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myfictionaldreams · 11 months

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Day 28: Cockbulge - Lee Bodecker

Summary: Being the new secretary at the Police Station had been quite the adjustment, but now, you're left alone with the handsome Sheriff, Lee Bodecker.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content (slightly), injury/blood (cut to knee), clumsy!reader, size difference, cock bulge, dry humping, innocence, protective, authority/power play, praise kink, sir kink, rough sex, creampie, sucking fingers

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It had been a long first week at your new job as a secretary at the police station in Knockemstiff. Everyone had been pleasant and welcoming, which had calmed your nerves as you were completely new to the area, deciding to move across the country to have a fresh start.

Tonight, you decided to stay late to finish the remaining paperwork stacked up throughout the day. As you were so new, it was taking you some time to get used to filing and completing the documentation; therefore, you decided that if you stayed behind after everyone had left, you could complete it at a leisurely pace without making any mistakes.

What you hadn’t anticipated was the Sheriff had also decided to stay and sit in his office, the only light illuminating the building except for the lamp on your desk and in the kitchen. Everywhere else had a dark shadow that had your eyes flicking to check that there wasn’t something hiding in the darkness and still trying to get used to being in a new environment.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you saw it nearing midnight and yet; there was still a sizeable stack of papers next to you on the desk. Deciding you needed a freshen-up, you stretched your arms high above your head, moaning quietly as different areas of your body popped and clicked.

You were planning to go and make yourself a coffee, but the light illuminating the edge of the room caught your eye. It was polite to ask if the Sheriff would like a coffee as well, but that included talking to him, which so far had been an unsuccessful feat as he always made you nervous enough to fumble your words. Not only was he in a position of great power, but Sherriff Lee Bodecker was incredibly handsome, from his tall stature, piercing blue eyes, buzzed hair and soft belly that was beginning to strain against his belt. Every single part of him had your insides fluttering and your mouth unable to form coherent words.

You seemed to chastise yourself constantly for being so foolish around him, knowing that he was your boss and you’d have to speak to him multiple times a day, so it was about time you got ahold of yourself. However, this was easier said than done.

Baby steps, you reminded yourself. You didn’t need to go in and ask about his childhood. All you needed to do was knock on his door and ask if he’d like a coffee.

Taking a deep breath and straightening the material of your knee-length floral dress, you moved towards his office. The door lay open as if he was waiting for you, but quickly shaking your head, you knew your mind was playing fantasy tricks. The Sheriff sat behind his desk, a tall lamp over his shoulder, the only light fixture turned on as his eyes darted around the file in his hands.

Knocking three times gently on his door, you tried not to flinch as he looked up, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing as he smiled at your presence. “Would you like a coffee, Sheriff?”

“Yes, please, Sugar” he smiled appreciatively, and you gave him a kind one in response, turning towards the kitchen area. As you switched on the coffee machine and waited for the water to warm, you arranged two cups on the countertop, and the anxious little voice in your head began to overthink the entire interaction. Sugar? Was he calling you a cute nickname, or was he asking for sugar in his coffee? How could you not know how the Sheriff likes to have his coffee already? You’ve been working for him for seven days already; this should have been the top three things you should know as the secretary.

So lost without your thoughts, you hadn’t heard his footsteps following behind you until he asked you a question, but your squeal in fear drowned out what he was asking as you quickly spun on the spot. In doing so, your elbow caught one of the coffee cups that fell off the side and smashed on the floor.

Your eyes widened in fear as you instantly were on your knees, reaching for the tiny shards that once created a cup. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff! I’ll pay for this, I promise. I wasn’t looking where I was going with my clumsy arms and-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, Darlin’, it’s only a cheap coffee cup, there’s no need to fret. Here, let me pick that up; I don’t want you accidentally cutting yourself now”.

Lee tried to take the shards of the cup from your palm, but you shook your head, “No, Sir. I’ll clean it. It’s my mess; I’m really sorry. I’m never usually this clumsy, I promise.”

“Sweetheart, it’s fine! But I must insist you give me those pieces before you hurt yourself”.

He was so close to you that you could feel his warmth as his fingers wrapped beneath yours and tilted what you had collected into his hand. Looking at him through your lashes with shame, embarrassment, and guilt, you were about to thank him when a sharp pain cut through your knee as you moved positions. “Thank you, Sheriff, I- ow!”

Both of your eyes lowered to your knee as you sat back onto the balls of your feet, lifting your dress and knee to see a portion of the broken cup had lodged into your skin, partially sticking out, and blood already leaking down your shin.

“Careful! Let’s get you in the light better. I’ve got you, put your arms around my shoulders”. The pain was increasing, which only meant you were half paying attention. All you knew was that you didn’t want to move your leg, but the Sheriff was in front of you, moving your hands for you until they rested on his uniform-covered shoulders.

As he stood, his arms wrapped around your waist, helping you to stand on one leg and then hop over to the table in the centre of the kitchen area. When your arse was brushing against the solid wood, his hands once more lowered to your hips, where he was able to lift you until you were sitting on the surface.

Even with your pain, your cheeks were aflame with embarrassment at his touches. Having him so close, you could smell the reminisce of his aftershave that he’d put on in the morning hour. It had an underlying spice scent while also remaining sweet, like vanilla. Then there was the searing heat remaining on your waist and hips from where his hands had touched; it was as if his hands had burned through your clothes altogether with the lasting impression that they had left.

The Sheriff had rushed to find the first aid box beneath the kitchen sink and was standing before you a second later; his eyebrows furrowed like they had been before you interrupted his reading. The table was positioned directly beneath the kitchen light so the two of you could see the extent of the damage. The shard wasn’t as deeply embedded as you’d first thought, but enough blood had flowed that a streak of red now pathed down your leg and pooled in your sock.

The sight instantly made you feel as if you were on a boat. Nauseous and dizzy as you swayed slightly. “Woah, ok, so you aren’t a fan of blood. Just look at me, Sweet, or better yet, lean on my shoulder and look in the other direction. That’s good; now, take some deep breaths. I don’t want you passing out on me, alright?”

You weren’t able to respond with the fear that you might vomit on your new boss, so you just followed his instructions. First, by looking up into his handsome, welcoming face and then leaning your cheek onto his shoulder, looking away from the mess running down your leg. As you continued to feel light-headed, Lee held his arms around your waist, his thumb stroking in gentle circles that helped to ground you at the moment, his touches once again causing warmth to bloom wherever he was, from the hands-on your body to the shoulder against your cheek.

Long minutes go past as you breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, trying to regain any sort of control over your traitorous body. Feeling strong enough to have some composure, you realised, to your horror, that you’d been gripping onto his biceps like your life depended on it.

Releasing him with a gasp, your face tilted to look up at him. “I’m so sorry!”

“Why are you apologising? You’ve not done anything wrong” he tried to calm you with a soft stroke of your cheek with the back of his fingers, and it felt as if all air seemed to be sucked from your lungs. Lee smiled down at you before turning serious, “Why don’t you continue to lean on my shoulder, and I’ll clean your leg up?”.

Nodding your head as words seemed to fail from your mind at all the intimate touches that had passed between you and the Sheriff, you leaned your face against his cheek, looking away from the direction of your pained knee that had now turned into a deep throb of pain.

“You’re shaking, Darlin’. Just hold onto me; everything’s going to be just fine. You won’t need stitches from the looks of it. I’m just going to clean you first, then I’ll take out the shard”. Once more, you nodded your head in response and mentally screamed at the fact that you weren’t shaking because of the injury or the light-headed sensation but because you were nervous about being close to him.

Lee rummaged through the first aid box next to you and then began to clean the blood off of your leg. “How are you finding it here in Knockemstiff?” the Sheriff asked casually, trying to make small talk and distract you.

“I’m really enjoying it, sir; everyone’s been so welcoming and friendly”, you responded after a shaky breath, hands moving to grip the edge of the table so you refrained from grabbing onto him.

“Good. Do you live alone, or did your family move with you?”

Your entire body felt as if it was floating with the overwhelming emotions going through your body with having the Sheriff’s hand running up and down your leg; occasionally, his fingertip would brush against the skin directly, and you had to bite your lip to stop an embarrassing squeak from coming out of your mouth. “I live alone. My family live on the other side of the country. It’s just me”.

The hand on your leg paused momentarily before continuing towards your knee. “Pretty girl like you all by yourself? I don’t like the sound of that”, he mutters, almost so faintly that you weren’t sure if he had intended for you to hear it or not, but it had the desired effect anyway as your body involuntarily shivers.

Your tongue suddenly felt like it was made of lead as you responded, “It can be a little scary, but at least I know I’ve got a protector like you looking after the town, Sheriff”.

The shoulder you were leaning on shifted backwards as Lee tilted his body so that he could look down at you. You couldn’t understand the expression he was portraying; his eyes were unfathomably dark in the bright, overhanging light, and they seemed to be tracking every little movement of your face. “Of course, Sweet. I’ll always be here to protect you”.

“Ow!”

“There, the worst is over with now”. You had been so distracted with mesmerising his face this close, particularly the shape of his lips, that you hadn’t noticed that he had gripped the object in your knee, pulled it out and then quickly covered the cut in his wipe. “Sorry, I’m just going to move a little close to look at the damage”, he explains whilst shifting forward. In doing so, he pushed between your legs, causing them to spread further and him to be flush against your body.

Your mouth dried, fingernails digging into the wood. You’d only ever had one man this close to you before, and that was your ex-boyfriend, who you’d thought was the love of your life, allowing intimacy to occur because you were meant to be together forever. Then, one day, he decided he wanted that with the neighbour instead. This was the main reason for you moving across the country, but now, having the Sheriff this close felt both scandalous and yet safe, trusting your new boss as he was only helping you.

Deciding to believe this, you leaned further against him, but in doing so, your thigh pressed against something in his pocket. Assuming it was his gun, you didn’t see the need to move away from him and remained close, savouring the warmth he was providing you.

Maybe you were tired and somewhat delirious still from the current events, but it took you much longer than it should have to realise that the Sheriff’s hips were moving against your thigh, causing the sensitive skin to chaff. Your eyes had been closed but soon snapped open as your posture straightened.

Your mouth opened and then closed as you struggled to decide what to say. The hardness that was stroking against your thigh was definitely not his gun, which you realised should have poured fear through your soul, but your traitorous body reacted in another way as warmth bloomed in your panties and core.

Before you could react further, the Sheriff was moving away, “All done. You’re as good as new, Darlin’”.

The warmth of his body stepped back as he moved to dispose of the bloody wipes and wrappers from the bandaid that now lay across the small cut on your knee. You inspected the area, mainly as a distraction so you didn’t have to look up at the Sheriff, worried that he’d see the glassy-eyed expression etched across your face or that you would see the bulge that had just been pressing against you.

“I think it’s about time we called it a night. How about I drive you home?” he suggested from across the room.

“Ye-yeah. You don’t have to drive me home, though, Sheriff. I only live down the road; I can just walk”.

As you were about to jump down from the table, he was in front of you again, that crease returning between his eyebrows as he looked at you disapprovingly. His hands rested next to yours on the table's edge as he leaned his weight on them, lowering himself so the two of you were now at eye level. “Now I won’t be having that. I’m not letting such an innocent-looking girl walk around in the middle of the night. You don’t know who is watching in the shadows. Go and get your coat; I’ll wait by the door”.

You gave him a thankful smile and embarrassingly squealed as his hands returned to your hip, and he pulled you off the table and back onto your feet. With the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you ran to your desk, trying to tidy it quickly before grabbing your coat.

Ever the gentleman, Lee held the station's door open, as well as his cruiser's passenger door open for you to get into his car. It felt odd for you to be in the front of the police car but also thrilling in a strange sort of way, and some naughty part of your brain couldn’t wait to get home so you could get the frustrations out of your body with the head of the shower between your legs.

Giving the Sheriff directions to your home, you both drove in a comfortable silence. However, being so close to him, in the contained metal box of his car, your wandering eyes kept slipping back towards him. Not only were you staring at his face, but your eyes dipped to his crotch. You would internally use the excuse it was to see if it was his gun, but this was strapped to the side of his hip, and yet, the bulge was still very evidently there.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asked innocently, rubbing his chin as your face scorched with heat; having been caught, you couldn’t find the courage to talk, so you shook your head and kept your eyes out the window.

Thankfully, the ride home didn’t take long, and he was pulling into your drive. The Sheriff looked intently at your house and the surrounding area that didn’t have many street lights as it was a private area. The trees loomed high, causing the space to look even more intimidating with shadows and darkness.

“Thank you so much for the ride home, Sheriff and for helping me with my knee. I promise I’ll buy the station a new cup. Anyway, you get home safe”. One hand on the door handle, your other was quickly gripped by Sheriff, halting your movements to leave his car as your head snapped to look at him with a confused frown.

“I don’t like you being out here by yourself. Just for my own sanity, do you mind if I do a quick check of the property? I don’t think I’d be able to sleep once I’m home to know I’ve not properly checked that you were safe”.

A gentle smile replaced your confusion as you nodded your head for him to do so, appreciating the help to make you feel safe. The two of you approached the front door, with the Sheriff helping to illuminate the way with his flashlight.

Once inside, you were quick to turn on the lights, thanking your past self for having decided to clean yesterday so it wasn’t in an embarrassing state for when your boss entered and searched the property. You waited patiently in the living area, listening to him walk throughout the house and checking behind doors that the windows and locks were secure.

“Sheriff, would you like a drink?” you shouted up the stairs.

“A coffee if you’d be so kind”, he responded quickly, and you were quick to move into the kitchen and place the pot on the stove, heating the water to a boil. You were still fresh to moving in and had already forgotten where you’d left the cups, and to your dismay, for some ungodly reason, you’d placed the nicer ones at the very top of the cupboard.

Straining onto your tip toes, you cursed yourself to hell for leaving the fancy cups so far away and the stepping stool in the other room as you tried your best to try and reach them. Just as they were a fingertip away, a solid, warm body entirely pressed against your back, and a giant hand collected the two cups and placed them on the counter in front of you.

“Than-Thank you, Sheriff”. You couldn’t help the stammer with having him practically on top of you, pushing firmly against your back so that your stomach ached from being forced into the kitchen side.

“It’s my pleasure, Sweet”, he replied with a tone you’d never heard before, low but authoritative. Before you could contemplate it any further, he shifted, and the bulge that you had once been against your thigh was now pressing against your lower back. You weren’t even breathing with the thoughts spiralling through your mind, anticipation and arousal returning with such a blow that you visibly shivered. The warm breath of the Sheriff then caressed the skin of your neck as he lowered his face. “I saw you staring at me in the car, those pretty doe eyes looking at their Sheriff in such a naughty way”.

Your mouth opened, prepared to try and defend yourself in a way you weren’t actually sure how, but his arms resting on either side of you, further trapping you in place, had any words dying on the tip of your tongue. “It’s fine, Darlin’. I was looking too. You’re just so damn breathtaking; all I’ve wanted to do this week is eat you right up”.

A mewl slipped past your lips as your eyes fluttered close and his nose brushed against your jaw. Lee smiled, hearing the pathetic noise, his body rutting against yours in response, “I know you want it too. I could feel how warm your arousal was as I was cleaning your knee, all flushed between those legs of yours. You just need someone to look after you, don’t you, Sweetheart?”

You were losing your mind, more whimpers bubbling from your chest as your head rolled back onto his shoulder, head tilting away to expose more of your neck for him. The Sheriff chuckled darkly, his lips skimming over your cheek as the two of you slowly rocked into one another, swaying on the spot.

You knew you should stop this before it escalated any further. He was your boss. Your Sheriff and you were sure it was somewhere in your contract that this sort of relationship shouldn’t form, but he was just so breathtaking, and you felt needy and lonely.

“Tell me you want this. I want to hear you say it”, he whispered against your ear, rocking his hips into your body still.

You spoke with the most confidence you could muster at that moment, “I want you, Sheriff Bodecker, I want this - please give it to me!”

He didn’t respond verbally at first. The Sheriff simply removed the water from the stove, turning off the heat. The chest against your back vibrated as he hummed his approval, one of his hands moving to cup your jaw. “Good girl. Now open those legs for me. Is this your first time?”

You swallowed audibly, widening your stance and spreading your legs, still using Lee as a support to keep you upright as you shook your head. “No, me and my ex-boyfriend, we…” your words trailed off, not finding the courage to say what you were both referring to.

Lee laughed against your cheek as he began to fumble with the skirt of your dress, lifting it at the back and gathering it around your waist. “Fucked? That’s what you wanted to say, isn’t it? My sweet girl isn’t as innocent as she looks”, he taunts whilst pulling your panties down your legs until you’re stepping out of them.

A faint buzz began to pound in your ears as he continued to hold your jaw so that you couldn't look over your shoulder at what he was doing with his other hand. However, the zipper noise that creaked through the thick atmosphere informed you of his actions. You were breathing heavily through your gaped-open mouth, knuckles aching with how badly you were clutching onto the countertop.

This was really happening. Your boss was going to fuck you against the kitchen cupboards after only knowing you for a week. How did it even go from finishing paperwork to this? You weren’t able to contemplate anymore as Lee lewdly spat into his hand and moved in between your bodies, smothering the tip of his cock with his spit, and then he was pushing up against you once more.

You jolted at the presence of his cock between your legs, fumbling to find its home, pressing between your soaked folds as Lee sucked in a quick breath. “So wet for me already. Do you really like you Sheriff that much?”

“Yes, sir”, you answered, sounding downright pathetic and needy as you tried to move your hips to help him find where you wanted him most, but his hard body kept you firmly in place.

Finally, he nudged at your entrance and wasted no time pushing within. You cried out as his thickness began to stretch you open thoroughly and deeply. Inch and inch delved between your folds as you savoured the delectable burn that came with his cock. You should have anticipated his size, considering the bulge that you’d been feeling and staring at it, but you couldn’t help but rise onto the tips of your toes as he pushed in further until both of your hips slotted together.

“Lord, you’re tight”, he praised gruffly, holding you tight enough that it was sure to cause bruises, but you didn’t care as you were completely under his control. “Bet you taste good too”. Without any warning, he eased the pressure of his body back for a moment to allow space for his hand that wasn’t gripping your face to delve down the front of your body and press against your throbbing clit, gathering the slickness onto his fingers. You gasped frantically at the stimulation and then groaned at the loss as his hand moved to his mouth, and you were praised with the beautiful noise of him moaning as he licked your juices from his fingers. “Fuck, I was right, you taste so damn good I just know I’m going to be addicted to you. Why don’t you have a taste, Darlin’”.

Your clit was being pressed on by his wet fingers once more, and then he was shoving them into your already open more which he kept open with the hand around your jaw. With your need to please him, you sucked hungrily at the three fingers wedged between your teeth, tasting the saltness of your slick and the uniqueness of his saliva.

Both of his hands remained there as he finally began to pull out and then slammed back in, causing burning pleasure to burst between your legs. Lee rested his forehead against the side of your face as he began to roughly fuck into you, keeping you entirely still with the way he had you pinned to the cupboards.

You’d never felt pleasure like this before; each thrust of his cock was never-ending euphoria, tightening and wetting your cunt. You continued to suck his fingers, using them as some kind of crutch so that you didn’t lose control completely, even though you were moaning incessantly.

Your hands moved to grip his wrists, your nails now embedded into his skin and causing crescent-shaped marks. Lee growled at the spark of pain, using this to motivate his harsher fucking movements until his hips were a blur of in and out.

The moans you were producing increased in pitch and desperation as you could feel the coil in your abdomen tightening at an alarming pace. The Sheriff could feel you becoming tighter around him as he groaned, biting the lobe of your ear that sent hot pain down your throat.

“You gonna cum for me, Sweet? Why don’t you cum on my cock, and I’ll give you what you really want” his words were promising, and you were too far gone to understand the implications behind his words.

Somehow, Lee fucked you even harder until there was no holding back anymore, and you came with a gush of fluid seeping down your thighs and screams that were muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

“That’s a good girl, feel so good trying to milk my cock. Let’s give you what you want, gonna fill you up so damn good”. As your eyes rolled back, the fingers disappeared from your mouth, causing a string of spit to drip onto your chin as Lee pressed his wet hand against the cupboard above your head, using it to hold onto so he could fuck you at a brutal pace until he was cursing, baritone grunts echoing around the kitchen as he came.

The extra fluid flooded out of your hole, joining the mess that already coated your thighs as Lee’s softening cock slipped out. Neither of you moved, though, taking these precious moments to try and catch your breath and come down from the incredible high.

Apprehension started to fill your consciousness as you feared what was to come after this, so tentatively, you asked gently, “Please don’t leave me tonight”.

You wanted him to stay; you needed to feel his warmth and know that you hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of your life. Lee kissed the underside of your jaw, “Don’t worry, Darlin’, I’m not going anywhere”.

#lee bodecker #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker x reader #the devil all the time #mine*#kinktober #kinktober 2023

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

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. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed.

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge.

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage.

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

#sherlock holmes #enola holmes #dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #unraveled

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joeloverture · 8 months

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sea-cret obsession | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dad's enemy!yachter!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your dad's always had a superiority complex when it comes to his place at austin's finest yacht club. when joel miller joins the club, not only does he dethrone your dad — he also becomes your newest obsession. warnings: (18+ mdni) yachter!joel, dad's enemy!joel, age gap (mid 20s/mid 50s), alcohol, joel is implied to be older than reader's dad - don't read too far into it, reader wears a bikini (anyone can, i promise!), fantasizing, creepyish joel but reader's into it, soft!dom joel, porn with a paper-thin plot, m!receiving oral, throatfucking, facial, cum-eating, f!masturbation, blowjob in the captain's chair, daddy kink (oops), thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, degradation, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n] word count: 2.9k a/n: this was supposed to be a ficlet for @iamasaddie's ✏️game. this is not a ficlet. please suspend your disbelief, this concept simply fell into my lap the moment i saw the wonderful moodboard aly put together for me. go check out the other fics, most of which are much shorter than mine and are absolute brain candy, that stemmed from aly's game!

Austin is hotter than the hinges on the gates of Hell, and you haven’t stopped sweating bullets since climbing out of Lake Travis. After an afternoon of floating belly-up in your bikini off of the dock of the yacht club your dad frequents, your need for a drink finally outweighed your need for aimless swimming.

Your bare feet are still burning from the hotfooted walk across the wooden deck into the bar. Water droplets cling to your skin and leave a pattern of stippled concrete in your wake. It’s been a few hours you’ve seen your dad around the club, having already gotten into a pissing contest with new club members over horsepower and amenities. Your dad’s the type to always want the biggest and the best: the most decks, the biggest wine fridge, the nicest galley — because God forbid he lose his running ten-year superiority to a newbie.

So yeah, you need a drink. You don’t even have to order; the bartender, Callie, simply slides your usual order over, which you nurse while watching a preseason football game. You haven’t bothered to sit down, your hip popped out with your elbows propped up on the granite countertop.

You don’t even notice the wolf whistle from behind is directed at you until a man sidles up next to you, flashing a smile at Callie. He looks like he belongs in a yacht club, curls styled and sculpted neatly around his face down to where the collar of his blue blazer begins. Some of the buttons on his striped shirt are undone, and your eyes, much to your chagrin, linger at the slice of tanned chest peeking through the fabric.

He looks you up and down, unabashedly licking his lips when he sees the crease of your thighs. “Sweetheart, you’re much too pretty to be entertainin’ the ragtag kinda men around here.”

It’s not the first time you’ve been hit on by the yachters at this particular club, but it is the first time one of them has caught your eye. “I’m not–” you start before you hear the telltale sign of your dad’s laughter coming from close by. You turn around, drink in hand as he rounds the corner, sunglasses on and a towel around the back of his neck.

Your dad’s expression immediately sours with a speed you’ve never seen in him before. His lips draw tight at the sight of you – or maybe the sight of the man next to you.

“Joel,” your dad says, separating from his entourage. He wraps a protective arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”

“Seems it,” the man, presumably Joel, nods, flagging down Callie for an old fashioned. The glass sweats condensation along his sturdy hand. He holds eye contact with you while he sips, only looking away when he runs his tongue along the rim of the glass. “Oughta let me take ‘er for a ride one day. Bet she’d appreciate the fine machinery of a real boat.”

You don’t miss the innuendo to his words even if your dad doesn’t. You scrub your hands along your sides, your sunscreen-sticky skin dewy beneath your palms. You shush the part of yourself that bets you’d appreciate it, too.

“Your boat is maybe good for getting to the retirement home across the lake,” your dad snaps, squeezing your shoulder. He pushes his sunglasses up his nose. “C’mon, kiddo, let’s head home.”

You find your flip flops at the bottom of your beach bag, barely having the time to kick them on before your dad is practically pulling you out of the yacht club. He gives half-hearted waves to his usual boating buddies until you’re in the parking lot, surrounded by heat shimmering over the blacktop. The scalding hot leather seats burn the backs of your thighs and the small of your back as you settle in. With a purr, the air conditioner blows a fresh burst of wind in your face.

“What was that all about?” you ask when he starts the engine.

Your dad clips his sunglasses on his polo shirt, gripping the steering wheel ten and two with a winded sigh through his nose. “Fuckin’... rookie with his triple-decker Ferretti.”

Joel looked rich. But not Ferretti rich. “Who the hell in Austin owns a Ferretti?”

“That son of a bitch, that’s who. I don’t want you runnin’ amok on Joel’s boat, you hear me?”

“Ain’t planning on it,” you respond as if you don’t already know what’ll happen if Joel propositions you again.

You see Joel again soon, but only in passing. A wink behind your father’s back, a drink from the gentleman across the bar that was only coincidentally Joel. The locations of these run-ins are always different. Sometimes you walked by each other on the dock. Sometimes he’d give you both a quick wave from across the water before he sped off, leaving the boat rocking on the stirred up tide and your dad cussing up a storm.

Today’s almost-tryst happens on the dock. You’re walking past Joel’s designated dock in a bikini that you’d nearly thrown out because of its snug fit. You have to smother your disappointment when you don’t see him on the top deck sipping a beer. You know better than to be disappointed over the man who your dad has not only claimed as a mortal enemy, but also claimed as the antichrist. With the thoughts Joel gives you when your hand is between your thighs, it might not be too far from the truth.

You think you have most of it figured out – he’s rough, he has to be. With how relentless as he is on the waters, it makes no sense for him to be anything else. His fancy, custom belt buckles snicking as it comes undone so he can yank his jeans down and get inside of you. Those chains he always wears would hang in your face, swaying with every roll of his hips into yours as he chases his pleasure deep inside of your–

“Woah there, darlin’,” a honeyed voice coaxes you, a muscled arm darting out to stop you in your path. “Almost walked right into the lake.” Your head snaps up to look at Joel, the very inconvenient object of your fantasies. You swallow the quickly-forming lump in the back of your throat. “You sure you ain’t had too many?”

“Positive,” you say. You haven’t even done a shot s0 far today.

“Mmm, alright.” The playful glint in his eyes doesn’t seem too convinced. It makes your heart stutter before you remind it to keep beating. “Tell ya what, you’re welcome to ‘sober up’ on my boat.”

You look between where your dad’s dock sits empty. He’s out with his co-workers today, shooting the shit too much for their own good. Then you look between Joel and his boat, the beauty of a Ferretti that’s just two steps away.

Mouth already watering at the possibilities, you say, “I do remember you promising me a ride, old man.”

Joel’s lips curl into a knowing smirk, and he makes the long step from the dock to the boat, hand held out for you. You don’t hesitate to let him help you aboard.

You’re on your knees in front of the captain’s chair before he gets to the middle of Lake Travis. “Old man,” he mocks above you with his legs spread as far as they can go. You kitten-lick his hardened cock, making sure to lap up the obscene amount of his precum. There’s certainly one part of Joel that doesn’t need to go to a retirement home, and it’s in your mouth. You suckle at the leaking head of his cock while his strokes your cheek, only pulling away to spoon a drop of his precum from your lip onto your tongue. “You like suckin’ an older man’s cock, pretty girl?”

You nod eagerly, taking him deeper so you can tongue the vein along the underside of his cock. From that, he groans, head slumping on the headrest so he can gather himself. You spit a generous amount into your hand, wrapping around the base to properly suck him.

“Bet there’s a whole ‘nother lake in that skimpy lil’ bikini of yours, ain’t that right?” You nod around his length and go a little deeper. He’s heavy on your tongue, long and girthy all at once. He presses lightly against the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him, but you wouldn’t pull away from him even if the yacht itself set on fire. He moans as you start to bob your head up and down. You rub your thighs together just thinking about what his cock could be capable of between your legs. “Mhm, I know, baby. You wanna push that outta the way and give it a rub for me? A rub for your real daddy?”

A choked whimper punches its way out of you. His hips jerk from the vibrations, unintentionally pushing himself further down your throat. You expect it to be too much, but it isn’t. You pull away from him, taking a quick breath as you wrap your hand around the wide palm seated on his thigh and raise it to the back of your head. “Please fuck my throat, daddy,” you pout up at him, a mixture of your spit and his precum dripping down your chin and into your cleavage.

Another groan tugs its way out of him when he looks down at you. He cups the back of your head and brings his cock back to your mouth. “Can’t say no to such a gorgeous fuckin’ face. Gonna look so damn good covered in my cum.” You keep licking his tip, not wanting to miss a single drop of him. “Go ‘head and put a hand on your pussy, baby. Rub that clit that daddy’s got all throbbin’.”

And how could you ever say no to him? Your hand is down your bikini within seconds, peeling your tacky panties away from your cunt so your fingertips can rub circles along your clit. A circle against your swollen core pulls a moan from you right as he thrusts into your throat. He starts out slow, tentative as he pushes all the way into your throat and then pulls all the way out. His second thrust is much harder, stifling your breathing for a moment as a strangled noise of pleasure leave his parted lips.

He nudges you further down onto his cock, burying your nose into the triangle of skin exposed by his rumpled button-down. You force down the gag that builds in the back of your throat. Joel keeps your mouth speared on his cock with shallow rolls of his hips into the warm wetness of your mouth. You whine, prompting a hearty chuckle from him. “Good girl, daddy’s good little girl. Keep playin’ with yourself for me.” He smirks down at you. “Ain’t much different than what you do in your own bed, huh? Pussy just cryin’ for some cock, I bet.”

You moan in agreement as your eyes flutter shut when you rub your clit harder, harder, harder until arousal is smeared all over your knuckles and across your mound. “Nuh-uh,” he says with a punctuating adjustment of his hips. You gag, spit webbing through Joel’s happy trail. “Eyes on me.”

You’re satisfied to find him just as debauched as you feel. Strands of his usually put-together hair are out of place along his forehead, and his golden chain glistens with sweat. His hands grip the arms of the captain’s chair, spread on the tanned leather and exerting dominance over your kneeling silhouette. But you aren’t fooled. There’s a certain rosiness to his cheeks, a flare to his nose, that lets you in on the secret: he’s just as wrecked, just as in deep as you are.

You pull up and immediately sink down on his cock again, pleading eyes looking up at him, asking him. I want it daddy. I want you. And then he’s fucking your throat in earnest. His hips buck up to meet the back of your throat. You struggle to keep up with his size, his pace, but you suck his cock even with the knowledge that you won’t know how to explain your sore throat or raspy voice to your dad.

Joel squints down at you, absorbing the seeping spit from the corners of your raw lips, your droopy, ecstasy-laden eyes. He sighs, sinking down into the chair as he grinds his cock into your mouth and moves your head up and down his length. You take the hand that isn’t playing with your clit and reach to grab at his balls, kneading them. A narrow breath trips out of his lips. “Nasty bitch. Fuck, baby. Daddy’s close. Keep – keep doin’ that.” You drag your tongue along that bottom vein again, kneading one of his balls and making sure that when he pulls you off of his cock, you treat the head to one final taste.

“Open up, slut,” he coaxes. His cock twitches. He jerks himself once, twice, and then cums, rope after rope hitting your damp skin. His cum is hot, sticky, and you’re too preoccupied with trying to catch some of his release that your hand stalls over your cunt. You whimper when his cum lands on your tongue and follow it up by swallowing. Joel’s breath is unsteady as he looks down at you, cock softening in his lap. “Good girl,” he praises, reaching out to run his thumb along your stained skin. Drop by drop, he feeds you his cum, and you lap it up just as eagerly as you’d lapped him up.

You pull your hand out of your bikini when he’s done, tacky arousal stretching between your fingers. Going back on your haunches, you suck in a deep breath through your abused throat.

Joel pats his wide, thick thighs above you, the same ones you’ve been fantasizing about since that first day in the bar. “I promised you a ride, didn’t I?” A familiar, hooked smirk pulls at his mouth. Your face lights up in recognition and you practically scamper onto his thigh, stumbling as you tug your bikini out of the way to settle yourself on the linen coral shorts he has on. Joel laughs, a noise that has your cunt leaking onto the fabric, clit fluttering from the friction. Heat pulls tight in your stomach.

His hands land on your hips, guiding you back and forth when you hesitate at first. “Grind on daddy’s thigh, baby. Wanna see you cum on me.” Your head tips forward, forehead slotting against his shoulder when you start to push your hips into his. Need springs awake in your stomach when he drags you forward. A frayed moan tumbles out of you from his near-manhandling. You rut into Joel, bouncing, grinding yourself on him in the same way that you’d imagined yourself doing at least a dozen times before this.

“Daddy,” you whimper when the muscle goes taut underneath you, plucking something in your cunt. At the same time, a speedboat passes Joel’s yacht outside, leaving the ship rocking on the water in time with your movements as you ride his thigh. You yelp, a strained noise as the pressure intensifies on your clit. “Close!”

He grips your hips even tighter, bounces his thigh up against you. “That’s it, that’s it. Let it happen baby, give it to daddy.”

You come undone with the taste of his cum still rich on your tongue and his words ringing in your buzzing ears. Your orgasm whips through your body and leaves you shuddering against his center, halfheartedly continuing to roll your hips up against him. His thumbs rub circles into your skin while you come down. You suck in a shaky breath, Joel’s palm stroking the small of your back. “Did good for me, baby. Look real pretty when you come. Real pretty.”

You give him a shy smile, and he leans forward to kiss you, a brief moment of gentleness amidst his usually ubiquitous harshness. He pulls away with a tiny pat to your ass. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You stumble off of him on shaky legs, leaning against the captain’s console. Joel pulls his shorts down his thighs and tucks his cock away, the wet spot your cunt had made on him beyond visible as he stretches himself out. He fishes around in a drawer in the galley for his baby wipes and joins you back at the console. He takes them to your face, wiping down where his cum had hit your skin. He even dabs gently at your thighs. Orgasm bliss clings to the edges of your vision still, and you can’t help but lean into him as he takes care of you.

“Could take you for a real ride, now,” Joel says with a moderate shrug. “Nice cove on the west side of the lake, good for a quick swim. I’m sure your dad would throw a fit if he knew, but I’m sure you’re good at keepin’ secrets, too. Got a real good mouth on ya.”

You playfully punch his shoulder with a roll of your eyes, and in that moment, it feels like you’ve known Joel much longer than you have at all. Like this isn’t your first time on his boat, and this wasn’t his first time being in your mouth. “Alright,” you begrudgingly smile at him. “Whatever you say, old man.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he starts the engine.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #✏️ game club

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skeltnwrites · 7 days

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happy friday the 13th lovelies! i have a similar friday the 13th themed steve drabble i'll try and finish tomorrow 0.5k words

“I think my tattoo is cursed,” Eddie grumbles from the kitchen table behind you.

“I told you that place was sketch, Eds.”

“I made sure everything was clean! It was a good deal,” he whines like a child might– in this mumbly sort of way that he only does when he knows he fucked up but wants your consolation.

You turn, abandoning the pot on the stove to lean against his chair. Eddie pokes at his wrist where pale skin has darkened into an angry shade of red.

The tattoo was not your favorite choice to begin with. Jason’s hockey mask from Friday The Thirteenth– A random Halloween-themed, half-price piece of flash from a gumball machine. It’s slotted between the bats and the crease in his elbow, clunky and clashing art styles with his other ink. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, Eddie doesn’t even like the movie, he was just too embarrassed to chicken out once he pulled the piece of paper out of the machine.

“Does it hurt?”

He shrugs, “A little. Mostly just… like tingly, I guess?”

“Itchy?”

“No, not itchy. Just feels weird– different than usual.”

You tug his arm up to eye level. The ink twists and swells along some lines, as if a funhouse mirror has warped the image, distorting it into something you probably wouldn’t recognize if you didn’t already know what it was.

“Probably infected, babe.”

He reels his arm back in and deflates with a sigh.

“Eddie, don’t– don’t pick at it,” you swat his fingers away before they can reach. “The ink won’t heal properly.”

“It already isn’t healing properly,” he pouts, a weak glare attached. You cock your head, dissecting his expression, but his irritation softens into something else. Eddie presses his forehead into the meat of your upper arm. “I should’ve listened to you.”

You card through the knots in his hair, biting back an I told you so.

“You can always get it covered up. Maybe it was just a different type of ink or something? An allergy.”

“No, you were right about that guy. He was strange; gave me the heebie-jeebies as soon as we walked in. I think he did some fucked up, witchy voodoo magic shit on me.”

“Oh?”

“He was all quiet and pale, like sickly pale– and his hands were fuckin’ freezing. Maybe he was a ghost?”

“Wouldn’t be the craziest shit we’ve seen,” the corners of your lips rise as you loop a curl around your finger.

“Or Gandalf? With that beard. That’s what I thought when we walked in– I mean, if Gandalf was a tattoo artist, I’m pretty sure that’s what he’d look like,” he chuckles.

You snort, because you thought the exact same thing, which has Eddie laughing twice as hard. And you can’t find the time to be embarrassed when your favorite pair of eyes are creased with glee and beam at you with more love than you can carry.

When he settles, you hum. “So we’ve narrowed it down to a witch, a ghost, or Gandalf?”

“Yeah, what do you think?”

You hunch over the chair, angling his chin towards yours. “I think a kiss might break the curse.”

“Oh yeah? Like sleeping beauty?”

“Exactly,” you whisper before pressing a slow kiss to his lips.

#eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic

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ilovetulips · 2 years

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fem!reader x older!tattooartist!eddiemunson

part 2 !

WARNINGS : smut 18+ pls ,, age gap (ages aren’t rlly mentioned but r is 21, e is 39) ,, p in v and all the stuff that comes w it ,, lots of petnames ,, use of yn!

A/N : first smut ive ever written. so scared rn. hope u all like it

———

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t absolutely petrified walking into the small hallway containing each tattooist’s room. your legs were shaking and your heart was pounding, so much so that your vision blurred as you stepped up to your assigned room.

“eddie munson”, you could eventually make out from the sign on the door.

entering the spacious room, you look around and take in the darkened walls littered with various drawings, the long bed on the left side covered in cellophane and the faint sound of music playing.

it took you a while to finally catch sight of the mess of dark curls on the right hand side, bopping his head to the music slightly, small grey hairs shining in the light and his hand scratching his pencil against the paper below him.

“h…hi.” you voice squeaked out in a stutter, sounding completely different to how you usually speak.

“can i help you?” he barks out rudely, not even turning to look at you.

“oh i’m sorry, i must’ve got the wrong room. sorry for disturbing you.” you begin to back out of the doorway behind you, before his brown eyes shoot up and meet yours.

“shit- sorry sweet thing, thought you were maria from next door. c’mere, sit down.” he gives you a cheesy smile while his eyes widen slightly. “you my 2 o’clock, yeah?”

your palms shine with a thin layer of sweat, originating from both excitement and nerves. “mhm, should be under the name y/n.”

“gottcha sweetheart, beautiful name. what’s a sweet thing like you doing in a place like this, hm?”he rolls over in his chair to where you’re sat on the bed, placing his large palms over your trembling knees.

he smirks down at them before focusing on you, his pupils blowing out and looking at your lips every now and then.

“it’s m’first tattoo… can you tell?” you look up at him shyly through your eyelashes, his face intimidating you - not that you were scared of him, he was just really attractive.

“yeah, you’re shakin’ like a leaf doll, but i’m here to help ya stay calm. whattcha thinking of getting?” he tucks a stray hair of your behind your ear before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

god his arms were consumed in ink, only adding to his attractive qualities.

———

you spoke to eddie about the design, placement and all necessary paperwork before you were relaxed on the bed, laying on your side and watching the boy prep his tattoo machine.

you had a few voice cracks and stuttered a bit while talking to him, mostly due to his stare shrinking you, but he had made you feel extremely calm while prepping you.

“mkay doll, gonna need you to lift that shirt up a tad for me n’ we’ll get started. no rush, you tell me when you’re ready and when you wanna stop. can you do that for me darlin’?” his chair rolls back over to you, his gun ready to go.

you nod your head and reach down to grab the hem of your shirt. you’re stopped, however, when eddie’s calloused hand covers yours.

“words, sweetness. need you to use ‘em.” he taps your skull with his other hand, and pinches the hem of your shirt with the other.

you can’t deny the blush tickling your face is because of him slowly driving you insane, but you’re not going to stop him. “i can do that.”

“for me?” he tilts his head, crows feet creasing around his eyes as he smiles.

“for you.” your lips stay in the oval shape as he moves your shirt himself, yet you can’t take your eyes of his own lips. you have no idea how old he is. late 30s maybe? is this wrong? you shouldn’t feel attracted to someone like 18 years older than you… right?

he catches sight of the band of your bra, all cute and lacy. now it’s his turn to blush slightly. he can’t help the wicked grin spreading across his features, such a pretty girl wearing such a pretty bra.

“now you tell me if it hurts too much, wouldn’t want to cause such a precious girl like you so much pain.” he’s good at this. really good at this. your face was now beet red, and your thighs were unconsciously clenching together. you hoped he wouldn’t notice - he did. and it went straight to his ego.

———

you’re about 15 minutes into the tattoo itself. eddie taking his time and meticulously placing every line with care. you can’t help the small noises you make when it becomes particularly painful, once again hoping he didn’t notice.

he stops with a sigh, the faint bzzing making the silence grow louder, and the tension more suffocating. “sweetheart, if you don’t stop making those pretty noises i’m not gonna make it through this tattoo.”

his darkened pupils look up at you through his curls gracing his forehead. you didn’t know how to react, so you just stared at him with parted lips and slightly widened eyes. you, luckily, were too oblivious to notice the amount of times he had to adjust himself in his pants, and the prominent boner he was sporting right now.

he knew it was “unprofessional”, but he had never had a client like you before. you walk in with a cute little shirt and skirt, lacy underwear and give him doe eyes while moaning to yourself and expect him to not react?

“m sorry… didn’t realise i was doing it.” you look away from him, trying to focus on the artwork on the walls, but only being able to focus on the growing wet patch in your underwear. he has a way with words, and he’s incredibly attractive.

“don’t have to apologise, i like ‘em. but they’re driving me insane over here princess.” he leans down to meet your eyes in front of your head. the tension was so intense you were practically choking on it. he can’t help but reach over and trace your lips with his thumb, pulling your bottom lip down while you let him do it.

“so pretty.” he mumbles, leaning back and patting your thigh before reaching to finish the tattoo. “want you to lie just on your back now, yeah? nearly there doll.” and so you do, until the pleasure pain was so much that you were arching off the bed, your breasts nearly spilling out the top of your shirt.

eddie was glad he was wearing jeans that day, so the wet patch of precum in his boxers wouldn’t soak into their material. you, however, were not glad to be wearing a skirt with such easy access to your underwear, and the larger wet patch soaking them.

“fuck- baby you can’t keep doing that. you’re makin’ it real hard to concentrate over here.” he rubs his hand over his face and reaches for the cup of water on the small table next to him.

“…sorry.” you smile sheepishly. “can we… uh take a break?”

“course princess, you want anythin’?” by anything he means a snack or some water - but you’d hoped the offer was for something else.

you shake your head no before looking back up at the ceiling. that didn’t last long until you could feel someone’s eyes on you - eddie’s.

he was sat, legs spread and arm leaning on it, his veins prominent in the hand pinching his lip. but his eyes were the most captivating, as they were black. full of lust and desire. you saw the affect you had on him, and to be honest you have never felt so attractive or turned on.

you turned your head to look at him, lolling it to the side before contorting your body fulling to the side. your skirt flicked up and caught your hip as you did, revealing your panties and causing eddie to groan.

he clamped his eyes shut before walking over to you, gripping your chin with his pointer finger and thumb and forcing you to look up at him. “i can’t tell if you’re doing this on purpose, or you’re just dumb.” his words shocked you.

“m not doing anything, eds.” you tilt your head to the side slightly, smirking as you did so. you weren’t doing it on purpose yourself, but maybe your body was just reacting naturally to him and doing it to make him look.

“eds? we’re on nickname basis now sweets?” he leaned down, his hot breath fanning across your lips as you squirm under his gaze. you nod dumbly as his hand travels to grip your jaw and rub his thumb across your lips again. you were practically panting, desperately trying to relieve yourself without him realising.

“you gone all shy now? after that whole performance?” he presses his lips to the base of your throat, peppering slow kisses up it’s centre before meeting your lips. “maybe i’ll just let you sort yourself out. who knows who else you’ve been a little slut for.”

a whine escapes your lips as he pulls away from your lips, missing his warmth. the name going straight to your cunt and making you needier.

“jus’ you. i promise. couldn’t help myself.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“don’t act all innocent with me angel, i know what you want, and you know what you were doing. want you to tell me what you want from me.” he crouches down in front of you, hands on your thighs and inching up slowly.

“need you to touch me. want you so bad.” you squeak out, shuffling about on the bed.

“oh yeah? want me to make you cum, sweet girl?” he peels back your skirt, your panties on full display as you lean on your elbows to look at him curse under his breath. he grips your knees and spreads your legs further apart, eyeing the wet patch between your legs.

“god you’re so wet, i can see it from here. got you all worked up hm?” he presses kisses on your inner thighs, watching you squirm until he roughly grabs your hips. his stubble scratching your thigh slightly as he kisses higher.

you hum in agreement, focused on the growing tension about to snap. that was until you felt his fingers pull at the sides of your underwear, pulling them down to show off your glistening folds.

he growls slightly, groaning at the sight before pulling your panties off and basically diving into your pussy. licking strips from your hole to your clit, humming and rolling his eyes back at the taste.

he was eating you out like a starved man, sucking at your clit and poking his tongue into your hole while you were a moaning mess above him. writhing and wriggling your hips, grinding into his face while you were overcome with intense pleasure. he brought his hand up, inserting a finger inside of you before lifting his head up and smiling.

“tastes like heaven, sweetheart. so so sweet f’me fuck.” he reaches that spongey part inside of you, your moans growing whinier as you reach your climax. he roughly covers your mouth with his hand, muffling the sounds you’re making before watching his finger plunge in and out of you.

he starts sucking at your clit again, mewling at the taste of you before adding a second finger to thrust into you. your eyes were rolling back into your head as he coached you to your climax. you failed to notice the poor boy practically grinding the floor, trying to find any way to relieve himself while relishing in your pleasure.

“you gonna cum baby? yeah? go on, cum all over my tongue darlin’”. he poked his tongue back into your hole before making his way back to your clit. he was sloppy, the sounds of him and his tongue filling the room and probably the hall next to it. you didn’t have time to think about it though before white fuzzies took over your vision, and the coil inside you snapped.

eddie slowed his pace down, but lapped at the hot white liquid spurting from your hole. he was basically kitten licking it by the time you’d snapped out of your intense climax. you’d slept with guys before, with women before, but none had ever made you feel like this.

so you grabbed him by his hair into a kiss, teeth clashing and tongues dancing. you hum sweetly at the taste of yourself being transferred from him to you, trailing your hands down his chest and towards his bulge. he looked big, but nothing could’ve prepared you what he was actually hiding.

he sat down, spreading his legs as you knelt down in front of him, holding his cock in your hand and staring at it. he hissed as the cold air hit his sensitive tip, sticky with precum. he chuckled darkly at your expression, grabbing his dick and slapping it against your cheek lightly a few times.

“you okay there, doll? you can take me.” he smirks, smug from your expression. you lean in, licking a stripe from his base to the tip and taking extra time to lick the prominent vein pulsing on the side. he groaned in pleasure, jutting his hips up into the air before you grasp him with both hands and lick his tip a few times.

you watch his face the whole time, scrunched up in pleasure and making him look so much more attractive. swirling your tongue around his tip and licking the precum away, you start to take him down your throat until your nose hits the base.

“fuuu-uck. where’d you learn that you little slut? used to suckin’ big dick are ya?” his groans are sent straight to your core, making you wetter than before.

you pull away with a ‘pop’, and look into his eyes. “you’re so big, eds. biggest i’ve ever seen.” you’re about to go down again until he grabs your face harshly, puckering your lips while he stands and looks down at you.

“don’t believe that. you gonna let me fuck your face now, sweetheart. quit teasin’.” he holds his cock, guiding his tip to your parted lips and thrusting his hips in slowly until you’re gagging. strings of curses tumble out of his mouth at the sensation as he pulls out and fucks your face harshly. his balls slapping on your chin while you moan and clench your pussy as he uses you as a fucktoy.

“such a good girl, letting me ruin your pretty mouth like this. fuck- perfect angel.” he’s holding your chin as tears flood down your cheeks from gagging so much. he’s thrusting so intense that your jaw is starting to ache.

“shit shit shit - gonna cum sweet girl. swallow it all f’me, be a good girl.” and so you did. hot ropes of his salty release coat your tongue and the back of your throat. you stick your tongue out at him, so he can see the dollops of him cum he left there before you swallow it all happily and sit up to kiss him again. watching you, eddie could feel himself getting hard again.

his tongue swipes over yours, both of your recent releases mixing together in your mouths. salty residues left at the corners of your mouths before you pull apart.

“bed. now.” he pants at you, walking you towards it until your back reaches it and you fall back. you spread your legs again, giving him a look at your pussy dripping with arousal again. he watched as a bead of the liquid travels down your thighs, before he laps it up and rubs his tip through your folds.

the sensation of his tip hitting your clit almost had you screaming, but you bit down on his shoulder instead as he sharply sucked air through his teeth.

“eddie- please.” you pant, the words coming out strained from desperation. hearing you beg for it did something to him, blood pumping to his tip more than before.

he plunged into you slowly, the burn of the stretch adding to your pleasure as eddie groaned. he went all the way in and stopped, kissing your collarbone before looking at you.

“feels so fuckin’ good. so tight for me.”

“move. please move- fuck.” he pulls his hips sharply, before slamming them back into pace and setting a rough pace to fuck into you at. he was so big, it felt like he was ruining your pussy and your organs. his tip prodding against your cervix, creating a bulge in your stomach that he pressed on.

“look at that. too big for your pussy to fit. fuck” the rough pace he set had led your moans into an incoherent string of words. you couldn’t process what was happening, just the intense pressure building in your stomach causing you to clench around him.

“y’fucked all dumb up there, angel? fuck- clenchin’ around me like that m’ not gonna last.” his hips stutter before falling back into their pace.

“fuckfuckfuckfuck” high pitched screams sound out of you, not caring who can hear anymore because it feels so good.

“my dumb girl, pussy’s made f’me isn’t she. god you’re perfect.” you can’t help but drool at his words, being fucked so dumb that you can’t remember words.

you clench harder around him, indicating you’re close as your moans mush together. his hips falter again, becoming overwhelmed by the wetness squeezing his cock. he reaches his hand down to your clit, and spits on your pussy before he spreads it around and rubs it in circles around the nub.

the sensation is so overwhelming, your orgasm crashes over you with no warning. you hadn’t even got a chance to warn eddie about needing to pee - which didn’t matter anyway as you squirted all over his dick. the lewd sounds still filling up the room as eddie doesn’t slow down.

“squirting all over me, fuckin’ slut. you’re gonna stay here till i cum, use you as my own little toy.” you were falling into being overstimulated, the climax still having it’s effects on you. but you notice him slowing his pace down.

“shit- gonna cum. can i cum in you, doll? feels so good i don’t wanna pull out. please?” he flops his head to your shoulder.

“please cum in me, eds. want you to cum so deep in me.” before you knew it, his warmth was spitting out of his sensitive dick, painting your inner walls white and mixing with your own release as he pulls out of you slowly.

the white liquid of both of your releases drips out of your hole, before eddie quickly puts your panties back on you to prevent it from dripping out, giving the puffy mound a few playful taps and causing you to hiss from overstimulation.

“want you to keep it all in there for me, like the good girl you are.” he kisses you sweetly before flipping your skirt back down and making sure you’re okay.

———

“that was the best sex i’ve ever had.” the man says next to you, arm around your shoulder as you trace the tattoos on his chest.

“me too. felt so good eds.” you smirk at the new nickname. you sit up and grab a pen from the table next to you. finding a space between the collage covering his body, you write your number down.

“i wanna see you again. call me?” you rest your chin on his chest.

“course i will sweetness.” he kisses your head before standing up and sitting back down in his rolling chair.

“y’wanna finish that tattoo now?”

3K notes · View notes

pinkrelish · 2 years

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶On Monday, he was a ghost. By Friday, he was a man. Saturday night? He was the unintentional third wheel to your and Adrie's Trick-or-Treating antics.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, reader wears eddie's jacket, light angst, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 4/20 [wc: 10.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 4: Ghost Days

Eddie went through Monday like a ghost.

A spectacle in his youth, now a specter. A phantasm phasing through walls. Not a hello, nor a goodbye. Existing in the corners of the room, watching. No attention on him, just working, and thinking. Tending to his dying garden of thoughts when the sun didn’t shine. Moving around you, and the tug of your gravitational pull, with your gaze firm on the desk in front of you, not on the haunt who brought this upon himself, and hurt you in the process.

“You okay, Eddie?” his uncle asked, running a hand up and down his back. “You’ve been staring at that pot of boiling water for ten minutes.”

Eddie fluttered his lashes at the bubbles bursting on the surface. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind.”

————

Tuesday, Wednesday he was a full-body apparition.

No morning smiles, no afternoon laughter, but a single sentence.

“Oh!” You hugged the files to your chest, not knowing Eddie was passing in the hallway to break room right as you were leaving Mr. Moore’s office. Several of the papers crinkled from running into him. Your eyes were screwed shut, expecting an impact. All signs Eddie was real; a thing of worth, a precious brick wall who cupped your arm when you stumbled, who slotted his thumb in the crease of your inner elbow. A chest to brace your hand against. Fingers grasping his dirty coveralls. He was there. He caught you.

And the next day–

“Eddie?”

Your sudden presence scared him. He slammed his black spiral-bound notebook shut and kept his palm over the devil-horned skull he drew on the front.

Sat alone at the table to eat his lunch, the low drone of the vending machines camouflaged the sound of you approaching, and he was too absorbed bin what he was writing down to notice you had entered the break room. Did not realize how close you had gotten until the heel of your palm pressed into a particularly sore muscle in his back from how you steadied yourself on his chair as you bent over.

You picked your gaze up from the notebook, and landed on his eyes. Even if you didn’t mean to, the knot between your brows relaxed the smallest degree–a nearly imperceptible amount–but with how he drank in your appearance, he detected it.

“You wrote O2 for this part here, did you mean X2?” you asked, referring to the invoice in your hand. He watched you bring the question to life. Voice and lips working together to create a lullaby for the unrest in his head. Breath cooling the wet trace of his tongue on his lips.

He was desperate for interaction. He knew. You were too. You just hid it better.

“Eddie,” you reminded him, keen on the five-o’clock-shadow peppering his cheek from neglecting a shave.

If things were different, would you have caressed your thumb along the grain? Would you have pushed his bangs off his forehead, run your fingers through his hair, and pressed your lips to the delicate curve of his temple? Would you tell him he was a good dad for fixing the water heater again, and getting his daughter to school on time, even when he wanted to do nothing more than lay on the couch and cry?

“X2,” he confirmed, “Yeah, I meant X2. Sorry.”

————

Thursday? He was corporeal.

Carl returned from his stay-cation. Stay-at-home-vacation, also known as his wife’s birthday.

He was taking a break in his story to microwave his lasagna when the fading voice of a customer went out the front door, ringing its chime. There was shuffling in the lobby. A backpack being unzipped.

The microwave beeped, and Carl picked up his container with the tips of his fingers, bringing it over to the table, where he sat in the chair facing the hallway.

You walked in with your lunch container, saw the back of Eddie’s head, and walked out.

Carl watched Eddie’s demeanor wilt at the swift exit, gaze falling to the corner of his eyes in acknowledgement of where you were just standing. Face blank, except for the heavy depression drifting his eyelids half-closed. Posture sagged more than normal.

“Is Adrie excited for Saturday?” Carl asked, keeping the conversation light, because boy, did he know that heartbroken look.

“Mm?” Eddie jerked his head up, attentive. He processed the question, and crowded his packed mish-mash of leftovers to his chest, chewing his horrible attempt at replicating Wayne’s pork chop supper as he talked, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Free candy and seeing her friends? She’s been bouncing off the walls all week.” He stabbed an undercooked carrot and brandished it with the same motion he rolled his eyes. “But,” he drew out for comedic effect, “She wanted to dress up as a bat again. Great! Same as last year. No problem, right? So, I take out her costume from the closet, have her try it on, and you know what she says?”

Carl shook his head with a slow grin stretching across his face.

“It’s not pretty enough!” Eddie ate the carrot. “She never wants to be a princess, but all her friends do, and now she’s gotten it in her head that if her costume doesn’t have the same glitter and pizzazz theirs does, it’s not good enough.”

He laughed, “My boys were easier. When they fought over who got to be Donatello, and who got to be Michaelangelo, all we had to do was switch mask colors and weapons.”

“See, they knew what they were doing with the Ninja Turtles, man. Easiest costumes to reuse.”

“Exactly.”

“Now I gotta figure out how to navigate telling her most of the stores are sold out of everything.”

“It’s a toughie, that’s for sure.”

The conversation ended with two knowing nods, sharing the same shallow gripes about parenthood. Carl finished his meal first, and left the table to return to work, while Eddie picked away at his, submerging himself in his thoughts.

A recent drizzle cast Hawkins in a misty haze. The drink machine clicked, and the steady hum rose to a higher frequency. Footsteps squeaked down the hallway. The nervous hand of a once confident woman gripped the doorframe, and she leaned into the room, speaking in a small voice, “I can help.”

Eddie perked up. Head visibly lifting, shoulders drawn back and down. He didn’t respond. Not until he turned around in his chair, and you persevered through the awkward amount of eye contact; wide and unblinking.

You reiterated, “I can help fix up Adrie’s costume so it’s glittery.. Or whatever you said.” Totally not eavesdropping. You waited for a response. “More her style,” you mumbled, filling the void when he forgot what words were.

“Y-Yeah! That–Uhm.. Yeah, you have that kind of stuff?” He clutched onto the back of his chair, knuckles white, bending the plastic from the weight he leaned on it. His face was of equal intrigue, eyes pleading for more interaction, lips parted for more questions, eyebrows pinched in and upwards to show his humility. His thanks.

In a valiant effort for normalcy, you started with a self-deprecating comment, “I mean, it’s not like I was performing on Broadway with a whole costuming department’s worth of tailors, you know. Bobbie and I had to pull all-nighters to finish our own shitty ensembles, so I’m pretty handy with a glue gun, and my sewing skills are serviceable, if I do say so myself.” You stepped further into the break room to put your unfinished lunch in the fridge. “I have tons of fabric and crafting supplies left over. Seriously, I don’t mind spicing up her costume if you wanna bring it by tomorrow. I think I can make something she likes.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to–”

His mouth sealed itself shut at the incremental smirk sneaking its way across your face.

“Well, you see,” you said, exuding pure charisma, “Now you’ve gone and phrased it in a way which enacts my policy. I have to say ‘yes.’”

Given his current state, Eddie was little more than a mess of nerves; sleeping in uncomfortable positions that had his bones aching due to Adrie’s fear of monsters under her bed sending her to sleep with him on the couch; along with the general up-and-down rush of stress when he passed by your desk, and nothing came of his sad glance in your direction.

Unfiltered relief slipped past his chapped lips as he looked up at you, “Thank you.”

————

By Friday, he was a man.

Eddie skipped his morning cigarette. He wore his lucky Metallica t-shirt under his coveralls. Adrie had to beg him to release her from his powerful hug this morning, flailing her arms and pretending to choke, until the other parents in the carpool lane stared, and he relented.

He walked into the garage’s lobby with sure steps, making a quick stop behind the receptionist desk to drop off a neatly folded pile of black fabric. Then, he looked down the shadowed hallway leading to the lively break room, and he breathed deep.

You were framed by the doorway. Your back was to him, bent over the sink, just beginning to wash the coffee pot.

One thing was for certain.

If anything ever happened between you two and it didn’t pan out, work would be weird. That much he learned this week. And that was just another reason to keep his boundaries up. Another good fucking reason to apologize, turn around, and go back to being cordial work buddies, and have that be the extent of your relationship.

And yet, here he was, flirting with the ring of fire he lit himself.

Crossing his arms, he squeezed his biceps, and leaned his shoulder on the wall outside the room, mind racing as he organized the same speech he rehearsed hundreds of times this morning. “Can we talk?”

Now, the unfortunate thing about rehearsing one-sided speeches was the unpredictability of which you’d follow the script.

“If you’re here to apologize–again–for spending a runtime of 83 minutes with me because it was just that awful, I’ll scream.”

Eddie had to manually force himself to relax out of his wince. “I deserved that,” he exhaled, speaking to himself only. He deserved your stern tone, your angry way of scrubbing the pot. The stiffness between your bunched shoulders. The tight annoyance in your throat from the way he treated you.

Yesterday was a nice break from the tension, but he hadn’t yet made amends, despite the olive branch you extended to him in the form of fixing up his daughter’s costume. “What if I apologized for something else?”

“The jury’s still out on that one.”

“Good enough,” he said. “Listen, ah, I’ve been reflecting on what happened Friday, and I realized I came across like an asshole,” –He shut his eyes, and shook his head– “I was an asshole, whether I meant to be, or not. I mean, yeah, I had a lot on my mind, but that doesn’t justify my behavior in blowing you off like that, especially when you were nothing but nice to me when you saw they set us up together, and you just wanted us to have a good time.. I can tell I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

You rinsed out the soap suds and filled the pot with water, turning off the sink.

There, he apologized, now he should turn around, and go back to being cordial work buddies.

But he was so fucking stupid.

Committing to something he may come to regret, he entered the break room and stopped when he came to the counter beside the sink, bending sideways to rest his arm there, and kicking out his hip. “I didn’t even get to tell you how pretty you were.”

Immediately, you angled yourself away to pull the coffee machine towards you, and poured water into the reservoir.

Eddie let out a groan as his brain caught up with his mouth. “I meant are. How pretty you are..” he spoke at your back while you still refused to acknowledge him. “I meant to say how pretty you are.”

His stomach seized. None of this was going how he planned, so.. fuck it. “I think you’re really pretty right now, actually.”

Nothing seemed louder than his quick breaths, and heart beating in his throat.

The longer you went silent, he considered getting a new job bagging groceries for the supermarket they built on Cherry Street last year.

You slotted the pot onto the hot plate, and opened the cabinet in front of you, blocking his view of you as you reached for the coffee container. But when you closed the door, he had to clench the tremble of annoyance out of his hands.

Try as you might–lips scrunched to the side, cheeks sucked in, making a big production of counting the spoonfuls of grounds you scooped into the filter basket–your smile was obvious. Obvious, and irritating; leading him on as if his advances were a worse offense than his attitude after your date.

“Fine, fine,” you sighed like you were doing him a favor. “I guess you’ve appealed to my ego enough for me to forgive you.”

“You’re the absolute worst person I’ve ever–”

“Yeah. But you think I’m pretty.”

“Whatever,” Eddie grunted, tugging a strand of hair over his mouth, embarrassed to hear his own honesty repeated back at him. “So we’re good?”

You had a sarcastic statement ready on your tongue–he saw it in how you narrowed your eyes, and tipped your head. A loftiness to the way you regarded him; all pompous and teasing and so sure he was being silly and asking questions for the sake of bothering you.

Then, you witnessed his shy quirk, and were instantly disarmed.

“Yes, Eddie, we’re good. The best of friends.. And are you sure you weren’t disappoint–”

“If you’re about to ask me if I was disappointed that you were my date for the third time, I’ll scream.”

You laughed. You tore your gaze from his fingers playing with his curls, and closed the lid of the coffee machine, but in doing so, you turned away, and you both discovered a subtle truth about him.

Eddie was the type who wanted to witness the full scope of the joy he brought on others. When he made someone laugh, he wanted to drink it all in. He wanted to observe the exact way they smiled, how far back they threw their head, if their eyes closed with mirth, if tears sprang, if they giggled to appease him, or if they were expelling a cathartic release. When he made someone happy, he leaned in to hoard the revelry, collect it, and share it. Seeking out their gaze, mirroring them to experience their pleasure first-hand. It’s what made him happy.

It caused him to encroach on their personal space subconsciously, pursuing the pride, and sense of achievement he felt when he accomplished making someone else feel good.

He stood close to you. Very close to you, studying you unabashedly, basking the pure unadulterated validation of making you smile.

You idly scratched your thumbnail over a stain on the counter. “Pretty, huh?” you mused quietly. “Is the hoodie really doin’ it for ya?” It was once black, now sun-faded and overwashed. There was a logo on the front for a random high school. Your high school, Eddie assumed. Clearly, a beloved item, and one you wore when doing craft projects, as indicated by the layers of glitter, dried paint, and burn marks from a hot glue gun marring the sleeves.

Still leaned over, he dropped his hand from his mouth, and swept his hair to one side, exposing the length of his throat. “Maybe it is.”

“Shut up,” you snorted.

“The frumpy ‘just rolled out of bed at noon and forgot to get milk at the grocery store’ look really gets me going.”

“Frumpy–?” In the middle of pressing the ON button and shoving the coffee machine into its place on the counter, you went to pin Eddie with a glare for laying the teasing remarks on thick today, but your attention drifted. Your focus found his eyes shining with slyness, and dropped your gaze to the crook of his neck, where you spied something dastardly. “How does this keep happening? Do you not look in a mirror?”

As you nagged him, you reached for his coveralls. Somehow, the collar kept managing to tuck itself on the inside, and you were at its beck and call, slipping two fingers underneath to unfurl it, coaxing it out in a long stroke over the peak of his collarbone, and down the slope of his chest, over his heart. Longer than two beats worth. The fabric was quite rolled up today. You had to slide along his lucky shirt to find the pointed end, and pull it out, laying it flat. Smoothing down the edges, and securing his tan work jacket over it. Patting them both to seal the kind gesture.

From his periphery, he watched you tend to him, and his smirk grew.

Fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Guess I don’t look at myself too often,” he said, eyeing your hands lingering on his person–flattening your palms over his pec for a prolonged moment before retreating–and he nodded for you to follow him out of the room to your desk. He needed the extra seconds away from you to rid himself of his smugness.

Talking about the costume, he rounded to the taller side of your desk, while you sat opposite him in your chair, “Luckily it was big on her last year, so it still fits. It’s just a little short in the legs.”

“Gotcha.” You shook out the bat wings and rubbed the fuzzy material of the suit between your fingers. “Does she have room for another layer underneath? Warm pajamas, or something? The temperature’s supposed to drop tonight. I think a cold front is coming in.”

“Yeah, there’s room.”

“Okie dokie.” You cracked your knuckles and looked at him expectantly. He raised his eyebrows. You raised yours higher. You made a more obvious face. He made a confused one back at you. “Dude, leave. I can’t work with you watching me.”

He curled his lip in a mocking sneer, and went to work in the garage, where–ironically–you could watch him.

~~~

Turns out, you were serious about the double standards of your relationship.

Eddie caught you sneaking glances in his direction whenever he’d wheel out from underneath a car, or when he was bent over the engine of a truck, but as soon as he took his sweet time locating his favorite socket wrench from the tool cabinet (that most definitely wasn’t already in his back pocket), you blocked your project with your body and moved your lips like you were telling him off.

And when he knocked on the glass to gesture for more clean rags from the supply closet, you scrambled to hide the felt shapes you were cutting out, and sent a tube of glitter paint rolling across the lobby.

Even as he relaxed into the plush seat of his car after a long day of work, and the rumble of the engine soothed his mind from exterior worries, his eyes traveled from the bright red stop light swaying in the wind, to the custom crimson interior of his Dodge Omni Shelby, to the pile of black fabric next to him.

He drove with one hand on the wheel. He could just.. take a peek at what the hell you were doing all day.

“Don’t even think about peeking! It’s a surprise. I want Adrie to see it first, and then you can look when she’s trying it on.”

He snatched his wandering fingers away from the bat wing and cupped them around his inner thigh–his usual place for resting them.

~~~

When he opened the door to his trailer, the little lady of the hour came running at him full-speed.

“There’s my facehugger!” Eddie announced through his laugh, stepping backwards to soften the blow of her enthusiasm. And yeah, maybe he shouldn’t refer to his daughter as a parasitic alien from a horror franchise, but the clinginess comparison was accurate.

Adrienne made her immediate attempt to climb him known–clutching onto the hem of his work jacket, and shaking it. “Daddy!” she demanded, making grabby hands at him.

“Hold on, hold on.” He knelt to her level, and promised to pick her up in a few minutes if she exhibited an ounce of patience. “You remember that nice lady from work you drew pictures with?” Thinking about it, she twisted back and forth with excess energy, and gave a big nod, pressing her fingers along her smile. “Well, she heard your costume wasn’t up to your standards, so she wanted to make your Halloween extra special this year. She worked on this all day..” he said slowly, drawing out the grand reveal.

True to his word, Eddie unfolded the outfit he had clutched under his arm, and held it out in front of him, showing it to her first and watching her reaction.

Uncle Wayne opened the bathroom door in the midst of tidying up his beard, dragging a towel around his neck to wipe away the excess shaving cream. Interested in the commotion, and especially curious as to why the person he referred to as his own granddaughter was currently running around the coffee table screaming at the top of her lungs, he questioned anyone who could hear him, “What’s all this goin’ on?”

“The lady at work made my bat costume pretty–Look!” Adrie tugged on the bottom of Wayne’s flannel.

“I see,” he said, vaguely recalling the young receptionist she was referring to. He raised his eyebrows at Eddie. “She did all that?”

He shrugged. “She’s nice.”

Too excited, Adrie unzipped the back of the jumpsuit and climbed in while Eddie held it open. Still, he did not peep at the finished product. Not until every foot wiggled out of the appropriate amount of leg holes, and every sleeve found a hand.

Adrienne walked backwards into the living room and struck a pose with her arms out, flapping them.

Wayne ‘aww’d and clapped.

Eddie sat back on his calves, mouth slightly agape.

You really were nice.

The costume was magnificent. The black fleece was painted with thin strokes of white paint to give the illusion of hair, with special attention around the turtleneck collar where you glued white faux fur into a short mane. Cleverly, the pants were extended with layers of iridescent tulle that caught the light in shimmery rainbows, disguising how short they were on her.

The wings themselves were works of art. Showstoppers. Instead of hanging limp from under her arms, you had used flexible plastic to create bones, giving them some structure.

They were exactly what Adrie wanted. Silver glitter served as a mere backdrop to the myriad of foil stars glued to the fabric. As one’s attention panned downwards, they grew in size and frequency, until there was a disco ball amount of flash and pizzazz. To top it all off, there were felt clouds and crescent moons dangling on strings from the bottom. The stuffed and stitched celestial motifs swung with Adrie’s grand gestures.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Wayne picked up two little black triangles that bounced onto the carpet when Eddie revealed the costume. “C’mere, Adrie,” he said, holding them up to her head. “You’ve got two little ears on barrettes, too.”

“Jesus,” Eddie exhaled.

His next breath caught in his throat. He discovered why you snipped the fabric where it was previously attached to the suit, and gave it an extra bone structure to wrap around.

It was so he could slip his arms around his daughter, and hug her tight without any impediments. “You like it, yeah?”

She threw her arms around his neck, and imbued all her surprise into her little voice, “Are you kidding me? It’s my favorite–the best costume ever! I love it.”

“We’ll have to find a way to thank her when I see her on Monday.”

The hug lasted until Eddie’s knees ached. Still, he clung to her as one clung to a lifesaver. He passed his palm over her hair. He stroked his thumb on the back of her head. He pressed her into the darkness against his throat. He squeezed her to conceal the way he shook. If anyone were to notice the secret of his actions, it would be the person who raised him as one would raise their own son.

Wayne walked over and ruffled his nephew’s hair.

~~~

Later, after Adrie had gone to bed, Eddie confessed, “That took me so off guard, I almost cried. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me, or Adrie, in years.. I mean, outside of everything you do for us. And Steve, too. I just didn’t expect her to put that much effort into a costume.. Or to care that much.”

“I know, son,” Wayne said, patting him on the knee as they sat on the couch, lit by the muted earthy tones of the local news channel. “She seems real nice.”

————

It was a howling Halloween night.

Eddie pulled off the main road into the nice neighborhood on the west side of Hawkins. Everyone knew you went to the rich houses on Halloween, as evident by the agonizing minutes it took to find a place to park, while Adrie was oblivious and just wanted out of her car seat.

Crowds swarmed the doors handing out the best candy. Groups of friends gathered in the streets. Kids ran down the sidewalk to ogle the elaborate decorations. “Is the entire population here, or somethin’?” Eddie grumbled, shifting the gear stick into park.

Once Adrie was out, he asked her, “Do you wanna stop by a few houses on the way to Steve’s?” She eyed the rowdy bigger kids pushing each other on their way up the driveway next to her, and she held out her hand for Eddie to take as a silent answer.

When she was with her friends, she was outgoing, but in this unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers in the dark, she needed her dad to guide her.

“You’ll feel better once we have some candy in your bucket,” he promised, swinging the orange jack-o-lantern pail back and forth.

In reality, Eddie dreaded this part. Hated it. Going up to houses, knocking on doors, glancing away the second they were answered. He dressed differently. Tried to blend into the back of a big group. Kept his gaze on his daughter shying behind his legs, speaking for her, and hoping her cuteness distracted the adults from taking too close of a look at him. Shuffling away before they could recognize him, remember his last name, and make that same face they always did:

Barely concealed disgust.

Eddie held her hand for several streets until she felt comfortable going up to doors without him, thanks to finding a friend or two from preschool. Those parents were easier. Some he’d gotten to know over the last two years due to birthday parties and school events. Yet, they returned his greeting out of politeness. Waited on the sidewalk like him, but at a distance; in a circle, not inviting him to their grown-up talk.

That’s okay. He felt less alone when Adrie came jogging back to show him her candy. And although she insisted she was a big girl and didn’t need to hold his hand anymore, she walked as if she were glued to his side, three steps to his one stride.

“I don’t need you, Daddy.”

“Yeah, you do.”

On and on, they made their way up the streets, and came upon a white-picket fence dwelling sat modestly between two larger statements, right as the porch light turned off and a group of people left the home.

Fate was a funny thing.

Steve held the gate open for Nancy and whispered something in her ear as she passed, earning a withered glare before she turned and the moon caught the smile flitting across her lips. Behind her, dashing from the shadows, was their son. He held his plastic sword high above his head, and gave a brave battle cry against the person who emerged next.

Robin, also dressed as a pirate, jumped from the top of the stairs and clashed her sword with his. They tussled on their way to the fence, stopping when she feigned a dramatic death, and had to chase down her tricorn hat from rolling into the street.

Eddie’s hand was sweating–Adrie said so with a yuckiness to her words as she ran to join Steve’s son and their group of trick-or-treaters, leaving him behind to stare. And stare. And stare. And try not to burst into a grin.

He wouldn’t have to wait ‘til Monday to thank you.

Step by step, you helped their daughter teeter down the stairs. Patiently holding her hand, encouraging her to the bottom, and brought her to Steve, who was getting out the stroller from the trunk of his car.

“No! I’m–I.. Will walk,” their little girl finished in a disjointed manner, engrossed by the array of bedsheet ghosts, lispy vampires, and corn-syrup-blood-covered werewolves moving around her.

“Yeah, okay, kid,” Steve said sarcastically. “You wanna be a big girl and walk on your own, but we both know after two houses you’re gonna be begging for the stroller.”

Like most girls, she brushed him off, and turned to you for assistance with her jacket. The puffy orange snow suit hindered her movements; her walk was a waddle, and her arms stuck out from her sides helplessly. She was warm, though.

You, on the other hand, were dressed in what Eddie could only call an adult onesie. A fitted one; hugging you in places he shouldn’t notice it hugging you while you were squatting down to zip up her jacket, but a onesie, nonetheless.

“There we go.” He heard you say from where he stood, roughly a car-length away, lurking in the darkness like a creep.

But he’d have to find a way to repent later. His fate tapped you on the shoulder, and his heart set the tempo for his plucky courage’s passion.

“Adrie!” you squealed at her. She greeted you with equal fervor. “Your costume is so, so pretty!” Without a second thought, you bent over, put your hands on your thighs, and asked while waggling your eyebrows, “Wanna fly?”

“Yeah!”

Adrie unveiled her full glittery wingspan, and you clasped her under her arms, instructing her to jump. Up she went. You raised her above you to your full extent and spun in circles. Giggly, messy circles. Showing her off for everyone to see. Parading her for the slew of compliments coming from onlookers. And when your strength tired, you brought her to your hip, and held her tight, still spinning. Dizzy, silly twirls. Savoring the closeness of your foreheads almost touching.

You slowed to stop to scan the scene around you, searching the shapeless night. “Where’s your dad, hmm?”

She pointed behind you.

Over your shoulder, your gazes connected in between a family dressed as Peanuts characters.

Eddie raised his hand, but forgot to move it back and forth.

Your face brightened. The love you showed Adrie reflected in your eyes when you found him. Smiling bigger, somehow, at his stupid wave when he remembered how to perform one.

“Nice costume,” you teased, sauntering up to him with a swagger. “Light-wash blue jeans instead of black. How different.”

“Yeah, and what are you? A cat? So creative.” He meant it as an insult to your gray onesie with a tan belly, but he was the one who followed your quick glance at his stupid hand still waving like an utter moron, and he stuffed his fists in his pockets, wondering if he’d ever recover his dignity after this encounter.

“Uh, I’m clearly a mouse,” you drawled, inclining your head to show off your rounded mouse ears on your headband.

Adrie copied your exact tone and inflection to serve as a gut punch, “Yeah, Daddy, she’s clearly a mouse.”

His greatest fear mocked him. With Adrie on your hip, and your two matching smirks taunting him with your cheeks pressed to one another, he shook his head, and pinched his eyebrows up in worried exasperation. “I don’t need two of you.” A revelation he should take more seriously as you looked at Adrie, and you both giggled. Tips of your noses grazing. Hugging you around your neck. Touching your animal ears and calling you ‘Miss Mouse.’ Thanking you for her costume, and you asked, seeking her genuine approval as you fitted one of her tiny hands in yours to stretch a wing out.

“You like it?”

“I love it!”

You swayed with her in the new position, resembling two people slow dancing despite there being no background music other than shrieks of laughter, and a chorus of “trick-or-treat!”

Yeah, this feeling in his chest was evolving past the boundaries.

Shit.

Eventually you had to support her with two arms again, thus ending your waltz, and you remembered Eddie was there, and Eddie remembered to direct his tender expression at his daughter.

“So, really,” you said, nudging his white tennis shoes and giving him a once-over, “Who’re you supposed to be? A grumpy guy who couldn’t be bothered? A wet blanket?” You leaned in. “Don’t tell me you’re dressed as a stick in the mud for the second week in a row. That’s just gauche, Eddie.”

Adrie latched onto one word specifically. She pointed at him with all her might, and declared, “Grumpy! You’re Grumpy.”

“Great,” he groaned. Yet, there was not a trace of annoyance tugging at his lips–just his tongue poking through as his daughter reduced him to an unpleasant character. “Tell her what movie you watched this morning.”

“I watched Snow White with grandpa,” she said. You gave an understanding ‘ahh.’ “Grandpa is Sneezy. Daddy is Grumpy. You can be..”

“I’ll be Dopey.”

Eddie snorted, “Fitting.” You cut him a soft frown, and he shifted his focus back to his daughter. Eye contact with you was too difficult. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. A single longing look gave away too much, he had to put an end to them. “You think I’m Grumpy, huh?”

She jabbed her finger at him again. “You! Most definitely are.”

The immediate flash of devilry in his eyes was her only warning. “What’d I tell you about pointing at people?” He snatched her wrist in a weak grasp, and lunged at her, snapping his teeth, pretending to bite her finger off with a smile. She scream-laughed and buried her face in your shoulder.

“Aw, it’s okay, Adrie,” you consoled her, “I always knew he was a biter. Lemme count your fingers, ‘nd make sure you have all six.”

“Six?” she cried.

Besotted by your willingness to indulge his humor, Eddie lost track of his inhibitions, and acted on a deep-rooted impulse from his youth, when he was more expressive of his urges. He crept in close while you were busy doting over Adrie, and lowered his face to where he was allowed to whisper in a deeper register, “Hey, no picking on my kid. That’s my job.” To make matters worse, he reached for your side, aimed for your ribs through the single layer of fleece, and prodded. It was a success. You yelped. You were ticklish. Another trait to add to the list of things he shouldn’t know about you.

Steve’s bafflement pierced the rambunctious Jedi fight happening in the middle of the road, “Are you three gonna catch up, or do I need to make you get in the wagon?” he threatened. Sure enough, he was hauling a red wagon of someone else’s kids behind him dressed as various dinosaurs, complete with masks.

More parents had joined the trick-or-treat cavalry, milling about on the sidewalk, waiting for Adrie before they knocked on the next house. You recognized this quicker than Eddie, and offered to take her by, well, simply walking off with her in your arms.

For the first block he was alone with his thoughts. Watching you go from house to house holding his daughter’s hand. Sitting back while you took over for him, and lessened his burdens. When it was you crouched next to Adrie, smiling up at the adults with buckets of candy, they didn’t see Munson. They saw a cute little girl and her supposed mom participating in innocent fun.

“Hey, bud,” Steve said, swinging around to his side, tossing an arm around his shoulders, and shaking him. Eddie could sense the subject he was about to bring up from his consoling squeeze alone. “So, how goes the whole ‘not falling in love’ thing?”

Eddie had his correction at the ready, “I said ‘attached,’ not ‘fall in love.’”

Steve gave him a long, hard stare.

“And I said it was Adrie I was worried about getting attached.”

Steve deepened his stare.

Eddie looked away, then back, then away again. He was quiet for a few strained moments, shuffling his feet while the kids thanked a woman dressed as a witch for her cauldron of candy, and his passing gaze lingered on the Mouse holding his daughter’s hand.

You glanced in his direction, where he stayed on the outskirts of the group, and suppressed a giggle. You were listening to Adrie and her friend’s story about mermaids with full interest, asking questions, and gasping at the information they were disclosing, acting as if they knew the world’s secrets and deemed you worthy of its knowledge.

It was sweet. Endearing, adorable, attractive in the worst ways, and exactly the sort of fun Adrie craved that he couldn’t provide when he was overworked, tired, and stressed to the point of crying frustrated tears.

Except, of course, those bad days had become less and less since you started working at the auto shop..

Eddie surrendered. “How does it look like it’s going?”

“Like you're happier when she’s around,” Steve replied.

“Real good that’s doin’ me.”

They had reached the end of the street, and waited to cross at the stop sign.

Steve shrugged, and said, “I think it’s cute you finally found someone to have a crush on–Ow!” He clutched his side where Eddie elbowed him.

He hissed, “Not so loud,” even though you were several feet away, and talking animatedly with Robin.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s precious.” Lifting his chin, Steve alluded to the way you picked up Adrie and herded the other children across the road like sheep. “Y’know, you were right about her saying ‘yes’ to everything. Her and Robin have some wild stories. Did you know someone came up to them at one of those sleazy hole-in-the-wall bars and asked them to perform on stage–like, obviously meaning you know, stripping–but she accepted his offer, and that’s how they started doing stand up together? Yeah, they just went up there and started shouting jokes at all the drunks. Dodging beer being thrown at them, and whatever. Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, real fun,” Eddie muttered with a horrified expression, wondering how you managed to survive this long with your absurd policy.

“Anyway,” Steve surmised. “I think you should go for it.”

The mood shifted instantly. Eddie’s face went lax, aside from his flared nostrils. He spoke firmly, “I can’t do that, man.”

“Why not?” When Eddie refused to elaborate with a scornful shake of his head, and sudden tenseness to his jaw, Steve softened his nature. He tightened his hold on him in a make-shift hug, and requested, “Talk it out with me. Tell me what you’re going through, and what you want out of this, because you sure do flirt a lot for someone who keeps denying themselves a real relationship.”

“I don’t know what the fuck I want anymore,” he exhaled in mind, body, and spirit. Just a complete depletion of all his anxieties under the weight of Steve’s arm.

Eddie ran his tongue along the back of his bottom teeth while he observed you crouch in someone’s driveway to make a case for Halloween themed pencils, and how they may not be exciting as candy, but there were bats on them, and Adrienne liked bats, therefore, the pencils were cool.

The anxieties were replaced with the blooming realization of how deep his crush went, and the stab of reality pierced the good feelings.

“There’s a million reasons why it’s a bad idea,” Eddie sighed, and gathered his thoughts to list them out as succinctly as possible. “Uh, let’s see. First of all, we’re coworkers, and this week has already been a real glimpse into how this would all pan out if I took the risk and things didn’t work out.”

Steve rocked his head to the side. “Fair, but it’s pretty obvious she likes you too, with how she flirts back.”

“Perfect segue. Okay, so maybe she does like me. But does she like me? And does she like Adrie? Can’t have one without the other. And, man, she made it clear at the movies that she doesn’t even ask if her dates have kids, because there’s never been a second one–a second date, I mean. She’s that casual about it.”

“Why not try something casual, then?”

“When have I ever approached anything casually in my life?”

“You raise a good point there,” Steve answered, shivering at the sudden uptick in frigid gusts biting through his thick jacket.

You and Robin pulled off to the side so your gaggle of kids could take turns stomping on crunchy brown leaves before they blew away.

Ensuring they were at a good distance to watch, but not be overheard, Steve kept his voice low, “What else?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Gee, I dunno, how about the fact she hates this place, and is going to leave eventually? Hate to break it to you, but even if she likes me like that, and even if things worked out for a while, I’m not ready to explain to Adrie why the nice lady she loves so much doesn’t come around anymore.”

“So make her stay around.”

“What?”

Shrugging with that stupid grin of his, Steve explained, nonchalant and lackadaisical, “You said she says ‘yes’ to everything. So just ask her to stay.”

Leaning into it, Eddie pulled an overjoyed face, and threw his arms up, gesticulating overdramatically. “Okay! Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just ask her to marry me, then she’ll be forced to stay in this hellhole with me forever. What a grand idea!”

Steve’s full-bodied laugh sent them both doubling over. “Okay, stud, going straight for marriage. It was just a suggestion that maybe she’s over the crazy party-til-dawn city life, and is looking for.. whatever it is you’ve got.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Easing out of his glare, he broke himself out of considering Steve’s validation as anything more than an audible feedback loop of the things he wanted to hear, and not the facts he needed to hear. “Doesn’t matter. She could like me, she could not. She could want kids, she could not. She could stay, she could not. I still have to see her every day, regardless. There’s not a lot of other options out there for me, and even if she didn’t want the city life anymore, I don’t think she’s gunning for the single dad whose biggest aspiration is getting a trailer of his own, so his uncle can have his room back.”

Cynicism, cynicism, cynicism. Denial.

Steve’s mouth twisted, and he became serious. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“It’s true, though.”

Ahead, a guy caught Steve’s attention and signaled that it was his turn again on wagon duty, which was the perfect excuse to make his exit because you were standing on your tip-toes, seeking out Eddie in the sea of Stormtroopers. You spotted him and waved with childlike glee, making your way over.

Steve’s hair fell into his eyes as he drew Eddie in. “One last piece of advice,” he began, gaze set on the side of his friend’s face, accepting not even he could win over his attention when it came to existing in the same universe as you. “If you’re serious about not pursuing her, maybe stop looking like you’re gonna blow your load every time she smiles at you.”

Eddie sputtered, “Jesus Christ, dude.”

With that last remark to recover from, Eddie was forced to rearrange his pale face into anything remotely appropriate while Steve got to stroll away as if nothing happened.

“Uh, hey,” he said, eyes scared wide, and showing too many teeth in his tight smile under your scrutiny.

You brought your hand up, and stepped into him until your chests were nearly together. Cocking your head, you pointed at something over yonder, and slowly, unwillingly, he stopped analyzing the nuances of your face to look at the group of kids at the house across the street. One kid in particular. Dressed in black, and with six additional arms dangling from his two human ones.

You couldn’t keep the sheer triumph out of your voice, “That spider is certainly bigger than your palm.”

He winced as if your joke physically pained him. He curled in on himself, and depleted himself of oxygen to groan a long, contemptuous, “So lame,” stressing both words to exaggerate his misery. Shaking his head as if his grievance was anything other than a ploy to discover what it felt like to reject reality, and satiate the envy he felt when Adrie got to be this close to you. Foreheads almost together. Noses almost grazing.

As if your hand trapped between your bodies was anything other than a ploy to rest the backs of your fingers on his chest as you laughed. As you leaned into him. As you tugged on his sweatshirt underneath his leather jacket, begging him to give in until, at last, he broke.

Eddie laughed with you, recklessly.

“Did you really abandon my kid to run over here and tell me that?”

“She’s safe with Bobbie,” you promised in a whisper. “And yes, I did.”

Leaf-shaped shadows danced across you both, cast from the orange glow of the streetlamp above. Autumnal bare branches, electric wires, swaying in the wind, revealing your faces in quick pieces; a wrinkled forehead here, contours of a nose there. Flashes of a puzzle you both collected and assembled in the scarce seconds before it was time to move on to the next house.

You crossed your arms tight over yourself and walked beside him, smiling at the ground.

“How’ve you enjoyed your Halloween experience?” he asked, swinging his arms wide to gesture at Hawkins in general. “I’m sure it’s a lot different than what you’re used to.”

“Oh, I love it!” you said in earnest, surrounded by all the things you’d only seen on screen before. “It’s just like the movies. Trick-or-treating, little kids running around in costumes, the weather, the decorations. It’s surreal. Usually I’d be drunk in a nightclub by now.”

Furrowing his brow, he looked upwards as if he were reading a nonexistent clock, and asked with a twinge of parental disapproval, “Isn’t it, like, 8PM?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, unperturbed. Too impassive to put him at ease. Like you were lording a secret over him. “Don’t act like you weren’t the same before you had Adrie.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Harrington’s been telling me stories about you,” you informed him, and rolled your bottom lip inward, biting it as he zeroed in on your cheeky grin getting a rise out of him.

He squinted at you. “Calling him Harrington, huh? Well, aren’t you two chummy.” Mentally rolling a Nat 20 for Stealth, he lifted his hand to your side without you noticing. “What’d he tell you?”

You made an ‘X’ over your mouth with your fingers.

The perfect position to leave yourself open for attack. I mean, the opportunity presented itself so splendidly, how could he not? How could he resist the greatest temptation?

His impending threat continued to go undetected. Giving you one last chance, he dipped his face to yours–relishing how the apples of your cheeks intruded on your eyes when you smiled this hard, forcing them to scrunch closed–and he asked, “What did he tell you?”

“I’m not repeating!” you giggled.

Oh, you were giggling all right. And in the next gasp, you were squealing, jerking away from him.

Eddie was merciless. His large hands proved too difficult to escape. He poked, prodded. Tickled you until his every, “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” was met with your, “Stop, stop, stop, please!” You fought him fruitlessly, grappling at his forearms, and failing to do little more than slip against his sleeves. He cackled at you. Mocked you with the tip of his tongue to his teeth each time you thought you got away, only to be caught again. You resisted. Resisted. Persevered in the face of evil–knocking your forehead into his chin on accident. Eddie thought you would’ve caved by now, but it was him who stopped; and not because of the unwanted attention your antics drew.

You pried him away from your ribs.

“You’re freezing!” Eddie’s mood changed on a dime at feeling your frigid fingers on top of his. He shifted so that he was enveloping your hands, encasing you in his warmth in exchange for the cold seeping to his bones.

“Yeah,” you answered sheepishly.

“You made a fuss about reminding me to put Adrie in extra layers, but you’re not wearing a jacket?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, distorting your grin. “Yeah.”

“You’re irresponsible, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“A real bad example.”

“Yeah.”

“An absolute pain in my ass.” Eddie grinned with you. Eyelids falling half-closed. Searing your skin with his heat. Enacting the subtle art of asking questions for the sake of prolonging the moment. Not like it was obvious, given you readily accepted his fingers curled around yours with a coy glint to your gaze. Totally discreet as he let go to shrug off his jacket and hand it over.

Obliging him, you raised your eyebrows. “What a gentleman.” You slid your arms into the sleeves, snuggled into his blanketing warmth, and tugged the collar over your mouth, rendering yourself to a pair of pretty eyes.

He was a goner.

“Tell me what Harrington said.”

“Okay,” you indulged him, breath coming out as a fog. “He said..” You were back to giggling behind the collar, remembering the story. “He said one time at a party there was this big watermelon keg he spent all day working on.” Eddie pressed his lips into a line, knowing where this was going. “He scooped out the innards. Spent painstaking hours cutting up fruit to put inside it and soak up all the rum. And then you wandered in. Already hammered, and you, you–” You snickered and peeled back the collar. “You knocked it over within ten seconds of walking in the kitchen, smashing it everywhere like a crime scene.” You hid behind the collar again, then opened it, voice gone high-pitched with suppressed laughter. “And he said you panicked, and tried to scoop it up in your hands and put it in people’s cups!” More laughter. “And when they said ‘no’ because it was fucking gross floor juice, you tried eating all the fruit yourself.” One more hide and seek of the collar as you lost it in a final squeak, “And you cried!”

He waited until you calmed down to show how thrilled he was in a deadpan tone, “Great, great. I’m so glad he told you that one.”

“It certainly conjures an image.”

Thinking the conversation was over, you took a step in the direction of your trick-or-treat group, but something caught your eye. You tilted your head. He mirrored you, tilting it the same way. You shuffled to the side. He turned with you, more, more towards the streetlamp. Curious as to what you were doing, and why you were staring at his chest, mouthing something.

“What’s Corroded Coffin?”

“Uh–It’s–It’s nothing,” Eddie said a bit too loud, wiping at his sweatshirt like the self-printed logo was a crumb he could discard himself of.

Fortunately, a wild Adrienne appeared, interrupting him from making a bigger fool of himself. “My hands are cold. Can I have my gloves?”

Eddie glided his hands over his stomach out of habit, and realized his pockets weren’t there. Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of his jacket, and yanked you to him, spinning you, manhandling you. Forcing you to catch yourself on his braced muscles–shoulder to his chest, hip to a place he’d rather not dwell on. Not gentlemanly at all.

You released a string of flustered remarks, and pushed away from him, making it appear to be a benign accident in front of his daughter.

“Here,” he said to Adrie, holding the black mittens above her head, out of her reach.

She jumped, and jumped, and stomped. “Daddy,” she whined.

Dusting yourself off from the previous encounter, you agreed, “You’re so cruel, bullying your own child.”

“She knows the magic words,” he led on.

“Please!” She jumped higher, huffing and puffing.

“And?”

“And thank you!”

He relented. His evil reign came to an end. First, the tickling, now, the height advantage over a little girl. He gave Adrie the mittens and she stuck her tongue out at him before bolting off faster than lightning.

It was you turn to poke a stern finger into his ribs. “Awful, awful man,” you scolded him. Unlucky for you, he wasn’t ticklish there, nor was he ashamed of any of his actions these past few minutes. He might come to regret them when you move back to New York and these were the memories he was left with, but he wasn’t ashamed.

No, not ashamed to overstep the boundaries he resurrected in pursuit of happiness. If only a little. Enough to feel the thrill of danger, but remain safe inside his walls.

Casual.

You liked casual.

Fuck what he said earlier. He could keep it casual. He could handle innocent flirting without it getting out of hand.

“We should probably catch up with everyone before they send Scooby and the gang to search for us,” you said, walking backwards, throwing your thumb over your shoulder.

He snorted. “Terrible joke. Are you sure you were a comedian?”

You answered him with two middle fingers, which you promptly put away. Adrie came running back after just one house, hunched over, dragging her feet; hair a loose mess, barrettes dangling. Displaying all the theatrics of her father.

She made grabby hands at you. Not him. And before he could voice his hurt, you scooped her into your arms, and she rested her chin on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he complained weakly, walking up to you from behind so he could take the treat bucket before it spilled, and talk to Adrie directly. “You told me you were a big girl who could walk on her own, and didn’t need to be held.” Her refute was a babbling grumble laced with fatigue.

Speaking to you, he said, “You don’t have to carry her.”

“I don’t mind. I think they only want to do a few more houses before we head back. Do you wanna join?”

At first, Eddie was quiet, and you spun in a slow circle to see him, catching the end of his wistful expression at the rich neighborhood and its opulent houses owned by affluent people who heard a rumor or two about Munson, and decided he wasn’t worth more than their wary glances when his kid played with theirs.

“Nah, I’m good over here.” He ran his hand over the back of Adrie’s head, and relaxed his stance, staying put.

“Let me help ya out there, Cool Guy,” you said, motioning for him to bend to you. You picked a narrow, apple-red leaf out of his tangled hair, and flicked it away.

“How long has that been there?”

Shrugging your mouth to disguise your beaming grin, you feigned ignorance while walking away. “Who’s to say?”

To further exacerbate his embarrassment into genuine distress, after two Mummies answered the door, and you were coming down the sidewalk, he saw you pull off the side for Steve to pass with the stroller, and you laid your cheek on the top of Adrie’s head. You whispered something in her ear. Something most intriguing, on account of her coming to life, no longer sleepy. The exchange was short; her asking a question, and you answering. But as you nodded with heavy-lidded eyes, and she pressed her fingers to her smile, you both turned, looked at him, and giggled.

Eddie gulped.

He didn’t like this new feeling of you two sharing secrets about him. Especially ones he couldn’t threaten out of you, no matter how many times he put his hands on your ribs.

~~~

As the evening came to a close, Eddie carried Adrie on his hip while you lugged her bucket of sweets. The plastic handle bowed from the weight of the candy, and your fingertips went numb from the burden. And maybe for your troubles, you took a piece. Or two.

The group petered out until it was left to the core of you returning to Steve’s house. The goodbyes were truncated due to the three sleepy kids in tow. You handed off the bucket to Eddie, first asking if he was sure he didn’t need help getting to his car, and when he assured you he was fine, you squeezed Adrie’s ankle and whispered a goodbye she didn’t hear, too lost in Dreamland and drooling on her dad’s shoulder to know the night was over.

He said he’d see you Monday and parted ways, walking in the opposite direction, and you waited at the white-picket fence gate for Robin to stop swapping sneaky peeks at Steve and Nancy to join you.

“Bobbie, I know you don’t want me driving.”

She made eyes at Nancy one last time, and descended the porch stairs at a leisurely pace. “Yeah, we can leave.”

~~~

The drive home was a welcomed respite after the constant overstimulation. The radio was set to low, the heater caressed warmth along your wind-burnt cheeks, the headlights spotlighted deer grazing on the sides of the lonely road. Robin kept lofting soft smiles in your direction, which you returned.

Parking at her parent’s house, you closed the car door behind you, hearing it echo off the forest. The rocky driveway crunched under your shoes on your way to the door. The porch light was on, elongating your shadows across the ground, following you step by step.

“So, you and Eddie, huh?” Robin asked, turning the key in the lock.

You snapped to attention, schooling your features from giving you away. “Just friends,” you reiterated at her suggestive tone. “Just friends and coworkers. He’s dropped more than enough hints that he’s not looking for more.” You finished in more of a sigh, “Not with me, anyway.”

“Is that so?”

Her lopsided smirk struck undesired hope in your heart.

Robin pushed open the door, and curled in her forefinger to tap her knuckle on her upper lip. She dropped her gaze to your general upper body, and hummed, “You, uh.. forget something?”

You looked down at yourself. “Oh–”

————

Eddie dropped his shoulders back expecting to feel something slide down his arms. Then, he patted his chest, and realized. “–Shit.” He stared at his coat hook next to the front door where his leather jacket usually hung, and reprimanded himself in a soft laugh. “Guess I’ll have to get it back on Monday.”

“How much candy can I have?” Adrienne asked, dumping out her bucket on the coffee table, and scrambling to pick up the Tootsie Rolls that fell on the floor. She began sorting into piles of most favorite to least favorite.

“One,” Eddie stated sternly.

He turned on the TV and sat on the couch, decompressing while Adrie cackled over her hoard like Smaug. He should’ve known something was up when she wouldn’t stop giggling to herself.

His suspicions were answered when she turned around to show him the one piece she picked out–perfectly following his rules.

“Uh, absolutely not!” Eddie swiped it from her. “Seriously, who gives out full size Snickers bars on Halloween?”

“But, Daddy, you said!”

Leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs, he demanded her attention before the pitiful crocodile tears started. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, and reached past her for a mini Musketeers to compare. “You can have the Snickers, but you have to share half with me. See, half is still bigger than one of these little ones, so you’ll still be coming out of this a winner. ‘Kay?” She nodded and went to grab it. “But! I don’t want any tantrums when I tell you it’s bath time.” Again, she agreed and he reeled the candybar back into himself, away from her quick fingers. “And! You have to brush your teeth after.”

“I will,” she promised with a deep frown.

“And you still have to go to bed at the normal time.”

Pushing her hair out of her face, she dropped her head in another big nod.

Eddie was satisfied and went to give it to her. But another thought crossed his mind–one of true luxury–and the allure of the idea proved too good to ignore.

Much to her dismay, he snatched the candybar away before she could get a good grasp on it, and he deepened his voice to show he was serious, “And I want to shower. Ten minutes. Uninterrupted.”

She groaned at the ceiling at his never ending list of rules. “Fine!”

~~~

Riding his tingly feel-good high, Eddie opened the bathroom door to let the steam out, and toweled off the fog on the medicine cabinet mirror. He took out his comb and scissors, and sectioned out his bangs.

Brunette snips of wet hair fell in triangles onto his white tank top and around the sink. It wasn’t a noticeable trim, just enough to get them off his eyebrows when dried.

With some amount of clarity, he looked his reflection in the eye as he evened out the cut, and didn’t know if he should be wearing the faint smile he did, or if he should listen to his better judgment, and stop making modifications to his barriers.

He knew you deserved a better life than what Hawkins could offer, but he could enjoy the innocent workplace flirtations, right? They were harmless. Little compliments here and there to boost his confidence. That’s all it was. It’s not like you actually found him attractive, right? You’d been on enough dates to know what to say to a guy. That’s all.

Though, he did need to remember to have a talk with Adrie about setting her expectations and understanding Daddy could have friends without it leading anywhere, and that was okay.

“–some.”

Jumping, Eddie said a prayer that was not righteous, and thanked the stars he was not trimming closer to his eyes when his daughter scared him. “Jesus Christ, kid,” he exhaled.

“Handsome,” she said again.

Taken aback, he let the flattery sink in. Besides last week at the movies, he didn’t get compliments often, or at all, and to receive one now while his thoughts circled back to that familiar sting of ugliness with the way other parents looked at him tonight, Adrie’s kindness matured his grin into a real smile.

“You think I’m handsome?” he asked in a mild, quick laugh. “That’s sweet.” He leaned over the sink and worked on his bangs again, snipping up into the strands between his fingers.

“Miss–ouse does.”

“What–?” Her words were incoherent from her fingers stuffed in her mouth. “Did you say..?” He dropped the comb and scissors, and spun around, eyes set on her. Adrie released a high-pitched shriek and ran from the doorway. “Wait! Adrie! She said that? She said that about me?” He chased her into the living room, dodging back and forth around the coffee table. Duping left, right. Catching her as she made a quick escape to her bedroom. “Tell me what you said? Did Miss Mouse say that about me? Did she call me handsome?”

Try as he might, threatening to tickle her until she repeated herself, Adrienne refused to tell him the secret you whispered in her ear.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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spideyanakin · 3 months

Text

10 things i hate about you - chapter 6

eddie munson x harrington!reader

summary - a new rule strikes the Harrington household: if Steve wishes to date ever again, his sister needs to find a boyfriend first. As Steve becomes desperate and thinks of everything in his power to set her up, only one guy comes to mind that will take up a challenge such as that: Eddie Munson.

warnings - the moment you have all been dreading (I'm half sorry), mentions of death, eddie and his questionable dares, joyce buying christmas lights in april, some fluffy fluff, and ofc; a sprinkle of angst

word count - 8.8k

thank you to the amazing @inknopewetrust for proof reading most of this series <3

series masterlist

eddie munson masterlist

"Eds!" Gareth clapped his hands in front of his friend's face.

“What?”

"You're sulking"

"I'm not sulking."

"Why are you sulking?"

There was a pause, a short, challenging silence slithering between the trays of food and drinks before Eddie spoke again with solemn words; "I think I'm in love with her."

And just as the words left Eddie's lips; Gareth huffed loudly alongside two other Hellfire boys. Gareth sent a piercing glare towards his dungeon master–ripping a piece of white bread from his tray and throwing said piece towards Eddie’s face, making it land in his curls.

“Hey! What was that for?” Eddie swatted the bread away, watching with raised eyebrows as his three closest friends fished for something in their pockets; simultaneously pulling out twenty dollar bills. Eddie watched, eyebrows creasing to a frown as the three twenty dollar bills traveled across the table; right into Oliver’s hand.

"Did you have to say love?" Jeff whined.

"Yeah, the bet was lower at like, or really liked," Gareth gruffed, Oliver simply shrugged while Eddie stared—too dumbfounded to speak. The blonde guitarist counted his money before neatly folding it and placing it in his back pocket.

"I'm going to pretend like you guys haven't betted on me," Eddie said before poking his fork around his plate, attention focused on the carotte he was making dance across the paper. “Anyways, it’s not that bad, you guys should be happy for me!”

"Yes it's bad, terrible even!" Oliver dropped his can of mountain dew, drops spilling out from the harsh clatter of it against the table–and Eddie gulped when he made eye contact with the daggers in Oliver’s eyes.

Unfortunately, all his lost heart could do was look back at him like a lost puppy–big eyes pleading for help rather than judgment, and just for a moment–Oliver caved.

A short sigh escaped the blonde’s lips, and he leaned back on his chair in thought. That action caused a new silence, one filled with short huffs and glances from the boys; right until Eddie broke it again.

"I know," he pushed his tray away before leaning back, imitating his guitarist, "I don't know what to do."

"Call the deal off?" Gareth suggested.

"Yeah, that's the most obvious thing, Gareth!" Eddie almost screamed. "One problem; Steve keeps handing me bills like he’s a fucking ATM machine. I have three hundred fucking dollars from him that I refuse to use!"

"I thought that's what you wanted, extra cash," Oliver’s voice was dry, and it almost made Eddie flinch.

"I don’t think I ever took the deal for the money…” He closed his eyes, sighing through his nose, “I think she kind of always fascinated me.”

“So, let me get this straight. Instead of just asking the girl out, you made a deal with her brother that he’d pay you to go out with her?”

“Kind of?” He winced at his own words. “I didn’t realise how fucked up this whole situation was!”

“As if we hadn’t warned you!” Olivier exclaimed, tone almost condescending which sent a new pang across Eddie’s chest.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t need judgment from his best friends, his own internal turmoil was enough.

He was asking for help and Oliver was throwing hard cold judgment across his face like the iced daggers he’d write about for his campaigns.

He felt like Boromir. Tempted by the worst of forces–hypnotized by his mistakes, too enticed to step back–and now he was paying the consequences, as invisible arrows were shot right through his heart.

“Hey calm down Ol’,” Gareth defended, humming in the best soothing tone he could muster; “screaming at Eddie won’t make this any better for him.”

“Right, because he so understood when we told him this was a bad idea three weeks ago,” and with his words, the table fell silent.

Everyone looked at each, carefully assessing the situation and how to proceed. Would anyone dare to break the silence? Even Jeff wondered if he could chew his food and finish his lunch without all eyes turning to him.

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest in subconscious defense—gaze to the side and fixed on the back of a random blue cafeteria chair.

He truly didn’t know what to do. Everything in him wanted to cancel this stupid deal, tell you the truth and just hope that you wouldn’t hate him forever.

Or maybe he could call the deal off and never say a thing—but he’d have to live with that secret for the rest of your relationship.

But thinking about the possibility that you could discover the deal on your own made him shiver. He knew that would hurt you the most, that you’d most, probably, definitely hate him for the rest of your days, and he could say goodbye to ever even being close to you again.

“Hey boys,” your sweet voice broke the undeniable tension, and like a bee pulled towards honey; Eddie turned his full attention to you.

He didn’t know if you noticed the energy, but if you did you didn’t say anything. He did notice your shoulder tense as every eye around the table turned to you, an oldy intimidating silence slithering up your spine–but the second Eddie’s hand reached your waist, it dissolved into a content smile.

“What were you talking about, I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“Spring Fling.”

“Our next performance.”

“A campaign.”

Eddie flinched, internally cringing at the multitude of answers that rang across the table at the same time.

“O-ok?” You raised an eyebrow, hand resting against Eddie’s shoulder–silently asking for clarification.

“Mainly, Spring Fling, babe,”

“Ah,” you squeezed his shoulder, already pouting before the next words came out of you, “will you be mad if I say no to going?”

“I get you for not wanting to go,” Oliver chimed before chugging the end of his mountain dew.

“Yeah, staying home too?” You asked.

“Oh no, I’m going, don’t know why though,” and as the words left his mouth, he eyed knowingly at Gareth.

“See, Eddie! Olivier is going! Gareth is saved! We don’t have to go!” You squeezed his shoulder and Eddie gulped. This was not going to be easy.

“Y-yeah,” he could barely reply and Gareth shot him a quizzical look.

Eddie was digging his grave right then and there.

He really needed to break that damn deal.

“Hey Y/n,” Nancy caught up with you, ponytail bouncing as she ran the short distance between the cafeteria door and the lockers.

“What’s up?” You smiled once she was at your level, closing your locker and tightening the notebooks you were holding as you continued your way through the mass of students.

“Have you seen Barb?”

“No,” you frowned. “I haven’t seen her all day, actually, I was going to ask you. She didn’t have lunch with you?”

You watched her frown deepen, “no, she wasn’t there, I sat with Steve and his friends. I–um I haven’t seen her since yesterday at your place.”

“Oh, well I’m sure she’s fine, probably called in sick or something,” but your words didn’t soothe Nancy’s worries.

“I called her mom,” she averted her stare from yours.

“And?”

“She didn’t come home yesterday, or this morning.”

“Oh,” your heart sank down to your stomach, the uneasy feeling threatening to swallow you whole.

“Are you sure she left your place last night?”

“Yeah,” you matched her frown. “You don’t think-?”

“That she disappeared like Will?”

“I don’t know… This whole situation just seems odd…” You looked around, maybe in search of something, just to be met with the mass of students that walked through the maze of hallways that was Hawkins High. No one seemed bothered; no one looked worried or stirred by what was silently unfolding in the city.

“Yeah…”

You brought your gaze back to Nancy, trying to hunt for a topic to change the subject–anything that could hook both your attentions elsewhere.

Then you saw it: the bright pink and yellow poster for Spring Fling. You huffed, ripping the poster from the wall and crumbling the paper, just to throw it in the nearest trash. An attempt at rebellion, maybe.

“Who the heck would go to that antiquated mating ritual.”

“I would!”

“Do you seriously want to get all dressed up so some rando with a boner dressed up in the first suit he found at Gap can feel you up while you’re forced to listen to a band that by definition ‘blows’?”

She scoffed, “the rando in question is your brother, may I add.”

“My brother?” You raised your eyebrows, “but I’m not going, he won’t be allowed to go.”

“You’re not?” She squeaked, eyes darting to your hands as you unfolded the wires of your walkman. “Steve told me you would. I think he assumed Eddie asked you.”

“Steve has no business assuming what I will or will not do, and Eddie has asked me, I told him no.”

“Why? I thought you liked Eddie.”

“Going with someone I like, still doesn’t change the fact that I find these gatherings dumb,” you accentuated your words by harshly placing your headphones around your neck, and locking your walkman onto your backpocket.

“Are you sure you won’t go? Just for me? Just so Steve will go, and by extension I will?” Her big blue eyes pleaded, lips forming into a pout, and for a split second you faltered, wondering if you could do this for your friend.

“I’ll see.”

“You are incorrigible,” she rolled her eyes, already knowing this meant no.

“Indeed I am,” you looked around, gaze flickering from the lockers to Nancy, “so do tell me, you and Steve last night, hm?”

“Oh, shut up!” Her shriek made you giggle, and you would have continued teasing her if not for the hands that latched onto your waist, you jumped, shrieking before feeling yourself getting picked up into the air.

You immediately recognized the laugh that echoed in your ear, and Nancy’s smile gave the owner of those hands even more away.

“Eddie, let me down!” You giggled in echo with him, hands wrapping around his own before he dropped you back on your feet.

“Don’t you have a class to get to?” You mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Mrs. Day called in sick, I have a free period.”

“Oh lucky,” you hummed, shoulders slumping at the anticipation of your next hour.

“Eddie?” Nancy spoke, making Eddie’s curls brush your cheek as he turned to face your friend. “Have you seen Barb by any chance?”

“Not since yesterday,” he shook his head and he sensed the way you tense up in his arms. “Everything ok?”

“We think she’s missing.”

“Missing? Like the Byers kid?”

“According to her mom, she didn’t come home last night, and skipping school isn’t like her,” Nancy bit her lip as she looked to the side.

“I mean, maybe she did. I’m not one to say that skipping school isn’t fun,” Eddie concluded, smirking slightly. He knew that this subject was reaching a dead end, and he sighed before turning his attention back to you. “What are you doing after school?”

“Nothing, why?”

“I found this new card game at the comics shop, and maybe if the game gets boring I can teach you D and D.”

“Are you asking me out on a game date?”

“Are you saying yes?” Instead of answering directly with words, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, muttering your answer as you pulled away.

“If you two will stop face fucking in the hallway, we’ve got class,” maybe it was jealousy that your brother wasn’t as sweet as Eddie picking at her stomach, or the stress from Barb stacking up, but she ripped her stare away from the two of you to stare at bright blue lockers on the other side.

“Sorry,” you giggled, slipping out of Eddie’s arms after stealing one last kiss.

“I’ll see you after class, Eds.”

“What do you think they’re up to?” Your hand gripped Eddie’s a little tighter as you watched your brother and his friends laugh towards Johnathan. The poor Byers brother was being thrown around by the greedy hands of your idiot brother, the grim look on his face turned to disgust and anguish. You watched your brother, a loud chuckle ripping from his mouth. Your frown deepened as Tommy gave him one last push, Steve snatching pieces of paper from his grip.

Jonathan watched as Steve and Carol ripped to shreds the papers, they all laughed one last time; Tommy giving him a last cruel shove that almost made him trip before walking away.

You took closer steps towards the parking–maybe in a quick attempt to help, but unfortunately, the group was walking right for the two of you, waltzing away from the mess they created towards god knows where.

“What did you do?” You grumbled as your path crossed your brothers, glancing behind his shoulder to spot Nancy jogging the distance between Johnathan and her group of new so-called friends.

“You’ll never guess, the perv took pictures of us yesterday!”

“What?”

“He was in the woods by our place, snapping pictures of us in the pool, even snapped shots of Nancy while she was changing.”

“Why?” You raised your eyebrows, squeezing Eddie’s hand.

“Caus’ he’s a perv?” Carol snickered, “and that’s all he’s found to do with his miserable life?” Tommy chuckled at his girlfriend’s words, and they disappeared behind you again, snickering as they left towards the field behind the High School building.

“Weird,” you muttered, watching Johnathan getting back into his car and leaving.

“You think he took my good profile?” Eddie, like always, pulled you out of your thoughts with a dumb joke, making you snort and playfully shove his shoulder. “What?” He offered a new laugh and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go try this new card game, I’ve had enough of this place for the day,” you tugged at his arm, dragging him further towards your car.

“Understandable,” he muttered, watching as you toyed with your car keys. “Hey, how about we pass by Melvald’s first? Grab some snacks and stuff.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” your hand brushed his as you parted ways to climb in the driver’s seat.

Apart from the Metallica blasting from the speakers; the ride was quiet, peaceful almost, as you bathed in each other’s presence. It was nice, seeing the streets of Hawkins with someone you liked by your side–it almost all seemed less… daunting. It was soothing, knowing you’d get to have careless laughter over junk food and a pack of cards, letting the week’s worries and Steve’s torment slip away for just a few hours.

You almost smiled when the red writing of Melvald’s came to view, stomach already growling not with hunger, but envy for cookies and candies–anything that could be considered a bad excuse for a dinner.

You parked next to a mattered brown truck, mud stains on its wheels and rusty doors. Eddie placed a hand in his hair as he exited your car, a poor excuse at trying to tame his curls, but you smiled when his hair stayed as wild–it suited him better.

Your hand found his as you walked into Melvald’s. The shop seemed pretty empty apart from a few stray heads bopping out of aisles.

“Afternoon,” you smiled at the owner behind the counter, he nodded before you both headed for the cookie aisle, grabbing one of those cheap red plastic baskets on the way.

“What are your favorites?” You hummed playfully as you scanned the shelves.

“I’d say Oreos are good, or um,” he thought, fingers going over his lips in thought. “Chips Ahoy! I love Chips Ahoy”

“The white chocolate fudge ones are the best,” you turned to Eddie and watched his face turn in pure horror.

“What did you just say?”

“That the white chocolate fudge cookies are the best?”

“I think you hit your head too hard as a kid, sweetheart. The normal milk chocolate ones taste so much better.”

“Hey! That is so not true,” you pressed on.

“They’re so sweet,” he scrunched his nose, “makes you sick if you eat too much.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, jokingly vexed at his hatred for your favorite.

“Oh my god, I used to love these as a kid,” Eddie’s face lit up as his eyes crossed paths with the a small white cardboard box, big smiles drawn over it.

“Says the guy who called White Fudge Chips Ahoy too sweet,” you narrowed your eyes as he picked up the pack of Giggles from a shelf.

“You don’t want to get them?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, no. I still love these, put them in,” you grinned, raising the basket so he could dump them in next to the pack of Oreos.

“What else should we take?”

“Drinks?”

“Yeah,”

In twenty minutes spent in the store, your basket was already full with enough food and drinks for the entire of Hellfire. Cans of coke laying against bright blue cookie packaging and other junk food that had caught your attention. Eddie had ended up carrying the basket when it got too heavy, and now it rested by his feet as you waited in line.

A middle aged woman was in front of you–a toddler in her arms as she fumbled with the coins in her wallet. The baby’s small hands were fumbling with strands of her red hair–babbling something as he watched his mother pay for her groceries.

You were so enthralled in the scene–trying to see how much strength the toddler could tug on the women’s red locks with, that you hadn’t noticed the familiar face settling in the cue behind Eddie. She was almost hidden behind a pile of boxes that laid upon one of her hands, the other gripping the bar of a shopping cart, and you only recognised her by her anxious sigh as she tried to balance the boxes in her grip.

“Oh, hey Joyce,” you smiled, a gentle smile that bled with your compassion and she suddenly turned her attention to you.

Eddie also turned his attention to her–immediately realizing who this was. He’d seen her behind the counter more times than he could count, and he was also eighty percent sure that Wayne briefly knew her from High School, remembering their short conversations from the hundreds of times he helped his uncle shop here.

“Oh! Y/n, I didn’t see you there!” She spoke, almost startled by your simple greeting.

She looked tired, like she hadn’t properly slept in days. Her hair poking all over the place, and she was anxiously tapping her foot against the white floor of Melvalds. You assumed she was off work with everything going on, since she wasn’t standing behind the counter like usual.

But what really caught your attention was the amount of Christmas lights she had gathered. At least twelve boxes had been stuffed in the kart, leaving no room for the five others that she held in her free hand. You couldn’t begin to wonder why she had bought everything out of the clearance section, but your heart ached as you watched her gaze falter to the window for a split second before going back to you. She shifted her grip on the boxes, and a new huff left her lips before she handed you a tight smile.

“Is Johnathan with you?” You wondered, eyes briefly going across the aisle visible from your spot in the line.

She shook her head, “he’s probably home right now,” you nodded at her words and watched as her gaze flickered around again–as if she was suddenly comfortable. Maybe it was the mention of her son; maybe a conversation or two about Will that caused tension to seep between them, when in fact they should be sticking together.

Her gaze faltered, becoming softer as she took new acknowledgment of you again. She sent a smile to you and turned to Eddie who was yet to talk.

“This is Eddie, my boyfriend,” you watched the expression on her face change–impressed, slightly surprised maybe.

“Wayne’s nephew right?”

“In the flesh,” Eddie smiled, politely nodding.

“Also I wanted to tell you,” you spoke again, Joyce’s gaze dancing back to yours. “If you need anything from us, you have my number, Joyce.” Her whole face softened, gratitude seeping in through her eyes.

“Thank you, honey,”

Eddie’s trailer felt just as you left it the day before. A cozy haven for the loneliest of souls to find refuge on cold nights. But to your surprise, Eddie didn’t remove his shoes once he crossed the threshold–he even told you to wait for him by the entrance with the multitude of bags filled with the sweets you’d bought.

You watched as the metalhead bounced across his living space, shedding his leather jacket on the living room chair after he had complained that the spring sun was suffocating him, before he disappeared to his room, and came back with a small blue and orange metal box. His card game.

“Follow me,” Eddie swept past you, grabbing the two shopping bags and jumping the small steps out of his trailer. You raised an eyebrow before following him through the grass patch around his trailer, passing through a laundry line that hosted a few band t-shirts that could only be Eddie’s, and tattered work jeans that you assumed were Wayne’s.

You intently watched as you both faced a small, thin ladder that climbed up to the trailer’s roof. “Can you take one?” you nodded as he handed you one of the plastic bags.

Eddie stuffed the small card game in his back pocket–you silently questioned him, he could have simply just put it in the bag he was holding. But that didn’t stop him from anything, and you carefully observed as Eddie hummed a ‘follow me’, before starting to climb the rusty ladder.

You landed on the roof with a huff, and noticed that Eddie had already settled himself on a far off corner, the plastic bag neatly placed next to his feet.

“Nice view,” you noticed. Smiling as you gazed across the sea of trailers, each painted in their own uniqueness. it was far off from the white picket fence houses–a sea of odd shapes and colors, but it was all the most comforting, lively even. Smoke coming out of barbecue grills, laughter spilling out of small backyards and the light breeze making the bright colored laundry dance.

“You like it?” He grinned as he admired you trot towards him.

“I love it,” you settled beside him on the floor, dropping your bag next to the other one and started fishing inside of it for your well earned snacks.

Your hands settled for a pack of oreos, settling it in your lap as you wiggled yourself to be more comfortable.

"This feels like that one Elton John song."

"Which one?" He raised a playful eyebrow.

"We sat on the roof," your soft voice hummed, slithering into the soft breeze and to Eddie’s ears.

“Kicked off the moss,” he hummed along with you, making a giggle escape your lips.

“You listen to Elton John?”

“On occasions,” he murmured, busying himself with the bag next to him to fish for a can of soda.

“Wow, didn’t take you for the Elton John type.”

“I’m a man of many mysteries,” he dramatically sighed.

“Shut up,” you giggled, rolling your eyes before grabbing your own can of coke–popping it open before finally speaking again, “so, that game of yours?”

“Yes!”

Eddie grabbed the small box from his pocket, eyes sparkling as he opened it and placed the lid at his side. He took the cards in his hands and started mixing them.

“So, rules are simple, I think.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t read the rules.”

“Eddie, you can’t play a game if you don’t know the rules,” you giggled, grabbing the box at his side and taking the paper out.

“The guy at the shop told me how to play it, I thought I’d remember.”

“You’re impossible,” you huffed, unfolding the little paper and scanning through the words. You raised an eyebrow, reading through the instructions, “ok, so,” you licked your lips in thought before looking at the cards in Eddie’s hands. “We have to start with the card that looks like the cross path thingy.”

“Ok,” Eddie listened before flipping through the cards and placing said card in between the two of you; right next to the oreo pack.

“Wait, Eddie.”

“What?”

“It’s from three to eight players,” you giggled. “Eddie, we can’t play.”

“What?” His eyes widen, ripping the rule book from your hands. “Oh,” he hummed, realization hitting. “Well, this sucks.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” you giggled, grabbing a new oreo.

He sighed, placing the cards back in their box before dropping them at his side, sharing a gaze with you.

“What should we do?”

“Dunno,”

The sun had started to set across the trailer park, and a tumble of giggles seemed to be the main theme of your afternoon. One lone cookie was left in the Chips Ahoy pack, and the stacks of plastic wrappers and cans were starting to pile up; a show of the evening slowly dying out into night.

“Ok, ok,” you giggled, leaning closer to Eddie. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you raised an eyebrow at his reply, a smirk dancing across your lips.

“I dare you to compliment your neighbor’s dinner,” your gaze traveled to the elderly couple eating in the garden beside Eddie’s trailer. They looked happy–a couple who danced through time together. You could faintly hear their conversation in the distance, but barely making out words, and if Eddie shouted just enough he could easily spring a conversation.

“That’s so stupid,” he grinned.

“I know,” you giggled back and Eddie rolled his eyes before turning around to face his neighbor’s garden.

He took a second to observe. The barbecue grill on the opposite side was still smoking from its use, and he spotted the home made burgers on their plates. That would be easy to compliment. Plus, Eddie didn’t mind, Wayne was on good terms with them, maybe less so Eddie as he often bothered them when playing guitar. But if the odd comment could bring a good laugh out of the two of you, then Eddie would gladly plunge into your dare.

“Hey! Mr. Carol!” The elder man turned from his grill as the call reached his ear. “Good job on the burgers! They smell amazing!” You had to place a hand over your mouth to stop the giggles from tumbling like a waterfall as you watched the poor man’s face twist in an awkward smile, both of his eyebrows raised to the sky as he watched his teenage neighbor send him a compliment from his trailer’s roof.

“Thanks Eddie.” The man awkwardly replied and Eddie saluted him before turning back around to you.

“Happy?”

“He looked so confused.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Eddie smiled with you, grabbing another oreo, before mumbling with a mouthful, “truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you smiled, keeping your gaze on Eddie as you grabbed the last Chip’s Ahoy, crumpling the wrapper in your hands and throwing it to the side to join the pile.

“I dare you to take off your top,” your eyes went wide at his request.

“And flash the whole trailer park?” You shrieked and a loud laugh tumbled from Eddie.

“Well, already you did it for me once,” he dramatically sighed, poking at your ribs, creating another laugh to leave you.

“I did it to save your ass.”

“I know, I'm only kidding,” he smirked. “I’ll keep that dare for another time,” he smiled, knocking at you before looking down at the oreo’s in between you, “I dare you to fill your mouth with as many oreos as you can.”

“and?”

“If you manage to put seven in without almost choking, you get a prize.”

“Why seven?”

“Because that’s my record.”

“That’s so stupid,” you noticed.

“C’mon, do your dare.”

You rolled your eyes, keeping eye contact as your hand traveled to the cookies. You grabbed one-easy. The next one slipping nicely against the second one. You couldn’t look at Eddie anymore, the look in his eyes was enough to make you laugh and want to spit out the whole thing. The next two managed to fit, somehow, and you could hear Eddie chuckling, your gaze focused on the blue wrapper in concentration.

But when you reached for the fifth one, about to place it in your mouth–you caved. Making eye-contact with Eddie. He was laughing like an idiot; watching your chipmunk cheeks with a devilish spark in his eyes. But that look was fatal, and a laugh climbed right through you, causing you to spit everything out to the side.

Eddie roared even more with laughter and you had to playfully slap his shoulder in order to keep yourself from laughing too.

“You lost, I’m so sorry,” he patted your shoulder, using his grip to bring you further towards him, kissing the side of your mouth.

“What was the prize?” You questioned, chewing the last bit of crumbs that were left in your mouth as you leaned against him.

“A private concert,”

“As if you don’t willingly do them, all the time.” he shrugged at your comment, making you smile and remember your game, “Eddie.”

“Yes?”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“Tell me a secret,”

“Ok, I hate peas.”

“No,” you giggled, “tell me something real, something no one else knows,” you grabbed a twizzler, pointing to him with it once you had taken a good bite out of it.

“Ok,” he smirked, a mischievous glint passing by his gaze. The grip on your waist became tighter and he leaned even closer to you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear with his free hand before kissing your cheek. “You’re sweet,” he pressed a new kiss to your other cheek “and sexy,” a new kiss to your lips, “and completely hot for me,” you gasped a laugh.

“You are amazingly self assured, as anyone else told you that?”

“I tell myself that every day, actually,” he chuckled before locking your lips into a new kiss, and suddenly an invisible sting pulled him back to the reality of the pact he had made with your brother. “Come to the dance with me tomorrow.”

“Is that a request or a command?” You attempted to joke, but he continued.

“Come on, go with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” He breathed out a sigh, toying with your fingers.

“I told you already, it’s a stupid tradition.”

“C’mon, people won’t expect you to go.”

“Eddie, why are you pushing this? What’s in it for you?” Maybe you wouldn’t have asked, but Barb’s words suddenly came bouncing into your mind, like an unstoppable bouncy ball hitting the walls of your brain and shuddering through your spine.

“Nothing, just the pleasure of your company.”

You paused at his words. Mind twirling in the multitude of possibilities. Eddie had been pushing this, but maybe that was just his attempt at trying to be a normal high school couple.

Would Eddie really want this? Would Eddie really enjoy a gathering full of sweaty hormonal teenagers, with no alcohol, weed or anything else you could think of that he’d use for a good time, all that mixed with awful music? You couldn’t be sure, and you were getting anxious about an ulterior motive.

Barb had made it clear she didn’t trust Eddie, and your heart pinched at the thought.

You sighed, eyes dancing across the setting sun as it reached further down the sky, casting yet a new glow of colors across the trailer park.

Your grip on Eddie’s shoulder tightened; “It’s getting late,” you hummed, turning your gaze back to Eddie, “I should go.”

“Y/n-”

“No, it’s fine Eddie, don’t worry about it,” you gave him a tight smile. “Thanks for the evening,” you stood from his grip, dusting the crumbs from your jeans before nodding back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next morning, you opened your locker, just for a bright neon pink paper to slip out of it, flying down just to land on your feet.

You huffed, gladly stepping on it. It hadn’t even happened yet, and you already had enough of this stupid dance.

You wanted to throw up, first Will, and now no one seemed to even blink twice about Barbara. Maybe if she had been some popular cheerleader, a Tammy Thompson, or a rising star like Chrissy Cunningham she would have the whole town at her feet trying to find her, caring for her. And a part of you wondered if anyone would even care if you would ever go missing yourself..

"Are they really still throwing Spring Fling when two students are missing?" You gazed at Eddie who was leaning against your neighboring locker, fumbling with his walkman.

“Is Barb officially missing now?”

“Police thinks she ran away,” you angrily stuffed some books in your locker, Eddie noticing the stress lines forming on your forehead.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday, I should have gotten the hint the first time you told me you didn’t want to go.”

“S’okay,” you hummed, keeping your hands fumbling with the contents of your locker as your gaze stayed focused on its insides. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just- I don’t understand why everyone is acting so calm. Nancy was balling her eyes out on the phone to me last night, assuring me that Barb was gone missing. She went on, telling me her car was still parked not far from mine and saying that she felt a creepy presence in my backyard,” you finally managed to neatly place the books like you wanted, and closed your locker door in a loud, angered thud.

“Oh,”

“Yeah,” you chewed on your nails and Eddie didn’t know what to say, or what to even do with his own hands. “What if something bad has happened to them? And I mean bad, bad,” you rested your back against your locker. “I can’t imagine what it would do to Dustin, imagine Barb’s parents? I-, I feel desperate in this situation and I feel like I’m one of the only ones to actually care.”

“We could try and play detective, if you want? I mean, D and D does make you pretty good at piecing things together,” he offered you a short smile and your heart warmed a bit at his words.

“Maybe.”

You didn’t understand Nancy.

As much as you loved her, you couldn’t begin to piece her out. Last night, she was calling you crying about your missing friend, and now she was begging you for a distraction you weren’t willing to give out.

“Please, please come,” she whined over the phone, and you eyed Steve as he walked across from the kitchen to the living room, giving you his biggest death glare as he did.

“Nancy, you know my answer,” you groaned–wanting to slam your head onto the wall next to you. “Do you realize that two people are missing, and you’re ready to just forget all of that to go dancing with idiots?”

“Y/n, I think we both need this, we can continue searching tomorrow.”

Was this really the same Nancy you had chatted with the day before?

“You’re in a relationship now, you should understand this!”

“Understand what exactly?”

“That I want to spend time with my boyfriend. The world is falling apart and I’m stuck home with my thoughts. Wouldn’t you ask the same thing if the roles were reversed? Wouldn’t you beg Steve and I to go to a Ren Fair or I don’t know a Metallica concert if you couldn’t?”

“Spring Fling is far from being a Metallica concert, Nancy,” you chuckled at the idiocy of her comparison.

“But what if Spring Fling is my Metallica concert?”

You fell silent over the line. Were you that selfish? Not letting your friend get that date with your brother and miss out on an event everyone wanted to go to. You sighed, rethinking your life one last time before sighing out; “Okay,” head falling against the wall by the telephone. “I’ll tell Steve to come pick you up.”

“Oh my god I love you!”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, I’ll see you there,” and with those words you hung up, dread seeping into your bones once again. “Steve! Get fucking ready, you’re taking Nancy to that stupid dance!”

“I’m what now?”

“You’re taking Nancy to Spring Fling,” his eyes widened, mouth agape.

“Oh my god, I love you,”

“Oh, shut up,” you rolled your eyes, watching Steve scurry away to the upstairs bathroom. You sighed before crossing the kitchen, eyeing for any one of your parents.

“Hey darling,” as if she knew you had been searching for her, your mom’s soft voice echoed from the laundry room, through the corridor and right to you.

“Right here,” you hummed back, trotting to meet her there.

“Oh perfect,” she smiled, “could you bring this up? Half of this is Steve’s and then the other half is yours.”

“Are you obliging me to walk through the pits of tartarus?”

“If this means, entering your brother’s room to drop off his laundry, yes I am asking you.”

“Fine,” you hummed, grabbing the basket of folded laundry from your mother’s arms. “Also, Steve and I are getting ready to leave, we’re um- going to the spring fling thing.”

“Oh,” her eyes widened. “You’re going?”

“Yeah. Nancy convinced me.”

“Alright,” she let the shock seep through her. “I’ll let your father know.”

“Thanks,” you smiled before scurrying away, jumping up the steps–the quicker you got this done, the quicker you could get ready, and the quicker you were out of the house, the quicker you would be back.

You dropped everything that was yours on top your bed–not bothering with putting it in your cupboard before waltzing towards Steve’s room. You could hear the stream of the shower, and if you were really careful, you could hear Steve faintly humming a Kate Bush song. You rolled your eyes before opening his door, ready to be met with the utter mess that you remembered his room to be–but to your surprise, it was neat and even smelt nice.

You blinked in shock, taking in the well done bed, the freshly vacuum carpet and the organized shelves. Even the desk was neat, two pots of pencils stood proudly in the corner, while only a stray eraser felt out of place–sitting next to an opened agenda. His desk lamp illuminating his scruffy writing, creating a halo over the white lined page.

Once the surprise was seeping in, you blinked; remembering your original mission. You dropped the basket on his bed, sighing before turning back around.

And that’s when you caught the writing across the white paper of Steve’s used notebook.

MONEY SPENT

March 30 - family video $6

April 2 - Maldev’s $2, lunch $5

April 5 - lunch $2

April 11 - Lunch $7, family video $3.

April 12 - Eddie $50

April 14 - Scoops Ahoy $6

April 15 - Eddie $100

The list went on–Eddie becoming a recurrence since ‘April 12’, the money only adding as the days went by. Your heart thumped in your chest–why in the world was Eddie’s name on Steve’s wannabe accountant list, and secondly, where in the world did Steve find this kind of money?

You wondered for a brief instant if Eddie had been dealing to your brother, but then you had only seen Steve high once, and it had been two days ago, at that wretched gathering.

Barb’s warning echoed in your head, and for a mere second you allowed yourself to feel the worst. Was this why Eddie had been bugging you to come to the dance with him?

You refused to make it make sense, but then April 12 had been the day Eddie had first tried to ask you out.

Your breath suddenly caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart thumping in your ears. No. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be sure of anything yet.

Nonetheless, you didn’t have time to think about it. You were on the clock with a promise made to your best friend, and strolling out of Steve’s room, you noticed a frown on your face you hadn’t even realized was there.

You let out a shaky sigh as you entered your room, being met with your reflection in the mirror.

You had made Nancy a promise,

You’d have to confront either of the two after the dance.

“Eddie, there’s a girl outfront for you.”

“Huh?” He lifted the book from his eyes, dropping it on the coffee table before lazily sitting up, limbs cracking as he did. He looked at Wayne in question, not bothering to fix his pyjama shirt as he walked to the kitchen area and looked through the window.

His eyes weren’t failing him–indeed there you were, the window of your car rolled down and Eddie could see you all dolled up in a pretty dress he’d never bet he would ever see you wear. You looked straight at him through the window and honked, a signal for him to come over.

“What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath as his socked feet walked him to the front door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” Even though shock was seeping through him, he smiled at your sight.

“Get in loser, we’re going to the spring fling,” his mouth was wide, agape like a fish as he registered what was happening. He blinked, and stood there a second too long because you honked your car horn again. “C’mon! We don’t have all night!”

You watched as Eddie blinked again before shaking his head and scurrying back inside. You heard faint mumbling from the trailer and his running around. You even thought you heard a loud noise that was most probably Eddie falling as he tried to get the suit of his pants up.

His hair was wild once he opened the door of the trailer again, but he was brushing it back with his fingers as he walked down the metallic steps and walked to you.

“Where did you get a tux last minute?” You grinned as he opened the passenger door, his slime had made all anxiety wash away from your body and you felt yourself melt a little further into your car seat, butterflies brushing the side of your stomach at the sight of him in a suit.

“Oh, you know, just something I had, laying around,” he shrugged, pretending to be brushing something off of his shoulder “Where’d you get the dress?”

“Oh you know just something I had, laying around,” that made him laugh, eyes intently scanning your figure as you started driving away.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Nancy wouldn’t stop bugging me about it, thought I’d take a break from being a heinous bitch, for a change,” you smiled, and your mind brought you back to the writing in Steve’s notebook an unsettling feeling tugging at your heartstrings as your gaze went back to the boy next to you.

“Respectable,” he grinned, already opening your glove box for a cassette–fishing out a Black Sabbath mixtape he had made for you.

And for a golden second, as you watched him grin like an idiot over the cassette he had so carefully designed–your worries washed away.

Eddie had been so caring. He had come into your life, bulldozing everything you had trapped yourself in. He brought a new breath to your lungs and you felt yourself again, you felt whole again.

And maybe, just maybe you could let yourself believe that Eddie’s name on Steve’s notebook was something entirely different.

Spring fling was everything you had expected it to be.

Bright colored balloons floating across the air, handwritten banners hanging from every corner, large tables with various beverages and food laying across it. Music was bursting out of large speakers lodged at every corner of the room–and not to mention almost the entirety of Hawkins High.

Toto’s Hold The Line was ringing in your ears, and you felt your hand grip Eddie’s a little tighter as you walked past a group of cheerleaders, all giggling at something Cameron Ness had said. The star jock was wearing his best suit, a blue ruffled jacket that made all the girls cling to him like moths to a flame. Each of them were in close competition with your brother at the amount of hairspray they had, hairstyles more and more elaborate the more you stared.

You did not feel in your place at all.

It all felt intoxicating.

You spotted your brother, long gone into a conversation with some brunette jock named Jeremy. You looked at Nancy–she seemed so happy for once; a bright smile plastered on her face as she leaned against Steve’s navy vest.

And maybe, just maybe the thought of your best friend getting to have a good time made it less hard to stand the suffocating gym.

“Wanna dance?” Eddie turned to you, a smile on the corner of lips, “while the music is still somewhat tolerable.” Eddie lifted his hand, silently asking for yours.

“Yes,” you slotted your hand in his–butterflies brushing the sides of your stomach as you marched towards the dance floor.

Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so bad.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you hold my drink, I need to go to the bathroom,” you smiled as Eddie was already offering his hand.

“Of course.”

Eddie’s gaze traveled around the room, and an unsettling feeling crossed his stomach when his gaze met your brother’s. He was at a different spot this time, chatting with Nancy over a cup of punch.

This was it.

This had to be his chance.

He didn’t think twice before crossing the room, fingers brushing through his hair before speaking; “Hey, Harrington.”

“My man!” Steve cheered, and wrapped an arm around him. Eddie awkwardly nodded towards Nancy who had handed him a tight smile upon his arrival.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Steve nodded and asked Nancy if she could hold his drink–to which she accepted and nodded them away.

Eddie noticed Steve was maybe more than a little tipsy as he walked beside Eddie, mumbling jokes and saying hi to everyone who crossed their way. He thought this would be a never ending nightmare, and it would probably be hours before he reached a quiet spot. And after torechous minutes of Steve greeting everyone who met his eyes as he was dragged through the mass of students, they finally reached the quiet corner next to the bleachers.

“So-”

"The deal is off."

“What?” Steve suddenly felt himself sober up. “Why?”

“Because I can’t continue like this.”

“But why? I thought you needed the money-”

“This isn’t about the money, Steve,” the name felt bitter in his mouth–maybe because he blamed him for his suffering, or maybe Eddie blamed himself–but right this minute the lines blurred in his mind and he felt his stomach bubble with a new kind of anger. “This is about your sister, it’s killing me to be doing this to her.”

“Why would you care?” Steve snorted, and Eddie almost took a step back at the cruelty he was witnessing first hand.

Did Steve really care so little about you?

“Because I’m falling in love with her,” the words tumbled out of Eddie’s mouth faster than he could think, and he had to bite his lip once he realized his confession.

Steve’s mouth fell open wide, the room starting to spin—and this time it wasn’t the snuck in vodka that made him feel this way; but the way his plan was biting him back.

“No, no, no. You can't be in love with her,” he felt the words leave faster than intended, his own interests getting the best of him.

“Who are you to tell me what to feel or not feel, Harrington.”

Steve blinked–stunned, “no, you’re right. But you can’t be falling for her! I never said you could actually date her, you’re going to be a bad influence!”

“Excuse me? Says the guy who hand picked me.”

“Because you were the only one good for the job!”

“Exactly, and that’s why I’m putting an end to the whole thing.”

“She’s smarter than you give her credit for, you know? She’s going to figure it out soon enough, and it’s going to go all to shits. She might hate us both in all cases, but I’d rather her learn about this fiasco the right way.”

“No-no, you can’t tell her anything! What about me? What about Nancy?”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Look, I’ll pay you double, we continue the deal like it was, you continue to date her, and we can just forget this whole conversation happened, okay?”

“Did you not hear a word I just said?”

You sighed, fixing a strand of your hair as you looked at yourself in the mirror—smacking your lips together to spread the gloss you had just reapplied.

You pushed the heavy bathroom door, sighing once it closed behind you–the school hallway staring back at you. You could faintly hear music playing from behind the closed doors, but murmurs from a nearby corridor caught your attention.

“Did you hear?” Mr. Arnold fiddled with his hat, twisting the material between his fingers.

“Hear what?” You recognised Mrs. Gilbert–the drama teacher, she was fixing the sleeve of her sparkling dress before a content smile appeared on her lips.

“They found him,” now they had your full attention. Head spiking up like a cat, and breath catching in your throat.

“The Byers boy?” She whispered, the smile getting whipped off her features.

“Yes,” Mr. Arnold had a grim look in his eyes as he stared down at his shoes. “They found his body at Sattler Quarry about an hour ago… Poor kid drowned himself.”

Your shoulders tensed and you felt your ears ring

No.

No, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening.

Will, the shy boy you babysitted a few times.

Will, the quiet one with a mind of gold and an ever growing imagination. The one who came up with creatures, monsters and wizards D and D magazines and Eddie’s campaigns could only be envious about.

Your body hit the back of the lockers, and you could only hope that Mrs. Gilbert and Mr. Arnold didn’t hear the thud that accompanied the movement. Head spinning and heart unstoppably racing as you tried to tame the buzz in your head. You couldn’t hear anything, an uncontrollable numbness hitting you as your fist clenched the material of your dress.

Why?

Why had a boy full of life like Will had to meet his end in such a way?

What about Dustin? Did he already know?

Your heart only shattered into more pieces as you thought of him.

You had to tell Eddie.

You walked back into the gym, the air feeling stuffy again and the music barely hitting your numbbed ears. Seeing everyone so full of life made you sick to your stomach. All these people who didn’t even care that he had gone missing, and now they would wake up tomorrow morning with the news of his death, and move on with the rest of their lives as if nothing happened.

It didn’t take you long to find Eddie in the crowd. He was a few meters away from the door, in a corner talking to—your brother?

He had a large frown on his features, and your brother was waving his hands around frantically like he did when he got frustrated. You watched as Eddie groaned, a hand flying up to his hair as he tried to reason whatever argument your brother had thrown.

You moved faster than your mind registered, feet gliding over the polished ground of the gymnasium. Something in you wanted to save Eddie from presumingly a horrid conversation with the gremlin that you were cruelly related to.

You were about to go through the last small group of people, you could clearly see them from your spot in between the dancing bodies—and Steve’s voice became clearer over the fading music.

“No-no you can’t tell her anything! What about me? What about Nancy?”

What the fuck was that suppose to mean?

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Look, I’ll pay you double, we continue the deal like it was, you continue to date her, and we can just forget this whole conversation happened, okay?”

You stopped in your tracks.

Steve’s writing suddenly became clear,

your worst assumptions were true.

Eddie was paid to date you,

And had been since the start.

#quartermaster munson 🫧#10 things i hate about you #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson imagine #Eddie Munson fan ficion #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things imagine #harrington! reader #Steve Harrington

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Secret Admirer

Javier Peña x f!Reader - Explicit (18+ only)

Summary: It's Valentine's Day. Which means it's time to take a chance on your workplace crush, Agent Javier Peña.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: Season 1 (ish), US Embassy, yearning, secret admirer, confrontation, drinking and smoking (real brief), smut, protected PIV sex, dash of angst and fluff

A/N: Yeeehaw, this was written for a valentines day exchange SOOOO Happy Valentine's Day to @typingcorgi 💌 This one is for you, I hope you like it!!!

The papers cradled in your arm dig into the sticky crease of your elbow. Your fingertips part the thick stack of faxes and run along the crisp edge of an envelope hidden inside. A bass drum starts thudding in your chest and heat creeps up your neck.

One last peek over your shoulder at the empty, sterile mailroom gives you permission to do it. You slip the red envelope out from its hiding place and shove it into the cubby labeled JAVIER PEÑA.

The shuffle of approaching footsteps sends your heart into an outright sprint.

You scurry over to the fax machine and pinch the paperclip from the first fax, then slide the papers into the tray. As you punch the outgoing fax number into the machine, the footfalls grow closer, and soon start thudding against the shiny white linoleum of the mailroom.

The low rumble of conversation between two men grows more distinct. You recognize their voices, but keep your eyes glued to the papers being sucked through the gears of the fax machine.

“We’re gonna get a bottle of wine, candlelit dinner, put on some Marvin Gaye to set the mood,” Steve Murphy says, “Should probably get some flowers for her or somethin’, huh?”

Javier Peña hums in response.

They make their way over to the mailboxes. You stand there and try to blend into your surroundings as you wait for a fax receipt. The sound of them sorting the contents of their mail makes your stomach churn.

“What’s that?” Steve asks as they start to walk away.

“Let’s see,” Javier murmurs, then his footsteps come to a halt as he opens the envelope and he hums with curiosity.

Steve stops, too, then chuckles, “Is that a fucking valentine?”

“Looks like it,” Javier mumbles, then directs his voice at you and says your name.

You stop breathing and clench your eyes shut, then open them and turn around, trying your best to keep your face neutral, “What?”

He holds up the unsealed red envelope and its folded up white contents between two fingers, “Did you see who left this?”

You meet his dark brown eyes for a few devastating moments before dropping your gaze to the stack of faxes in your white-knuckle grip. All the moisture from your mouth evaporates. You clear your throat and shake your head, “No, sorry. I just got here.”

“A secret admirer?” Murphy’s lips curl into an amused grin and he raises an eyebrow at Javier.

You take another quick glance at the duo and realize Javier is narrowing his eyes at you, jaw working back and forth in subtle movements. Your skin burns and twists under his examination.

He breaks his laser focus and looks to Steve with a shrug, “Guess so.”

The fax machine roars to life behind you and starts printing. You spin on your heel towards the noise, and the men start off the way they came. Your hands are shaking when you go to grab the confirmation.

—

The clack clack clack of your typewriter ricochets through the empty halls of the United States Embassy. Although you can’t see it from your desk, you know the sun outside is sinking below the horizon and giving way to the inky black of nighttime.

Without Ambassador Noonan there to pull you into meetings for transcription, or assign you urgent outgoing faxes, or ask you to run any other number of errands she deems important, you’re able to perform the more “menial” of your clerical work. You sift through the stacks of papers at the corner of your desk, each one containing hurried handwriting scrawled by Noonan or one of her many Agents, trying to decipher their contents and transfer them into a more legible print.

Footsteps sound from down the hall, but you’re too busy squinting at a puzzling clusterfuck of scribbles to pay it any mind. It’s not until your desk creaks under the weight of Javier leaning back against it that you notice he’s there.

With a jump, you clutch your blouse over your pounding heart and gasp, “Jesus fu—Hi, Agent Peña.”

He comes to rest just inches away from your chair, arms crossed over his chest as he frowns down at you. Dangling between two of his knuckles is the red envelope you left in his mailbox earlier. Adrenaline pumps thick and hot through your veins.

Your hands feel numb as you meet his gaze and manage to ask, “Can I help you with something?”

His jaw cocks to the side and he raises an eyebrow at you, then tosses the red envelope onto your desk, “What’s this?”

“I—I—” you shake your head and widen your eyes, glancing between him and the letter.

“Don’t play dumb,” he interjects.

You swallow hard and hold your eyes steady on his as they bore into you. It’s a standoff. You don’t even dare to breathe. The silence is deafening.

Javier breaks it as he clears his throat and picks the creamy white paper up off your desk, then unfolds it. Your stomach drops to the floor.

He reads it aloud in a gravelly purr:

“Oh, how I long to devour you. To unhinge my jaw And swallow you whole. Do you feel it too? Do you ache with hunger when I’m near? When I meet your starving eyes, I know.”

Your eyes stay trained on his as he peers over the paper at you like he expects you to say something. But you don’t. Your skin buzzes electric when he rolls his tongue against his pouty lips, along the edge of his dark mustache, then drags his gaze down the length of you.

Javier sets the paper back onto your desk, taking a look around before he leans in and murmurs, “I do. I know.”

Then he digs into the pocket of his tan suit pocket and takes out a folded slip of paper. He pulls it away just as you go to reach for it. When your fingers curl back and you blink up at him in question, he searches your face, “This stays between us, ok?”

“Of course,” you nod.

His throat rumbles, eyes flick down to your lips for a moment, then he extends the paper to you again. This time when you go to take it, he lets it slide out from between his fingers into yours.

“Come by when you’re done here,” he says, more of a demand than a request.

“I will,” you try to suppress the grin stretching across your lips.

Javier taps two fingers against your desk, then pushes off it and saunters back down the hallway, giving you a quick backwards glance before turning the corner.

You look around to make sure no one is watching, then unfold the note, revealing an address written in his angular, messy script. Below this, it reads:

Starved.

—

Your knuckles rap two quick knocks against the door before Javier swings it open. His darkened gaze slides down your body like molasses as he steps back and lets you enter the apartment. The scent of his cologne wafts into your nose as you pass him. It’s light and crisp, clean smelling, contrasting his whiskey breath.

You slide out of your heels and set your purse onto the ground, then study the dwelling with curiosity, dropping down two steps into the living room on your way to a leather couch. The walls are painted a cream color, pastel green and pink spliced here and there. It doesn’t seem to represent Javier at all. You figure the apartment was furnished by the Embassy, like yours. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air like a dense fog. It’s tediously quiet.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, striding over to a stand-alone dry bar, which hosts a variety of amber colored liquors.

“Sure,” you answer as you sit down on the couch, smoothing out the black dress you changed into before walking over here.

Javier doesn’t ask what you want to drink. He just pours two glasses of whiskey and hands one to you while he lowers himself onto the other end of the loveseat.

Which, it’s a loveseat, so he’s still intimidatingly close.

“Thanks,” you mumble, then swallow a mouthful of the alcohol, wincing at the burn as it travels down your throat.

It’s not until now you realize you’ve never been alone with him. You’ve only experienced his intensity from afar. The way his eyes linger on you, seeming to study you when he thinks you won’t notice.

But you’ve noticed.

And you like it.

You’ve been careful to only leave hints of your wanting. Flicking your gaze to his when you feel it on your skin. Holding it there until your heart starts pounding and one of you looks away. Letting your body brush against him in passing. No words spoken, only heated eye contact and near-touching. Following an acute awareness of the way you’re drawn to him, how fervently your blood courses through your veins when he’s near, how his presence seems to tug at the edges of you.

“Did you write that yourself?” he inquires now. You take another sip and look up at him, meeting his eyes.

It’s unbearable. Yet, you don’t want it to stop. Like magnets are buried beneath your skin and his, opposite poles, aching to meet in equilibrium.

“I did,” you admit quietly, then tilt your head at him with curiosity, “Did you like it?”

He hums and nods, glancing down at your mouth, “I’ve been watching you. I see the way you look at me.”

“I know,” you respond in a whisper. The confession sends your heart racing… but you feel emboldened. You tip the glass to your lips and let the remaining whiskey slide down your throat, then lean forward to set the empty cup on his coffee table and scoot closer to him as you settle back into the couch.

Javier sits up to place his drink on the table, and when he returns, he’s only inches away. He brings his breath to your ear and murmurs, “You like it, don’t you? The attention?”

“Yes,” you answer. His hand rests on your knee, a branding iron that heats your core and steals the air from your lungs.

“Teasing me with those short skirts,” he travels up your thigh, letting his rough palm drag along your skin. The touch sends a shock wave of pleasure across your body.

You whimper and your eyes flutter shut.

His voice lowers to a rasp, “Staring at me with those fuck-me-eyes. You think I wouldn’t know it was you?”

He stops at the crease of your thigh and grips the tender flesh, pulling a wanton moan from your throat as your head falls back against the couch.

“Look at me,” he demands, so your eyes blink open and you meet his heated, meticulous gaze, “Do you want this?”

“I want this,” you nod, bringing a hand to his cheek, working your thumb against the grain of his stubble. He studies your face, dropping his eyes to your mouth, kneading your thigh, drawing closer.

You succumb to his beckoning lips, capturing them in a kiss. Fire sparks in your chest and spreads through your veins like wildfire, spreading to him as your tongues meet, rolling soft and wet, whiskey harsh on your shared breath.

Then he’s on you all at once.

Pushing your back flush to the couch cushions, rocking his hand against the seam of your panties, sliding the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders, liquefying your insides into molten need. He rids you of the red lace thong, tossing it on the floor while your trembling fingers unfasten the buttons of his shirt. You splay your fingers across his chest and slip the shirt off his shoulders. It joins your abandoned lingerie, followed by your dress, then his pants.

Javier pauses to study your naked body, lust-blown eyes trailing along every inch of your exposed skin, hands dragging up your legs. You examine him, too. His smooth, bronzed skin. His broad shoulders. His lean frame. His swollen, needy cock.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you breathe, reaching out to him, rolling your hips against nothing, aching with lust.

Your compliment pulls a rumble from his throat, then he returns to your body, to your lips. His warmth sends shockwaves down your spine. You arch your back into the sensation, drinking up every ounce of heat your thirsty skin can lap up.

When he touches the slick pool between the legs, spreading your arousal up and down your slit, you both moan into the other’s mouth, and he pants, “So fucking wet.”

You slide your hands around his shoulders, whimpering, nodding, reveling in the exquisite heat stoked at your center, urging him to continue with a breathy moan, “Don’t stop—fuck, that’s so good—”

He groans and captures your lips in his, kissing you hard, messy, working you faster, and the flames licking your insides continue to grow hotter, breaking you out into a sweat, making you gasp and moan against his mouth, eyes fluttering shut and it’s just this aching, heated bliss building at the base of your spine, and your pleas for him not to stop, and his skin on yours, his mouth planting wet kisses down your jaw, your neck, his moans of secondhand pleasure vibrating down your middle, fueling this brilliant concentrated ball of fire burning a hole inside you until you reach the edge of something and push past it.

Ecstasy washes over your body and steals the air from your lungs. You release a shattered breath and start to free fall, but his touch doesn’t relent, and your body shakes with pleasure that’s too intense to bear, legs clamping shut around his arm as you start to whimper at the stimulation.

Javier pulls back when your legs go jelly, his chest heaving, eyes wild and black and glued to yours. His pink tongue rolls against his lips, then they pout out into an O when he drags his fingers through your release. Your hips jerk at the jolt of his touch, heavy eyelids fluttering as you moan, and he smirks, “Wanna move this to the bedroom?”

You bite down on the pillowy flesh of your bottom lip as your gaze drops to his engorged length, and you manage to respond, “Uh-huh.”

He stands and starts towards his bedroom. You follow him on wobbly legs, head swimming, ears buzzing.

Just like the common areas of his apartment, his room is decorated tastefully and obviously courtesy of the Embassy. It’s surprisingly neat, though, the dark walnut chest of drawers cleared of clutter and personal effects, hardwood floor unencumbered by piles of dirty laundry, dark walnut four-post bed dressed with white linens. Based on the constant state of disarray his desk is in, you expected it to be messier, and wonder if he cleaned up for you.

Javier strides over to a side table and pulls a condom out of its drawer. While he wraps himself up, you settle at the edge of his bed, legs dangling off the side as your eyes trail down his shoulders, his arms, the defined muscles of his back, swallowing hard when he turns to face you.

He takes the two short steps to settle his hips between your knees and hums, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your head up towards him as he presses his forehead to yours and purrs, “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? Hmm? For me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, linking your hands at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, feeling his breath puff hot against your mouth, grip on your chin tightening.

His lips find yours and he kisses you slowly, deliberately, with a tender sort of reverence that tightens around your skin and makes you whimper. The noise spurs something inside him. He cups your cheeks and picks up speed, climbing onto the bed, pushing you onto your back.

It completely consumes you, the way his mouth works against yours, the way you writhe against each other, touch roaming, both of you tugging and rubbing and digging your fingers in and moaning at the fire blazing between your sweaty bodies.

When the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, you wrap your legs around his back and arch against him, panting, “Fuck yes, give it to me.”

He stares down at you, holding your gaze as he plunges forward, working you open, and both your faces contort with pleasure.

“Fuuuck,” he groans as he starts to rut into you at a steady pace. Every single nerve ending he rubs against buzzes with ecstasy.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his, immersing yourself in a series of messy, frantic kisses, swallowing each other's moans, working your bodies in tandem to fuel the hungry flames. You start to roll your hips against his thrusts, each one accumulating hot and gooey and tingling, tugging at the edges of you as you whimper, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—”

“That’s it, baby,” Javier pants, his voice jumping in time with his hips as he drives into you, “So fucking good—feel so fucking good—”

He kisses you then, and his eager lips, his soft tongue, the scent of whiskey on his breath, the burn of his mustache scratching your skin, the blissful ache of him stretching you again and again, it fully engulfs your body, like you’re melting together, the heat between you too great, the fire too intense to remain whole because this glowing molten core is growing wider and hotter with each moan, each touch, each thrust, and you beg Javier not to stop, fuck, don’t fucking stop, and he steals the words from your mouth with his own, fucking you hard and fast just like you knew he would, pushing you closer and closer to bliss, and then you reach it.

For one second, you’re suspended right at the edge, mind blank, body humming. Then it hits you, and it hits you fucking hard, euphoria breaking you into pieces and tearing a sob from your throat. Javier’s hips stutter as your muscles tense and your pussy convulses around him. He gasps against your mouth, then shudders as he finds his release. Both of your bodies slow their pace, cooling to a crawl, then a stop.

The sound of your labored breaths fills the bedroom, heaving chests working against each other as sanity starts to return and your bodies struggle to recover. He rolls off of you and stretches out across his bed, inhaling deep and wide, exhaling a content hum.

Then, without a word, he gets up and leaves the room.

Your guts twist into a knot. It should give you whiplash, how fast you go from total satisfaction to nervous wreck.

Since moving to Colombia for this job, sex has been a rare occurrence for you. And by that, you mean… it doesn’t happen. Even before the move, a series of long-term relationships have been your only claim to sexual experience. So this situation is uncharted territory.

But you’re pretty sure this is your cue to get the fuck out.

While staring at the ceiling, you kick yourself for giving him the note, for putting yourself in this position. Shame simmers hot under your skin when you try to imagine what it’ll be like the next time you see Javier at work. When you’ll both know what happened here tonight, but pretend it was nothing.

Why do you have to feel this burning desire for someone like him? For someone so intimidating and closed off? And, more perplexing still, does he feel it for you?

Your chest and throat tighten when it dawns on you that he probably doesn’t feel the same as you. Maybe he saw an opportunity to get laid and took it. Maybe… it was nothing to him.

You sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed, peering out the bedroom door a moment before hopping down and padding across the hardwood floor into the living room.

He’s doing something in the kitchen, so you fold your arms in front of your body and make your way over to the couch, snatching your clothes off the ground before you sit and start to get dressed.

As you pull your dress down over your head, he returns to the living room. He’s wearing jeans now, but remains shirtless, and a lit cigarette dangles from his lips.

You glance up at him and mutter, “Sorry, I can get out of your hair. Thank you for, um… indulging me.”

He plops down next to you and crushes the burning ember of his cigarette into a glass ashtray on the coffee table, then leans back and extends his arm along the couch behind you, frowning, “You’re leaving?”

“I—I guess, right?” you turn and search his face, meeting his eyes that are all puppy dog soft. They tug at your heartstrings, but you continue to stammer onward, “That’s—I don’t know, that’s what I’m supposed to do, right?”

“If that’s what you want,” he shrugs, dropping his gaze to your lips.

While you stare at him and try to understand what the fuck that means, he leans close, brushing his hand against your cheek, “Or, you could stay… we can ‘indulge’ ourselves again.”

“Is that what you want?” you ask in an attempt to parse out his intentions.

“Is that what you want?” he counters in a low voice, furrowing his brow.

You bite down on your bottom lip and nod, then blink and shrug, “I mean, if that’s what you—”

His lips cut you off before you can embarrass yourself more.

—

You woke up with the sun. Javier was still holding you close, his shallow, dream-drenched breath spreading across the nape of your neck in soft puffs. You wriggled out of bed and collected your things, then walked the city block to your apartment and got ready for work.

The day passes by like any other, with the exception of your strained muscles making every movement more difficult. You don’t cross paths with Javier, but when you return to your desk after lunch, there’s a red envelope sticking out of your typewriter.

You take a cursory glance around, then pluck it out and open it. A smile spreads across your face when you read the note inside.

Roses are red Violets are blue Come over tonight I want to see you XO, Your Secret Admirer

#javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier peña #javier pena #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #whatsnewalycat writes

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 6 months

Text

Supersons +1 propmt fill Part3 Tr3s

The sprinklers activated in an instant and covered the centre in a deluge of water. Whatever scientists remained scrambled to recover what remained of their creations before the water could irrevocably damage them. In a hidden corner, one Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent made knowing glances to each other, a mutual agreement reached in seconds after decades of friendship. With the help of a crowbar, the men quickly pry open one of the exit doors, making way for panicked civilians to exit the premises, 'Brucie' giving comfort to those distressed by the recent events. It wasn't long before they had to make themselves scarce. They had their sons to rescue, there was no time!

As Bruce and Clark snuck out into the empty hallway, having been quickly evacuated by a Gothamite's natural self-preservation instinct and discipline from years of attacks. They nodded, and went their seperate ways. Clark to go change into his Superman outfit, and Bruce to calm the inevitable deluge of reporters before changing into his own costume.

Cameras flashed over the front entrance to the event, blinding the last few stragglers to leave, and Bruce, standing tall against the crashing sea.

"Mr Wayne! What can you tell us about the new villain that Joker has teamed up with?"

"Mr Wayne, how does Wayne Industries intent to secure future events from attacks on this scale?"

"Where is Damian Wayne? Sir how can Wayne Industries secure the future of Gotham if you cannot protect your own children?"

"Mr Wayne is it true that you allowed Jack Fenton to attend the event despite knowing he was a quack?"

And on and on and on. Bruce never intended to give these people what they wanted. He had children to save, and investigations to conduct. Before he could excuse himself, however, a roaring boom echoed down the street like summer thunder. Reporters screamed as they trampled over each other to escape the path of a silver behemoth charging down the road. Thick metal plates lined its exterior. A large satellite dish adorned its top, and jutting out from the sides were massive guns. The van sported too many OSHA violations to be anything less than a tank on four wheels than any civilian vehicle. Batman will have to crack down on whatever corrupt whitecollar criminals allowed this monstrosity on the roads.

The van charged right up to where Bruce was standing on the pavement, before coming to a terrifyingly rapid halt, so sudden that the entire vehicle jerked forward from its momentum. It would have been cartoonish if it hadn't stopped cleanly right in front of him. The front door slammed open, and a pair of black-gloved hands grabbed Bruce by the shoulder. In public surrounded by cameras, Bruce was helpless but to comply.

"BRUCIE WAYNE! I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU!"

Bruce scanned the interior of the van in an instant, clocking in the undignified Clark Kent clinging to his seat like a child to their parents leg, tie messed up and suit creased. His classes were crooked on his face. "He just scooped me up like I was paper mache, Bruce!" The man's voice was shaking.

"Strap in Brucie, because the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle cares for no trivial matters like traffic laws, or even physics laws!"

What kind of branding was this? "The Fenton Family wha-" Jack slammed the gas. The GAV rocketed into max gear in an instant. The force threw the poor man off his feet. Bruce went hurtling into the backside of the GAV and crashed with a bang. The G-forces kept him glued to the wall like a black-suited starfish, at least until Clark extended an arm to peel him off.

"I'm starting to think you might be right about him being a supervillain." Clark whispered.

Bruce grimly nodded.

"Alright so now that we're all together, here's the plan folks!" Jack said, tone all too cheerful for the chaos he was creating on the road. Innocent cars swerved out of the way of the advancing war machine. Pedestrians clung to lampposts and fences as gale force winds blasted them from its wake. "Let's start with the bad news: Our kids have been spirited away by suffering spooks! The good news: The Fenton Radar works!" Jack tapped on a screen on the van's console, showing two beeping dots on a radar map.

"BUILDING!" Clark yelled. They were rocketing right into a townhouse.

Jack yanked the wheel to the left. The GAV turned 90 degrees in about half a second, turning both passengers into ragdolls thrown across the side. On the outside, a subtle Superman-shaped dent was visible. "Thanks for that, Clarkie! Now I'm sure you guys aren't as experienced as me and my lovely wife Maddie are in hunting ghosts, but don't worry! I can give you a crash course."

"Please don't say crash course." Clark quivered.

"Could you maybe slow down?!" Bruce yelled over the roaring engines.

"No can do, Brucie! Any slower and the GHOSTS will leave the Fenton Radar's range, and then we'll never get our kids back!"

"I think I'm going to be sick." So Kryptonians can get nausea from high-speed vehicles, interesting. He'll have to update his file.

"The Joker and his associates entered your portal and set it to blow, how can we even get the kids back if they're on the other side!"

Jack turned around with a smile. "That's what the Fenton PortaPortal version 2 is for! Never leave home without a spare, my grandpa Fenton always said!"

"Dr Fenton, that bridge was destroyed in a gang fight!" Bruce shouted. Construction workers were already scattering, but a thick concrete barrier stood in their way.

"No need to worry, Fenton engineering can handle a little hole here or there!"

"The entire bridge was destroyed, we're going to fall off!"

"I love your sense of humour Brucie, but even if we did it wouldn't matter!"

"I really think it does, Dr Fenton!" Clark gripped the bottom of the nearby seat hard enuogh to dent.

"Nonsense, watch this!" Jack pushed the gas even further, as if that was even possible. The GAV reduced the concrete barrior to smithereens. "Go go Fenton Famliy Ghost Assault Vehicle: Aerial Mode!" The mad scientist's shouted in glee. He pulled another lever, activating a pair of wings from the sides.

Clark would deny screaming like a girl to the end of his days.

~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Zone...

Danny shifted nervously in his position, atop the swarm of Lydia's bats, and flanked by the freaking Joker of all people on one side and Freaking Freakshow on the other. What did he do to deserve this?

If It was just the Joker and Freakshow, he would just happily transform and kick the snot out of these clowns, but sadly he's not alone.

Also tied up with rope both human and ghostly were one Damian Wayne and Jon Kent, the former of which looked none too pleased about the current situation. While Damian spat vitriol upon the Joker and his "D-list half-rate assisstant," with man himself largely ignoring his words to fawn over the chaos of the Realms, Danny contemplated his options. Good news: Freakshow hadn't blown his secret yet, which was cold comfort for the moment, seeing as if he had, he'd just be able to punch these suckers and be done with it, but nooo. Maybe he could overshadow the other boys and hypnotise them into forgetting? Was that a thing that can be done? Would've been convenient, and because of that, Danny suspected it's wishful thinking. If it worked, great, if it didn't work, well Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne have ties to the Justice League, who have ties to the government, who hire the GiW, so there's a non-zero percent chance such a stunt would end up with him on a dissection table.

Which means he's left playing the waiting game, spectating the Joker jumping up and down like a fangirl over all the green, and purple, and fighting, and death. First day in Gotham, guys.

"Psst." Jon whispered to him.

Danny said nothing, but leaned a little on Jon's side.

"Don't worry, we're gonna be ok, I'm sure the J-J-Justice League will be here. Just sit t-t-tight, ok?"

Wow, that was really touching that he was trying to comfort Danny, but the ghostly part of him didn't even need to feel Jon's shaking, or hear his stutter to know the kid was absolutely terrified. Now that he thought about it, it really should be him doing the comforting.

"Eh I wouldn't hedge my bets on it." Causing the other boy to squeak in fear. Curse you, snark instinct. Why can't you be heroic and reassuring instead.

"Neither would I, boy." Freakshow said, almost like he was rubbing in just how much danger his secret was in.

"You will unhand us, or you will know the meaning of pain in every sense of the world. This I tell you. I will feed you to my chickens. I will cut up your flesh and grind it into paste and then fertilise my vegetable garden with it. You will regret crossing me."

Jon let out the faintest whisper, something Danny would've never heard if he wasn't a ghost, and a master of quiet sounds. "Really selling the normal kid act here, Damian."

"On the contrary, lovely chlidren, I believe it is you who will soon become ghosts. NEYEHEHEYEHEH" Oh god here comes the gratuitous laughter. "I can't believe such a t~~tttttTANTALISING opportunity has been out there for me this whole time! AHAHAHAHAAH. And for you, my little children, to have come to this wonderful little science expo alongside your dear old daddies only to become part of the exhibit?" The Joker cracked into laughter, slapping his knees and collapsing in fitful giggles.

Each of the free boys gulped, each of them considering how to save the apparent civilian(s) among them without exposing themselves...

@impyssadobsessions

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sunnynwanda · 3 months

Note

Hello hello, dear brilliant writer. May I request a female hero × male villain, the hero is hurt and needs help and is basically dying but won't let villain get near them at ANY cost.

You fill the rest with your beautiful imagination ✨ 💕

Not his day

Today was not Villain's day.

Not only did he oversleep, but his coffee machine decided to be an ass today of all days and exploded in his face. Some jackass bumped into his car on the way to the hospital, and he was late to work. If that wasn't enough, his shift was hell. So much so that Villain almost forgot how fucked up the day had been from the start. That is until he got beeped to the ER again, for the seventh time that night and on his fourteenth coffee for a meal.

Villain made his way to the first floor, rushing because the case was marked as urgent, only to freeze the moment he entered the room, spotting the person on the bed. The idiot - his idiot - was flailing her arms around, demanding to be let go despite the long gash on her right side. Villain made his way over with a heavy sigh, only to get a pillow thrown his way.

"Hey, stop that," Villain warns, turning towards the nurse with a row of orders before returning his attention to Hero in all her chaotic glory. "I need to check your wound."

"No way in hell," Hero sneers, earning an eye roll from Villain. She leans back against the bed when her vision blurs. "Don't come near me."

"Let me see," he demands, not about to let her bleed out in a goddamn hospital. Not on his shift.

"Get the hell away from me," she practically yells, making Villain flinch because his head hurts as is. Hero's screeching was the last thing he needed today.

"You stubborn idiot, let me see it!" His patience is paper thin at this point, the godforsaken idiot of his already looking too pale. "You're bleeding out." He states bluntly.

"I won't let you maul me," Hero counters, defiant despite the sharp pangs piercing through her entire torso. She shifts back on the bed, wincing at the ripples of pain radiating from the wound all the way to her chest.

"I'm a doctor, you dimwit!" Villain growls, his eyes flaring with anger at the sight of her sore wincing. "I took an oath; I can't harm you."

Hero scoffs at that, sending him a deadpan look. He takes in Hero's cocked brow, correcting himself with an exasperated sigh. "I can't harm you here."

Villain waits until the nurse brings in the necessary supplies and gestures for her to leave the room. Once they are alone, he steps closer to the bed. "Who even did this?"

"None of your business," Hero grits through her teeth, still not giving up the cautious act but no longer attempting to throw anything at Villain.

"Oh, it is very much my business; you're my nemesis," he protests, eyeing her as he puts on a pair of gloves.

"I have other enemies, you know?" Hero informs matter-of-factly. Something about Villain's expression and approach makes her determination to avoid being treated by him crumble.

"I'm wounded, darling!" Villain exclaims overdramatically, his hand flying up to his chest. "Are you cheating on me?"

Hero rolls their eyes, unable to hide the amused grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, shut up."

"So you are," Villain nods slowly, his lips twitching into a smirk despite the concerned crease of his brow. "Knew it, pretty girls are never faithful."

"Excuse me?" Hero reacts before he can backtrack or bite his tongue. "Did you just call me pretty?"

"You're hallucinating," he claims, trying to come up with a believable explanation. He cuts Hero's shirt open to properly inspect the wound and to keep his hands busy. "Must be the concussion."

"I'm not concussed," Hero counters, now full-on grinning. Villain's inability to meet her gaze suddenly seems more important than her injury.

"Blood loss?" Villain suggests, sounding as unconvincing as it gets. If his hands weren't wrist-deep covered in her blood, he'd slap himself for such a lame excuse.

Wow, he forgot today was not his day.

"All my blood is inside," Hero claims, letting out a sharp breath when his fingers palpate the injured area. "Just where it should be."

"God, the medical specialist in me is dying to throttle you," he bites back, looking positively scandalized and earning a pained chuckle from Hero.

"But?" She prompts, sitting up to get a better look at Villain's expression and grinning cockily at his faux irritation. "What's stopping you?"

"That damn charming smile, that's what," Villain grumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes when Hero's grin grows wider. "Now get your ass back on the bed and let me take a proper look at that monstrosity."

A/N: Hey there, love :) Oh, isn't this just delicious! I had some fun with this, I gotta admit. Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy it! 💛☀️

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

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hottpinkpenguin · 3 months

Text

Easy Company HC's: Letters Home

A/n: I'm really rolling with these BofB headcanons! hope you enjoy :)

Characters included: Dick Winters, Lewis Nixon, Ronald Speirs, Carwood Lipton, Buck Compton, David Webster, Joe Liebgott

Dick Winters

Writes frequent, short letters

Meticulously dates his letters and includes a blurb about the weather. January 12th, 1945. It’s snowing outside, dark and cold.

Starts each letter with My dear y/n

Always asks how you are, even though he’s the one fighting a damn war

Follows up on every little question or story you include in your letters. How was the bake sale? Did you ever hear how Louise Graham’s brother is doing after taking that shrapnel to the shoulder? Hope you were able to get someone out to look at the washing machine.

Ends his letters with classic but sentimental sign-offs, like Affectionately yours and All my love

Makes sure not to include anything in his letters that would worry you. Doesn’t necessarily lie or fake being happy, but just gently side steps that.

Although every once in a while you get a longer letter where Dick’s handwriting is a little messier. You know it’s from writing fast, you can almost feel the pressure behind the penmarks. He opens up more in those letters, talks about losing too many good men and sometimes will say things that just absolutely break your heart, like sometimes I wonder how all of this is really going to end for the men who are over here fighting.

Even in these letters, Dick never says “I” or “Me”, always writes about the men and the boys. You know - and so does he - that he’s including himself in those boys.

His next letter he always makes sure to reassure you. And it’s genuine, you can tell. He’ll say something like I have to put some of these heavier thoughts somewhere, and there’s nowhere I trust more than with you.

When he comes home, you find a stack of letters you wrote to him tied up in a neat bundle and stashed in an inside pocket of his Ike jacket that he sewed in especially for that purpose. You could tell by the flimsy, near-ripped creases and dirty paper that he’d read each one about a hundred times over. Buried in the middle of the stack was the picture you’d given him before he’d left for training. On the back, he’d written simply your name, the date the photo was taken, and a short instruction: in event of my death, please send all personal effects to with your home address. It made you sob but you never told him you found it.

GIF by mads-weasley

Lewis Nixon

Rarely writes. Actually drives you crazy with worry most of the time.

When he finally does, you can tell that he’s initially annoyed at having to put his thoughts down on paper. Letters start off with short, sarcastic sentences like nothing new here. Still fighting the war, in case you hadn’t heard. Enjoying German hospitality.

But as the letters go on he relaxes into it and stops being so grouchy.

Because he’s always grumpy at having to write (you should probably thank Dick for cajoling Lew into actually sitting down to write to you), he usually doesn’t write any sort of introduction or sweet address, just dives right into it.

His letters usually don’t say much, he just kind of rambles about how much he hates being away from you and how he can’t wait for the whole damn thing to be over.

Sometimes he’ll write something so incredibly romantic it takes your breath away, like I’d fight a whole division of Panzers myself if I could just get one more sniff of your perfume.

Those are the letters you save and reread to yourself over and over again when you’re waiting weeks for the next one.

Always signs off with something kind of sassy but also sweet?, like You know I love you or Keep our bed warm for me.

Sometimes you feel like you can smell whiskey on the paper, which both worries you but also reminds you of Lew

When he finally gets home and you ask him about what he did with your letters, he kind of looks at you like you’ve gone crazy and says I read them of course, what else was I supposed to do with them?

This hurts your feelings at first which of course he doesn’t understand, but after a few weeks you start to realize that he actually did read them and not only that he memorized their contents. Like he refers to your mother as “the Wicked Witch of Wichita” (something you called here after you wrote him a long rambling letter about how angry she made you at your sister’s bridal shower) and buys you a bouquet of daffodils because you wrote him a letter with a daffodil doodle in the margins of the page talking about the spring gardens.

You realize that Lew shows his love in the little details, and it makes you appreciate him all the more.

GIF by beautifulguycollector

Ronald Speirs

Ron’s letters read like military bulletins.

Doing well despite the cold. 1st sgt sick with pneumonia. Think of you often.

Writes predictably once per week. Never misses a letter. Ever.

You always write him long, lengthy, romantic letters. Sometimes even a little raunchy, if you’ve had some wine. After one particularly *ahem* suggestive letter, you feel ridiculous and say so the next time you write.

In typical Ron fashion, you get a short, to-the-point reply, but it still puts a smile on your face and a blush on your cheeks: Loved your letter. Keep writing.

Towards the end of the war, Ron starts a countdown to when he expects to be coming home. Two months now, maybe less. Home for the Fourth of July.

Also signs off with R.S. Which makes you laugh, as if you could forget who was writing to you.

Whenever your girlfriends find a letter from Ron (you keep them all in a shoebox in your closet), they tease you and ask how you can possibly be in love with someone so stiff and formal. To which you can only chuckle to yourself, because you know it’s just that they don’t understand that Ron doesn’t tell you he loves you, he shows you. Writing a letter every single week. Updating you on everything going on, even short updates, because he wants you to know how he’s doing. That’s Ronald Speirs’ love language.

Maybe three weeks before Ron comes home, you start getting boxes of (stolen?) German silver at your door. At first it freaks you out and makes you feel slimy for having lavish riches from an enemy country, so you don’t unpack the boxes and you just stack them up in the back bedroom. When Ron gets home and sees the boxes unopened and shut away, he immediately asks you what’s wrong. You stammer out an explanation and without blinking an eye, Ron loads them into his truck and takes them to the dump.

(Later you convince him that a better use of those would be to donate them to the local orphanage, so off he goes in his truck to get the boxes back out of the dump and bring them to shelter.)

One night when you’re lying awake, head on Ron’s chest, talking idly about things that don’t matter, he interrupts you to ask Can you guess which letter I kept?

You instantly blush, thinking of that risque letter you wrote him when you were halfway through your second bottle of white wine. He shakes his head and pulls a letter out of his nightstand and hands it to you. You don’t recognize it immediately, although you do see that it’s too short to be one of the naughtier correspondences.

It’s too dark to read, so you ask him which letter. He says it’s the one you wrote to me for my birthday.

You don’t remember that one and you tell him as much, so you ask him why he kept that one instead of some of the others. He looks down at you with a serious look in his eyes, a little surprised that you can’t figure it out. Then he tells you: it’s the first time you wrote that you loved me.

The next day, you sneak a peek at the letter and realize he’s right. You signed it, I love you Ron.

From then on, you make sure to tell him that every night before he falls asleep.

Carwood Lipton

Formal, sweet letters. This man is a king of romancing by words.

Writes as often as he can, but you know that Lip needs peace and quiet for an entire evening to get one of those letters done (he probably definitely writes a draft or two before he gets it right). And let’s face it, Easy Company doesn’t have the luxury of many quiet evenings.

Always, always, always starts his letters off with Dear (future) Mrs. Lipton, which you honestly think is hopelessly corny but it’s way too adorable to tell him so. And besides, you secretly love it.

He always reminisces about home in his letters. Tells you how much he misses the smell of your baking, the squeak of the front porch swing that you two would sit on and watch the sunset.

He worries a lot about you and his family. He always asks you to look in on his mother if it’s not too much trouble.

Lip doesn’t talk much about the war, in fact he hardly acknowledges it at all. And he never uses the term ‘war’ or ‘battle’. Instead, he says things like The boys over here are still committed to doing the job or Easy presses on.

Lip’s letters get a little shorter and less soft after Bastogne. He starts including the names of the casualties in his company in the P.S. Even though you don’t know these men except by name - and some of them, not even that - you feel honored that he trusts you with their memories.

Lip has saved your letters and all the pictures you sent to him - he loves pictures, and asks for an updated one of you almost every month - tucked in his foot locker and safely between the pages of his Bible so they don’t get creased or dirty.

You also find that he’s kept stacks of letters from some of his men that died in the field. When you ask him what he plans to do with the letters, he gets a heartbreaking, far-off look in his eyes and says I reckon I’ll try to get them back to their families.

You take on the burden of doing that, and you write to some of the families introducing yourself and introducing Lip and offering to forward them the letters.

All the replies you get back mention that their soldier talked about how good a leader and friend Lip was. Their replies bring tears to your eyes. For some reason, you don’t show the letters to Lip, although you do tell him about them. He never asks to read the letters, he just kisses you on your forehead and tells you that he’s never loved you more.

Even after he’s home, he’ll still write you a letter from time to time, usually at Christmastime or for your birthday in the summer. His letters are always talking about his favorite memories with you, and there’s always a paragraph at the end where he talks about how in love with you he is. It’s borderline poetry and it makes you cry every single time.

GIF by balladofthe101st

Buck Compton

Basically just writes a list of questions for you to answer in every letter.

Wants to know everything about what’s going on at home. Especially sports teams.

Doesn’t write frequently, so sometimes it’s hard to feel like there’s a conversation happening.

But he always includes sweet little notes about how much he’s thinking of you and how he’s counting down the days until he can hold you again, so you’re not complaining.

Not the most poetic writer. Always says what he thinks and feels though. Completely honest and open.

Does not tell you anything about the war. Basically ignores the entire thing.

Sometimes you think about asking him about that, but you figure that he’s not talking about it for a reason, so you follow suit.

Calls you baby in his letters.

Doesn’t actually say ‘I love you’ in his letters, although says everything else. Miss you baby. Dream about you all the time. When I get home, I’m putting a ring on your finger.

One time he writes that he woke up last night out of a dream and swore I could taste you and it makes your toes curl.

You save that letter, tuck it in your underwear drawer.

Signs his letters very simply: Buck. Sometimes he’ll put something in like until next time or I’ll write soon. But usually nothing super romantic or sentimental.

Doesn’t save your letters, but that really doesn’t bother you too much because all you wrote in them was basically just rambling details that Buck requested about your boring day-to-day.

Buck’s always better in person than in writing - he’s a quality time and physical touch kind of guy - but you know that your letters were his only lifeline to normal during the war, and you’re just happy to have him back at all.

He does surprise you one night when it’s really quiet in the house and you’re sitting on the couch together, each reading a book. He suddenly turns to you and says You know baby girl, your letters saved my sanity over there. It’s the most he’s really ever said about the war, but it’s enough, and you kiss him so he knows that you get it.

GIF by balladofthe101st

David Webster

Unsurprisingly, Web is probably the best letter writer in all of Easy Company.

He helps a lot of the other guys write letters home, especially if they’re trying to say something important. Web just has a knack for words unlike any other.

He writes a lot of letters home, not just to you, but to the rest of his family, his siblings, some of his friends, and definitely his professors.

So because you’re close with Web’s family, you do get to read a lot of his writing.

His letters to you are different though. They’re darker and a little less polished. Sometimes, they frighten you a little bit. Web talks about things you’re not you really understand - like how pointless death is, how empty it makes him feel to see his friends get KIA, how he carries around guilt about surviving this long like an anchor.

Refers to you exclusively in his letters by your first name, his writing is always serious and somber and drenched with heavy emotions, so pet names just really don’t fit the vibe.

He quotes poetry and literature quite a bit when he writes. It all feels a bit Gothic, but you’ve always known that Web has found clarity in the world through books, so you don’t begrudge him a little poetic license.

Signs his letters Yours in perpetuity, David K. Webster.

Asks you to send books. Sometimes he asks for something specific, but other times he’s happy to get whatever you pick out for him. Your tastes are different from his; you prefer to choose shorter, gentle pieces about life in the British countryside or Western adventure novels. Web would prefer Wadsworth or Hemingway, but he figures it’s probably in his best interests to read things that don’t tackle dark themes. You always tuck a letter for him into the first few pages.

He doesn’t save your letters, per se, although he does save every single book you send to him. When he gets home, he puts them all up on the bookshelf in his office. Even though they’re beat up and stained and not at all fitting with the rest of his collection, they’re front and center.

Sometimes he takes a stab at sketching in his letters. He’s not bad, either. You try to encourage him to take lessons when he gets home, which he never does. He secretly loves how much you love his drawings though.

GIF by yourspeirs

Joe Liebgott

KING OF DIRTY LETTERS

You definitely like to re-read his letters… again and again…

Not every letter is a dirty one. But most are. Or at least have a dirty section in them.

You don’t know how this man makes you feel wanted from halfway around the world, but somehow he does. Lord knows you love a lot about your Joey, but you didn’t realize how good he was with words until you found yourself practically stalking the mailman, hoping for another delivery from Joe.

Uses a lot of pet names in his letters. Baby girl, Doll, Princess are some of his favorites. Literally never calls you by your name.

Always signs off with Your Joey.

Even when Joe is clearly in a dark place, his letters are saturated with how much he needs you and how he can’t stop thinking about all the ways he’s going to have you when he gets home.

When your mother finds one of Joey’s letters to you, she throws an absolute shit fit and freaks out that you’re sleeping with someone before you’re married. It takes a long time for you to convince her that you haven’t slept with Joey yet, you’re just… really into dirty talking.

She kinda chills after that but still looks at you suspiciously every time you get a letter from him.

She never tells your dad though, which makes you think maybe she’s more supportive of your relationship with him than you realized.

After working up the courage, you write Joe a letter that is so sinful you actually doubt whether you should send it in the mail, it just feels so wrong.

When I say this man goes crazy for that letter, it is an understatement. He is out of his mind and immediately writes you a reply telling you so. Basically begs you for more.

Even though your letters back and forth with Joe are pretty raunchy, there’s also a sweetness to them. He’s always sure to mention that This ain’t just all talk, Doll. When you’re Mrs. Liebgott, you’re gonna see exactly what I’ve been writing about. Which you know is still pretty dirty, but hey, he’s basically proposing to you, right?

You are not the least bit surprised to know that he kept your naughtiest letters when he finally gets home.

But, Joseph Liebgott is a man of his word, and even though he is clearly dying to and you’re practically begging him to, he doesn’t make good on all those dirty promises until after you’re wearing his ring.

Much to your delight, you find that he is just as good with actions as he is with words.

#band of brothers imagine #band of brothers headcanon #dick winters x reader #lewis nixon x reader #ronald speirs x reader #buck compton x reader #carwood lipton x reader #david webster x reader #joe liegbott x reader

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dianawinchester03 · 3 months

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Season 2, Episode 7 - The Usual Suspects

Series Masterlist

Third Person POV

Baltimore, Maryland

In a quant police station in Baltimore, Detective Peter Sheridan is on the phone with a fellow officer, waking to the fax machine with a cup of coffee in his hands. "Under what name?" He asks. "Oh, yeah. That's my favorite so far" He chuckles, resting down his coffee before taking out the paper the fax was printing.

"Possible ID's in three states that we know of....." His eyes widen as a smirk spreads on his face, "I gotta call you back" He says to the fellow officer in the phone before he sends his squad out.

A swarm of officers in protective gear, armed with automatic weapons storm the City Centre Motor Hotel. They made their way across the second floor.

Meanwhile, at the police station. "Well.." Sheridan begins as he enters the interrogation room, sitting across from the unknown subject. "...first I thought you were just stepping up your game. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering. Now, this one puzzled me. Grave desecration" Sheridan chuckles, holding up the paper to the suspect.

"But still, these are a long way from murder. Then we get fax from St. Louis. Where you're suspected of torturing and murdering a young woman" Sheridan adds. "However no one could prove anything, of course because, supposedly, you died there..." He snarked, giving the unsub a once over.

Back at the motel, the swat team rammed the door in using the battering ram. Breaking in the door, "Hands where I can see them!" A swat member yells at the man and woman inside of the motel room, who put up their hands in surrender, now revealed to be Sam Winchester and Y/N L/N. Diana Ballard aims her gun at them, taking the lead as she walked forward. "Going somewhere, Sam and Y/N??" Diana says smugly as they gulp fearfully, sharing a look of panic.

Back at the station, "But I gotta tell you something. You look pretty healthy to me" Sheridan quips to the suspect. "So now we know Karen Giles wasn't the first person you murdered..." Sheridan got up in the suspects face, "But I guarantee you, she's the last" Sheridan adds smugly before walking out of the room. The unsub is revealed to be Dean Winchester, a smirk across his handsome face as he watches the cocky detective leave the interrogation room.

________________________________

Later that evening after capturing y/n and Sam. Detective Ballard entered the interrogation room Y/N and Sam were being held in, offering her a small smile. Sam has his hands on his hips, holting in his nervous pacing of the room. A file was tucked between Ballard's arm crease and two cups of coffee in her hands as she closed the door. "Thought you two might be thirsty" Ballard said, offering them the cups, resting them on the table.

Y/N cocked her eyebrow suspiciously, leaning back into her chair. She crossed arms crossed over her chest, "Okay, so you're the good cop" Y/N mocks, kicking up one foot ontop of the table along with the other, a cocky grin on her face, "Where's the bad cop?" She adds with snark, "Oh, he's with Dean" Ballard smirks, dropping the nice act. "Okay. And you're holding us, why?" Sam scoffs, leaning on the table.

"Well, Deans being held on suspicion of murder." Ballard begins, y/n's heart drops hearing this. "And you two? We'll see" Ballard adds, peeling off her latex gloves. "Murder?" Y/N and Sam gasp as Y/N takes her feet off of the table. Leaning forward, both hunters putting on an Oscar winning performance but at the same time they're majorly confused. "You guys sound genuinely surprised. Or are you that good actors?" Ballard jokes.

"Who's he supposed to have murdered?" Y/N shakes her head in disbelief, fueling the act. "We'll get around to that." Ballard simply says. "Well you can't just hold us here without formal charges" Sam defends in an offended tone as he leaned off of the table. "Well, actually, we can for 48 hours. But you, being a pre-law student, would know that" Ballard counters in a smug tone, getting closer to Sam who's face drops before turning to y/n.

"And you, y/n. A varisty cheerleader for a couple months in Sioux Falls High. You made the honor roll but never seemed to go to college" Ballard lists of some of y/n's accomplishments as the Hunter clenches her jaw. "I know all about you Sam and Y/N" Ballard smirks before opening her folder with their files. "You're both 23 years old, no jobs, no home addresses" Ballard lists off as she paces the room.

Sam and Y/N frozen in place. "Your mothers died when you were babies. Both of your fathers whereabouts are unknown. Seems like you've got mirrored lives if I'm being honest" Ballard continues, muttering the last part to herself. Y/N rolls her eyes in annoyance as Ballard continues, turning to Sam. "And there's the case of your brother, Dean. Whose demise was- well...just a little bit exaggerated" She says ironically.

"Feel free to jump in whenever you like" She glares at them. The two hunters share a look, not daring to answer. Sam leaned back on the table crossing his arms while Y/N leaned back in her chair, doing the same. "Shy? No problem. I'll keep going" Ballard smirks. "Your families moved around a lot when you were kids. Despite that, Sam, you were a straight-A students. Sam got into Stanford with a full-ride while Y/N disappeared from the face of the earth. Until now."

Ballard continues to site out their documented lives to them. "Then about a year ago, there was a fire at Sam's apartment. One fatality, Jessica Moore, your girlfriend." Ballard adds, turning to Sam. His heart was beating out of his chest at the mention of his late girlfriend, Y/N shot Sam a sympathetic look, "After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything" Ballard presses.

"You got a point here, lady?!" Y/N snaps, pounding the table with her fist. Ballard just smirks in return, "I needed some time off. To deal." Sam responds to Ballard in a low tone. "So I'm taking a road trip with my brother and my childhood best friend." Sam adds. "How's that going for you all?" Ballard asks ironically. "Great" Y/N huffs, before chuckling. "I mean...we saw the second largest ball of twine in the continental U.S." She smiles widely.

"Yeah. That was awesome" Sam chuckles agreeing, going along with her lie, pulling a chair before straddling it. Ballard's smirk drops, "We ran Deans fingerprints through AFIS" Ballard says. "Okay?" Y/N and Sam question in unison. "Got over a dozen possible hits" Ballard informs them in a threatening tone. Leaning her palms on the table.

"Possible hit. Which makes them useless" Sam points out matter-of-factly. "But makes you wonder. What are we gonna find if we run either of you fingerprints?" Ballard counter in a similar tone. Sam and Y/N share a look before chuckling in a cocky tone, "Yeah. Well, you be sure to let us know, alright?" She says in an amused tone, banging her fist on the table as Sam snickers.

"May I?" Sam asks politely, pointing to the coffee cup. "Please" Ballard shrugs. "Great" Sam mutters, picking up one coffee cup, handing it to y/n before taking up his own. Y/N accepts, muttering a, "Thank you, Sammy" Both sniffing the coffee before simultaneously sipping on it. Diana Ballard then sits on the ledge of the table before getting closer to the two, "Sam, Y/N. You two seem like good kids" She begins.

"It's not your fault Deans your brother. We can't pick our family." She says to Sam. "And it's not your fault he's so handsome that he's got you wrapped around his finger- hell, I would want a slice of that pie if I was 10 years younger" She mocks fanning herself as she chuckled. Y/N's angry gaze snaps over to her, clenching her jaw as her eye twitched. Sams eyebrow shot up at this as both him and Y/N slightly side eye glare at her.

"Right now, detectives in St. Louis are exhuming a corpse. They're trying to figure out how Dean faked his own death after torturing all those young women" Ballard informed them. But they didn't dare look her in the eye. "Dean's a bad guy." Ballard presses. "You don't know anything about him!" Y/N snaps, gritting her teeth at Ballard, the way she was talking about him as if she knew him was grinding her gears.

If it didn't mean getting hauled off to prison for tackling a cop, she would've had Ballard on the ground with a wave of her hand. "His life is over, sweetie. Neither of yours have to be" Ballard says in an enticing tone. Sam scoffs as Y/N rolls her eyes, "You want me and y/n to turn against my own brother?" Sam scoffs in disbelief. "No" Ballard shakes her head, getting up from the table.

"We already caught him cold. Red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene" Ballard says, both Sam and Y/N's eyes flicker over to her as she walked back to the other side of the table. "We just need you two to fill in some missing pieces" She adds. "Now it makes sense why we're being interrogated together. At first I thought it was because of how crummy this place is" Y/N scoffs with distaste at the beat up station.

Ballard rolls her eyes at her snark as Sam bites back a smile, "Why would we do that?" Sam asks her. Ballard pulls out a chair and takes a seat across from them, "Because I can talk to the DA. Make a deal for you guys. You two can get on with your lives. Deans as good as gone" Ballard offers. The two share a knowing look before Sam says,

"Our dads and Tony Giles were old friends. My dad and Tony were in the service together" Sam begins in a fake sad voice, y/n understands where he's getting at. "We've known them since we were kids, you know? So we came as soon as we heard about his death" She adds, fueling to the lie in a feigned sad tone.

Flashback to a couple days:

In an unknown town, Sam approaches the table at the cafe where Y/N and Dean were sat at on the patio. Three coffee cups in hand as Dean reads the newspaper with the article of Anthony Giles' death, a pen in his mouth while y/n is on her laptop canvassing the internet for a case, a cigarette tucked between her lips. "There you go" Sam says to them, handing each of them their coffees as he takes a seat next to Y/N, who mutters a grateful, "Thank you" before sipping and going back to her laptop.

"Anthony Giles" Dean begins, folding the newspaper. "Who's Anthony Giles?" Sam asks as Dean slides them the newspaper. "A Baltimore lawyer. Working late at his office, check it out" Dean tells them, popping the cap off of his coffee while Y/N takes a drag from her cigarette as Sam reads. "Blah blah blah. His throat was slit but the room was clean. Huh, no DNA. No prints" Sam mutters, raising an eyebrow at that.

"Keep reading, it gets better" Dean tells them. "Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant" Y/N reads out loud, looking over at Dean with a knowing expression as she taps the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray. "So I'm thinking either somebody tampered with the tapes-" Dean begins. "Or it's an invisible killer" Y/N finishes his sentence. "My favorite kind" Dean clicks his tongue, flashing her a wink.

She chuckles, rolling her eyes as she takes a drag. "What do you think, Scully? You wanna check it out?" Dean asks Sam before turning to y/n. "What about you, Cigarette Smoking Man?" He flashes her a cheekily smile as she narrows her eyes at him, blowing out the smoke from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not Scully. You're Scully" Sam huffs in annoyance. Tossing him the newspaper.

"No, I'm Mulder. You're a red headed woman" He retorts to Sam. "And I'm your possible father?" Y/N whips up, cocking an eyebrow. Deans face drops now realizing what he said as Sam and Y/N burst out laughing. "Come to Daddy, babyboy" Y/N mocks as Dean rolls his eyes. "Shut up" He grumbles childishly.

Present Time:

"So...it would've kind of hard for Dean to kill Tony. Considering we weren't in town at the time" Y/N scoffs after telling a vague version of them finding out that Anthony Giles was killed. "So tell me, what happened next" Ballard asks. "Okay, uh, that's when we went to see Karen" Sam begins before thinking a bit. "She was barely holding it together. We just wanted to be there for her, you know?" He says in a fake sad tone.

Flashback:

"Insurance" Karen tearfully sighs, shaking her head as she looks at the papers. Sam, Dean and Y/N were dressed in their formal wear, disguised as insurance agents. All currently in Karen Giles' dining room. The second Y/N entered that house, she got that chill at the back of her neck but it was its usual hair raising feeling. It was more dark, hallow...the best way to explain it. It was quite depressing and she felt it churn at her stomach.

"I totally forgot about the insurance" The clearly grief stricken widow sobs, "We're very sorry to bother you right now ma'am, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation" Y/N says sympathetically. "You understand?" Y/N adds softly. Karen nods rapidly, wiping away tears from her eyes. "Sure" She sniffles, tucking away a lock of her hair.

"Okay, If you could just tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died" Sam says softly. Karen takes a deep breath before beginning, "Tony and I were supposed to have dinner. He called and said that he was having computer troubles and...that he had to work late" Karen explains. They all listen intently as Sam and Y/N nod, giving Karen a pitiful look, their eyebrows furrowed.

"That was it" Karen finishes. Deans eyes shift over to Y/N, "Do you have any idea who could have done this to him?" She asks gently. "No. No. It's like I told the police. I have no idea" Karen sobs, sniffling as she shakes her head. "Did Tony mention anything....unusual to you in the days before his death?" Dean chimes in, Karen looks confused by this question. "Unusual? Like what?" Karen asks confused.

"Yeah, like strange" Dean smiles, his tone enticing. Sam and Y/N's eyebrows raised at his tone, both internally rolling their eyes at Deans lack of subtlety. "Strange?" Karen shakes her head, still confused. "You know, Karen, weird. Weird noises...uh...visions, anything like that?" Dean presses. Y/N clears her throat harshly, "Ahem", shooting Dean a warning look to be a little more subtle before.

His face drops before clearing his throat when he noticed y/n's serious look. Her eyes and Sam's eyes flicker over to Karen with a sympathetic look before glancing back over to dean with widened exasperated eyes as Dean looks down like guiltily like a child.

Walk him like a dog sis.

"Uh, he had a nightmare the day before he died, but-" Karen tells them. They all share a look, "What kind of nightmare?" Sam asks. "Uh...he said that he woke up in the middle of the night. And there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed..." Karen explains, sniffling. Dean looks over at Sam and Y/N with a smug face saying, 'I told you so', before turning back to Karen.

"...and then he blinked, she was gone. I mean, it was just a nightmare" Karen explained, confused as to why they would ask this. Dean chuckles lightly, passing it off as he cleared his throat, "Did he say what she looked like?" Dean asks. Karen's eyes widen, now absolutely confused, "What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?" She asks, her eyebrows furrowed.

Deans face drops, now realizing he pushed a bit too much. All three hunters panicked a bit, "Uh- it's just our company is very thorough, ma'am" Y/N pipes in, resting a comforting hand on Karen's gently. "And we just want to make this process as painless and easy as possible" She adds with a small smile. Karen sighs, taking the bait. Her eyes flickered down to Y/N's hand on hers before taking a deep breath.

Dean shoots y/n an impressed look. "He said she was pale and had dark red eyes" Karen tells them, sobbing lightly.

Present Time:

"So I gave Karen a hug. And told her to call us if she needed anything" Sam finishes their story, twisting the truth to fit. "And, that was it. End of story" Y/N adds. She was leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed as Sam straddles her, leaning forward. Ballard tapped her finger on the table impatiently, not convinced by their story whatsoever. "Sam, Y/N. I am trying to help you guys here. But you have got to be honest with me!" Ballard exclaims frustrated, getting up from her chair.

"Now, we have an eyewitness. Someone saw two men and a woman. Fitting your descriptions and Dean's, breaking into Giles' office!" Ballard informs them in a threatening tone. "Okay, look! Karen called us later, said that there was stuff she wanted from Tony's office but the police weren't letting her in" Y/N defends with the first lie that came to her mind, fluidly selling their story.

"Like a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff" She adds, "Look, it was wrong to enter a crime scene but she gave us the key!" Sam adds defensively, coming to aid y/n's lie.

Flashback:

Y/N was on her knees, expertly picking the lock to Anthony Giles' office. She opened it quickly and quietly as the boys shined their lights into the dark room. She handed Dean the Bobby pin she used to pick the lock as they walked in and Sam closed the door behind them, shining his light on the bloodstained floor. "Hey" He drew the attention of his brother and best friend to the ground,

"Anthony Giles' body was found right about here" Sam points out. "Throat slit so deep, part of his spinal cord was visible" Y/N quotes from the article she read of Giles' murder. Dean whistles lowly at that, "What do you guys think? Vengeful spirit? Underline, vengeful?" Dean questions with humor before turning to y/n. "You getting any tinglies with your ESP thing?" Dean asks her with a wide smirk, wiggling his fingers.

Y/N rolls her eyes, "Not at this very moment, but if something were here. It would've left some kind of aura. I'm not getting that here" Y/N tells him, "Back at the Giles' house though. It was red hot" She adds, "You could be right. I mean, we did see that woman at the foot of his bed" Sam agrees as he walks over to Anthony's desk. "It wasn't like anything I've felt before though. It was more heavy, dark, depressing, you know?" She adds truthfully.

"Maybe it's got to do with you learning to control your powers. Or maybe it's growing?" Dean suggest with a shrug. Y/N took a seat on the chair as Sam pulls a chair from the other side, taking a seat next to her. "Yeah, maybe" Y/N sighs. Dean notices a paper on the table with a weird text on it, his eyebrow's furrowed before handing it to Y/N, "Hey, take a look at this" He says, she takes it, reading it over as Sam peers over her shoulder.

"Dana Shulps?" Sam questions, written on the paper was 'danashulps' over and over with no spaces. "What's that? A name?" Y/N asks. "I don't know, but it's everywhere" Dean responds, picking up another set of papers with the same text in it. He turns it to them as Sam shines his light on the paper in Deans hands, "Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" Dean snorts, chuckling at his comment.

Sam's light shines on the table when he moves it, his and y/n's eyebrows raised when they noticed what looked like a scribble in on the glass table. Y/N and Dean shared a look before she leaned down and let her hot breath glaze over the table. The scribbled in revealed to be 'Dana Shulps' written in with probably Anthony's finger and dust. Y/N scoffs as the boys mouths fall agape. "Wow. I'd say we've officially crossed over into weird" She snorts.

"Maybe Giles knew her" Dean suggest. "Maybe it's the name of our pale, red eyes mystery girl" Sam suggests pulling out his laptop before opening it on the table. Y/N started to try to break the code to Giles' desktop as Dean got some files from the drawer, "Well, let's see what we can see" Dean smirks, slapping the files down on the table.

Hours have passed of doing research, currently still in Giles' office. Dean slams the drawer shut harshly in frustration. Sam and Y/N's heads snap over to Dean, "There's not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere. There's not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of freaking Shulps!" Dean growls irritated, leaning on the wall. "Great" Sam mutters as Y/N sighs.

Typing away on the desktop, "What do you guys got?" Dean asks. "Nothing" They respond in unison. "No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last 50 years at least" Sam tells him, equally frustrated. "So, what now?" Dean huffs. "Well, I think I'm pretty close to cracking Giles' password. Maybe there's something in his personal files, you know?" Y/N tells them, leaning back in her chair.

"By close, you mean...?" Dean asks for a time limit. "Thirty minutes maybe" Y/N spitballs, shrugging. Dean checks his wristwatch before huffing, "Awesome" He grumbles, slouching his shoulder before moving over to the chair across from the desk the two were sat at. "So I guess I just get to, uh, hang out" Dean feigns a smile before sinking into the seat.

"Sooooo, awesome" He grumbles childishly. Watching in impatience as Y/N types away on the laptop and Sam is still nose deep into looking for a Dana Shulps. Dean begins clicking his tongue in boredom, causing Sam and Y/N's eyes to snap over to him as he creases his lips while puffing up his cheeks, making a squelching farting noise with his mouth. "Dean!" "Dude, seriously!" Y/N and Sam exclaim in annoyance at the same time.

"What?!" Dean huffs back childishly. "Oh for the love of-" Y/N groans, massaging her temples. "Go into my duffel bag, you'll see there's a chocolate bar. I bought it for moments exactly like this." Y/N instructs him firmly, pointing to her bag before slouching back into her chair as she continued to type away on the desktop, trying to break the code.

Deans eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas, quickly rushing over to the bag. He dug into it and fished out the chocolate bar, tearing up open and instantly digging into it. Sam snorted as his brother practically swallowed the chocolate, "Thanks princess" Dean thanks her with a mouthful of chocolate. "You're welcome, charming" She muttered back, flashing him a sweet smile before turning back to the desktop.

"Alright, I'm gonna go talk to Karen, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?" Dean suggests as he stuffed the paper from the bar into his pocket, swallowing the last of the candy. "Great, be safe" Y/N tells him, "Ditto, keep doing sparkys" Dean flashes her a wink before walking out of the room.

Present Time:

"Then Dean went back to Karen's place to check up on her" Sam finishes his story after twisting around it, "I mean, you know? She had been pretty upset earlier" Y/N sighs. "So why didn't you two go with him?" Ballard asks, her eyes narrowed at them. They both shrugged, "We just went back to the motel." Sam shakes his head before a thought pops in to Y/N's.

"How'd you know we were there, by the way?" Y/N asks, cocking her eyebrow as she leans back into her chair. Ballard inches towards them, her heels clinking on the ground, "We found the motel matchbook on Dean when we arrested him" Ballard informs them harshly, showing them the bagged matchbook on the table. "Let's quit fooling around. You two were with Dean the whole time in Baltimore, why separate now?" Ballard presses as she dashes the matchbook on the table, leaning down.

"Because he left, to go murder Karen" Ballard answers the question for them. "He didn't kill anyone" Sam says calmly. Ballard slams her palm on the desk in frustration. "I heard the 911 call! Karen was terrified! She said someone was in the house!" Ballard yells at them. The two hunters don't react, simply raising their eyebrows at her failed attempt of being intimidating.

"You know you suck at being scary, maybe get a face tat. It'll give you some brownie points for badass" Y/N quips up, an amused grin on her face. Sam had to hold back a snicker by her comeback as Ballard groans in frustration.

Flashback:

Karen is sat on her couch watching the news, mourning the loss of her husband. She reaches over to grab a tissue from the box on her coffee table. She gasps in fear when she catches a glimpse of a shadow. Karen pauses, quickly taking off her glasses to wipe her eyes. She shakes her head, realizing she's probably just hallucinating from trauma.

She places her glasses back onto her face as she sniffles. Karen lets out a scream of terror when she saw a pale woman with dark red eyes, exactly like her husband described before his death by the window. Karen quickly turns to lamp next to her on, breaking eye contact with the spirit for a split second, only to look back to see no one.

Still shaken, Karen gets up from her couch, whimpering and shaking with fear. She slowly makes her way to her stairs, peering from the corner while looking around for anyone or anything. She felt a chill behind her and spun back around with a loud gasp only to see no one there. She quickly ascended her stairs, rushing into her office before locking the door behind her.

Karen immediately grabs the landline on her desk, dialing in 911. "Emergency Services" A woman on the other line answers almost immediately. "Hello?...I-i think I saw somebody in my house" Karen whispers fearfully, her words stuttered as she spoke. "What is your address, ma'am?" The responser asks. "It's 421 Clinton Avenue." Karen informs her, shaking but the line drops dead.

"Please can you- Hello-?" Karen's heart drops when she hears the line go dead. That's when the lights started flickering in her room and the printer started whirring, a paper began to slide out of the receiver, printing a name over and over. Karen watched in fear as the page printed 'Dana Shulps'. She backed up to the closet door, before quickly opening it.

Karen got out her flashlight from the back of the closet, turning it on. She shined it behind her, only to be met with the pale woman with dark red eyes and a slit throat, Karen's eyes widened, her mouth dropped as she let out the most gut wrenching scream she possibly could.

Not too long after Karen's encounter, Dean Winchester approaches her door, pulling the door knocker before rapping on the door. "Karen, you in there?" Dean calls out to Karen. He doesn't get an answer after a few seconds so he looks around to insure no one would witness the crime he's about to commit before pulling out a bobby pin he stole from y/n.

Dean expertly picked the lock, slowly opening the creaking door before closing it behind him. He took a look around the dark house, reaching onto the wall to flick the light switch but it wouldn't come on. As if the fuse blew but Dean knew better than that. Dean made his way around the house, lastly wounding up in Karen's office only to stumble upon her freshly deceased body.

Her blood pooled and soaked into the carpeted ground from the inch deep slashed made against her throat. "Oh, God" Dean mutters, his stomach churning. His eyes flickered over to the printer, pulling it out of the receiver to take a look. He rolls his eyes when he see, 'Dana Shulps' printed over and over on it. "Seriously, what the hell?" He groans in frustration, as he takes in Karen's corpse.

Now noticing the purple grip marks around her wrists. He takes a step closer, kneeling down to examine her body. He gently but respectfully to the deceased, lifted her limp wrist to get a better look but the cocking of a gun behind him caught his attention. His head snaps back in. A flash, "Freeze. Stay on your knees" A woman officer behind him orders him firmly, her male partner and her both aiming their guns at the elder Winchester.

Deans eyes widen, his heart thumping out of his chest. "Hands where I can see them. Now!" The female officer yells as Dean breathes heavily, raising his hands in surrender. "Cuff him" The officer orders her partner who does so. Roughly handcuffing Dean, a wrongly accused man. His jaw clenches, now internally panicking because he knew they'd go after Sammy and y/n/n now that they'd found him.

________________________________

Present Time:

Detective Peter Sheridan was sat in the observation room where Dean was being held, handcuffed to the table as Ballard enters. Unbeknownst to Dean who couldn't see them through the one-way mirror, "You getting anywhere with him?" Ballard asks Sheridan as she closes the door, taking a seat on the table.

"No. Just a lot of wise-ass remarks. You?" Sheridan responds, sipping his coffee. "Same with y/n. Girls got a mouth on her" Ballard huffs, rolling her eyes. "But their story matches Deans to the last detail." Ballard tells him, Sheridan nods, getting up from us chair. "Yeah? Well, these guys are good, I'll give them that" Sheridan comments while he picks up his jacket before opening the door for Ballard to exit first, walking behind her.

"If we don't get Sam and Y/N to flip, we have nothing but a lot of circumstantial evidence" Ballard says in frustration as they walk through the station. "We got Dean at the crime scene with blood on his hands" Sheridan points out. "Juries have convicted for less" He assures her. "Yeah, but, I mean, where's the murder weapon?" Ballard asks the pending question.

"What's the motive. You talk about reasonable doubt- " She continues but Sheridan cuts her off. "Diana...do you have reasonable doubt" He says in a low husky tone, resting his thumb on her chin, caressing her bottom lip before quickly pulling his hand away when he saw a fellow officer walk in. Ballard throat goes dry, her heart thumping of of her chest. Her eyes darting to his lips,

"If we keep leaning on them, one of them will tumble. And don't forget about St. Louis. I'm telling you, this Dean guy is our guy" Sheridan tells her confidently but she wasn't too sure, he rested his hand on the small of her back as they began walking again. "I know Tony Giles was a friend of yours." Ballard says softly. "Yeah, he was. He was a good friend" Sheridan nods. "Look and I know you wanna clean this mess up quick. But come on, Tony knew a lot of criminal types, maybe we just-" Ballard suggest but he cuts her off again.

"Criminal types? He was a defense lawyer for Gods sakes. Of course he knew criminal types" Sheridan scoffs. Ballard sighed, "Okay, alright. Let's get back at them" She shakes her head. "Nah, you know what? Let them stew in their juices for a bit." Sheridan suggested, as they reached a corner. He looked around making sure there was no one around.

"Come here" He beckoned her closer with the wiggle of a crooked finger and a smirk. Ballard smiled before leaning in to kiss her boyfriend, a blush prominent on her face when their lips disconnected before brushing his cheek lightly with her hand. Then turning to walk off towards her desk in the bullpen.

Meanwhile, Dean was in his holding room. His hands clasped infront of him, his eyes closed as he tried to figure out what in the flying fuck was Dana Shulps. "Dana Shulps. Dana Shulps. Dana Shulps. Dana- Dana Shulps" He chanted to himself, his mind swirling with possibilities until a thought crossed his mind.

Back in Sam and Y/N's holding room, Y/N's face was buried in her hands, her elbows pressed against the cold metal table bored out of her mind. Sam's pacing came to a stop, he then sank in the chair next to her. Taking up Ballard's pen, he began to write Dana Shulps on the Manila folder. "What are you-?" Y/N goes to ask, holting her question when she realized what he was doing.

In Dean's room, his eyes opened, "Maybe it's not a name. Maybe it's not a name" He muttered to himself, raising his eyebrows.

Y/N looked on as Sam contemplated, "Anagram maybe?" She suggested, Sams eyebrows furrowed. "Maybe." He sighs, shrugging before he began to try other ways on the folder.

Deans broken from his train of thought when the sound of someone knocking on the door startled him. The door creaked open and entered a middle aged man dressed in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase. "Mr. Winchester?" The man questioned. "Yeah" Dean confirmed. "I'm Jeff Krause. I'm with the public defenders office" The man introduces himself kindly, locking the door behind him.

Deans eyebrows furrowed, "I'm your lawyer" Jeff smiles. Dean snorts, "Oh, thank God. I'm saved" He muttered sarcastically as Jeff took a seat. "Hey, can I, uh, steal a pen from you, some paper?" Dean asks the man casually. "Sure" Jeff nods kindly before reaching into his jacket and taking out a pen, then into his briefcase, taking out a notepad before sliding both items over to Dean.

"Well, the police haven't found a weapon yet, so that's good" Jeff begins as Dean writes 'Dana Shulps' on the paper. "But, uh, they got your prints...and literally, blood on your hands. And, with your police record...uh..." Jeff explains only to see Dean was not paying attention, still writing away on the pad. "Mr. Winchester, what are you doing?" Jeff asks him.

"I think it's an anagram" Dean responds, focused on the case. "A what?" Jeff asks confused. "An anagram. Sam letters, different words" Dean explains as he writes out possibilities on the notepad. Jeff cocks his eyebrow, beyond confused. "Uh, could you do me a favor? See if you recognize any of these words. You know? Local names, places, anything like that?" Dean asks him, turning the notepad to him.

Jeff is taken back by this, "Do you understand how serious these charges are?" Jeff exaggerates the severity. Dean chuckles, rattling the hands that are cuffed to the table, "I'm handcuffed to a table. Yeah, I get it" Dean says plainly before pointing to the notepad. "Humor me. Take a quick look" He requests Jeff who sighs, doing as Dean says. Taking a good look at the list of names.

"Well..." He scratches off three letters from one of the names. "S-U-P. I don't know about that but..." He begins as he scratches off the S-U-P in the word: Supash Land. "Ashland is a street name. It's not far from here" Jeff tells him as he turns the pad back to him. "Street?" Dean question as he tears the paper out from the pad.

Jeff gives Dean a weird look but decides to change the subject, "Let's start with where is it were the night that Anthony Giles died" Jeff began, "Can you get in to see my brother and my gi- friend" Dean asks, clearing his throat from the slight slip of tongue. "Mr. Winchester...you could be facing the death penalty here" Jeff warns him, thinking Dean didn't understand the severity of the situation.

"Hey, thanks for the law review, Matlock." Dean quips looking up from the notepad. Jeff's face drops as Dean rips out a paper with something written on it, "But, if you wanna help me..." He folded the paper before handing it to Jeff. "I need you to see my brother and my friend" his tone dead serious.

________________________________

Diana Ballard was at her desk, doing up the report of Sam and Y/N's arrest on her laptop. When suddenly her laptop randomly started writing 'Dana Shulps' over and over in her report. Ballard's eyes widened, confusion setting in. She pressed her finger to the erase button, attempting to delete it but the computer wouldn't budge. When she blinked, the report went back to its original form. Ballard was utterly confused, convinced she was going mad.

Meanwhile, in Sam and Y/N's holding room, Jeff brought the note Dean left for them.

'Hilts- it's a Street. Ashland - McQueen'

The note read, Sam and Y/N shared a look when they saw the reference from the movie 'The Great Escape' in the note Dean signed. Of course the bastard would use a Movie reference. Y/N thought to herself. "I hope that was meaningful. But I'd like to discuss your cases now" Jeff said to them firmly. Sam shrugged, "Sure thing, Matlock" Y/N gestured for Jeff to take a seat. Jeff scoffed at the irony.

"You two are just perfect for each other, aren't you?" Jeff chuckled at the reference because Dean called him Matlock too. Y/N and Sam grimaced, assuming Jeff was talking about them. Internally gagging at the thought. "Gross" Sam and Y/N muttered in unison, groaning in disgust. "No, not- nevermind" Jeff goes to explain but shook his head, taking a seat.

"Now, as you two know" He began, going into his briefcase, taking out a pen before clicking it. "The DA might be interested in-" Jeff is cut off by a knock at the door. "We need you. With the other one" Ballard informs Jeff upon entrance.

Dean was still sat in the holding room, handcuffed to the table as an officer set up a video camera across from him on the other side of the table, Sheridan besides the officer. Ballard entered with Jeff Krause. "Counselor, your boy decided to confess" Sheridan informed him, his hands on his hips. Jeff's eyes widen, "Mr. Winchester. I'd advice against that strongly" Jeff leans down, pleading with Dean.

"Talk directly into the camera. Start by stating your name for the record" Sheridan instructed him as Ballard stood behind him, arms folded across her chest. Dean nodded before clasping his hands infront of his, clearing his throat before beginning. "My name is Dean Winchester" Dean starts, a light sly smirk making its way onto his handsome face.

"I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and frisky women" He smiled smugly, his mind going to y/n for a second at the last part before dropping the act. "And I did not kill anyone. But I know who did" He continued, glancing up at Ballard and Sheridan who have annoyance plastered on their faces.

"Or rather, what did. Of course, it can't be for sure because our investigation was interrupted" He smugly added before looking back into the camera. "But our working theory is that we're looking for a some kind of...vengeful spirit" His words right there and then would earn him a smack to the back of the head by y/n, if she were here and a lecture about 'Not being subtle'. But in this case, it was sorta acceptable.

Pin drop silence fell in the room, "Excuse me?" Ballard piped in, bamboozled by his words. Dean just smirked, "You know, Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?" He quipped, looking back up at Ballard with a smug smile. "Tony Giles saw it. And I'll bet you cash money, Karen did too" Deans smirk widens. "But see the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason, it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain't easy" Dean continues. Sheridan rolls his eyes in pure frustration, turning to Ballard.

"You know, sometimes the spirits, they, uh, they get things jumbled. You remember red rum? Same concept. You know, it's, uh....could be word fragments..." Dean explains as the entire room looked at him as if he were crazy. Which, any human who didn't know about the supernatural would. "Other times..." He rests into his jacket, pulling out a paper from his pocket.

He opens it and flashes it to the camera, the paper being the one he wrote all of the possibilities from the 'Dana Shulps' clue they got from Karen and Tony's printers. "...it's anagram. See at first we thought this was a name, Dana Shulps" Ballard's mouth fell agape when he said that, her mind going back to the malfunction on her laptop. In utter disbelief at this.

"But now, we think it's a street, Ashland. Whatever's going on...I'm betting it started there" Dean finished, flashing the camera his classic shit-eating, panty dropping grin. "You arrogant bastard. Tony and Karen were too people. You're making jokes!" Sheridan growled. "I'm not joking, Ponch" Deans smile widens, Sheridan then moves around the table, leaning down to shout in Deans face.

"You murdered them in cold blood, just like that girl in St. Louis!" Sheridan shouts. Deans smile doesn't drop, instead he turns back to the camera, "Oh, yeah. That wasn't me either." He chuckles. "That was a shapeshifter creature that only looked like me" Dean simply smiles. Telling the truth that sounded like utter bullshit. Sheridan snapped, "Get up!" He screams, grabbing Dean by his neck.

He spun Dean around and slams the elder Winchester into the wall as everyone in the room backs away. Pure rage on his face, "Pete, that is enough!" Ballard yells at him as Sheridan had Dean pressed against the wall, his hands gripping his shirt collar. His breath was hot and heavy with fury, "You asked for the truth" Dean shrugged nonchalantly. Sheridan huffed before loosing his grip.

"Lock his ass up" He ordered the deputy. Leaving the room with Ballard. The deputy then grabs Dean by his wrist, before turning him around, slamming him back into the wall. Deans cheek hits the cold barrier as the officer reaches behind his belt to take out the handcuffs. Dean winces lightly from the pinch of the cuffs tightening around his wrists, a satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

Ballard and Sheridan head on over to Sam and Y/N's holding room, only to enter a now empty room. The window shutters were broken from the inside of the two story building. "What the hell! Where are they?!" Sheridan growls, rushing over to the window, nothing but a busy street and no sign of Sam or y/n.

Ballard notices a paper on the table, she picks it up to see the note Dean wrote for Sam and Y/N. She shook her head, slightly impressed by it. "What'd they do? The fire escape's way over— What?" Sheridan begins but when he turns to see Ballard with a with the note in her hand he asks. "These three" Ballard scoffs, handing Sheridan the note. "Hilts and McQueen? What is this?" Sheridan also confused.

"Hilts is Steve McQueens character in The Great Escape" Ballard informs Sheridan, earning a huff of frustration from how these three hillbilly dressed, country folk could possibly outsmart a station filled with officers. Much-less, him. His ego was deflating by the second.

Ballard entered the bathroom, attempting to turn on the light switch but it just sparked, the room staying dark. She groaned in frustration before walking over to the faucet. She reached down to turn it on but water started spewing out without her touching it. Her mouth fell agape as the water steamed up and all the other faucets besides her started spewing hot water.

Ballard's gaze turns to the fogged mirror in-front of her, the squeaking of a finger pressed up against the fogged glass, writing in 'Dana Shulps' in all capital letters. There was no one in the bathroom besides Ballard, her heart was thumping out of her chest. She quickly wiped away the words on the mirror, only to be met with the same pale, dark red eyes women staring right at her.

Ballard gasps fearfully, turning around to confirm there was the woman behind her. The ghost tries to speak to her but the slit in her throat made it difficult as the woman desperately attempted to communicate with Ballard but blood spewed out of the gash on her throat. Leaving her terrified and speechless.

________________________________

Ballard opens the door to Deans holding room, her stoic eyes meeting Deans bored expression. Locking the door behind her, "Can we make this quick? I'm a little tired" Dean groans, rubbing his forehead with his pointer and ring finger. "It's been a long day, you know? With your partner assaulting me and all" He snarks. "I wanna know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier." Ballard says, trying to ease her heavy breathing.

"Time Life. Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up" Dean sassed while rubbing his sore wrists. Ballard made her way to the other side of the table across room Dean., "Let's pretend for the moment you're not entirely insane" She began, taking a deep breath as Dean pumped his eyebrows smugly. "What would one of these things be going here?" She asks. "A vengeful spirit?" Dean asks knowing the answer.

Ballard does give him one so he just nods, "Well they're created by violent deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one. Like revenge on the people that hurt them" Dean explains. "And, uh, these....spirits. They're capable of killing people?" Ballard asks, rubbing the back of her neck. The same spot Karen Giles was slashed on.

Dean smirks at her hesitation but it quickly drops when his eyes land on her wrists, purple grip marks around them, identical to the ones on Karen's wrists. "Where did you get that?" He asks Ballard. She gasps, taking her hand off from her neck, pulling up her sleeve lightly. "I don't know. It wasn't there before" She tells in a shaken tone. Realization dawns on Dean, "You've seen it, haven't you?" He asks Ballard in a knowing tone.

Her eyes widen, "The spirit" He adds. "How did you know?" Ballard gasps. "Because Karen had the same bruised on her wrists. I'm willing to bet that if you look at Giles' autopsy photos, he's got them too. It's got something to do with this spirit. I don't know what" Dean informs her as she shook with disbelief. Ballard turnt to the mirror in the room, her face flushed with contempt.

She's convinced she's going insane, bonkers, mad. All the names in the book. She was telling herself she's no better than Dean. "I know. You think you're going crazy" Dean voices her thoughts. "But let's skip that part, shall we?" He snarks. "Because the last two people who saw this thing died pretty soon after. You hear me?" Dean says to her firmly. Ballard turns back to face Dean. "You gonna I'm gonna die" Ballard mumbles.

Dean nods as if it's obvious, "You need to go to Sam and Y/N. They'll help" Dean assures her. "You're giving your brother and your girlfriend up?" Ballard blinks, taken back by how serious this much be is Dean was willing to fold. He puts up a finger, "1. She's not my girlfriend." Dean states. "2. Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Look for Jim Rockford and/or Beth Davenport. It's how we all find each other when we're separated" Dean instructs her.

"And you can arrest them if you want. Or you can let them save your life" He says firmly.

________________________________

Sam and Y/N were back in their motel room, Sam was sat at the table, in front of his laptop, sifting through the stack of crime scene photos while Y/N paced the room nervously. Her fingers trembled slightly each time she brought it to her lips, taking a deep drag before exhaling a plume of smoke. The ash from the burning end falls to the ground, so engulfed in her own thoughts of Dean behind those bars, worried beyond words from the dictionary could describe.

She was on her sixth cigarette since they've gotten back, the second she lit the third one, she earned a concerned look from her best friend. "He'll be fine, y/n/n. He's Dean" Sam assures her gently, tapping the bottom of the papers on the table. "That's exactly what I'm worried about" She sighs, shaking her head. Sam also sighs, knowing where she's getting at. Dean may be strong but the bastard's got a smart mouth they gets him in trouble 99% of the time.

He's already being held for murder, she had every right to be worried. A knocking at the door startles both of them. The two hunters shared a look while y/n felt a joy in her heart, assuming it was Dean she rushed over to open it. Her heart only sank when she twisted the doorknob, pulling it open, revealing it to be none other than Detective Ballard.

Sam shot up from his chair as y/n gulps visibly, but Ballards expression told them that she wasn't there to detain them.

Ballard explained to them what happened, showing Sam and y/n her wrist. The two eyes widen as y/n gently takes Ballard's hands in hers. "May I?" She asks for consent. Ballard nods as y/n examines her wrists. "These showed up after you saw it?" Sam asks her. Ballard nods, "Yeah, I-I guess" She stutters. "Alright hun. You're gonna have to tell us exactly what you saw. Can you do that?" Y/N says gently.

Ballard takes a shallow breath before nodding, "You know, I must be losing my mind" She shakes her head, stepping away from the two. "You're fugitives. I should be arresting y'all." She stresses. Sam and Y/N share an exasperated look, "Alright, well. You know what? You can arrest us later, alright? After you live through this." Y/N sasses. "But right now, you gotta talk to us. Okay?" Sam adds calmly, taking on the chair he was on earlier.

Ballard hesitantly, tears in her eyes but nods obliging. "Okay, great. Now, the spirit, what did it look like?" Y/N asks, leaning against the table, arms crossed over her chest. "She was uh...really pale. And her throat was cut. And her eyes, they were like this deep dark red." Ballard explains as the two nod and listen intently. "It appeared like she was trying to talk to me, but she couldn't" Ballard's breath quickens.

"It was just a lot of blood" She exaggerates, clearly shaken from the experience. She takes a seat on the bed across from them. Sam and Y/N share a look before Sam turns to his laptop, "You know what? Here, I've been researching every girl who's ever died or gone missing from Ashland Street." Sam tells her, gathering the crime scene photos. She gets up and moves over to the table they were at, freezing upon seeing what they had in their possession.

"How did you get those? Those are from crime scene and booking photos" Ballard firmly asks. Smirks crept onto Sam and Y/N's faces. "You have you job. We got ours" Y/N sasses with a nonchalant shrug. Sam agrees from handing Ballard the photos, "Here, I need you to look through these, tell me if you recognize anyone" Sam instructs her. She flashes him a glare before taking them and settling on the bed.

She goes through the photos, shaking her head with each one until landing on a very familiar mugshot of a woman, her heart dropped when she instantly recognized the woman. "This is her. I'm sure of it." She says confidently as she hands y/n the photo. Sam peered over y/n's shoulder to get a proper look, "Claire Becket, 28 years old. Disappeared about eight or nine months ago" Y/N reads off from the mugshot.

Sam begins to type her name into the police database to get an information on her, "But I don't even know her. Why would she come after me?" Ballard asks confused, "Well, before her death. She was arrested twice for dealing heroin" Sam informs her. "You ever work narcotics?" Y/N asks Ballard. "Yeah. Pete and I did. Before Homicide" Ballard nods, Sam holds up the picture of Claire Beckett.

"You ever bust her?" He asks. "Not that I remember" Ballard shakes her head. Sam and Y/N sighed, as he read the report. "It says she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn't find anything" Sam reads off from the report before handing y/n the photo again. "Guess we gotta go check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body" Y/N mumbles.

Sam nods in agreement before getting up, "What?" Ballard huffs as Y/N hands Sam his jacket, "Well, we gotta salt and burn her bones. It's the only way to put her to rest" Sam explains to Ballard who's eyes are wide. "Of course it is" Ballard mutters, earning a amused chuckles from the two hunters.

________________________________

Sirens in the empty street wailed from the distance on 2911 Ashland Street. Sam, Y/N and Ballard were canvassing the building, armed with flashlights and their trusty firearms. Dean's army green duffel was slung over Y/N's shoulder. Packed filled with salt, accelerant, lighters, matches and basically anything to take down any known monster or spirit.

The room was not only dark was filled with metal shelves with tons of junk on them. Clearly abandoned, "So what exactly are we looking for?" Ballard asks. "We'll let you know when we find it" Sam remarks in a low tone. Y/N could feel the heaviness in the place, it was light a weight was crushing her chest. "She's here alright" Y/N tells Sam in a low tone, making sure Ballard doesn't hear at risk of scaring her.

Sam nods in response as y/n shines her light on a staircase. The two share a look before making their way over to the creaky stairs. Sam went first and y/n followed behind as Ballard stayed downstairs. She continued to search the room, her heart beating out of her chest when she heard a clattering object across the room.

She scanned the place but froze in fear, a loud gasp left her throat when Claire's spirit came into view. She disapparated and apparated again infront of Ballard in a flash, attempting to speak again but she choked on her blood. "Sam! Y/N!" Ballard calls out for them fearfully as Claire reaches out to her, she backs away shaking with fear as Sam and Y/N came rushing down the stairs. "Sam! Y/N!"

"Hey! We're here, what is it?? What happened?" Sam asks her out of breath from running. "Claire" Ballard gasps out shaken. "Where?" Y/N asks, flashing her light around the room. "She was here" Ballard breathes heavily. "Did she attack you?" Sam asks, scanning her body for any marks. "No. No, she was just, like reaching out to me" Ballard shakes her head. "She was over there by the window" She points out.

Ballard moves closer to the window that was blocked by the shelf. "Hey. Help me move this" She asks Sam and y/n. They nod as they help her move the large shelf. Ballard's eyes widen in recognition when she sees a back to front printed in word on the window, her mouth agape. "Our little mystery word" She mutters, pained. Sam and Y/N look over at her confused until realization dawns on them.

They turn to see the words on the window that was hit directly from the light, shining through onto the wall behind them. Spelling 'Ashland Sup'. Y/N's mouth fell agape along with Sam's, "Now the extra letters make sense" She mutters, sharing a look with Sam. Y/N reaches forward slowly, stepping forward to the wall. Her arm stretched out. "What is she doing?" Ballard asks. "Checking to see if she can sense the spirit" Sam informs Ballard.

"She can do that? How?" Ballard asks confused. "Uh...we'll explain after" Sam smiles sheepishly. Y/N's hand presses against the wall, she gasps loudly when the weight on her chest pressed in deeper, rush of energy running through the palm of her hands, reaching the soles of her feet. It wasn't like anything she'd felt before, something wasn't adding up but something was in that wall, she knew that for sure.

"There's something in there. There has to be" Y/N tells them, quickly taking her hand off the wall. Sam then fishes out his EMF meter from his jacket upon y/n's reaction. Powering it on, "What is that?" Ballard asks. "Well, spirits and certain remains give off electro magnetic frequencies. It's basically a device of what y/n has built into her head" Sam explains, with a shrug.

"Gee, thanks Sammy" Y/N mutters sarcastically, rolling her eyes, earning a cheeky smile from Sam. "So if Claire's body was here. Y/N and that EMF meter could indicate that?" Ballard asks. "Yeah, well that's the theory" Sam nods. He then inches the EMF meter closer to the wall, it instantly goes insane, lighting up bright red. Ballard's eyes widen.

Y/N tosses Deans duffel on the floor before digging out a hatchet and a rocksalt gun. The two begin to hammer into the wall with their weapons, drawing them back at least a half dozen times before finally busting through the bricked all. Y/N turns on her flashlight and shines it into the opening they made. "Yeah, yeah. There's definitely something in there" Y/N confirms as Ballard's breathing quickened.

"You know, this is bothering me" Sam grumbles as he and y/n use their elbows to finish breaking apart the wall. "Well, you guys are digging up a corpse" Ballard points out. "No, not that. That's pretty par from the course, actually" Y/N chuckles. "Then what?" Ballard asks curiously. "It's just...I mean, no vengeful spirit we've ever tussled with wanted to be wasted. So why the hell would Claire lead us to her remains?" Sam thinks out loud.

Y/N didn't think about that prior, "You've got a point. It doesn't make any sense" She agrees as they bang their elbows into the wall. It finally gave and broke inwards. Both grunting heavily as they pulled out the large blanket with ropes tying it closed on either side, it seemed to have a human corpse wrapped in it. Y/N felt her chest grow heavier as they held it, the exact feeling she got when she touched that wall was soaring through her.

Sam and Y/N grunted as they gently placed it on the ground, Y/N then pulls out her new butterfly knife Dean bought for her from her combat boots. Flicking it open, she begins to cut away at the rope. Sam then unwraps the blanket after she does this, revealing the skeletal remains of Claire Beckett. The blonde hair was a dead giveaway that this was the spirit remains they were looking for.

Their hearts dropped painfully, feeling pity for the poor woman. Ballard held up her wrists when she saw that Claire had ropes tied around her wrists. "Her wrists. Yeah, they'd be bruised just like yours" Y/N says, realizing the same thing as Ballard. What caught her eyes was an extremely familiar necklace that was around Claire's neck, Ballard took it between her fingers examining it.

Her mouth fell agape once again, tears pricking at her eyes. Sam and Y/N noticed this, "That necklace mean something to you?" Sam asks as Ballard glared at the necklace, feeling utterly and completely betrayed. "I've seen it before. It's rare. It was custom made over on Carson Street" Ballard tells them, taking a deep breath as they take a look at the unique pendant. Sam and Y/N looked at her confused as to why Ballard knew that.

She then reached into her blouse to pull out an identical pendant, "I have one just like it. Pete gave it to me" Ballard informs them. It was their turn to go agape, both their jaws on the ground. Y/N gets up from the ground, "Now this all makes perfect sense. As to why the aura didn't feel the same compared to actual vengeful spirits" Y/N says in realization as Sam gets up. "I'm sorry?" Ballard shakes her head confused.

"Yeah, you see, Claire is not a vengeful spirit. She's a death omen" Sam tells her. "Excuse me?" Ballard questions baffled, getting up from the ground also. "Claire's not killing anyone. She's trying to warn them" Y/N explains to Ballard. "You see, sometime spirits, they don't want vengeance, they want Justice. Which is why she led up here in the first place. She wants up to know who her killer is" Sam adds as Ballard paces the room, her hands on her hips.

Ballard gets where the two hunters are hinting at, her face dropping at the assumption, "No offense detective, but how much do you know about your partner?" Y/N asks respectfully. "Oh, my god" Ballard gasps, thought crossing her mind. "What?" Sam and Y/N ask in unison. "About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously, it was a cop but we never found out who did it" Ballard explains to them, taking a step forward.

Their eyebrows furrowed until they put the pieces together, "But whoever did it would need someone to fence their product." Ballard adds. "Somebody like a heroin dealer" Sam chimes in. Ballard turns to them, "Somebody like Claire" Y/N injects, the three sharing a look. A striking pain coursed through y/n's head out of the sudden, it shot from one temple to the other.

She screamed, falling to her knees. "Y/n/n?! What's wrong?!" Sam gasped, dropping besides her, trying to hold her up. Ballard is taken back by this when she sees Y/N's eyes glass over to a full white, realization dawns on Sam about what is happening. "What is happening?" She asks Sams panicked, "She's having a vision." Sam tells her.

"A what?!" Ballard yells as y/n holds her head, screaming. "Lady, you just saw a ghost. Is it that hard to believe that she's psychic?!" Sam snaps, cradling his best friend in his arms who's still screaming in pain, praying for it to be over soon.

"Pee break? So soon? You know, you might wanna get your prostate checked" Dean quips up, Sheridan rolls his eyes before turning the vehicle off and getting out. "Son of a bitch" Dean muttered to himself after Sheridan got out, his funny act dropping.

Sheridan then opens the back of the truck, "Hey, I'm cool in the van. You go do what you gotta do-" Dean quips again but Sheridan cuts him off by grabbing him roughly and pulling him out of the truck, tossing him into the ground like trash. "You're a cocky son of a bitch" Sheridan smirked as Dean glared at him from the ground.

"You think those people in St. Louis are gonna buy that crap you're peddling?" Sheridan snorts. "Here's the thing. You're not gonna make it to St. Louis. You're gonna die, trying to escape." Sheridan smirks before unclipping his gun from his holster. "Wait, wait!" Dean shouts pleadingly, putting his hands up in surrender as Sheridan's smirk rises.

"Let's talk about this. You don't wanna do something you're gonna regret" Dean tries to reason. Sheridan turns off the safety, "Or maybe you do" Dean mumbles shakily, squeezing his eyes shut. Sheridan pressed the trigger. The bullet went through through the middle of Deans forehead and out the back of his head from the short distance of the shot.

Dean Winchester dropped dead to the floor of the dark woods, a proud smirk on the detectives face who just murdered a man in cold blood. He dusted his hands before making a lap around Deans corpse before making his way back to the van, whistling as he strolled casually. He restarted the ignition, getting ready to call in to make his fake claim and a sick thought crossed his mind.

He put the van in reverse before he rode the van over Dean's corpse, the sick sound Winchester's bones crushing and blood from his body soaking into the ground as he rolled over him slowly, just for good measure.

Y/N gasped loudly, tears pricking at her eyes when she finally came to. She opens her eyes to see Ballard kneeling infront of her and Sam cradling her. "No! NOOOOO!!" Y/N bellows, her scream sent waves through the room, the building shook from top to bottom as if it were an earthquake. "What happened? What did you see?" Sam asks her concerned. Ballard was shaken from what she just witnessed. If not, more shaken from this than the death omen.

Y/N shot up from the ground, "That bastard is gonna kill, Dean. We need to go. Now!" She instructs them, hysterical with tears, her heart pained inside out from what she just saw. Sam's heart dropped, following her order.

________________________________

Meanwhile, Dean was being held in the back of a prisoner transport vehicle, driven by the now-revealed-to-be-crooked cop, Detective Peter Sheridan. "So I'm being extradited to St. Louis, huh?" Dean quips from the back through the little gritted window, Sheridan doesn't answer, "And you just decided to transfer me yourself, 800 miles at 2 in the morning?" He adds suspiciously.

Sheridan doesn't answer once more, the air in the vehicle was tense. "This can't be good" Dean mumbles.

Sam, Y/N and Ballard were in the squad car, both Sam and Y/N in the back as Ballard made a phone call. "Alright, thanks" She said into the phone before hanging up. "What is it?" Sam asks nervously. "Pete just left the precinct. With Dean" She tells them. "What?!" They both exclaim. "He said the prisoner had to be transferred, and he just took him. Dispatch has been calling but he won't answer the radio" Ballard adds.

"Oh god. Oh god" Y/N's breathing quickens, her heart racing as the vision played over and over in her head. She placed her hand over her mouth, bouncing her knee as her nerves rose by the second. "Radio? He took a county vehicle?" Sam asks, trying to remain calm. "Yeah" Ballard nods. "Well then it should have a LoJack. You just gotta get it turned on" Sam tells her, a bit of hope rising in their chests.

Back to Dean and Sheridan, the detective took a detour into a empty stretch, parking the vehicle. "Pee break? So soon? You know, you might wanna get your prostate checked" Dean quips up, Sheridan rolls his eyes before turning the vehicle off and getting out. "Son of a bitch" Dean muttered to himself after Sheridan got out, his funny act dropping.

"Let's talk about this. You don't wanna do something you're gonna regret" Dean tries to reason. Sheridan turns off the safety, "Or maybe you do" Dean mumbles shakily, squeezing his eyes shut. "Pete!" Ballard shouted from the distance, aiming her hun at her partner. They made it just in the nick of time, Dean breathed out in relief when he saw his family.

Y/N did too when she saw Dean was still alive, "Diana?!" Sheridan yelled when he saw his partner, aiming his gun at the two younger hunters instead. "How'd you find me?" He asks, re-aiming his gun at Dean who looks nervously between the two cops. "I know about Claire" Ballard glares at him. "I don't know what you're talking about" Sheridan denied. "Why are you doing this?" Ballard asks calmly.

"I didn't do anything, Diana" Sheridan lies. "It's a little late for that, Peter" Ballard huffs, "It wasn't my fault. Claire was gonna turn me in. I had no choice" Sheridan lamely defended, earning an eyeroll from Y/N as Sam gulped fearfully. "And Tony? Karen?" Ballard presses. "Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money. Then he got skittish and then he wanted to come clean. I'm sure he told Karen everything" Sheridan confesses.

"It was a mess. I had to clean it up. I just panicked." He stresses. "How many more people are gonna die over this?" Ballard asks, "There's a way out. This Dean kids a fucking gift. We can pin the whole thing on him. Okay? No trial, nothing, just one more dead scumbag" Sheridan says enticingly. Y/N's blood boiled when he called Dream a scumbag. "Hey!" Dean gasped offended, Sheridan cocks his gun as him again.

Putting his hands up in surrender, "Put the gun down you murderous son of a bitch!" Y/N finally snapped, enraged. "Nah, I don't think so. I'm sure you're fast, sexy. But I'm pretty sure I'm faster" Sheridan smirked. Y/N's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed at him. "You wanna bet asshole!?" She growled, taking a step forward. Her eyes glasses over white once again, then with a tilt of her head.

She sent him barreling into the van, flying through the air. Sheridan landed back first into the side of the van, grunting as Sam rushed over to unchain his brother along with Y/N. "Please, Diana. I still love you" Sheridan pleaded with Ballard. She inches towards him, "Yeah, why don't you buy me another necklace, you ass!" Ballard yells. But Sheridan tackles her to the floor, rushing to pick up his gun.

Y/N attempted to summon it to her hands but Sheridan picked it up, gripping it tightly. "I don't know what you are you freak! But this ends here!" Sheridan yells. Moving over to shoot Ballard, his gun always already aimed at her but all of their eyes widen when they saw Claire's spirit behind Sheridan. Claire moaned, growling at Sheridan almost animalistic.

He couldn't believe his eyes. First Y/N l sent him off his ass without allaying a finger on him and now he was seeing the spirit of his ex lover who he murdered in cold blood. A shot went ringing out through the woods, a hole peering in Sheridan chest. It was revealed that Ballard was the one who shot him from behind.

The sun had come up and Ballard was kneeled besides the corpse of her former lover, "You doing alright, hun?" Y/N asks her as she made her way over to them. "Not really" Ballard responded honestly. "The death omen, Claire. What happens to her now?" Ballard asks. "It should be over. She should be at rest" Sam informs her. "So, uh, what now officer?" Dean asks her, pumping his eyebrows.

"Pete did confess to me, he screwed up all of your cases royally. I'd say there's a good chance that we can get your cases dismissed" She tells them. "You could take care of that for us?" Sam sighs in relief. "I hope so. But the St. Louis murder charges? That's another story" Ballard shakes her head. "I-I can't help you" She sighs as the three panicked, worried.

"Unless....I just happened to turn my back and you walked away. I could tell them the suspects escaped" Ballard smirks. Dean and Y/N chuckled, "Wait, are you sure?" Sam asks hesitantly. "Yes, she's sure Sam" Dean chimes in. "No, it's just you could lose your job over something like that" Sam says warily as Dean and Y/N shakes their heads.

"The nice lady is giving us an out, Sam. When someone does that, you take it" Y/N nudges him. Ballard chuckles, "Look, I just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I'll sleep better at night" Ballard assures them. "Listen, you need to watch your backs. They're gonna be looking for the three of you now. Get out of here, I gotta radio this in" She ushers them out.

She goes to turn away but Dean stops her, "Uh, hey. Wouldn't happen to know where my car is by chance?" She tells him. Dean nods, a mischievous look on his face but Ballard points a firm finger at him, "Don't even think about it" She narrows her eyes at him, his face dropping. "It's okay, it's alright. Don't worry, we'll, uh, we'll just improvise, we're pretty good at that" Sam chuckles, assuring her as Y/N snorts from the way Dean cutely pouted.

"Yeah, I've noticed" Ballard sasses ironically, flashing y/n a wink. They all share one last smile before the three hunters turn to walk off. "Nice lady" Sam remarks. "Yeah, for a cop. Does she look familiar to you?" Dean asks them. Y/N shrugged while Sam shook his head, "No, why?" Sam questioned. "I don't know. Anyway, you two hungry?" Dean asks. "No" Sam responded.

"I am. I don't know man, for some reason I could really go for some pea soup right now" Y/N chimed in, earning a chuckle from Dean. "Someone's watching too much late night motel horror marathons" He chuckles, nudging her slightly. She smiled back, a glint of sadness in her eyes.

"You alright, sweetheart? What's wrong?" Dean asks her gently and concerned, noticing the look in her eyes. "Nothing" She smiles tightly, shaking her head, her heart aching as she thought about the vision from earlier she had of Dean being brutally murdered. "I'm just glad you're okay" She wraps her arm around his waist, laying her head on his shoulder as they walked.

Dean felt his mouth pull into a lop-sided grin after hearing her words, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walked together. He'd be lying if he'd said he didn't enjoy having her cling to him. He knew something was up. He could tell in the tone of her voice, the look in her eyes, how she avoided meeting his gaze...

Sam watches the two with a knowing look on his face from a few steps back. A soft smile on the younger Winchesters face, he knew that vision probably fucked with y/n beyond explanation, having had a vision of Dean dying himself which he shared with her last year when they met Max Miller. Y/N didn't even want to describe what happened in it, but he saw how much it terrified her.

Dean decided not to press, not wanting to push her talk about anything she wasn't comfortable with just yet. She'd tell him eventually, whenever she was ready. He was just grateful that y/n was leaning against him as they walked. His heart pace quickening along with hers. For a moment, walking back to the impound lot seemed less of a chore as Dean soaked in the feeling of having her against him like this.

He turned to look down at her, unable to stop himself from getting lost in her features. He studied the way the sunlight hit her face, her lashes casting a shadow on her cheeks, how her lips parted softly as she drew in a breath. As his gaze fell to her lips, he felt the urge to lean in, to capture her lips in his and lose himself in the feeling of her. He drew in a breath, tearing his attention away from her lips before he could do something he'd regret.

Plus, his brother was right behind them.

Y/N's heart seemed to skip a beat, her breath catching in her throat as she lifted her head to find herself under the scrutiny of his gaze. He was looking at her with such intensity, like she was the only thing on his mind in the moment. Her cheeks flushed warmly under his stare.

God, get it together. She groaned internally.

Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes, taking in the sight of the two as he walked behind them. He noticed the tender moment, watching from behind as his brother's eyes remained fixated on her. There was no doubt, the two clearly had feelings for one another. But neither had the courage to admit the truth.

The two of them were so painfully oblivious to their feelings. He just wanted to smack the pair of them in the back of their heads, tell them to knock some sense into themselves and just tell each other how they felt!

________________________________

Authors Note: Hiii!! So.......I did a thing....👀. I made a TikTok (which is something I promised myself I wouldn't do but I was like screw it. YOLO) As the series goes along, I'm gonna be posting memes as a way to calm down when the trio is pissing me off😂😂😂

It's funny because I started writing this as an escape from reality (which I love, don't get me wrong. It brings me SO much joy) and now I'm posting memes of them to escape their FUCKING OBLIVIOUS IDICOY🤦🏽‍♀️

If you're into it, go follow me @diana.winchester03 (@dianawinchester03 was TAKEN and I wanted to fight a bitch but such as life sigh)

It was also really weird writing about a character with the same name as me😂😂😂the amount times I accidentally typed ‘Diana’ instead of Y/N was embarrassing😭😭😭So I just called her Ballard through the story.

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28

@mrsjjkwinchester @swimmingmakeratheltedreamer

Otherwise, I hope you sweeties enjoyed❤️This chapter is unedited but I will be editing it soon.

Xoxo

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