't jump ship. All that paired with the very obvious blue and green, definitely meant a plan was just set in motion for me.

I will link my Buck and the use of green and red again if you feel like reading more color theory theories. And also a theory about the use of blue and yellow this season.

Anyway, I think this is all, if you read this I love you 💜

tagging the ones of you who asked me about this or interacted with the post I asked about this: @dangerpronebuddie @missmagooglie @steadfastsaturnsrings @millymaki @inell @bella-bothered-and-bewildered @sparkedblaze @frihetstyrke @ilostyou @your-catfish-friend @estheticpotaeto @marmarthehatterverse @planetlet263 @mirrorbuck @lolpuppy

[dianawinchester03]

Season 2, Episode 6 - No Exit

Series Masterlist

(Authors Note: Yes I made the picture Dean’s hand purposefully because it turns me on. DEAL WITH IT LOL)

_______________________________________________

Y/N’s POV

We were all getting ready to leave the Roadhouse. Dean and Sam were by the trunk while I'm leant up against the side of the Impala, smoking a cigarette. "Los Angeles, California" Dean says to us as he closes Baby's trunk. "What's in LA?" Sam asks, walking next to me. "Young girls been kidnapped by an evil cult." Dean informs us with a serious tone. "Yeah?" Sam questions.

"Girl got a name?" Sam asks him as I lean off the impala, taking a drag before blowing it out the corner of my lips. "Katie Holmes" Dean responds with a smirk, jingling his keys to open the car door. His snark earns chuckles from both me and Sam, "That's funny" I admit laughing, flicking my cigarette on the ground before crushing it with my boot. "And for you, so bitchy" I add with sass, making Sam bust out in laughter.

A crashing of metal in the roadhouse draws our attention, our gazes snapped over to the door with raised eyebrows upon the sounds of Ellen and Jo yelling and cursing at each other. "Whereas on the other hand, catfight" Dean quips back, we all share a slightly amused look before walking towards the bar. "I am your mother! I don't have to be reasonable!" We hear Ellen's voice boom through the empty bar as we open the door.

"You can't keep me here!" Jo screams back. "Oh don't you bet on that, sweetie!" Ellen growls back, fixing a chair in the bar to open up. Damn, this sounds way too familiar. "What are you gonna do?! You gonna chain me up in the basement?!" Jo snarls back. The boys and I take in the argument as we walk in, "You know what, you've had worse ideas than that recently!" Ellen shouts back, getting in Jos face.

She flinched a bit before Ellen moves past her. "Hey, you don't wanna stay? Don't stay! Go back to school!" Ellen quips back. Jos face contorts in disgust, "I didn't belong there! I was a freak with a fucking knife collection!" She shouts back defensively. "Yeah, but getting yourself killed on some dusty backroad, that's where you belong?!" Ellen retorts back with sarcasm. Jos face drops when she notices the boys and I standing behind her mom.

Ellen turns to us, awkward smiles plastered on all our faces, our hands stuffed in our jacket pockets, "Guys, bad time" Ellen spits, trying to subside her anger. We all nods understandably, "Yes, ma'am" I nod firmly, "Sorry ma'am" Sam says at the same time as me. "Yeah, we rarely drink before 10 anyways" Dean chuckles nervous before we all turn to leave but Jo stops us.

"Wait, I wanna know what they think about this" Jo walks to us, the door squeaks and a family of four enters. Two kids and two parents, wearing T-Shirts with 'Nebraska is for Lovers' printed on them. "I don't care what they think!" Ellen shoots back. "Are you guys open?" The patriarch of the group asks awkwardly. "No!" "Yes!" Jo and Ellen yell angrily at the same time, scaring the shit out of the innocent family.

They all shift in their feet nervously, sharing a look of fear. The boys and I flash them apologetic looks, "We'll just check the Arby's down the road" The father says fearfully ushering his wife and kids out the door. We turn back to the angry and quarreling mother and daughter. As if on cue, the Roadhouse landline begins to ring.

Jo turns to her mother, still annoyed. They both share angry gazes before Ellen stomps towards the landline on the wall, answering it, "Harvelle's...Yeah, preacher" Ellen answers before Jo turns to us, a file in her hands. "Three weeks ago, a young girl disappears from a Philadelphia apartment." She begins to explain, handing me the file.

I look down at it, not taking it, "Take it, it won't bite" She says sarcastically. "No, but your mom might" I quipped back in a low tone. She rolls eyes before shoving it towards me again. I huff in response, giving her a unimpressed look snatching before the file from her. "This girl wasn't the first. Over the past 80 years, six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes" She explains as I flip through the research in the file.

By the looks of it, it was well in depth. Not only was it thorough, it was well organized. Dean leaned over my shoulder to take a look, "Only happens every decade or two, so cops never eyeball the pattern. So we're either looking for one very old serial killer or-" Jo further explains but Dean cuts her off, "Who put this together? Ash?" Dean asks curiously. "I did it myself" Jo responds with a small smile.

My eyebrows raises as I give her a look of impress, my eyes flicker over to the boys who look equally as shocked and impressed, "Damn girl, this is really organized, props" I chuckle with a compliment, balling up my fist to give her a bump. She smirks back proudly, returning my fist bump. "Thanks" She giggles. "I gotta admit, we hit the road for a lot less" Sam says honestly.

"Good. You like the case so much, you take it" Ellen butts in, done with her phone call. Jo's smile drops, "Mom!" Jo exclaims. "Joanna Beth, this family has lost enough. I won't lose you too" Ellen cuts in firmly, tears welling up in her eyes. My heart pangs for Ellen, she didn't want her daughter hunting alone because she didn't want her to get hurt. Not because she wanted to control her, but because she loves her.

The boys and I share sad looks, "I just won't" Ellen adds tearfully. Jo sighs in defeat, nodding but something told me she wasn't gonna give up that easily. For someone who tracked a pattern like this, I'm getting the vibe she won't let this case go easily.

________________________________

Somewhere in Philadelphia

The boys and I finally made it to the apartment in Philly, Sam picked the lock and the second he opened that door, it was like a wave of unpleasant energy lashed over me. A sick feeling churned in my stomach as Sam powered up the EMF meter. "I feel kind of bad snaking Jo's case." Sam admits as Dean closes the door while a chill crawled up my neck.

"Yeah, me too" I sigh. "Well, she did put together a good file, but can you see her out here working one of these things?" Dean scoffs. This catches my attention, "What's that supposed to mean?" I huff. His eyes snap over to me, "I'm just saying, she's clearly inexperienced" Dean defends. "Yeah, and so were we. Or is it because of the fact that she's a woman?" I counter, resting my hands on my hips.

I hear Sam awkwardly clear his throat behind me, Dean looks over to his brother with a face that says 'Help me out here' but Sam shakes his head, "I ain't touching that line with a 10 foot pole" Sam snorts. "It's just different with you, princess" Dean tries to reason. I snort at this, "Oh don't hit me that bullshit. I think she has potential, that's all. With proper training, she could be good if she did all of that with just research" I defend.

"You haven't even seen her in action yet" Dean rolls his eyes. "I just have a feeling okay" I huff. Dean sighs in defeat as he powers on his EMF meter, "You guys getting anything?" He asks me and Sam, "No, not yet" Sam answers, scanning one side of the room. I felt the chill grow more intense when I turnt to the fridge behind me. "Yeah, I think it's a spirit" I answer.

"How're you so sure?" Dean asks. I point to the back of my neck, indicating I'm getting chills. Deans mouth formed in an 'o' shape in realization. I narrowed my eyes at the handle on the door, a black gooey liquid oozing out of it. "What's that?" I muttered, "What?" Dean and Sam said in unison, walking over to me. That still startles me to this day.

Brothers.

I touched the liquid, I instantly recognized it when I felt it. Ectoplasm. "Holy fuck" I whisper in shock. Sam and Dean then touched the ectoplasm and recognized it instantly. "That's ectoplasm" Dean points out. "Well, sweetheart, I guess you were wrong. It's not a spirit..." Dean whispers to me. Sam and I cock our eyebrows at him, confused because the only thing that can cause ectoplasm is a pissed off spirit.

"It's the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man" Dean jokes, earning eyerolls from us. "Dean, I've only seen this stuff, like, twice." Sam ignores his sarcastic response, going back to the case. "I mean, to make this stuff, you have to be one majorly pissed-off spirit" I point out in agreement. "Alright, let's find this badass before he snags any more girls" Dean says smugly.

-

Now walking down the hall out of the apartment, we hear a woman and a man talking. "It's so convenient" The woman says sweetly. The boys and I share a panicked look before backing up into a corner, pressing our backs against the wall to conceal ourselves. "Yeah. It's a great building, fixed it up real nice. Apartments come furnished too." The man responds. The woman's voice sounded familiar....way too familiar.

"It is so spacious. You know, my friend y/n told me that i absolutely had to come check it out" My eyebrows shot ti the sky when the woman said my name and it could only be one explanation. Jo. The boys and I share a look as the voices move closer. "And I have to admit she was right. You did a really good job with this place" Jo tells the man as she bends the corner.

We pry ourselves from the corner, "What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asks her in shock. "There you are, honey" Jo smirks, grabbing Dean by his arm. My chest begins to flare when she does this, my jaw clenching. I notice Dean gulp when she does this, his eyes flickering over to me. "This is my boyfriend, Dean. My friend Y/N, the one I was telling you about. And her boyfriend, Sam" Jo introduces us.

I cock my eyebrows further at this, before wrapping my arm around Sam and faking a smile. Sam did the same, wrapping his casted arm around my waist. "Good to meet you. Quite a gal you got here" The man reaches out to shake Deans hand as Jo smiles widely. Dean smiles tightly, accepting his hand. "Oh, yeah, she's a pistol" Dean fakes a chuckle, slapping Jo on her ass a bit harshly.

"And she's talked so much about you" The man reached over to shake my hand and then Sam's, "Well, how sweet" I smile, looking over at Jo giving her a look that says 'You slimy little...', before turning to Sam. "She's just a riot, isn't she honey?" I chuckle. Sam feigns a laugh like me, his hand traveling down to the small of my back. "Most certainly, babe" Sam smiles tightly,

He gripped my waist, pulling me in closer to him, the both of us faking an affectionate stare. I notice Dean narrow his eyes at both of us. His jaw clenching tightly like mine did earlier, his eyes trailed to Sam's hand on my back, nearing my ass and back up to us. "So, did you already check out the apartment?" Jo asks us. We don't answer because of her slip of tongue, a bit of panicking settling in.

Jo, I was just defending you earlier, you're making it a bit hard right now honey.

"The one for rent" She adds with a smile. "You bet. Yes. Loved it. Great flow." Dean chuckles. "How'd you get in?" The man asks confused. "It was open" I say quickly but the man still looked confused. "Now, Ed, um. When did the last tenant move out?" Jo asks. "Uh, about a month ago. Cut and run too. Stuffed me for the rent" Ed, the building manager, explains slightly annoyed. "Well, her loss, our gain" Jo smiles widely.

"Because if Deano loves it, it's good enough for me" She giggles. Deano? Really? I internally rolled my eyes. "Oh, sweetie" Dean grits his teeth, masking his clear anger and discomfort before slapping her ass again. "We'll take it" Jo feigns a smile before handing the manager a wad of cash. Our eyes widen, I couldn't help but be impressed as the man graciously accepts the money. "Oh...okay." The man smiles widely.

As the man walks away I feel Sam's casted arm drop directly in my ass and I don't think he noticed because knowing him, he'd groan in disgust by now. "Get your hand off my ass, Samuel!" I spit through gritted teeth. Sam is startled, "Oh, fuck. Sorry" He apologizes quickly, grinning sheepishly as Dean glares at him.

Why the fuck he he glaring?

________________________________

We were back in the apartment, Dean was cleaning his gun and Sam was by the dining room table cleaning his own gun. "I'll flip you for the sofa" Jo says to me as I was cleaning my gun next to Dean. "Oh no no no. 1. You're sharing with Sam. The bastard punches in his sleep." I begin snarkily, cocking my gun. "I do not!" Sam defends, I wave him off as Jo rolls her eyes at my snark.

"And 2. Does your mother even know you're here?" I stand up, getting to eye level with her, resting my hands on my hips. "Told her I was going to Vegas" Jo shrugs. "You think she's gonna but that?" Dean scoffs. "I'm not an idiots. I got Ash to lay a credit card trail straight all the way to the casinos" Jo smirks, I cross my arms over my chest. "And Ash did that pro-bono?" I ask her. "Nope, only cost me your phone number" Jo's smirk widens.

"You didn't" My jaw drops along with Deans as Sam snickers in the background. "I did" Jo laughs. I roll my eyes at this, clearly annoyed. "You know, you shouldn't lie to your mom. You shouldn't be here either" Dean says annoyed, reloading and cocking his gun. She looks over to me and Sam a bit sad, "Well, I am. So untwist your boxers and panties and deal with it" She snarks back as me and Dean glare at her.

Now I know what you're saying, 'You were all gung ho for her learning to hunt earlier'. And I still am, I believe Jo is intelligent and has potential. But not when it involves pissing off Ellen, that woman scares me.

"Where did you get all that money from, anyways?" Sam asks curiously. "Working at the Roadhouse" Jo responds as if it's obvious. "Hunters don't tip that well" Dean scoffs. "Well, they aren't that good at poker either" Jo retorts back cockily, I snort at this. Shaking my head, "Respect" I put my fist out for her the bump, she smirks widely. Returning the fistbump. "Thanks" She smiles.

Sam's phones rings. He stands up and he fishes it out of his pocket, pressing it to his ear. "Yeah?" Sam answers as Jo goes through her duffle bag. Sam pauses for a bit before gulping, "Oh, hi Ellen" He says causally, glaring at Jo. Dean and I begin to internally panic as Jo walks closer to Sam. I propped myself on the dining table Sam was at, crossing arms over my chest. Taking in the interaction.

"Don't tell her" Jo whispers to him warningly, pointing a finger at him. "I'm telling her" Sam grits his teeth back, pressing the mic to his shirt so Ellen can't hear. "I'm gonna kill you!" Jo growls lowly. "You're not even supposed to be here!" Sam retorts lowly. The two get into a muttered argument before Sam caves and quickly says, "I haven't seen her" to Ellen.

"...yeah, I'm sure" Sam responds to Ellen, "Absolutely" Sam finishes before hanging up still glaring at Jo who gives him a cute wide cheeky thankful smile. Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance, scoffing a bit but I managed to catch the little blush on his cheeks.

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Third Person POV

Currently nose deep into research, Sam, Jo and Y/N were sat at the dining table. A map spread out of the building infront of them, Jo was flicking and playing with her knife while Dean paces the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "This place was built in 1924. It was originally a warehouse converted into apartments a few months ago" Jo explains the buildings history.

"Yeah, and what was here before 1924?" Dean asks. "Nothing. Empty field" Jo responds. "So most likely scenario..." Y/N begins, taking a drag from her cigarette. "...someone died Bloody in the building and now he's back and raising hell" She finishes, dusting the ash into an ashtray. "Yep" Sam nods in agreement, resting his paper down. "Already checked. In the past 82 years, zero violent deaths. Unless you count a janitor who slipped in a wet floor" Jo informs them.

Y/N's eyes flicker over to Dean who was still pacing the room, "Would you sit down please? Your pacing is making me dizzy" She huffs, a smirk rises on Deans face. He obliges, settling in the chair next to her before pulling it closer to y/n, he rests his hand behind her, propping it on the back of her chair. He then gestures for her to pass him the cigarette. She looks at him a bit surprised because, just like Sam. He usually only smokes when drunk or stressed.

Y/N passes him the bud, he takes it between his fingers and pulls from it. Allowing the nicotine and tobacco to course through his lungs, feeling a tad bit more relaxed. "So, have you checked police reports, county death records?" Dean begins to question her but Jo cuts him off. "Obituaries, mortuary reports and seven other sources. I know what I'm doing" Jo snaps back.

"Think the jury's still out in that one" Dean winks at her sassily. Y/N shakes her head, holding back a laugh at his sass along with Sam. Jo continues to twirl her knife in her between her fingers as Dean passes y/n back the bud, "Could you put the knife down? I feel like you're gonna take my eye out" She jokes with Jo.

Jo snorts, shaking her head but rests the knife down. "Okay, so, uh, it's something else, then" Sam begins. "Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it?" Y/N suggests, blowing the smoke out from the corner of her mouth. She passes the almost finished back to Dean. "We gotta scan the whole building, everywhere we can get to right?" Jo asks. "Right" Dean cuts in, crushing the finished bud in the tray as he exhaled the smoke through his nose.

"So, me and y/n will take the top two floors and you and Sam can take the rest" Dean instructs, getting up from the table. "We'd move fast if we split up" Jo counters. "Well, this isn't negotiable" Dean retorts. Jo rolls her eyes, but decided to oblige.

-

Dean and Y/N were canvassing the top two floors. Dean with his EMF meter in his hands, scanning the walls as they walk down the hall. "So, you gonna buy her dinner?" Y/N quips up, a bit of bitterness in her tone. Dean cocks his eyebrow, "What are you talking about?" He asks her confused. "Well, it's just if you're gonna smack the poor girls ass that much, it's only decent if you buy her dinner" She shrugs nonchalantly, trying to hide her jealous.

A smirk grows on Deans face, going back to when his brothers hand was on y/n's ass, "Oh, that's hilarious" He snaps back bitterly. "So, is Sam gonna buy you dinner? Seeing as he was so grabby with yours" He quips back in a clearly jealous tone, y/n's eyes snap over to Dean in disgust. "Dude, gross!" She groans, shoving him by his arm, earning a laugh from Dean as he stumbles.

"He didn't realize okay, that stupid cast in his hand is why. That's like going out with my brother" She defends, shivering in disgust at the thought as Dean howls with laughter. "Relax, Princess. I'm just kidding" He chuckles. "Not to be a gossip. But did you notice the way he blushed after he lied to Ellen when Jo gave him that smile?" Y/N gasped with a smile, looking over at Dean.

Dean snickers, nodding as he added to the gossip, "It was hilarious. Sammys got a crush" Dean agrees, laughing. "Too bad she's into the other brother" Y/N teased, trying to hide her bitter tone. "Yeah, right. She's a little too young for me, no thanks" Dean shakes his head. "Didn't seem so the way y'all were flirting back at the roadhouse" Y/N retorted with an eyeroll. Dean cocked his eyebrow at this.

"So you can flirt with her but I can't?" Dean countered with a smirk. Y/N's mouth snaps shut at this, "Touche, Winchester. Touché" She chuckled in defeat as Dean flashes her a victorious grin. "I still can't believe Jo ran. It's bad enough Sam lied to Ellen..." Dean shakes his head in disappointment. "I don't even think she's noticed she's the spirits type" Dean scoffs. "I'm pretty sure she has" Y/N responds.

"You think she wants to be bait?" Dean questions. "I wouldn't be surprised, if I were it's type, I'd jump at the case cuz it's the quickest way to draw it out, and you know it" Y/N shrugs as they walk down the hall. Dean chuckles ironically, annoyed at this. Walking past her, "What?" Y/N scoffs when she hears his tone. "I'm so regretting this" Dean mutters. "You know, I've had it up to here with your crap" Y/N snaps fed up.

Dean turns to her, surprised by her outburst, "Excuse me?" He scoffs. "Your chauvinist crap. You think women can't do the job" Y/N calls him out on his clear hypocrisy. "Baby, this ain't Gender Studies" He retorts cockily. "Women can do the job fine. I know you can, we've hunted together since diapers. Amateurs can't. Jo's got no experience" Dean repeats his words from earlier, earning an eye-roll from y/n.

"What she does have is a bunch of half baked romantic notions from that some barflies put in her head" Dean retorts. "Look. Dean, I get it. Dad and John started us in this so young, I wish we could do something else" She admits, Dean sighs, nodding in agreement. "You act like you love the job, but I know you don't" Y/N calls him out on the fact. "And how're you so sure?" Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

"Because you're twisted. We're all twisted" She chuckles dryly, earning one from Dean. "If I'm being honest, I'm kinda envious of the fact that Jo has a mother who worries and cares about her, who wants something more for her. And those are good things. Hell, I wouldn't throw it away if I were her. But if she wants to hunt, it's better she has people who can protect her" Y/N defends.

Dean is taken back by her concern for Jo, now realizing what this is all about. "You see yourself in her, don't you?" He calls her out on her relation to Jo. Y/N sighs, "Yeah, I do. And that's what scares me." She admits. "You and your soft heart will be the death of you" Dean smirks. Y/N huffs before smacking Dean in his arm, Dean chuckles as he clutches his arm. "Enough of this chick flick, let's go" She snorts, grabbing his arm to pull him down the hall.

-

A little later, they approach the end of the hall, y/n felt the chill rise in her neck again, she looked up to the ceiling into to see nothing. The spirit was stalking from an air vent below her, it began to protrude its ectoplasm coated arm. Causing y/n to jump fearfully when the chill grew stronger, flinching back, only to see the vent was clear.

"What?" Dean asks her concerned. "I'm not sure" Y/N gasps. Dean moves closer to her, taking a whiff of the air. "You smell that?" He asks her. "Yeah, what is that? It smells so familiar. A gas leak?" Y/N suggests. "No, something else.... I know it" Dean shakes his head. Y/N then crouches down to the vent, placing her hand on it. She gasps when the chill runs through her arm and down her body.

"Gimme your EMF meter" She gestures for Dean to hand her the meter. Dean passes it to her and it immediately lights up red when she places it over where she had her hand. She looks up at Dean with a smug smirk, "I swear, with you around. We don't need these things" Dean chuckles as Y/N hands him back the EMF meter. "It's inside the vent" Y/N points out, taking out her mini flashlight from her combat boots.

She powers it on and shines it inside but it seems to be empty. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a screwdriver, he then begins to unscrew the bolts holding the vent cover into place before taking it out. Y/N then gets a little lower to get a better look, flashing the light inside the vent. She hands Dean back the flashlight when she spots something,

"Theres something in there, here" She tells him, she then reaches her arm into the vent as Dean rests his chin on her shoulder, shining the light for her inside. His firm chest pressed against her back, both their heart paces quickens as Deans hot breath fans her ear, she clears her throat. Trying to reach it, Dean knew exactly what he was doing and he was relishing in finding anyway to touch her.

Whether it be innocently or not, "Jackpot" Y/N groans when her hand lands on the fuzzy piece of hair. She pulls it out to reveal a clump of blonde hair with a piece of rotting human scalp attached to it. She groans in disgust along with Dean, "Somebody's keeping souvenirs" Dean says grimly as Y/N gags, pretending to throw it on to Dean. "Gross!" Dean exclaims, flinching as y/n laughs hysterically.

________________________________

The next morning, Y/N was fast asleep on the sofa in quite an awkward position. One hand behind her back and one hand below her stomach as she laid belly first, snoring ever so lightly. Sam and Dean had gone out for breakfast and coffee while Jo sat at the dining room table, playing with her knife. Y/N stirred in her sleep, beads of sweat running down her neck as she dreamed.

"Dean" Sam and Y/N sighed in relief, clutching their shoulders. Dean's heart dropped when he noticed a person behind his brother. "SAM LOOK OUT!" Dean shouts warningly when the person approached behind Sam and Y/N, wielding a knife.

Sam didn't have a chance to respond before he was stabbed in the back by a faceless person. Dean ran towards his brother in the field, "NOOOOOOO!!!" Dean screams painfully.

The person twisted the knife buried in his spinal cord before Sam fell to his knees, his face contorted with agony.

Y/N groans as she began to wake up, a pounding in her head. The sounds of police sirens waking her out of the horrid nightmare. Her eyes shoot open wide in terror. It was just a dream....right? But why would she dream about Sam dying? Gosh, their lives are so messed up she's dreaming about her best friend dying.

"Morning Princess" Jo quips up from the dining table, y/n's gaze narrows in Jo's direction. "Don't call me that" Y/N spits. "Jeez, sorry" Jo chuckles, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Where's Sam and Dean?" Y/N grunts, holding her head. Her mind stuck on that dream...at least she hoped it was a dream. "Went to get coffee" Jo responds, flicking her knife in her hand.

Y/N groans as she peels herself from the couch, a stricking pain coursing down her spine from the old couch. "My back" Y/N groans, getting up from the couch. "How'd you sleep on that big, soft bed?" Y/N mutters to Jo, limping as she held her back. "I didn't. I've just been going over everything" Jo mutters back, her eyes studying the research spread on the table.

"Why this case, Jo?" Y/N asks her knowingly. "What do you mean?" Jo responds, feigning confusion. Y/N crosses her arms over her chest before giving Jo a look that says, 'Bull-fucking-shit'. "You're the spirits type. I know you're not stupid. You wanna be bait, don't you?" Y/N says matter of factly as Jo looks down guilty. "Look, Y/N. You can say what you want. It's the only way to draw him out. "It's a bad idea, Jo" Y/N groans.

Jo doesn't answer as Y/N cocks her eyebrow before picking up her duffel bag, her eyes trained on Jo's flicking of her knife. She digs inside before pulling out one of her favorite knives, a bit bigger than Jo's but a hell of a lot sharper. She detaches the covering from it, flipping it in her hand so the blade is in her grip and with a smile, she hands it to Jo, "What's this for?" Jo asks confused.

"It'll work a lot better than that little pig-stickler you're twirling" Y/N winks at her sassily. Jo fell silent, handing y/n her knife, a sad look on her face. Y/N's heart drops when she sees an engraving on it with 'W.A.H'. She glances back over at Jo to see a somber look on her face, "William Anthony Harvelle" Jo says sadly. Y/N felt guilty now, understanding why Jo kept twirling her fathers knife in her hand.

She could sorta relate, she always had her fathers machete from that vamp hunt tucked away in her leather jacket. Whether they were on a ghost hunt or monster. She kept it on her person as a homage to her father. "I'm sorry hun. My mistake" Y/N apologizes sincerely to Jo, handing her back her knife. She takes it back, returning y/n's large knife to her.

Jo sighs, sorrow drenched in her face. "What do you-?" Jo goes to ask, taking a deep breath. "What do you remember about your dad. I mean, what's the first thing that pops into your head" She asks curiously. Y/N freezes at the question, not sure how to answer. Her gaze was trained on her knife. "Come on. Tell me. It's only us girls here" Jo presses, adding a little laugh to the end.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at the 'It's only us girls here' comment. Growing up around men, she didn't have much female friends due to moving state to state for every hunt. Though she wish she did, I mean, Dean was the one who had to rush to get pads for her the first time she had her period because F/N and John had disappeared for a month and left them at Bobby's. Everything she knew came from crappy school health class.

Y/N sighs, settling in a seat by the table across from Jo. "I was about 6. And uh, he took me and Sam shooting for the first time with John and Dean. You know? Bottles on the fence, that kind of thing. John had taken Dean when he was around that age too." She begins to explain, opening up to Jo. She smirked a bit at the memory. "I bulls-eyed every one of them" She said with a bit of pride.

Jo smiled a bit, "He gave me this smile, like...." Y/N sighs, her mind tracing back to her childhood. "I don't know." She shakes her head. "He must've been proud" Jo assures her gently. "But the best part was when Dean yelled, 'Way to go, Princess!' And ran up to me, he picked me up in the biggest bear hug any 10 year old could give and spun me around" Y/N smiles, her heart skipping a beat.

Jo noticed the lovestruck look on y/n's face when she talked about Dean. Jo may have a tiny crush on Dean but she was mature enough to understand that when two people are clearly in-love, you don't get in the way of that. In other words, she's a girls girl. She could only wish she would find something like that one day. In all honesty, Sam caught her eye this round and she wouldn’t mind climbing that tree.

"He must've been proud of you too" Jo smiles suggestively at Y/N. A blush takes over her face, "Yeah, I think he was..." Y/N sighs, shaking her head. "What about you dad?" Y/N asks, clearing her throat. "I was still in pigtails when my dad died" Jo begins sadly, "But I remember him coming home from a hunt. He'd burst through that door like Steve McQueen or something." Jo smiles lightly at the memory.

"And he'd sweep me up on his arms and I'd breathe in that old leather jacket of his. And my mom, who was sour and pissed from the minute he left, she started smiling again" Jo chuckles reminiscing, earning a small smile from Y/N. "And we were-...we were a family" Jo finishes, gloom in her tone. "I know you guys think I'm nuts for choosing to hunt, but you wanna know why I do?" Jo says to her.

Y/N nods for her to continue, "For him" Jo says firmly, this touches Y/N. Now understanding Jo a little more. A sense of relation at that. "It's my way of being close to him. Now tell me, what's wrong with that?" Jo asks ironically. "Nothing" Y/N says softly, a sense of recognition in her voice.

Jo sighed, the two remained silent as they shared a look. Feeling a bit more connected to each other, as friends that is. The door swung open and in came the boys. "Where's the coffee, fellas?" Y/N asks them. The boys realized from the tension in the room that the two girls were having a heart to heart. "There's cops outside. Another girl disappeared" Sam informs them.

________________________________

A little later. Sam and Jo were at the dining table while Dean went to find out about the girl who disappeared. Meanwhile Y/N was leant against the kitchen sink, sipping on a beer, her mind still on the dream she had earlier. Considering all the death visions she and Sam had, it had her worried. Since they shared the visions and Sam hadn't brought up anything yet about having a vision yet, she wanted to assume that maybe it's just a bad dream.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid.

Sure Y/N, because every time you say you're pArAnOiD, some shit always ends up happening.

It could be just a dream.

Yeah, not like you have been having death visions with Sammy boy for the past year.

Shut up inner voice!

Sam realized Y/N was deep in thought when he saw her eyebrows scrunched together whilst clutching her second beer in her hand. He decided to approach her, leaving Jo in the dining room. "You okay, y/n/n?" He asks his best friend concerned, his voice snapping her out of her train of thought. "Yeah...I'm fine" She clears her throat, resting her beer down in the counter.

Sam cocked his eyebrow at her, not convinced. He have her a knowing look, resulting in her sighing guiltily. "It's just-" She begins, crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you have any visions today??" She asks warily. Sam lightly frowns before shaking his head, "No, I haven't. Why? Have you???" He asks. "It wasn't exactly the death visions we have. It was more a death dream, like what we used to get" Y/N explains.

Sam nods, listening. Leaning against the island across from her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, and what happened in it??" Sam asks. Y/N hesitates for a second, "You died" She blurted out. Sam's eyebrows shot to the sky, "You were stabbed in your back by someone, I couldn't even see the persons face. I could barely see where we were. I remember hearing Dean scream. The entire thing was blurry, like if I needed glasses to see properly." She further explains.

"But it doesn't make sense right? Because our visions are connected so it wouldn't make sense. Because you would've had it too" Y/N asks for reassurance. Sam nods, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Honestly, y/n. We've all been through a lot, so it wouldn't be a long shot if the stress of the hunt is making you worry." Sam assures her gently. She sighs, "You're right. Thanks Sammy" She gives him a small smile.

Leaning over to give her best friend a hug, Sam chuckled, "Anytime, y/n/n" He smiled, ruffling her hair when they pulled away. She snorted, slapping his hand away. Earning a laugh from Sam. His mind strayed to earlier when Jo introduced them as a couple to the building manager, "Honey?" He says in a questioning tone, snorting in disgust. His face contorted in a cringe. Reminding her of when she called him honey.

"Babe?" She snorted back in disgust, mimicking his expression. "I thought I was gonna lose my hand with the way Dean was looking at me, like he wanted to chop it off" Sam says suggestively, waving his casted arm. Jo's ears quirked up at this, "Yeah, me too. We should've just given them the bed last night" Jo quips up from the dining room teasingly whilst flicking her knife in her hand, wiggling her eyebrows at Y/N.

Y/N's heart quickens but she covered it up with an eyeroll, denying the fact. "I hate both of you" She groans, covering her face as she blushes while Sam and Jo snicker like children. The door swings open and in walks Dean, "Theresa Ellis, apartment 2F. Her boyfriend reported her missing around dawn" Dean informs them as he walks in, locking the door behind him. The aura changed in the room from light to serious.

Jo puts down her knife before asking him, "And her apartment?" She asks. "Cracks all over the plaster, walls, ceiling. There was ectoplasm too" Dean tells her as he peels his jacket off, Sam and Y/N both take seats at the dining table, "Between that and that hair, I'd say this suckers coming from the walls" Sam suggests, standing up. "Yeah, but who is it? Buildings history is totally clean" Dean questions, stumped.

Jo's eyes land on an old picture printed out on the table with clutter of research, "Maybe we're looking in the wrong place" She mutters, picking the picture up. "What do you mean?" Y/N asks curiously. "Check this out" Jo then hands her the picture of an old empty field, in place where the building was. The boys peer over Y/N's shoulder to take a look at it.

"An empty field?" Dean questions, "It's where the building was built, take a look next door" She tells them. Y/N's eyes widen when she notices the bars on the windows, her eyes flickering back up to Jo. "Bars" Sam mutters. "We're next door to a prison?" Y/N says surprised, a tinge of proudness in her tone from how Jo picked up on that.

-

"Thanks, Ash" Jo thanks Ash over the phone after calling him to pull up any deep records they couldn't get on the old empty field the building was constructed on. "And if you breathe a word of this to my mom..." She threatens before ask quips up. "I know, I know. You'll pull my teeth out one by one" Ash muttered, rolling his eyes.

"That's right, I will. With pliers" She threatened again before shutting the phone close. Y/N snickered amused at her threat to Ash, sorta reminding her of her and Sam. "Okay, Moyamensing prison, built in 1853, torn down in 1963" Jo begins to explain the history of the building next door, waving the picture around.

"And get this, they used to execute people by hanging them in the empty field next door" Jo smiles widely. "Well, then we need a list of the people who was executed there" Sam smirks. "Ash is already on it" Jo informs them.

-

Y/N was now sat at the table, on her laptop, scrolling through a long list of names. The boys were besides her, leaning down to get a proper look. Both her and Sam agape while Jo stood behind her. "A hundred fifty- seven names?" She gasps. "We gotta narrow that down" Dean shakes his head. "Yeah" Sam agrees. "Or else we're gonna be digging up a hell of a lot of stiffs" Dean adds.

Y/N begins to scroll down the list, her eyes catching the attention of a certain name. She moved the computer mouse on it to highlight it. She knew she saw it somewhere, "Herman Webster Mudgett?" Y/N questions. Sams eyebrows quirk up at the name. "Yeah?" Jo questions. "I know that name from somewhere" Y/N mutters. It then clicks in Sams head, "Wasn't that H.H. Holmes' real name?" Sam points out.

"Oh my fuck" Y/N gasps, "It was!" She adds. Dean rolls his eyes, "You gotta be kidding me" He groans. Dean then turns the laptop to him, sitting next to Y/N as Sam takes a seat on the table why Dean begins to look up if H.H. Holmes was executed in the lot.

-

After some time, Sam, Jo and Y/N printed out some pictures old of the H.H. Holmes crime scene while Dean stumbled on an old news article that confirms it. "Yup. Holmes was executed at Moyamensing, May 7th 1896" Dean confirms. Y/N and Sam shake their heads in disbelief, "H.H. Holmes himself? Can you believe it?" Y/N nudges Sam. "Come on, I mean, what are the odds?" Sam nods in agreement, still in disbelief.

"Who is this guy?" Jo questions. "The term 'Multi Murderer'. They coined it to describe Holmes" Dean explains from the title of the article. "He was Americas first serial killer before anybody knew what a serial killer was" He adds. "Yeah, he confessed to 27 murders. But some put the death toll a over a hundred" Sam chimes in. "And his victim flavor of choice: pretty, petite blondes." Y/N adds, while Jo grimaces.

"He, uh, used chloroform to kill them....." Y/N continues, realization hitting her. She nudges Dean who also realized something, "...which is what we smelled in the hallway last night" They say in unison. The two share a look before Dean continued to explain to Jo, "At his place, cops found human remains. Bone fragments and long locks of bloody blonde hair....Boy you sure know how to pick 'em" Dean mutters sarcastically to Jo.

"We just find the bones, salt them and burn them, right?" Jo asks a bit scared now. "Well, it's not that easy" Y/N shakes her head. Jo looks confused at this. "His body is buried in town...but it's encased in a couple tons of concrete" Sam explains having researched a lot about serial killers, along with y/n, from a young age. It was a shared interest they had.

"What? Why?" Jo gasps. "The story goes that uh, he didn't want anybody mutilating his corpse. Because, you know, it's what he used to do" Dean adds with a tight smile. Jo's eyebrows raise as her mouth falls agape. Something dawns on Y/N, "You know something? We might have an even bigger problems than that" Y/N says, picking up the picture of Holmes' murder castle while Jo's face drops. "How does this get bigger?" Jo scoffs, trying to hide the fear in her voice.

"Holmes' built an apartment building in Chicago. They called it the Murder Castle. The whole place was a death factory. They had trapdoors, acid yard, quicklime pits" Y/N lists off, explaining giving Sam a knowing look. Sam begins to understand where she's getting at. "Right...and he built those secret chambers inside the walls. Where he'd lock his victims in, keep them alive for days. Some he'd suffocate, others he'd led starve to death" Sam adds.

The wheels in his head were spinning. "So you guys think Theresa could still be alive. She could be inside these walls." Jo finally gets where the two were coming from. Along with Dean, instantly going into Hunter mode. "We need sledgehammers, crowbars. We gotta smash these walls anywhere thick enough to hide a girl" Dean orders.

________________________________

Dean wielded the sledgehammer in his hands, breaking through the wooden wall with the help of Y/N, her crowbar crashing through the drywall behind. They coughed from the settling dust before Y/N fished her flashlight from her jacket pocket, shining it into the narrow hallway. Dean went in first, pressing his back sideways from how narrow the entrance was.

Y/N went in after, doing the same. Her phone rang, Metallica blurring through the empty hall. "Hello?" She answered pressing the phone to her ear. "We're almost done with the first floor but got nothing on the northwest wall" Sam informed her. "Okay, call us after you check the northeast wall" Y/N responded before flipping the phone shut. "Sam and Jo's almost done with the first floor" Y/N tells Dean.

"Hasn't found jacksquat either" She mutters getting frustrated as they trudged through the cobweb filled hallway. Dean groaned heavily when he reached the end of the hall which wasn't large enough to fit him. Y/N noticed the frustrated tone, "What is it?" She asked, "It's too narrow. I can't go any further" Dean told her, shining his own flashlight down the opening.

"Let me see" Y/N says. "What are you-?" Dean goes to question but Y/N pushed him back lightly against the wall, wiggling her frame through the small space between Dean, her breasts pressed to the bricked barrier, her back to Deans fronts. The second Y/N's ass grazed Deans jeans, his mouth fell agape. Clenching his jaw, "Oh fuck, should've cleaned the pipes" Dean held back his moan, but his words flowed out of his mouth unconsciously.

Heat built up in him, he tried to control his hormones. "What?" Y/N huffed, utterly confused. Deans eyes snapped open, embarrassed. "I just- I wish the pipes were clean" Dean lamely tries to cover it up, looking up towards the wall but his growing arousal pressed against her was hard to hide. Literally speaking. Her cheeks flushed when she felt his cock shift in his pants, a heat now rising in her.

Y/N's stomach flustered in pleasure, but she knew they had to stay focused on the mission. "Shut up. I can fit in there" She huffed. "You're not going in there by yourself" Dean huffed back. "You got a better idea?" Y/N countered sassily, purposefully pressing her ass further against his growing arousal. "You're not making this any easier, Princess" Dean whined, her eyebrows cocked at his tone.

A light smirk on her face, a glint of mischief in her eyes, she decided to tease him further. "It's just an ass, charming. Haven't you felt one before?" She mocked, a seductive chuckle leaving her throat. Dean narrowed his gaze at her antics. He was trying his damn hardest to calm down, and here she was pushing his buttons. One hand was gripping her left hip, pressing her firmly to him.

His other hand occupied by his flashlight. God knows if that flashlight wasn't in his hand, he'd find a way to touch her, with her consent of course. He couldn't help himself, the way she was pressed against him was driving him crazy.

"Make it quick" Dean growled, obliging on her shimming her way to the narrow route, using every ounce of dignity and respect he had for her, not to drag her out of there and have his way with her whilst Sam and Jo searched the bottom floor. She did just that, pulling out her phone. She called Deans, "Stay on the phone, I'll tell you what I see" She tells him. "Okay" Dean squeaked, still flushed from what just happened.

So was y/n, she was gripping by a thread right now to contain herself. She continued to flash her light, eventually ending up to the south wall. Using her crowbar, she sent it charging, bursting through the wall. Only for the light from the outside of the building to shine through. She groaned in defeat. "Where are you?" Dean asked over the phone after a minute and a half of silence.

"There's a dead end. I'm coming back" She sighed. Y/N move went back to where Dean was. They both shimmied through the hall and made their way back to the building itself.

-

Meanwhile, Sam and Jo found a similar narrow pathway to Y/N but this time, on the north side. Sam, was obviously too big to fit. "I can fit in there" Jo says. "Are you kidding me? No way in hell?" Sam shakes his head. "You wanna go in there yourself ginormo?" Jo retorts, earning an exasperated sigh from Sam. "Fine. Hurry up" Sam gave in as Jo shimmied into the narrow opening.

Now on the phone with Sam whilst she continued down the dark hall, ending up to a air duct. She finally made it to the north wall, "You still there, Jo?" Sam asked over the phone. "I'm by the north wall" Jo replies. Eventually, she stumbles on what looks like an air duct. "I'm heading down some kind of air duct" She tells Sam, holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder. "No, no, no, no. Stay up here" Sam instructs her, panicking a bit.

"Sam, we gotta find this girl, don't we? I'm okay" She assures him. Sam sighs, nodding as he looked at the map in his hands. "Alright, I'm heading to you" He says, making his way out of the tunnel. Jo grunts as she climbed into the air duct, finally hitting ground while Sam was in his way to break through the other side so he can go in with her. "Damn it" Jo huffed when she reached a opening even she was too big to fit into.

She shone her light onto the walls down the hall, her eyes widening in fear when she heard something like water began to seep through the cracks of the walls. She turned her light to the source, only to see ectoplasm running down the walls, the black thick and runny liquid drenching through the cracks. "Oh, God" Her voice cracked fearfully.

Sams ears quirked up at her tone through the phone, "What is it?" He stopped in his tracks, the phone sounds then went static. "Jo? Jo?" Sam calls out to her in panic. Jo's piercing scream echoed through the walls of the building. Sam bolted into action, running down the stairs.

-

Meanwhile, Dean and Y/N were finally out of the tunnel, "You..." Dean turns to Y/N, pointing his finger at her firmly, his eyes narrowed but still lust filled. She had a cocky smirk on her face, amused by Dean's flushed appearance though she was flushed herself. "...are one evil, evil woman" Dean scoffs as if he were mad at her teasing him in the tunnel, but honestly, it rocked his fucking boat.

He loved every second of it, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Winchester" Y/N feigns an innocent tone, putting on her puppy dog look through her doed eyes but Dean saw right through it. The way that 'Mr. Winchester' rolled off her tongue, had Dean going in a way he couldn't explain. He could only imagine how 'Mrs. Winchester' would sound coming off of it. Or his hips rolling against hers...her tongue on his....or on him...

Wait, what? Get your head in the game, dude! Dean thought to himself.

Before he could respond. Jo's piercing screaming through the building snapped them out of their heated gaze. Both sharing a look of terror before bolting into action.

-

They ran to the north side of the building, both bumping into Sam who was rushing down the hall. "Whoa!" Dean and Y/N exclaimed when they bumped into him, Sam was disheveled. "He's got Jo" Sam panicked. "What? How's that happen? We heard her scream" Dean asks panicked while Y/N's chest heaved with worry. "I wasn't with her. I left her alone. Damn it!" Sam exclaims, frustrated that he let her slip through his fingers.

"Okay, okay. Look. We'll find her" Y/N assures him as they follow him down the hall. "Where?!" Sam huffs. "Inside the walls" Dean adds, trying to calm his brother down. "We've been inside the walls all night. The other girls aren't there. She won't be either!" Sam growls, pushing the door to their room open. "Look, we just have to take a beat and think about this. Maybe we got Holmes' M.O wrong" Y/N suggests, closing the door behind her.

"Yeah, well we better fucking think fast" Sam grumbles as he and y/n sift through the papers on the table. Sam's phone rings, he fishes his phone out of his pocket. "Yeah" He answers. "You lied to me. She's there" Ellen's angry voice booms through his speaker. "Ellen" He gasps in panic, looking over at Dean and Y/N. Sams face was flushed with guilt.

"No. Ash told me everything" Ellen snaps. "He's a genius. But he folds like a cheap suit" She mumbles. "Now you put my damn daughter on the phone" Ellen orders him roughly. Dean gets up and snatches the phone from his brother, "She's gonna have to call you back. She's taking care of...feminine business" Dean lies terribly. "Yeah right. Where is she?" Ellen scoffs unconvinced.

They don't answer, Sam's heart pounding through his chest. "Where is she?!" Ellen yells. "Look, we'll get her back" Sam tries to say calmly. "Get her back? Back from what?" Ellen croaks, her stomach churning the way a mother's does whenever their child is in danger. "The spirit were hunting, it took her" Sam admits. "Oh my god" Ellen gasps, tears threatening to make way through her eyes.

"She'll be okay, I promise" Sam swears wholeheartedly. "You promise? That is not the first time I've heard that from a Winchester or a L/N." Ellen scoffs angrily. "What-?" Sam asks confused. "If anything happens to her.." Ellen goes to threaten but Sam cuts her off. "It won't. I won't let it. Ellen, I'm sorry. I really am" Sam sincerely apologizes.

"I'm taking the first flight out. I'll be there in a few hours" Ellen says quickly, hanging the phone up. Sam's heart drops, his head hung in shame. He turned to his brother and best friend, "Damn it!" Sam exclaims, tossing his phone on the table. Sympathetic looks on both Dean and Y/N's faces. "Don't beat yourself up, Sammy." Y/N says gently.

"Yeah, there's nothing you could have done" Dean assures his brother. He shakes his head in frustration, "Tell me you got something" Sam huffs, "Uh...maybe. Look" Y/N sighs, moving the papers to show them the blueprint. "If you look at the layout of the Holmes' Murder Castle. There's other torture chambers inside the walls, right?" Y/N begins. "Right" Sam and Dean respond in unison.

"But there's one we haven't considered yet, the one in his basement" She points out. "But this building doesn't have a basement" Sam and Dean say in unison again, startling her this time. "Okay, you two have gotta stop doing that. It gives me the heebie jeebies" She groans before going back to the subject of the conversation. "Okay, it doesn't have a basement. But I just noticed this" She begins, trailing her finger on a certain spot of the map.

Sams eyes widen when she does this, leaning in to get a better look of the map. "Beneath the foundation, it looks like part of an old sewer system. It hasn't been used for-" She further explains but Sam cuts her off. "Let's go!" He orders, grabbing his jacket and rushing out the door. Dean and Y/N share a look before shrugging and following behind him.

________________________________

Jo begins to come to, having been knocked unconscious when the spirit took her. She gasps when she realizes she's trapped in what seems to be a metal box. Shaking with fear, she reaches into her pocket where she had an extra mini flashlight. Turning it on, she shines the light around the tight space.

She then shined it above her, another gasp leaves her throat when she saw that ontop of the box were scratches.....human scratches. Jo runs her fingers over them, still shaking with fear. Emotions overtook her as she began to sob, as much as she wanted to be bait to catch this spirit. It terrified her at how real and intense everything has been.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she's doing this to be closer to her father. She recollected herself in a moment before flashing her light to the side. She noticed there was a little slit opening, she peeped out to see what looked like a chamber on the outside. A metal clanks from the area, scaring the shit out of her.

"Hello?" Jo called out through the slit, praying there was someone else there. Sobbing and gasping came from the other side of the room, through a slit similar to Jo's box, "Is anybody there?" A woman croaks, "Your names Theresa?" Jo asks her. "Yes" Theresa confirms, nodding as she cried. "This won't make you feel better, but I'm here to rescue you" Jo gulps, fear potent in her tone.

"Oh, God. He's out there. He's gonna kill us" The woman shakes with fear, tears drenching her face. "No, he won't. We're getting out" Jo tries to assure her, trying to stay positive. "My friends are looking for us. They'll fine us" Jo adds, knowing that Sam, Dean and Y/N are probably raising hell at this very moment to find her.

Footsteps trudge into the chamber, "Oh, God. He's here!!" Theresa squeals, shaking with fear again. "Shhh! Just be quiet" Jo shushes her, tears in her eyes also. Theresa does so as Jo pants, peeping through the hole. Suddenly, an arm reaches in and grabs Jo by her head. Jo screams as Holmes pulls out a chunk of her hair from her scalp. Crying from the pain.

________________________________

Meanwhile, the trio are back on ground above. Sam with a metal detector, scanning the ground for any hits on the sewer system while Dean and Y/N were equip with shovels. Sirens echoes through the streets and they canvassed the area. The metal detector started to beep, hope soared in their chests as they followed the beeping deport into an empty dirt lot. It went nuts over a certain spot in the middle of the lot.

"Here" Sam said, pointing to the ground. Dean places his duffel bag on the ground and they instantly began digging the ground. They hit metal after a minute and they all began to dust away at it with their hands, or hand in Sam's case since his cast was a bother. After dusting away the remainder of the dirt, they uncovered a large metal opening.

Dean and Y/N grabbed onto either sides, "Got it?" She asks him. "Yeah" Dean responds, both lifting open the metal cover, revealing what looked like a secret hidden bunker with some step ladders. Dean reached into the his duffel, grabbing three rock salt guns, handing one each to the two younger hunters. Y/N then turnt on her flashlight, shining it into the dark hole.

Dean went first, lowering himself and then climbing down. Sam followed in behind while Y/N entered last.

-

Meanwhile Jo was banging at the bottom of the box she was trapped in with her feet, grunting as she did so, trying to break free. She panted in defeat as she laid there, hope of getting out diminishing. Jo felt a preside begins her, a cold chill. She peeped through the little slit in the wall to see a bearded mouth,

"You're so pretty" Holmes' spirit moans, breathing heavily. "So beautiful" He sighs in pleasure. Jo felt like throwing up on spot, she narrows her hate filled eyes at him, "Go to hell!" She growls at him, Holmes' chuckles deeply before licking his lips. Jo turnt away from him, only to be greeted by the unpleasant feeling of his hand caressing her hair.

She groaned and gagged in disgust as Holmes moans, his hand drifting down to her neck, roaming her arm...before he could reach her bottom she swiftly wielding her fathers iron knife, stabbing the spirit in his arm. Holmes' screams in pain. "How do you like that?! Pure iron, you creepy-ass son of a bitch!" Jo screams with hate, mocking Holmes.

-

The trio grunted as they crawled through the wet, dark narrow tunnel. The only source of light being their flashlights.

-

Jo shook with fear, gripping her fathers iron knife as she panted. "Is he gone?" Theresa asks tearfully, equally as shaken. "I don't know. I-" Jo responds shakily, only to be interrupted by Holmes' dirty hand grabbing hers roughly. Jo screamed as Holmes tried to pry her knife away from her, he harshly placed his hand over her mouth, muffling her screams.

"Shh, shh." Holmes shushed her, moaning from the sick pleasure of gagging her. "Hey!" Sam's voice bellows through the chamber, catching Holmes off guard. Behind a gate to entire the chamber, was the trio. Sam cocks his gun at Holmes before blasting him with rocksalt. Repelling his spirit, causing him to disapparate. They then open the gate in a rush, "Jo?!" They all call out for her.

"I'm here!" Jos draws their attention to the box in the wall, sobbing. Using a crowbar, Sam begins to pry at the box metal box while Dean and Y/N look through other slits that seemed to be connected to boxes. Dean gagged when he saw a rotting corpse. Y/N's eyes widened when she looked into another box to see a very alive woman. Sam grunted, "Come on!" As he tried to pry the box open.

"We're gonna get you out of here, alright hun?" Y/N assures Theresa gently. "Dean! Y/N!" Sam called out to them, handing them each a crowbar. Dean and Y/N began to pry at Theresa box, "Hang on, Jo" Sam finally got her box open, lifting the side lid. "You alright?" Sam asks her, helping her out of the box. "Been better" Jo grunts ironically as she climbed out with Sam's help.

"Let's get the hell out of here before he comes back" Jo says as Dean and Y/N pry open Theresa's box. "Actually, I don't think you're leaving here just yet" Y/N says to her calmly. "What?" Jo huffs confused, her hair disheveled all over his face. "Remember when I said you being bait was a bad plan? Now it's kind of the only one we got" Y/N says before looking back at Sam and Dean who was helping Theresa to her feet.

-

Jo sat in the middle of the chamber, shaking with fear. Patiently waiting for Holmes to show back up. Her heart began beating out of her chest when she felt the air get colder, a moaning groaning sound of the man behind her. Holmes slowly made his way up to her as Jo sat cross legged in the middle of the chamber.

"Now!" Y/N shouted, indicating for the boys to shoot on her command and Jo to duck out of the way. They were peering from the gate, all aiming for the tarps with salt they set up on the walls. The salt fell to the ground in a perfect circle around Holmes' spirit, trapping him. Holmes gasps, his eyes wide with fear as Jo quickly crawls out of the circle with Y/N, running to help her to her feet.

She helped her out of the gate, locking it behind them. Holmes screamed helplessly since the salt trapped him. "Scream all you want you dick, but there's no way you're stepping over that salt!" Jo mocked him as Holmes screamed for mercy, they then locked the covering for the gate, leaving the ghost of a screaming serial killer trapped.

________________________________

They were all now back above ground, right by the metal trap door they entered from. "So, this job as glamorous as you thought it would be?" Sam asks her jokingly. "Well, except for all the pee-your-pants-terror, yeah, sure" Jo responds with the same level of humor, earning chuckles from Sam and Y/N. "But that Theresa girls gonna live a life because of us. It's worth it, isn't it?" Jo adds.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is" Y/N agrees, nodding. Sam sighs, still filled with guilt, "I really am sorry, Jo" Sam apologizes sincerely. Jo cocks her eyebrow, "For what? It's not your fault the bastard nabbed me. You got him good with the rock salt though" Jo assured him with a shy smile, nudging him slightly. Y/N cocked her eyebrow at the interaction when she noticed a sheepish smile on Sam's face.

They're so into each other. Y/N snorted as she thought to herself.

"Hey, what if somebody finds that sewer down there? Or a storm washes the salt away?" Jo asks curiously. Y/N smirks, both her and Sam sharing a look. "Both very fine points, which is why we're waiting here" She winks at Jo, "For what?" Jo asks still confused. As if on cue, the beeping of a trunk starts up behind him.

They all turn around to see a cement truck backing up, Jo chuckles, looking back to Sam and Y/N, "For that" Sam smirks as Jo chuckles. Dean carefully backs the cement trunk right in place infront of the hole. Y/N couldn't help but notice how hot he looked behind that wheel, something about the way he focused, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Ho!" Sam shouts for Dean to stop, indicating he's safe. Dean put the truck in park as Sam and Y/N unhook the canal for the cement, lowering it right over the hole. "You ripped off a cement truck?" Jo snorts. "I'll give it back" Dean shrugs innocently. Jo rolls her eyes, chuckling, kinda impressed as Dean pulls the lever on the truck, allowing the cement to make its way down the canal and into the hole.

Sam and Y/N smile at the sight. "Well, that ought to keep him down there till hell freezes over" Y/N chuckles, nudging Jo. Who smiles in return, both sharing a laugh.

________________________________

Now leaving the state of Philadelphia, the car ride back in the Impala was filled with awkward silence, the tension in the air thicker than ever. You may be thinking it's because of Dean and Y/N's little session, but you're dead wrong.

In the front seat sat Ellen, with a very obvious pissed off expression plastered across her face. Sam, Y/N and Jo sat in the back seat. Jo's eyes were trained out the window on her side with her arms crossed over her chest, while Y/N stared at her hands on her own side. Scared by the tension. With Sam crunched together in the middle, in a slightly awkward position.

"Boy, you really weren't kidding about flying out, were you?" Dean broke the silence, trying to joke to ease the situation but Ellen's face remained stoic, heaving with anger. Deans smile dropped, he puffed up his cheeks before thinking of something else. His eyes trailing to the radio deck, "How bout we listen to some music" He suggests before turning on the radio.

'You're as cold as ice!'

'Cold as Ice' by Foreigner began playing on the radio. Y/N physically facepalmed at the irony as Ellen reached over to turn off the radio. Jo's eyebrows raised as she looked over at Sam, the two share an amused look at this. "This is gonna be a long drive" Y/N mutters to herself.

________________________________

CE, Nebraska

They all burst through the doors of the roadhouse, Ellen dragging her daughter by her arm. "Ellen" Sam stops her, Ellen then turns to him. Anger prominent on her face, "This is my fault, okay? I lied to you and I'm sorry. But Jo did good out there" Sam apologizes again, Jo gave him a small smile, grateful that he'd stand up for her. A small blush rising on her face.

"Yeah, I think her dad would be proud" Y/N adds gently, giving her newfound friend a small smile. "Don't you dare say that. Not you!" Ellen snaps at Y/N harshly, surprising all of them. "I need a moment with my daughter, alone" She adds firmly, the three nod sheepishly, ashamed before exiting the roadhouse.

As they all exit, Jo turns to her mom. "You're angry, I understand-" She begins but Ellen cuts her off. "Angry? Angry doesn't begin to touch it!" Ellen lectures. "Let's just think about this." Jo pleads, rushing her bag on the bar counter. "Everything's okay. I'm alive" She assures her mother. "Not after I'm through with you!" Ellen yells.

"Is this about me hunting or something else?" Jo snaps back. "You let them use you as bait!" Ellen counters. "They were right there. They were backing me up the whole time!" Jo defends her friends. "That is why you don't have the sense to do this job. You're trusting your life to them!" Ellen screams, pointing at the door angrily.

"What are you talking about?" Jo screams bavk confused as ever. "Like fathers, like children. That is what I'm talking about" Ellen's voice falters as tears well up in her eyes. Jo's heart drops at this, "John and F/N?" She asks her mother. "I thought you all were friends" Jo says, "Yeah, we all were. I'm sorry, I didn't-" Ellen tried to cover up her outburst, but Jo calls bullshit.

"Mom...What aren't you telling me?" Jo asks her mother again, her chest heaves with worry when Ellen turns to her with a guilt ridden face.

-

The trio were all outside by the Impala, waiting for the mother and daughter to finish their conversation. All worried when Jo opened the door to the roadhouse, leaving in a rush. She gave them once over before turning to go in the other direction. Sam noticed this and walked over to her. "That bad, huh?" Sam asked her gently as Dean and Y/N sat on the car trunk.

"Not right now" Jo snapped at him. Sam is taken back by this, "What happened?" He asks concerned but Jo doesn't answer. "Hey, talk to me" He tries to ask again, putting his hand on her shoulder but Jo pushes his hand off roughly. "Get off me!" She yelled, Sam's heart dropped at this. Dean and Y/N got up quickly at this, both getting up to walk over. Standing side by side near Sam.

"Talk to me, Jo" His voice falters when he notices the pained look on her face. "Turns out my dad had partners on his last hunt. Funny, he usually worked alone. But I guess my father figured he could trust them." Jo begins, tears welling up in her eyes as they all listened. "Mistake. They screwed up, got my dad killed" She added with anger. "What does this have to do with-?" Y/N goes to ask, all confused but Jo cuts her off.

"It was your fathers, guys!" Jo yells. All of their hearts sink, Sam's especially. "Why do you think John and F/N never came back? Never told any of you about us? Because they couldn't look my mom in the eye after that. That's why!" She stated, filled with grief and anger. "Jo-" Dean tries to say. "Just get out of here" Jo growls, trying to not punch him.

"Please, just leave" She pleads, before turning away to walk. None of them knew how to respond. All facing the consequences of their parents’ sins.

________________________________

Author's Note: HIIII!! I hope everyone enjoyed this episode, I made this one especially long and added a few Easter eggs in, hopefully you pick up on them.

Can I just say…she really is an evil evil woman teasing Dean like that LOL. It was giving bad bitch for me tho hehehe. Definitely my favorite part of this episode😩

I'd like to know your opinions on Sam and Jo's crushes on each other this episode, I initially wasn't planning it but while writing this I thought it would be cute🥰

I know people love Dean and Jo and always thought they should've been endgame. But remember, this is a Dean x Reader book.

Anyways, thank you for reading and I can’t wait to do the next one!

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19 @deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28

Xoxo

[asidian]

Color symbolism in Dead Boy Detectives continues with:

BLACK

Black is emotional rock bottom.

After the events of the Devlin House and the incident with the Night Nurse, Charles is fighting feelings of inadequacy and helplessness. He's struggling to think of himself as a decent person. During this time, his outfit fades from red entirely to black. Symbolically, he's lost his self-confidence. He's at his darkest point here.

Jenny wears black for the entire show. And take a look at her baseline. She thinks that people only look out for themselves. She doesn't want to be romantically entangled because she's sure she'll be disappointed. She runs a family butcher shop but doesn't seem to have any family around. She never mentions any friends. Emotional rock bottom is Jenny's status quo.

Pay attention to how much black Jenny wears, and when. In the episodes where she's more hopeful, she sometimes wears shorter sleeves. In several instances, some white even creeps in among all the black when she opens herself up to a bit of vulnerability. She wears the most black immediately after the date gone wrong, in a high collar and long sleeves, completely enclosing herself in the color.

Black is also the color of the charm Crystal uses to rid herself of David's influence. "It protects you from the repercussions of toxic entanglements," Mick tells her, and it seems a fitting color for it, given the emotional state David has left her in.

When the Cat King dies and comes back in his next life, he returns as a black cat, and all of his outfits are black. He, too, has been reduced to his lowest point. Edwin has slipped through his fingers. He has literally been murdered. He's afraid to act for fear that Esther will do it again. He's truly hit rock bottom.

And finally, Crystal is entirely in black and white for the episode where she's lost her powers. This is the emotional low point of her character arc; here, all of her fears have come to fruition. She's terrified that she's not important to anyone, and she thinks the boys only want her there because of her powers. It isn’t until she puts a brown jacket on over all that black and white that she opens up to the boys about her powers being gone and starts to realize that they care about more than what she can do for them.

red | blue | pink | green | green (alt) | purple | orange | brown | black |white

[demelzathemer]

Rewatching Dead Boy Detectives for the 6th time and I STILL have so many thoughts, so let's do this

Episode 1

1. That's everything Crystal has on her for the rest of the season, right?

She must have had some money and her passport on that bag because she did change clothes and traveled half-way round the globe. But Jenny talks like Crystal doesn't have a credit card, so how much cash did she carry on her on a random day in the tube??

Well not enough to pay rent for the cheapest room in town when they arrived. (She wears a borrowed Tongue & Tail t-shirt from Jenny later, that's cute.)

I like how her original look is much darker and more mature, reflecting her mean girl personality. The long jacket later is still purple, but a light color with a colorful floral patterned turtleneck underneath.

(If she had her passport she has her full legal name and social security number to identify herself though-??)

2. I REALLY want to know what happened during those "two flights, one ferry ride" - where did the boys sit? Did Crystal buy a whole row of seats so they could sit together? (And was seen talking to herself alone the whole time lol)

Have the boys ever been on a plane (they haven't been on a ferry)? HOW DID EDWIN REACT... Please I want a fanfic

3. When they start investigating, Charles says to Crystal "I know you don't fancy this part, deep-diving into someone's brain. We can figure out another way if you'd like." Which is sweet, so Charles, but also, how did he know what she prefers? (They must have talked about it on the ferry ride.)

4. I thought it odd that Edwin would stumble out of the mirror, when he's always so careful and carries himself with such poise? But then I saw Kassius and Jayden, they both have the biggest grins on their faces just short of laughing. It's definitely a blooper, but George stayed in character so perfectly they left it in.

(George did confirm in an interview that due to Ghost Rules, the boys don't trip on treestumps etc, they would just phase through. So definitely not a scripted move.)

5. "Not exclusively my internet. (Charles laughs) I'll explain again later."

Crystal was the one that taught Edwin the concept of internet?? Did this happen on the ferry ride too??

6. THE VISUAL STORYTELLING. I'm obsessed how the costume department specifically adds visual cues to the boys' wardrobe depending on their emotional state.

We all know Charles' polo darkens when he goes through tough times, only returning to his original bright red after they're back from Hell. We understand that Edwin being in his Edwardian undergarments in the confession scene makes it so emotionally raw and vulnerable.

We don't see Edwin without his coat after they arrive in Port Townsend. There's the scene in the beginning when it's just him and Charles at home in their office, where we can see him without it. He can be his real self there, because he's safe and comfortable.

The heavy coat is Edwin's armor, a visual metaphora of the emotional walls he puts up against the world. He always wears it around Crystal.

Here, in the upstairs, where the topic of David upsets Edwin and he storms off.

Yet right after, we see him without it! I believe ghosts appearance may change to reflect their emotional state (or maybe Edwin just shucked it off, who knows)

It's a fantastic scene altogether but just by his clothes we can see that's he's being vulnerable with Crystal for the first time. I only noticed this detail now and I love it.

(In the next scene of making their plan together Edwin is still wearing this look. We can see they're not enemies anymore, but a team.)

7. When Crystal agrees and offers peace, Edwin actually *looks at Charles* for confirmation. He's out of his element here and needs his support. Charles is the one who knows how to hande people, so Edwin doesn't make any decisions before checking with him. Edwin only forgives Crystal when he sees Charles had approved of her.

(After he does, he glances back at Charles again, like he still needed that last bit of validation that he did the right thing.)

Their bond is so strong. There's always consideration for the other, whatever they do. The acting is also incredible.

Nonverbal communication has a huge role in this series, as much as the dialogue does. So many things are conveyed with just looks and sighs and the many close-up shots that make us emotionally connect with the characters.

8. Charles having beef with Monty right at the start will never not be funny. "Everyone likes me eventually." It's just a bird.

Even on top of the list of his day's heroic feats is "smack-talking a crow." I love him sm

+ As a bonus, look at this gorgeous shot of Charles with the neon light reflecting on his earring. Chef's kiss

[jakevwebber]

can you write hamzah just casually mentioning his gf in videos/on the pod ☺️🥰😋😜🤭😎😻

accidents happen sometimes - hamzahthefantastic / fluff

2:20pm

today hamzah and me were goin to martin and mandy’s place , originally was just hamzah but mandy wanted me to come help her clear her closet out so i obviously accepted.

it’s finally autumn so my autumn outfits are ready to be worn , i’m wearing black knee boots tights a black mini skirt with a red long sleeve button up top and a black bomber jacket .

hamzah was wearing black baggy jeans a red hoodie and a black coat with adidas sambas same as me , we didn’t mean to match but it just happened.

at the moment we’ve just come out about our relationship so i’m still getting the odd few horrible messages but mostly people saying they love me already and they ‘guessed it’

i grabbed our car keys from the table and get into our car it takes around 15 minutes to get there so it was no rush.

we just arrived and hamzah started getting excited to see martin like extremely excited.

martin opened the door hugging hamzah and jumping on the spot spinning , i took a video of them and then i pushed them so could get to see my girl mandy .

i said bye to the boys and said enjoy and walked into there bedroom and sat down with mandy beginning to help get rid of clothes.

hamzah pov -

me and martin sat down and began recording our youtube video , today we’re filing us playing episode because it’s a very popular choice of game.

“hey slushies “ martin says making a stupid face and i side eye him laughing

“ok today we’re playing episode because you love it as much as we do”

we get onto the game and began thinking of a name for the girl we’re playing as

“what about chloe , lily , emma , y-“

martin looks at me smiling and laughing

“didn’t mean to say her name oops oh well who cares !”

martin laughed again me too

“erm i cant think what about ds-“ he says

“dsstiny” we both start laughing very loudly

“okay perfect everybody welcome dsstiny”

time skip to 6:42pm

“is y/n still here?” i ask martin

“obviously she is”

“wait i wanna check”

i get out of my seat and go into their bedroom to check she’s still here

i see her laid on their bed and mandy on the floor folding clothes

“having fun ?” i ask both of them

“oh the most fun baby” y/n rolled over smiling at me

“yeo so much fun hamzah , when are you gonna be done ?”

“ like ten minutes mandy”

she put the thumbs up and i closed the door saying bye to them and sitting back down next to martin

“i told you”

i turn my head and smiled at him carrying on playing.

another time skip to when there back at home.

7:58pm

“how was filming?”

“it’s was okay i brought you up a couple times by mistake”

“you scared of people thinking stuff ?”

“yeah i know eveyone knows now but people can still be mean “

“i don’t care i love you and accidents happen even if you did bring me up it’s cute that you always think of me “ she moves to layed down next to me leaning her head on my chest kissing my cheek.

“ i love you too” i wrap my arm around her closing my eyes.

_________________

i think this was the quickest i’ve ever wrote something lol hope you guys like it! send more requests pls the more you send the more posts there is !

[james-is-here]

𝙰 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝙲𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝/ 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘

𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯

𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘓𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘣𝘪𝘯

𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯

𝘍𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘏𝘢𝘯

𝘚𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹

𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘮𝘪𝘯

𝘌𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘑𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯

𝘕𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘛𝘣𝘥

You honestly loved your job at Buzzfeed, who would've thought you would get to a point where you get to hang out with famous artists and actors for a day? Intern you would never believe it!

You've only made videos with one other person, like Tom Holland and Dove Cameron, but the moment you you were told you were doing more than one person, you were beyond nervous. The next celebrity, or celebrities, you were to hang out with was kept a secret from you, all you were told was to be packed and ready to fly somewhere with some of your crew, apparently everything had already been planned, that's never happened before, you tended to plan as the day went on.

On the plane, your camera operator and best friend gave you the list of activities. The names were covered and some activities as well, all you knew was that you were painting, baking, and going to a gym. "Wait, a gym? I have to work out?" You asked her and she laughed at your expression. You do work out but it's practically rare.

You also had no idea what flight you got on, you just followed the people you knew and your best friend, Sara, took your ticket before you could read it while Eric, your co-editor, covered your eyes and ears.

The moment the pilot welcomed everyone to Seoul, your jaw drops and you turn to Sara. "You're kidding, wait, who are we here to see? Who am I hanging out with?" You kept spewing questions but they wouldn't answer. Not just yet.

Next you find yourself blindfolded again before being walked into a building. You stood off to the side as you heard your team set up and then you were put in front of the camera, the blindfold taken off you and Sara fixed your hair before stepping away and you look towards the camera confused, you go to turn to look around but were told not to as Sara queued you to start.

"Hello everyone, it's Mn, and welcome to another episode of 'A day with a celeb'. I'm gonna be honest, I have no clue who today's guest is, I was told absolutely nothing but today, um..." Sara zoomed in on your face as you furrowed your brows. "We're Seoul, South Korea." You chuckle nervously. "Um, the only suspicion I have is that I'm going to be hanging out with my first K-pop idol or idols, I was told there was more than one."

"What group do you think you're hanging out with?" Sara asked you with a grin. "Girl, that smile is so creepy." You laugh and you hear a snicker behind you which made you jump (It was Felix, shh). "Wait, is there someone behind me?" "Mn, just answer the question." "Um, Ateez would be pretty cool to hang out with- Oh, wait, you gave me a list." You pull it out of your pocket and unfold it.

"The names are crossed out but there's some activities that I can read. There's eight things crossed out and I can only read cafe, painting, gym, and shop. That doesn't give me much." Sara laughs, her gaze appears to be over your shoulder. "Mn, real quick, can we film your ootd?" "U-Um sure." You readjust your footing and put the paper away. "Today I'm wearing Converse, Jeans, a cream shirt with a little blue pocket, and a Maniac Varsity Jacket from my favorite small business. They customized it to have Wolf.Chan from Stray Kids peaking out the pocket." You point to the embroidery with a smile.

"Who's peaking out of the pocket?" "Um, Chan's animal counterpart, he the leader of-" "Heard someone call my name." An arm is suddenly draped over your shoulders and you look to your left as the sudden arm around you made you jump but your immediately walking away with a scream, hiding your now rapidly warming face as you turn completely, only to be met with the other members as well.

"Are you kidding me?!" You turn to Sara who's laughing with the others. "You are so evil!" You jokingly scold her as Chan approaches you, you cover your face as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back in front of the camera, seeing as you ran off behind the camera out of shot.

"This can't be real, is this really happening?"

You have to be dreaming.

You get to spend the day...With Stray Kids?!

[yourmomxx]

Father of Mine

father of mine masterlist

summary: All Dean Winchester ever wanted was to protect the people he loved. Sometimes, in order to do that, he had to make hard decisions, Lisa and Ben were the prime example. Years after making another one of those hard decisions, he has to come back to the place where he had left a piece of his heart - only to be constantly reminded of what he had to sacrifice in order to keep his family safe.

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 8,2k

a/n: I’ve been writing this story for … a year now? I think? And I’ve gotta admit, I am so happy that it is finally out. Everything that I write means incredibly much to me, but this story just holds such a special place in my heart and I am very happy to share it now with you guys. I do hope you like it, and, as always, reblogs are very much appreciated because that way the story gets spread to more people! Now, enjoy!

flashbacks are written in italics

pt1 pt2 pt3

Cleveland, Ohio 2002

The bar was crowded with people.

Gruffed men wearing leather jackets and intoxicated women in crop-tops were all sprawled out around an alcohol booth in the middle.

In another corner, currently bathed in purple and orange spotlight, a guy with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and a bucket-hat was giving a lousy cover of ‘God save the Queen’ by Sex Pistols.

♫ ♪ “Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future, no future, no future for you!” ♫ ♪

On one of the way too small bar chairs, sipping a burning mix of whiskey and ginger ale, was sitting Dean Winchester, and he was pissed.

Pissed at his stupid father, who was acting like Dean was a 15-year-old with no common sense whatsoever, pissed at the goddamn ghost that had found an incredible pleasure in almost ripping his fingers off his hands, and pissed at stupid Sam for just getting up one day and leaving him - didn’t matter if that had been months ago.

And with every drink that Dean downed, he started feeling more like “Dad can kiss my ass” instead of “Dad has been doing this much longer than you and just knows better”. Meaning, he should probably slow down.

But whatever.

His Dad could kiss his ass.

♫ ♪ “Oh when there's no future, how can there be sin? We're the flowers in the dustbin!” ♫ ♪

“Why, hello,” he suddenly heard a sweet voice next to him say.

Dean turned his head and was met face to face with friendly, glimmering eyes.

Those, just as the voice that had spoken to him, belonged to a young woman who seemed to have just appeared next to him.

He moved his gaze up and down her body.

Apart from her eyes, she had smooth skin, that was covered with glowing sweatpearls, most likely because of the stuffy air around them.

Or maybe, just like Dean, she had had a couple drinks too many.

A few, fine strands of her shoulder-length hair were tousled, likely from combing her hands through it.

He licked his lips. “Well, hello you. With whom do I have the pleasure?”

He was laying on thick and he knew that, but it’s not like he could care about it.

“Gloria. Richards.” She was speaking in a soft, honey voice, and Dean urged himself to focus on her face, and not the way her neck and chest were lightly gleaming from the thin layer of sweat covering them.

“What’s yours?”

Dean Winchester.

But no, that wasn’t his name. Not today at least. If he could just remember what was. And the drinks didn’t exactly make thinking easier.

“Dean Hansley.”

Gloria smiled again.

What a nice smile she had.

"Dean Hansley." She tasted the words, let them burn on her tongue. "That's a nice name."

And then she sat down at the stool next to him, without waiting for him to invite her, and she started talking.

And he talked back with her.

And time went by, and she kept finishing and ordering drinks, that Dean all offered to pay, and she never refused.

By now, the guy in the Hawaiian shirt had been thrown off the karaoke stage, after heavily throwing up into one of the other guest's handbags, halfway through a tedious ballad about life, and love, and its misery.

The only source of music was coming from the colorful jukebox next to the pool board.

A couple drunk-off-their-asses idiots, trying to play billiards, were loudly roaring along to AC/DC’s ‘You shook me all night long’.

♫ ♪ “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen!” ♫ ♪

Gloria was still sitting next to him, although a bit closer, and she was sipping at her third drink he had bought her tonight.

And damn, that girl had high tolerance.

Dean thought she was amazing.

“That thing with your family sucks, really.” She scrunched up her nose in slight discomfort.

Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a sip of the whiskey he was still stuck with. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Yes, he had told her about his - family issues. But so what?

It felt nice having someone listening to him for a change. Someone who wasn’t his family, didn’t even know them, and wouldn’t try to disregard his frustration by telling him to ‘put himself in his father’s shoes for once’.

Gloria finished her drink and used the palm of her hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

Dean tried his best to not think too much about her knee touching his, her being so close him.

“The air in here is terrible,” she said, heavily emphasizing the last word.

Dean’s attention was turned to her again. He knew she had said something before that, but he hadn’t been able to catch it, too lost in his own mind.

He kind of felt bad for not listening to her.

Dean threw a look around.

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty hot in here,” he agreed, feeling pearls of sweat rolling off the little hairs on his neck.

Gloria looked directly into his eyes, then up his body, down his body, before settling on his eyes again.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Then her lip.

“I mean,” she slowly spoke, “we could continue this conversation somewhere else if you want. Where there’s not so many people and the air doesn’t taste like salt.”

♫ ♪ “You really took me and you shook me all night long! Ooh, you shook me all night long!” ♫ ♪

Hell yeah.

A boyish grin started forming on his face.

“An offer like that - how could I say no?”

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

“Read it again for me.”

Dean was staring straight ahead onto the road, his gaze hard and jaw clenched.

Sam sighed and opened the newspaper again, for what had to be the seventh time now since they had first found it.

They were both sitting in the Impala, Castiel in the backseat. The angel could have just flipped his wings and flown to the destination they were headed, but he had insisted to take the drive with them, claiming he had “nothing better to do anyway”.

“St. George, Louisiana,” Sam started to read.

“In the night of Wednesday to Thursday, a young man was found dead in his room in Saint George’s Children’s Home. The 17-year-old Roy Kendall hadn’t come out of his room the first half of the day, and when a woman of the working personnel - whose name has been withheld - came to check on him, she discovered his mutilated body draped out on the bed. According to the police, the young man’s rib cage had been compressed with such force that his ribs were broken and had managed to pierce through the young man’s internal organs, which resulted in him slowly bleeding out internally. Authorities are still in the dark about the exact details of the tragedy and the questions of “Why” and, particularly, “How” something like this could even be possible. The head of the Children’s Care Institution …, blah blah blah.”

Sam purposefully drifted off and ended his reading session therefore. He folded the newspaper back together and stuffed it into the Impala’s globe compartment.

“And that’s it, I am not reading this again. Next thing you know, I’m going to dream about squished organs and ribcages.”

He shuddered.

“I just don’t get it, man,” Dean said, ignoring his brother’s complaints, but he didn’t seem to address anyone in particular.

“I mean, I checked everything, Sammy. No demonic omens, no strategic killings, no recent disappearances. That place was all white picket fences and summer barbecues when we- ”

He was quick to cut himself off.

Sam threw his brother a side glance, but decided to not address his slip-up.

“Well, Dean, sometimes monsters just … turn up, you know.” This time Sam turned his head to get a proper look at his older brother.

“Maybe it’s just passing through, or simply moved there from somewhere else. They aren’t exactly tied to a specific place.”

Dean ran his hand over his face and through his hair in distress. “Out of all places, why there?” He muttered in a low tone.

And again, he was more talking to himself than anyone else.

“I don’t understand.” Cas was suddenly talking from the back seat. “What is in this Children’s Home that is of so much importance to you both?”

Dean was quick to answer a “Nothing,” but Castiel didn’t quite believe him.

Sam turned in his seat to face the angel.

“We were working a case near there a while back,” he simply explained.

Cas frowned, still not quite convinced, but he decided to let the topic rest. For now, at least.

“I understand,” he said. “Then it would probably be of benefit for you to stick with your past aliases. Just in case anyone there should recognize you.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Dean vaguely answered, but he seemed trapped deep in his own thoughts.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Black Hawk, Colorado 2002

“To listen to this voicemail, call-”

A dial tone sounded. The message was a few months old.

“Hey, Dean, it’s uh … it’s Gloria. You know, Gloria Richards, from a few nights ago?” A humorless chuckle was heard on the other end of the line.

“Though, guys like you don’t usually remember their casual one-night hookups. So I’ll cut straight to the chase.” One heavy inhale.

“I’m pregnant. And I know the chances of you wanting anything to do with me are zero to negative six, but I just wanted to-”

“To delete this voicemail, press 2.”

A tone.

“Voicemail deleted.”

“To listen to this voicema-”

The woman on the other end sounded more outraged this time, even though occasional cracks or hiccups in her voice gave away that she had been heavily crying moments before. Maybe still was.

“Hello Dean, it’s me again. You know, I didn’t expect you to jump up high at the news, but ignoring me?” She scoffed. “That’s a different type of low.”

She sniffled. “I’m just calling to tell you I’ve decided to keep the baby. So you can still change your mind, if you-”

“To delete this voicemail, press-” “Voicemail deleted.”

“To listen to th-”

“Hello, Dean. It’s Gloria. Again.”

This time, she seemed calmer, which could be reasoned with the tiredness her voice was radiating.

“I suppose I’m still kind of hoping that you will call me back. Or even pick up.” She sighed.

“I wanted to tell you that she’s perfectly healthy and growing. That’s right. She. Our baby is going to be a-”

“To delete this-” ”Voicemail deleted.”

John Winchester stared at the small phone in his hand and pressed a button.

“You have no more voicemails.”

That moment, Dean came bursting into the motel room, looking around the empty shelves and patting up and down his jacket- and jeans-pockets.

“Hey Dad, do you know where my phone is? I heard it ringing,” Dean asked.

“Yes, just some spam-callers,” John neatly lied. “I took care of it, but I’m gonna put it out of service, just in case.”

Dean looked at him and for a moment, John thought his son would grow suspicious, but he just nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Dad.”

John nodded and Dean left the room with his bag in hand. When he was certain Dean wouldn’t come back, John took the phone apart and crashed the SIM Card on the nightstand with the lamp.

Then he put the pieces in the bin, took his duffel bag and followed his son to the car.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

The St. George’s Children’s Home was somewhat of a small castle, kept in a renaissance style.

Around a large courtyard, archways connected four round-towers, which were slightly higher than the rest of the castle. The walls were painted a pale yellow.

Trees grew in the gardens around the castle, flowers in planted beds, and as far as Dean could remember, there was a hedge maze behind the walls, not visible from the gateway.

They had parked the Impala in one of the parking spaces next to the tall, elegant terrain fence.

Sam and Dean were wearing black suits and their fake badges, Castiel - as always - stuck with the trench coat.

Dean was eyeing the building suspiciously.

In fact, he had been doing so for the last three minutes, in which they had all sat in the Impala in complete silence.

Sam threw a quick, concerned glance at his brother before clearing his throat.

“You really wanna do this?”, he asked quietly.

“No,” Dean answered and opened the car door, “But it’s not like we have a choice, right?”

Sam sighed and did the same, not before exchanging a quick, apprehensive look with Castiel, who still didn’t quite know what was going on.

The castle’s inside was considerably more modern than its outside.

With brightly-colored walls and furniture, and minimalistic decorations all over.

It seemed cozy.

They were headed for the office of the youth center’s director, Maria Whitlock. Dean remembered exactly where that was. Down the hall, left. Past a few closed bedroom doors. Last door at the end of the corridor.

Dean cleared his throat and knocked on the door, Sam right behind him. Castiel had left before they had entered the castle, claiming to look for a suitable Motel nearby, and telling them to contact him if they needed his help.

There was a beat of silence before they heard a woman’s voice reply “Yes?” and entered the office.

Maria Whitlock was an elderly woman, with dark red hair that she kept in a low bun. She was around a head smaller than Dean, and wearing a grey blouse combined with a wine red jacket and a black pencil skirt.

When she heard them enter the room, she looked up from a few papers she was filing, and her face immediately fell.

“Hello, Maria.” Sam greeted her.

“Dean and Sam Winchester,” she breathed out, startled.

“I never thought I would see you two again.”

Dean felt a sting in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Sam said and tried a clumsy smile. A heavy silence followed, and Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Maria frowned. “Not to seem impolite, but what are the two of you doing here?” She asked.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

“We, uhm, we heard about Roy and we thought that, maybe, we should just check if everything was alright and, of course, speak our condolences. You know, for old time’s sake.”

She nodded and closed the pen. “Yes, right. Roy. I completely forgot that they put that in the paper.”

A look of dark grief fell over her face and her gaze drifted into nothingness. She suddenly looked much older than she was.

Dean cleared his throat. “I gave you my number, Maria,” he spoke. “If you would’ve called, we could’ve been here sooner.”

She blinked rapidly, pulling herself out of her thoughts and looked at him for a second before she replied.

“I know, I know, but to be honest - it slipped my mind, in between all of this … chaos and tragedy.”

While she was talking, she got up from her chair and walked around the table, getting a clearer view at Sam and Dean.

“Of course,” Sam hastily said. “No worries. We are very sorry for your loss.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Dean was glad that it had been Sam who had spoken up. He wasn’t very good at that sort of things. Nor did he aspire to be.

“You said you were here because of Roy’s …. passing,” Maria continued, and the brothers nodded.

“But that would mean that this was some sort of - unnatural incident.”

Sam swallowed hard.

“Well,” he started, trying to find the right words that would not trigger a breakdown for the woman, “we saw the article in the newspaper and thought that we would just have a look at it. The circumstances of Roy’s passing aren’t exactly common for a person his age, after all.”

Or for any person, really.

She nodded lazily. “Yes. I suppose you are right.”

Dean could swear that another minute of awkward silence between them would probably kill him, so he took it upon himself to prevent it before it started.

“I get that this is hard, Maria,” he said, “But if we could maybe ask you some questions? Maybe speak to the person that found him?”

She sniffled.

Oh dear God.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Her voice was a bit higher than before, and her hands grabbed for a handkerchief lying on the table.

“Uhm, the woman who found him was one of my responsible supervisors, Betty Langston. She should be present in the building today, but the last time I spoke to her, she was still pretty shaken up. I mean, who can blame her? I can’t even imagine what it must have been like, seeing that poor boy lying on his bed, just- ”

She broke off and a sob escaped her lips, before she buried her face in the kerchief.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I’m sorry, it’s just - he was such a kind boy. He had his whole life ahead of him. And the way that he had to go…”

She raised her head and shook it, eyes reddened and filled with tears.

“I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

“We understand, Maria,” Sam spoke in a comforting, low voice.

And Dean added, “And I promise we will find whatever did this and make sure this happens to no one ever again.”

She forced herself to a smile.

“Thank you, boys. May the angels be with you.”

Dean forbid himself a snort.

“Thank you for your time, Maria. We will let you know when we know more,” Sam said and left the office.

He wouldn’t risk making her cry again by bothering her with questions about her dead fosterling.

Dean smiled at Maria and turned to follow his brother, but she stopped him.

“Dean.”

He turned to face her.

“You do know that it won’t be possible for you to investigate here, without … encountering a certain someone.”

Dean straightened his shoulders.

“Yes, I know.”

“Have you thought about it? What you will say to her?”

“Gotta admit, I haven’t.”

She hummed and nodded. Dean noticed that she had resumed her usual upright position, and if he hadn’t just witnessed it, he probably would not know that she had been crying.

“I should warn you,” she said gently, “It probably won’t be easy.”

“I honestly didn’t expect it to be.”

She smiled a gentle smile at him and he returned it, before finally leaving the room and joining his brother in the hallway.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Lewiston, Michigan 2004

The first time he had read it, John Winchester had been drunk. He had spared a quick glance at it after coming home from a bar, before throwing himself onto the motel bed and passing out.

The second time he had read it, he had been sober, but suffering from a skull-splitting headache.

The third time he read it, it was simply to make sure his hungover mind wasn’t making any of this up. But no, the words on the newspaper stayed the same, grinning up at him with a sickening smirk that made his stomach turn.

In the small corner of the left page, where the lesser important news were usually placed, throned the bold-printed, black words:

24-year-old woman dies in tragic car accident, leaves 1-year-old daughter behind

No. God, no.

He read it again. Read the headline, read the article, the name that had been shortened but to him unmistakable: Gloria R.

R. Just like Richards. Gloria Richards.

There was a picture placed right next to the text, held in color, of a young woman that was clearly putting on a smile for the camera.

John slammed the newspaper on the round table.

“Damn it!” He yelled.

And in that moment, John was grateful that Dean had offered to go on a coffee run.

—

He was ‘going on a quick hunt’. That’s what he told Dean.

He was ‘going on a quick hunt and if anyone needed anything, they should contact Dean’. That’s what he told Bobby. And everyone that reached his voicemail.

Cleveland, Ohio. That’s where he was going. He had some business to attend to.

—

Central Nebraska

To say that Ellen Harvelle wasn’t delighted about John Winchester showing up inside the Roadhouse would be quite an understatement.

She was furious.

John paid attention to enter the wooden cabin carefully. He didn’t expect Ellen to be pleased by his sudden presence, especially considering their last encounter with each other.

It was a random Wednesday afternoon, and there wasn’t anyone seated in the Roadhouse, except for Ellen herself, who was busy cleaning the bar with a half-wet kitchen towel.

The brunette woman looked up for a quick second, as a form of formality, before she dedicated her attention back onto the dirty surface.

“I’ll be with you in a secon-” Then she realized. Stopped. Did a double take.

“Winchester.” The word was dripping from her lips with loathing.

“Hello, Ellen,” he started, but she cut him off.

“What do you want?” Her question was blunt and her tone cold and unwelcoming.

John cleared his throat and stepped from one foot to the other. He had to sell his story good, if Ellen wouldn’t get on board with his proposition, he had nobody else to go to.

“Look, Ellen. I get that you’re mad- ”

“Mad?” She let out a short, sour laugh.

“Mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I am feeling towards you, Winchester. Try hatred. Pure disgust.” She scoffed again.

“You must have a death wish, because I couldn’t think of any other possible reason why you would drag your dumbass out here again. ”

John swallowed hard. She was right. Who was he to just show up here again? After what happened?

But there was no turning back now, he had to go through with this.

“You’re right.” He spoke in a low tone to try and seem less intimidating and also attempt to soothe her temper towards him.

“I am sorry about what happened, Ellen. If I could go back and do it any different, then I would.”

A lie. She knew that. He knew that she knew that. Still - she didn’t interrupt, just kept glaring at him, so he decided to continue.

“But unfortunately, I can’t. And I know you have every right and reason to hate me now.”

Agreeing and empathizing with her.

“But there is something extremely important that I need to ask of you.”

Again, he didn’t have much time to talk, before Ellen raised her voice.

“You damned son of a bitch!”, she yelled, tossing the kitchen towel onto the counter with such force, the leftover water splashed around.

“You ain’t got no right walking in here, after what you pulled, and ask a goddamned favor of me!”

Her voice was loud in the silence of the Roadhouse and John lifted his hands up in defense.

“Ellen, please! Listen to me!”, he pleaded. Ellen wasn’t yelling at him anymore, but her jaw was still clenched and her entire body tense.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options. Like you said, I must have a Deathwish to show up here. And I understand that. But you are the only person that I can trust with this. You can toss me out all you want after. You can yell, and scream, and punch me, and shoot at me. Just please, hear me out first. ”

There was silence, where John just stood there, his hands still raised in the air in front of him, and Ellen grinding her teeth as she thought about what to do now.

Because by God, did she hate him. And a part of her wanted to take a rifle and first shoot a bullet into his feet and then his di-

But on the other hand, she could not recall a time that John Winchester had ever gotten himself into a position to beg.

No, he was too proud for that. So whatever he wanted must be goddamn important for him, really.

“Tell me what you need, Winchester,” Ellen said eventually, “And let me decide afterwards.”

Her body language didn’t show one sign of hospitality still, but John interpreted her words as somewhat of a good sign.

Hopefully.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

After their talk with Maria, Sam and Dean settled on questioning Betty Langston.

In the middle of the wall in the entrance hall, a big frame with the pictures, names and duties of the working staff was hung up.

Above the name ‘Betty Langston’ was a picture of a friendly looking woman in her mid-twenties, with a pointed nose and blonde strands of hair framing her face.

Underneath, the duties “Social Worker” and “Deputy Manager” were listed.

When they knocked on the door which was labeled “staff”, a young man opened and told them that Betty Langston was currently positioned on the second floor.

Dean wanted to take the elevator, but Sam dragged him up the stairs.

“It will be faster,” he guaranteed, and Dean just rolled his eyes with a groan.

The hallways on the second floor were surprisingly wide, with doors placed across each other in a zig zag pattern.

Here and there were a few paintings on the walls, old and new, and green neon signs pointing toward the emergency exit.

They met Betty after they turned around the first corner. She stood in front of a pinboard and was currently hanging up new posters.

Her hair was different from the picture, slightly longer now ending halfway down her back, and copper colored with only a few blonde highlights.

The brothers made their way over to her and flashed their fake FBI-badges when she let off her work and shifted her attention to them.

“Hello, my name is David Shields, my partner’s name is Jarvis Stark,” introduced Dean. “Are you Betty Langston?”

The young woman gaped at them, slightly caught off guard. “Uhm yes, that’s me,” she eventually got out and lowered her arms. “What can I do for you?”

Dean caught a glimpse of the writing on the poster. It was a few phone numbers, and in dark blue, a text above read: ‘DON’T HESITATE TO ASK FOR HELP!’

“We’re here to ask you about Roy Kendall,” Sam carefully approached, “We understand that you are the one who found him.”

Dean couldn’t help but notice how Betty Langston’s eyes shifted to the floor and she nervously trailed her fingers up and down the paper in her hand.

“Um yes, I … I found him.” Her voice got small and she swallowed hard.

“But what does the FBI want with that? I thought it was a wild animal.”

“Given the unusual occurrence of Roy’s death, we thought it necessary to at least have a look at this case and find out what we can,” Sam said.

“That doesn’t have to mean anything, though,” Dean quickly tried to soothe her when he noticed the tears springing in the woman’s eyes. “Exactly,” Sam hastily agreed. “Only a few questions, just in case.”

Betty nodded and blinked away her tears. “Okay,” she quietly said. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his notebook and a pen.

“Did Roy mention something … I don’t know, unusual before he died?” Sam asked, clicking the pen and bringing his notepad in position. The young woman hesitated.

“Well, not that I know of,” she eventually said, “But, you see, kids at that age … they don’t talk to us adults much anymore. If you want to know something about Roy, you better ask his friends.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “His friends?” He repeated. She nodded. “Mhm.”

“And, uh - who are his friends, if I may ask?” Sam tuned in again. Betty thought for a second and then clicked her tongue. “Well, there’s Cassandra, Cassandra Claire,” she said and started counting the listed names on her fingers. “And, uhm, Finnegan Beckett.” Sam repeated the children’s names under his breath as he quickly wrote them down.

“And Y/N Winchester,” Betty finished.

Sam abruptly stopped writing at the ‘n’ and looked up. He felt Dean visibly tense and shift next to him.

The younger brother just put on a smile and folded the small notepad back into the inner pocket of his jacket. But not before completely writing out the last name on the list.

“Thank you so much, Miss Langston, you helped us a lot. We will let you know if there are any more questions. And, our condolences,” he added.

She shyly smiled back at him and slowly continued gathering thumbtacks to hang up her posters, and the brothers left.

Sam waited until they were out of hearing range, then turned to Dean. “So…that was something,” he carefully started.

“What do you mean?”

Sam threw him a look. “You know what I mean. The witness list. Roy’s friends. That last name…”

Dean sighed heavily. Sam waited for him to say something. And when he didn’t, Sam just shook his head but decided to not stress it any further.

“So, where to now?” He asked instead.

Dean took a look at his watch. “The morgue, I’d say. As far as I know they’re closing soon, and a dead body is not exactly the first thing I need to see in the morning, so-”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

They made their way out of the castle.

“You want to take Castiel?” Sam questioned when he rounded the car.

“No,” Dean decided firmly and opened the driver’s door. “Remember what happened last time? Exactly. I don’t need Cas smelling some dead guy again.”

Sam grinned at the memory. With a creak, the Impala gave in to their weight as they sat down, and the gravel gnashed under her tires when they drove off.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Central Nebraska 2006

Roughly, the dark minivan tuckered over the bumpy earth of the pathetic excuse of a road, and Dean’s insides flinched with every squeak the old car made.

When they finally came to a stop, he tossed the keys somewhere and maybe slammed the door with a bit more force than necessary. A lot more.

“This is humiliating,” he grumbled, as he took in the atrocious excuse of a vehicle they just stepped out of. He missed his Baby.

Sam ignored him, and stepped forward, towards the old wooden – house? Shack? – the mysterious phone number on their dad’s cell had led them to.

The huge letters ROADHOUSE flaunted above them, and Dean thought that these were probably made to light up when the sun disappeared.

The rest of the house looked abandoned, frankly, from the outside, and that, in combination with the four-month-old voicemail, made Dean not like his odds very much. The chances that this Ellen chick was still alive, knowing what his father had needed her for, were slim in his mind.

Or hell, maybe she just called from here, got the phone from some rando, and got on her merry way when she realized John wasn’t calling back. It’s probably what he would’ve done.

Safe to say, Dean didn’t like their odds. Even less so when they entered the eerie quiet of the bar, and spotted a man lying unconscious, probably dead, on the pool table.

Dean felt his shoulders stiffen. He didn’t like this one bit, and every second he spent here made the alarm in his head shrill even louder than before.

Dean only just turned to take a closer look at one of the shelves, when he felt something hard dig into his lower back, and heard an all too familiar clicking sound.

Dean closed his eyes. “Please tell me that is a gun.”

“No, I’m just very happy to see you,” came the fast answer from a very snarking - and female? - voice.

In one swift motion, Dean whirled around, grabbed the barrel, ripped it out of his attacker’s hand, and uncocked it. The bullet fell to the ground with an echoing clatter.

Dean almost smirked triumphantly at the blonde girl in front of him, when he felt a sudden, blinding pain in his face.

And if Dean had thought pulling up in a 30-year-old, barely functional van, of all things was humiliating, he didn’t calculate how it would feel to be absolutely sucker punched by a girl, not even as old as him.

Aside from the obvious nosebleed, his ego took a severe bruise.

“Sam! Little help here!” He called, hand still holding his hurting face.

The door swung open, and Sam walked out, hands raised to his head, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry Dean,” he said, “I’m a little tied up right now.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, as he watched another woman with dark brown hair follow his brother close behind, a revolver held to his head in fair warning.

He would be impressed, if his vision wasn’t swimming right now.

The older woman behind Sam furrowed her brows. “Wait, Sam? Dean?” She asked, exchanging looks with kick-ass Blondie in front of him. “Winchester?”

There was a beat, before the brothers pressed out a unison “Yeah?”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Mom, you know these guys?” Dean’s head hurt with how much he was swinging it around to keep up.

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” And that made Dean perk up.

The woman let out a laugh as she lowered her weapon.

—

A few minutes later, Dean was served with an iced cloth for his nose, and he and Sam seated themselves on a few of the bystanding bar chairs.

The brunette woman, who had threatened Sam, turned out to be the mysterious Ellen, whose voicemail on their dad’s phone they followed here. Jo, her daughter, and also the kick-ass blonde that had held the rifle to Dean’s back, looked about as unknowing about the whole situation as the brothers did.

Turns out Ellen had contacted John about the demon he was hunting. Said she could help him with it. Why John had never mentioned her, or her daughter, she didn’t say. Told them to ask him themselves. Dean didn’t say anything to that.

“So why exactly do we need your help?”, Dean asked, repositioning the cloth on his face.

Ellen scoffed. “Hey, don’t do me any favors. If you don’t want my help, fine.” There was a snarking edge to her voice, and Dean started to realize why his father would associate with her.

“Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out,” she continued. “But John wouldn’t have sent you, if–“

There it was.

Ellen stood straighter. A haunted look crossed her eyes. “He didn’t send you.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean looked away.

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Dean hadn’t known Ellen Harvelle for very long, but even he could sense the way her voice wavered. And know that she was a smart enough woman to not truly believe what she was asking.

“No.” Sam cleared his throat, and the simple word echoed through the deafening silence. “No, he’s not. We think the demon did it. Got to him before he got to it.” The thankful feeling of not being the one to have to tell her what happened felt like a sin in Dean’s gut. Then again, what’s one more on his plate.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said. It’s what everyone said.

“It’s alright. We’re good.”

Ellen didn’t believe him, he saw it in her eyes. But she didn’t bother him more about it, either.

“So, look, if you can help us,” Sam said, and Dean threw him a look that showed just how much he wanted to smack his little brother across the face, “we’d be real happy about all the help we can get.”

Ellen’s lips twisted. “We can’t help you.”

Is this lady for real-

“But he can.”

And then the dead man stood up from the pool table.

—

Ash was a tech freak, with a haircut like Billy Ray Cyrus and the mouth of a southern cowboy. Jo called him a genius. Dean didn’t know what to think of that.

Still, he had passed him their dad’s journal, told him to go nuts, and Ash had drooled over John Winchester’s handiwork like a child over a lollipop.

Ash had left with the journal and the promise of new information in the time of fifty-one hours.

Dean thought that was long enough time to take a drink.

Jo Harvelle was a pretty woman. When she wasn’t threatening him with a rifle or punching him in the face, that was. Her soft, blonde curls fell long over her shoulders, and those jeans did wonders to her curves.

Dean started conversing with her. While he had moved to one of the tables, Sam had stayed with Ellen at the bar. He found out that her father died, a long time ago. In the back of his mind, a mean voice cackled at the irony. He paid his sympathies.

Then, suddenly, one of the doors to the backrooms flew open, and a small whirlwind of colorful fabric and y/h/c hair came dashing into the room.

“Aunty Ellen, Aunty Ellen! Look what I made!”

Dean’s head whipped around at the sound of the high-pitched voice and he spotted a small girl, not older than five years probably, squeezing herself behind the bar table. When he noticed Ellen bowing her head, he figured that the little girl had probably reached her destined spot next to her.

Dean, though he would never admit it, was an easily curious person, so he followed Jo on her way to the bar and leaned slightly over the tablewood to catch a glimpse at the small intruder.

Little Lady was tugging at Ellen’s pantleg, and expectantly holding up a colored paper for her to look at.

“Look at what I drew, Auntie Ellen!” she repeated, in that same excited tone as before, when she had stormed into the room.

Dean watched as Ellen abandoned her washcloth somewhere behind her and crouched down to meet with the little girl eye-to-eye, as she inspected her drawing.

“That’s so amazing, baby, is that us?” The girl nodded, her pigtails wiggling up and down as she bopped her head enthusiastically.

“Yes, that is you, and that is Jo, and that is me. And look, I made my own fingerprint!” She dashed her finger into a spot on the paper, and then proudly held up the red-colored tip to shove it in Ellen’s face.

The woman had a wide, genuine smile on her face. “I can see that, baby, well done, it looks so nice!” She praised. “How about we hang it up there next to the menu?”

The girl nodded her head again, and let Ellen scoop her up gently. Only then, when Little Lady was at height with them, she seemed to notice the strangers standing in the room.

In the matter of a second, Dean saw her whole demeanor shift from bubbly and open, to a more closed off version, sinking further into Ellen’s embrace and clutching the fabrics of her shirt. Something about it made Dean’s heart sting.

“Auntie Ellen?” The girl tried to whisper, but Dean had learned soon that children were terrible whisperers, “Who is that?”

Ellen looked first to Sam, then Dean, and back at the little girl in her arms. “Those are friends of Jo and me, sweetheart. Their names are Sam-“ Dean’s little brother gave a wave and a smile when Ellen introduced him. “-and Dean.”

Dean grinned and carefully stretched his hand out. “Very nice to meet you, Little Lady. Who am I speaking to, may I ask?” He laid a formal accent on his voice, one that he knew had always made Sam laugh when he was a child. It was an olive branch, but something in him hoped she would grab it.

The small giggle that Little Lady let out made Dean’s heart bloom with a warmth he didn’t know he was able to feel.

“My name’s Y/N,” she said. With a pointed look at Dean’s still outstretched hand, Ellen murmured in her ear, “And what do we do when someone gives us their hand to shake?”

Y/N nuzzled her face into the crook of Ellen’s neck, and Dean almost drew his hand back again, when a small warmth settled into his palm and closed around it.

He smiled at the girl and shook her hand. As they both pulled back, Dean twisted his hand around and huffed. “Ouff, someone has got a firm grip! Your Auntie Ellen teach you that?” Y/N grinned proudly at him and nodded her head. Then she held up her hand and showed him four fingers. “I’m already this old!”

Dean gasped. “Really? Well, that is a great age, no wonder you are so strong!”

Y/N was beaming now.

She didn’t hide in Ellen’s neck again.

“So, what about that picture now?” Ellen bounced the girl on her hip once, and it seemed like she was snapped out of a trance. Determinedly, she pointed at a space next to a hung-up blackboard. Dean figured Ellen usually wrote her daily specials on that.

The woman made a few steps over where Y/N had led her and gestured toward an already hung drawing of blue water and grey – fish? – above it, that was already taped to the wall.

“But we already put a picture there. We would have to remove that one if you want your new drawing to hang here.” The girl shrugged, and already reached for a roll of clean tape on the shelf.

“That’s okay, I don’t like dolphins all that much anymore anyway,” she explained nonchalantly. “I will just put it in my drawing box.”

Dean watched as Ellen carefully picked the old drawing from the wall to make space for the new one. He was so caught up in the scenery, he almost didn’t notice how Sam was scooting closer to him.

“You know who she is?” Sam asked. Dean turned his attention to his brother.

“Well, her name’s Y/N,” Dean answered simply. Sam didn’t roll his eyes at him, but it was a close call.

Dean just shrugged. “Guess she isn’t Ellen’s. Otherwise, she wouldn’t call her Auntie.” He pitched the last word high, to mimic the child’s voice.

Sam furrowed his brows as they watched Ellen and the small girl.

“Makes you wonder,” he said, “What she’s doing here.”

Dean just hummed. He made brief eye contact with Y/N, as she stole a look in his direction, but she averted her eyes quickly, as if she had been caught.

Dean found himself slightly smiling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam looking at him. His brother was grinning.

“You love that kid.” It was a statement.

Dean scoffed. “Oh, shut up, I don’t even know her. Also, I love kids, plural.” He added.

Sam nodded, that smile still on his lips. Dean ignored him.

“Come on, ask him. Don’t be shy.” Ellen and Y/N had finished putting up her drawing and were now standing closer to them again. Ellen was still carrying the girl on her hip and had bent down to whisper to her.

Y/N had buried her face in Ellen’s shirt again, clearly shy to say something.

“He ain’t gonna bite you,” Ellen said, nudging her. “Go on.”

Y/N lifted her head, and shyly looked at Dean. Her eyes were flickering all over him, but never exactly to his face.

“Doyouwantodrawwithme?” She spluttered. Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t think he understood that. Try a bit slower. You can do this, come on,” Ellen encouraged her.

Y/N clutched her shirt.

“Do you want to draw with me?” She asked, head lowered and looking at her fingers. Her voice was quiet, but to Dean it felt as if she had shouted that sentence.

He felt warm inside. “Of course I want to.”

Y/N’s head shot up, and Dean Winchester had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, but the gleaming eyes of that small child before him had to be at the top of the list. He never wanted to look at anything else.

Ellen set her down and pointed at a table in the corner of the room.

“Her colors and paper are already set up. Every day, before we officially open,” she explained with a look at Dean, and he nodded. While Sam got comfortable on one of the bar chairs, he made his way over to where Y/N had already set up her coloring tools and begun drawing on a piece of yellow paper.

Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.

“What are you drawing?” He asked, stretching his neck to take a closer look. Y/N leaned back and showed him her creation. Lines of red and yellow. Maybe a tomato? An apple? He turned his head. From that perspective maybe?

“It’s Lighting McQueen!” Y/N told him triumphantly. “I saw cars with Jo.”

Dean nodded. So no apple. He also wasn’t going to point out the girl’s grammar. She was only four after all. And who was he to talk.

“How did you get that?” Y/N suddenly asked, and pointed her small finger at Dean’s forehead, right where a big scar stretched over his skin, consequences of the fatal car accident.

Dean tried his best not to wince. He didn’t need to expose his lingering trauma to this pure soul.

“I was … in an accident,” he said instead. “But I’m okay and it’s almost healed now.”

The girl nodded. Dean was almost astounded at how easy it was with her.

“Whenever I hurt myself, my Auntie Ellen takes me to the Doctor. Or Jo. Or Ash.” Her face scrunches up as she thinks hard. Dean thinks it’s adorable. He finds himself smiling again.

“They always give me colorful plasters! I always get the dinos.” She leans in closer to him when she says the last bit, almost like it’s a secret she only wants him to hear. Dean’s heart warms at the thought, and he doesn’t even know why.

“Really? I’m jealous. I think dinosaurs are amazing.” He used the same hushed tone she had before. Y/N’s eyes widened. “You don’t get dino plasters?” She asked. If Dean hadn’t known better, he would’ve said she was outraged at his confession.

He shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “only boring beige ones.”

Y/N’s eyes widened even more, and her mouth fell open. Then, her lips curved into a beaming smile. “I can give you some of mine! Jo bought me so many the last time she went shopping!”

Before he could even give it a thought, Dean felt her small hand take his, and he was yanked from his seat. Geez, how did a four-year-old kid have so much strength?

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as Sam shouted from the other side of the room.

“Dean, Ellen got us a case!” His little brother was waving around a beige folder, a few newspaper pages hanging out at the sides.

He looked at his brother, then at the girl still clinging her small hand around his fingers.

“Does that mean you have to leave?” Dean’s heart clenched at the quiet, disappointed voice. He crouched down and looked Y/N in the eye.

“Yes,” he said, honestly. “ I have to go to work.”

She tilted her head. “To save people?” She asked. Dean nodded. He didn’t know how she knew, but maybe Ellen told her.

“Yes, exactly. But I will be back soon, and then you can show me your plasters, alright?”

Y/N seemed to think about it, and then nodded her head. Her pigtails were still wiggling up and down. “You promise?” She asked.

Dean nodded. “In fact,” he said, shifted his weight, and held out his pinky finger in front of her. “I pinky promise.”

Y/N grinned up at him. Dean grinned back. She linked her small finger with his.

“Can’t break a pinky promise,” Dean said as he stood up.

She shook her head violently. “Never!”

Dean laughed and waved her Goodbye.

“Let’s go,” he said to Sam as he passed him, and grabbed his jacket.

“Bye, Ellen, Jo.” Sam lowered his voice seriously. “Y/N.”

“Bye, Sam! Bye, Dean!” Y/N waved her hand after them.

“Good luck,” Ellen said. Then they closed the door behind them. The light of the sun was a heavy contrast to the dusky air inside the Roadhouse, and Dean’s eyes needed a while to adjust to the change.

He made his way over to the abomination car, Sam close next to him. His brother bumped his shoulder.

“Plural, huh?” Sam asked, smirking.

And if Dean sped the van up a bit faster, just to give his little brother a good scare now and then, well, that was between him and the Lord above.

[aliceisathome]

My Stand-In and Ming's redemption arc is GO! Main priorities:

Make Joe the happiest he could ever be - for life

Make Tong the most miserable he could ever be - for life

Simple yes?

In the love nest Joe is asking all the pertinent questions and Ming is answering honestly. It suits him. As do the matching pjs . And look at our cat trying to be puppyish, while our puppy is trying out some cat standoffishness. So cute.

Scared, vulnerable (half naked) Ming is very sexy - Joe held out longer than I would have. And his reaction when Ming stopped him turning over? Oh man.

This was very slapstick - loved it.

Bonus meta moment with the title of the film Ming's funding for him.

You can see Joe melt when he realises that Ming gave up his privacy on the off chance he would be found by Joe again. Lovely little moment.

Tong, you smug, stupid bastard.

This isn't the old Ming who'd do anything for you - this is new, improved, boyfriend-protecting Ming who's grabbing this second chance with both hands (and other body parts) and not letting go.

The conversation back at Joe's place reminded me of this conversation from Utsukushii Kare

Tong is making a massive mistake getting Ming's mum involved (and interesting staging - he's virtually hiding behind her). She seems like another piece of work, possibly better suited to Tong than lovely Mai.

Ming's wearing a jacket Hilary Clinton would be proud of and he's not going to let this manipulative, narcissistic bastard or his mum get away with this so he spikes their guns by telling his dad himself. What a star.

Next week looks grim, even considering the usual Episode 11 of Doom standards but I have faith that Ming is absolutely stubborn enough to get his parents on board and Joe is absolutely smitten enough to help. Now if the BL gods would just grant us a miracle and send Yoryak from Wandee Goodday over to give Tong a proper beating followed by Charn to ensure that he gets zero in the divorce, that would be grand.

Both Up and Poom have acted their socks off in this series - they've done brilliantly. And Mek has managed to make himself completely loathsome. So good.

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Colors Ep. 12 The Black Parade Episode

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here. Y'all done told be EVERYTHING, so I know the entire plot now.

THAT WAS A TEAR! KENTA IS CRYING!

I thought it wasn't just sweat last week but knowing he is actually crying as he thinks about their past did immediate damage to me, and now they are ALL standing there in the dark with Way and Pete highlighted by the blue, and, and, and . . . Kentana are you gonna die? You and Waymond are stressing me the fuck out!

Now that I know they are both enigmas, I can't see them the same. Are they using their superpowers on each other right now? Are they reading each other's minds? Are they trying to figure out how to get Kentana back, so they can make this poly?

Kentana, how many times are you going to have this man spit in your face before you realize that he ain't shit? Go to your room, turn on Billie Eilish's "Happier Than Ever" and really hear it. "Never told anyone anything bad cause that shit's embarrassing. You were my everything, and all that you did was make me fucking sad."

The blue keys in front of the red product placement is all I need to be reminded that this show refuses to allow me peace.

Shocking absolutely fucking nobody, Kentana did not listen to "Happier Than Ever"

And now someone is gonna die because there are only so many ways for you and Waymundo to redeem yourselves, and if you have Jeffrey in all black, I'm worried it's gonna be your funeral we will be planning next, Kentana.

There is one episode left and I am death gripping the one time Vegas' Hedgehog wore blue because I will never get it again. I hate them.

Real question: Is Barbie pregnant? I know he is sad Charles is "dead" *eye roll* but he is taking pills, getting fruit thrown at him, and staring out into space. I would love to believe he is going through his Edward-left-Bella-so-she-was-super-duper-sad era, but now that I know pregnancy is on the table, that's all I can see.

Oh, thank goodness! Someone actually has a tracker on his phone! But Kimberly has been kidnapped, caught up in human trafficking, and is now beating up children. Bro, what was your life before it all went to shit? Do you ever call your mom and tell her these are your friends now? Are you even still racing? Nevermind. Go catch those kids.

The problem with black is the shades. Waymond's jacket looks green. Peter's pants look blue. And yet it still feels like we are preparing for a funeral. A real one this time. Not fake like someone else's *cough* Charles *cough*

Kentana, are you betraying Jeffrey as Big Red watches? Or are you asking him how Peter's been? Has he been well, without you? Is he dating anyone? What is his status with Way? Well, Jeffrey wouldn't know, but Peter x Waymond could be poly if you get out of that fucking house and stop kidnapping people!

Going from Kentana in that House of Horrors to Pete looking like this makes me understand why Kentana is out there kidnapping people. I'd feel some type of way too if my childhood crush looked like this and was getting chummy with a dude who looked like Way Way. Damn.

What the hell is this?! The cover of a boy band album? A meeting to discuss poly? The Thai version of Barbie where Ken(tana) explains why he won't leave the Mojo Dojo Casa House? AND WHY ARE ALL OF YOU WEARING BLACK?! Someone is gonna die.

Did Big Red know Kentana went to see Barbie and the other Kens?! Was he sent there by Big Red?! Kentana is really breaking my heart on his knees hugging this man like this. I want to slap Kentana all the time, but I also want to hug him and tuck him into bed with a moon nightlight calmly lighting up the room.

Let's stick him in a video game, so he can learn to love himself.

Push him down the stairs, Kentana! Do it. PLEASE! Shoulder check his ass at least.

Oh Lord, NO! Waymond, do not take a fucking bullet for anyone. You canNOT die by Whiny Winifred's bullet. I refuse to let you go out like that. You finally used your powers for good, but this is not the time to die.

Y'ALL DIDN'T EVEN GRAB THE BAG!

This is Mission Kim Possible all over again! How do you not grab the damn bag?! Waymundo looks so damn good in his suit, so thank God he is still alive, but what the fuck guys?! One job! SECURE. THE. BAG.

I hate how good everyone looks in black because I keep swinging through emotions. I'm terrified for everyone yet very attracted to everyone. All the guys connected to Big Red have been in black this episode regardless if it was their color or not, so I'm hoping that means the funeral will be Big Red's.

A cult meeting, in this economy? Villains make the dumbest decisions.

Waymond has some white on . . . over black. Please Mary, mother of God, do not let him do something stupid.

Alan, did you just say "eff them kids"? No. Not my Alan. He'll be back for them. Right. Right?

Peter is gonna Regina George his way into this Halloween party that he was not invited to just to cause some havoc. Mad respect.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

How the hell did Charles get there?! Did Barbie's dad tell him to go to the cult meeting? Dressed like that though? Did his spidey sense go off? So many questions, but all I know is Kentana better let them go, so he doesn't have to die.

Whiny Winifred better not get better at aiming in the final episode because I still need both of these two to wear blue TOGETHER.

WAYMOND, NO!!!!!!!!!!

Good to know it only took being kidnapped twice and (possibly) someone dying for Jeffrey to finally commit to the blue.

My nerves are wrecked. There was too much black this episode. Someone is going to die, and as much as I want it to be Big Red, I just don't feel good that Kentana is still on his bullshit, and Waymond keeps jumping in front of guns. Peter needs both of his boyfriends to live.

Also, Barbara, I already know you are immediately going to hug Charles next week, instead of having a moment to be pissed all the way off at him like you should be, so I'm going to start meditating on that right now. I've been mad at Charles the entire season, so I'll hold this grudge for both of us in the finale.

[alexfromjersey]

ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝 - jenna ortega

Stripper!Jenna x Black!G!PReader

summary: to celebrate you being recently released from prison, your siblings take you to a strip club.

warnings: mature language

a/n: blame beyonce for this...might turn this into a series if yall fuck with it enough 👀

“You want to take me where?” You questioned your siblings. One minute, you were focused on doing your job for your first day. The next minute, your siblings were calling you and harassing you about letting them take you out somewhere to celebrate.

Celebrate what you might ask.

You were locked up on drug charges for the last 7 years and you were recently released on parole for good behavior. You were released four months ago and for four months straight, your two brothers and sister kept hounding you to let them throw a party or something. Each time you said no because truthfully, there wasn’t anything to celebrate in your opinion. However, they strongly disagreed.

“To a strip club. One of my homies recommended it to me, it’ll be fun” Your older brother Akeem stated.

“I don’t got no money for no strip club. I just started this job today” You responded and sorted the packages in the truck.

“Don’t worry about that. We got you covered, all you have to do is say yes you’re going” Your younger brother Jeremiah said.

“Nah I’m good, y’all go have fun though” You declined.

You hear your siblings moan and groan out of frustration due to you declining to celebrate again. You just ignored it like usual.

“You irk the shit out of me. You’ve been out for four months and haven’t done a single fun thing yet. I know you’re trying to adjust to the outside world again but a part of adjusting is to have fun. So, come out and let us celebrate being able to hold you again, talk to you face to face and not behind some glass, and be able to experience life again” Your sister Eve ranted.

Even though, you felt the way you felt about being celebrated. Eve was right. Being behind bars for seven years did a number on your mental health, not being able to freely see your loved ones was rough.

You sighed, “If I say yes, will you leave me alone after this?”

“No promises” Akeem smiled.

You rolled your eyes with a smile, “Fine whatever. What time should I be ready?”

Eve, Akeem, and Jeremiah all shouted yes and told you to be ready by 9. You nodded hung up the phone and got back to work.

“What the fuck am I going to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You finished your first day at work by 5 and with praise from your supervisor. You worked at FedEx, sorting packages and loading up trucks for deliveries. You were surprised they even hired you since your record. You were rejected from numerous jobs because of it and you were about to give up when they called you.

“Nana I’m home” You called out to your grandmother Sheryl as you entered the house. You took your shoes off by the door and hung your jacket on the hook.

“Hey sweetie, how was your first day?” Sheryl asked.

“It was alright, easy work, easy day” You shrugged and sat on the couch.

“Hmm, that’s good. Your dinner is in the microwave. I got to leave in a minute, I’m going to bingo” Sheryl said.

“Cool” You replied and watched Family Feud on the TV.

“Got any plans tonight?” Sheryl asked.

“I was planning on just taking a shower, eating, and going to bed. But your other grandchildren are dragging me out tonight against my will” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh lord, now don’t you go out and get yourself in trouble fooling with your brothers and sister. You need to stay focused, you hear me” Sheryl demanded.

“Yes ma’am” You replied.

“Alright now,” Sheryl said and turned her attention toward the TV.

You sat there until the Family Feud episode ended and then went to the kitchen. You opened the microwave and grabbed your plate.

“Yes!” You quietly cheered when you saw she made baked chicken, mac and cheese, cornbread, and string beans. You were definitely going to get the itis after eating this. You heat it up and basically inhale the food and sweet ice tea.

Not long after, Sheryl left to go to bingo as you were in the shower. You got dressed in some shorts and a tank top. You went back on the couch and laid across which was technically your bed. The other spare room your grandmother had was already preoccupied by your Uncle who was a truck driver. He was on the road but due to be back in a couple of days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up to the sound of your phone constantly ringing and dinging from calls and texts. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and grabbed it from the coffee table.

AK:

come outside

You groan and take a minute to collect yourself before getting up and getting dressed. You put on some loose fit jeans, a white undershirt, a tan long sleeve shirt, and your Timberlands. You make sure your hair is straight and looking good. You also may have stolen some of your uncle’s cologne.

You exit the house, making sure it’s locked up.

“Damn took you forever bitch” Eve commented without looking up from her phone.

“Shut up cornflakes” You replied and smacked her phone out of her hand. Eve sucked her teeth and mumbled an insult under her breath.

“Come on let’s go I’m ready to get a lap dance” Jeremiah bounced excitedly in the passenger seat.

You roll your eyes at your excited brother and got in the backseat next to Eve. Once you were inside the car, you felt a hard smack to the back of your head.

“That was for smacking my phone out my hand bitch” She grumbled.

You muttered an ‘ow’ and rubbed the spot that hurt. Soon after Akeem starts the journey to the strip club. The two boys in the front were engrossed in a conversation about attempting to take a girl home for the night. While Eve hasn’t taken her eyes off her phone since you left the house. You wanted to question it but also didn’t want to pry into her business.

Instead, you looked out the window. You took in the passing scenery. You savored it actually. You didn’t know how much you’ll miss seeing the night life in your city until you got locked up. People watching and observing how other people how fun at night was a great pass time for you.

You didn’t realize how deep into your thoughts you were until you noticed the car stopped outside a building. Your siblings got out and you followed behind them. You make your way to the back of line, thinking that’s what supposed to do. But you noticed your siblings skipped to the front by the bouncers.

“Yo what you doing? Get up here” Jeremiah ushered you.

You gave a sheepish smile to everyone in the line as you passed them. Jeremiah grabbed your shoulders and lead you in strip club.

“How we get to skip all those people?” You asked.

“Connections baby” Jeremiah smirked before digging into his pocket. He then pulled out a band (1,000 if you didn’t know). The younger boy then placed it into your hand.

“What the fuck you giving me this for?” You questioned confused.

“Uh to disperse among all the talented and beautiful sexy ladies in this building. Or you can wipe your ass with it I don’t know and I don’t care” Jeremiah shrugged and left your side before you can even reject it.

You stood there for a minute looking stupid before you pocketed the money. Honestly, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. It smelt like strong ass marijuana and cheap fruity cologne. The bass from the music that was currently playing was vibrating your whole body. Quickly, you found a seat at the front of the stage.

You looked around and saw Jeremiah getting a lap dance in a private room. Akeem was at the bar waiting on his drink. Eve was seen at a booth with a bunch of girls laughing hard.

They beg you to take you out and then leave you as soon they can. You internally roll your eyes at the thought.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and saw a woman with nothing but a bikini top and a thong next to you.

“Follow me” She smiled and grabbed your hand.

You were confused but did as the lady told. She walked you up some stairs and towards a folding chair. You now realize that you’re on stage.

“Wait I-I don’t-”

“Enjoy the show” The woman cut you off. She gave you a wink before walking off the stage.

Suddenly, the lights in the room changed to a dark sultry red and the music cut off. Everyone’s eyes was now turned to the stage including your siblings.

“Alright, everyone for the first time in almost a year please clap your hands, hide your boners, and welcome back to the building Naughty.” The DJ introduced.

It was silent for a moment before you heard the sound of heels clicking on the floor behind you. You turned your head a little behind you and saw a short woman dressed in all red. From the bright red lacy bra corset top to her red 6-inch stilettos. You turned back around when she stood behind you as the beat of a familiar song played. It was Naughty Girl by Beyoncé, how ironic.

You felt her hands glide down the front of your body. Her scent was intoxicating, it was a mix of something fruity and sexy. You were incited by it.

I love to love you, baby (I love to love you, baby), I love to love you, baby (I love to love you, baby)

She removed her hands but not before grabbing your jaw and moving it to your left to face her. Her dark brown eyes never leaving your light brown ones. She dipped down in front of you while swaying her hips sexily to the beat of the song.

I'm feelin' sexy, I wanna hear you say my name, boy

You watched as she poked her ass out to everyone in the crowd. You heard the cheers and saw the money being thrown onto the stage out your peripheral vision. But you wasn’t focused on that, you were focused on the woman dancing in front of you.

Feelin' kind of n-a-s-t-y, Why I just might take you home with me

She got behind you and grabbed the pole behind you and started climbing up it. You looked up in amazement at her strength.

Start feeling so crazy, babe, lately, I feel the funk coming over me, I don't know what's gotten into me, the rhythm's got me feelin' so crazy, babe

She started spinning on the pole using one hand. You were a little scared that she would fall but you had to remember that she’s a professional and she knew what she was doing. Plus, if she were too fall you’ll catch her without hesitation.

She turned herself upside down and prepared herself to slide down. Your eyes once locked on to each other again and she slid down just as the chorus began.

Tonight, I'll be your naughty girl (Uh), I'm calling all my girls

She stopped just a breath away from your face. She expected you to flinch like everyone person she brought up on stage but to her surprise, you didn’t move an inch.

We gon' turn this party out, I know you want my body

She climbed back up the pole and started doing her routine. You felt your hands getting clammy so you wiped it on your pants leg. You then remembered the money in your pocket and pulled it out. You threw a few hundreds in the air making it rain down onto the floor.

After the chorus, she slid down again and got off the pole. Your eyes now took the time to wander over her body. You bit your lip and a finger lifts your chin to her face again. She straddle your legs and you kept your hands to your side.

You saw the rule about no touching the dancers. It was painted in big bold letter, you couldn’t miss it.

You're so sexy, tonight, I am all yours, boy

She leaned in towards your face and you thought your lips were going to brush against each other for a second. But she pulled back a millisecond before they could.

The way your body moves across the floor, feelin' kind of n-a-s-t-y, why I just might take you home with me

She smirked when she felt you twitch at not being able to touch her. Her arms rested on your shoulders and you felt her start to roll on your crotch. Your eyes widen and you instinctively go to grab her hips but you remembered the rule and kept your hands to the side. You did make clench fists to stop yourself from growing happy in that region.

Meanwhile, the woman on top of you applauded your self control. Most people tap out way before this part.

Tonight, I'll be your naughty girl (Uh), (Oh) I'm calling all my girls (Oh), We gon' turn this party out, I know you want my body

She ticked her hips to the beat of the song which made you let out a low groan.

Tonight, I'll be your naughty girl, I'm calling all my girls (Girls), I see you look me up and down, and I came to party

She turned around and started grinding into you again. Your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth as you focused on the woman and trying not to get a boner.

I love to love you, baby (I love to love you, baby), I love to love you, baby (I love to love you, baby)

She did a slow dive towards the fall making sure her ass was still your main view. While she winked at one of the men in the audience who threw basically all of his money towards her. She turned around on to her back and did a body roll on the ground.

I love to love you, baby (I love to love you, baby), I love to love you, baby (I love to love you, baby)

She pulled herself to a squat in front of you and pushed your legs apart. She wrapped her arms under your thighs and flipped herself up onto your shoulders. She supported herself impressively on your shoulders. Her hand gripped your curly hair without causing any pain to you.

Tonight, I'll be your naughty girl (Uh), I'm calling all my girls, we gon' turn this party out, I know you want my body

She then grabbed onto the pole again and climbed up it. She spin on it without any hands this time just core and leg strength. For the finale, she slid down the pole and into a split.

At the end of the song, the whole place was cheering loudly. You were blinded by the sight of falling money everywhere.

“Give it up for Naughty!” The DJ yelled and made the place cheer even louder than before.

You watched as the woman stood up and waved to everyone. Once she locked eyes with you again, she smirked and gave you a wink. She then walked off the stage.

After you were escorted off the stage and made your way to your siblings. They all stared at your flushed face with a grin.

“Money well spent” Akeem commented.

“You paid for that?” You questioned.

“Sure did. We knew if you agreed all you were going to do is either sit at the bar or watch the dancers and occasionally throw money. We had to let you experience a little something” Eve replied.

“And experience something you did” Jeremiah laughed.

You chuckled because you couldn’t even be upset at them. You had a amazing time and it was one for the books.

For the rest of the night, you hung out with your siblings, drinking and chatting. But your mind was still stuck on the sexy small woman named Naughty.

a/n: I hope I wrote this okay. I’ve been feeling a little anxious about my writing lately. let me know if you guys want this into a series cause if you do I got plans for it 👀.

[moonstarmoon]

So i may or may not have an idea for nuzi to tell ya. Ok listen, what if somehow Uzi can feel the cold, idk how, just bcs!

She is walking with N around to clear her head from all that is happening, N wasn't with her at first he just wanted to be there as company when he saw her, she shivers so she rubs her arms to "warm herself up??" and then she says something like: "WHO PROGRAMED US TO FEEL THE COLD!?" (ps. N doesn't feel the cold bcs he is a disassembly drone) he notices it and asks her "You good Uzi?" and instead of her usual "I'M GOOD, SHUT UP!" she says "NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!", N looks at her worried and a bit sad but gets an idea and rushes off to do "something". Meanwhile Uzi has crossed her arms annoyed at the cold. N after a bit comes back with Uzi not noticing and throws his jacket/coat on her back over her shoulders which causes her to be surprised before turning around to look at N who is wearing the suit from episode 3 (so he can at least have something on). Uzi then slightly blushes before tugging (snuggling??) herself in N's jacket/coat so she can be warm. She hides her expression with the coat by snuggling her face in it and says "Thank you." in her usual way with N just smiling widely at her before sitting next to her to keep her company again. He says "Always, for you!". (Bonus: what if he protends to forget his jacket/coat with her on purpose so she can keep it for a while longer?)

Anyways hope i was clear enough and am not bothering you with a random idea 😭👍🏻

Stay warm ! 💜💛

Thought this was just the cutiest nuzi comic idea ! Thanks for sharing I just had to draw it !

Hope I did it justice !

( sorry btw to a lot of people that have requests I am just very busy I swear I will get to yours in time if you put anything in my questions box ! )

[mikesgaylittlethoughts]

'when blue and yellow meet in the west'

Hello byler tumblr (if you're seeing this)! This is a remake of an old post of mine about the (byler-centric) color coding in the show !! I wanted to remake it cuz I read it again recently and have some new thoughts about it. Sorry if this is all a bit redundant.

At this point we all know about the blue and yellow thing. Mike's color is blue, Will's color is yellow.

This will be a post analysing the use of colors in their outfits and enviroments, and what those colors could mean and possibly tell us.

⭑ Season 1:

The first time we see them, Mike is wearing a fully blue sweater while Will sports a plaid, blue and yellow shirt.

When Mike first met El, he was wearing a blue hoodie in basically the same shade as his sweater (the outfit he chose to go looking for Will), and El was wearing a yellow shirt.

That's actually really interesting, considering Mike's s4 v2 monologue where he says he fell in love with El at first sight. This was their first sight, back when most people (including Mike) thought El was a boy, when several people mistook her for Will, and when she was wearing Will's color. The yellow Benny's Burgers t-shirt is actually one of the main things Mike remembers from that day.

After meeting El and bringing her home, the sweater he gives her is his blue sweater.

This is the start of a theme that was brought to my attention in @62percentmaplesyrup 's post (sorry for the tag and thank you so much for the help!), where El wears blue, Mike's color, to appease to him.

El's actual color is pink, or red. It's the color that makes her feel the most like herself. When she sees herself in that dress, she finally feels pretty.

Going back a few episodes to episode 2, when Mike is bonding with El for the first time, his outfit gains red tones, which makes sense now that we know it's Eleven's color.

It has a few streaks of yellow, but it's still mostly blue. The way I see it, yellow details can signify his bond and connection with Will, just like green. He was getting to know El, but she also signified hope for them to be able to find Will.

The night they find Will's fake body in the quarry and the day after, Mike wears a green and black shirt. Green, his and Will's colors, and black, the traditional color of mourning.

His shirt is white, red and yellow when they go out to look for the gate. Yellow for Will being in his mind, and red for the trust he puts in El to help them find him, as she brought them hope once again.

Unfortunately, he has a bad fight with Lucas regarding El, in which she panics and accidentally hurts him, cue Mike's "what's wrong with you" part 2, and El running away. Mike's hope for finding Will is gone once again, and the shirt he wears after that is white, green and yellow.

Then we have the quarry scene. Troy threatens Dustin with a knife and tells Mike to jump into the quarry if he wants to save Dustin's teeth.

Mike jumps. He jumps into the quarry where Will's body was found, while wearing a green jacket with blue accents.

He was still wearing this same shirt during his first kiss with El,

and when they got Will back.

I went into a lot of detail during this season just for us to have a basis to continue. I won't add as much content from the next seasons, I'll only try to get some key points, for the sake of clarity and this not becoming tedious and boring.

⭑ Season 2:

The arcade scene, aka Mike not giving a damn about Princess Daphne and being worried about Will, happened with Mike and Will wearing shirts with matching blue, red and white stripes, which is adorable. Will wore a green jacket and Mike's is kind of blue?

Mike not giving a damn about Max and being worried about Will (pt2) had him in blue with red stripes.

The red stripes make a lot of sense, as although Will was his priority, El was still in his mind and he tried to call her everyday for 353 days. Those stripes continue onto a lot of his other outfits this season. Interestingly, almost every outfit Will wears this season also has those red stripes.

Blue and yellow shirt, blue hoodie, blue and yellow blanket, green pillow. No comment needed.

Mike wears this outfit the entire time he's with Will.

This season has El start trying to figure out who she is and where she belongs. Her episode 7 outfit was her trying to fit in with others that are "like her", only to realize she doesn't feel like she belongs there at all.

Mike was still wearing the blue and yellow outfit in the shed scene.

"It was the best thing I've ever done."

At the Snow Ball, Mike is wearing browns and greys, and just like Maple pointed out, El is wearing blue. The pink accents are extremely subdued, El is still trying to cater to what Mike likes, and not herself. She's not wearing purple, the mix of her and Mike's colors, either.

Pink and blue being El and Mike's color combination is honestly funny. It's the most heteronormative color combination out there.

⭑ Season 3:

This season starts off strong with Mike and El making out. Right off the bat, El's flannel is mostly blue, and Mike is wearing mostly yellow. This is where my theory comes in: too much yellow for Mike means repression. It's another pattern that will continue to come up in the series.

My guess is that the blue denim vest he's wearing over the yellow is for the wonderfully homoerotic lumax-byler double date scene, where he looks at Will's lips like twice and they're both blushing around each other.

Now they're both wearing blue.

I wanna add something Maple said here, about Mike pushing El away the more feminine she becomes. I find it interesting that to appease to Mike, El wears the stereotypically masculine color.

Here's Mike, lying to El in his yellow shirt.

Here's El, being happy and having fun being herself for once. Notice the pink headpiece that she chose!!

Also the colorful outfit she chose, almost like to match Max's!

And here's Mike lying to her again.

Where else is Mike not being honest?

Right here.

He wasn't being honest with Will, and he definitely wasn't being honest with himself. This whole season, he's been trying to distance himself from things that are "childish", "immature", and from the things that remind him of Will. Lucas is dating Max, Dustin is Dating Suzie, and Mike has El but deep down he knows it's not the same thing, knows he doesn't feel for her the same way that his friends feel for their girlfriends, and that terrifies him.

He projects onto Will, here. The truth is Mike wants to spend forever with Will, he's always wanted to, but that's one of the thoughts he was led to think are childish and stupid. He didn't think Will would want that, too, and the second he finds out Will did want it just as much as him, he regrets it immediately.

Will bikes away, and Mike throws on his green jacket.

Will is his priority, forever and always. He's the only one that can make Mike actually own up to his mistakes without blaming them on everyone else. And Mike was so scared here, so sure he just lost his best friend forever, sure he ruined everything. Will never hears him apologize, and this conflict doesn't really get resolved until season four, when even more tension has built up between them.

By the end of the season, he goes blue again.

He doesn't react well at all to El's kiss. He seems confused and upset.

I do think this was his very real realization of his current situation. Mike is so lost, scared and confused. So many feelings and thoughts are piling up and hurting him all at once. He just realized he doesn't love his girlfriend the way he's supposed to, that he lost her anyway, that he lost Will again and that it hurts more than he could imagine and he's never going to be the same. He canonically goes deep into depression and self-isolation after this.

i can't believe it, but i'm gonna need to make a part two.

it's here