#you know it's a comfort fic when all i'm doing is talking about food

[neonponders]

Part 12 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🍳

Part 11

(Part 9′s art 🌹) ( pt. 7′s art 🧁)

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

“Biwwy! I’m swipping!”

Small Billy sat on the top of the slide, and bent a leg to prop an arm on his knee. He laughed theatrically over small Steve starting to slide down on his tummy. “There’s a new king of the swide! See you on the othewr side, Hawwington - EEE!!”

Big Steve perked up in time to see his littler self grab Billy’s leg and take him along for the ride down. “Okay, you two. I’ve got Cheerios and strawberry cream cheese here - ” the front doorbell rang, “ - and there’s Billy and Max.”

The little ones ran over the dishtowel he’d set down to catch their water from the pool. He tried to keep an eye on them swiping cheerios over the cream cheese until he had to had to avoid slamming into walls. Upon opening the door, he greeted, “Hey. They’re eating breakfast.”

Max held up a toasted waffle and chewed, “Same.”

The little guys ran around the sink in the island counter to hop and wave at them. “Hi, Biwwy! Hi, Max!”

“Hey,” she smiled.

Her stepbrother eyed their swimming attire and returned, “ ‘Sup chipmunks. I see you started with out me.”

Small Billy ran through a sunbeam on the counter to pick up his Indiana Jones hat. Larger Billy scolded, “Keep running like that and I’ll get my whistle out.”

“The sun is bwight!” his smaller self reprimanded and got distracted by little Steve handing him something. “Thanks.”

“Welcome,” Steve smiled, donning his own doll sunglasses. Large Billy couldn’t help but laugh. His littler self looked like a prima donna at the pool: sunhat, orange-patterned linens, and big sunglasses to boot. Steve felt good about himself too, as he called, “Wow do we wook, Biwwy?”

“Like movie stars.”

Large Steve rotated from the counter along the wall to set a cutting board in the sink and a plate of fruit next to the dish of cereal and cream cheese. “Remember to eat real fruit.”

Small Billy complained, “Watermewon again? It’s crwunchy water, Steve!”

“Delicious crunchy water,” he corrected. “If you don’t drink the stuff I give you, you gotta get it somehow.”

The huff that came out of that little body was impressive as he grabbed a pice of fruit and crunched derisively. Steve sent a harmless glare at Billy with a shake of his head. “Do you hate watermelon too?”

“It’s not the best fruit,” he confirmed, but redirected, “How’d you sleep?”

“Great,” Steve replied, and then his features flattened. “Oh, you mean them.”

Billy gazed at him, mildly amused while Max otherwise intervened, “So, is the big pool available? Or am I stuck in here with you two?”

“It’s a good thing you brought your board,” Billy warned. “That’ll save you from walking home.”

Steve intervened, “Keep your fights out in the public where everyone can see them. You’re cramping out style in here.”

Although, it seemed that the little ones were thoroughly ignoring them, instead alternating lyrics of songs that vaguely matched up with the conversation.

“Stuck with you-ou.”

“Happy you’re stuck with me-e.”

“I was dweamin’.”

“In my bed.”

“Shoulda been with you instead.”

“Go go, Stevie!”

The chase down the slide and around the pool commenced. In the meantime, Billy tilted judgey eyes at Steve. “Wham, Steve?”

Unashamedly, he retorted, “I thought you’d be more upset by Huey and The News.”

Billy scrubbed his hands down his face. “It’s up to me to have taste.”

Steve planted a hand on his hip. “Huey and Wham are fine.”

“They have one decent song a-piece,” Billy disagreed. “One.”

He got cut off by the front door slamming open and closed. Robin hollered, “Where are they?”

“Kitchen,” Steve droned.

That prompted her to jog in, dump her stuff on a couch, and then rush down the hall for the garage. Max frowned, “What’s she doing?”

“Putting her bike in the garage,” Steve informed indifferently.

“Why’s she acting like it’ll get stolen in fifteen seconds?”

Steve shrugged. “Robin has two modes: the world can burn while she sleeps or she feels like she’s in New York City.”

Billy pushed off the island counter to go to the impressive entertainment unit taking up an entire wall of the living room. He helped himself to the shelf on which a record player sat, and perused the Harringtons’ collections. As he slid black vinyl out of its sleeve, he congratulated, “There’s hope for you yet, Steve.”

Said Steve gave him a mirthless smile and focused on Robin returning to the kitchen as the closing garage door vibrated a whole side of the house.

“Woooh,” small Billy exhaled with a piece of fruit in his hands.

“Earthqwuake!” little Steve cried, slamming into Billy to hold him close.

Robin laughed tiredly. “Just a short one. It’s already over. What’s breakfast?...Eggs? Again?”

“I’m cooking for three here, what do you want?” Steve sassed over the bowl and whisk.

Robin offered an empathetic sigh and opened his pantry. “Don’t get your apron in a twist. We’ll have French toast. Don’t put those eggs in the skillet yet.”

“Fwench toast?” little Steve piqued.

His bigger self promised, “You’ll have some when you take a break from swimming.”

Max brightened, "Oh! I brought something. They’re not much, but once upon a time, my mom shoved dolls at me. I don’t wanna think about how many of these wound up in landfills.”

She pulled out a few things from her corduroy shorts pocket and dropped them over the Barbie pool. Little Billy looked over the miniature pool noodles and asked, “What’rwe those?”

Big Billy navigated around Max blowing up a small inner tube and said, “They help you float. You can sit on them.”

The inner tube with primary colored stripes soon joined the water, and small Billy struggled to climb on and stay on. He fell off and came up sputtering, his hat floating away, “This is cwap! What is the point o’this?”

Large Billy consoled, “It’s just like the real thing. Here, drop your butt in there.”

He pushed it underwater with two fingers and waited for Billy to gain his courage. Turning around with a dubious glance over his shoulder, he sat down tentatively inside the inner tube. Billy took his strength off of it, and it floated up with the little one on it. Stable, for the most part. Little Billy smirked, “Okay. Not bad.”

Meanwhile, little Steve sat astride a noodle, happy as can be. “I’m widing a girwaffe, Biwwy!”

From the pantry, Robin emerged with a frown. “Hey big guy, where’s your sugar?”

Steve’s brows reached up but he answered, “Garage.”

Max frowned. “You store sugar in the garage?”

“My mom likes to bake, so she buys it in bulk,” he said as he pivoted to got get it, but Robin stopped him so he could stay put.

Billy teased while helping himself to the leftovers in the coffee pot, “Is your mom at a baking conference?”

Steve didn’t roll his eyes, so much as let them wander while he blinked slowly. A newfound freedom outside of high school: not having to answer to petty questions.

Except when Robin returned with the large paper bag of sugar, she informed, “Uh, Steve? The sheriff’s car is in your driveway.”

Max and Billy automatically exchanged looks, but they mirrored confusion at Steve brightening, “Hopper’s here? Good, I can finally hustle him to get these guys a bigger wardrobe.”

On cue, the doorbell rang. Big Steve went to answer it, and little Steve gazed up at Billy with large eyes. “Who’s Hopperw?”

“I think he’s the one who brought you to Steve in the first place.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” little Billy growled. He struggled to get off the inner tube and ultimately rolled off gracelessly.

Large Billy asked, “You two got beef with the sheriff already?”

But all he got was a derisive, “Hmph!” as the small one went to sit on the pool stairs, much as he’d done in the video store when he wasn’t pleased to see Billy.

The greetings filtered into the house as Steve led Hopper into the living room-kitchen. “Yeah, they’re doing fine. They’re learning how to swim.”

The sheriff wore casual clothes today, looking like a lumberjack off duty in his plaid shirt that hung open over a t-shirt and jeans. “I see you wasted no time in telling everyone.”

Max countered, “Not everyone.”

“Good. Keep it that way. I already have the Wheelers on my case. One dating my kid and the other pestering the station for journalism every other day is enough. Well...I know a lack of forgiveness in that face.”

Both Steve and Billy furrowed their brows at Hopper approaching the island counter. The explanation came soon enough in Hopper saying, “Still not over that apple incident, huh?”

Small Billy stood up and accused, “You twicked me!”

Little Steve agreed, “It wasn’t verwy yummy...”

Big Steve came to stand next to Billy as the latter interrogated, “Apple incident?”

Hopper moved out of Robin’s way to make French toast as he explained, “I cut a piece of apple for them to eat. The station’s secretary is always trying to get me to eat green stuff.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Not a Granny-Smith.”

Hopper nodded apologetically. “The little guys can’t do sour. What can I say?”

Small Billy had a lot to say. “You made my tummy uppy! And yourw apple was shit!”

Hopper lifted deadpan eyes at Steve and Billy. Steve shook his head. “No way. You delivered them talking like that. And Ellie’s, like, the pickiest eater alive. Why’d you give them something acidic?”

“I suppose I was still in shock at seeing both of you in tiny form,” Hopper responded. “The M&M’s made up for it, though. Right?”

That gave little Billy pause. He crossed his arms and scoffed, “Barwely! Cwunchy water’s shit!”

“Okay, sweet B,” Robin consoled over the sizzling on the stove. “You’ll have French toast soon.”

Max had approached the counter by this time and unconsciously set her hands on the granite. Little Steve sat down on her fingers to finish his cheerio, inducing small Billy to join him. Their heads were large enough that the proximity allowed Billy to nuzzle his hair against Steve’s. Their larger counterparts stood riveted to the display until they warily glanced at each other with weighted silence.

After the initial shock of their touch, Max recovered to ask, “Where did you get them, anyway?”

Hopper sighed, “I couldn’t tell you where they’re from. I assumed they were the original Steve and Billy just...shrunken. But they didn’t know who I was, and you can imagine my relief when Steve answered the door after I brought them here. Beyond that, I assumed they were safest with, well, themselves.”

Robin countered, “That doesn’t explain much.”

Hopper plucked a small piece of watermelon for himself and finished, “I don’t have any answers for you. I assume they came, in some part, from their original selves. Looks like I was right.”

Robin brought a plate and knife to the island and cut the first slice of French toast into strips as Steve informed, “They’re more expensive than you’d think.”

“People always are, regardless of size,” Hopper smirked, but Steve’s pursed lips and flat gaze made him realize, “You’re saying you need money?”

“I’m saying it’s only a matter of time before I lose a shirt or something. They only have, like, two outfits. Some pajamas and different shoes would be nice. The only store that carries their size is place on Magnolia Street.”

Hopper’s lips disappeared under his mustache. He didn’t like that at all. He guarded, “You seem to have made it out of there all right.”

Steve scoffed. “The shopkeeper watches me like I’ll steal something.”

Hopper’s gaze switched to Billy. “And you?”

“She likes me,” he grinned. That earned an openly disgusted grimace from Max and a nose wrinkle from Robin.

The latter realized aloud, “You don’t like being hit on by old Bettys, Hop?”

“I have every reason to be terrified,” he declared.

Robin laughed while Steve otherwise deflated somewhat. “Why am I the red flag customer?”

Billy responded as he took a bite of toast and tore off a couple pieces for the little ones, “You’re too pretty for her tastes.”

Steve pointed wide eyes at the counter with a sassy shake of his head. “I’m not the one with big blue eyes and pants that don’t fit.”

Max and Robin locked gazes but said nothing. They didn’t have to, as the little ones got their first taste of French toast.

“Woooh!”

“It’s like pancwakes!”

“Spicy! Cinnamn. Cinnamwon...”

Big Billy consoled his smaller self, “You got it,” and they watched the latest sugar rush run around the pool.

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[lovebugism]

📼  ; ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY | 1/2

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

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

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

( best listened with headphones, full fic playlist here )

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

          she lives in the place in the side of our lives

          where nothing is ever put straight . . .

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

Being a vampire sucks.

No pun intended.

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

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

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

No pun intended.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve’s face screws. “No.”

“Damn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice one.”

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Effortless. A total cakewalk of perfection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They stop running here at six-thirty.”

You swallow, face screwed.“Why?”

Eddie shrugs. “Beats me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he’s not hungry at all.

That he’s still normal.

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

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

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

If the Chief takes mercy on him, anyway.

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

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

He lets you revel in your little nothings anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy shrugs. “You wouldn’t be.”

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That makes… a lot more sense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does he?” Eddie hums indifferently.

“When I wear my bikini, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Why do I do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, yeah, but—”

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

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

“About what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” he wonders with pinched brows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” he hums with a slow nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve Harrington was right. What the hell was that?

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

         oh, how could i ever refuse?

          i feel like i win when i lose . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s Hellfire?” you wonder aloud.

“Book club,” Eddie lies.

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

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

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

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

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

Dustin frowns and flashes the makeshift sailor his middle finger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not a burden,” Eddie blurts.

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

“No?” you echo in a mousy voice.

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

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

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

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

You chuckle to yourself, feeling silly about it now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

         under those white street lamps,

         there is a little chance they may see . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy relaxes against the pillows with a shuddering breath.

Jim waits until then to interrogate him. 

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

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

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

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

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

Hopper squints. “What girl?”

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

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

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

“No… I don’t think it is…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hiya,” Eddie grins cheekily.

“I… I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t either, honestly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows pinch. “Why?”

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

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

“Wait!” you blurt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          this is stranger than i thought,

          six different ways inside my heart  . . .

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

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

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

“Morning!” you chirp like a songbird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair enough,” he huffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I told you I would.”

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

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

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

You don’t miss a beat. “He’s so shy!”

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

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

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

“It’s the Pointer Sisters,” you grin.

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In the knees?” you quip.

“Looks like it.”

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

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

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

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

“That was mean!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are bizarre. Did you know that?”

“I did, actually,” you giggle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everythin’ alright?”

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

He flinches when you gasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          i guess you’re just what i needed,

          i needed someone to bleed  . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just the biggest one, maybe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your touch is soft and warm and less than gentle.

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

You ramble an explanation while his skin buzzes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Abandoning me for a week is an emergency.”

You light up like a goddamn Christmas tree at that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Billy laughs. Loud. 

“Of Munson?” 

You nod quietly, straw caged between your teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that look for?” he cautions.

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

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

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

         only boys who save their pennies

         make my rainy day!

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

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

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

Benny ends up throwing in free fries for the effort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly!” Dustin huffs, flailing his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Billy Hargrove?” he monotones.

“Ha-ha.”

“Heather Holloway,” Robin tells him.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re such a boy,” Eddie scoffs.

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

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

“Yeah,” Robin answers with a disbelieving sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s working today. Billy said so.”

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

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

“She’s not my girlfriend, Mayfield.”

“That’s beside the point.”

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

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

“You’re already dead, Munson.”

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

          hey, you, with the pretty face,

         welcome to the human race!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you were around, he’d know it.

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

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

“Barbie?” Eddie finishes flatly.

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So!” you chirp. “Family trip?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barbie?” you echo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh… no.”

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

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

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

“Rude,” Eddie scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You told me to say it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which, of course, only makes her laugh harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t know which is worse.

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

         oh, what a strange magic!

         oh, it’s a strange magic!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but… I’m still sick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bet ya didn’t know that, did ya?”

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

“First, you gotta take off your clothes—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll bring him back to life yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not for this!” he yells back. 

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

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

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

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

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

You squint. “Is it working?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe on our second date.”

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

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

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

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

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

“…How do you know about that?”

“Dustin told me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie swallows hard and debates on spilling his guts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t stand it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

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

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

Eddie’s smiling too wide to respond appropriately.

“Why are you laughing?” you frown.

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

“You are—”

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

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

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

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

“What?” he chuckles. “Kiss?”

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

Eddie nods quickly back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[omniuravity]

Hazbin Hotel Characters During Rut/Mating Season

Okay, I love rut/mating season fics so much that I made headcanons. These are mostly based on actual animal biology, so I tried my best.

Tags: @bloodypeachblog, @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered, @pinkhimecat, @je-suis-eternel-jennie

TW: Sex (obviously), animalistic behavior, way too much research, creature cocks (kind of), mention of pregnancy, Alastor having sex despite him being asexual, Valentino is his own warning

Husk:

Husk does his best to keep his urges under control, especially in public. If Alastor caught wind of it, he would be tormented to hell and back. However, he does tend to be a bit more grumpy in public to hide it.

He tends to drink a bit more during this period just to help fight these urges and to keep them hidden from others.

He is also extremely protective, especially around Alastor. Other men don't bother him as much, but he absolutely despises Al getting even close to you when you are HIS mate after all.

To combat this, Husk makes sure to mark you with his scent every chance he gets. Even if he doesn't want Al to know he's feeling this way, he wants Alastor to know that you are his.

He is also a bit more adventurous in bed than normal. Typically, he prefers to keep things pretty vanilla, but due to his urges he does become a bit more possessive.

"What? Just want to try somethin' new. Maybe, make a few kittens while we're at it."

Sir Pentious:

Pentious can't hide most things well, let alone his need to mate with you. When he's not in his room, he is spending all hours of the day near you or talking about you. Though, other residents of the hotel find that pretty normal.

He also likes cuddling with you a lot during the early days of his mating season. Occasionally, letting his tongue flick against your cheek like a little kiss.

Though typically only female cobras build nests for their eggs (even if he can't impregnate you with his eggs like that), he will try and make one for you as a gesture of his love.

As for the sex aspect, you will definitely need to help him out. He does have two dicks, but he does not know how to use them.

He is a very sweet partner during his mating season, making sure you're comfortable every step of the way, even if he's a bit unsure of what to do.

"I've never had a mate thisss time of year before, but would you consssider making a nessst with me?"

Valentino:

Anyone who is "lucky" enough to be Val's partner during this time of year is in for a wild ride. Though his mating cycle is much shorter, he is much more intense than any other man you will ever be with.

Val is constantly making sure you smell like him both in and out of the tower. He wants everybody to know who you belong to. His aphrodisiac is so much stronger during this period as well.

He is also super overprotective. If another man so much as glances at you, Val will "have him fired". Which is code for, "I'm gonna fucking shoot him, so he doesn't look at my mate's face again."

Val's emotions are at an all time high during mating season, "for his future larvae" he says, but it's really an excuse to be more of an asshole to everyone except for his precious mate.

Val just adores seeing you filled with his cum. Even when it's spilling out of you he'll just finger it back in. Couldn't have you losing a single drop of his precious seed.

"Don't worry, chiquita, Daddy's home. Now I hope you're ready for me, because it's going to be a long night for the both of us."

Alastor:

Alastor's rut is practically unbearable, especially without a partner. However, this year, he has you by his side.

Alastor isn't really one for spoiling his partners, but he wants to make you feel happy and loved during this time. He'll buy you new clothes (after ripping off the ones you had), food, and cute little trinkets to remind you of him.

He is very aggressive around men. Lucifer, especially, though any man that crosses your path and so much as looks in your direction can set him off.

Alastor also doesn't normally entertain his sexual impulses. Of course, he'd do it for you, but typically, the most you'll get are a round or two if he feels like it. During his rut, he just let's himself go and fucks you until neither of you can move anymore.

He enjoys a little game of cat and mouse before having sex with you. It makes him feel powerful and feeds into his animalistic instincts.

"This has been an entertaining game, my dear, but you can't hide forever. You know I'll find you, one way or another. And when I do...well, I believe it'll leave you...breathless."

Lucifer:

Lucifer's ruts have been unbearable lately. It has been seven years since he's had a partner to indulge in them with, but now he has you.

Lucifer is all for spoiling his mate. Mainly shiny things or anything that catches your eye. He likes decorating your shared bedroom with the things he finds for you.

He isn't nearly as aggressive as Alastor during his rut. However, he is very protective of you. He barely lets you do anything on your own out of the risk of you hurting yourself.

He's the type of guy to start coming up with baby names as soon as his rut starts, just in case.

Normally, Lucifer is very mindful during sex knowing every spot that makes you feel good. During his rut, he loses his control and makes sure to find those spots every single time while marking your body as his. He, of course, apologizes profusely after.

"I'm sorry, birdie. I just can't control myself when I'm around you, especially this time of year. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you later."

[mydarlingclaudia]

no shirt, no blouse

note : I've only ever written for Leon like, once in my life and no matter how many times I tried to fix it tumblr kept my blog and what I uploaded hidden, this is my third time trying this again so I'm not gonna be too surprised if the same thing happens. I'm sorry if Leon is ooc, this is just a Leon comfort fic

wc : 2k

desc : you taking care of Leon when he comes home from a mission. established relationship, fluff, comfort, Leon being kinda head over heels for you, mentions of injuries, re4r Leon (but not specifically his mission in Spain), pet names (baby), gn!reader, not proofread.

To you, Leon was always sweet.

In the quiet evenings when he'd come home from a mission, that's when his shell would break and he'd let himself rest. When he'd crawl under the covers with you and hold you close to his chest while he laid on his cold side of the bed that the two of you shared, that was when he knew he was officially home. Hearing you talk about how badly you had missed him and how happy you are to have him back as the tips of your fingers lightly run over any cuts on his face was like a dream to him.

His shirts would always smell a little bit like you whenever he came home, so would his pillow, he’d never admit to you that he loved it. By the time that you’d fall asleep, after the two of you ate and you washed his hair for him in the bath, he’d still be awake, despite the late hour. He’d sit and watch your chest rise and fall as you slept, his hands resting on your sides underneath the sweatshirt you slept in, the one you had stolen from him.

He had missed you, you knew that much. He knows that there’s always a possibility that he won’t be able to come home to you, or something that would keep him away from you for much longer than either of you hoped. But no matter how long it took for him to get back to you, or the amount of damage his body had taken while working, you’d always greet him with a smile. You push away all your questions and worries for the next day, content on just having him back in your arms, feeling his heart beat underneath your palm while he holds onto you tightly.

You would never be able to read Leon's mind, you thought it would be difficult to do even if you possessed that kind of power, but when his face softens as he looks at you while you help him wash away his aches and pains, you have a good idea of what's going through his head.

This time is no different.

You're sitting on the edge of your bathtub, combing your fingers through Leon's wet hair while he sits in the warm water. He hadn't said much since he walked through the door, just a simple, "Missed you, love you." You never pushed him to talk too much when he gets home, you just want him to tell you if he's hurt badly, which he hardly ever is.

There are bruises splattered across his body, all in different shades of purple and yellow. There were a few gashes that had been stitched up before he came home to you, thankfully no broken bones, just a few more cuts along his face and arms, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. You knew that the government would do a checkup on him after he finishes a mission, but you liked to look him over again in the odd chance that they missed anything or if he was trying to hide a wound from you.

He still hadn't eaten yet, but you wouldn't let it stay that way for long, you'd let him lay down in bed while you put some food together for the two of you. But he likes to sit in the tub for at least thirty minutes before he either decides he's hungry or the water's starting to cool down, you'd stay with him however long he wanted, though.

Leon shifted slightly in the tub, moving closer to you than he already was to rest his head against your thigh, the water from his hair seeping through your jeans while the soap clung to the fabric. He brought his arm up to rest over your knees, letting more water soak through your jeans while some of it ran down his fingers and onto the bathmat outside the tub. You smiled down at him, one of your hands leaving his hair to run down over the back of his neck and his shoulder blades.

You let your fingers trace over a bruise the size of your fist on the back of his shoulder, pressing against it gently. "How'd you get this one?" You whispered to him, watching as he rolled his shoulder slightly in response to your touch.

"I fell," He murmured against your thigh.

"You fell?" You giggled, letting your hand leave his shoulder and return to his hair while your gaze lingered on a few gashes on his back that had already been stitched up.

"It was raining and I slipped, sorry that I don't have a cool story to tell you." He huffed, nuzzling his face into the side of your thigh as he moved his arm back into the tub and instead let his hand rest on your knee, giving it a light squeeze.

"Do any of them have cool stories?"

"If you think me getting my ass kicked is cool, then yeah, I guess some of them do." You chuckled slightly in response, pulling your hands out of his hair to rinse the remaining shampoo off in the bath water.

"I'll ice your bruises for you later," You offered, bringing the cup you kept in the tub down to the water to fill it. "Tip your head back."

"Too cold," He mumbled softly, detaching himself from your leg and tipping his head back while you moved one hand to cover his eyes as you poured the water over his soapy hair.

"Yeah? You'd rather just let them heal for the next four days instead of three?"

"I can ice them whenever, it's no big deal."

"I get that, I'm just trying to take care of you." You say softly, removing your hand from his eyes and setting the cup of water back on the edge of the tub.

"I know, baby, I know." He quickly reassures you, laying his head back down on your thigh and pressing a kiss to your clothed leg. "It just doesn't need to get done tonight. Thank you, though."

"Yeah, of course." You nod, resting your hand on the back of his neck, letting your thumb trace over the skin that lays there.

"C'mon, let's go lay down." He pressed a few more kisses to the fabric of your wet jeans before he allowed you to stand, grabbing him a towel and holding it out to him as he got out of the tub. Leon dried himself off carefully, his body facing you as you leaned against the bathroom sink, watching him quietly.

Leon moves out of your way as you go to pull out the drain plug at the bottom of the tub, "What do you wanna eat?" You groan out softly as you stand back up, placing the bath plug down next to the cup on the edge of the tub. "If you want, I can make those little kraft mac'n'cheese microwave packages for us."

"Yes, please." He sighs softly as he wraps his towel around his waist, then grabbing you by the shoulders to place a soft kiss on your lips. "Don't take too long."

"I won't," You smile, leaning forward to kiss him gently. The kiss is only a second long, Leon chases after your lips as you pull away before he catches himself and freezes, you give his bicep a slight squeeze as you pull away and open the bathroom door.

You listen to the faint shuffling noises of Leon getting dressed in your bedroom down the hall as you microwave the small, plastic bowls of mac'n'cheese. Leon never asked you to put too much effort into cooking whenever he came home. Cereal, ramen, even just some slices of cheese and pepperoni would be fine for Leon as long as he'd be next to you in bed by the end of the night.

Leon was waiting for you underneath the covers of your shared bed as you entered your bedroom with your small dinner in each hand. He graciously accepts the food you hand to him, resting the hot bowl down on the blanket, watching you intently as you begin to change into your pajamas.

"I missed you," He mumbled to you, his eyes resting on your face as you adjusted your clothes.

"I know, you told me already." You smiled at him, sitting against the pillows on your side of the bed as Leon immediately moved to cuddle into your side.

"Thought you'd like to hear me say it again."

"I mean, I guess," You shrug jokingly, poking at your mac'n'cheese with your fork. Leon snorted slightly and rolled his eyes, leaning against you to press a kiss to your jaw before he began digging at his food.

Leon always watched you while the two of you ate in bed, focusing on the way your lips curled around your fork instead of focusing on the bowl in his hands. His eyes would trail from your lips to your eyes, patiently waiting for you to finish eating so you could pay attention to him again. There wasn’t a tv in your room, so you’d often fill the quiet void by telling him about your day or the things that you had done while he was away. He’d listen intently, even if what you were saying wasn’t all that interesting, he didn’t ask follow-up questions most of the time, instead focusing on the way your lips moved and the sound of your voice. Your days were mostly all the same; work was boring, you missed him, you went on a longer walk than usual and got a new treat from that bakery down the street, Leon loved hearing it all. He’d tell you a little a bit about his recent mission, leaving out most of the parts where he came too close to death, instead telling you about whatever scenery he saw that he deemed good enough for you to like and how well he fought.

Both yours and Leon’s bowls of mac’n’cheese are long finished by now, both of the bowls and forks left to rest on top of your bedside table until you threw them out the next day. You rested your head on his left bicep, tucked in close to his chest while you held his right hand in both your hands, your fingers running over his bruised knuckles. It was eleven, maybe eleven-thirty at night, you were well past tired, but Leon let you keep rambling on.

“I’m really happy you’re home.” You yawned, your grip on his hand and wrist tightening as you curled into him further.

“Me too,” He smiled, pulling your hands closer to his chest, he squeezed your hand back, shifting slightly to let you get more comfortable. “Go to sleep.”

“No,” Leon chuckled softly at the faint whine in your voice, watching as you let go of his hand and wrap them around his back, his hand that you were holding captive finding purchase on the skin of your waist underneath his old sweatshirt that you took as your own.

“I’m gonna be here in the morning,” He whispered as he kissed your forehead, running his hand up and down your side. “Just go to bed, baby. Don’t you need your beauty sleep?”

“Yeah, but I missed you.”

“I know that, I missed you, too. But you also look really tired right now and it’s late.” He squeezed your waist, moving his arm out from underneath your head to wrap around your shoulders. “I could listen to you talk on and on for hours, but right now I wanna fall asleep next to you. We can sleep in tomorrow, I’ll spend all day with you.”

“M’kay…” You yawned again, letting his quiet voice coax you further into your drowsiness. “You’re not hurt too bad?”

“No, you’re a great doctor.”

“Alright,” You nodded, lifting your head slightly to kiss him. “Goodnight.” You murmured against his lips, feeling him smile and run his hand along your spine.

“Sweet dreams, go to sleep now.” He whispered, tucking you back into his chest, feeling your heart beat against his chest as your breathing evened-out, signaling you falling asleep in his arms again.

[jo-harrington]

Breadsticks (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie picks you up for a date that'll cheer you up. He promises.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Themes: Modern Timeline, Established Relationship, Food/Eating, Silliness, Fluff, Reader having a little bit of a bad day, Hurt/Comfort

Note: I don't normally do requests but if @hearsegrrl says she's feeling a little down and needs a little fic pick me up then I need to make her feel better OBVIOUSLY. Especially when she brings so much joy to the fandom with her art. So before you read this--and in fact, YOU MUST DO IT BEFORE YOU READ THIS--go ahead and say THANK YOU RACHEL! For everything she does.

(Hope you enjoy this baby. I know you're vegan...but I went hard with the cheese. Literally. <3)

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

When your relationship with Eddie went from friendship to the talking stages to the moment when he would actually become your boyfriend--

"Aren't we a little too old for that?"

"Call me boyfriend, partner, comrade, soulmate. Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just don't call me late for dinner."

--he made you a list of promises. As though he had to make a deal with you to convince you that he was the right fit for a relationship; as though you'd ever turn him away.

But one of the things on that list of promises was a promise to cheer you up when you were down, and although you insisted that sometimes that promise would be impossible to keep, he insisted that he could try.

"It's the least I could do when you let me see your boobs whenever I want," he joked, earning playful slaps and then a stupidly lovesick kiss.

Tonight, though, was the first opportunity for him to put his money where his mouth was.

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and you were tired. Too tired to entertain questions and conversations with all of your friends, and because of that, you canceled plans to go out with the group on Sunday. I'm just not feeling good. It was simple and everyone understood, told you to feel better; Eddie, though, was immediately texting to see if you needed anything.

Soup, ginger ale, aspirin, a tummy rub; whatever you wanted it was yours. He could be at your place in an hour.

You smiled fondly and stared at the message for a second, then at the blinking cursor in the text box; normally there would be a sense of dread at the barrage of questions that would come if you tried to explain that you weren't that kind of not feeling good.

But Eddie had always been good at not pushing the boundaries.

You typed your reply and he was lightning fast with his own response.

How about dinner? Just the two of us. I know the perfect place.

And wasn't that the damned truth? Eddie always knew the perfect place. Perfect places for dates, parks for picnics, places to park his van and fool around.

How could you say no to him?

Perfect boyfriend was perfect. Fucker.

An hour later he was pulling up outside your building and holding the passenger's side door open for you as you emerged from your pit.

"I'd have gotten you flowers to cheer you up," he started his greeting. "But I know you hate grocery store flowers, so..."

"Yeah I would have turned and gone right back inside, but the thought is appreciated," you sassed.

"I'll just have to get you a bouquet of something else next time you need cheering up." He pressed a kiss to your temple and then gestured for you to hop inside.

There was music playing--conspicuously an artist you liked that he typically shit on you for, and not one of his ultra-specific, niche metal bands--and slurpees in the cup holders--his coke and cherry, yours grape--and the A/C was churning the perfect temperature in the cab.

"You sure you're not just trying to get lucky tonight?" you asked as he got back into the driver's seat to head to dinner. "Because I'm tallying some serious boyfriend points here."

He scoffed and pressed a hand to his chest in mock affront.

"Moi? Looking for sex? Don't be ridiculous; my virtue is intact." He batted his eyelashes coquettishly and then shifted the gear to drive when you snorted a laugh. "No, tonight is all about making you feel better."

"I don't really want to talk about what happened though," you blurted out, brain shifting to defense mode automatically. You closed your eyes and sighed. "Sorry...it was just..."

"Nope! Don't worry!" Eddie cut you off. "I don't need to know unless you wanna tell me. You make the rules here. I'm just the trusty chauffeur tonight. And court jester. And bankroll for all your culinary desires."

You melted into the seat and stared at his profile for a second, illuminated by streetlights. He'd already made you feel better in the last 10 minutes than you had all week.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and then said, "I promise, you're gonna love this place."

"Oh yeah?"

"A Munson family tradition for special occasions. Birthdays. What haves you. Wayne is gonna be jealous we're going without him."

---

It was Olive Garden.

Your perfect idiot boyfriend took you to Olive Garden.

"Not just Olive Garden," Eddie held his hands out defensively at your questioning stare. "Never Ending Pasta Bowl at Olive Garden. The premiere event of the year. I would've worn a suit...but I figured that it would be rude of me to expect you to dress up when you said you weren't feeling great. So..."

He trailed off and his jovial expression fell, and you felt bad as his body language changed from silly to nervous.

It wasn't that you didn't like Olive Garden; it was just unexpected.

Actually, it was one of your favorite stupid places to eat right along with a shopping mall food court and, believe it or not, Chuck E. Cheese. A mid-tier chain restaurant with endless breadsticks? It was heaven. In fact, you're pretty sure that early on in your friendship with Eddie, you went on a weed-induced rant about the pillowy-softness and garlicky goodness that was an Olive Garden breadstick.

Had he remembered that? Squirreled that information away for all this time?

No...it couldn't be...

"So can I order mozzarella sticks too?" you asked tentatively. "Or in true spirit of the Never-ending Pasta Bowl, am I only limited to infinite rigatoni?"

Eddie's nerves melted and his smile bloomed once again.

You liked it when he smiled; it was infectious. You could feel the corners of your lips quirking too, until you were grinning right back at him.

"I think it's called fried mozzarella, actually," he said and wrapped an arm around your waist so he could lead you in. "You can have anything your heart desires tonight."

He wasn't kidding.

Mozzarella sticks, and soup and salad and breadsticks, and an italian margarita.

And then all the pasta you could ever dream of.

Eddie was ultra attentive; overly attentive, even. But he still kept his signature Munson charm and tomfoolery.

He asked the server for parm because he knew you would get self-conscious about the unholy volumes of cheese you'd desire on your food.

He made you laugh with a 10-minute hypothesis about the process of never-ending fettuccini and how there must be a barrel sized spool with one singular fettucino that they unraveled and cut into appropriate portions upon order.

He always made sure to ask for more breadsticks and insisted that you got first pick from the fresh basket.

He did a magic trick with balled up paper napkins that were shoved into his ears and then spat out from his mouth. (One was also extracted from his nose causing the child at a nearby table to start clapping).

And finally, when all was said and done and it was time to pay, you were forced to cover your face bashfully as he extracted not one, not two, but three pictures of you from his wallet before he found his card.

"What?" he asked, lovingly tucking the polaroids and photo booth film strips back into the worn leather bi-fold. "How else am I supposed to spontaneously construct an altar to worship you if I don't have your picture handy."

It healed your soul. One joke and mouthful of carby, tomatoey goodness at a time. It was silly and it was everything you needed in the moment to make the hell that was your week better.

He even got you to talk about everything that made you upset. It just started spewing out your mouth as you aggressively skewered fusilli onto your fork. He gave you all the time and space you needed to say "damn this" and "fuck that" about all the little things that built up to one big, obnoxiously shitty week until you felt the weight lift off your shoulders.

Usually when you got into your moods, it would've been impossible.

But did you expect him to do anything less than impossible?

Towards the end of your visit, Eddie popped to the bathroom, and while he was gone your server stopped by to see if there was anything else you needed.

"Any to-go containers or mints or maybe some more breadsticks?"

"Don't worry," Eddie's voice echoed through the dining room. "I've already got that covered."

You turned in your seat and you weren't sure what you expected, but what you found certainly wasn't it.

Eddie stood there, proudly presenting a bouquet of breadsticks, each one skewered with an uncooked spaghetti noodle and bound prettily with a bow made out of a plastic bag.

He closed the distance and dropped to one knee and then presented it to you with a wink, "I told you I'd have to find some other kind of bouquet to get you besides flowers."

There was some back and forth about Jeff's assistant manager buddy and where you'd fit this in your fridge, before you leant over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," you whispered and nuzzled your nose against his skin.

"You feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah," you nodded. "It was the best date I've ever had."

And it would be.

Until the next one.

[dinogoofymutated]

I absolutely adore how you write Kurt,

Could you write something for Kurt being concerned for an overworked reader?

And or a reader that struggles with sleep?

SFW!Nightcrawler/GN! Reader The amount of comfort that this man gives me UGH! He's just so caring and sweet, but I worry about him :( He's been the therapist friend in basically every episode in 97' and he deserves some comfort too so I added basically the reverse version of these headcannons at the end as well! Sorry I didn't end up writing anything for sleep, I've written a fic with some sleep struggle themes here but I might end up writing some seperate headcannons for that later! TWs: Themes of burnout/exhaustion. Mentions of the Genosha attack and Remy's death/funeral, religious themes. As always, reader written while picturing Fem! But no pronouns mentioned. I'm doing my best with adding German dialect while Kurt speaks but I'm not super knowledgeable, so let me know if there's something I need to change!

Kurt makes it his absolute mission to make sure you're always taken care of. Food, emotional support, laundry, dishes, Hell, he'd give you the sun and stars if you needed them. He just cares about you so much, and he never wants you to feel like you're alone in this world.

This being said, when he feels that you're overworking yourself, he's not afraid to let you know.

When he first starts to notice it, He'll check in on you more often. He'll pull you into a hug and give you kisses and he'll only leave when you reassure him that you're perfectly fine.

If you're still overworking yourself after this, he will outright tell you that he loves you, but you need a break. You can't go on like this and he's concerned about you. He doesn't purposely give you the sad puppy eyes, but seriously, how could you think about saying no to that face?

He really likes to brush his hands through your hair when he's trying to help you relax. He'll move your head into his lap on the couch and hum you softly to sleep. He might take you to bed, but he won't wake you up unless he absolutely has to. He won't go as far as to turn off your alarms, but he just wants you to rest.

However, if you know you're overworking yourself but still refuse to let yourself stop, or take a break, he's going to be a little more "aggressive".

    Your computer screen is giving you a migraine, you feel like you want to tear your brain out of your head, and plainly? You just can’t sit still. You had been in this spot for about six hours straight. The last time you actually got up was to eat dinner, and even then you had only relaxed for what, thirty minutes? You can’t really remember.

    You sigh deeply, leaning back in your chair as you massage your temples. Working for the budding country of Genosha was certainly not for the weak. You needed to have this paperwork finished and faxed before the end of the week so that talks of Genosha entering the U.N. could continue. It was such a hefty amount, but it was necessary. Everyone else had done their part, and all you had to do was make corrections, edit, and make sure everything was in top shape. You’d been working on it for about three days straight, and with the finish line in sight, you didn’t want to stop now. 

    Oh, but your head hurts so bad, and you feel like you're starving. You look from your computer to your copy machine and the huge stack of mostly finished paperwork on your desk. You just want it to be over with, you decide it’s best if you just push through.

    “You haven’t moved from that spot since lunch,” You hear Kurt state. He comes around the side of your chair to brush some stray locks away from your forehead, and you do your best to give him a smile, although it’s obvious the expression is pained.

    “I didn’t hear you come in.” Your voice comes out a little gravelly from being silent most of the day. Kurt’s hands begin to gather your hair and caress the back of your neck lovingly. His hands feel good, grounding. You close your eyes to appreciate the feeling and miss the sight of Kurt’s frown.

    “Let’s get you to bed, Liebchen. I can tell your head hurts.” Kurt’s tone is gentle, although displeased, and it makes you feel guilty when you shake your head and pull away, leaning forward as you restack the paperwork on your desk.

    “I can’t. I’m almost done with this whole U.N. thing and the sooner it’s over, the better.” You mumble stubbornly. Kurt shakes his head at you, pulling your rolling chair away from the desk before you can get your hands on something else. You don’t even have the energy to express your shock as Kurt takes the papers out of your hands, using the table to straighten them before placing them in their proper place. He tuts at you as he does so, and continues to save your files and power down the computer despite your protests.

    “My apologies, love, but I won’t let you rot in this room for another moment. I understand how important this work is to you. Giving Genosia a voice that the world can hear is a very noble cause, and yet it is still a cause that can wait till tomorrow, Ja?” You open your mouth to attempt to protest again, but your head hurts so bad, and you are so tired. Kurt takes your hands to help you out of your chair, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls you into a gentle hug.

    “Okay. But-” You don’t finish your sentence before Kurt is tucking your face into his shoulder, sparing you the view as he Bamfs you away. When he lets you go, you’re standing in your bedroom. You’re thankful that he spared you the sights, knowing that it would have just made your head worse- but it didn’t change the fact that you hadn’t been remotely done in the office.

    “-I still need to lock up, Kurt.” You start to say, but he’s gone in a puff of smoke before you can even finish the sentence. When he makes it back a few minutes later, Kurt sends you a cheeky smile, lifting his tail to show you the keys he must’ve snagged from your pocket earlier. 

    “Did you-”

    “Lock the file cabinet? Yes. And I turned off your lamp, and closed the curtains before I locked the door.” Kurt kisses your temple as he sits you down on the bed, beginning to take your shoes off. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you taken care of.” You feel like your heart might explode with the overwhelming fondness you’re feeling right now. When he’s done with your shoes, he carefully helps you undress and change into pajamas, something he knows you struggled with when you were as exhausted as you are now. He makes sure to tuck you into bed before he himself goes to change. It doesn’t matter how much pain you felt at this point, when he crawled into bed you couldn’t stop yourself from curling up close to him, pressing tired kisses to whatever part of him you could reach. Kurt simply chuckles, pulling you into an embrace as he whispers sweet encouragements for you to sleep.

    “Kurt?”

    “Yes, Meine Liebe?”

    “ ‘Think you could Marry me?”

Now just because Kurt will do everything in his power to keep you from reaching the point of burnout, doesn't mean that he himself will stop from reaching that point.

Kurt is a genuinely good person, right to the core. He likes helping people, he likes to care for others, but he doesn't always ask for help when he needs it. It's not that he doesn't have emotional intelligence for his own feelings, he just tends to soothe himself by assisting others. Even then, to an extent, that's not healthy coping. There is only so much someone can carry alone.

After the attack on Genosha, there was a lot of work that had to be done- and Kurt, being a familiar and dependable face in the many religious communities, was needed constantly in a tumultuous time when many turned to religion.

It's been a struggle for the two of you, much of your time together being cut short in one way or another, and the longer you spent away, the more worried you became.

It all came to a head after Remy's funeral.

    Remy’s funeral was… Rough. To say the least. No one was coping very well, especially not Jubilee. You had walked out to the cars with the group after the last of the dirt had been laid, making sure to give her a tight hug. The X-men were the only real family she had ever had, and now she had lost a brother. You had let her sob for a moment, listening to her cries and the sounds of doors, opening and closing. 

    When everyone had loaded up and was ready to head out, you noticed that Kurt wasn’t there. You told everyone that you would catch up. You had a feeling you knew where he would be.

    You find Kurt in an empty church. He’d shed his outermost robes at some point, and was sitting silently on a pew. His eyes are closed and his hands folded, praying. You don’t disturb him as you sit down, simply reaching a hand out and placing it on his knee, squeezing it to let him know you were there. When he finishes, he places his hand over your own, opening his eyes as he looks down. His tears are flowing freely, and he leans into your touch when you wipe them from his cheeks.

    “I’ve been told that there is strength in a man that freely mourns, but… It’s silly. I can’t help but wish that I was stronger.” Kurt’s almost whispering as he speaks. You feel a lump form in your throat, your stinging eyes welling with tears for the countless time today. It hurts so unbelievably to see someone you love hurting so much, knowing that there is so little that you can do to make the pain go away, even if the loss is shared.

    “It’s not silly. I think that a lot of people feel the same- especially right now.” You say. You take hold of his left hand, tracing the cool metal band on his finger. You compare it to the one you wear, and find yourself thankful that the hand that bears his is still warm. You think of Rogue and Remy. The life they could’ve had together, if only they had been given more time. 

    You lean your head on Kurt’s shoulder, and he rests his head on top of your own. 

    “You don’t have to carry it alone.” You whisper eventually. Kurt says nothing, lacing his fingers between yours. “I know we haven't had a lot of time together lately, but as long as I’ve known you, you’ve carried so much on your shoulders- but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I’m here for, remember?” Kurt laughs lightly at your words, squeezing your left hand before lifting it to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

    “You are a gift that I’m not entirely sure I deserve, my love,” Kurt says. You scoff at him, frowning now as you look up to meet his eyes.

    “Lying is a sin, Kurt.” You say playfully. His smile is blinding, and you gasp as Kurt Wagner of all people rolls his eyes at you. 

    “Even if it was a lie, which it isn’t, as long as I have you near, Schatz, Heaven will be in reach.”

[giannaln4]

Away For Valentine's

lando norris x fem reader

summary: McLaren had the fantastic idea to launch their car on Valentine's day, and as much as you reassured Lando he didn't have to worry about it, he still wanted to make it up to you (1k words)

warnings: none, just fluff

a/n: heyy everyone! so this is the very first fic i'm posting so please let me know what you think! i'm honestly pretty excited to get started with this blog so hopefully you guys like what i write. anyway please send some ideas my way!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

Valentine’s Day was off the table this year, and so was everything you had planned for you and your boyfriend.

You were disappointed when he shared the news with you, but you couldn’t be mad at him, not when it wasn’t his fault.

He saw the disappointment in your face, and how much you were trying to hide it by just smiling and nodding, your head finding a spot on his shoulder to avoid eye contact. He appreciated you understanding the situation, like you always did, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty.

“I know we had plans-”

“Lan, don’t worry about it” You took a deep breath before looking at him again, trying to get rid of the sadness in your face “I mean it, we can do that some other time”

He was about to say something but a quick kiss on the lips stopped him. You proceeded to look at him, offering him a small smile and a glance that he knew meant ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’, so just nodded as he smiled back.

A few weeks go by and his winter break was coming to an end, meaning soon he’d have to leave the comfort of your shared home and go get started with his preseason duties. That’s something you were used to, having to see him leave for long periods of times but it barely ever affected your relationship. He always made sure he made enough time for you, even when the time difference was huge and he was feeling tired most of the time, he needed to make time for you. Your love for each other was so strong that, at the end of the day, you were just relieved you still had each other even if all you had was a five minute call every day.

But still, sometimes it was hard to see him go, and this time was one of those times.

The night you knew would be your last one with him before he left he decided to take you out on a date. Fancy clothes and an even fancier restaurant were your plans for the evening, and you knew he was trying to make up for Valentine's Day. It wasn’t the same, of course it wasn’t, but you still enjoyed every second of it.

The food, the small talk, the jokes, the stupid stories, the shy glances, the small touches, everything was perfect, almost making you forget he was getting on a plane in a matter of hours, but your smile slowly faded as soon as you remembered.

The ride back home was quieter than he would’ve liked, but he knew exactly what was going through your mind, and honestly he couldn’t blame you cause his mind was flooded with the same thoughts.

As soon as you got home he ran around the car and opened the door for you, offering his hand and kissing yours as soon as he took it. You smiled softly at him and you made your way to the door. Once you were inside, you dropped his hand to take off your shoes and tossed them somewhere close to the door, sighing in relief as you started walking towards your room.

“Mhm, come back here” He whispered as he grabbed your hand and pulled you back into him

“There you are” Lando smiled softly at you as his lips found yours. After a moment he broke the kiss, and both of his hands found a better spot on your waist as he started to move along the off-tune song he started to hum. You couldn’t contain your smile, quickly trying to keep up with him. You moved together in a slow dance, it was like your bodies were in perfect harmony. 

Lando was looking down at you in pure admiration, almost as if he was trying to memorize every centimeter of your face so he wouldn't forget it while he was away, but you didn’t dare to look up, scared you would make eye contact with Lando and you wouldn’t be able to take it, so you safe option was to rest your head on his chest and pray you didn’t mess up. Although it wouldn’t matter if you did, you were just in the comfort of your living room anyway. But you didn’t wanna mess up.

He eventually stopped humming, hoping the silence would encourage you to look at him, but when you didn’t he moved one of his hands to cup your check, making you look at him. For a moment your eyes lock, making the silence feel very loud and Lando couldn’t help but smile at you, and you immediately blushed, but tried to play it off. 

“You’re a terrible dancer” He laughed and you narrowed your eyes playfully and softly hit his shoulder.

“You’re one to talk” You joked, locking your fingers behind his neck and giggling when Lando scoffed.

“Maybe we should go out to dance and I could show you all of my moves” He started to move again, bringing you closer to him.

“I thought you didn’t like slow dancing”

“I do if I get to hold you this close to me” He replied, once again finding your lips.

This time the kiss was longer, both of them savoring each other’s lips while they still had the chance “I’m sorry about Valentine’s” He whispered once he pulled away, your forehead resting on his.

You giggled at this. You had assured him a million times he didn’t have to worry about that, and he still apologized every time he remembered “You need to stop apologizing”

“But I am sorry”

“I know, but it’s not your fault” You hand fell on his hair, slowly stroking his soft curls “And I had a great time tonight, so I’d say love is not dead”

He laughed at his, dimples appearing as his eyes vanish for a moment “I still wanna make it up to you”

“You will” You replied as your head fell back on his chest “But for now I just wanna enjoy this” You closed your eyes and inhaled his scent, and after a moment of complete silence you can feel him start moving again, his soft hums interrupting the peace his heartbeat was giving you.

[pomefioredove]

Hi! This is very very specific, but…I've had a rough start to my day today, kinda relating to the topic of my request…

So I was wondering, would it be alright to request HCs of Jamil, Ruggie, Leona, Floyd and Rollo with a Reader who runs into an emotionally abusive/manipulative parent they haven't seen in a long time? The kind of subtle abuse that's hard to tell (from the inside, at least) is even abuse at all, and makes you doubt yourself a lot. Kinda narcissistic abuse

Kind of a hurt/comfort thing? Like how they'd deal with the bad parent and the Reader opening up a bit about it. Romantic or platonic, either one is good

Feel more than free to ignore if this kind of request isn't your thing: that's totally fine, I understand it's a bit heavy, not to mention very specific, so please do what makes you feel best. I hope you have a good day!

ahhh of course! I relate to this sort of thing a lot (although I don't use terms like narcissistic abuse since abuse is just abuse to me) and I know exactly what you mean. I love hurt/comfort and you're well within my boundaries since the only thing I wouldn't write pertaining to this topic is intimate partner abuse (like with an s/o). so you're perfectly fine! I enjoyed writing this <3

summary: comforting a reader with an abusive parent type of post: short fics characters: jamil, ruggie, leona, floyd, rollo additional info: reader is not specified to be yuu ("shrimpy" is used as a nickname during floyd's part tho), reader is gender neutral, food mention (ruggie's part), actual interaction w the parent happens during leona and rollo's parts, mentions/descriptions of emotional abuse, although reader is kinda vague about it

Jamil Viper

Jamil knows what it's like to feel stuck.

That's really all he has to know when he recognizes that look on your face.

Perhaps you usually wear your heart on your sleeves, or perhaps you're better at keeping your emotions to yourself, like him, but either way he can tell something is very wrong the second he sees you.

It's a bit strange, isn't it?

Surrounded by people in the cafeteria and yet no one seems to notice the shadow cast over you.

He tries to talk himself out of it for the rest of the day. He has enough on his plate as it is, and it's not his problem. He's Kalim's keeper, not yours.

But that sense of unease doesn't go away.

He drags himself out of bed and somehow finds himself at your door in the dead of night.

And even though it takes you a moment to answer, he can tell you were already awake.

"Here," he says, handing you a warm meal in a container. "I noticed you didn't eat today. We had leftovers."

You don't feel very much like eating, but you accept the gift, anyway. It smells amazing. His cooking always does.

"Thank you," you mumble.

You can't think of anything else to say.

"Are you... well, Kalim sent me to ask if you're feeling unwell," he lies through his teeth.

"I'm fine,"

Another lie, this time of your behalf, which annoys him ever-so-slightly.

"You're clearly not. Are you sick?" the question is vague enough, said in such a way that leaves you with the impression that he wasn't exactly referring to a physical illness.

"I've... had a rough day,"

Jamil is quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. And then: "Do you mind if I come in?"

He's always so careful with his words that such a direct (yet polite) request almost catches you off guard. You step to the side, letting him in your room.

"I don't mean to pry. I know it's not my place," he says, watching you close the door. "But... Kalim is worried. Yes."

You shake your head. "It's fine. I'll get over it,"

It.

What did "it" mean? Surely this couldn't just be a lousy day.

"Did something happen?"

You hesitate.

"Have you ever... ran into someone who made your life miserable? That you thought you moved on from... and it starts to feel like you're stuck in that place all over again?"

Of course. Of course he knows what that feels like.

He has to live through that exact experience every day, without even being able to move on.

But he can't just say that. And this is about you, after all.

"I'm familiar with the feeling. I suppose that's what's ruined your day, then?"

"That's one way to put it," you sigh, sitting at the edge of your bed. "Sometimes it feels like all the progress I've made is just... null. Like I'll never really move on."

He hates how much he's relating to you. How much you're affecting him, now, too.

He follows you to the bed and sits beside you.

"Someday, though, you will. It may feel hopeless now, but... you won't stay stuck forever,"

Unlike me, he thinks.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't be. But you don't strike me as someone to give up after hardship,"

Like me.

You're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what he told you. And then you hug him.

A nice, soft hug. Not abrasive or sudden like the ones Kalim gives. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Thank you, Jamil,"

He hugs back. "Of course,"

Ruggie Bucchi

It was almost painful, watching you fumble with your wallet like that.

You couldn't seem to get the proper amount out, shaking like a leaf and apologizing profusely. Sam keeps telling you it's okay, but the line forming behind you is starting to grow restless.

Ruggie included.

He has places to be, after all, and he's got two whole crates of energy drinks to lug back to Savanaclaw.

He has half a mind to ask what the holdup is.

And so, he peers over your shoulder, ready to- oh, no. You're crying.

Damn it. Why can't things ever be easy for him?

He can't even chew someone out for taking up all his precious time without being thrown a curveball. And now he feels bad.

Sigh.

"Hey, I got this," he says, setting his heavy crates down on the counter and flashing a card.

Your eyes widen. "Oh, no, Ruggie, you don't have to-"

"Relax, it's Leona's money, not mine," he offers a grin, ignoring the tears trailing down your face. "He won't even notice it's missing."

The line behind you two breathes a collective sigh of relief (much to your embarrassment) and Ruggie shoots them a glare.

"I... I still can't accept this-" you start, before he quickly shushes you.

"Hey, if you wanna make it up to me, you can help me carry these things. I'll call it even,"

You're silent for a moment as Sam finishes ringing you both up, and then you take a crate. As quiet as ever. It's unnerving.

You're walking back to the Hall of Mirrors when Ruggie breaks that silence by bringing up your purchase. "So, what's up with the afternoon snack? Not that I'm judging- I'm jealous. I skipped lunch, shishishi,"

"Oh, it's nothing," you mutter. "Comfort food, I guess."

The concept of comfort food is extremely appealing to him. "Huh. Long day?"

"Something like that... Why'd you skip lunch?"

Trying to change the conversation topic? Clever. But he'll bite, anyway.

"Leona forgot some of his class stuff, so I had 'ta run and get it. Too bad he forgot where he left it... I was all over campus,"

"Did you find it?"

"Eventually. Or else I'd be busy getting my neck wrung instead of 'bein here with you,"

You nod, and the conversation swiftly dies.

After another awkward beat, he clears his throat. "So you... you wanna talk about it, or something?"

"What?"

"You know, your... your day," he mutters, shrugging. He's desperately trying to remember all of the things his grandma did for him when he was upset as a child. "Talking about it might... make 'ya feel better, y'know?"

You're quiet again, and for a moment Ruggie is worried he said something to offend you.

Then, much to his relief, your voice picks up. "I ran into someone today,"

"What? Like someone was giving you trouble?"

"No, not a student. Someone I don't see very much anymore. Um... I guess it just threw me off,"

He tilts his head to the side. "Why?"

"I don't... well, we don't get along very much. Something about them just makes me feel... very... small. Insignificant,"

You don't ask if he understands what you mean, but he does. Not that he'd ever admit that so openly to you at a time like this, but being small and insignificant is basically his job.

And as much as he likes the perks, he can imagine how rough it would be to deal with that and not get to use a bottomless credit card whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He struggles to respond for a moment.

"That's rough,"

Definitely not the sympathetic response he was going for. At least you don't seem to mind.

"I-I mean, sometimes we have to act small to survive. It's a part of life, 'ya know? But that doesn't mean you are small. Just surviving on its own is an accomplishment," he recovers from his earlier blunder, trying to smile. "You should be proud of yourself, if anything."

"That's..." you say. "That's one way of looking at it."

He sighs. "I'm not expressing myself very well, am I? What I'm trying to say is that you're not small or insignificant, and living life feeling like you are is a survival tactic at best,"

The both of you stop in front of Savanaclaw, and he offers another grin.

"And if you ever wanna talk about this stuff... well, I'm around... And you can come inside now, if you want. I could definitely find more stuff to carry!"

Leona Kingscholar

Leona Kingscholar is very, very much enjoying parent weekend alone, thank you.

Of course his folks don't want to attend a school event for their disappointment of a second son. Why would they care? And on Cheka's birthday weekend, no less...

But that didn't bother him. Not at all.

As long as he slept through the weekend without being bothered by any happy-go-lucky nuclear family units, he'd live.

That plan lasts about five hours.

"You'd be better off doing something more useful with your time. Sports, or science, or... something that might help your future. But if you're so sure... I suppose it's better to cut our losses now than put any more faith in you. You just can never decide, can you?"

That voice. Unfamiliar, but drawling, laced with poison. Aggravating enough to stir Leona from his nap in the botanical gardens.

And it's getting closer.

"I just don't understand. Why get accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the world just to spend your time goofing off?" a long sigh. "But as long as you're happy... we just want what's best for you."

Leona grumbles, turning over and trying to drift back to sleep.

"I'm trying,"

This voice is different. No- he recognizes it. It's yours.

"Are you? You know I know what's best for you, right?"

Sevens. This is your parent speaking to you? No wonder you've been acting all jittery lately.

He sits up, giving up on his nap, and continues listening in.

"I know," you say. "I really am trying, though."

"Did I say you weren't? Don't speak for me,"

This is getting ugly. Leona stands, stepping out of the shrubbery and clearing his throat behind the two of you.

You're the first to turn. "Oh- Leona! Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you,"

"You're fine," he snaps, sharp eyes turning to your parent beside you. "Who's this, then?"

"This is-"

"Their parent," they go ahead and introduce themselves, cutting you off as if you weren't speaking at all. Like you're a piece of furniture hanging in the background. He's not a fan.

"Really? From the way you were talking, I would have guessed that you were their coach. Or boss,"

Your eyes dart between the two. "Leona-"

"You're fine," he reaffirms. "I was just looking for you, anyway. We really have to talk."

You pause, raising an eyebrow. He? Wants to talk to you? Now?

"Is it important?" your parent asks. The question is directed at you, although he answers.

"Very. I was just coming to ask you, very politely, I might add, to reconsider my offer,"

"Your... offer...?"

Your parent looks down at you. "What's he talking about?"

"Can't blame you for forgetting. I'm sure you're busy with all your... school... things. But I do have to ask you to rejoin the spelldrive club. We're in shambles without you,"

He gives you a certain look, one that clearly reads "Go along with it."

Leona Kingscholar offering an olive branch to someone is a rare occurrence. So you take it.

"Oh! Right, I have been busy with school. I've been meaning to get back to you..."

Your parent looks between the two of you with just the faintest hint of confusion, and then frustration. "You've been playing spelldrive? When was I going to hear about this?"

"They haven't been playing with us," Leona says, a small smirk already forming. "They're the team manager. They're way too smart to be out on the field- no, they're running the team, they're organizing everything, their strategy is like nothing we've ever seen. If only they were in Savanaclaw, we might have a chance at winning one of these years."

"Uhhh..." you start, looking between your parent and the oddly friendly and receptive clone that's replaced Leona. "...Yeah, right."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we really have to discuss official club matters," he says, shooing away your parent until they eventually give in and leave.

As soon as they're out the door, you turn to him. "What w-"

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Stunned would be an understatement. "I'm fine,"

"Really? Cause you're looking at me like a gazelle caught in headlights,"

"I-I guess it's just been hard... having them here,"

Leona nods, closing his eyes as he thinks to himself. Then, he sighs.

"Yeah. I get that. Come on, then,"

You raise an eyebrow as he starts off in the opposite direction. "What? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet and warm to nap. Being around that person sucked all the energy right out of me, I can't imagine how exhausted you feel,"

He turns to look over his shoulder with a smile. "With any luck, we'll avoid them for the rest of the weekend,"

Floyd Leech

Of course, he can tell something's up right away.

Well... maybe it takes him a little while to tune into the conversation, but once he does, he notices you've been... awfully quiet throughout it.

His favorite little shrimpy? All sad? Moping around like a kicked puppy?

Now this catches his attention.

"Bored?" he asks. It's his first guess.

"Hm?" you ask, looking back at him. "No, I'm fine."

"But you're not,"

"Okay, I'm a little distracted,"

Now that, he can understand. But there's still something very off about the whole thing that he can't quite put his finger on.

"You're not telling me something," he states, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

You raise an eyebrow. "...And?"

"And I wanna know. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me,"

Your thought process is probably ranging somewhere between "oh, no," and "oh NO," by now.

"I sweaaar, it's nothing," you insist. "I just had a bad day, okay?"

"Why?"

There's no turning back now. He's invested, and until he loses interest, you're stuck here.

"It was... just... long. Can I go now? I have things to do,"

He frowns, and stands, and then puts you in a headlock. "Alright, where're we 'goin?"

"FLOYD!"

He drags you along with him, remembering not to be too rough as he takes you from place to place on his dailies. You begrudgingly learn to accept it.

When you walk back into the Mostro Lounge, Azul and Jade don't even bat an eye.

"You're thirty minutes late- ah, why do I bother?" Azul says, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. He only looks up when he catches a glimpse of you. "Oh. Hello, there."

You wave half-heartedly. "Can I get some help?"

"Floyd. What is the meaning of this?" he asks.

Floyd pouts. "There's 'somethin wrong with them and they won't tell me what,"

"Are they ill?"

You lower your eyes at the two as they speak like you're not even there. "Hello?"

"Nah, they feel fine. They're all mopey, though,"

Azul hums to himself, lost in thought. And then: "Well, figure out what it is, and get to work, if you please,"

"Azul!" you shout. He ignores you.

Floyd drags you back outside the office and sits down with you at one of the tables, waving to concerned lounge-goers as they pass by.

"Now will you tell me?"

"Geez, alright, alright. I give up, you win," you sigh. "I... well, my parent was here earlier. At school. And we talked, and they... said some not-very-nice things to me. That's why I've been upset, okay?"

Floyd's smile immediately drops. "I win? But that's not a very good prize,"

"Tell me about it,"

"Why would anyone be mean to you, anyway? You're the best shrimpy I know!"

You avert your eyes. "It wasn't... mean... per se. Just... not nice,"

"Sounds mean to me," he mutters. "I don't get it."

"Well, sometimes these things just... don't make sense. It's my fault, anyway," you sigh.

His gaze sharpens at that. "'An who told you that? You didn't do anything! I'm starting to really dislike this parent of yours,"

His sudden mood swing doesn't phase you, but it does lift your spirits... just the tiniest bit. Even if you wouldn't admit that to yourself. "Hey, it's fine. I'm over it,"

"You sure you don't want me to squeeze 'em?"

"Heh. No, that's okay. I would like you to let me go, though,"

His eyes widen at the sudden realization he still has you in a headlock and he quickly releases you.

You sit up, stretching and rubbing the back of your neck. "Thanks,"

"My arm was starting to hurt, anyway..." he thinks for a moment, looking back to the office door. "Ya think I can use that to get out of working? I wanna spend more quality time with my favorite shrimpy. You could use it!"

You look to the door and shrug. "Hey, worth a try, right?"

Rollo Flamme

Out of all the things to ruin the day, of course it had to be your parent.

The disappointment between the two of you was palpable. And even though it was only a brief encounter, it was enough to sour the rest of the afternoon for the both of you.

The first thing Rollo noticed, of course, was the manner in which they carried themselves. As an authoritative, important figure, puffing out their chest and towering over you. What gave them the right...?

They were not a leader, nor a public figure, nor anyone of interest, if your earlier mentions of them gave him any idea. Nothing but an adult who spoke to the both of you as if you were tiny children.

He loathed being talked down to.

Perhaps he should have said something sooner than he did, and perhaps he should have said something more than the interruption he used to excuse you from the conversation.

And now you're just quiet.

"Are you well?" he asks, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

You shrug.

"I apologize for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I did not want to be rude,"

No response at all.

Your silence was driving him mad. He couldn't get a good read on what you were feeling when you kept looking away like that.

"If you'd like to return home early, I would understand and escort you promptly,"

"No,"

A response. Not a good one, but a response nonetheless.

"May I ask you a question?" though he doesn't really wait for your permission to go on. "Why do they speak to you like that?"

That comment seems to jolt you, and you turn to look at him with wide eyes. "What? Speak to me like what?"

He struggles for the right words.

How could he describe it? It was so... odd. The words they spoke to you didn't sound cruel, but there was something sinister lurking beneath them. And not even in the typical "polite for the sake of it" sense.

Each response they gave was laced with a sort of venom that seemed to sting you. You had grown quiet, distant, as if you weren't really there at all.

Of course he was familiar with such tactics. He could weave his own words with ease. But you had done nothing wrong- you were guiltless. Why were you being punished?

He couldn't quite come up with an answer.

"You seemed uncomfortable," he finally says, looking away again. "I apologize for such an experience happening to you under my watch."

"It's not your fault,"

"It certainly isn't. And it's not yours, either,"

A blanket of silence falls over the two of you until he speaks again.

"You have nothing to feel bad about," he reaffirms.

Another pause.

"And I don't mean to intrude. But if you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me,"

[veren-cos]

Bachelors (sdv) x reader on their period

Gender neutral, but purely because of the prompt, afab reader. I'd say everything I write is gender neutral besides the very rare Trans masc reader ☆

Not proofread and I wrote this in like 25 min- I'll update this when I'm less tired.

Harvey

• A literal doctor.

• Is not weirded out like at all. He is all like, "Oh okay! Do you need anything at all?" And moved on with life

• Maybe has a little blush when you first talk about it? It's a completely normal thing at work (and in life), but it's just because it's you that he wants to make sure he handles it well.

• Would probably get you chocolate. And a heating pad. And blankets. And all the things.

• Aka would just spoil you a bit more than normal, periods suck and he knows-

• If you had any like disorder involving you Period he would be extra on top of stuff.

• Will make sure you are well stocked on and properly take pain meds!

Elliott

• Would just absolutely spoil you!

• Runs a bath, gets chocolate, threw your pajamas in the dryer to get them extra warm, heating pad.

• Might give you a massage if they are super painful? Probably would do it regardless but he would definitely offer if he knew that got bad.

• Idk why he knows so much, maybe it's because of Leah? I don't really write about the bachelotettes, but I feel like she would be super open about it so that's why Elliott knows a lot.

• But yeah he'd be super good to you! Would make you food just because. He is great at spoiling people, but not actually great at knowing what to do physically haha. (I think I mentioned in a previous fic where he just makes you soup if your in pain, he would do that here too)

Shane

• So if I just take Shane as a standalone character I don't think he'd know a lot / want to know/ care.

• But!

• Jas. I'm not sure what age she is supposed to be (literally anywhere from 7-12 imo) but I feel like Shane would have read up on Period stuff in preparation.

• So he would actually be more informed than Elliott!

• Now onto the actual stuff lol-

• He wouldn't be super pamper-y like Elliott and Harvey, but he would definitely help around the house more.

• Animals are all taken care of, crops are all watered, took care of some weeds, etc.

• He would also probably be a bit more physically affectionate purely because he knows you like it.

• Might be a bit embarrassed about it at first but after the first one he gets the gist of what to do.

Alex

• Would be relatively informed just because he is a health nut, but also doesn't know what to do because the most important woman in his life is postmenopausal-

• Probably would just give you chocolate and hugs because he knows like. Emotional and cravings.

• If they were super bad he would ask his grandma for help!

• Wouldn't be embarrassed about it! Once again. Health nut. Gets you pain meds!

Sebastian

• Okay. So. Sebastian.

• Literally lives with 2 ladies. Both very strong confident women. He wouldn't be uninformed by any means, but he probably is still awkward around the topic lmao

• Like if you were complaining he would be like "...." "am I supposed to do something about that?"

• AND HE DIDNT MEAN IT IN A RUDE WAY he was genuinely asking. But he just doesn't know and also is an awkward guy?

• Would do the least out of all the Bachelor's. Maybe just be more emotionally available because Period mood swings be rough. Makes more time to talk about things with you.

• Grabs you ibuprofen or Tylenol, whatever you have in the house.

Sam

• So Sam lives with a kind of coddling mom, does not have sisters, so like. His mom wouldn't talk to him about it. He has no 'personal' experience with it.

• Would be the most clueless-

• But he would definitely be like, "oh babe that sucks let me know what I can do"

• Gives you more cuddles, helps on the farm.

• Super enthusiastic about making you comfortable! He makes it into a way bigger deal than it is but he is genuinely curious about stuff so you think it's cute.

• After your first one when your together he is much better prepared / informed so he isn't all over the place.

• Just very cute and well meaning.

An* I hope this was at least a little cute / silly / comforting / whateveryouwantedoutofthis! I base everything off of personal experience because, like, it's all I got- but more people should be comfortable talking about this! It's completely normal and just a basic human function. So if yours is different than what others describe, that's okay! If yours is exactly the same, also okay! Idk where I'm going with this, but there is no shame in having a period, and that's on that!

This also came off way more dramatic than I meant it to be, but I live for the drama so it's okay (this applies to both the fic and the author's note-)

Masterlist

[livelaughloveluffy]

Hi HELP uhm this is my first time um asking but like idk if you do requests but uhm I was wondering if you could do luffy comforting reader on their period,, perchance... if not that totally finee ❤️🤑 I hope you have a great day or night I also enjoy your writings alot they r so sweet and they make me happy ,, okay bye 🥷

comfort - monkey d. luffy

a/n: firstly!! thank you so much for your request!! im so happy you enjoy my writing!! 💗 this was definitely well timed since i was planning something similar to your request!! i hope you like this!!! you have a great day/night as well!!! 💗💗💗

nothing but fluff here! 💗

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when he comforts you:

-luffy is the sweetest boy and the second he picks up on you feeling slightly off, he's all over you. clinging to your body, asking you hundreds of doting questions. the phrase "are you sure?" is something you are destined to hear millions of times because luffy does tend to miss some social cues and he really want to make sure he understands how you're feeling because you mean the world to him 😭

-this baby will do anything and everything to make you smile. silly faces galore, bad puns and jokes, you name it, he's done it. it breaks his heart to see you without a smile, or to not hear the sound of your laughter.

-his simplistic and naive nature unironically makes luffy give the best advice 💀 he doesnt even do it on purpose, he just has a way to instantly comfort and ease you. "everything will work out!!! im here for you!" he'll tell you with the sweetest smile and his signature laugh

-he's a clinger, he'll hold onto you super tight, wrapping his legs around your waist with his arms dangling around your neck giving you constant cuddles. his soft raven hair tickling your cheek as his chin rests on your shoulder, his warm soft skin radiating through your clothes. he doesn't want to leave you alone and physical reassurance is so extremely natural to him.

-luffy is for sure a praiser. you've heard hundreds of thousands of reminders of how amazing, kind, smart, funny, cool, thoughtful, etc. you are. he showers you with words of affirmation as often as possible

-when you're sick, injured, or on your period: he's such a worrier 😭😭😭 he absolutely refuse to leave your side at all, no matter how much you protest and say you're fine. luffy will 100% crawl into your bed, pulling you into his arms, wrapping them two times too many around your waist, holding you close to him. he's always down to get you plenty of snacks, as long as you promise to share, however this often ends up with sanji barging into your room chasing after luffy, with his arms holding half the contents of kitchen pantry. you are his favorite snack buddy after all 😌

when he needs comforting:

-physical touch is a huge comfort to luffy, he will constantly need your hands all over him, your body pressed against him, kisses peppered across his skin, any and all physical contact instantly relieves him.

-he definitely appreciates it when you steal extra food and snacks for him, or sweet-talking sanji into making special desserts that you then pass to luffy.

- luffy does thrive off of hearing praise, so its a great relief to him when he hears you tell him how he's doing a good job, he's a great captain, and other similar sentiments.

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a/n: luffy's my sweet boy and i love him so near and dear to my heart 😭😭😭 i'm thinking about starting a taglist, so if anyone is interested in that just let me know!!

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[javiscigarette]

Ease

Javier Peña x f!reader

Requested:

requesting… daddy!javi comforting u after a stressful work day 👀 pls n thank

warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, fingering, squirting, spitting, spanking, a bit ass play (I cant resist), dirty talk, daddy!javi obviously, d/s dynamics obviously, extreme overuse of pet names and I'm not sorry, fluffy Javi deserves its own warning

w/c: 5.3k

a/n: the long overdue Javi fic is finally here lmao I wrote this very quickly and I haven't written for him in a long time so it may not be my best but I'm honestly just proud that I finally got something out :)) pls let me know if you like it!! ALSO! I reached 1.5k followers awhile ago which is just mind blowing so I just wanted to say THANK YOU to everyone who has joined me and continues to support me. This blog and all the friends I've made here have helped me through some pretty rough times and I'm forever grateful AHHH I just you all soo much!!

my masterlist

You’re not there to greet him when he opens the door. Usually you’d have a glass of whiskey in your hand for him, already a little tipsy from the glass you had for yourself earlier.

There’s a unpleasant shiver that runs down his spine as the thought of you being in some sort of danger immediately crosses his mind. But the sound of you puttering around in the kitchen gives you away. That and the haze of smoke and smell of burnt food wafting through the entire apartment. 

He kicks his shoes off and loosens his tie as he rounds the corner to the kitchen to find you standing in front of the stove, tending to what he assumes is some chicken in a pan. The exhaust fan on the range hood and the ceiling fan are working overtime, pushing the smoke out of the kitchen and through the open window. 

“Hi, bebita” Javi says as he enters the smokey kitchen. You don’t say anything in response, just give him a quick sideways glance before turning back to the stove. 

He crosses the room and moves to stand behind you. Maybe if he had seen the frown on your face, or the way your eyebrows are deeply creased in frustration, he would’ve said something very different. 

But he didn’t see. 

“Dinner smells delicious” he teases, squeezing your hips. He’s expecting a little chuckle from you, or at least an annoyed eye roll with a hidden smile. 

So he’s caught very off guard when you slam the spatula down on the counter with a loud, frustrated sigh.

“Well I’m sorry that I tried to make a nice meal. Guess I’m fuckin’ useless at that too.” 

You try to push yourself out of his grasp, but his grip only tightens. 

“Hey okay okay, easy.” Javi soothes, turning you around so you’re facing him. “What’s wrong, bebita?” he asks, his tone immediately switching from teasing to soft and tener.You puff out a heavy sigh, refusing to look up at him and staring at his white shirt stretched across his chest instead. 

All the thoughts about your horrid day at work that you’ve been trying to block out break the damn and come flooding back into your head; your boss telling you that you fucked up two different major tasks and refusing to tell you how to do them correctly, catching your coworkers gossiping about you in the breakroom, your computer dying right before you could save any of the work you had done for the day, and how you tried to come home and cook as a distraction but you clearly forgot about the chicken sitting on the stove and almost caught the house on fire. 

You hadn’t even noticed the tears welling up in your eyes until Javi is wiping away the ones that have brimmed over and slid down your cheeks. 

“Cariño…” Javi whispers, his tone drenched with concern. That’s all it takes. You instantly break down, falling forward into Javi’s chest as your whole body shakes as you sob, your tears wetting the crisp fabric of his shirt. 

You tell him everything in between wet gasps and uneven breaths, unloading everything at once. He just holds you through it, nodding along and giving you an occasional understanding hum while running his palms up and down your back until you finish talking. 

“Your boss is an asshole” is the first thing Javi says. “Your coworkers too” 

You respond with a pathetic sniffle. “I really fucked up though. And now everyone thinks I can’t do my job” 

"Bebita,” Javi starts, continuing to rub soothing circles on your back. “Everyone has tough days at work. It doesn't define your abilities or your worth. You're so much more than a single bad day."

You sniffle again, still leaning heavily against him for support. 

"It's just... I'm tired of feeling like I'm constantly failing."

Javi clicks his tongue and moves one hand to use two fingers to gently tilt your chin up, making you meet his easy gaze. 

"You're not failing, mi amor. Sometimes things don’t go as planned and that’s okay. You're learning and growing."

You wish he wasn’t so right all the time. Sometimes talking back to the false narrative that runs rampant in your head 24/7 is too much work. 

"I know”  you sigh, wiping away tears with the back of your hand. “It’s just hard not to let it get to me."

Javi's thumb brushes against your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. 

"I understand. Just remember you're not alone in this. I’ll always be here for you, my sweet girl” 

You manage a weak smile, feeling a bit of warmth starting to seep back into your heavy heart. 

“Thank you” you whisper.

Javi smiles warmly, his eyes full of admiration and unwavering support. 

“Of course, baby. I’m here for you always. No matter what.” 

You let your head fall back to his chest and you take a deep breath. He keeps rubbing your back, physically feeling the tension leaving your body as you melt against him. Without your brain in overdrive, you finally register the smell of his faded cologne and his cigarettes sticking to his shirt, the scent immediately washing away more of the tension in your muscles. The warm feeling in your chest starts to spread all the way down to your toes, your whole body feeling 10 times lighter than it did 5 minutes ago as his embrace brings you a sense of solace you hadn’t experienced all day. 

After another silent minute or two, he places a kiss to your hairline before leaning in close, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. 

“You know, there’s another way to forget about it for a little while.”

His low voice alone already has the base of your spine tingling. You pick your head up to meet his gaze, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. 

“Yeah?” you ask, a weak smile slowly spreading across your face.

“Mhmm” he hums, his hands sliding down to your waist and slipping under the hem of your shirt, his warm fingers splaying over your skin. 

"You've had a tough day," Javi continues, his voice a sensual murmur. "And I think you deserve something to take your mind off all that stress."

His words, laden with suggestion, push all the worries out of your body, replacing it with a thrill that courses through your veins. He leans in until his face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Let me take care of you, bebita."

All you can do is nod dumbly. Javi grins as he pulls you in closer. His lips capture yours in a slow, tantalizing kiss, his lips soft and warm against yours, the taste of him flooding your senses. His hands slide up from your waist to your rib cage, rucking up your shirt in the process. Every touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, drawing you impossibly closer to him. He pulls away just long enough to pull it over your head before his lips capture yours again. 

He wraps one arm around you, keeping you close as his other hand cups your jaw, his fingers curling around the back of your neck as his thumb mindlessly brushes your cheek. Your hands find their way to his back, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. 

He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and you part your lips with a soft sigh, his tongue immediately sliding against yours. It’s a dance of desire and vulnerability, an unspoken promise that he’s here to take away all of your worries. The rest of the world quickly fades into a distant blur, leaving just the two of you in this electric connection.

 His lips eventually leave your mouth, his breathless chuckle fanning across your jaw at the sound of your quiet whimper. He trails wet kisses along your jaw, down to the side of your neck, each one accompanied by a soft exhale that causes goosebumps to erupt over every inch of your skin. The sensation is exquisite and maddeningly arousing, and you find yourself tilting your head back, giving him better access. 

His teeth gently graze over your pulse point, sending shiver coursing through your entire body. Your heart races as he finds a spot just below your collarbone, nipping and sucking before soothing the dark spot with his tongue. His hands roam your torso, big, warm palms exploring every inch of exposed skin. You can feel the bulge in his jeans rapidly grow against your hip and your core throbs with a dull ache in response. Everything that happened earlier is miles away as you feel yourself relaxing deeper into his embrace, losing yourself in him. 

He pulls away when you whine quietly and looks down at you, his pupils already blown with lust and desire. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear then ducks down to place a chaste kiss to your lips before whispering “Bedroom. Now.” 

You nod and turn to head out of the kitchen, letting out a small giggle when he lands a quick slap to your ass. His eyes are glued to your backside as he follows you to the bedroom, his fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt along the way

You flop down on the edge of the bed with Javi just a few steps behind you. He tosses his shirt to the corner of the room and starts working on his belt as he stalks towards you. You smirk and reach behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra and letting it slide off your arms. Javi licks his lips at the sight of you sitting there in only your soft cotton shorts, looking like he’s about to pounce on his prey. 

He crosses the room until he’s standing inches in front of you, then slips his belt out of the loops and tosses it aside. You reach out, intent on undoing the button and zipper of his jeans but he stops you by wrapping a large hand around your wrist before you can touch him. 

“Nuh uh, baby. I’m takin’ care of you tonight”  

His words send a strong pulse of excitement down your spine and your heart pounds in your chest. He lets go of your wrist and you let it fall limply back to your side as you stare at him through your lashes. 

“Take off your shorts.” 

You immediately follow his command, quickly standing and moving to slide your shorts and panties down your legs so fast that you stumble a bit when they get caught around your feet. Javi reaches out and grabs your arm to steady you as you step out of your shorts and kick them to the side. 

“Good girl” he chuckles, dropping his hand from your arm. You watch with wide eyes, saliva gathering in your mouth as he shuffles out his jeans, his hardened cock gently slapping against his lower abdomen. He catches your gaze and gives you a knowing wink before making his way onto the bed. You stand in place, patiently waiting for your next set of instructions as he props himself up against the headboard. 

“C’mere” he says softly, patting his thigh. You positively beam as you climb on the bed towards him. You face him and you’re about to straddle his lap, but he stops you with a hand on your hip. 

“Turn around, cariño.”

You listen and immediately turn around and sit down between his spread legs, pressing your back into his chest. His cock presses firmly into the small of your back, a warm and welcome presence. With a contented sigh, you lean back and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“You listen so well, baby” Javi rasps, his voice rough with arousal. You only hum in response, your lips curving into a grin as you glow under his praise. He presses a kiss to your temple and his hands find your torso once again, slowly sliding up and down your sides. But he can only resist temptation for so long. 

He uses both hands to cup your breasts and you both let out soft sighs in unison. 

“Tan bonita, princesa” he whispers, his fingers finding both of your nipples. A small noise escapes from your parted lips as he feathers the pads of his fingers over the sensitive buds, teasing you until they’re stiffened peaks. He then pinches both, gently rolling them between his thumb and fingers. 

“That feel good?” he asks softly, his lips moving against your temple. 

You nod, letting out an uneven breath as you involuntarily push your chest forward into his touch. He pinches a little harder, pulling a delicate gasp from you. His cock twitches against you in response. 

“Want you to use your words, bebita.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before responding. 

“F-feels good, Javi.” 

He clicks his tongue and squeezes a little harder again. 

“And what do you call me when I’m makin’ you feel good, princesa?” he asks, his voice dangerously low in your ear. 

Your mouth goes dry and your heart skips a beat in your chest. 

Fuck. 

The stress of your day was already far in the back of your mind, but Javi was intent on erasing it completely. And he knows exactly how to do so. 

“Daddy” you correct yourself, the simple word placing you on precipice of submission “Feels really good, daddy” 

“That’s right, bebita” Javi groans softly, his cock twitching in approval. “Such a good girl for me.” 

He then hooks his chin over your shoulder while you exhale a long, shaky breath as one of his hands leaves your breast and slides down your stomach. You clit pulses in anticipation, but he avoids where you want him most and instead smooths his hand over the top of your thigh. Your chest heaves with every breath as he teases you with gentle touches, getting you all worked up just the way you both like it. 

“You want me to touch you, princessa?” Javi asks, his fingertips dancing delicately on the inside of your thigh. It tickles and you reflexively try to close your legs, but he brings his foot to the inside of your calf and pushes it to the side before placing his foot flat on the bed, keeping your leg firmly in place. “Answer me.” 

“Yes, daddy, please” you whine, your voice coming out a lot more desperate than you intended. 

“Where, baby? Tell me where you want daddy’s fingers.” 

He’s teasing you, but it serves as an excellent distraction –  the events from earlier today are the least of your concerns right now. 

“You want them here?” he asks, his fingers now just barely tracing your dripping seam. “Want me to touch your pretty little pussy? Rub that pretty little clit?” 

You nod fervently and buck your hips up without thinking, your body betraying your patience and chasing after his touch. Javi chuckles darkly and harshly pinches your nipple with his other hand, making you jump in surprise. 

“Tell me, baby. Be a good girl and tell me.” 

You whimper, a hot flush spreading across your chest and creeping up your neck. You’ve been here a thousand times with him, been in far more desperate situations too. But the butterflies still tickle your tummy and the tips of your ears burn with embarrassment. 

“Want…want you to touch my pretty little pussy, daddy.” you murmur, the last of your sentence barely audible. 

He immediately rewards you by dipping two fingers into your slippery folds, groaning softly in your ear when he feels how wet you are for him. “Mmm that’s my good girl. Always fuckin’ soaked for me, huh?” he asks, dipping the tips of his fingers into your hole, gathering your slick and dragging it up to your clit. You nod lazily, your eyes fixed on his hand between your legs. 

He starts with slow, languid circles, his cock pulsing against your back with every small noise that bubbles up out of your throat. His other hand is still occupied with pinching and rolling your nipple. Hot arousal flows through your veins, every nerve ending on fire just from his easy touches. You want it faster, you need more. But you know he won’t give it to you unless you ask. 

“Pl-please, daddy. Faster please” you huff, squirming in his lap as you try to suppress the urge to buck your hips up again. 

“Look at you, princesa. Being such a good girl asking’ nicely like that” Javi whispers, instantly picking up the pace of his fingers and adding more pressure. You let out a long, low moan, the sound of it filling the bedroom. “Sound so pretty too” he adds, pressing his lips to your temple. 

His other hand leaves your nipple and he shushes you softly when you whine at the loss. He doesn’t tease you this time, his hand immediately joining the other between your legs. He keeps his two fingers on your clit, rubbing firm circles just like you asked while his other hand finds your leaking entrance. 

He doesn’t make you ask again before he slides his middle finger inside of you, probably more out of his own desperation to feel you clenching around him. You’re absolutely soaked, you juices freely flowing out of you, down his finger and into his palm like warm honey. He wants to draw it out, slowly work you up until you’re about to snap, but he’s not feeling very patient anymore. 

He slides his finger in and out of you a few more times before adding a second, curling his fingertips. He finds the spot inside of you instantly and you reward him with a loud gasp, your whole body trembling as you relax against his chest. 

“That’s it, baby. Just relax for me” Javi coos, his voice tight and strained as he tries to contain his own excitement. He pumps his fingers inside you, his fingertips nudging against the spot that has your whole body jolting with every pass. Every inch of your skin feels on fire as he works you, lewd sounds filling the room as he plays with your slick pussy. You feel wetness on your back and quickly realize that it’s his precum leaking from his warm tip, smearing against your skin as you squirm around. 

“Mierda, princesa” Javi groans as you clench tightly around his two fingers. “You close, baby?” he asks, already knowing the answer. You answer with a high-pitched whine, throwing your head back on his shoulder. 

“Cum for me, baby” Javi grunts, moving his fingers faster, bringing you to the edge. “Cum all over my fingers and then I’ll fuck you, nice and deep just how you like it” 

His fingers are relentless, rubbing dizzying circles on your clit and punching up into your g-spot. You can’t hold back anymore, rocking your hips and grinding down on his fingers. Your chest burns with every breath you manage to suck in, the hot coil in your tummy wound tightly, threatening to burst at any moment. You open your mouth and try to tell him that you’re about to cum, but every time you try to speak, the only sounds that come out are loud gasps in-between broken moans. 

And then you finally snap. Javi groans as you clamp down around his fingers, so tight that he can hardly keep moving them. He then quickly pulls them out, his eyes wide with amazement as your juices gush out of you, drops of it landing on his leg, most of it soaking the blankets underneath you. 

 “There’s my good girl” he hisses between clenched teeth. He watches intently as you thrash around, the sight of you squirting and the sweet sounds of your moans going straight to his cock as he works you through your orgasm. He doesn’t let up until you come down, whimpering and jolting at his touch. 

You collapse backwards against his chest, your head on his shoulder as you pant and try to catch your breath. He goes back to tracing your seam, his touch featherlight once again. You let out a sigh, your limbs heavy and head fuzzy with pure ecstasy.

He eventually moves his hands away, placing them on your thighs and letting out a low whistle. 

“Did so well, princesa. Look how much you came for me” Javi rasps, nosing at the column of your neck.

You pick your head up, looking down at the aftermath of your orgasm. You laugh breathlessly at the dark spot underneath you and the liquid on Javi’s calf shining in the dim glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Javi’s chest rumbles with his own chuckle as he presses sweet kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck. 

He doesn’t give you much time to recover before he taps your thighs and gives you your next command. “Hands and knees, princesa.” 

You’ve barely had time to catch your breath, but your pussy still aches in anticipation of his earlier promise. You take a deep breath and find enough strength to sit up straight. Your limbs are weak and noodly as you crawl over to a dry spot on the bed and get into position, your ass in the air with your face pressed against the soft blankets. 

You crane your neck to watch Javi who flashes you a devilish grin as he assumes his position on his knees behind you. You give him a sweet smile back and wiggle your ass. And he takes the bait, groping your cheeks with both hands before he spreads you open, putting everything on display just for him. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, baby.” he growls before leaning over to spit. You gasp and moan softly at the feeling of the warm liquid landing on your asshole and sliding down to pool at your swollen clit. He then brings his thumb up, using the pad to gently rub his saliva against your puckered hole. “So fuckin’ gorgeous” 

“Daddyyyy” you whine pitifully, pushing your hips back into his touch. He chuckles breathlessly and wraps a hand around the base of his cock and lining himself up. 

“You’re so good, baby.” Javi starts as he slides his cock in the mess between your cheeks. “My strong, beautiful, intelligent, good girl.”

Your face heats up at the praise, the words stirring up the butterflies in your stomach yet again. 

“Thank you, daddy” you murmur, the sound muffled by the blankets. Javi just hums and continues to glide his cock through the wetness, addicted to the way whimper every time his cockhead brushes against your swollen clit and your aching entrance. You whimper and wiggle your hips again, trying to get what you want. 

“Repeat it.” Javi commands simply. “Wanna hear you say it” 

You squeeze your eyes shut and whimper again. He’s completely taken over your headspace now, forcing you into a place of submission where there’s no room to think about anything other than him and what he asks of you. This is how he takes care of you, how he can turn every bad day on its head and take away every single one of your worries until you’re a blissed out mess underneath him. And he’s really fucking good at it. 

“I’m your strong, beautiful, intelligent, girl” you choke out, a fresh wave of slick gushing out of you and onto his rock hard cock at the forced admission.

“Forgot one” he breathes, his thumb still rubbing at your tight little hole. You wrack your brain, thoughts moving slower than syrup in your head as you try to remember what he said not even 10 seconds ago. 

“Good.” you say, as soon as you remember. I’m you’re good girl, daddy.” 

“Yes you are, baby” Javi says, notching his tip at your entrance. “So fucking good for your daddy.” 

He pushes all the way in, burying himself to balls deep in your aching cunt in one smooth movement. The sounds you make are obscene as you twist your fists in the blanket underneath him. He’s so deep, you swear you can feel him somewhere near your lungs. Just like he promised. He moans roughly behind you, the feeling on your warm walls squeezing rhythmically around his neglected cock overwhelming all of his senses.

But you don’t let him catch a break. You barely give yourself time to adjust before you take matters into your own hands and start rocking your hips, fucking yourself on his cock. Javi inhales sharply, both hands finding your hips and trying to hold you in place, but you’re not having it. 

“Daddy please–oh shit– please fuck me, need it so bad” you whine as you continue to rock your hips despite Javi’s best efforts to stop you. 

Javi just growls in response, his fingertips digging into your hips as he slides out until just his tip rests inside before slamming back into you. The loud moan that he pulls from you travels as a shiver down his spine and fuels his fire. He quickly finds a steady pace, brutally slamming into you like he’s fucking the stress out right out of your body. You let all the moans and whines and whimpers float freely out of your mouth as you take what he gives you, as he fills you up and stuffs you full over and over and over again. 

“You're so good for me” Javi grunts, gripping your hips and moving them backwards to meet his every thrust. “Feel so fucking good squeezing me like that, this tight little pussy was fucking made for me” 

Your eyes roll back into your head, his words once again turning your brain into mush as he fucks you into another plane of existence. You’re already teetering on the edge of another release, your lower abdomen burning with it, your swollen, neglected clit pulsing and desperate for attention.

And Javi feels it too.

“Already gonna cum again?” Javi asks breathlessly before landing a smack to your ass. You yelp in shock and there’s another wave of your juices leaking out onto his cock. 

“Ohh you like that, don’t you baby?” Javi coos before spanking you again, this time a bit harsher. Your face scrunches in pleasure and words have completely eluded you so you just cry out against the mattress, hoping that and your clenching pussy gets the point across. 

Thankfully Javi doesn’t ask you to answer him. Instead he keeps fucking into you, delivering firmm hits to your ass, completely mesmerized with the way it jiggles as he spanks and fucks into you. He’s just as close as you are, never lasts very long if he’s inside without cumming at least once beforehand. 

He moves one hand from your hip to between your legs, his fingers tracing where you’re stretched out so nicely around his thick cock before they land on your clit once again. You sob as he starts immediately rubbing fast, harsh circles that send you speeding towards the finish line. 

“Oh fuck, daddy! Gonna cum m’gonna cum pleasssee let me cum” 

Javi sucks in a harsh breath, his eyebrows furrowing together as his cock lurches inside of you. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah, baby. Cum on this cock like a good girl” Javi grits out, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he clenches his teeth together, trying to hold himself together. Your hands scramble against the blankets as he slams into you with newfound vigor, pushing you up the bed with each thrust and making you scream in ecstasy.

“Cum and then I’ll fill you up” he grunts. “I’ll fill you up and fuck it so deep that it’ll be leaking out of you for days, just reminding you of how good you are for me. Always so fucking good baby jesus christ” 

His filthy promises send you flying over the edge. You bury your face in the blankets and scream, your legs giving out from the force of it, your hips dropping to the bed and leaving you in a prone position. And Javi doesn’t miss a beat. He presses his chest against your back, using his freehand to support the bulk of his weight as he keeps working his fingers on your clit the best he can, not letting his pace falter even once. 

The new position shoves his cock even deeper inside of you, punching against your cervix with each thrust as he rearranges your guts. Your only option is to lie there let him drag out your release for as long as possible. 

“That’s it” Javi rasps, his voice sounding absolutely wrecked now. “Sweet little pussy is fuckin’ milking my cock, cariño. You want my cum? Want me to stuff you fuckin’ full?” 

You’re too far gone to respond, reduced to nothing but putty in his hands, your trembling body limp and pliant just for him to use. He can only hold it together for a few more thrusts before he buries himself all the way inside of you, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you.

Staying true to his promise, he fucks you through it, shallowly moving his hips and pushing his cum as deep as possible. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, the sensation of it all pushing you over the edge once again, though you’re not sure if you ever came back from the last one. Javi watches in amazement as you cum again, your voice breaking on desperate sobs while you squeeze around him, truly milking him for all he’s worth.

He moves his hand from your clit once your moans start to die down and then collapses on top of you, carefully though as not to completely crush you. You welcome the weight, a comforting pressure that makes you feel so warm and safe and secure. 

He stays buried inside of you as you both come down. You can feel his heart pounding from where his chest is pressed against you, his warm breath fanning across your neck as you both try to catch your breath. The two of you stay there for a while, basking in the post coitus glow. His cock softens inside of you and he only moves when his cum starts to dribble out of you. 

You whine softly as he moves to sit up, his now soft cock slipping out of you and leaving you feeling empty. But the feeling doesn’t last too long. 

He scoots back so he’s kneeling between your legs, both hands on your cheeks and spreading you open again. You feel his eyes burning holes into your skin as he watches his cum slowly leaking out of you. He doesn’t let it fall too far though, using a finger to scoop up all that’s dribbled out and pushing it back inside. You moan softly at the sensation and it takes everything in him not to fuck you with his fingers once again. 

“Think we need to get you in a nice hot shower” he says, his tone sweet and soft once again as he removes his fingers. 

You turn your head to look at him through hooded eyes, a dopey smile plastered to your face, looking completely fucked out.

“And we’re ordering take out too” he announces, leaning over to place a sweet kiss on your cheek. Images of the burnt chicken sitting on the stove float through your head, along with fuzzy memories of the events from earlier today. But you don’t give a single fuck anymore. Javi thoroughly wiped every ounce of stress from your brain. And now anything that isn’t directly related to you and Javi at this moment, on your shared bed in the dim light of the evening sun filtering through the curtain is far, far away. 

“We’re not getting fucking chicken” is all you say and the sound of yours and Javi’s laughter rings pleasantly through the room and in your ears as content seeps deep into your bones.

I LOVE THIS MAN okay thank u for reading <333

[mybelovedwoo]

memories of us

bff!san x f!reader

fluff, childhood best friends to lovers / wc: 1.5k

note: i'm back with another san story, i hope you all like it!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

san masterlist - main masterlist

As the swings gently creaked under their weight, San and Y/n sat side by side, the cool night air brushing against their cheeks. The playground, once a realm of youthful adventures, now held a nostalgic charm that wrapped around them like a comforting blanket.

"Do you remember the time we built that sandcastle so tall it almost touched the sky?" Y/n chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming with memories of carefree days.

San smiled, his gaze fixed on Y/n, his best friend since forever. "Yeah, and then it got washed away by a furious monster. We were so upset that day."

They both laughed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet night. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a gentle glow over the playground where they had spent countless hours growing up together.

"I miss those days," Y/n murmured, her voice tinged with wistfulness. "Everything seemed so simple back then."

San nodded in agreement, his heart beating a little faster as he looked at Y/n. Tonight felt different somehow, like the universe had conspired to create this moment just for them.

"Do you remember Mr. Thompson's math class?" Y/n laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You were always the one who saved me from failing."

San chuckled softly. "Yeah, you were never a fan of numbers. But we always managed to get through it together."

As they reminisced, San couldn't help but steal glances at Y/n when she wasn't looking. She looked beautiful under the moonlight, her hair catching the soft glow, her laughter ringing like music in his ears.

"So many memories," San said softly, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "But I think my favorite moments were just being with you."

Y/n looked at him, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "You've always been there for me, San. I don't know what I'd do without you."

San felt a rush of warmth at her words but noticed Y/n shivering slightly in the cool night air. "Hey, you're cold," he said softly, unzipping his jacket and offering it to her. "Here, take this."

Y/n hesitated for a moment before accepting the jacket gratefully. "Thanks, San. You always think of everything."

San chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, if you catch a cold, who's going to laugh at my terrible jokes?"

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. "Your jokes aren't that bad."

They laughed together, the tension easing between them. With Y/n wrapped in San's jacket, they decided to leave the playground and head to their favorite Korean barbecue restaurant. The familiar scent of grilled meat and the lively atmosphere welcomed them as they settled into their usual table.

Over sizzling meat and glasses of soju, they continued their nostalgic trip down memory lane, sharing stories of high school escapades and university adventures. Each tale brought waves of laughter and shared understanding, deepening the connection that had always been there.

"Do you remember that time we tried to cook instant noodles in the dorm using the coffee maker?" Y/n giggled, recalling their disastrous attempt.

San grinned, shaking his head. "And we ended up setting off the fire alarm! Good times."

As the evening progressed, their laughter blended with the murmur of other diners, creating a bubble of warmth and companionship around them. Between bites of delicious food and sips of soju, they found themselves talking about dreams, fears, and everything in between.

Y/n leaned back in her chair, a slight flush on her cheeks from the soju. "You know, San," she began, her words slightly slurred, "I've been thinking... I shouldn't have dated those terrible guys back then."

San raised an eyebrow, curious where this conversation was going. "What do you mean?"

Y/n sighed, looking into her glass before meeting his gaze. "I mean, you were always there to protect me. Like that last time, when my boyfriend cheated on me... You punched him for me, remember?"

San chuckled softly, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, I remember. He deserved it."

"You always made me feel safe, San," Y/n continued, her voice earnest. "And I think... I think I always knew deep down that I deserved better."

San's heart skipped a beat at her words. He had never wanted to see Y/n hurt, especially not by someone who didn't appreciate her the way she deserved.

"You do deserve better, Y/n," San said softly, his hand reaching across the table to gently touch hers. "You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are, who cherishes you every single day."

Y/n smiled warmly at him, her heart fluttering with his words, when suddenly a voice interrupted their moment.

"Hey, San! Fancy seeing you here," a chirpy voice exclaimed from behind them.

San and Y/n turned to see a girl from one of San's classes approaching their table. She had a bright smile plastered on her face, and her presence seemed to fill the space between San and Y/n.

"Hi... uh, Jia," San greeted, trying to remain polite but slightly caught off guard.

Jia ignored the slight awkwardness and turned to Y/n, giving her a quick once-over before saying, "Oh, you must be Y/n! San talks about you all the time."

Y/n forced a smile, feeling a tinge of discomfort. "Nice to meet you, Jia."

Jia took the seat next to San without waiting for an invitation, completely oblivious to the atmosphere between San and Y/n. "So, what are you guys up to tonight?"

San exchanged a quick glance with Y/n, silently communicating their desire to continue their private conversation. "Actually, Jia, we were just catching up. It's been a while since we've had a chance to hang out."

Jia's smile faltered slightly, but she pressed on. "Oh, that's cool! Mind if I join you then?"

Before San could respond, Y/n interjected, "Actually, Jia, we were just finishing up here. It was nice meeting you, but we should probably get going."

Jia looked disappointed but didn't seem to take the hint. "Oh, okay then. Well, maybe we can all hang out sometime soon!"

San shot Y/n an apologetic look before standing up. "Yeah, maybe. We'll see you around, Jia."

As they walked away from the table, Y/n let out a sigh of relief. "That was... unexpected."

San chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Sorry about that. Jia can be a bit... persistent."

Y/n nodded, but a nagging feeling tugged at her heart. "It's just... you never mentioned her before. Is she in your class often?"

San noticed the change in Y/n's tone and paused, realizing her discomfort. "Yeah, she's in a few of my classes. She's friendly and all, but we've never been close like that."

Y/n furrowed her brow slightly, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't quite articulate. "But she seemed really comfortable around you... sitting so close and all."

San glanced at Y/n, sensing her unease. "Y/n, I promise you, she's just a classmate. She's never been anything more than that."

The tension between them lingered as they walked through the quiet streets, the city lights casting soft shadows around them. Y/n bit her lip, trying to push away the unwelcome feelings of jealousy that were bubbling up inside her.

"I'm sorry," Y/n finally murmured, breaking the silence. "I didn't mean to... I guess I'm just not used to seeing you with other girls."

San nodded, understanding her feelings. "I get it, Y/n. You're important to me, and I don't want you feeling uncomfortable."

Y/n smiled gratefully, feeling reassured by his words. "Thank you, San. Let's continue this conversation at my place? We can have a few more drinks and just talk."

San nodded, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Sure, that sounds good."

They walked the remaining distance to Y/n's apartment in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier easing with each step. The night air was cool and crisp, a welcome contrast to the warmth they felt between them.

As they entered Y/n's cozy apartment, San couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Y/n seemed lost in thought, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a quiet contemplation.

"Is everything alright, Y/n?" San asked gently, taking a seat on the couch.

Y/n hesitated for a moment before answering, "Yeah, I'm fine." But her voice lacked conviction.

San studied her for a moment, sensing her unease. "You seem... distracted. Is it about earlier?"

Y/n sighed softly, running a hand through her hair. "I guess I'm just confused. I didn't expect to feel jealous when Jia came over. It's not like me."

San nodded, understanding her turmoil. "It's okay to feel that way, Y/n. Sometimes emotions surprise us."

Y/n hesitated for a moment before asking, her voice hesitant, "San, why have I never seen you with a girlfriend before? Have you... never dated anyone?"

San met her gaze with a tender smile. "No, Y/n. I've never had a girlfriend. There's only ever been one person I've cared about deeply."

Y/n furrowed her brow slightly, trying to grasp the weight of his words. "Who?"

San took a deep breath, his heart beating a little faster. "You, Y/n. It's always been you."

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. "Me?"

San nodded, his voice filled with sincerity. "Yes, you. Since we were kids, I've only ever had eyes for you."

Y/n felt a rush of emotions—surprise, joy, and a flicker of disbelief mingled together. "I... I never knew."

San reached out and gently took her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "I didn't want to risk our friendship by saying anything. But tonight, seeing you jealous over Jia... it made me realize I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."

Y/n searched his eyes, finding honesty and vulnerability mirrored back at her. "San, I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," San replied softly, his thumb brushing over her hand. "I just needed you to know how I feel."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging in the air. Y/n's mind raced with a thousand thoughts, but one truth stood out above all—the boy she had grown up with, the one who had always been there for her, was the one she had unknowingly longed for.

"San," she finally whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "I think... I think I feel the same way."

San's eyes widened in hopeful surprise, a smile spreading across his face. "You do?"

Y/n nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. "Yeah... I think I do."

Relief and joy washed over San's features, and he pulled her into a gentle embrace. "Y/n, you have no idea how happy you've made me."

They held each other, the warmth of their embrace melting away any remaining doubts or uncertainties. In that moment, they both knew that they were embarking on a new chapter—one filled with love, trust, and the promise of a future together.

As they sat together, basking in the glow of their newfound understanding, Y/n couldn't help but feel grateful for the twists and turns that had brought them to this moment. It was a journey that had started in childhood innocence and had now blossomed into a love story that was just beginning to unfold.

-

taglist: @dinossaurz

[unsuredreamer]

Getaway car

Red Hearts ❤️ x fem! reader

These two pics 🙌🏻

Like yeah ma'am I'm on my knees. Respectfully

Here's a Red fic for you my lovesss

"Oh c'mon Red! Don't be staring at her with your lover eyes, go and introduce yourelf" Chloe wiggled her eyebrows knowingly at her friend, who was painfully staring holes at the back of a head of a certain someone.

"Fuck you dumb or something?! Not a chance thats happening" The red haired girl glared at the other princess, stabbing her food with her fork, eating peas was not something she particularly enjoyed. Back in Wonderland she would be having something extravagant, different, weird she would even say. But here, just peas and potatoes everyday, not that she would complain, just, she'd love to change up some flavors from time to time.

"Wellll, I'll do it then! I'm sure she's heard about you coming to Auradon. She was the one who requested for villain kids to be studying here, after all!" Before Red could complain further more, her fast friend quickly took off from their table, coming straight at yours. Her blue locks blowing from her speed, she was eager to do what the other had failed so miserably many times.

But could you blame her? She was not shy, certainly not. She did not lack of anything. Talking skills, charisma and her attitude still on board as it has been since she left her home kingdom to come and study at Auradon. But, there was something intimidating in you at the same time drawing her further in the spiraling maze of thoughts and mysteries you could be hiding from her.

She never spoke to you, obviously, you were too popular for her to even approach you, she swore she'd never get involved with people like that. Always with someone, always on the run to be somewhere, to be doing literally anything besides resting. That's also what fascinated her about you, she wanted to know what a princess like you could be doing every second of the day. Making haste to do her duties? Running off to be somewhere calm? To be finally left alone? She wanted to know your every thought and opinion.

It scared her. She had never felt that way about anyone and it was weird to discover feeling like that, although she found it rather amusing to be thinking so much of you. You were not special.

She just liked watching you play your favorite sport on your tournament's. Oh how your eyes lit up when you got a set point, running straight at your teammates cackling them on the ground. And when you took off your shirt after winning every game, yelling profanities of happiness, the way the sweat rolled down your body and how your hair curled from wetness being held in a ponytail with a singular small braid. She was in awe, although she had never let it show.

She liked to observe you when you strutted down the school halls with your best friend, your books tightly grasped in your hands, close to your chest. You were usually clothed in a light blue checkered skirt that made your ass very hard to not look at, also complimenting your big thighs, not that she would look at of course (such a bullshit, she was staring hard) a white loose button-up shirt so simply hanging off your shoulders making your collarbone pop out so finely that even the mightiest of gods would not be ashamed to check you out, and of course some gold accessories to top it all. The most prominent being your bulk gold ring and a heart necklace, gifted to you by Evie Grimhilde.

Her daydreams were cut short by her very blue friend shaking her shoulders.

"Red, are you with us? Oh great!" Chloe grinned as she got her boo to finally listen. "As I've been saying, this is Y/n!"

"Hi, I heard from Charming here that you've been staring at me quite often" You giggled, she was looking rather cute, just sittings there with her clouded stare as she hummed in agreement. Probably not realizing what she did there. "Id love to meet you actually, get to know you a bit maybe a lot. Whatever you're most comfortable with, hearts" you smiled at her as she blushed at the nickname. She liked it when you smiled, it made her smile internally too. "You up for a ride to the enchanted lake later?"

You never really put your mind to get to know her, even though you wanted to meet the new kid, you always thought she might want to acclimatize first. That doesn't necessarily mean you never looked at her, she was really hard to miss, a storm of red locks everywhere you turned. Smudging somethings in her sketchbook or spraying the walls with her black paint. You should probably be informing someone of the vandalism she has committed herself to. But she looked so happy doing so, and you were so immersed in exploring the smallest details of every single one as soon as she left, that you could not. You wanted to appreciate her art.

You wanted to appreciate her.

As you were in the middle of the staring contest with a girl you dreamt of so many times (strange dreams including someone scarily close in beauty to hers that left you amazed after every night) the son of Aurora came and slipped his arms around your waist.

"Hey baby" you kind of grimaced as he kissed you on your cheek "Are you up to a quick run later?"

"Well I kind of got some plans already Aron" you wiggled out of his grasp. "I'm meeting princess Red later" you grinned at the red haired girl

"Her? but why?" he looked at her with a bit of disgust. As we know his family haven't really got a great history with villains. "My grandma says-

"Well, I don't really care what your grammy has to say. I'd like to make a new friend and I've heard Red would like to know me too" You remarked stopping him from saying some cruel shit about Red's family, stepping away from him too.

"Ooh" Was all Red could let out of herself. Were you really with that douchebag? He was nothing like his sister who actually became really close to a certain pirate after a sad encounter. Matter of fact, he despised vk's for simply breathing the same air as him. It was weird for her that someone like you would be with someone like him.

Later in the day you fastened your pace to Red and Chloe's dorm room, you anticipated your meeting with the girl the whole day. It was dragging, especially on your 'history of magic' lessons where the princess of Wonderland, sat 3 tables away from you, looking as pretty as the garden's of babylon, like she was touched by Midas, turning gold with every second, but keeping her rose colored cheeks as tinted as always. Merely breathing as she fell sound asleep, you could not help yourself to snicker under your breath as you took a few photos of her.

You found yourself smiling at the memory, she was cute, she could deny it as much as she want but her bitch face only makes a bad first impression. If you look at her for more than half a minute you would notice how her features soften within time as she melts into her own world, gets lost in her own thoughts. The way her brows furrow when she doesn't understand something. How her once red hair slowly loose their color becoming more and more pink, so she dyes them unevenly leaving some pink strands along the way, making her look so incredibly beautiful. How her long nails tap the same rythym on the table over and over, as she scribbles sharp lines in her sketchbook. Sitting criss-cross under this big tree on the edge of the forest.

You'd love to know her from the inside, as much as you know her from the outside.

In a millisecond of your knock you already see the door opening loudly and a cheerful Chloe standing in the frame.

"Oh my you look so good, you beast!" That made you cringe a little, Chloe had a weird way of placing words together, but nonetheless you loved the little bluey charming. She was like a little sister to you, even though you were just a little bit older than her.

"Hi my lovely! Is Red ready?" Doesn't that seem a bit like you were asking if she was ready for a date? "I-I, was just checking, I came to take her out, I mean, to the lake" Oh craps, you're stuttering, is it bad? It's bad. Fuck now you're panicking, great!

"Chill Y/n, I can almost hear your thoughts" princess charming giggled as you blushed deep shade of red, Red. "She's ready" She moved closer to you putting her hand to her mouth "Been ready since 5" She laughed as the Wonderlandian appeared at the door, yanking her by her collar.

"Thank you Chloe, we're gonna go now" She shut the door at the other girls face, hearing a loud 'Have fun lovebirds!' from behind them "I'm sorry for her. She can be annoying sometimes"

"No worries Red, I know, I've been friends with her since babies" You giggled as the princesses face lit up from the embarrassment, she totally forgot she's the new one in the kingdom.

"So you have a boyfriend?"

"Wow, straight forward i see" You smiled once again as you put your helmet on, doing the exact same with the Wonderlandian. She avoided your gaze looking like a pro. "You know you can look at me, hearts" you flicked her nose and she scrunched it in annoyance.

"So you don't?" She pushed you away, you grinned as you sat on your motorcycle

"Get on princess, I'm gonna take you places you've never been before" She was stunned, frozen in place looking at your extremely hot body leaning over, waiting for her to sit behind you. The phrase coming out of your mouth not helping the growing burning hot feeling inside her. She wanted to touch you.

Wanted it so badly. Was it mad? Probably.

As she sat on the motorcycle you guided her hands to grasp your waist.

"Try not to fall off, babe" Fuck. She was done for.

On the other side, you could not help the tingling feeling her touch left on you, it made your blood boiling, and every vein in your body want to pop out. Your strong grip on the vehicle only tightened when hers tightened on you. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as your heart beat rapidly on your chest.

What is she doing with you? You're going mad for her.

Mad.

The ride was slightly more calm, Red explored every single detail of the forest you were so fastly going through, and your eyes remained on the road only cursing yourself as you felt her head gently laying on your back.

"So tell me more about yourself Red" You insisted, as you took a stroll through the bridge leading to the enchanted spot. She swung her hands trying to balance herself.

"Well, I'm from Wonderland, my mom is the famous Queen of hearts. Our kingdom is stric-"

"About yourself silly" You stopped her grabbing ber shoulders from behind. "I want to hear about you, Red" Her name coming out of your mouth sounded different. It was not the harsh tone her mother used to yell her name out with. But it was also not the overly sweet almost apologetic-like tone everyone around her used, when she first come from Wonderland.

It was genuine, soft, like you'd truly want to say her name till the rest of your days.

This sentence took you on a roll of quietly listening to her stories from her childhood, her favorite things, foods, hobbies, and many diffrent informations you would love to know about her. You loved when someone began rambling to you let alone when it was someone you took a particular interest in. She looked so dazzling, stuffing her mouth with ice cream and mini cakes in between telling you how the cheshire cat scared her once so bad she began crying. And he just appeared before her while she was painting roses.

"Do you want to take a swim?" You blurted out, the sun was slowly setting painting the sky the beautiful shade of orange, pink and lavender.

"I kind of don't know how to swim Y/n" she blushed looking away, like it would be the worst of crime.

"It's okay Red, I'm not pressuring you to, but I'll happily give you lessons right here right now" You stripped down to your underwear getting in the water.

Red's eyes wandered all over your body until desire took over her, she wanted you to touch her even if she had to drown for it to happen. But you wouldn't let her would you? She hoped so as she swiftly got up and stripped down her own clothes.

Your mouth agape when you gazed at her.

"Dang, you're hot" You smirked moving your hands in the water, swimming deeper in. She began to get in, but slowly backed out "It's okay love, come, I'll take your hand" you reached out for her. And she tightly grasped it but it didn't take long for her to panic when she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet.

"No, no, no, no" You swiftly pulled her close to your body, swimming quickly somewhere less deeper then you already were.

"Red, Red. Calm down, wrap yourself around me" you whispered to her ear gently, what made her shiver even more than the water hitting her skin. She did as you requested, tangling her legs around your waist and her arms around your neck. Your warm breath fanning over her collarbone made her heart thump in her chest once again.

She couldn't help but look down in your eyes discovering that you were already looking up at her with yours. She pulled your head closer to her body leaning down. You glanced quickly at her lips not letting yourself loose the beautiful sight of her eyes.

Not stopping yourself you closed the distance between you two, letting your lips touch hers, grabbing her waist in the process, feeling her jump at your sudden bold move.

Her lips tasted like cherries but mixed with blood, you could not quite decipher how. You liked it. Liked it a lot. They were soft, and she kissed you so slowly and carefully feeling like she would scare you away if she was to move any further. Grasping your wet hair in her hands she deepened the kiss after a second. Feeling more comfortable in it now as she felt your hands roam her body.

Kissing her was like a sentence to death, there was something thrilling toit. It was not sweet, sickening and bubble gum to anyone's dismay. She kissed hard and strong, sticking her tongue in your mouth and biting your lips when she felt bold enough.

Your hands creeped down her body resting on her ass as she hummed in content, agreeing on every antic you were about to commit to.

It was exciting, and you loved that feeling.

You finally felt free with her.

Swimming, although you could drown in her.

After you pulled away, with protest. Deep heavy breathing was all that could be heard, immersed in each other's touch. Occasional splashes of water in the background.

Were you moving too fast? Was it the right thing to do? You did not care.

She tasted so good. It was so wrong, but it felt so good to have her all to yourself.

The few breaths you managed to take were cut short when she crushed your lips together once again, as if on cue, knowing exactly what you want.

You would not imagine yourself making out with the princess of Wonderland while swimming in the enchanted lake. But that's what you needed. That was what your heart begged for at the moment,

Your moment of peace.

She was your peace

It felt right. It felt as if you were bound by an invisible string. Meant to be by each other at the exact moment of your lives.

She was your escape

Your getaway car

[yourstru1y4ever]

Day 17 - "I'm not leaving you."

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader Word Count: 1431 Content: Some more of Gojo and Reader taking care of Tsumiki and Megumi! A little hurt/comfort but nothing too too serious, more comfort and hurt I should really say. Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist <- check out the other fics posted this month!

A/N: Someone better stop me from writing more than 1k during these challenges. I keep yapping too much!! Also if y’all didn’t read my day 12 prompt, I have food allergies (one of them being dairy) and I have literally no clue what ice cream is the best choice. Roast me in the comments if you think Gojo would like a different flavor. . . I literally wouldn’t know since I’ve never had any of these flavors before.

You didn’t notice anything particularly different about today. Maybe it’s the August heat? You start to walk over to the nearest convenience store to grab ice cream for the kids when you get back to Gojo’s apartment.

You visit Megumi and Tsumiki a couple of days throughout the week whenever you weren’t sent off on missions and you make sure to be there for the kids if Gojo was on a mission for longer than a day. Although it’s been almost two weeks since you’ve seen them all last due to an overseas mission you had with Yuki.

Before you left for the trip you and Gojo got into an argument and you never really had the chance to resolve the issue. He always had something to do when you called the apartment, never speaking to you and using either Megumi or Tsumiki to communicate to you.

It was childish in hindsight but the longer you both waited to talk about the elephant in the room, the worse it’ll get.

You sigh, bringing a hand up to your head to quiet any fears you might be having. The ice cream is for the kids, first and foremost, but it’ll also be a peace offering to Gojo.

Once you’re in a store you walk over to the frozen sections and grab two different pints for the kids, French Vanilla for Megumi and Mocha for Tsumiki. Looking at the sea of different ice cream flavors, you feel a little overwhelmed, unsure of what flavor Gojo would even like. You check your phone, see the time, realizing you should be back at the apartment by now, you make a split second decision and grab a quart of Sweet Cream ice cream.

You run over to the apartment, greet the door man and get onto the elevator to get to the penthouse level. In the elevator you try and catch your breath, but before you know it the doors slide open to reveal a quiet apartment for once.

“Hello?” Your voice rings out as you step inside. The lights were off and you assume that everyone’s just in their rooms. . . hopefully. You take off your shoes and turn on the living room lights.

Walking over to the kitchen you find Tsumiki standing on her step stool, looking down at a pot of leftover pot roast you made for them before you left for the mission. You also notice that the rice cooker is almost finished. As soon as it beeps, Tsumiki comes out of her trance-like state and finally notices you.

“You’re finally home!” She sets down the spoon and step stool and runs up to you.

You open your arms out to her and give her a big bear hug, “Where’s your brother?” You ask and she shakes her head.

“In his room, sulking.” She rolls her eyes, pulling away from you. “Gojo kept telling us you weren’t coming home.” She adds, avoiding your gaze.

“Why would he-?” Was it because of your argument? Did he think you would leave for good?

“You’re home?” A voice quietly asks. You turn and see Megumi looking at you with a shocked expression on your face, like he never expected to see you again.

“Of course, I brought your favorite ice cream for you both to have after dinner.” You tell them, as you fluff up Megumi’s hair. He gives you an annoyed look, but it doesn’t last long.

“Let me finish dinner for you Tsumiki, you both can go set the table,” You nod towards the table as you put the ice cream in the freezer. You look at the stovetop and give a quick taste to the reheated pot roast. It was almost perfect, just needed something fresh to give it some levity.

You peek inside the fridge, feeling the kids behind you grabbing some silverware and some bowls. And of course there’s nothing left in the fridge, you think and make a mental note to go grocery shopping with Tsumiki on the weekend. You look in the pantry and it’s almost just as empty but you see that there’s a little bit of red wine vinegar left. You take it and add it to the pot roast, and when you taste it there is the perfect amount of acidity to brighten up the dish.

“Okay it’s all set!” You announce and the kids bring their bowls over to you. You give them both a good portion of pot roast and then they get some rice to go with it. You grab your own portion of the food and join them at the table, listening to Tsumiki tell you about what you’ve missed.

Soon you all finish your dinner and Tsumiki and Megumi clean up their dishes. Gojo still hasn’t come home yet; Megumi mentioned during dinner that Gojo went to Jujutsu High for a meeting, but never said when he would return home. 

You give them each a small scoop of their ice cream; Tsumiki’s eyes sparkle with joy while Megumi gives you a small smile in thanks. You also give yourself a small scoop of Gojo’s ice cream but you can’t bring yourself to finish it. Before you know it, they finish their dessert and it’s late enough for them to go to bed.

“I’ll be sure to give you your souvenirs tomorrow.”

“You’ll be here in the morning?” “You got us souvenirs?” They overlap. “Yes to both of your questions,” You give them each a hug goodnight, sealing the promise, “I’ll be here in the morning, don’t worry.”

Once you get them in bed you head back over to the kitchen, the ice cream you had for Gojo now melted. As you grab your phone to call him Gojo steps into the kitchen, meeting your gaze.

“You’re. . .”

“Home.” You finish.

He nods and looks away from you. 

“The mission took a lot longer cuz Yuki kept taking me to different tourist spots in America. We took care of a couple of curses over there. I got some souvenirs to give to you guys.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge you as he walks past you, not listening to your story.

“Talk to me!” He stops but doesn’t turn back to you.

“I don’t know why you’re pushing me away but I didn’t want to fight with you about Megumi’s training. It’s just- He’s still just a kid.” You tell him, “But I know he needs to learn about his technique and understand jujutsu sorcery. I’m sorry for arguing with you about it.”

Satoru turns back to you, “I’m just as terrified as you, you know! I want to teach him properly, not have him become someone like-” He stops himself, looking down at the ground.

Oh.

Oh.

It was the anniversary of Geto. . .

“You seemed really upset when you left and I was worried. . . I don’t know, but I need you to know that I’m just as worried about Megumi too.”

You give Satoru a hug and he clings onto you, bringing his head into the crook of your neck. 

“I’m not leaving you,” You whisper to him.

“Do you promise?” He mumbles.

“I promise,” You reassure, “Especially not after that argument. We shouldn’t have argued about it in the first place.”

“That what I was trying to tell you back then,”

“Bullshit Satoru.” You can feel him smile against your neck and you hug him a little tighter.

He moves his head from your neck and puts his forehead against yours, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, you big dummy,”

“Wow, okay.” He laughs, pulling away from you.

“What! Don’t tell me I wounded your pride by calling you a dummy.”

“Like that would hurt my pride.” He rolls his eyes, and sees the melted ice cream in the bowl. “What’s-?”

“Oh, I bought you Sweet Cream ice cream as a peace offering,” You tell him, “I might have had a small scoop after dinner though.”

“I know how you could make it up to me,”

“And what’s that?”

“Giving me some of your sweet cream~”

“Satoru-!” He kisses you and you want to push him away but he’s got you trapped between the kitchen counter.

He pulls away from you and you cover your mouth, trying (and failing) to cover your blushing face.

“You got the best kind,” He whines.

“I- I didn’t eat it all y’know.” 

“I know, I just think you’re so cute when I make you blush.” He gives you another quick kiss before moving to the freezer to eat the ice cream right out of the container.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Thanks as usual for reading.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Things don’t become comfortable, but familiar. You get into a routine, one which smears the days and nights into the other. The landscape helps with that. The sun is fleeting, even in July. The days are longer but it’s not anywhere as stifling or humid as New York. Like everything else, it’s different. 

The man at the fish place, Frederik, knows your name. His wife, Inga too. When you walk in the door, they put your order to fry before you even get to the counter. They’re friendly and warm. It’s nice to have some smiling faces when you can hardly muster the same.  

They like to ask you about New York; they’re finally planning a big trip to America after twenty-five years together. They remind you of Marigold and her bakery. You long for one of her eclairs and her chatty demeanour. Just another thing to miss. 

As you sit down at a table near the window to eat in, your phone goes off. You answer as you read Sam’s name across the screen. He’s the only one you’ve talked to in the last month. Nearly two now. August is close. 

“Yo, yo, girly pop,” he sings from the other end. 

“Girly pop? Sam,” you chide as you hover a thick cut fry before your mouth. 

“Chicky poo, nope. Girly pop, nope. I’ll get there,” he teases, “finally got a hold of you.” 

“Uh, yeah, the site is far. No signal,” you shrug and take a bite. 

“I know, I'm just needy,” he kids. “So, you hitting the spa? Summer’s going fast.” 

“Not yet,” you swallow. “Sam, there’s a lot of work here and it’s just me. The only help I get is from a local student volunteer and they do three hours a week.” 

“Oof, why does your work sound so boring?” He groans 

“Hey!” 

“Well, I mean, digging up dirt all day, tell me you’re not going mad. You making friends? No one to cool, I hope. I’m still your number one guy.” 

“Not really. It’s tough. Long hours. I don’t know,” you stare out the window as you toy with the bamboo fork.  

“If you were going to hide all day in a hovel, you could’ve stayed in New York,” he sighs. 

“Sam, I’m trying. Really. It’s... It’s going to take some time.” 

“Right,” he agrees grimly. “Time. A year is not that long.”  

You hum and lean back in the chair. You’re not as hungry as you were. You close up the container and stand. 

“I know, alright?” You sniff as you tidy the table and grab your food, “but this isn’t a vacation.” 

“It’s also not a missionary trip,” he retorts. “I’m not tryna be a dick here, I’m helping. You need this.” 

You push out into the street and cluck. Silence. You don’t know what to say. He’s right and just like ever day, the conversation is the same. Over and over. It’s going to drive you crazy. 

“More sunlight this time of year, good for work--” 

“No more work talk,” he interjects, “if you don’t got anything fun going on, I'll just have to make you jealous. Some good old fashioned FOMO. Hm, me and Bucky went to Jersey.” 

“Jersey? Why?” You take the bait, happy for the distraction. 

“Oh, yeah, I told him there was a vintage bike for sale there.” 

“You told him that but...” 

“There wasn’t. I just wanted to see him interact with the locals. The old ladies love him but the men... well, I think he might have a warrant out now.” 

“No, Sam, what the hell?” You exclaim as you stroll along. “Are you trying to get him killed?” 

“Hey, I got his back. Just like I got yours. It was just a prank.” 

“Wait, Sam, where exactly did you take him in Jersey?” 

“Some cribbage club, I don’t know. I saw a page for it online. Thought he’d fit in--” 

“They were old?” 

“They match his energy,” he snorts. 

You can’t help but laugh. It feels good. Just that little bit of home. Your amusement is dampened as your heart sinks. You really were so stupid. You didn’t see what you had all around you; Bucky, Sam, more than just Steve. Now it’s all behind you and going back won’t be the same as before. 

💟

There’s tension in the air. It’s going to rain. You suspect your day will be cut short by the gathering clouds but your persist. No use in running. Again. 

The last time you left in fear of a storm, it waited until the next day. So you sit, boots set in the dirty, hunched over as you carefully trace out the strange lump. It’s more than sediment. Bone but not a skeleton. Likely animal and bent into some tool. You have to be delicate. It’s not like the movies, you can’t just dig your hand in and rip it out. 

Your earbud drones as a retro R&B playlist keeps your mind at focus. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove, feeling the flecks of dirt cling to your skin. You ignore it and press on. Just a little more, a little more. 

It’s bigger than you expect. Just as you think it might come free, you find it goes further down. You can make out the jagged break and the hide wrapping at it’s base. A spear of some sort.  

You roll your shoulders out and put your tools down on the open role. You peel of the gloves and reach for the tall insulated bottle of water. You gulp, your throat cooling nicely at the flow. You cap the bottle and clear your throat, listening to the silence of the mountain. 

Yet it isn’t quiet. You glance around at the subtle scratching, a strange tapping across the ground. It could be vermin. It’s not unusual to disturb a nest of one thing or another on a dig but they usually leave early on. 

You put the bottle down and shove your hand back into a glove. A puffy breath comes over the scratching. Several breaths in quick succession, as if there’s something sniff. You keep your other glove in your grip and stand. Your legs are so cramped that your steps are stiff and stunted. 

As you search for the source, there’s a yipe and a fuzzy shape catches your eye. You tilt your head, thoroughly confused at the barking beast. You’re not certain that chihuahuas are native to Norway. At least, you wouldn’t assume so. 

The ashy blond dog has longer fur along its ears and chest and a white bolt down its chest. You can tell it isn’t wild despite its behaviour as it is finely groomed and wears a bright red collar. You approach the fence as it hops, stopping only to try to dig beneath with its dirtied paws. 

“Hi, buddy,” you near the eager dog, “how’d you get up here?” 

You stop just across from the dog and poke your fingers through the fence. It stops, you think a ‘he’, and sniffs your fingers. His cold nose tickles you and you wiggle until you can pet his head. The little thunderbolt emblem on hiss collar peeks through his mane. There might be some information there. 

“Thunder!” The booming voice sounds like the very thing it decries, “Thunder, you pest, where’re you off too?” 

There’s a crunching of soil and rock along the mountain pass as the dog growls and barks again, turning to face the skewing of a towering shadow. You watch in shock at the approach. You didn’t think there was life so far up. That or someone has chosen a rather treacherous hiking trail. 

The dog, you assume ‘Thunder’, bounces back and forth in anticipation of his own, calling to him with his pitchy yaps. The man appears around the jagged rock and you feel the air knocked from your chest. You slowly reach to take out your earbud and tuck it in a pocket.

Wow. You blink to make sure it’s real. To be certain this isn’t some trick of the mind or this ancient land. Maybe the gods are real here. 

He’s tall and broad and handsome. His canvas jacket does little to conceal his muscular build as his jeans are snug to his thick thighs. You think he’s even bigger than Steve. You wince at the reminder of the man but it quickly flits away. You can’t ignore the man before you with his golden tresses twisted back into a low bun, stray strands wisping forward to frame his stony jaw and stormy blue eyes. 

You stand gaping through the fence as the man flinches in fright. His gaze meet yours and his cheeks tinge pink as he gives a crooked grin, “ah, Thunder, my darling, you’ve found a friend.” 

He whistles and the dog lunges forward. He picks up the chihuahua, their size difference almost comical as he cradles him in one arm. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can barely think.  

You snap your mouth shut and clear your throat. Work. That’s what you should be doing. 

“Hello,” the man nears the other side of the fence before you can move away, “I’ve been wondering what this is all about. The signs...” he points with his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, uh,” you peer around as if lost. You sort of are. “A dig. Er. Grant,” you stammer out. You take a breath and still your mind, “I work with an archeological society in New York. We’ve been sponsored by your national board to exhume this site.” 

“Ah, yes, makes sense,” he lowers his brows thoughtfully as the dog squirms in his hold, yiping and biting at his sleeve. “Forgive me, she is rather uncouth.” He raises the dog higher and she wiggles in his arm. You see it now, definitely a pampered girl. “This is Thunder. She lives up to her namesake, eh?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you give a brittle smile, unsure. 

“Thor,” he dips his chin down, “I live just up the pass.” 

“You do?” You wonder curiously. “All the way up here?” 

“Oh yes, if you saw the old haunt, you might just want to dig that up too,” he jokes. “We usually go up the pass, towards the river.” 

“The river?” 

“Yes, you mustn’t stray far from here,” he remarks as he raises a hand to lean on the fence, only to nearly tip the unanchored grating. “Oooh, apologies,” he rights himself with a laugh, “anyhow, it is nice to see a new face around here. Better to have a name for it.” 

“Right, uh,” you offer your name and giggle nervously, “it’s just me on-site, guess I forget my manners.” 

“Not to worry. As the resident mountain man, my etiquette does lack,” he winces as Thunder chomps on his thumb knuckle, “eh, you monster, alright.” He holds her up and she pokes her nose through the fence, “she loves new people. Not so keen on the old.” 

“She's cute,” you scratch her nose and she licks your fingers. “Not exactly a native species.” 

“Who knows where she came from? Found the little dragon in the woods. Suppose someone left her there. She was covered in mud, so small I though she was a bloody toad,” he muses as he brings her back against his chest and rocks her, “it was only her thunderous barks which told me otherwise, isn’t that right, darling?” 

He makes a kissy noise at her and her fluffy tail wags wildly against him. You smile more genuinely. It is nice to have another living thing around after digging up the broken and dead for so long. 

“So you’re from New York?” He asks abruptly, his blue eyes rolling over you like a tide. 

“Yeah,” you utter breathily, “yes, New York.” 

“You’ve been here a while?” 

“Couple months,” you shift and twist your glove. 

“Wonderful, and you’ve done much exploring? You must live in town.” 

“About three hours,” you point towards the gravelly road, “haven’t had much time for sightseeing but I found a good fish shop.” 

“A shop? That’s no good. We catch our own fish, fry ‘em up over the pit,” he says, “that’s the way we do it up here.” 

You nod, “sounds fun. Well, er,” you turn halfway and look around, your eyes skimming up to the cloudy sky, “I should probably hustle. Looks like rain.” 

“That it does but it won’t be ‘til midnight,” he assures. 

“You think it’ll hold out?” 

“I know so,” he affirms and lingers by the fence, trying to see past you, “what exactly are you uncovering over there?” 

“Not much so far,” you pull on your loose glove. 

“You must know what this place was. A raider’s camp.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm, yes, the raiders would camp upon the pass away from those who might come ashore, then go off themselves to find a coast to reap,” he explains. 

“And how do you know all that?” You ask as you tramp back to your place in the dirt. 

“Suppose some of my ancestors camped here with them,” he offers casually, “for so long as we’ve been up here. Once the viking scamps settled, they had to find a home somewhere. Some fellow named Agmundr or another built a stone house further up.” 

“Admundr? Family?” You prompt. 

“Distant,” he assures, “been some time and that stone house is now a foundation.” 

You get down to your knees as you grab your brush and peek over at him, “thanks for the information. I’ll have to add it to the land report. Have them crosscheck in the archives.” 

“Not at all. You won’t find it all on your paper, you know? We carry or history on our tongues here.” 

“Sure,” you say as you bend over the spearhead and start again. 

“You don’t mind if I watch? I always did love history and I’ve never seen a proper dig before.” 

“Not much going on, I’m afraid,” you shrug, “but if you want.” 

“Thunder will have a tantrum if I go,” he chuckles, “she likes you.” 

“Hm,” you scoff, “she is very outspoken.” 

You set your eyes on your task but can’t shake the awareness of your audience. It’s not too unusual. There were a few digs you did early on in the heart of the city and people loved to ogle you. This is different. Just the two of you. A stranger even. Friendly as he is, you’re happy for the fence, even if it is rather flimsy. 

“Those bones aren’t for you,” he says to the dog as she wriggles in his grasp. “Let’s find a stick then, you little pest.”